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padding-top: 1px } + + .coverpage, .titlepage, + .contents, .foreword, .preface, .introduction, .dedication, .prologue, + .epilogue, .appendix, .glossary, .bibliography, .index, .colophon, + .footnotes, + .cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 1px } + + .vfill { margin-top: 20% } + h2.title { margin-top: 20% } +} +</style> +<style type="text/css"> +.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; } +.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } +.toc-pageref { float: right } +pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35680 ***</div> +<div class="document" id="one-year-abroad"> +<h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">ONE YEAR ABROAD</h1> +</div> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> +</div> +<div class="container" id="pg-produced-by"> +<p class="noindent pfirst">Produced by Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a class="reference external" href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>.</p> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> +</div> +<p class="noindent pnext">This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 19%; width: 62%"> +<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/cover.jpg" src="images/cover.jpg" width="100%"/> +</div> +<div class="class container titlepage"> +<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> +<div class="line">ONE YEAR ABROAD</div> +</div> +<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> +<div class="line">BY</div> +<div class="line">THE AUTHOR OF “ONE SUMMER.”</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="line">“O rare, rare Earth!”</div> +</div> +</div> +<!-- --> +<blockquote><div> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="pfirst">“Iron is essentially the same everywhere and always, but the sulphate of iron +is never the same as the carbonate of iron. Truth is invariable, but the Smithate +of truth must always differ from the Brownate of truth.”—<em class="italics">Autocrat of the Breakfast +Table.</em></p> +</div></blockquote> +<div class="center line-block noindent outermost small"> +<div class="line">BOSTON:</div> +<div class="line">JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,</div> +<div class="line">Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.</div> +<div class="line">1878.</div> +</div> +<div class="center line-block noindent outermost small small-caps"> +<div class="line">Copyright, 1877.</div> +<div class="line">By JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.</div> +<div class="line">University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge.</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<div class="contents level-2 section" id="id1"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">CONTENTS.</h2> +<ul class="toc-list"> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#hamburg-at-a-first-glance" id="id2">HAMBURG AT A FIRST GLANCE.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 1</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#heidelberg-in-winter" id="id3">HEIDELBERG IN WINTER.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 12</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#a-flying-sheet-from-paris" id="id4">A FLYING SHEET FROM PARIS.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 24</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#baden-baden" id="id5">BADEN-BADEN.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 32</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#rambles-about-stuttgart" id="id6">RAMBLES ABOUT STUTTGART</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 44</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#the-solitude" id="id7">THE SOLITUDE.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 55</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#a-day-in-the-black-forest" id="id8">A DAY IN THE BLACK FOREST.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 63</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#the-lenninger-thal" id="id9">THE LENNINGER THAL.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 69</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#franciska-von-hohenheim" id="id10">FRANCISKA VON HOHENHEIM.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 77</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#nuremberg-the-ancient" id="id11">“NUREMBERG THE ANCIENT.”</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 85</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#some-wurtemberg-towns" id="id12">SOME WÜRTEMBERG TOWNS.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 91</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#in-a-garden" id="id13">IN A GARDEN.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 95</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#lindau-and-bregenz" id="id14">LINDAU AND BREGENZ.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 100</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#the-vorarlberg" id="id15">THE VORARLBERG.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 106</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#in-the-tyrol" id="id16">IN THE TYROL.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 115</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#innsbruck" id="id17">INNSBRUCK.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 121</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#ohenschwangau-and-neu-schwanstein" id="id18">OHENSCHWANGAU AND NEU SCHWANSTEIN.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 127</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#life-in-schattwald" id="id19">LIFE IN SCHATTWALD.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 137</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#up-the-airy-mountain" id="id20">UP THE AIRY MOUNTAIN.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 145</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#the-engadine" id="id21">THE ENGADINE.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 154</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#ragatz" id="id22">RAGATZ.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 161</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#a-flying-trip-to-the-rhine-falls" id="id23">A FLYING TRIP TO THE RHINE FALLS.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 168</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#down-from-the-high-alps" id="id24">DOWN FROM THE HIGH ALPS.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 175</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#by-the-lake-of-lucerne" id="id25">BY THE LAKE OF LUCERNE.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 182</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#up-and-on-and-down-the-rigi" id="id26">UP AND ON AND DOWN THE RIGI.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 187</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#a-kaiser-fest" id="id27">A KAISER FEST.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 194</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#the-cannstadt-volksfest" id="id28">THE CANNSTADT VOLKSFEST.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 203</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#in-a-vineyard" id="id29">IN A VINEYARD.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 211</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#among-freiligrath-s-books" id="id30">AMONG FREILIGRATH'S BOOKS.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 218</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#three-funerals" id="id31">THREE FUNERALS.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 225</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#some-christmas-pictures" id="id32">SOME CHRISTMAS PICTURES.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 232</span></span></li> +<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#hamburg-again" id="id33">HAMBURG AGAIN.</a><span class="toc-pageref"> 239</span></span></li> +</ul> +</div> +<div class="topic"> +<p class="level-1 pfirst title topic-title topic-title first">BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</p> +<p class="pfirst">ONE SUMMER.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Little Classic” style. $1.25.</p> +<p class="pnext">“A very charming story is ‘One Summer.’ Even the +word ‘charming’ hardly expresses with sufficient emphasis +the pleasure we have taken in reading it; it is simply delightful, +unique in method and manner, and with a peculiarly +piquant flavor of humorous observation.”—<em class="italics">Appleton's Journal.</em></p> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.,</div> +<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Publishers, Boston</span>.</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="hamburg-at-a-first-glance"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id2"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="1" id="page-1"> </span>HAMBURG AT A FIRST GLANCE.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">There is a wild, fantastic poem, thronged +with more phantoms, goblins, and horrors +than are the legends of the Blockberg. +It narrates in singularly vivid style the +deeds of a frightful fiend, and is, believe me, a +truly remarkable work. I beg you will not scorn +it because it exists only in the brain which it entered +one stormy night at sea. There it reigned, +triumphant, through long sleepless hours; but +for certain reasons—which are, by the way, perfectly +satisfactory to my own mind—it will never +be committed to paper. Its title is “The Screw,”—the +screw of an ocean steamer.</p> +<p class="pnext">Christmas is the best wishing-time in the year. +One can wish and wish at Christmas, and what +harm does it do? So I will wish my poem all +written in stately, melodious measure, yet with +thoughts that would make your cheek pale, and +your very soul shudder; and then—since wishing +is so easy—I will wish that I were an intimate +friend of Gustave Doré, to whom I would +take my masterpiece to be illustrated; and I +would beg him to allow his genius for drawing +awful things full sway, and I would implore him +not to withhold one magic touch that might suggest +another horror, so that extending from the +central object—the terrible Screw—there should +be demons reaching for their prey, howling and +laughing in fiendish glee. Then I would say, +“More, more, my good M. Doré!—more hideous +faces, more leering phantoms, more writhing legs +and arms, please!” For perhaps Doré never crossed +the ocean in bad weather; perhaps he never occupied +a state-room directly over the Screw; perhaps +he never experienced the sensation of lying there +in sleepless, helpless, hopeless agony, clinging frantically +to the side of his berth, hearing the clank +of chains, the creaking of timbers, the rattling of +the shrouds, the waves sweeping the deck over his +head,—most of all, the Evil Screw beneath, rampant +and threatening. It may be Doré does not +know how it feels when that Screw rises up in +wrath, takes the steamer in his teeth and shakes +it, then plunges deep, deep in the waves; while +all the demons, great and small, stretching their +uncanny arms towards the state-rooms, shriek, +“We'll get them! We'll have them!” and the +winds and waves in hoarse chorus respond, “They'll +have them—have them—have them!” and again +uprises the Screw and shakes himself and the trembling +steamer. So through the night, and many +nights, alas!</p> +<p class="pnext">And yet, O Screw! thing of evil, thing of +might, I humbly thank you that you ceased at +last your terrible thumps, your jarrings and wicked +whirls,—and silenced your chorus of attendant +demons, with their turnings and twistings and +mad laughter; I thank you that you <em class="italics">did not</em> get +us! Truly, I believed you would. I thank you +that you did not choose to keep us miserable souls +wandering forevermore through the shoreless deep, +or to sink us, as the phantom-ship sinks in “Der +Fliegender Holländer,” amid sulphurous fumes and +discordant sounds, down to that lurid abyss from +which you came.</p> +<p class="pnext">Do you all at home know this legend of the +Flying Dutchman? At least, do you know it as +Wagner gives it to the world, in words as lovely +as its melodies? The music is worth hearing, and +the story well worth a little thought. But perhaps +you know it already? Because, if you do, +of course I shall not tell it, and in that case we +need not sail off in strange crafts for the wild +Norway coast, but will only steam safely up the +Elbe to Hamburg.</p> +<p class="pnext">There are travellers from the Western World +who, after months of sight-seeing, return home +weary and disappointed because they have never +once been able to “realize that they were in Europe.” +Not realize! Not know! Not feel with +every fibre that one has come from the New to +the Old! Why, the very lights of Hamburg gleaming +through the rain and darkness, as we cold and +wet voyagers at last drew near our haven, even +while they gave us friendly greeting, told us unmistakably +that their welcome was shining out +from a strange land, from homes unlike the homes +we had left behind.</p> +<p class="pnext">Dear people who never “realize” that it is +“Europe,” who never feel what you expected to +feel, may one less experienced in travel than yourselves +venture to tell you that it is that fatal +thing, the guide-book, that weighs you down? Not +total abstinence in this respect, but moderation, +would I preach. Too much guide-book makes +you know far too well what to do, where to go, +how long to stay. It leaves nothing to imagination, +to enthusiasm, to the whim of the moment. +Dear guide-book people, <em class="italics">don't</em> know so much, don't +calculate so much, don't measure and weigh and +test everything! Don't speak so much to what +you see, and then what you see will speak more +to you. Even here in old Hamburg, the haughty +free city of commerce, the rich city boasting of her +noble port filled with ships from every land,—proud +of her wealth, her strength, her merchants, +and her warehouses,—looking well after her ducats, +caring much for her dinner, plainly telling +you she is of a prosaic nature, leaving tales of love +and chivalry to the more romantic South,—even +here the air is full of subtle intangible influences, +that will move you deeply if you will but receive +them. A city a thousand years old must have +something to say of far-off times and of the living +present, if one has ears to hear.</p> +<p class="pnext">Stand on the heights by the river and look +down on all the noble ships at anchor there. The +old windmill turns lazily before you. The flag on +a building near by moves softly in the breeze. +The tender, hazy, late-autumn day, kind to all +things, beautifies even bare trees and withered +grass. A large-eyed boy, his school-books under +his arm, stares curiously at you, then longingly +looks at the water and the great ships. The picture +has its meaning, which you may breathe in, +drink in if you will, but you will never find it if +you are comparing your “Appleton” with your +“Baedecker,” or estimating the number of square +feet in the grass-plot where you stand, or looking +hard at the ugly “Sailors' Asylum” because you +may be so directed, and refusing to see my pretty +boy with the wistful eyes because he's not mentioned +in the guide-book.</p> +<p class="pnext">Everywhere are little stories, pictures, glimpses +of other people's lives, waiting for you. The +flower-girl at the street-corner holds out a bunch +of violets as you pass. Pale, thinly clad, she +stands there shivering in the cold November wind. +On you go. The shops are large and brilliant, the +people seem for a time like those in any large +city. You think you might as well be in New +York, when suddenly you see, walking tranquilly +along, a peasant-woman in the costume of her +district,—short, bright gown, bodice square and +high, with full white sleeves and a red kerchief +round her shoulders, and on her head the most curious +object, a thing that looks like a skullcap, +with a flaring black bow, as large as your two hands, +at the back, from which hangs her hair in two long +braids. Sometimes there is also a hat which resembles +a shallow, inverted flat basket. Why it +stays in place instead of wabbling about as it +might reasonably be expected to do, and whether +there is any hidden connection between it and +that extraordinary black bow, are mysteries to me, +though I peered under the edge of the basket hat +of one Vierländerin with great pertinacity.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Hamburg maid-servants also wear a prescribed +costume. A casement high above you +swings open and discloses a little figure standing +in the narrow window. A blond head, with a +white bit of a cap on it, leans out. You catch +a glimpse of a great white apron, and of a neat, +sensible, dark cotton gown, made with a short +puffed sleeve which leaves the arm bare and free +for work. You wonder <em class="italics">why</em> the girl looks so long +up and down the busy street, and what she hopes +to see. To be sure, it may be only Bridget looking +for Patrick, or, worse, Bridget thinking of +nothing in particular; simply idling away her +time, instead of sweeping the garret. But if her +name is perhaps Hannchen, and she looks from a +window, narrow and high, and the morning sunshine +touches her yellow braids, and she stands +so still, far above the hurrying feet on the pavement, +how can one help finding her more interesting, +as a bit of human nature to study and enjoy, +than a beflounced and beribboned Bridget at home? +And when, in her simple dress, well suited to +her degree, she runs about the streets on her +mistress's errands, carrying many a parcel in her +strong round arms, she is a pleasant thing to see, +and, because she does not ape the fine lady, loses +nothing when by chance she walks by the side of +one in silk attire.</p> +<p class="pnext">Ah! if one has ever groaned in spirit to see the +tawny daughters of the Penobscot Indians, those +dusky maidens who might, in reason, be expected +to bring into a prosaic town some wildwood grace, +some suggestion of the “curling smoke of wigwams,” +of “the dew and damp of meadows,” +selling their baskets from door to door in gowns +actually cut after a recent Godey fashion-plate, +much looped as to overskirt, much ruffled and +puffed and shirred,—then indeed must one rejoice +in the dress of the Hamburg maids, and in these +sturdy country-women trudging along in their picturesque +but substantial costume, to sell their +fruit and vegetables in the city markets.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the olden time the good wives of Hamburg +no doubt wore such gowns. One sees now in the +street called Grosse Bleichen great buildings, +banks and shops, and all the evidences of busy +modern life; but one shuts the eyes and sees instead +groups of women in blue and red, coming +out from the city walls to lay on the green grass +the linen they have spun, that it may whiten in +the sunshine. They spun, and wove, and bleached. +They lived and died. The growing city built new +walls, and took within its limits those green banks +once beyond its gates. The women knew not +what was to be, when their spinning was all done. +Nor did the maids, whose busy feet trod the path +by the river-side, dream that the Jungfernstieg, or +Maiden's Path, would be the name, hundreds of +years after, of the most-frequented promenade of +the gay world of a great city.</p> +<p class="pnext">Those women with the spinning-wheels, silent +now so long, the young maids with their waterjars, +chatting together in the early morning by +the river, still speak to us, if we but listen. +Though the voices of the city are so loud, we can +hear quite well what they tell us; but indeed, +indeed, dear friends, it is not written in the guide-book.</p> +<hr class="docutils"/> +<p class="pfirst">Stories everywhere, did I not say? Why, I +even found one imbedded in—candy!</p> +<p class="pnext">Listen, children, while I tell you about marzipan. +The grown people need not hear, if they do +not wish.</p> +<p class="pnext">Marzipan (or St. Mark's bread—<em class="italics">marzi panis</em>) +is the name of a dainty which is made into bonbons +of every shape and size and color imaginable; +all, however, having the same flavor, tasting +of sugar and vanilla and rose-water and +almonds, and I know not what beside. There are +tiny potatoes, dark and gray, with marvellous +“eyes,” that would delight your souls; there are +grapes, and nuts, and large, red apples, all made +from the delectable marzipan. And most particularly +there are little round loaves, an inch long, +perhaps, which are the original celebrated marzipan, +pure and simple, the other form being modern +innovations. And why Mark's bread? Because, +my dears, there was once a famine in Lübeck, and +tradition saith that the loaf which each poor woman +took from the baker to her starving bairns +grew each day smaller and smaller, until finally +it was such a poor wee thing it was no more than +an inch long; and on St. Mark's Day was the +famine commemorated, while the shape and size +of the pitiful loaves are preserved in this sweetmeat, +peculiar, I believe, to North Germany. +Hamburg children—bless them!—will tell you +the tale of famine, and swallow the tiny loaves as +merrily as though there was never a hungry child +in the world.</p> +<p class="pnext">Hamburg children! Indeed, I have reason to +bless them. Shall I not always be grateful to the +fate that showed to eyes weary with gazing upon +wet decks, dense fog, and the listless faces of +fellow-voyagers, a bright and beautiful vision? +Most travellers in Hamburg visit first the Zoölogical +Gardens, and then immediately after—is it +to observe the contrast or the similarity between +the lower animals and noble man?