The poet Hebbel must be mentioned among the special acquaintances I made in Vienna during this difficult epoch.  As it seemed not unlikely that I should have to make Vienna the scene of my labours for some time, I thought it desirable to become better acquainted with the literary celebrities living there.  I prepared myself for meeting Hebbel by taking considerable trouble to read his dramatic pieces beforehand, doing my best to think that they were good and that a closer acquaintance with the author was desirable.  I was not to be deterred from my purpose by my consciousness of the great weakness of his poems, although I realised the unnaturalness of his conceptions and the invariably affected and frequently vulgar form of expression.  I only visited him once, and did not have a particularly long talk with him even then.  I did not find any expression in the poet’s personality of the eccentric force which threatens to explode in the figures of his dramas.  When I heard, some years later, that Hebbel had died of softening of the bones, I understood why he had affected me so unpleasantly.  He talked about the theatrical world in Vienna with the air of an amateur who feels himself neglected but continues to work in a businesslike fashion.  I felt no particular desire to repeat my visit, especially after his return call in my absence, when he left a card announcing himself as ’Hebbel, chevalier de plusieurs ordres!’

My old friend Heinrich Laube had now long been established as director of the Royal and Imperial Court Theatre.  He had felt it his duty on my previous visit to Vienna to introduce me to the literary celebrities, among whom, being of a practical turn, he counted chiefly journalists and critics.  He invited Dr. Hanslick to a big dinner-party, thinking I should be particularly interested in meeting him, and was surprised that I had not a word to say to him.  The conclusions Laube drew from this led him to prophesy that I should find it hard to get on in Vienna if I really hoped to make it the sphere of my artistic labours.  On my return this time he welcomed me simply as an old friend, and begged me to dine with him as often as I cared to come.  He was a passionate sportsman, and was able to provide the luxury of fresh game for his table.  I did not avail myself very often of this invitation, however, as the conversation, which was inspired solely by the dull business routine of the stage, did not attract me.  After dinner a few actors and literary men would come in for coffee and cigars, sitting at a large table where Laube’s wife generally held her court, while Laube himself enjoyed his rest and his cigar in silence.  Frau Laube had consented to become Theatre Directrice solely to please her husband, and now thought herself obliged to make long and careful speeches about things of which she had no understanding whatever.  The only pleasure I had was in renewed glimpses of the good-nature which I had admired in her of old; for instance, when