VIENNA in the early part of the last century was looked uponas the gayest capital in Europe. Even the frightfulconvulsion it had passed through only checked for a while itschronic pursuit of pleasure. The cynical philosopher mightbe tempted to contrast this not infrequent accessory ofpaternal rule with the purity and contentment so fondlyexpected from a democracy - or shall we say a demagoguey?

　　The cherished hopes of the so-called patriots had beencrushed; and many were the worse for the struggle. But themajority naturally subsided into their customary vocations -beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, music, dancing, and play-going.

　　The Vienna of 1848 was the Vienna described by Madame deStael in 1810: 'Dans ce pays, l'on traite les plaisirs commeles devoirs. . . . Vous verrez des hommes et des femmesexecuter gravement, l'un vis-a-vis de l'autre, les pas d'unmenuet dont ils sont impose l'amusement, . . . comme s'il[the couple] dansait pour l'acquit de sa conscience.'

　　Every theatre and place of amusement was soon re-opened.

　　There was an excellent opera; Strauss - the original -presided over weekly balls and concerts. For my part, beingextremely fond of music, I worked industriously at theviolin, also at German. My German master, Herr Mauthner byname, was a little hump-backed Jew, who seemed to know everyman and woman (especially woman) worth knowing in Vienna.

　　Through him I made the acquaintance of several families ofthe middle class, - amongst them that of a veteran musicianwho had been Beethoven's favourite flute-player. As myveneration for Beethoven was unbounded, I listened with aweto every trifling incident relating to the great master. Ifear the conviction left on my mind was that my idol, thoughtranscendent amongst musicians, was a bear amongst men.

　　Pride (according to his ancient associate) was his strongpoint. This he vindicated by excessive rudeness to everyonewhose social position was above his own. Even those that didhim a good turn were suspected of patronising. Condescensionwas a prerogative confined to himself. In this respect, tobe sure, there was nothing singular.

　　At the house of the old flutist we played family quartets, -he, the father, taking the first violin part on his flute, Ithe second, the son the 'cello, and his daughter the piano.

　　It was an atmosphere of music that we all inhaled; and myhappiness on these occasions would have been unalloyed, hadnot the young lady - a damsel of six-and-forty - insisted onpoisoning me (out of compliment to my English tastes) with abitter decoction she was pleased to call tea. This delicateattention, I must say, proved an effectual souvenir till wemet again - I dreaded it.

　　Now and then I dined at the Embassy. One night I met therePrince Paul Esterhazy, so distinguished by his diamonds whenAustrian Ambassador at the coronation of Queen Victoria. Hetalked to me of the Holkham sheep-shearing gatherings, atwhich from 200 to 300 guests sat down to dinner every day,including crowned heads, and celebrities from both sides ofthe Atlantic. He had twice assisted at these in my father'stime. He also spoke of the shooting; and promised, if Iwould visit him in Hungary, he would show me as good sport ashad ever seen in Norfolk. He invited Mr. Magenis - theSecretary of Legation - to accompany me.

　　The following week we two hired a BRITZCKA, and posted toEisenstadt. The lordly grandeur of this last of the feudalprinces manifested itself soon after we crossed the Hungarianfrontier. The first sign of it was the livery and badge wornby the postillions. Posting houses, horses and roads, wereall the property of His Transparency.

　　Eisenstadt itself, though not his principal seat, is a largepalace - three sides of a triangle. One wing is theresidence, that opposite the barrack, (he had his owntroops,) and the connecting base part museum and partconcert-hall. This last was sanctified by the spirit ofJoseph Haydn, for so many years Kapellmeister to theEsterhazy family. The conductor's stand and his spinetremained intact. Even the stools and desks in the orchestra(so the Prince assured me) were ancient. The very dust wassacred. Sitting alone in the dim space, one could fancy thegreat little man still there, in his snuff-coloured coat andruffles, half buried (as on state occasions) in his 'ALLONGEPERUCKE.' A tap of his magic wand starts into life hisquaint old-fashioned band, and the powder flies from theirwigs. Soft, distant, ghostly harmonies of the SurpriseSymphony float among the rafters............