—the Exchange +or Börse, where they look down from a gallery +upon hundreds, thousands of busy men, whose +voices rise in one incessant, strange, indescribable +noise—hum—roar—call it what you will. +Neither of these spectacles, happily, was thrust +at once before me. Did I not interpret as a +happy omen that <em class="italics">my</em> first “sight” was twenty +little German children dancing?</p> +<p class="pnext">Can I ever forget those delicious shy looks at +the queer stranger who has suddenly loomed up +in the midst of their festivities? And the carefully +prepared speech of the small daughter of the +house who with blushes and falterings, much +laughter, many promptings, and several false +starts, finally chirps like a bird, trying to speak +English, “I am va-ry happy to zee you,” and for +the feat receives the felicitations of her friends, +and retires in triumph to her bonbons.</p> +<p class="pnext">Sweetest of all was the gracious yet timid way +in which each child, in making her early adieus, +gave her hand to the stranger also, as an imperative +courtesy.</p> +<p class="pnext">Each little maid draws up her dainty dancing-boots +heel to heel, extends for an instant her small +gloved hand, speaks no word except with the shy +sweet eyes, gravely inclines her head, and is gone, +giving place to the next, who goes through the +same solemn form.</p> +<p class="pnext">Dear little children at home, you are as dear and +sweet as these small German girls—dearer and +sweeter, shall I not say?—but would you, <em class="italics">could</em> you, +prompted only by your own good manners, march +up to a corner where sits a great, big, entirely +grown-up person from over the sea, and stand before +her, demure and quaint and stately, and make +your stiff and pretty little bows? Would you now, +you tiniest ones? Really?</p> +<p class="pnext">Yet, do you know, if you would, of your own +free will, without mamma visible in the background +exhorting and encouraging, you would do +a graceful thing, a courteous and a kindly thing, +in thus including the dread stranger within your +charmed circle, and in welcoming her from your +child-heart and with your child-hands. You would +be telling her, all so silently, that though her home +is far away, she has her place among you; that +kindness and warmth and free-hearted hospitality +one finds the wide world over. And your pretty +heads, bending seriously before her, and your demure, +absurd, sweet, pursed-up baby-mouths might +conjure up visions of curly gold locks, and soft +dimpled faces far off in her home country, and she +would—why, children, children, I cannot say what +she would do! I cannot tell all that she would +think and feel. But this I know well, she would +love you and your dear little, frightened, welcoming +hands, and she would say, with her whole heart, +as I say now,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“Merry, merry Christmas, and ‘God bless us +every one!’”</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="heidelberg-in-winter"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id3"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="12" id="page-12"> </span>HEIDELBERG IN WINTER.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">“If you come to Heidelberg you will never +want to go away,” says Mr. Warner in his +“Saunterings.” It was in summer that +he said it. He had wandered everywhere +over the lovely hills. He knew this quaintest of +quaint towns by heart. He had studied the beautiful +ruin in the sunshine and by moonlight, and +had listened amid the fragrance and warmth of a +midsummer night to the music of the band in the +castle grounds, and to the nightingales. I, who +have only seen Heidelberg in the depth of winter, +with gray skies above and snow below, echo his +words again and again.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Don't go to Heidelberg in winter. Don't think +of it. It's so stupid. There is nothing there +now, positively nothing. O, don't!” declared the +friends in council at Hamburg. When one's friends +shriek in a vehement chorus, and “O, don't!” at +one, it is usually wise to listen with scrupulous +attention to everything which they say, and then +to do precisely what seems good in one's own +eyes. I listened, I came immediately to Heidelberg +in winter, and now I “never want to go +away.”</p> +<p class="pnext">And why? Indeed, it is not easy to say where +the fascination of the place lies. Everybody +knows how Heidelberg looks. We all have it in +our photograph albums,—long, narrow, irregular, +outstretched between the hills and the Neckar. +And all our lives we have seen the castle imprinted +upon paper-knives and upon china cups that say +Friendship's Offering, in gilt letters, on the other +side. But in some way the queer houses,—some +of solid stone, yellow and gray, some so high, with +pointed roofs, some so small, with the oddest little +casements and heavy iron-barred shutters, and the +inevitable bird-cage and pot of flowers in the window, +quite like the pictures,—in some way these +old houses seem different from the photographs. +And when one passes up through steep, narrow, +paved alleys lined with them, and sees bareheaded +fat babies rolling about on the rough pavement, +and the mothers quite unconcerned standing in the +doorways, and small boys running and sliding on +their feet, as our boys do, laughing hilariously and +jeering, as our boys also do,—why will they?—when +the smallest falls heavily and goes limping +and screaming to his home,—one is filled with +amazement at the half-strange, half-familiar aspect +of things, and wonders if it be really one's own +self walking about among the picture houses. And +as to the castle, I never want to see it again on a +paper-weight or a card-receiver.</p> +<p class="pnext">There's nothing here in winter, they say. I +suppose there is not much that every one would +care for. It is the quietest, sleepiest place in the +world. It pretends to have twenty thousand inhabitants, +but, privately, I don't believe it, for it +is impossible to imagine where all the people keep +themselves, one meets so few.</p> +<p class="pnext">No, there's not much here, perhaps; but certainly +whatever there is has an irresistible charm +for one who is neither too elegant nor too wise to +saunter about the streets, gazing at everything with +delicious curiosity. Blessed are they who can enjoy +small things.</p> +<p class="pnext">A solemn-looking professor passes; then a Russian +lady wrapped in fur from her head to her feet. +Some dark-eyed laborers stand near by talking in +their soft, sweet Italian. The shops on the Haupstrasse +are brilliantly tempting with their Christmas +display. Poor little girls with shawls over +their heads press their cold noses against the broad +window-panes, and eagerly “choose” what they +would like. One stands with them listening in +sympathy, and in the same harmless fashion chooses +carved ivory and frosted silver of rare and exquisite +design for a score of friends.</p> +<p class="pnext">Dear little boy at home,—yes, it is you whom +I mean!—what would you say to an imposing +phalanx of toy soldiers, headed by the emperor, the +crown prince, Bismarck, and Von Moltke all riding +abreast in gorgeous uniforms? That is what I +“choose” for you, my dear. And did you know, +by the way, that here in Germany Santa Claus +doesn't come down the chimneys and fill the children's +stockings, and bring the Christmas-tree, but +that it is the Christ-child who comes instead, riding +upon a tiny donkey, and the children put wisps +of hay at their doors, that the donkey may not get +hungry while the Christ-child makes his visits.</p> +<p class="pnext">Many women walk through the streets carrying +great baskets on their heads. This custom seems +to some travellers an evil. The women look too +much, they say, like beasts of burden. But if a +washerwoman has a great basket of clothes to +carry home, and prefers to balance it upon her +head instead of taking it in her hands, why may +she not, provided she knows how? And it is by +no means an easy thing to do, as you would be +willing to admit if you had walked, or tried to +walk, about your room with your unabridged dictionary +borne aloft in a similar manner. These +women wear little flat cushions, upon which the +baskets rest. Those women I have seen looked +well and strong and cheerful, and walked with a +firm, free step, swinging their arms with great abandon. +Three such women on a street-corner engaged +in a morning chat were an interesting spectacle. +One carried cabbages of various hues, +heaped up artistically in the form of a pyramid. +The huge circumference of their baskets kept them +at a somewhat ceremonious distance from one another, +but they exchanged the compliments of the +season in the most kindly and intimate way, and +their freedom of gesticulation and beautiful unconcern +as to the mountains on their heads were really +edifying.</p> +<p class="pnext">I have not as yet been grieved and exasperated +by the sight of a woman harnessed to +a cart. One, apparently very heavily laden, I +did see drawn by a man and two stalwart sons, +while the wife and mother walked behind, pushing. +As she was necessarily out of sight of her +liege lord, the amount of work she might do depended +entirely upon her own volition, and she +could push or only pretend to push, as she pleased; +or even, if the wicked idea should occur to her, +going up a steep hill she might quietly <em class="italics">pull</em> instead +of push, and so ascend with ease. The whole +arrangement struck me as in every respect a truly +admirable and most uncommon division of family +labor.</p> +<p class="pnext">We meet of course everywhere groups of students +with their dainty little canes, their caps of +blue or red or gold or white, and their altogether +jaunty aspect. The white-capped young men are +of noble birth. Some of them wear, in addition +to their white caps, ornaments of white court-plaster +upon their cheeks and noses, as memorials +of recent strife with some plebeian foe. To republican +eyes they are no better looking than their +fellows, and it may be said that few of these scholastic +young gentlemen, titled or otherwise, who in +knots of three or five or more, accompanied by +great dogs, often blockade the extremely narrow +pavement, manifest their pleasing alacrity in gallantly +scattering, and in giving <em class="italics">place aux dames</em> +as might be desired.</p> +<p class="pnext">It has been snowing persistently of late. More +snow has fallen than Heidelberg has seen in many +years, and the students have indulged in unlimited +sleighing. The Heidelberg sleigh is an indescribable +object. Its profile, if one may so speak, +looks like a huge, red, decapitated swan. It has +two seats, and is dragged by two ponderous horses +with measured tread and slow, while the driver +clings in a marvellous way to the back of the +equipage, incessantly brandishing an enormously +long whip. Sometimes a long line of these sleighs +is seen, in each of which are four students starting +out for a pleasure-trip. The young men fold their +arms and lean back in an impressive manner. +Their coquettish caps are even more expressive +than usual. The curious thing is, that, apart from +the evidence of our senses, they seem to be dashing +along with the utmost rapidity. There is something +in the intrepid bearing of the students, in +the vociferations and loud whip-crackings of the +driver, that suggests dangerous speed. On the +contrary the elephantine steeds jog stolidly on, +quite unmoved by the constant din; the students +continue to wear their adventurous, peril-seeking +air, and the undaunted man behind valiantly +cracks his whip.</p> +<p class="pnext">The contrast between the rate at which they go +and the rate at which they seem to imagine that +they are going is most comical. The heart is +moved with pity for the benighted young men who +do not know what sleighing is, and one would like +to send home for a few superior American sleighs +as rewards of merit for good boys at the university.</p> +<p class="pnext">The thing with the least warmth and Christian +kindness about it in Heidelberg is the stove. +There may be stoves here that have some conscientious +appreciation of the grave responsibilities +devolving upon them in bitter cold weather, but +such have not come within the range of my observation.</p> +<p class="pnext">My idea of a Heidelberg stove is a brown, terra-cotta, +lukewarm piece of furniture, upon which one +leans,—literally with <em class="italics">nonchalance</em>,—while listening +to attacks upon American customs and manners +from representatives of the Swiss and German +nations. The tall white porcelain stoves which +somebody calls “family monuments,” are at least +agreeable to the eye. But <em class="italics">these</em> are neither ornamental +nor wholly ugly, neither tall nor short, +white nor black, hot nor cold. They have neither +virtues nor vices. We feel only scorn for the +hopeless incapacity of a stove that cannot at any +period of its career burn our fingers. It is, as a +stove, a total failure, and it makes but an indifferently +good elbow-rest.</p> +<p class="pnext">However deficient in blind adoration for our +fatherland we may have been at home, it only +needs a few weeks' absence from it, during which +time we hear it constantly ridiculed and traduced, +to make us fairly bristle with patriotism.</p> +<p class="pnext">It is marvellous how like boastful children sensible +people will sometimes talk when a chance +remark has transformed a playful, friendly comparison +of the customs of different nations into a +war of words. Often one is reminded of the story +of the two small boys, each of whom was striving +manfully to sustain the honor of his family.</p> +<p class="pnext">“We've got a sewing-machine.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“We've got a pianner.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“My mother's got a plaid shawl.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“My sister's got a new bonnet.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“We've got lightning-rods on our house.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“We've got a <em class="italics">mortgage</em> on ours!”</p> +<p class="pnext">For instance:—</p> +<p class="pnext">“You have in America no really old stories and +traditions?” said a German lady to an American.</p> +<p class="pnext">“We are too young for such things. But what +does it matter? We enjoy yours,” was the civil +response.</p> +<p class="pnext">“But,” the German continued, in a tone of commiseration, +“no fairy-stories like ours of the Black +Forest, no legends like ours of the Blockberg! +Isn't everything very new and prosaic?”</p> +<p class="pnext">This superiority is not to be endured. The +American feels that her country's honor is impeached.</p> +<p class="pnext">“We have no such legends,” she begins slowly, +when a blessed inspiration comes to her relief, and +she goes on with dignity,—“we have no such +legends, to be sure; but then, you know, we have—<em class="italics">the +Indians</em>.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Ah, yes; that is true,” said the German, respectfully, +knowing as much of the Indians as of +the inhabitants of some remote planet, while the +American, trusting the vague, mysterious term +will induce a change of subject, yet not knowing +what may come, rapidly revolves in her mind every +item of Indian lore she has ever known, from Pocahontas +to Young-Man-Afraid-of-his-Horses, determined, +should she be called upon to tell a wild +Indian tale, to do it in a manner that will not +disgrace the stars and stripes.</p> +<p class="pnext">But I grieve to say that America is not always +victorious. Our table-talk, upon whatever subject +it may begin, invariably ends in a controversy, +more or less earnest, about the merits of the several +nations represented.</p> +<p class="pnext">A Swiss student with strong French sympathies +charges valiantly at three Germans, and having +routed their entire army, heaped all manner of +abuse upon Kaiser Wilhelm, reduced the crown +prince to beggary, and beheaded Bismarck, suddenly +turns, elated with his victory, and hurls his +missiles at the American eagle.</p> +<p class="pnext">O, how we suffer for our country!</p> +<p class="pnext">Some sarcasm from our student neighbor calls +forth from us,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“America is the hope of the ages.”</p> +<p class="pnext">We think this sounds well. We remember we +heard a Fourth-of-July orator say it. Then it is +not too long for us to attempt, with our small +command of the German tongue.</p> +<p class="pnext">“A forlorn hope that has not long to live,” +quickly retorts our adversary.</p> +<p class="pnext">He continues, contemptuously,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“America is too raw.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“America <em class="italics">is</em> young. She's a child compared +with your old nations, but a promising, glorious +child. Her faults are only the faults of youth,” +we respond with some difficulty as to our pronouns +and adjectives.</p> +<p class="pnext">“She's a very bad child. She needs a whipping,” +chuckles our saucy neighbor.</p> +<p class="pnext">America's banner trails in the dust, and Helvetia +triumphs over all foes. In silence and chagrin +America's feeble champion retires to the window, +watches the birds picking up bread-crumbs on the +balcony, and meditates a grand revenge when her +German vocabulary shall be equal to her zeal. +Helvetia's son being, in this instance, a very clever, +merry boy, soon laughingly sues for reconciliation, +on the ground that, “after all, sister republics +must not quarrel,” and the two, in noble alliance, +advance with renewed vigor, and speedily sweep +from the face of the earth all tyrannous monarchical +governments.</p> +<p class="pnext">Is it not, by the way, thoroughly German, that +down in its last corner the Heidelberg daily paper +prints each day, “Remember the poor little birds”? +And indeed they are remembered well; and there +are few casements here that do not open every +morning, that the birdies' bread may be thrown +upon the snow.</p> +<p class="pnext">And is there nothing else here in winter beside +the innocent pastimes mentioned? There are wonderful +views to be gained by those who have the +courage to climb the winding silvery paths that +lead up the Gaisberg and Heiligenberg. And then +there is—majesty comes last!—the castle.</p> +<p class="pnext">Ah! here lies the magic of the place. This is +why people love Heidelberg. It is because that +wonderful old ruin is everywhere present, whatever +one does, wherever one goes, binding one's heart +to itself. You cannot forget that it stands there +on the hill, sad and stately and superb. Lower +your curtains, turn your back to the window, read +the last novel if you will, still you will see it. I +defy you to lose your consciousness of it. It will +always haunt you, until it draws you out of the +house—out into the air—through the rambling +streets—up the hill past the queer little houses—to +the spot where it stands, and then it will not +let you go. It holds you there in a strange enchantment. +You wander through chapel and +banquet-hall, through prison-vault and pages' +chamber, from terrace to tower, where you go as +near the edge as you dare,—<em class="italics">nearer</em> than you dare, +in fact,—and look down upon the trees growing in +the moat. Because you never, in all your life, +saw anything like a “ruin,” and because there is +but one Heidelberg Castle in the world, you take +delight in simply wandering up and down long +dark stairways, with no definite end in view. You +may be hungry and cold, but you never know it. +You are unconscious of time, and after hours of +dream-life you only turn from gazing when somebody +forcibly drags you away because the man is +about to close the gates.</p> +<p class="pnext">I cannot discourse with ease upon quadrangles +and façades. I am doubtful about finials, and +my ideas are in confusion as to which buttresses +fly and which hang; but it is a blessed fact that +one need not be very learned to care for lovely +things, and while I live I shall never forget how +the castle looked the first time I approached it.</p> +<p class="pnext">Some people say it is loveliest seen at sunset +from the “Philosopher's Walk,” on Heiligenberg +across the Neckar, and some say it is like fairy-land +when it is illuminated (which happens once or +twice in a summer,—the last time, before the students +go away in August, and leave the old town +in peace and quiet), and when one softly glides in +a little boat from far up the Neckar, down, down, +in the moonlight, until suddenly the castle, blazing +with lights, is before you.</p> +<p class="pnext">But though I should see it a thousand times +with summer bloom around, with the charm of +fair skies and sunshine, soft green hills and flowing +water, or in the moonlight, with happy voices +everywhere, and strains of music sounding sweet +and clear in the evening air, I can never be sorry +that, first of all, it rose in its beauty, before my +eyes, out of a sea of new-fallen snow.</p> +<p class="pnext">O, the silence and the whiteness of that day!</p> +<p class="pnext">We entered the grounds and passed through +broad walks, among shadowy trees whose every twig +was snow-covered, and by the snow-crowned Princess +Elizabeth Arch. On we went in silence,—only +once did any sound break the stillness, when +a little laughing child, in a sleigh drawn by a large +black dog, aided by a good-natured half-breathless +servant, dashed by and disappeared among the +trees. Soon we stood on the terrace overlooking +the city and the Neckar.</p> +<p class="pnext">On one side was the castle, the dark mass standing +out boldly against the whiteness,—on the +other, far below, the city, its steep, high roofs +snow-white, its three church-spires rising towards +cold, gray skies; beyond, the frozen Neckar, then +Heiligenberg, its white vineyards contrasting with +the dusky fir-forests, and, far away as one could +see, the great plain of the Rhine, with the line of +the Haardt Mountains barely perceptible in the +distance and the dim light. All was so white and +still! Only the brave ivy, glossy and green and +fresh on the old walls and amid this frozen nature, +spoke of life and hope. All else told of sadness, +and of peace it may be, but of the peace that follows +renunciation.