562
EXPOSITION AT VIENNA.
places of amusement are allowed to open. The German of the middle class and the well-to-do laborer take wife and family and go out to some cool, shady retreat. Every garden is filled with family groups, sitting at the tables, with merry children running about from place to place. Here, listening to good music splendidly played, they laugh and chat with neighbors and friends, while they leisurely sip from the tall glasses of white-capped beer. Later they wend their way homeward, having passed an eveniug of simple, hearty enjoyment, finding at the same time relaxation and fresh air. On some evenings of the last summer 150,000 people were among the gardens at the Prater.
Wandering here and there for months, visiting every garden and place of amusement, I saw not one intoxicated person. The wonder continually grew. It was impossible to believe the fact, yet such was the actual case in my experience.
Y.—Esterhazy’s Wine-cellar.
It may be worth while to mention one of the peculiar institutions of the city, known as Esterhazy’s Wine-cellar.
Turning off from the Graben, a leading street of the old city, a few steps bring one to a narrow door, down a little alley. Entering, you find yourself at the head of a flight of narrow stone steps leading down into the darkness. Once safely arrived at the foot, you are in a range of small, arched cellars, irregularly connected together, with rows of plank benches and plain chairs along the sides, and a ledge just above to support the glasses. In one small nook a woman retails sausages and cheese, behind a dirty candle and pile of black bread. A few flaring lamps give an uncertain light through the gloom. Every bench is occupied, the air is thick with smoke pouring from the tobacco-pipes. At one end an extemporaneous bar is established, over which active boys dispense the liquors called for, and behind which an interminable and mysterious range of cellars seem to stretch off into the darkness. A clerk records each order in a huge ledger before him. In these subterranean cellars are gathered a strange aggregation of tongues and nationalities. The noise is a perfect babel of sounds, yet you rarely find any