But if the productions of art scattered through the park of Schoenbrunn were not all irreproachable, those of nature fully made up the deficiency.  What magnificent trees!  What thick hedges!  What dense and refreshing shade!  The avenues were remarkably high and broad, and bordered with trees, which formed a vault impenetrable to the sun, while the eye lost itself in their many windings; from these other smaller walks diverged, where fresh surprises were in store at every step.  At the end of the broadest of these was placed the menagerie, which was one of the most extensive and varied in Europe, and its construction, which was very ingenious, might well serve as a model; it was shaped like a star, and in the round center of this star had been erected a small but very elegant kiosk, placed there by the Empress Maria Theresa as a resting-place for herself, and from which the whole menagerie could be viewed at leisure.

Each point of this star formed a separate garden, where there could be seen elephants, buffaloes, camels, dromedaries, stags, and kangaroos grazing; handsome and substantial cages held tigers, bears, leopards, lions, hyenas, etc; and swans and rare aquatic birds and amphibious animals sported in basins surrounded by iron gratings.  In this menagerie I specially remarked a very extraordinary animal, which his Majesty had ordered brought to France, but which had died the day before it was to have started.  This animal was from Poland, and was called a ‘curus’; it was a kind of ox, though much larger than an ordinary ox, with a mane like a lion, horns rather short and somewhat curved, and enormously large at the base.

Every morning, at six o’clock, the drums beat, and two or three hours after the troops were ordered to parade in the court of honor; and at precisely ten o’clock his Majesty descended, and put himself at the head of his generals.

It is impossible to give an idea of these parades, which in no particular resembled reviews in Paris.  The Emperor, during these reviews, investigated the smallest details, and examined the soldiers one by one, so to speak, looked into the eyes of each to see whether there was pleasure or work in his head, questioned the officers, sometimes also the soldiers themselves; and it was usually on these occasions that the Emperor made his promotions.  During one of these reviews, if he asked a colonel who was the bravest officer in his regiment, there was no hesitation in his answer; and it was always prompt, for he knew that the Emperor was already well informed on this point.  After the colonel had replied, he addressed himself to all the other officers, saying, “Who is the bravest among you?”—­“Sire, it is such an one;” and the two answers were almost always the same.  “Then,” said the Emperor, “I make him a baron; and I reward in him, not only his own personal bravery, but that of the corps of which he forms a part.  He does not owe this favor to me alone, but also to the esteem of his comrades.”  It was the same case with the soldiers; and those most distinguished for courage or good conduct were promoted or received rewards, and sometimes pensions, the Emperor giving one of twelve hundred francs to a soldier, who, on his first campaign, had passed through the enemy’s squadron, bearing on his shoulders his wounded general, protecting him as he would his own father.