Chapter XV: Austria--Old and New

VIENNA, August 12th.

We are taking such a wide sweep through Central Europe, travelling from city to city, and country to country, that my materials accumulate much faster than I can use them. There are three cities which I should be glad to describe in detail--Hamburg, Dresden, and Prague. Hamburg, to which we came from Amsterdam, perhaps appears more beautiful from the contrast, and remains in our memory as the fairest city of the North. Dresden, the capital of Saxony, is also a beautiful city, and attracts a great number of English and American residents by its excellent opportunities of education, and from its treasures of art, in which it is richer than any other city in Germany. Our stay there was made most pleasant by an American family whom we had known on the other side of the Atlantic, who gave us a cordial welcome, and under whose roof we felt how sweet is the atmosphere of an American home. The same friends, when we left, accompanied us on our way into the Saxon Switzerland, conducting us to the height of the Bastei, a huge cliff, which from the very top of a mountain overhangs the Elbe, which winds its silver current through the valley below, while on the other side of the river the fortress-crowned rock of Konigstein lifts up its head, like Edinburgh Castle, to keep ward and watch over the beautiful kingdom of Saxony.

And there is dear old Prague, rusty and musty, that in some quarters has such a tumble down air that it seems as if it were to be given up to Jews, who were going to convert it into a huge Rag Fair for the sale of old clothes, and yet that in other quarters has new streets and new squares, and looks as if it had caught a little of the spirit of the modern time. But the interest of Prague to a stranger must be chiefly historical--for what it has been rather than for what it is. These associations are so many and so rich, that to one familiar with them, the old churches and bridges, and towers and castles, are full of stirring memories. As we rode across the bridge, from which St. John of Nepomuc was thrown into the river, five hundred years ago, because he would not betray to a wicked king the secret which the queen had confided to him in the confessional, up to the Cathedral where a gorgeous shrine of silver keeps his dust, and perpetuates his memory, the lines of Longfellow were continually running in my mind:

I have read in some old marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

It needs but little imagination on the spot to call up indeed an "army of the dead." Standing on this old bridge, one could almost hear, above the rushing Moldau, the drums of Zisca calling the Hussites to arms on the neighboring heights, a battle sound answered in a later century by the cannon of Frederick the Great. Above us is the vast pile of the Hradschin, the abode of departed royalties, where but a few weeks ago poor old Ferdinand, the ex-Emperor of Austria, breathed his last. He was almost an imbecile, who sat for many years on the throne as a mere figurehead of the State, and who was perfectly harmless, since he had little more to do with the Government than if he had been a log of wood; but who, when the great events of 1848 threatened the overthrow of the Empire, was hurried out of the way to make room for younger blood, and his nephew, Francis Joseph, came to the throne. He lived to be eighty-two years old, yet so utterly insignificant was he that almost the only thing he ever said that people remember, was a remark that at one time made the laugh of Vienna. Once in a country place he tasted of some dumplings, a wretched compound of garlic and all sorts of vile stuff, but which pleased the royal taste, and which on his return to Vienna he ordered for the royal table, greatly to the disgust of his attendants, to whom he replied, "I am Kaiser, and I will have my dumplings!" This got out, and caused infinite merriment. Poor old man! I hope he had his dumplings to the last. He was a weak, simple creature; but he is gone, and has been buried with royal honors, and sleeps with the Imperial house of Austria in the crypt of the Church of the Capuchins in Vienna.

But all these memories of Prague, personal or historical, recent or remote, I must leave, to come at once to the Austrian capital, one of the most interesting cities of Europe. Vienna is a far more picturesque city than Berlin. It is many times older. It was a great city in the Middle Ages, when Berlin had no existence. The Cathedral of St. Stephen was erected hundreds of years before the Elector of Brandenburg chose the site of a town on the Spree, or Peter the Great began to build St. Petersburg on the banks of the Neva. Vienna has played a great part in European history. It long stood as a barrier against Moslem invasion. Less than two hundred years ago it was besieged by the Turks, and nothing but its heroic resistance, aided by the Poles, under John Sobieski, prevented the irruption of Asiatic barbarians into Central Europe. From the tower of St. Stephen's anxious watchers have often marked the tide of battle, as it ebbed and flowed around the ancient capital, from the time when the plain of the Marchfeld was covered with the tents of the Moslems, to that when the armies of Napoleon, matched against those of Austria, fought the terrible battles of Aspern, Essling, and Wagram.

