nse into a compact line,
which, arresting itself and arrested by new vehicles from every side
street, obviously belies the truth of the old proverb: "It is better to
ride in a poor carriage than to go on foot." Stared at, pitied, mocked,
the richly dressed ladies sit in their carriages, which are apparently
standing still. Unaccustomed to constant stopping, the black Holstein
steed rears, as if intending to jump straight up over the
wicker-carriage blocking its way, a thing the screaming women and
children in the plebeian vehicle evidently seem to fear. The cabby, so
accustomed to rapid driving and now balked for the first time, angrily
counts up the loss he suffers in being obliged to spend three hours
traversing a distance which under ordinary conditions he could cover in
five minutes. Quarreling and shouting are heard, insults pass back and
forth between the drivers, and now and then blows with the whip are
exchanged.

Finally, since in this world all standing still, however persistent, is
after all merely an imperceptible advancing, a ray of hope appears even
in this _status quo_. The first trees of the Augarten and the
Brigittenau come into view. The country! The country! All troubles are
forgotten. Those who have come in vehicles alight and mingle with the
pedestrians; strains of distant dance-music are wafted across the
intervening space and are answered by the joyous shouts of the new
arrivals. And thus it goes on and on, until at last the broad haven of
pleasure opens up and grove and meadow, music and dancing, drinking and
eating, magic lantern shows and tight-rope dancing, illumination and
fireworks, combine to produce a _pays de cocagne_, an El Dorado, a
veritable paradise, which fortunately or unfortunately--take it as you
will--lasts only this day and the next, to vanish like the dream of a
summer night, remaining only as a memory, or, possibly, as a hope.

I never miss this festival if I can help it. To me, as a passionate
lover of mankind, especially of the common people, and more especially
so when, united into a mass, the individuals forget for a time their own
private ends and consider themselves part of a whole, in which there is,
after all, the spirit of divinity, nay, God Himself--to me every popular
festival is a real soul-festival, a pilgrimage, an act of devotion. Even
in my capacity as dramatic poet, I always find the spontaneous outburst
of an overcrowded theatre ten times more interesting,