</p> +<p class="pnext">But to stand on the height—to look so far—to +be in that white, holy stillness! It was wonderful. +It was too beautiful for words.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="a-flying-sheet-from-paris"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id4"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="24" id="page-24"> </span>A FLYING SHEET FROM PARIS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Is it in “The Parisians” that the soldier +carries a bouquet on his musket, and it +is said that Paris, though starving, must +have flowers? These sweet spring days, +when vast crowds of people are wandering about +amusing themselves, and children are making daisy +chains in the parks, and men pass along the streets +with great branches of lilac blossoms or masses +of rosebuds, which are sold at every corner, and +skies are blue, and the lovely sunshine everywhere +is falling upon happy-looking faces, you feel like +blessing not only the spring-time, but beautiful +Paris and the temperament of the French. “St. +Denis caught a sunbeam flying, and he tied it with +a bright knot of ribbons, and he flashed it on the +earth as the people of France; only, alas, he made +two mistakes,—he gave it no ballast, and he dyed +the ribbons blood-red.” You think of the want of +ballast and the blood-red tinge when you look at +the ruined Tuileries, and see every now and then +other traces of the Commune. In our dining-room +is a great mirror with a hole in its centre +and long seams running to its corners. Madame +keeps it as a memento of those terrible times, and +of her anxiety and terror when balls were coming +in her doors and windows, and she would not on +any account have it removed. But, after all, it is +the flying sunbeams of the present that most impress +you. They are more vivid, being actually +before your eyes, than scenes of riot and madness, +which you can only imagine. The life about you +is altogether so fascinating, so cheering. You +catch the spirit that seems to animate the people. +Where all is so sunny and gay why should you +grieve? Have you little troubles? Leave them +behind and go out into the sweet sunshine, and +they will grow so insignificant you will be ashamed +to remember how you were brooding over them; +and then, if they are really great, they will pass; +everything passes. Only take to-day to your heart +the loveliness that is waiting for you, for indeed +there is something in it that makes you not only +happy for the time, but brave and hopeful for the +future. All of which is the little sermon that +Paris preaches to us all day long. Perhaps we +didn't come to Paris for sermons especially, but +after all it is often the unexpected ones that are +the best.</p> +<p class="pnext">How shall I tell what we have seen and heard +here? One day we visited the Pantheon, and, +having seen what there was to see below, we went +up to the dome, which affords a magnificent view +of all Paris and the surrounding country. A party +of school-girls ascended the long, narrow, winding +flights at the same time, and they were entirely +absorbed in counting the stairs. The one in +advance clearly proclaimed the number; the others +verified her account. The interest was intense. +Occasionally we would come to a platform where +at first it would seem that there was nothing more +to conquer. Breathless, panting, flushed, the +young girls would look searchingly around, then, +with a shriek of delight, would plunge into a dark +corner and open a door, from which another crazy-looking +stairway led up to other heights. Their +chaperon, who looked as if she might be the principal +of a school, gave up in despair before we +were half-way up, and, seating herself to await +their return, cast amused, kindly glances after the +retreating forms of the undaunted girls. I take +pleasure in stating the important and interesting +fact that the number of steps from the ground to +the “Lanterne” above the dome of the Pantheon +is five hundred and twenty, and you can't possibly +go higher unless you should choose to ascend a +rope which is used when on grand occasions they +illuminate the dome and burn a brilliant light on +the very tiptop. So said a little abbé who looked +like a mere boy, and who courteously told us +many interesting things as we stood there, a +group of strangers scanning one another with mild +curiosity,—two well-bred Belgian boys with the +abbé, some ultra-fashionable dames, a party of +Englishmen of course, and ourselves. The school-girls +fortunately went down without seeing the +rope. Had they observed it, and known that it +was possible by any means whatever to go higher +than they had gone, they would have been miserable, +unless indeed their aspiring spirit had led +them in some way to ascend it.</p> +<p class="pnext">With the paintings and sculpture at the Louvre +and the Luxembourg we have spent several happy +days, only wishing the days might be months. +Don't expect me to tell you what delighted us +most, or how great pictures seemed which we had +before seen only in engravings or photographs. +They burst gloriously all at once upon our ignorant +eyes, and we wanted to sit days and days before +one picture that held us entranced, and yet +our time was so limited we had to pass on and on +regretfully. Of course some one was there to +whisper in our ears, “O, this is nothing! You +must go to Italy.” Certainly we must go to Italy, +but the thought of the beauty awaiting there +could not detract from that which was around us. +Before some of the paintings we felt like standing +afar off and worshipping. There were Madonnas +with insipid faces which we did not appreciate. +There were other pictures which we coldly admired; +they were wonderful, but we did not want +to own them,—did not love them. Among those +which we longed to seize and carry away is the +“Cupid and Psyche” of Gerard, in which Psyche +receiving the first kiss of love is an exquisitely +innocent, fair-haired little maiden, not so very unlike +the friend to whom we would like to send it.</p> +<p class="pnext">There are always curious people in the galleries. +Sit down and rest a minute and something funny +is sure to happen.</p> +<p class="pnext">“See this chaw-ming thing of Murillo,” says a +florid youth of nineteen or twenty, with very tight +gloves, an elaborate necktie, and, alas! an unquestionably +American air, as he marshals a timid-looking +group,—his mother and sisters, perhaps. +“Quite well done, now, isn't it?” And on he +went. If he knew a Perugino from a Vandyck his +countenance did him great injustice. Then another +party comes along,—conscientious, ponderous, +English,—and halts with precision. One of +them reads, in a loud voice, from a book—“Titian—Portrait—462”—and +they stare blankly at +the picture before them, which happens to be not +a Titian at all, but a “Meadow Scene, with Cows,” +by Cuyp, or a great battle-piece of Salvator Rosa. +When they discover their mistake and recover +from their astonishment, they pass on in search +of the missing Titian. We smiled at this, but, as +the pictures are not hung according to the order +given in catalogues, we knew very well that it +was our good fortune, and not our merit or our +wisdom, that kept us from similar mistakes. What +might we not have done had we not been so beautifully +guarded against all blundering by our escort, +a French gentleman of rare culture,—both an +amateur painter and sculptor,—and an intimate +friend of some of the most distinguished French +artists! With him for a companion we felt superior +to all catalogues and treatises upon art. We +have had the pleasure, too, of visiting his private +museum and studio, where are strange relics collected +in a life of unusual travel and adventure. +He is a retired colonel of the French army, and +when in service has lived in Egypt, Turkey, Persia, +Greece, and now his little room, which we climbed +six flights of stairs to reach, is crowded with mementos +of his wanderings. I despair of conveying +any idea of what he has hung upon his walls. It +would almost be easier to tell what he has not. +Persian pictures, stone emblems, fans, rosaries, +swords, mosaics, pistols, queer chains and pipes, as +well as some very valuable paintings,—a Vandyck, +an Andrea del Sarto, a number of the modern +French school, presented to him by the artists. +Was it not a privilege to have such a guide when +we visited the Paris lions? He took us to the +Musée de Cluny, among other exceedingly interesting +places, where we saw hosts of antiquities,—beautifully +carved mantels, magnificent fireplaces, +“big enough to roast a whole ox” (and they really +use them, winters, too—the noble great logs were +all ready to be lighted), rare old windows of stained +glass, rich robes of high church dignitaries, porcelain, +jewelled crowns of Gothic kings, old lace +and tapestries, and carved wood that it did one's +heart good to see. Girls with tied-back dresses, and +hats fairly crushed by the weight of the masses of +flowers with which French milliners persist in loading +us this spring, did look so painfully modern in +those mediæval rooms! We began to feel as if we +were walking about in one of the Waverley novels, +and fully expected to meet Ivanhoe clad in complete +armor on the stone staircase that leads down +from the chapel.</p> +<p class="pnext">There were many things over which we found it +impossible to be enthusiastic,—the jawbone of +Molière, for example, in a glass case. It probably +looks like less distinguished jawbones, but if his +whole skeleton had been there I fear we should +have been no more impressed. Chessmen of rock +crystal and gold we coveted, and we liked the room +in which are the great, ponderous, gilded state +coaches of some century long ago, with their whips, +harnesses, and comical postilion boots. There is +a little sleigh or sledge there, said to have been +Marie Antoinette's,—a small gold dragon, whose +wing flies open to admit the one person whom the +tiny equipage can seat. It looked as if it must +have been pushed by some one behind. Fancy a +gold dragon with fiery-red eyes and a wide-open +red mouth coming towards you over the snow!</p> +<p class="pnext">This whole building is full of interest from its +age and historical associations. It was built in +the fifteenth century, has been in the hands of +comedians, of a sisterhood; Marat held his horrible +meetings here; Mary of England lived here +after the death of her husband, Louis XII., and +you can still see the chamber of the “White +Queen,” with its ivory cabinets, vases, and queer +old musical instruments. Visitors are requested +not to touch anything, but we couldn't resist +the temptation of striking just one chord on a +spinet. Such a cracked voice the poor thing had! +It sounded so dead and ghostlike and dreary, we +hurried away as fast as we could. Don't be +alarmed, and think I am going to write up all the +history of the place. I haven't the least idea of +doing such a thing; only this I can tell you,—the +Hôtel de Cluny affords an excellent opportunity to +test your knowledge of history; and if you ever +stand where we did, and send your thoughts wandering +among past ages, may your dates be more +satisfactory than were ours!</p> +<p class="pnext">The ruins of an old Roman palace, of which +only a portion of the baths remain, adjoin the +museum. There is a great room, sixty feet long, +all of stone, and very high, which was used for +the cold baths. The other baths are all gone, but +if you imagine hot and warm and tepid ones as +large as the cold, it certainly gives you a profound +admiration for the magnitude of the ancient bath +system. If Julian the Apostate, who built the +palace, they say, could see us as we go peering +curiously about, asking what this and that mean, +and the names of stone things that were probably +as common in his day as sewing-machines are now, +wouldn't he laugh? We looked over the shoulder +of a painter who was making a delightful little +picture of a part of the ruins, the stone pavement +and staircase, then a beautiful arch through which +we could look into the open air, and see the warm +sunshine, the great lilac-bushes, and a tall old ivy-covered +wall beyond. The contrast between the +cold gray interior and the bright outer world was +very effective.</p> +<p class="pnext">Strange old place where Cæsars have lived, and +through which early kings of France and fierce +Normans have swept, plundering and ruining, and +where, to-day, by the fragments of the massive +ivy-covered walls and under the trees in the pleasant +park, happy little children play, and nurses +chatter, and life is strong, and fresh and warm, +even while we are thinking of the dead past!</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="baden-baden"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id5"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="32" id="page-32"> </span>BADEN-BADEN.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Baden is a little paradise. It seems like +a garden with the freshness of May on +every flower and leaf. The long lines +of chestnut-trees are rich with bright, +pink blossoms,—solid pink, not pink-and-white like +ours at home. You walk beneath them through +shady avenues, where the young grass is like velvet, +and every imaginable shade of refreshing +green lies before your eyes. There is the tender +May-leaf green of the shrubs, another of the soft +lawns, that of the different trees, of the more distant +hill-slopes, and, beyond all, the deepest intensified +green of the Black Forest rising nobly +everywhere around. A hideous little bright-green +cottage, prominent on one of the hills, irritates +us considerably, not harmonizing with its deep +background of pines, and we long at first to +ruthlessly erase it from the picture; but finally +remembering the ugly little thing is actually +somebody's home, our better nature triumphs, and +we feel we can allow it to remain, and can only +hope the dwellers within think it prettier than +we do.</p> +<p class="pnext">There are already many visitors here, though it +is as yet too early and cool for the great throng of +strangers to be expected, and the vast numbers +of people come no more who used to frequent the +place before the gaming was abolished by the emperor +a few years ago, through Bismarck's especial +exertions, it is said; from which it is to be inferred +that Baden's pure loveliness is less attractive +to the world at large than the fascination of +the gaming-tables. We hear everywhere around +regrets for the lost charm, for the gayety, excitement, +brilliancy; and it is impossible to avoid +wishing, not certainly that play were not abolished, +but at least that we could have come when it was +at its height to see for ourselves the strange phases +of humanity that were here exhibited, and just how +naughty it all was. Now the waiters shake their +heads mournfully, as if a glory and a grace were +departed, and say, “No, it isn't what it used to +be,—nothing like it!” and there seems to be a +“banquet-hall-deserted” atmosphere pervading +the rooms in the Conversation House. To be sure +there is music there evenings, and a fashionable +assembly walking about; and there is music, too, +in the kiosk, and a goodly number of gay people +chatting, eating, and drinking at the little tables +in the open air; and people gather in the early +mornings to drink the waters, as they always have +done, but, after all, the tribute of a memory and +a regret seems to be universally paid to the vanquished +god of play, who is helping poor mortals +cheat somewhere else.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Empress of Germany is here, and, after +long-continued effort, we have seen her. How +madly we have striven to accomplish this feat; +how we have questioned servants and shopkeepers; +how we have haunted the Lichtenthal Allee, +that long, lovely, shady walk where her Majesty +is said to promenade regularly every day; how +often we have had our garments, but not our +ardor, dampened for her sake; how she would +never come; and how finally, in desperation, we +seated ourselves at a table under a tree near her +hotel, devoured eagerly with our eyes all its windows, +saw imperial dogs and imperial handmaidens +in the garden, and couriers galloping away with +despatches, saw the coachmen and footmen and +retainers, but for a long time no empress,—all +this shall never be revealed, because self-respect +imposes strict silence in regard to such conduct.</p> +<p class="pnext">We must have looked somewhat like a picture +in an old Harper's Magazine where two hungry +newsboys stand by the area railing as dinner is +served, and when the different dishes are carried +past the windows one regales himself with the savory +scents, while the other says something to this +effect: “I don't mind the meats, but just tell me +when the pudding comes and I'll take a sniff.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Augusta, please, dear Augusta, come out!” +entreated we; but she came not. When a carriage +rolled round to the door, we were in ecstasies of +expectation, convinced she was going out to drive, +but instead came a gentleman, servants, and travelling-bags.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Why, it's Weimar,—<em class="italics">our</em> Weimar!” said we +with pride and ownership, because you see the +Prince of Weimar lives in Stuttgart, and so do we. +And as he drives off, out on the balcony among +the plants comes her imperial Majesty and waves +her handkerchief to her brother in farewell. She +wore a black dress, a white head-dress or breakfast-cap, +looked like her photographs, and must +once have been beautiful. She is an intensely +proud woman, it is said, and a rigid upholder of +etiquette, and tales are told of slight differences +between her and the crown princess on this account.</p> +<p class="pnext">Baden is one of the enticing places of the +earth,—is so lovely that whenever, however, wherever +you may look, you always spy some fresh +beauty, and the Black Forest legends are hanging +all about it, investing it with an endless charm. +You can see in the frescoed panels on the front of +the new <em class="italics">Trinkhalle</em> a picture illustrating some old +story of a place near by, and then for your next +day's amusement can go to the identical spot +where the ghost or demon or goblin used to be.</p> +<p class="pnext">To Yburg, whose young knight met the beautiful, +unearthly maiden by the old heathen temple +in the full moonshine, as he was returning from the +castle of his lady-love to his own, and who transferred +his affections—as adroitly as our young +knights do the same thing nowadays—from her to +the misty figure, and met the latter, night after +night, was watched by his faithful servant, and was +found dead on the ground one bright morning.</p> +<p class="pnext">Or to Lauf, where the ghost-wedding was, or +almost was, but not quite, because the knight who +was to be married to the very attractive ghost of a +young woman grew so frightened when he saw all +the glassy eyes of the ghostly witnesses staring at +him that he couldn't say yes when the sepulchral +voice of the ghost of a bishop asked him if he +would have this woman to his wedded wife; and +all the ghosts were deeply offended and made a +great uproar, and the knight fell down as if dead, +and he too was found lying on the ground in +the morning; but him, I believe, they were able +to revive.</p> +<p class="pnext">And you can go to the Convent of Lichtenthal, +from which the nuns, upon the approach of the +enemy, in 1689 fled in terror, leaving their keys +in the keeping of the Virgin Mary, who came down +from her picture and stood in the doorway, so that +the French soldiers shrank back aghast, and all +was left unharmed.</p> +<p class="pnext">We went there, and saw a number of Marys in +blue and red gowns, but could not quite tell which +was the one who came down from her frame to +guard the convent.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the chapel eight or ten children mumbled +their prayers in unison, while we stood far behind, +examining the old stained-glass windows, with the +peculiar blue tint in them that cannot now be reproduced, +and the queer old stone knights in effigy; +and I don't imagine the Lord heard the children +any the less because they were very absurd, and +bobbed about in every direction, and constantly +turned one laughing face quickly round to look at +us, then back again, then another and another, +while all the time the praying went mechanically +on. There was a little girl, nine years old perhaps, +who came to meet us by the old well here, +and stood smiling at us with great, brown, expressive +eyes. Her face was so brilliant and sweet we +were charmed with her; but when we spoke she +upturned that rare little face of hers and answered +not a word. I took her hand in mine, but before +she gave it she kissed it, and to each of the party, +who afterwards took her hand, she gave the same +graceful greeting. Not an airy kiss thrown at +one, after the fashion of children in general, but a +quiet little one deposited upon her hand before it +was honored by the touch of the stranger. The +pretty action, together with the exquisite face, +calm and clear as a cherub, and ideally childlike, +made a deep impression on us; and in some way, +what we afterwards learned—that she was completely +deaf and dumb—did not occur to us. We +thought that she would not speak, not that she +could not.</p> +<p class="pnext">On a height overlooking the town stands a memorial +chapel, built in antique style, of alternate +strata of red and white sandstone, by which a very +lively effect is produced. It has a gilded dome +and a portico supported by four Ionic pillars. In +the interior are frescos of the twelve apostles; +and upon the high gold partition or screen, which +separates the choir from the body of the chapel, +are painted scenes from the New Testament. The +floor is of marble in two colors.