But if Vienna is an old city, it is also a new one. In revisiting Germany, I am constantly struck with the contrast between what I see now, and what I saw in 1858. Then Vienna was a pleasant, old-fashioned city, not too large for comfort, strongly fortified, like most of the cities of the Middle Ages, with high walls and a deep moat encompassing it on all sides. Now all has disappeared--the moat has been filled up, and the walls have been razed to the ground, and where they stood is a circle of broad streets called the Ring-strasse, like the Boulevards of Paris. The city thus let loose has burst out on all sides, and great avenues and squares, and parks and gardens, have sprung into existence on every hand. The result is a far more magnificent capital than the Vienna which I knew seventeen years ago.

Nor are the changes less in the country than in the capital. There have been wars and revolutions, which have shaken the Empire so that its very existence was in danger, but out of which it has come stronger than ever. Austria is the most remarkable example in Europe of _the good effects of a thorough beating_. Twice, since I was here before, she has had a terrible humiliation--in 1859 and in 1866--at Solferino and at Sadowa.

In 1858 Austria was slowly recovering from the terrible shock of ten years before, the Revolutionary Year of 1848. In '49 was the war in Hungary, when Kossuth with his fiery eloquence roused the Magyars to arms, and they fought with such vigor and success, that they threatened to march on Vienna, and the independence of Hungary might have been secured but for the intervention of Russia. Gorgei surrendered to a Russian army. Then came a series of bloody executions. The Hungarian leaders who fell into the hands of the Austrians, found no pity. The illustrious Count Louis Batthyani was sent to the scaffold. Kossuth escaped only by fleeing into Turkey. Gen. Bem turned Mussulman, saying that "his only religion was love of liberty and hatred of tyranny," and served as a Pacha at the head of a Turkish army. It is a curious illustration of the change that a few years have wrought, that Count Andrassy, who was concerned with Batthyani in the same rebellion, and was also sentenced to death, but escaped, is now the Prime Minister of Austria. But then vengeance ruled the hour. The bravest Hungarian generals were shot--chiefly, it was said at the time, by the Imperious will of the Archduchess Sophia, the mother of Francis Joseph. There is no hatred like a woman's, and she could not forego the savage delight of revenge on those who had dared to attack the power of Austria. Proud daughter of the Caesars! she was yet to taste the bitterness of a like cruelty, when her own son, Maximilian, bared his breast to a file of Mexican soldiers, and found no mercy. I thought of this to-day, as I saw in the burial-place of the Imperial family, near the coffin of that haughty and unforgiving woman, the coffin of her son, whose poor body lies there pierced with a dozen balls.

But for the time Austria was victorious, and in the flush of the reaction which was felt throughout Europe, began to revive the old Imperial absolutism, the stern repression of liberty of speech and of the press, the system of passports and of spies, of jealous watchfulness by the police, and of full submission to the Church of Rome.

Such was the state of things in 1858; and such it might have remained if the possessors of power had not been rudely awakened from their dreams. How well I remember the sense of triumph and power of that year. The empire of Austria had been fully restored, including not only its present territory, but the fairest portion of Italy--Lombardy and Venice. To complete the joy of the Imperial house, an heir had just been born to the throne. I was present in the cathedral of Milan when a solemn Te Deum was performed in thanksgiving for that crowning gift. Maximilian was then Viceroy in Lombardy. I see him now as, with his young bride Carlotta, he walked slowly up that majestic aisle, surrounded by a brilliant staff of officers, to give thanks to Almighty God for an event which seemed to promise the continuance of the royal house of Austria, and of its Imperial power to future generations. Alas for human foresight! In less than one year the armies of France had crossed the Alps, a great battle had been fought at Solferino, and Lombardy was forever lost to Austria, and a Te Deum was performed in the cathedral of Milan for a very different occasion, but with still more enthusiastic rejoicing.

