306 EUROPE AND HER DESPOTS. 



spread' eagle of Austria. A tall Hungarian grenadier received our pass- 

 ports at the lines. Proceeding onwards, through a dark narrow street, 

 we passed one of the alleys that extend at the distance of 600 yards 

 from the suburbs to the gates, by one of which we entered the city. 



The Prater is the feature par excellence of Vienna. No other capital 

 possesses such a promenade for natural beauties, for extent, for the 

 variety, and in some instances, even for the splendour of the equipages. 

 The far-famed Corso at Milan, the Parisian Champs Elysees, and even 

 our own Hyde Park must yield the palm to it. We drove to the church 

 of St. Stephen in order to take our place in the cavalcade ; from this 

 point, one uninterrupted line of vehicles extends for upwards of three 

 miles across the park. The pele mele system appeared to be the order 

 of the place. Berlins, bristchas, drowskis, phaetons, carts, and light 

 waggons of every description, were crowded together in picturesque 

 confusion. First, you beheld the dashing phaeton of some Hungarian or 

 Bohemian noble, with their mustachioed hieduc, or jager, in their splen- 

 did liveries, followed, perhaps, by the neat stanhope, and blood horse of 

 some young attache to the British embassy, whose glass, with the listless 

 air of a Hyde Park exclusive, was directed towards a low drowski, 

 drawn by two beautiful small Ukraine horses, of a Polish countess, 

 whose beauty "Jit fureur" at the time at Vienna. Next followed the 

 stately equipage of the Empress, to which succeeded a clumsy eisel-wag- 

 gon, filled with Croatian peasants, laughing aloud, heedless of the near 

 vicinity of their imperial mistress. 



While the eye dwelt delighted on this novel and animated scene, 

 my friend directed my attention towards a caleche, containing two 

 persons, that was advancing towards us. It was the Emperor Francis 

 and his chamberlain. The appearance of the monarch is remarkable ; a 

 figure of the middle size, but thin and lank as the hero of La Mancha, 

 surmounted by a long narrow head with two large blue eyes, the thick 

 Austrian lip, and long hollow cheeks. Such is the portrait of the pre- 

 sent descendant of nineteen emperors. The first impression which a 

 casual glance on his countenance leaves, is that of openness of down- 

 right German bonhommic. But a closer gaze will detect the sinister ex- 

 pression, more in accordance with his actions, leaving the spectator to 

 the conclusion, that under an assumed simplicity and apparent frankness, 

 there lurks despotic hauteur the deepest cunning, and the most heart- 

 less selfishness. 



The treasures of art which Vienna contains, are varied and immense. 

 I visited the Schoenbrun, the residence of young Napoleon, now no 

 more ! its halls are spacious, its apartments regal, but to me, the object 

 of attraction was the little cabinet in which Napoleon spent hours in 

 writing, and where he first beheld the portrait of the young arch-duchess, 

 Maria Louisa. The rank which this princess will occupy in the page 

 of history will neither be that of an Andromache nor a Penelope. Her 

 total insensibility to her husband's misfortunes the apathetic indiffer- 

 ence with which she received the account of his death on the barren 

 rock of St. Helena her utter forgetfulness of her high station, and of 

 the duties of a wife and mother, in the arms of her chamberlain count, 

 are notorious facts, which will not exalt her in the eyes of posterity. 



The view is magnificent from the spire of the venerable cathedral of 

 St. Stephens. The Styrian mountains, and the distant Moravia, the 

 Danube, and the imperial city, with its palaces and churches, burst 