</p> +<p class="pnext">We visited it fortunately during service, and +saw for the first time the Greek ritual. The singing +was fine, the boys' voices sweet and clear, but +many of the forms unintelligible to a stranger. +For instance, we could only imagine what was +meant when one priest in scarlet and gold would +go behind a golden door and lock it, and another +one would stand before it intoning the strangest +words in the strangest sing-song, until at last they +would open the door and let him in. The service +in the Greek churches is either in the Greek or old +Sclavonic language. Here we inferred that we +were listening to the old Sclavonic, as the chapel +belongs to a Roumanian prince; but only this can +we say positively,—that two words (<em class="italics">Alleluia</em> and +<em class="italics">Amen</em>) were absolutely all that we understood.</p> +<p class="pnext">The robes were rich; incense was burned; there +were a few worshippers, all standing, the Greek +Church allowing no seats; but in some places +crutches are used to lean upon when the service +is long, as on great festal days. There are no sermons +except on special occasions, the ordinary ritual +consisting of chants between the deacons and +chorister boys, readings from certain portions of +the Scripture, prayers, legends, the creed, etc. +They all turn towards the east during prayer, and +instrumental music is forbidden.</p> +<p class="pnext">In this little chapel the morning service which +we witnessed was brief, and, of its kind, simple. +We noticed particularly among the worshippers +one old gentleman who seemed to be very devout. +He crossed himself frequently,—by the way, not +as Roman Catholics do,—and at certain times +knelt, and even actually prostrated himself, upon +the marble pavement. He was a fine old man, +and looked like a Russian. He was earnest and +attentive, but he made us all exceedingly nervous, +for his boots were stiff and his limbs far +from supple, and when he went down we feared he +never would be able to come up again without assistance; +and we were incessantly and painfully on +the alert, prepared to help him recover his equilibrium +should he entirely lose it, which often +seemed more than probable. This was a Roumanian +prince, Stourdza,—who lives winters in Paris +and summers in Baden,—and who erected the +chapel in memory of his son, who died at seventeen +in Paris from excessive study. A statue of the +boy, bearing the name of the sculptor, Rinaldo +Rinaldi, Roma, 1866,—life-size, on a high pedestal,—is +on one side of the interior. He sits by a +table covered with books,—Bossuet, Greek, and +Latin,—while an angel standing beside him rests +one hand on his shoulder, and with the other +beckons him away from his work. His Virgil lies +open to the lines,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Si qua fata aspera rumpas</div> +<div class="line">Tu Marcellus eris.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">If the boy was in reality so beautiful as the marble +and as the portrait of him which hangs at the +left of the entrance, he must have looked as lofty +and tender and pure as an archangel.</p> +<p class="pnext">Opposite him are the statues of the father and +mother, who are yet living, and between them a +symbolical figure,—Faith, I presume. A curtain +conceals this group, beneath which the parents will +one day lie.</p> +<p class="pnext">Paintings of them also hang by the entrance, +with a portrait of the boy and one of the sister, +“<em class="italics">Chère consolation de ses parents</em>,” as she is called. +The faces are all fine, but that of the young student +the noblest, and the statue of the lovely boy +called away from his books seemed a happy way of +telling his brief story. In the vaults below where +he lies are always fresh flowers, and a light continually +burning.</p> +<p class="pnext">It is impossible to enumerate all the sights in +and about Baden. If it is any satisfaction to you, +you can look at the villas of the great as much +as you please; but to know that Queen Victoria +lived here, and Clara Schumann there, and yonder +is the Turgenieff Villa, with extensive grounds, +does not seem productive of any especial enjoyment. +It is much more exhilarating to leave the +haunts of men and walk off briskly through the +woods to some golden milestone of the past,—the +old Jäger Haus, for instance, whose windows +look upon a wide, rich prospect, and where the +holy Hubartus, the patron of the chase, is painted +on the ceiling, with the stag bearing the crucifix +upon his antlers; and within whose octagonal walls +there must have been much revelry by night in the +good old times.</p> +<p class="pnext">To the old castle where the Markgrafen of Hohenbaden—the +border lords—used to live we +went one day, and anything funnier than that +particular combination of the romantic and ridiculous +never was known. Riding “in the boyhood +of the year” through lovely woods, by mosses +mixed with violet, hearing the song of birds, +breathing the purest, balmiest air, who could help +wondering if Launcelot and Guinevere themselves +found lovelier forest deeps; and who could help +feeling very sentimental indeed, and quoting all +available poetry, and imagining long trains of +stately knights riding over the same path, and so +on <em class="italics">ad infinitum</em>! While indulging these romantic +fancies we discovered that our donkey also was +often lost in similar reveries, from which he was +recalled by the donkey-boy, who by a sudden blow +would cause him to madly plunge, then to stop +short and exhibit all the peculiarly pleasing donkey +tricks which we had read about, but never +before experienced. And to ride a very small and +wicked donkey and to read about it are two altogether +different things, let me assure you.</p> +<p class="pnext">Three donkeys galloping like mad up a mountain, +three persons bouncing, jolting, shrieking +with laughter, a jolly boy running behind with a +long stick,—such was the experience that effectually +dispelled our fine fancies.</p> +<p class="pnext">The view at the castle is far extended and beautiful; +you see something of the Rhine in the distance, +the little Oosbach, and the peaceful valley +between. Baden scenery, from whatever point you +look at it, has the same friendly, serene aspect,—little +villages dotted here and there on the soft +hill-slopes, and in the background the bold, beautiful +line of the pine-covered mountains. The +castle must have been once a fine, grand place. +Those clever old feudal fellows knew well where to +build their nests, and like eagles chose bold, wild +heights for their rocky eyries. “Heir liegen sie +die stolzen Fürstentrümer,” quoted a German, +wandering about the ruins.</p> +<p class="pnext">Up to the Yburg Castle we went also; and the +“up” should be italicized, for the mountain seemed +as high and steep as the Hill of Science, and we +felt that the summit of one was as unattainable +as that of the other. But the woods were beautiful, +and their whisperings and murmurings and +words were not in a strange language, for the tall +dark pines sang the selfsame song that they sing +in the dear old New England woods, the wildflowers +and birds were a constant delight, the air +fresh and cool, and at last we reached the top, and +found another castle and another view.</p> +<p class="pnext">Here there was little castle and much view. +Really a magnificent prospect, but so fierce and +chilling a wind that we could with difficulty remain +long enough on the old turrets to fix the +landscape in our memory, and we were glad to +seek shelter in the little house, where a man and +his wife live all the year round; and frightfully +cold and lonely must it be there in winter, when +even in May our teeth were chattering gayly.</p> +<p class="pnext">The visitors' book there was rather amusing.</p> +<p class="pnext">One American girl writes, with her name and +the date,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“No moon to-night, which is of course</div> +<div class="line">The driver's fault, not ours.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">“Mr. H. C.”—Black, we will call him—“walked +up from Baden the 10th of August, 1875”; and +half the people who go to Yburg walk. As <em class="italics">we</em> +had walked and never dreamed of being elated by +our prowess, Mr. Black's manner of chronicling +his feat seemed comical.</p> +<p class="pnext">You look down from the mountain into the +Affenthaler Valley, where the wine of that name +“grows.” It is a good, light wine, and healthful, +but a young person—we decided she must be a +countrywoman, because she expresses her opinion +so freely—writes in regard to it,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“Affenthaler. The drink sold under that honorable +name at this restaurant is the beastliest and +most poisonous of drinks, not absolutely undrinkable +or immediately destructive of life. Traveller, +take care. Avoid the abominable stuff. <em class="italics">Beware!</em>”</p> +<p class="pnext">Immediately following, in German, with the +gentleman's name and address, is,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“I have drunk of the Affenthaler which this +unknown English person condemns, and pronounce +it a good and excellent wine.”</p> +<p class="pnext">That Yburg by moonlight might be conducive +to softness can easily be imagined. Here is a +sweet couplet:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Let our eyes meet, and you will see</div> +<div class="line">That I love you and you love me.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">But best of all in its simplicity and strength +was “Agnes Mary Taylor, widow,” written clearly +in ink, and some wag had underscored in pencil +the last expressive word.</p> +<p class="pnext">Does the lady go over the hill and dale signing +her name always in this way? On the Yburg +mountain-top it had the effect of a great and +memorable saying, like “Veni, vidi, vici,” or “Après +nous le déluge.” Agnes Mary Taylor, <em class="italics">widow</em>. +Could anything be more terse, more deliciously +suggestive?</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="rambles-about-stuttgart"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id6"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="44" id="page-44"> </span>RAMBLES ABOUT STUTTGART</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">This letter is going to be about nothing in +particular. I make this statement with +an amiable desire to please, for so much +advice in regard to subjects comes to me, +and so many subjects previously chosen have failed +to produce, among intimate friends, the pleasurable +emotions which I had ingenuously designed, +there remains to me now merely the modest hope +that a rambling letter about things in general may +be read with patience by at least one charitable +soul. Bless our intimate friends! What would +we do without them? But aren't they perplexing +creatures, take them all in all! “Don't write +any more about peasant-girls and common things,” +says one. “Tell us about the grand people,—how +they look, what they wear, and more about the +king.” Anxious to comply with the request, I try +to recollect how the Countess von Poppendoppenheimer's +spring suit was made in order to send +home a fine Jenkinsy letter about it, when another +friend writes, “The simplest things are always +best,—the flower-girl at the corner, the ways of +the peasants, ordinary, every-day matters.” Have +patience, friends. You shall both be heard. The +Countess von Poppendoppenheimer's gown has +meagre, uncomfortable sleeves, is boned down and +tied back like yours and mine, after this present +wretched fashion which some deluded writer says +“recalls the grace and easy symmetry of ancient +Greece”; but if he should try to climb a mountain +in the overskirt of the period he would express +himself differently.</p> +<p class="pnext">As to the king, one sees him every day in the +streets, where he courteously responds to the +greetings of the people. He must be weary +enough of incessantly taking off his hat. The +younger brother of Queen Olga and of the Emperor +of Russia, the Grand Duke Michael, came +here the other day. Seeing a long line of empty +carriages and the royal coachmen in the scarlet +and gold liveries that betoken a particular occasion,—blue +being the every-day color,—we followed +the illustrious vehicles, curious to know +what was going to happen, and saw a gentlemanly-looking +blond man, in a travelling suit, welcomed +at the station by different members of the court; +while all those pleasing objects, the scarlet and +gold men, took off their hats. For the sake of the +friend who delights in glimpses of “high life,” I +regret that I have not the honor to know what +was said on this occasion, our party having been +at a little distance, and behind a rope with the rest +of the masses.</p> +<p class="pnext">But really the common people are better studies. +You can stop peasants in the street and ask +them questions, and you can't kings, you know. +Peasants just now can be seen to great advantage +at the spring fair, which with its numberless +booths and tables extends through several squares, +and to a stranger is an interesting and curious +sight. This portion of the city, where the marketplace, +the Schiller Platz, and the Stiftskirche are, +has an old, quaint effect, the Stiftskirche and the +old palace being among the few important buildings +older than the present century, while the +rest of Stuttgart is fresh and modern. From the +high tower of this old church one has the best possible +view of Stuttgart, and can see how snugly +the city lies in a sort of amphitheatre, while the +picturesque hills covered with woods and vineyards +surround it on every side. One sees the avenues +of chestnut-trees, the Königsbau, a fine, striking +building with an Ionic colonnade, the old palace +and the new one, and the Anlagen stretching away +green and lovely towards Cannstadt. On this +tower a choral is played with wind instruments at +morn and sunset, and sometimes a pious old man +passing stops to listen and takes off his hat as he +waits.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the little octagonal house up there lives a +prosperous family, a man, his wife, and ten children. +The woman, a fresh, buxom, brown-eyed goodwife, +told us she descended to the lower world hardly +once in three or four weeks, but the children didn't +mind the distance at all, and often ran up and +down twelve or fifteen times a day. How terrific +must be the shoe-bill of this family! Ten pairs +of feet continuously running up and down nearly +two hundred and sixty stone steps! She was kind +enough to show us all her <em class="italics">penates</em>,—even her +husband asleep,—and everything was homelike +and cheery up there, boxes of green things growing +in the sunshine, clothes hanging out to dry, +canary-birds singing.</p> +<p class="pnext">There is a small silver bell—perhaps a foot and +a half in diameter at the mouth—at one side +of the tower, and it is rung every night at nine +o'clock and twelve, and has been since 1348. It +has a history so long and so full of mediæval horrors, +like many other old stories in which Würtemberg +is rich, that it would be hardly fitting to +relate it <em class="italics">in toto</em>, but the main incidents are interesting +and can be briefly given.</p> +<p class="pnext">On the Bopsa Hill where now we walk in the +lovely woods, and from which the Bopsa Spring +flows, bringing Stuttgart its most drinkable water, +stood, once upon a time,—in the fourteenth century, +to be exact,—a certain Schloss Weissenburg, +about which many strange things are told. The +Weissenburgs conducted themselves at times in +a manner which would appear somewhat erratic to +our modern ideas.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the baptism of an infant daughter, Papa von +Weissenburg was killed by the falling of some +huge stag-antlers upon his head. We are glad to +read about the baptism, for later there doesn't +seem to have been a strong religious element in +the family. Shortly afterwards Rudolph, the +eldest son, was stabbed by a friend through jealousy +because young Von Weissenburg had won +the affections of the fair dame of whom both +youths were enamored. Then followed strife between +the surviving brother and the monks of +St. Leonhard, who would not allow the murdered +man to be buried in holy ground, the poor boy +having had no time to gasp out his confession and +partake of the sacrament, and they even refused +to bury him at all. Hans von Weissenburg swore +terrible oaths by his doublet and his beard, and +cursed the monks till the air was blue, and came +with his friends and followers and buried his +brother twelve feet deep directly in front of St. +Leonhard's Chapel (there is a St. Leonhard's +Church here now on the site of the old chapel), +and forbade the monks to move or insult the +body. Later, when they wished to use the land +for a churchyard, they were in a great dilemma. +Rudolph's bones they dared not move and would +not bless; at last, what did they do but consecrate +the earth only five feet deep, so the blessing would +not reach Rudolph, who lay seven feet deeper still,—and +they also insulted the grave by building +over it. Hans, on this account, slew a monk, and +was in turn killed because he had murdered a holy +man, and that was the end of <em class="italics">him</em>.</p> +<p class="pnext">There remained in the castle on the hill Mamma +von Weissenburg, or rather Von Somebodyelse, +now, for she had wept her woman's tears and married +again. When the infant daughter, Ulrike +Margarethe, whose baptism has been mentioned, +had grown to be a beautiful young woman, the +mother suddenly disappeared and never was seen +again. The daughter publicly mourned, ordered +a beacon-light to be kept continually burning at +the castle, gathered together all her silver chains +and ornaments, and had them melted into a bell, +which was hung on the castle tower, and which she +herself always rang at nine in the evening and at +midnight, for the sorrowing Ulrike said her beloved +mother might be wandering in the dense woods, +and hearing the bell might be guided by it to her +home.</p> +<p class="pnext">Ulrike was a pious person. She said her prayers +regularly, went about doing good among poor sick +people, never failed to ring the bell twice every +night, and was always mourning for her mother. +When at last she died, she gave orders that the +bell should always be rung, as in her lifetime, +from the castle; and in case the latter should be +disturbed, or unsafe, the bell was to be transferred +to the highest tower in Stuttgart. So Ulrike the +Good bequeathed large sums of silver to pay for the +fulfilment of her wishes, and died. Accordingly +the little bell was brought, in time of public disturbance, +to the small tower on the Stiftskirche +in 1377, the higher one not then existing, and in +1531 was moved to its present position.</p> +<p class="pnext">The next important item in the bell-story is +that in 1598 the Princess Sybilla, daughter of +Duke Friedrich I. of Suabia, was lost in the +woods, and, hearing the bell ring at nine, followed +the sound to the Stiftskirche, and in her gratitude +she also endowed the bell largely, declaring it +must ring at the appointed hours through all +coming time.</p> +<p class="pnext">So the little bell pealed out for many years,—just +as it does this day,—until one night, two +days after Easter, 1707, and three centuries and +a half after the death of the exemplary Ulrike, it +happened, in the course of human events, that the +man whose office it was to ring the midnight bell +was sleepy and five minutes late. Suddenly a woman's +figure draped in black, with jet-black hair +and face as white as paper, appeared before him, +and asked him why he did not do his duty. He +rang his bell, then conversed with the ghost, who +was Ulrike von Weissenburg, and obtained from +her valuable information. She must ever watch +the bell, she said, and see that it was rung at the +exact hours; and she it was who carried the light +that confused travellers and led them to destruction +near the ruins of Weissenburg Castle; and +she was altogether a most unpleasant ghost, who +could never rest while one stone of the castle remained +upon another.</p> +<p class="pnext">This was her condemnation for her evil deeds. +She had murdered her mother, for certain ugly +reasons which in the old chronicle are explicitly set +forth, and she had stabbed her two young sons of +whose existence the world had never known; and +her career was altogether as wicked as wicked could +be; but this Ulrike, like many another clever sinner, +never lost her saintly aspect before the world.</p> +<p class="pnext">They granted her rest at last by pulling down +the remaining stones of the castle, and giving +them to the wine-growers near by for foundations +for the vineyards; so now no ghost appears to +rebuke the bellringer when too much beer prolongs +his sleep. Bones were found beneath the +castle where Ulrike said she had hidden the bodies +of her mother and children, thus clearly proving, +of course, the truth of the tale. It is the +most natural thing in the world to believe in +ghosts when you read old Suabian stories. The +Von Weissenburgs seem to have been, for the age +in which they lived, a very quiet, orderly, high-toned +family.</p> +<p class="pnext">Now how do I know but that somebody will at +once write, “I don't like stories about silver bells,” +which will be very mortifying indeed, as it is evident +I consider this a good story, or I should not +take the trouble to relate it.