But that was not the end of bitterness. Austria was not yet sufficiently humiliated. She still clung to her old arbitrary system, and was to be thoroughly converted only by another administration of discipline. She had still another lesson to learn, and that was to come from another source, a power still nearer home. Though driven out of a part of Italy, Austria was still the great power in Germany. She was the most important member of the Germanic Confederation, as she had a vote in the Diet at Frankfort proportioned to her population, although two-thirds of her people were not Germans. The Hungarians and the Bohemians are of other races, and speak other languages. But by the dexterous use of this power, with the alliance of Bavaria and other smaller States, Austria was able always to control the policy and wield the influence of Germany. Prussia was continually outvoted, and her political influence reduced to nothing--a state of things which became the more unendurable the more she grew in strength, and became conscious of her power. At length her statesmen saw that the only hope of Prussia to gain her rightful place and power in the councils of Europe, was _to drive Austria out of Germany_--to compel her to withdraw entirely from the Confederation. It was a bold design. Of course it meant war; but for this Prussia had been long preparing. Suddenly, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, came the war of 1866. Scarcely was it announced before a mighty army marched into Bohemia, and the battle of Sadowa, the greatest in Europe since Waterloo, ended the campaign. In six weeks all was over. The proud house of Austria was humbled in the dust. Her great army, that was to capture Berlin, was crushed in one terrible day, and the Prussians were on the march for Vienna, when their further advance was stopped by the conclusion of peace.

This was a fearful overthrow for Austria. But good comes out of evil. It was the day of deliverance for Hungary and for Italy. Man's extremity is God's opportunity, and the king's extremity is liberty's opportunity. Up to this hour Francis Joseph had obstinately refused to grant to Hungary that separate government to which she had a right by the ancient constitution of the kingdom, but which she had till then vainly demanded. But at length the eyes of the young emperor were opened, and on the evening of that day which saw the annihilation of his military power, it is said, he sent for Deak, the leader of the Hungarians, and asked "If he should _then_ concede all that they had asked, if they would rally to his support so as to save him?" "Sire," said the stern Hungarian leader, "_it is too late_!" Nothing remained for the proud Hapsburg but to throw himself on the mercy of the conqueror, and obtain such terms as he could. Venice was signed away at a stroke. In his despair he telegraphed to Paris, giving that beautiful province to Napoleon, to secure the support of France in his extremity, who immediately turned it over to Victor Emmanuel, thus completing the unity of Italy.

The results in Germany were not less important. As the fruit of this short, but decisive campaign, Austria, besides paying a large indemnity for the expenses of the war, finally withdrew wholly from the German Confederation, leaving Prussia master of the field, which proceeded at once to form a new Confederation with itself at the head.

After such repeated overthrows and humiliations, one would suppose that Austria was utterly ruined, and that the proud young emperor would die of shame. But, "sweet are the uses of adversity." Humiliation is sometimes good for nations as for individuals, and never was it more so than now. The impartial historian will record that these defeats were Austria's salvation. The loss of Italy, however mortifying to her pride, was only taking away a source of constant trouble and discontent, and leaving to the rest of the empire a much more perfect unity than it had before.

So with the independence of Hungary; while it was an apparent loss, it was a real gain. The Magyars at last obtained what they had so long been seeking--a separate administration, and Francis Joseph, Emperor of Austria, was crowned at Pesth, King of Hungary. By this act of wise conciliation five millions of the bravest people in Europe were converted from disaffected, if not disloyal, subjects, into contented and warmly attached supporters of the House of Austria, the most devoted as they are the most warlike defenders of the throne and the Empire.

Another result of this war was the emancipation of the Emperor himself from the Pope. Till then, Austria had been one of the most extreme Catholic powers in Europe. Not Spain itself had been a more servile adherent of Rome. The Concordat gave all ecclesiastical appointments to the Pope. But the thunder of the guns of Sadowa destroyed a great many illusions--among them that of a ghostly power at Rome, which had to be conciliated as the price of temporal prosperity as well as of eternal salvation. This illusion is now gone; the Concordat has been repealed, and Austria has a voice in the appointment of her own bishops. The late Prime Minister, Count Beust, was a Protestant. In her treatment of different religious faiths, Austria is so liberal as to give great sorrow to the Holy Father, who regards it as almost a kingdom that has apostatized from the faith.

