rototypes in Paris from downright banality. All of
their deviltries have been muted, as if the guests suffered from a
pathological fear of pleasure. Strangers we were when we entered. As
strangers we take our departure.

Why do I linger thus, you ask, over these hothouse caperings? For the
same reason that we are now going to inspect the Kaisergarten. Because
this phase of life represents an unnatural development in the Viennese
mode of pleasure, something grafted, yet something characteristic of the
impressionability of the Viennese mind. The Viennese are a hybrid and
imitative people. They have annexed characteristics distinctly French.
In the Kaisergarten these characteristics are more evident than
elsewhere. Here is a people's playground in which all manner of
amusements are thrown together, from the _balhaus_, where nothing but
expensive champagne is sold, to the scenic railway, on which one may
ride for fifty heller. This park presents a bizarre and chaotic mingling
of outdoor concerts, variety theatres, _bierkabaretts_, moving picture
halls, promenades and sideshow attractions of the Atlantic City type.
The Kaisergarten is the rendezvous of the bourgeoisie, the heaven of hoi
polloi--rotund merchants with walrus moustachios, dapper young clerks
with flowing ties, high-chokered soldiers, their boots polished into
ebony mirrors, fat-jowled maidens in rainbow garb.... There is
lovemaking under the Linden trees, beer drinking on the midway,
_schnitzel_ eating in the restaurants. Homely pleasantries are thrown
from heavy German youths to the promenading _maedchen_. One catches such
greetings and whisperings as "_Du bist oba heut' fesch g'scholnt_" and
"_Ko do net so lang umananderbandln_." There exists a spirit of buoyant
and genuine fellowship. But here again it is a private and personal
brand of gaiety. Let the obvious stranger whisper "_Schatz'rl_" to a
powdered Fritzi on the bench next to him, and he will be ignored for his
impertinence. The same salutation from a Viennese will call forth a
coquettish "_Raubersbua_." Even the _Amerikan-bar_ in the centre of the
Kaisergarten (in charge of no less a celebrity than Herr Pohnstingl!)
will not offer the tourist the hospitality he hopes to find. He will
find neither Americans nor American drinks. The cocktail--that boon to
all refined palates, when mixed with artistry and true poetic
feeling--circulates _incognito_ at Herr Pohnstingl's. Such febrifuges as
masquerade unde