</p> +<p class="pnext">O, come over, friends, and write the letters yourselves, +and then you will see how it is! Worst of +all is it when we write of what strikes us as comic +precisely as we mention a comic thing at home, +or of mighty potentates, giving information obtained +exclusively from German friends, and other +German friends are then displeased. But is it +worth while to resent the utterance of opinions +that do not claim to be the infallible truth of ages, +but only the hasty record of fleeting impressions? +Peace, good people; let us have no savage criticism +or shedding of blood, though we do chatter +lightly of <em class="italics">majestäte</em>, saying merely what his subjects +have told us.</p> +<p class="pnext">We are all apt to be too sensitive about our own +lands and their customs. Yet have <em class="italics">we</em> not learned +to smile quietly when we are told that American +<em class="italics">gentlemen</em> sit in drawing-rooms, in the presence of +ladies, with their feet on the mantels; that American +wives have their husbands “under the <em class="italics">pantoffel</em>” +(would that more of them had); that America has +no schools, no colleges, no manners; that American +girls are, in general, examples of total depravity; +that pickpockets and murderers go unmolested +about our streets, seeking whom they may +devour; that we have no law, no order, no morality, +no art, no poetry, no past, no anything desirable? +What can one do but smile? Smile, then, +in turn, you loyal ones, when I have the bad taste +to call ugly what you are willing to swear is +beautiful as a dream. Thoughts are free, and so +are pens; and both must run on as they will.</p> +<p class="pnext">Let me, therefore, hurt no one's feelings if I say +that Stuttgart in winter, with little sunshine, a +dreary climate, and a peculiar, disagreeable, deep +mud in the streets, does not at first impress a +stranger as an especially attractive place. But +now, with its long lines of noble chestnut-trees in +full blossom; with the pretty Schloss Platz and +the Anlagen, where fountains are playing and great +blue masses of forget-me-nots and purple pansies +and many choice flowers delight your eyes; with +the shady walks in the park, where you meet +a dreamer with his book, or a group of young +men on horseback, or pretty children by the lake +feeding the swans and ducks; with the lovely air +of spring, full of music, full of fragrance; and, +best of all, with the beauty of the surrounding +country,—he would indeed be critical who would +not find in Stuttgart a fascinating spot.</p> +<p class="pnext">There is music everywhere, there are flowers +everywhere. Your landlady hangs a wreath of +laurel and ivy upon your door to welcome you +home from a little journey, and brings you back, +when she goes to market, great bunches of sweetness,—rosebuds +and lilies of the valley. You +climb the hills and come home laden with forget-me-nots,—big +beauties, such as we never see at +home,—violets, and anemones. It has been a +cold spring here until now, but the flowers have +been brave enough to appear as usual, and, wandering +about among the distracting things with +hands and baskets as full as they will hold, a picture +of days long ago darts suddenly before me,—two +school-girls, their Virgils under their arms, +rubber boots on their feet, stumbling through +bleak, wet Maine pasture-lands, bearing spring in +their hearts, but searching for it in vain in the +outer world around them. The other girl will +rejoice to know that here I have found spring in +its true presence.</p> +<p class="pnext">And then there is May wine! Do you know +what it is, and how to make it? You must walk +several miles by a winding path along the bank +of the Neckar. You must see the crucifixes by +the wayside, and the three great blocks of stone,—two +upright and one placed across them,—making +a kind of high table, for the convenience +of the peasant-women, who can stand here, remove +from their heads their heavy baskets, rest, and replace +them without assistance. You must peep +into the tiniest of chapels, resplendent with banners +of red and gold and a profusion of fresh +flowers, all ready for the morning, which will be a +high feast-day. You must pass through a village +where women and children are grouped round the +largest, oldest well you ever saw, with a great +crossbeam and an immense bucket swinging high +in the air. And at last you must sit in a garden +on a height overlooking the Neckar. There must +be a charming village opposite, with an old, old +church, and pretty trees about you partly concealing +the ruins of some old knight's abode. Don't +you like ruins? But just enough modestly in the +background aren't so very bad. You hear the +sound of a mill behind you, and the falling of +water, and, in the branches above your head, the +joyful song of a Schwarz Kopf. And then somebody +pours a flask of white wine into a great bowl, +to which he adds bunches of Waldmeister,—a fragrant +wildwood flower,—and drowns the flowers +in the wine until all their sweetness and strength +are absorbed by it, and afterwards adds sugar and +soda-water and quartered oranges,—and the decoction +is ladled out and offered to the friends +assembled, while there is a golden sunset behind +the hills across the Neckar. And you walk back +in the twilight through the village that is so +small and sleepy it is preparing already to put +itself to bed. And the peasants you meet say, +“Grüss Gott!” “Grüss Gott!” say you, which +isn't in the least to be translated literally, and +only means “Good day,” though the pretty, old-fashioned +greeting always seems like a benediction. +You hear the vesper-bells and the organ-tones +pealing out from the chapel; you see some +real gypsies with tawny babies over their shoulders +(poor things! they will steal so that they are +allowed to remain in a village but one day at a +time, and then must move on). You feel very +bookish, everything is so new, so old, so charming,—and +that is “Mai Wein.”</p> +<p class="pnext">How it would taste at dinner with roast-beef +and other prosaic surroundings,—how it actually +did taste, I haven't the faintest idea.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="the-solitude"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id7"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="55" id="page-55"> </span>THE SOLITUDE.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">What the Germans call an <em class="italics">Ausflug</em>, or excursion, +deserves to be translated literally, +for it is often a veritable <em class="italics">flight out</em> +of the region of work and care into a +tranquil, restful atmosphere. The ease with which +middle-aged, heavy-looking men here put on their +wings, so to speak, and soar away from toil and traffic, +at the close of a long, hard day, is always marvellous, +however often we observe it. It seems a +natural and an inevitable thing for them to start +off with a chosen few, wander through lovely +woods, climb a pretty hill, watch the changing +lights at sunset over a broad valley, then return +home, talking of poets and painters, of life problems, +of whatever lies nearest the heart. Their +ledgers and stupid accounts and schemes and the +state of the markets do not fetter them as they +do our business men. Such enjoyment is so simple, +childlike, and rational, that the old question +how men accustomed to wear the harness of commercial +life will ever learn to bear the bliss of +heaven, in its conventional acceptation, seems half +solved. The Germans, at least, would be blessed +in any heaven where fair skies and hills and forests +and streams would lie before their gaze. However +inadequate their other qualifications for Elysium +may be, they excel us by far in this respect. Even +the coarser, lower men who gather in gardens to +drink unlimited beer are yet not quite unmindful +of the beauty of the trees whose young foliage +shades them, and look out, oftener than we would +be apt to give them credit for, upon the vine-clad +hills beyond the city. A friend, a prominent +banker, who is almost invariably in his garden or +some other restful spot in the free air at evening, +now goes out to Cannstadt, two miles from here, +mornings at seven, because “one must be out as +much as possible in this exquisite weather.” If +bankers and lawyers and our busiest of business +men at home would only begin and end days after +this fashion, their hearts and heads would be fresh +and strong far longer for it, that is, if they could +find rest and enjoyment so, and that is the question,—could +they? And why is it, if they cannot? +I leave the answer to wiser heads, who will +probably reply as usual, that our whole mode of +life is different, which is quite true; but why <em class="italics">need</em> +it be, in this respect, so very different? Here is a +valuable hint to some enormously wealthy person, +childless and without relatives, of course, and about +to make his will, who at this moment is considering +the comparative merits of different benevolent +schemes, and is wavering between endowing a college +and founding a hospital. Do neither, dear +sir. Take my advice, because I'm far away, and +don't know you, and am perfectly disinterested, +and, moreover, the advice is sound and good: +Make gardens and parks everywhere, in as many +towns as possible. Not great, stately parks that +will directly be fashionable, but little parks that +will be loved; and winding ways must lead to +them through woodlands, and seats and tables +must be placed in alluring spots, and all the paths +must be so seductive they will win the most inflexible, +absorbed, care-worn man of business to +tread them. Do this, have your will printed in +every newspaper in the land, and many will rise +up and call you blessed. And if you are not +so very rich, make just one small park, with +pretty walks leading to it and out of it, and say +publicly why you do it,—that people may have +more open air and rest; and if they only have +these, Nature will do what remains to be done, and +win their hearts and teach them to love her better +than now. Of course it is a well-worn theme, but +no one can live in this German land without longing +to borrow some of its capacity for taking its +ease and infuse it into the veins of nervous, hurrying, +restless America.</p> +<p class="pnext">A pleasant <em class="italics">Ausflug</em> from Stuttgart is to the Solitude, +a palace built more than a hundred years +ago by Carl Eugen, a duke of Würtemberg, whose +early life was more brilliant than exemplary. Many +roads lead to it, if not all, as to Rome. In the +fall we went through a little village,—throbbing +with the excitement of the vintage-time, resplendent +with yellow corn hanging from its small casements,—and +by pretty wood-roads, where the +golden-brown and russet leaves gleamed softly, and +the hills in the distance looked hazy, and all was +quietly lovely, though the golden glories and flaming +scarlet of our woods were not there; and where +now softly budding trees, spring air and spring +sounds, anemones and crocuses, and forget-me-nots +and Maiglöckchen, tempt one to long days of aimless, +happy wandering. On one road, the new one +by a waterfall, is the Burgher Allee, where once +the burghers came out to welcome a prince or a +duke returning from a wedding or a war, and stood +man by man where now a line of pines, planted or +set out in remembrance, commemorates the event. +If exception is taken to the uncertain style of this +narration, may I add that positiveness is not desirable +in a story for the truth of which there are no +vouchers? The idea of a prince welcomed home +from the wars is to me more impressive; but choice +in such matters is quite free.</p> +<p class="pnext">You can go to the Solitude, if you please, +through the Royal Game Park, a pretty, quiet spot, +where a broad carriage-road winds along among +noble oaks and beeches, and through the trees +peep the great, soft eyes of animals who are +neither tame nor wild, and who seem to know +that they belong to royalty and may stare at +passers-by with impunity. A superb stag stood +near the drive, gave us a lordly glance, turned +slowly, and walked with majestic composure away. +We did not interest him, but it did not occur to +him to hurry in the least on our account. We +felt that we were inferior beings, and were mortified +that we had no antlers, that we might hold +up our heads before him. Two little lakes, the +Bärensee and Pfaffensee,—the latter thick with +great reeds and rushes, and haunted by a peculiar +stillness,—invite you to lie on the soft turf, see +visions, and dream dreams. A small hunting-pavilion +stands on terraces by the Bärensee, with +guardian bears in stone before it, and antlers +and other trophies of the chase ornamenting it +within and without. It was erected in 1782, at +the time of a famous hunt in honor of the Grand +Duke Paul of Russia, afterwards emperor, who +married Sophie of Würtemberg, niece of Carl +Eugen. From all hunting-districts of the land a +noble army of stags was driven towards these +woods, encircled night and day by peasants to prevent +the animals from breaking through. The +stags were driven up a steep ascent, then forced to +plunge into the Bärensee, where they could be shot +with ease by the assembled hunters in the pavilion. +Seeing the pretty creatures now fearlessly wandering +in the sweet stillness of the park, and picturing +in contrast that scene of destruction and +butchery, it seems a pity that the grand gentlemen +of old had to take their pleasure like brutes and +pagans.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Solitude is not far from here. Built first +for a hunting-lodge between 1763 and 1767, it was +gradually improved, enlarged, and beautified, grew +into a pleasure palace, had its time of brilliant +life and of decay; and now, renovated by the +king's command, is a place where people go for +the walk and the view, and where in summer a +few visitors live quietly in pure air, and drink +milk, it being a <em class="italics">Cur-Anstalt</em>. The adjacent buildings +were used as a hospital during the late war. +The Solitude is not in itself an interesting structure; +it is in rococo style, having a large oval hall +with a high dome, adjoining pavilions, and it looks +white and gold, and bare and cold, and disappointing +to most people. There is nothing especial to +see,—a little fresco, a little old china, some immensely +rich tapestry, white satin embroidered +with gold, adorning one of those pompous, impossible +beds, in which it seems as if nobody could ever +have slept. But there is enough to feel, as there +must always be in places where the damp atmosphere +is laden with secrets a century old, and +the walls whisper strange things. There are narrow, +triangular cabinets and boudoirs with nothing +at all in them, which, however, make you feel that +you will presently stumble upon something amazing. +All of Bluebeard's wives hanging in a row +would hardly surprise one here. The place is full, +in spite of its emptiness. It seems scarcely fitting +that the many mirrors should reflect a little band +of tourists in travelling suits and with umbrellas, +instead of stately dames and cavaliers affecting +French manners and French morals, and gleaming +in satin and jewels beneath the glass chandeliers. +There is a walk, always cool even in the hottest +summer days, where in a double alley of superb +pines the company used to seek shade and rest, +and the fair ladies paced slowly up and down in +their long trains, and fluttered their fans and heard +airy nothings whispered in their ears. Wooded +slopes rise high around, and this walk, deep down +in a narrow valley, being quite invisible from the +ordinary paths, is called the Underground Way. +The breath of the old days is here especially subtle +and suggestive.</p> +<p class="pnext">The map of the place, as it was, tells of orangeries, +pleasure pavilions, rose and laurel gardens, +labyrinths, artificial lakes and islands, and many +things of whose magnificence few traces remain. +The common-looking buildings, formerly dwellings +of the cavaliers in attendance, stand in a row; +there are a few small houses with queer roofs; +the Schloss itself stands on its height in the +centre of an open space, fine old woods around, +and an unusually extended view, from its cupola, +of a broad, peaceful plain, a village or two, the +Suabian Alb to the south; a straight, white-looking +road intersects the meadows and woods, and +leads to Ludwigsburg. This road was made by +Carl Eugen, to avoid passing through Stuttgart, +his choleric highness having had a grudge against +the city at that time,—and indeed it has a spiteful +air, with its utter disregard of hills and valleys, +going straight as an arrow flies, never turning out +for obstructions any more than the haughty duke +would have turned aside for a subject. Fabulous +stories are told of the speed with which his horse's +hoofs used to clatter over this turnpike, and the +incredibly short time in which, by frequently +changing horses, he would arrive at his destination.</p> +<p class="pnext">The romantic story of Francisca von Hohenheim +and many interesting facts in Schiller's early life, +during his attendance at the Carlsschule, a famous +military academy, instituted by, and under the patronage +of, Carl Eugen, are inevitably interwoven +in any history of the Solitude; but both need more +time than can be given at the close of so hasty a +sketch. And indeed, from almost any point that +might be taken here, threads wind off into a mass +of stories and traditions far too wide-reaching to +be more than hinted at when one is only making a +little <em class="italics">Ausflug</em> and carelessly following one's will on +a fair April day.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="a-day-in-the-black-forest"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id8"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="63" id="page-63"> </span>A DAY IN THE BLACK FOREST.</a></h2> +<blockquote class="epigraph"><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Zu Hirsau in den Trümmern</div> +<div class="line">Da wiegt ein Ulmenbaum</div> +<div class="line">Frischgrünend seine Krone</div> +<div class="line">Hoch überm Giebelsaum.”</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">—<span class="small-caps">Uhland.</span></div> +</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">One of the loveliest spots in all Würtemberg +is Hirsau. It lies deep down in a +valley on the Nagold, over which is a +pretty stone bridge. High around rise +the noble pines of the Black Forest, whose impenetrable +gloom contrasts with the tender green +of spring meadows basking in the sunshine, and +makes, with the fringe of elms and birches and +willows along the banks of the stream, a most +magical effect of light and shade.</p> +<p class="pnext">Blessings on the one of us who first said, “Let +us see the old cloister at Hirsau!” An ideal spring +day, a particularly well-chosen few, a trip by rail +to Alt-Hengstett, then a long, lovely tramp over +the moss carpet of the Black Forest, inhaling the +sweet breath of the pines, finding each moment a +more exquisite flower, catching bewitching glimpses +between the trees of silver streams hurrying +along far down below us,—this is what it was +like; but the softness, the sweetness, the exhilaration +of it all is not easy to indicate. The name +itself, “Black Forest,” sounds immensely gloomy +and mysterious. Goblins and witches and shrieks +and moans and pitfalls and all uncanny weird +things haunted the Black Forest of which we used +to read years ago. And what does it mean to us +now? Magnificent old woods, paths that beckon +and smile, softly whispering, swaying tree-tops, +turf like velvet, sunlight playing fitfully among +the stately pines, seeking entrance where it may, +and air that must bring eternal youth in its caresses. +It means forgetfulness of trammels and +all sordid, petty things, and being in tune with +the harmonies of nature. It means freedom and +peace; a “temple,” indeed, with the pines continually +breathing their sweet incense and singing +their sacred chants. There were in our party a +professor or two, more than one poet,—indeed, it +is said every other man in Suabia is a poet,—and +a world-renowned art scholar and critic. They +shook the dust of every-day life from their feet, +and were happy as boys; one of them lay among +the daisies, smiling like a child with the pure delight +of living in such air and amid such peaceful +beauty.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the little <em class="italics">Gasthaus</em> in Hirsau, with the sign +of the swan, we refreshed ourselves after our +tramp. It is remarkable that poets, like clergymen, +must also eat. After a few merry, graceful toasts +and cooling draughts of the pleasant <em class="italics">Landwein</em>, we +went to the cloister ruins. The work of excavation +is still going on, much that we saw being but +recently brought to the light. There were a few +massive old walls at wide distances apart; the +pavement of the aisles quite grass-grown between +the low, broad, gray stones; fair fields of tall grass +bright with daisies and buttercups, and starry +white flowers,—a fascinating mass of variegated +brightness, catching the sunshine and swaying in +the breeze; a row of fine old Gothic windows; a +tower in the Romanisch style of the twelfth century, +which we, I believe, call Norman; a deep +cellar where the monks of old stored their wines. +Up a flight of stairs is a great bare room, where +against the walls stand heavy wooden cases with +carved borders, and in the ceiling is the same +quaint carving slightly raised on a darker ground.</p> +<p class="pnext">The whole effect of the ruins conveys the idea +of immense size. The church was, indeed, the +largest in Germany except the cathedral at Ulm. +It is here an unusually lovely, peaceful scene. The +cloister ruins would be, anywhere, picturesque and +interesting in themselves; lying as they do above +the village, framed by the beautiful Schwarzwald, +they form a picture not easily forgotten. No far-extending +view, nothing grand or imposing, only +the exquisite, peaceful picture shut in by the dark-green +hills; quaint homes nestling among rosy +apple-blossoms; the great gray stone Brünnen, +where for years and years maidens have come to fill +their buckets and chat in the twilight after the +day's work is done; the Nagold, silver in the sunlight; +the cloister, with its old-time traditions,—all +so very, very far from the madding crowd.