The same liberality exists in other things. There is none of the petty tyranny which in former days vexed the souls of foreigners, by its strict surveillance and espionage. Now no man in a cocked hat demands your passport as you enter the city, nor asks how long you intend to stay; no agent of the police hangs about your table at a public cafe to overhear your private conversation, and learn if you are a political emissary, a conspirator in disguise; no officer in the street taps you on your shoulder to warn you not to speak so loud, or to be more careful of what you say. You are as free to come and go as in America, while the restrictions of the Custom House are far less annoying and vexatious than in the United States. All this is the blessed fruit of Austria's humiliation.

It should be said to the praise of the Emperor, that he has taken his discipline exceedingly well. He has not pouted or sulked, like an angry schoolboy, or refused to have anything to do with the powers which have inflicted upon him such grievous humiliations. He has the good sense to recognize the political necessities of States as superior to the feelings of individuals. Kings, like other men, must bow to the inevitable. Accordingly he makes the best of the case. He did not refuse to meet Napoleon after the battle of Solferino, but held an interview of some hours at Villafranca, in which, without long preliminaries, they agreed on an immediate peace. He afterwards visited his brother Emperor in Paris at the time of the Great Exposition in 1867. Within the last year he has paid a visit to Victor Emmanuel at Venice, and been received with the utmost enthusiasm by the Italian people. They can afford to welcome him now that he is no longer their master. Since they have not to see in him a despotic ruler, they hail him as the nation's guest, and as he sails up the Grand Canal, receive him with loud cheers and waving of banners. And he has received more than once the visits of the Emperor William, who came to Vienna at the time of the Exposition two years since, and who has met him at a watering-place this summer, of which the papers gave full accounts, dwelling on their hearty cordiality, as shown in their repeated hand-shakings and embracings. It may be said that these are little things, but they are not little things, for such personal courtesies have a great deal to do with the peace of nations.

In another respect, the discipline of adversity has been most useful to Austria. By hard blows it has knocked the military spirit out of her, and led her to "turn her thoughts on peace." Of course the military element is still very strong. Vienna is full of soldiers. Every morning we hear the drum beat under our windows, and files of soldiers go marching through the streets. Huge barracks are in every part of the city, and a general parade would show a force of many thousands of men. The standing army of Austria is one of the largest in Europe. But in spite of all this parade and show, the military _spirit_ is much less rampant than before. Nobody wants to go to war with any of the Great Powers. They have had enough of war for the present.

Austria has learned that there is another kind of greatness for nations than that gained in fighting battles, viz., cultivating the arts of peace. Hence it is that within the last nine years, while there have been no victories abroad, there have been great victories at home. There has been an enormous development of the internal resources of the country. Railroads have been extended all over the Empire; commerce has been quickened to a new life. Great steamers passing up and down the Danube, exchange the products of the East and the West, of Europe and Asia. Enterprises of all kinds have been encouraged. The result was shown in the Exposition of two years ago, when there was collected in this city such a display of the products of all lands, as the world had never seen. Those who had been at all the Great Exhibitions said that it far surpassed those of London and Paris. All the luxurious fabrics of the East, and all the most delicate and the most costly products of the West, the fruit of manifold inventions and discoveries--with all that had been achieved in the useful arts, the arts whose success constitutes civilization--were there spread before the dazzled eye. Such a Victory of Peace could not have been achieved without the previous lesson of Defeat in War.

Still further learning wisdom from her conquerors, Austria has entered upon a general system of education, modelled upon that of Prussia, which in the course of another generation will transform the heterogeneous populations spread over the vast provinces, extending from Italy and Germany to Turkey, which make up the thirty-four millions of the Austrian Empire.