</p> +<p class="pnext">And the sweet legend of the origin of the cloister +should be sung or spoken as one sees the picture: +How there was, in the year 645, a rich, +pious widow, a relative of the knight of Calb, +named Helizena, who was childless, and who had +but one wish, namely, to devote herself to the service +of God. She constantly prayed that God +would open to her a way acceptable in his sight. +Once in a dream she saw in the clouds a church, +and below in a lovely valley three beautiful fir-trees +growing from one stem; and from the clouds +issued a voice telling her that her prayer was heard, +and that wherever she should find the plain with +the three fir-trees she was to erect a church, the +counterpart of that which she saw in the clouds. +Awaking, the good Helizena, with holy joy and +deep humility, took a maid and two pages and +ascended a mountain from whose summit she +could see all the surrounding country, and presently +espied the quiet plain and the three firs +of her dream. Hurrying to the spot, weeping +for joy, she laid her silken raiment and jewels +at the foot of the tree, to signify that from that +moment she consecrated herself and all she possessed +to the work. In three years the beautiful +cloud-church stood in stone in the fair valley, +and afterwards, in 838, a cloister was erected +with the aid of Count Erlafried of Calb. Under +Abbot Wilhelm, in 1080, it was at the height +of its prosperity, and was the model of peace +and goodly living among all the other Benedictine +monasteries. The abbot gathered so many monks +about him that the cloister at last grew too narrow, +and he resolved to build a more spacious one. +This was indeed a labor of love, and the work was +done entirely by his own people, his monks and +laity. Noble lords and ladies helped to bring wood +and stone and prepared mortar in friendly intercourse +with peasants, their wives and daughters,—such +zeal and Christian love did the abbot instil +into the hearts of his flock. It is the ruins of this +cloister which we see to day.</p> +<p class="pnext">An old German chronicle represents the place as +little less than an earthly paradise:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="pfirst">“There was here a band of two hundred and sixty, full +of love for God and one another. No discussion could +be found there, no discontented faces. Everything was +in common. No one had the smallest thing for himself; +indeed, no one called anything his own. Each went +about his work in sweet content; of disobedience no +one even knew. Not only was there no rebuke and +angry word, but also no idle, frivolous, mirth-provoking +talk. Among this great mass of men within the +cloister walls could be heard only the voices of the singers +and of them who knelt in prayer, and the sounds +that came from the busy workrooms.”</p> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">These monks used to write much about music +and poetry, and many learned, strong men were +gathered there. The cloister was full of pictures, +and the <em class="italics">Kreuzgang</em> had forty richly painted windows, +with biblical scenes. A story is told of an +old monk, Adelhard, who was twenty-three years +blind, and received in his latter days the gift of +second-sight. He foretold the day and hour of his +death three years before it occurred, and also the +destruction of the monastery.</p> +<p class="pnext">As Körner's poem says:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="pfirst">“In the cells and apartments sit fifty brothers writing +many books, spiritual, secular, in many languages,—sermons, +histories, songs, all painted in rich colors.</p> +<p class="pnext">“In the last cell towards the north sits a white-haired +old man, leans his brow upon his hand, and +writes, ‘The enemy's hordes will break in, in seven +years, and the cloister walls will be in flames.’”</p> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">Whether the old gray monk was ever there or +not, at least we know that the French, in 1692, +destroyed the beautiful cloister, and its paintings +and carvings and works of art were all lost, except +some of the stained glass, a few of its painted +windows being at Monrepos, near Ludwigsburg.</p> +<p class="pnext">The famous Hirsau elm, about which half the +German poets have sung, is the most significant, +touching, poetical thing imaginable. You feel its +whole life-story in an instant, as if you had watched +its growth through the long years; how the +young thing found itself, it knew not why, springing +up in the damp cloister earth, surrounded by +four tall, cold, gray walls, above which indeed was +a glimpse of heaven; how it shot up and up, ever +higher and higher, with the craving of all living +things for sunlight and free air, never putting +forth leaf or twig until it had attained its hope +and could rest. Within the high walls is only the +strong, tall, bare trunk, and far above, free and +triumphant, the noble crown of foliage.</p> +<p class="pnext">Brave, beautiful elm, that dared to grow, imprisoned +in cruel stone; that did not faint and die +before it reached the longed-for warmth and light +and sweetness!</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="the-lenninger-thal"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id9"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="69" id="page-69"> </span>THE LENNINGER THAL.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Pilgrims were we recently, making a +day's journey, not to gaze upon bones, +rusty relics, and mouldy garments, but +to see something fresh, fair, and altogether +adorable,—the cherry-trees of the Lenninger +Thal in full blossom. From Stuttgart we +went by rail to Kirchheim unter Teck, a railway +terminus, where we were shown the palace occupied +by Franciska von Hohenheim after the death +of Herzog Carl, and a Denkmal erected to Conrad +Widerhold, that brave and very obstinate German +hero who held the famous Hohentwiel fortress +against the enemy, when even his own duke, +Eberhard III., had ordered him to surrender it. +Widerhold and his wife stand side by side, and you +must look twice before you can tell which is the +warrior. Kirchheim lies prettily in the Lauter +Thal among the mountains. From there in an +open carriage we drove on into the charming Lenninger +Valley, one of the most beautiful in the +Alb, with the whole landscape smiling benignly +beneath a wonderful sky, and air deliciously pure +and soft; past little brooks where the young, tender +willows were beginning to leave out, through +the little village of Dettingen, on and on over the +broad <em class="italics">chaussée</em>, until we were fairly among the +cherry-orchards. Bordering the road, running far +back on the hill-slopes, shadowy, feathery, exquisite, +the snowy blossoms lay before our eyes, with +the range of the Suabian Alb beyond, and many a +peak and ruin old in story. This was the fresh +morning of a perfect spring day, where the peace +and loveliness of the scene—the fields of pure +whiteness reaching out on both sides of us, with +now and then a dash of pink from the rosy apple-blossoms—made +us feel that a special blessing had +fallen upon us as devotees at the shrine of Ceres. +At evening, returning by another route, with the +varying lights and golden bars and heavy, piled-up +purple cloud-masses in the western sky, it was +lovely with yet another loveliness. The same +mountains showed us other outlines and assumed +new expressions, and bold, proud Teck rose from +the foam of blossoms at its feet, like a stern rock +towering above surging waters.</p> +<p class="pnext">One of our experiences that day was becoming +acquainted with Owen. Owen is not a man, as +you may imagine, but only a very little village +with crooked streets and queer old women, and +that curious aspect to all its belongings which +never grows less curious to some of us, though we +ought to have become unmindful of it long ago. +Owen is picturesque and dirty. “Ours at home +aren't half so dirty or half so nice,” we endeavor +to explain to our German friends.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the inn where we drew up we were received +by an admiring group of children,—three yellow +heads rising above three great armfuls of wood, of +the weight of which the little things seemed utterly +unconscious in the excitement of seeing us. They +stood, one above the other, on the dilapidated, +crazy stone steps, while a bushy dog, whose hair +looked as yellow and sun-faded as the children's, +also made “great eyes” at us from the lowest +stone. Out came mine host, and cleared away +children and dog and woodpiles in a twinkling. +This flattering reception occurred at the Krone. +A large gilt crown adorned with what small boys +at home call “chiney alleys” makes a fine appearance +above these same tumble-down steps; and +directly beside them is a great barn-door, so near +that you might easily mistake one entrance for the +other and wander in among the beasties; and +benign Mistress Cow was serenely chewing her +cud in her boudoir under the front stairs, we observed +as we entered the house.</p> +<p class="pnext">Let no one faint when I say we ate our dinner +here. Indeed, we have eaten in much worse places, +and the dinner was far better than we thought +could be evolved from a house with so many +idiosyncrasies, so very prominent barn-door qualities, +such mooings and lowings in undreamed-of +corners and at unexpected moments. However, we +experienced an immense lightening of the spirits +when trout were served, for it seemed as if we +knew what this dish at least was made of. They +were pretty silvery things with red spots, and had +just been gleaming in the brook near by, beneath +elms and birches and baby willows, and now they +were butchered to make our holiday.</p> +<p class="pnext">The little restored Gothic church at Owen is +more than a thousand years old, and its walled +Kirchhof recalls the times when the villagers with +their wives and children sought refuge here from +the descent of robber knights. The dukes of +Teck are buried within the church, and their +arms and those of other old families, with quaint +inscriptions about noble and virtuous dames, are +interesting to decipher. The prettiest thing in +the church was a spray of ivy which had crept +through a hole in the high small-paned window, +completely ivy-covered without, and came seeking +something within the still stone walls, reaching +out with all its tendrils, and seemed like the little, +adventurous bird that flutters in through a church +window on a hot summer afternoon, and makes a +sleepy congregation open its heavy eyes.</p> +<p class="pnext">The altar-pictures are edifying works of art. +Behind the little group in the “Descent from the +Cross” rise a range of hills that look astonishingly +like the Suabian Alb, with a genuine old German +fortress perching on a prominent peak. Saint +Lucia is also an agreeable object of contemplation, +with a sword piercing her throat up to the hilt, +the blade coming through finely on the other side, +while her mildly folded hands, smirking of superior +virtue and perfect complacency, make her as winning +as a saint of her kind can be.</p> +<p class="pnext">Beyond Owen is the Wielandstein, or a Wielandstein +I should perhaps say, for Wielandsteins +are as common in Germany as lovers' leaps in +America; and the story is always how the cruel +king murdered the wife and children of Wieland +the smith and took him captive, granting him his +life merely because of his skill in fashioning wonderful +things from metals, but imprisoning him +and maiming his feet that he might never escape. +Wieland lived some time at court, and grew in +favor with the king on account of his deft hands +and clever designs. At length the king's young +sons were missing and could not be found, though +they were searched for many days, and the king +was anxious and sorrowful. Then Wieland presented +him with two beautiful golden cups, at the +sight of which the king was so pleased that he +gave a feast; and as he was drinking from the +golden bowls and feasting with his nobles, Wieland +flew away by means of two great golden wings he +had for a long time been secretly fashioning, and, +poising himself in mid-air, cried to the horrified +king that he was drinking from the skulls of his +sons, whom he, Wieland, had murdered out of revenge. +The people shot many arrows after him, +but he soared away unharmed, his golden wings +gleaming in the sunlight until he disappeared behind +the hills.</p> +<p class="pnext">The ruin of the old Teck castle is in this neighborhood, +and the <em class="italics">Sybillen Loch</em>, a grotto where a +celebrated witch used to dwell, who differed from +her species in general, inasmuch as she was a <em class="italics">good</em> +witch. The old chronicles say she was an exemplary +person, always delighting in good deeds. +Her sons, however, were bad, quarrelled, stole from +the world and one another, and even, upon one +occasion, from her, and then ran away. Sybilla in +her fiery chariot went in pursuit, and to this day a +fair, bright stripe over orchard, field, and vineyard, +always fresher and greener than the surrounding +country, marks her course. How a fiery chariot +could produce this beautifying effect is not to be +questioned by an humble individual whose home is +in a land where ruined castles and legend upon +legend <em class="italics">do not</em> rise from every hill-top. Another +story is that the fertile stripe was made by Sybilla's +chariot-wheels, as she left forever the family to +which she had always belonged. The last duke of +Teck lay after a battle resting under a tree, and saw +her passing with averted face, his arms lying at her +feet, while she extended a stranger's in her hands, +which signified ruin to his house; and the prophecy +was fulfilled, for the duke outlived his twelve sons, +and his arms and title were adopted by the counts +of Würtemberg, who then became dukes of Würtemberg +and Teck. All these interesting things +are visible to the naked eye. The fresh green +stripe is unmistakable; and the point in the air +where Wieland hovered on his golden wings above +the cliff can easily be discerned with a very little +imagination.</p> +<p class="pnext">A visit to a typical Suabian pastor, in another +little village on this road, was a pleasant episode. +A hale, handsome old gentleman of seventy, with +a small black cap on his silvery locks and an inveterate +habit of quoting Greek, looking at us with +a simple, childlike air, as if we too were learned. +His house has stone floors, low square rooms, severely +simple in their appointments. The arms of +a bishop of some remote century are on the inner +wall by the front entrance, and a little farther on +is an aperture, through which the cow of the olden +time was wont to placidly gaze out upon hurrying +retainers. The cow of that period seems to have +had comfortable apartments in the middle of the +house. The Suabian cow of the present time +earns her hay by the sweat of her brow, toiling in +the fields.</p> +<p class="pnext">The good old pastor has a love amounting to +adoration for his garden, every inch of which he +has worked over and beautified, till it seems to be +the expression of all the poetry and romance which +the outward conditions of his frugal, rigid life repress. +Full of nooks and arbors, comfortable low +chairs and benches, where the blue forget-me-nots +look as if they bloom indeed for happy lovers; trees +whose great drooping branches close around retreats +which can only be designed for tender <em class="italics">tête-à-têtes</em>; +irregular little paths, wandering up and down +and about, always ending in something delightful, +always beckoning, inviting, smiling, amid flowers +and foliage so fresh and luxuriant, you feel that +every petal and leaf is known and loved by the +white-haired old man. His favorite seat is at the +end of a narrow, winding way at the foot of a magnificent +elm. There he sits and looks, over the +brook that sings to his sweet roses and pansies, +upon broad meadow-lands and fields of grain extending +to the Suabian hills, with their wealth +of beauty and meaning and tradition. He sleeps +and rests and thinks there after dinner, he tells +us, and perhaps that is all; but I believe, when +the old man is gone, a volume of manuscript +poems will be discovered hidden away among his +sermons and Greek tomes,—a volume of love +poems, sonnets, dreamings of all that his life +crowds out into his garden, and that only in his +garden he has been able to express,—all the unspoken +sweetness, all the unsung songs.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="franciska-von-hohenheim"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id10"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="77" id="page-77"> </span>FRANCISKA VON HOHENHEIM.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Paracelsus +Bombastus is a personage whom +we know, it must be confessed, more +through the medium of Robert Browning +than through our own historical researches; +and we were therefore filled with wonder to learn +that, in addition to the modest cognomen above, <em class="italics">de +Hohenheim</em> also belonged to his name. This same +Hohenheim we have recently visited. Paracelsus +never lived there, to be sure, and was born far away +in Switzerland. Browning puts him in Würzburg, +in Alsatia, in Constantinople; and a solid German +authority declares he lived in Esslingen, where +his laboratory is still exhibited, and in proof mentions +that in this neighborhood was, not many +years ago, a Weingärtner whose name was Bombastes +von Hohenheim, a descendant of Paracelsus. +However, he lived nowhere, everywhere, and anywhere, +I presume, as best suited such a conjurer, +alchemist, philosopher, and adventurer, and went +wandering about from land to land, remaining in +one place so long as the people would have faith +in his learning, his incantations and magic arts; +but what concerns us now is simply that he was +connected with the Hohenheim family, who, in the +old days, occupied the estate which still bears its +name.</p> +<p class="pnext">To Hohenheim is a pleasant walk or drive, as +you please, from Stuttgart. A castle, adjacent +buildings, lawns, and fruit-trees are what there is +to see at the first glance,—at the second, many +practical things in the museum connected with +the Agricultural College, which is what Hohenheim +at present is; models, and collections of +stones and birds and beasts, bones and skeletons, +and other uncanny objects, pretty woods, grain, +seeds, etc. Students from the ends of the earth +come here, and from all ranks,—sons of rich peasants +and also young men of family. An Hungarian +count is here at present, and youths from +Wallachia, Russia, Sweden, America, Australia, +Spain, Italy, and Greece,—China too, for all I +know to the contrary,—with of course many Germans, +learning practical and theoretical farming. +We sat under the pear-trees which were showering +white blossoms around us, ate our supper to fortify +us for our homeward walk, watched the sheep +come home and the students walking in from the +fields with their oxen-carts. They wore blue +blouses and high boots, and cracked their long +whips with a jaunty air, more like Plunket in +“Martha” than veritable farmers. From the balcony +opening from the largest <em class="italics">salon</em> we looked +upon pretty woods, and the whole chain of the Suabian +Alb, with Lichtenstein, Achalm, and other +points of interest to be studied through a telescope.</p> +<p class="pnext">This is, then, what Hohenheim now is,—a place +where you go and look about a little, walk through +large empty halls and long corridors affording +glimpses of the simple quarters of the students, +see a pleasant landscape, and, in short, enjoy an +hour of unquestionably temperate pleasure. What +it was as the seat of the Hohenheim family, which +is mentioned as early as the year 1100, we do not +know; but under Duke Carl Eugen of Würtemberg, +in the last century, it was a sort of Versailles, +if all accounts be true: magnificent parks +and gardens, Roman ruins near Gothic towers and +chapels, Egyptian pyramids and Swiss châlets, +catacombs, artificial waterfalls, baths, hothouses, +grottos with Corinthian pillars, a Flora temple +with lovely arabesques on its silver walls, and the +palace itself, rising proud and stately at the end of +the park, furnished with every luxury, and filled +with rare vases and pictures. Four colossal statues +stand now in one of the halls, arrayed in garments +which, in that freer time, they certainly could not +boast. The raiment is of cloth, dipped, stiffened +so that it resembles marble, unless you examine +it too closely. No doubt it is more agreeable that +those huge figures are somewhat clothed upon, but +it does seem too absurd to think of ordering a new +coat for “Apollo” when his old one gets shabby. +Making minute investigations, we discovered he +had already had several, wearing the last one outside +of the others, as if to protect himself from +the inclemency of the weather.</p> +<p class="pnext">All the old magnificence was lavished by Herzog +Carl upon Franciska von Hohenheim,—his +“Franzel,” as he called her in the soft Suabisch,—whose +most romantic story is, <em class="italics">par excellence</em>, the +thing of interest here, and the Suabians must love +it, they tell it so very often.</p> +<p class="pnext">From many narratives I gather the life-story of +a woman who, in spite of the stain upon her name, +is deeply revered in Würtemberg for her strong, +sweet influence upon its wild duke, for her wisdom +and gentleness, and the good that through her +came upon the realm.</p> +<p class="pnext">She was a daughter of the Freiherr von Bernardin, +a noble of ancient family and limited income. +Franciska lived far removed from the gayety of +courts, of which she and her sisters in their castle +near Aalen rarely heard. When she was scarcely +sixteen her father gave her hand to a Freiherr von +Leutrum, a fussy, stuffy old man, who wrapped +himself in furs even in summer, and was so conspicuously +ugly the boys in the street would mock +at him when he stood at his window. His great +head, on a broad, humped back, scarcely reached +the sill.</p> +<p class="pnext">In addition, a small intellect, hot temper, and +suspicious nature made him yet more of a monster; +but Franciska was poor, and it appears it +was considered then, as it would be now, a good +match, as Von Leutrum was of an old family and +rich. Whether the historians paint him blacker +than he deserves in order to make Franciska white +in contrast, is not easy to say. It certainly has +that effect occasionally, however. Beauty, then, +married the Beast. In 1770 Herzog Carl Eugen +came to Pforzheim, where the nobles of the neighborhood, +among them Baron von Leutrum, with +his young wife, assembled to form his court.</p> +<p class="pnext">Franciska was no famous beauty. She had, +however, a tall, graceful figure, rich blond hair, +and was very winning with her fresh, joyful ways, +and a certain indescribable sweetness and gentleness +of manner. The duke, from the first, singled +her out by marked attention, which undoubtedly +flattered her, coming from so famous, clever, and +fascinating a man; and it is also probable that she +made no especial effort to repulse the homage in +which she could see no harm. He was then forty-two,—a +man of stately beauty, one of the most +renowned European princes of that time, with a +strong and highly cultivated intellect, and of most +winning manners where he cared to please. It +also appears he could be a bear, a savage, and a +tyrant when he willed.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was, then, scarcely surprising that a girl married +at sixteen to a fossil like Leutrum, who neglected +and abused her, should be bewildered by +the distinguished attention offered by her prince. +Meanwhile Leutrum waxed more and more jealous, +until one day in a rage, on account of remarks of +the courtiers, he struck his wife in the face.</p> +<p class="pnext">The duke, furious at this, insisted upon taking +Franciska under his protection. But she, though +agonized with fear and abhorrence of her husband, +yet knowing too well her feeling for the duke, chose +to leave the court at once and return with Leutrum +to their castle.</p> +<p class="pnext">Carl Eugen, never scrupulous as to means when +he had anything to gain, caused a wheel of Leutrum's +coach to be put into a state of precarious +weakness, so that, going through some woods not +far from Pforzheim, the carriage broke down, when +the duke appeared, rode off with the trembling, +miserable, happy Franciska, leaving Von Leutrum +alone with his broken carriage and his rage.</p> +<p class="pnext">The duke had been married for political reasons +at eighteen to a princess of Bavaria, with whom +he had lived but a year or two, their natures being +strongly incompatible. He, however, a Roman +Catholic, could not free himself from his first +marriage until the death of his wife released him +in 1784, when he married Franciska.</p> +<p class="pnext">The remarkable thing in her history is, that the +voice of no contemporary is raised against her. +Noble ladies of unblemished name visited her as +“Gräfin von Hohenheim,” and all testimony unites +in praising her wisdom, sweetness, and grace, and +her almost miraculous influence for good upon the +duke.</p> +<p class="pnext">“He found in her womanly grace and devoted +love, the deepest appreciation of the beautiful and +good, exquisite taste and tact, a strong, warm interest +in his career and calling, wise counsel given +in her soft, womanly words, and a heart for his +people.</p> +<p class="pnext">“In love and sorrow, in matters earnest and +light, in his difficult affairs of state, in enjoyment +of the beautiful in art and nature, she was ever +by his side, filled with perfect appreciation of all +that moved him.”</p> +<p class="pnext">She taught him gradually his duty towards his +folk, which the wild, haughty duke had sadly ignored, +and she, herself, was always loved and +revered by them.</p> +<p class="pnext">She was graceful and sparkling in society, not +wearing her sorrows upon her sleeve, but in her +private life and letters are marks of lifelong grief.</p> +<p class="pnext">“If I could tell you my whole story,” she writes +to a friend in 1783, “if you could know the solemnity +and repentance with which I look back +upon it, you would withhold from me neither your +pity nor your prayers.... Had I had in my +sixteenth year, when, utterly inexperienced, I entered +society with not the slightest knowledge of +the world, left entirely to myself, surrounded by +scenes whose meaning I could not grasp,—had I +then had one true friend to warn me, to advise +me; had his reason, his heart, his pureness of +deed, inspired my respect and trust, indeed—indeed—I +might have been a better woman.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Later, after a delightful evening at the Princess +of Dessau's, where Lavater also was, she wrote:—</p> +<p class="pnext">“I was inexpressibly moved by your assurance +that you thought of me in this circle. Could I +have felt worthier of such society, the pleasure +would undoubtedly have been more unalloyed. +But, as it was—Still I must not complain.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Such, briefly, is her story. She lived with the +duke at the Solitude as well as here, and Hohenheim +he made for her as beautiful as a fairy palace. +He troubled neither her nor himself with scruples. +His conscience was, indeed, not tender, and his life +with her was unquestionably so innocent and +idyllic in comparison with his mad past, that, to +him at least, it no doubt seemed blameless. He +loved her faithfully till his death, wrote to her +when absent for a day or two as his good angel, +with utter reverence as well as tenderest love. +The proud respected her; the poorest and humblest +came to her with their wants and sorrows.</p> +<p class="pnext">She died in 1811 in her small, quiet court at +Kirchheim unter Teck, where she had resided after +the death of the duke; but her story and the remembrance +of her eventful life will always haunt +quiet Hohenheim, and invest it with a romance it +cannot otherwise claim for itself.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="nuremberg-the-ancient"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id11"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="85" id="page-85"> </span>“NUREMBERG THE ANCIENT.”</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">The breeze of morning stole in and kissed +our cheeks and whispered, “You have +a day and a half to spend in dear, +delicious old Nuremberg,—be up and +doing!” Only a day and a half, and yet how infinitely +better than no day at all there! We +came, we saw, and were conquered, even by the +huge knockers with bronze wreaths of Cupids and +dragons' heads, the ornate, intricate locks, the +massive doors, before we were within the portals +of those proud patrician palaces with their stately +inner courts and galleries, their frescos, painted +windows and faded tapestries, time-stained grandeur, +and all their relics of mediæval magnificence.</p> +<p class="pnext">O, we stretched our day and a half well, and +filled it full of treasures, and our hearts with +lovely thoughts and pictures of the unique old +town, its high quaint gables, stone balconies, beautiful +fountains, double line of walls, and seventy +sentinel towers; its castle and wide moat, where +now great trees grow and prim little gardens; its +arched bridges and streams, with shadows of the +drooping foliage on the banks; its oriel windows; +its narrow, shady ways and odd corners; its memories +of Albrecht Dürer and Hans Sachs, of Kaiser +and knight and Meistersinger,—its Nurembergishness!</p> +<p class="pnext">The St. Lorenz Church was our first halting-place. +The whole world knows that its portal and +painted windows are beautiful, and that it retains +all the rich old objects of the Roman ritual; that +being the condition under which Nuremberg +pranced over in a twinkling to Protestantism, and +people were ordered by the municipal authorities +to believe to-day what they had disbelieved yesterday; +and most of the world, perhaps, has seen +the tabernacle for the vessels of the sacrament, +but they who have not can never know from words +how it rests on the bowed forms of its sculptor, +Adam Kraft, and his two pupils and assistants, and +rises like frozen spray sixty-four feet in the choir, +with the warm light from the painted windows +coloring its exquisite traceries and carvings. It +looks like a holy thought or a hymn of praise +caught in stone, aspiring heavenwards.</p> +<p class="pnext">We saw there heavy gold chalices from old, old +times, and some Gobelin tapestry only recently +discovered hidden away; one scene represented +the weighing of the soul of St. Lawrence to see if +it were too light for heaven. The saint's soul had +a shape, in fact was an infant's body, and the Devil +was crouching near by, and St. Lawrence, full-grown, +stood waiting, anxious to know his fate.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then came a few hours in the German Museum, +where, as usual in such places, the weary lagged +behind, the elegant looked <em class="italics">blasé</em>, the contrary-minded +saw the wrong thing first, the energetic +pushed valiantly on, striving to see all and remember +all, from earliest forms of sculpture down +through the ages,—all the gold and silver and +carvings and costumes, the immense square green +stoves, with the warm, cosy seat for the old grandmother +in the corner; to glance at rare old lace +without neglecting the ancient caps and combs and +gewgaws; to look long at a few of the pictures,—the +great one of Dürer's, “Otto at the Grave of +Charlemagne,” is here, you know,—and so our +straggling party wandered on through corridor +and chamber and staircase, past knights in effigy, +some of whom looked like such jolly old souls, with +gallons of wine beneath their breastplates, past a +memorial tablet to a baby prince who died dim +ages ago, to whom a small death-angel is offering +an apple; and then, after seeing the bear, who +guards a glass case of precious things in gold and +silver, lowered down to his domain every night, +and after sprinkling beer on his nose to see if he +were of German parentage, we gathered ourselves +together and wondered if we quite liked museums. +You see so much more than you can comprehend; +you see so much more than you want to see; you +feel so astoundingly ignorant; you have information +thrust upon you so ruthlessly. One wilful +maiden says, “I'll go and live on a desert island, +provided no one will show me an object of interest.” +Then in the shady cloisters we drank foaming +beer with our German friends, and gathered +strength for our next onslaught; and I beg no +one to be captious about the length and out-of-breath +character of this paragraph, for it is quite +in keeping with our Nuremberg visit, with worlds +to see in a little day and a half.</p> +<p class="pnext">There was the old Rath Haus with the Dürer +frescos and the Dürer house and pictures, which +everybody mentions; and the rude, dark little den +of a kitchen, which nobody to my knowledge has +ever deigned to mention, where Mrs. Xantippe +Dürer used to rattle her sauce-pans and scold her +<em class="italics">Mann</em>. There was the Fraumkirche and St. Sebald, +rich in painted windows and sculpture. In one +room, so rich and dark with its oak wainscoting +and Gobelin tapestry, we involuntarily searched +behind the arras for Polonius, and then stared +silently and felt quite flippant before the antique +candelabra and Persian rugs and hopelessly indescribable +ever-to-be-coveted furniture within those +memory-laden walls. An antique, impressive writing-table +was a model of rich, quaint beauty. +Poems and romances would feel proud and pleased +to simply write themselves under its ægis, and +what a delicious aroma of the past would cling to +them!</p> +<p class="pnext">We visited the castle, of course, and streams of +information about the Hohenzollerns were poured +upon us. We were wicked enough to enjoy ourselves +particularly among the instruments of torture,—exhibited +by the jolliest, fattest, most <em class="italics">debonair</em> +Mrs. Jarley in the world. She regaled us +with awful tales, that sounded worse than the +“Book of Martyrs,” and we were not disgusted, +neither did we faint or scream. There was a +lamentable want of feeling, and a marked inclination +to laugh prevailed in our party. Indeed, we +saw some sweet things there,—a hideous dragon's +head, worn by women who beat their husbands; +a kind of yoke in which two quarrelsome women +were harnessed; a huge collar, with a bell attached, +for gossips; and an openwork iron mask, +with a great protruding, rattling tongue, for inveterate +slanderers. We made liberal proposals +to our jolly show-woman for a few of these articles, +thinking we might be able to send them where +they were needed, and strongly inclined to favor +their readoption. An iron nose a foot long was +worn by thieves, and the article stolen hung on +the end of it.</p> +<p class="pnext">It is grievous to think there will come a time +when people who visit Nuremberg will see no +walls and towers and moats. They are pulling +down the walls at present, for they are as inconvenient +as they are picturesque. Heavy teams +and people on foot seeking egress and ingress at +one time through the narrow passages in the massive +structure, the city cramped, its growth retarded, +dangerous accidents, as well as the most +reasonable grounds in a commercial point of view, +lead the wise to destroy something selfish tourists +would fain preserve intact. But “if I were king +of France, or, still better, pope of Rome,” or emperor +of Germany, I'd let the commerce go elsewhere +where there is room for it, and guard old +Nuremberg jealously as a precious, beautiful memorial +and heirloom from ancestors who have slept +for centuries.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Johannes Cemetery here is the only lovely +one I have yet seen in Germany. It is not beautiful +in itself, as our cemeteries are; but the solemnity, +the dignity of death is here, and no gaudy +colors and tinsel wreaths jar upon your mood and +pain you. Only great flat, gray stones, tablets +with the arms in bronze of the old Nuremberg +patricians, tell us wanderers who lies beneath. It +was like a solemn poem to be there deciphering +the proud armorial bearings on the great blocks +placed there centuries ago, and the sweet-brier +blooming all around with such an unconscious air +on its pale pink blossoms, like fair young faces. +One of Columbus's crew lies there. So many old +names and dates!</p> +<p class="pnext">We plucked a few leaves from Dürer's grave:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“<em class="italics">Emigravit</em> is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies,</div> +<div class="line">Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies;</div> +<div class="line">Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair,</div> +<div class="line">That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="some-wurtemberg-towns"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id12"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="91" id="page-91"> </span>SOME WÜRTEMBERG TOWNS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">The gardener gave it to the milkmaid and +the milkmaid gave it to the errand-boy, +the errand-boy gave it to the cook, who +gave it to the head-waiter, who sold it +to the individual who presented it to me. “It” +was a bunch of great, sweet, half-blown June +roses, that hung glowing on their stalks in their +native garden at dawn, and before noon had experienced +this life of change and adventure. It all +happened in Wasseralfingen, a little town, where +nothing else so momentous occurred during our +brief visit, because it was Sunday, but where +usually the celebrated iron-works make an immense +disturbance, and interest visitors of a practical +turn of mind. Our German friends bewailed +the absence of the noise of the machinery on our +account; believing that every American is born +with a passionate devotion to mechanics, which +increases through life, to the exclusion of a love of +the beautiful. Recently, after relating a romantic +story about a place on the Rhine, a German gentleman +concluded his tale of love and chivalry by +telling us that the Princess Somebody had established +a girls' school there,—“which will interest +you as Americans more than the story,” he added, +with perfect honesty and naïveté.</p> +<p class="pnext">“And why?” we meekly ask.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Because Americans are practical and like useful +things,” he responds cheerfully, with as thorough +a conviction as if he had said that two and +two made four.</p> +<p class="pnext">We made no useless effort to induce him to believe +that the thought of sixty or eighty bread-and-butter +misses does not enhance for us the +charm of a tradition-haunted spot, nor did we +struggle to impress our friends' minds in Wasseralfingen +that its Sabbath stillness was more +agreeable to us than the stir and rush of the +works. There are some fixed ideas in the mind +of the average German which a potent hand ought +to seize and shake out. “Why don't you write +letters to Germans about America, instead of to +Americans about Germany?” suggests a clever +German friend. “They seem to be more needed.” +It might really be worth while if Teutonic tenacity +of opinion were not too huge a thing for a feeble +weapon to slay.</p> +<p class="pnext">To return to our Wasseralfingen,—most curious +name!—it was pretty enough to look upon, as +indeed most places in Würtemberg are. It has +its nicely-laid-out little park or <em class="italics">Anlagen</em>, with a +statue in the middle of it; and this is what small +manufacturing towns at home are not apt to waste +much time upon, unfortunately for their children +and their children's children. An inn nestled +among the trees, with irregular wings and low, +broad roofs, and a very broad landlord, who looked +like a beer-mug, gave us comfortable shelter for a +night, and supper and breakfast in its garden,—supper +with lights and pipes and beer-bottles, and +cheerful conversation all around.</p> +<p class="pnext">A short trip by rail brought us to Heidenheim, +past fields of waving grain and pretty hills, shadows +of great trees falling on velvety meadows, oats +rising and falling like billows in the morning breeze, +and scarlet seas of poppies. Never anywhere have +I seen such a glory of poppies! Miles of them +on both sides of the road, gleaming and glowing +as the sunlight kissed them.</p> +<p class="pnext">And then Heidenheim, a pretty town given to +manufactures, to factories and mills, with the ruins +of its castle Hellenstein on the height, and its +memories reaching far back to Roman times. +Here lived knights who were princes of profligacy, +and gloried in their extravagance; who shod their +steeds with silver and gold, and flung jewels away +like water. One of them longed to have his whole +estate transformed into a strawberry, that he could +swallow it all in one instant. Of course this family +came to a bad end. It spent all its money, +and its castles got out of repair; the last of its +armor was sold for old iron, and the last of the +race died a pauper.</p> +<p class="pnext">The ruins retain traces of Roman architecture +in the earliest walls, with various additions in +later times, and are not especially interesting upon +close acquaintance. The old well sunk deep in +the foundation of natural rock, where you pay ten +cents and see a woman drop a stone three hundred +and eighty-five feet, and wait breathlessly until +you hear the dull plash deep down in the darkness, +is their most exciting feature. The woman +offered to give us some water, but it requires a +whole hour to get it up, and we felt suspicious +of what might be lying in those uncanny depths.</p> +<p class="pnext">On the shady side of the castle, with broad +reaches of fertile field and belts of wood lying before +our contented gaze, we listened to Volkslieder, +so old and sweet they carried our hearts back into +dim ages, and we strongly felt the tie that binds +us to the race where such strains have their birth. +Suddenly, as our singers ceased, a group of village +children sitting on a block of stone at a short distance +took up the refrain,—an irregular row of +flaxen heads against the light, their forms prominent +against the deep, peaceful background, singing +away with such zest we could only be silent +and listen. Song after song, in praise of their +loved land, they sang; all sweet, whether the +smallest ones could always keep in tune or not. +They told how Eberhard im Bart could lay his +head on the knee of his poorest peasant and sleep +in peace till morning broke, and many another +sweet, old story; and, keeping time with their +heads and making daisy-chains with their hands, +they shouted,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Beautiful Suabia is our <em class="italics">Heimath Land</em>!”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">Truly you can forgive the Germans for a multitude +of sins when you hear how and what their +common people sing.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="in-a-garden"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id13"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="95" id="page-95"> </span>IN A GARDEN.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">A Garden by the water's edge,—a garden +where clematis and woodbine and +grape-vines run all over their trellises +and up the graceful young locust-trees +and down over the stone-wall to meet the water +plashing pleasantly below, and reach out everywhere +that vine-audacity can suggest in an utter +abandonment of luxuriance!