Thus in many ways Austria has abandoned her traditional conservative policy, and entered on the road of progress. She may now be fairly reckoned among the liberal nations of Europe. The Roman Catholic religion is still the recognized religion of the State, but the Pope has lost that control which he had a few years ago; Vienna is much more independent of Rome, and Protestants have quite as much liberty of _opinion_, and I think more liberty of _worship_, than in Republican France.

Of course there is still much in the order of things which is not according to our American ideas. Austria is an ancient monarchy, and all civil and even social relations are framed on the monarchical system. Everything revolves around the Emperor, as the centre of the whole. We visit palace after palace, and are told that all are for the Emperor. Even his stables are one of the sights of Vienna, where hundreds of blooded horses are for the use of the Imperial household. There are carriages, too many to be counted, covered with gold, for four, six, or eight horses. One of these is two hundred years old, with panels decorated with paintings by Rubens. It seems, indeed, as if in these old monarchies the sovereign applied to himself, with an arrogance approaching to blasphemy, the language which belongs to God alone--that "of him, and through him, and to him, are all things."

Personally I can well believe that the Emperor is a very amiable as well as highly intelligent man, and that he seeks the good of his people. He has been trained in the school of adversity, and has learned that empires may not last forever and that dynasties may be overthrown. History is full of warnings against royal pride and ambition. Who can stand by the coffin of poor Maria Louisa, as it lies in the crypt of the Church of the Capuchins, without thinking of the strange fate of that descendant of Maria Theresa, married to the Great Napoleon? In the Royal Treasury here, they show the cradle, wrought in the rarest woods, inlaid with pearl and gold, and lined with silk, that was made for the infant son of Napoleon, the little King of Rome. What dreams of ambition hovered about that royal cradle! How strange seemed the contrast when we visited the Palace at Schonbrunn, and entered the room which Napoleon occupied when he besieged Vienna, and saw the very bed in which he slept, and were told that in that same bed the young Napoleon afterwards breathed his last! So perished the dream of ambition. The young child for whom Napoleon had divorced Josephine and married Maria Louisa, who was to perpetuate the proud Imperial line, died far from France, while his father had already ended his days on the rock of St. Helena!

But personally no one can help a kindly feeling towards the Emperor, and towards the young Empress also, as he hears of her virtues and her charities.

Nor can one help liking the Viennese and the Austrians. They are very courteous and very polite--rather more so, if the truth must be told, than their German neighbors. Perhaps great prosperity has been bad for the Prussians, as adversity has been good for the Austrians. At any rate the former have the reputation in Europe of being somewhat brusque in their manners. Perhaps they also need a lesson in humiliation, which may come in due time. But the Austrians are proverbially a polite people. They are more like the French. They are gay and fond of pleasure, but they have that instinctive courtesy, which gives such a charm to social intercourse.

And so we go away from Vienna with a kindly feeling for the dear old city--only hoping it may not be spoiled by too many improvements--and with best wishes for both Kaiser and people. They have had a hard time, but it has done them good. By such harsh instruments, by a discipline very bitter indeed, but necessary, has the life of this old empire been renewed. Thus aroused from its lethargy, it has shaken off the past, and entered on a course of peaceful progress with the foremost nations of Europe. Those who talk of the "effete despotisms" of the Old World, would be amazed at the signs of vitality in this old but _not_ decaying empire. Austria is to-day one of the most prosperous countries in Europe. There is fresh blood at her heart, and fresh life coursing through her aged limbs. And though no man or kingdom can be said to be master of the future, it has as fair a chance of long existence as any other power on the continent. The form of government may be changed; there may be internal revolutions; Bohemia may obtain a separate government like Hungary; but whatever may come, there will always be a great and powerful State in Eastern Europe, on the waters of the Danube.

We observed to-day that they were repairing St Stephen's, and were glad to think that that old cathedral, which has stood for so many ages, and whose stone pavement has been worn by the feet of many generations, may stand for a thousand years to come. May that tower, which has looked down on so many battle-fields, as the tide of war has ebbed and flowed around the walls of Vienna, hereafter behold from its height no more scenes of carnage like that of Wagram, but only see gathered around its base one of the most beautiful of European capitals--the heart of a great and prosperous Empire.