—a garden where superb +blood-red roses are weighed down by a sense +of their own sweetness, and pure white ones look +tall and stately and cool and abstracted by their +side. At the right a point of land extends into +the lake, so thickly covered with trees that from +here it looks like a little forest, and the houses +are almost concealed in the fresh green; and the +trees look taller than anything except a funny old +building that was once a cloister, and is now the +royal castle, and has two queer, tall towers that +rise far above the tree-tops at the extremity of +the point. At the left, faint and shadowy in the +distance, rise the Alps, and the mountains of +Tyrol. There are bath-houses along the shore. +Small boys who think they “would be mermen +bold” are prancing about gayly in the water. On +a rocky beach, peasant-women in bright-colored +dresses are standing by tubs, dipping garments in +the lake and wringing them dry. Some of them +are kneeling. The sun is warm, and beats down +on their uncovered heads, and the work is hard, +and I don't suppose they have any idea they are +making a picture of themselves, on the rocky shore +with the background of trees. But everybody is a +picture this morning. There is a young man standing +in a row-boat, which an old fisherman lazily +propels here and there before my eyes. The youth +is really statuesque, balancing himself easily in +the dancing boat, strong, supple, graceful, his arm +extending the long fishing-rod. A rosebud of a +girl in a white morning-suit and jaunty sailor-hat +leans over the railing of a pavilion built out into +the lake from the garden, and also patiently holds +a fishing-rod, looking like a “London Society” +illustration, as she gazes intently with drooping +eyelashes into the water.</p> +<p class="pnext">There are people reading, sketching, studying +their Baedeckers, drinking their coffee or beer, in +comfortable nooks through the pretty garden. All +is quiet and restful, with only the rippling of +the water and the shouts of the merry mermen to +break the stillness. Now doesn't it seem as if one +ought to write an exceptionally pleasant letter +from so pleasant a spot? But, alas! there is not +much to say about it when once you have tried to +tell how it looks,—that it is a calm, peaceful, pretty +place, where you could stay a whole summer and +lose all feverish desires to explore and climb and +see sights. To sit here in the garden, leaning on +the wall among the vines, is happiness enough. +In the morning early, the lake smiles at you and +talks to you, and you see far away great masses +of rose-color and pearl-gray, with snowy summits +gleaming in the sunshine, and your eyes are +blessed with their first view of the Alps. The +outline of the opposite shore is misty and many-colored, +and has also its noble heights. At sunset, +too, is the garden a dreamy, blissful spot, as the +little boats float about in the golden lights, and +the water and the mountains assume all possible +lovely hues, then sink away in a deep violet, and +the stars come out and German love-songs go up +to meet them.</p> +<p class="pnext">Yes, it is a satisfying spot. If there's a serpent +here, he keeps himself wonderfully well concealed. +We haven't caught a glimpse of him, and we are +wise enough not to search for him. It's an admirable +place to be lazy, but it isn't very good +for letters. Things hinder so, you know. You +listen to the water, and your pencil forgets to go. +You get lost in contemplation of the flapping of +the ducks' feet, and make profound studies of +their mechanism, and enviously wish you had +something of the sort at your command, so that +you could sail about in the cool, clear water as +unconcerned as they, and with no more effort. +Funniest of ducks that they are!—so pampered +by the attention and bread-crumbs of summer +guests that their complacency exceeds even ordinary +duck self-satisfaction, and they act as if they +thought they were all swans.</p> +<p class="pnext">It occurs to me somebody may feel a faint curiosity +to know where it all is. On the Lake of +Constance, or the Bodensee, which, if you want +useful information, is forty-two miles long, eight +miles wide, is fed principally by the Rhine, and +whose banks belong to five different States,—Bavaria, +Würtemberg, Baden, Switzerland, and +Austria; a sheet of water whose shores are green +and thickly wooded, where gay little steamers +run, constantly displaying the flags of their several +countries, between the principal places on the +lake, and wherever you go you have beautiful +mountain scenery. You see the Alps, the mountains +of Bavaria, the Baden hills, the Tyrol, and +you don't always know which is which; but they +pile themselves up grandly among the clouds, one +range behind the other, in a way that to the unaccustomed +vision does not exactly admit of labelling, +and you don't care what their names are. +You are content to feel their beauty, to wonder +and be silent.</p> +<p class="pnext">This particular place on the lake is Friedrichshafen. +It is really a new place and a commercial +place,—and these adjectives are certainly not +attractive,—but then the newness is not conspicuous, +and the commerce, so far as we summer +birds of passage are concerned, almost invisible.</p> +<p class="pnext">The king and queen of Würtemberg come here +every summer, and are here at present. The Emperor +of Germany and the Grand Duke of Baden +are on the Island of Mainau.</p> +<p class="pnext">It may be a busy place, but it does not seem +so. Content and rest pervade the atmosphere. +Serenity is written on every face. It may be +many people would weary of its roses and the ripple +of the water; of its gardens, that look as if they +were growing directly out of the lake; of the blue, +hazy, changing mountains far away; of its perfect +quiet: but there are others who would love it well, +and who would not tire of it in many a long summer +day.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="lindau-and-bregenz"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id14"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="100" id="page-100"> </span>LINDAU AND BREGENZ.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Auf wiederschen, and not Lebewohl, +we said to pleasant Friedrichshafen, as +the little steamer left those kindly green +shores and we sailed away, not for a year +and a day, like the owl and the pussy cat in the +beautiful pea-green boat, but for an hour or so +only. There were many curious people to watch +on board, but the most monopolizing sight was two +Catholic priests devouring a chicken, or rather devouring +<em class="italics">chickens</em>. They had, on the seat between +them, a basket large enough for a flock of Hühnchen—boiled, +dissected, and only too tempting to +the priestly appetite—to repose in. And they had +the lake as a receptacle for the bones. What more +could they desire? If we could have suggested +anything it would have been—napkins, because it +was requiring too much work of their fingers to use +them as knives and forks, and then to wipe their +mouths on them. The zeal with which the holy +men tore the tender meat from the bones and +showered the remnants in the water, and particularly +the endurance they exhibited, made us hope +they evinced as much fervor and devotion in caring +for their human flocks.</p> +<p class="pnext">To Lindau then we came, having, as we approached, +charming mountain scenery. The town +is on an island, connected with the mainland by an +embankment and railway bridge. It is a little +place, but very striking as you look at it from the +water, having a lofty monument (a statue in bronze +of Maximilian II.), a picturesque old Roman tower, +and, at the entrance of the harbor, a fine lighthouse, +and a great marble lion on a high pedestal, +guarding the little haven and his Bavarian +land. We remained part of a day here, having +before our eyes a beautiful picture,—the mountains +of Switzerland directly across the lake, narrow +at this point, with the lighthouse and the +proud, ever-watchful Bavarian lion rising, bold +and sentinel-like, in the foreground. You look +between these two over the placid water to the +heights beyond.</p> +<p class="pnext">From Lindau we sailed to Bregenz, where the +lake and mountains have quite another expression. +It would be difficult to say which is the most +attractive place on the Bodensee. You feel “How +happy could I be with either, were t'other dear +charmer away,” and it is of course a question of +individual taste. One person prefers the mountains +near, another watches them lovingly from a +distance. One likes to live on low land by the +water's edge, and look up to the mountain-tops; +another perches himself high, and finds his happiness +in looking down upon the lake and off to other +heights. But the shores are lovely everywhere, +much frequented yet quiet, crowded with villas, +private cottages, hotels, yet secluded and restful +if one chooses.</p> +<p class="pnext">Bregenz is a quiet place, a real country-place, +with mountain views and mountain excursions +without end. The common people have intelligent, +happy faces, pleasant, cheerful ways, quickness of +repartee, and civility. The women give you a +smiling “Grüss Gott.” The commonest man takes +off his hat as you pass, and if you go by a group +of rollicking school-boys every hat comes off courteously.</p> +<p class="pnext">Gebhardsberg is the first place to which people +usually go from Bregenz. We went, as in duty +bound. It is a mountain—a castle—a pilgrimage +church—a view; and to say that one commands +a view of the entire lake, the valley of the +Bregenzer Ach and the Rhine, the Alps, the snow +mountains of Appenzel and Glarus, with mountains +covered with pine forests in the foreground, conveys +a very faint idea of the beauty before our eyes. In +the visitors' book in the tower were some German +rhymes, which, roughly translated, go somewhat in +this way:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Charming prospect, best of wine,</div> +<div class="line">Be joyful, then, O heart of mine;</div> +<div class="line">Farewell, thou lovely Gebhard's hill,</div> +<div class="line">Thou Bodensee, so fair, so still.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">And more still about wine, for this is not the land +of the Woman's Crusade, it appears:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“It makes you glad to drink good wine,</div> +<div class="line">And praying makes life more divine.</div> +<div class="line">If you would be both good and gay,</div> +<div class="line">Pray well and drink well every day.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">Some one remarks,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“What below was far from clear,</div> +<div class="line">Is no less dark when we stand here.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">And a very enthusiastic person writes,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Here flies from us sorrow, here vanishes pain,</div> +<div class="line">Here bloom in our hearts joy and freshness again.</div> +<div class="line">Who can assure us, and how can we know,</div> +<div class="line">That heaven is fairer than this scene below?”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">In pages of such doggerel one finds comical +enough things; but exported, they may lose their +native flavor, so I will not give too many of them.</p> +<p class="pnext">By making rather a long excursion from here +you can visit the birthplace of Angelica Kauffman. +We didn't go, but we felt very proud to +think we could if we wished, having lately read +“Miss Angel.”</p> +<p class="pnext">There is a place in this neighborhood the name +of which I refuse to divulge, because, if I should +tell it and disclose its attractions, the next steamer +from America would certainly bring over too many +people to occupy it, and so ruin it. I shall keep it +for myself. But I will describe it, and awaken as +much longing and unrest and dissatisfaction with +American prices as I can. It isn't exactly a village, +but it is near a village. It has shady lanes +that wind about between hedges; houses that are +placed as if with the express purpose of talking +with one another,—only three or four houses, with +superb old trees hanging over them. There is +the nicest, brightest of <em class="italics">Fraus</em>,—who owns this +bit of land, the houses and the hedges and trees +close by the water's edge, a boat, a bath-house, and +a great dog,—a happy, prosperous widow, with a +daughter to help in household matters, and to go +briskly to market to the neighboring town. So +happy is she, one thinks involuntarily her <em class="italics">Mann</em> +was perhaps aggressive, and that to be free from +his presence may be to her a blessing from +Heaven. She lives in a house where the ceiling is +so low one must stoop going through the doors. +The windows and doors are all open. The tables +and chairs are scoured snowy white. She brings +you milk in tall glasses,—it is cream, pure and +simple. And then she takes you into the house +close by, with great airy chambers, and broad low +casements, under which the water ripples softly, +and she tells you, without apparently knowing +herself, one of the wonders of the age,—that she +will rent her four rooms in this detached house +for forty guldens a month, and serve four persons +from her own dwelling with fruit, meat, cream, +the best the land affords; and forty guldens are +about twenty dollars, gold. (This must not mislead +the unwary. There are places enough here +where you can spend quite as much as you do +at home.) We did not quite faint, but we were +very deeply moved. We did not even tell the +good woman that her terms were not exorbitant, +crafty, worldly creatures that we were. Here +was one spot unspoiled by the madding crowd. +We were not the ones to bring pomps, and vanities, +and high prices to it. So we choked down +our amazement, and hypocritically remarked it +was all very pleasant, and we thought perhaps +we might return. Return! Of course we shall return! +When all things else fail, and ducats are +painfully few, then will we flee to this friendly +abode, and live in a big room on the lovely lake, +so near, indeed, that we can almost fish from our +windows; have a boat to row, a bath-house at our +service; quarts, gallons of cream; and the Swiss +mountains before our eyes morning, noon, and +night; and all for five dollars a month. I am telling +the truth, but I do not expect to be believed. I +am tempted to write its name,—its pretty, friendly, +suggestive little name,—but I will not. It ends +in LE, it sounds like a caress, so much will I say; +perhaps so much is indiscreet. Don't waste your +time looking for it. You will never find it. We +only happened to drift there. It really is not +worth your while to search for it. It is quite secluded, +quite out of the way, a sleepy-hollow that +I am sure <em class="italics">you</em> would find dull.</p> +<p class="pnext">There are many green, sweet nooks, many pretty +villages, many cleanly little cottages, many smiling, +broad-browed, clear-eyed women, on the shores +of the Lake of Constance; but our woman, our +cottage, our cream, our mountains, our <em class="italics">treasure</em>, +you will never, never find.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="the-vorarlberg"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id15"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="106" id="page-106"> </span>THE VORARLBERG.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">I feel a deep and ever-increasing sympathy +with explorers of strange lands +whose narratives a harsh world pronounces +exaggerations. What if they +do say that the unknown animal which darts across +their path has five heads and seventeen legs? +There is a glamour over everything in an utterly +new place,—the very atmosphere is deceptive. +After a while, things assume their natural proportions, +but at first it seems as if one really did see +with one's own eyes all these redundant members. +Even here in the beaten track of travel, writing as +honestly as possible from my own point of view, I +feel like begging my friends to put no faith in anything +I say. The mountains in themselves are +intoxicating enough to turn one's head; but then +of course much depends upon the kind of head one +possesses. Recently, at sunset by a lake, we were +looking over the water at a mountain view,—soft, +wooded slopes near us, huge rocky masses beyond, +height upon height rising in hazy blue, +the snowy summits just touched by the Alpine +glow,—when some strangers approached. Berlin +has the honor of being their dwelling-place, we +ascertained afterwards.</p> +<p class="pnext">“<em class="italics">Lieber Mann</em>,” said the lady, “just look at all +that snow!”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Snow!” replied the <em class="italics">lieber Mann</em>, “snow in +summer! But that is impossible!”</p> +<p class="pnext">“I think it must be snow,” said the wife, doubtfully. +Then, “But only see the beautiful mountains.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Hm, hm,” remarks the <em class="italics">lieber Mann</em>, regarding +them superciliously through his eye-glass; “I +can't say that they are particularly well-formed!” +Here, at least, is a head that is secure; no jocund +day on the misty mountain-tops, no broad, magnificent +ranges at high noon, and no twilight with +“mountains in shadow, forests asleep,” have power +to move that astute <em class="italics">Kopf</em> a fraction of an inch. +“They have better mountains in Berlin,” remarked +a German friend in an undertone.</p> +<p class="pnext">Bludenz is a little town in the Vorarlberg, which +means, you know,—or you don't know,—the +country lying before the Adler or Arlberg, and the +Arlberg is the watershed between the Rhine and +Danube, and the boundary between the Vorarlberg +and the Tyrol. This sounds guide-bookish,—and +very naturally, as I have copied it word for word +from Baedecker,—but one must say something of +praiseworthy solidity once in a while. Bludenz is +a railway terminus, which fact may not interest +the world at large, but it did us hugely. We rejoiced +in the thought of the great post-wagon, the +cracking of whips and blowing of horns, and long, +delightful, breezy rides over the hills and far away. +Our after-experience of this lively whip-cracking +and horn-blowing has led us to the conclusion that +it is decidedly at its best in the opera, where the +Postilion of Lonjoumeau sings his pretty song and +cracks his whip for a gay refrain; and that it is all +very well, when you yourself are going off early in +the morning amid the prodigious noise and the excitement +of stowing away passengers and packages, +while a crowd of village loafers stand gazing and +gaping at you,—in short, when you are “in it,” +you know; but when it is only other people who +are going, only they for whom all the noise is +made and you are roused from your gentle slumbers +at half past four perhaps, you do not regard +the postilion and his accomplishments with unqualified +admiration.</p> +<p class="pnext">You wish you had gone to the “Eagle,” or the +“Ox,” or the “Lamb,” or the “Swan,” or the +“Lion,” or to any other beast or bird, rather than +to the “Post,” where the “Post” omnibus and its +relations make your mornings miserable. These +are always the names of the inns in these little +towns. There is usually a “Crown” too, and +often an “Iron Cross.” But people with nerves +mustn't go to the “Post.” Our party left its +nerves in the city before starting off on a rough +tour, yet even we have suffered at various inns +which bear the names of “Post,” but which should +properly be called “Pandemonium.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Our first postilion wore the regulation long-boots, +a postilion hat, and silver pansies in his +ears. He cracked his whip nobly,—as well as we +have heard Sontheim in the theatre at Stuttgart, +and that is no faint praise. He was the jolliest of +men, on the best of terms with all the dwellers +among the mountains. He stopped at every inn +and house where a glass of wine was to be had, +and I think I may say invariably drank it. All +the goodwives joked with him and smiled at him; +all the men had a friendly word for him, and all +the peasant-girls who had lovers in distant villages +were continually stopping our great ark to +send packages, letters, or messages to the absent +swain. He seemed to be for the whole region a +friend, patron, and adviser, a tutelary deity in fact, +and grand receptacle for confidences. He had a +shrewd, kind face, large clear eyes, and had driven +among these mountains twenty-six years. It really +did not seem a bad way of spending one's days, +always going over the mountain-passes, knowing +everybody and loved by everybody in the country +round. I admired him extremely, and felt very +much elated at the honor of sitting up on the box +with so important a personage.</p> +<p class="pnext">He told us a story of an Englishman who was +inquiring how much it would cost to be driven to +a certain point.</p> +<p class="pnext">The driver replied so many gulden.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Impossible,” said the Englishman; “Baedecker +says half as many.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“I'll tell you what,” answered the postilion; +“let Baedecker take you, then.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Having laughed at the poor stranger, it is only +fair that we now laugh at the natives.</p> +<p class="pnext">“I spiks English,” an innkeeper said to me. +“Ein joli hearse,” he remarked further, to my +great bewilderment, until it gradually dawned +upon me that this was English for “a pretty +horse.” There is a house in this region whose +proprietor wished to receive English lodgers, and +signified his desire to the world by hanging out +this sign: “English boards here.”</p> +<p class="pnext">After all, there are no more ludicrous verbal +blunders in the world than we English-speaking +people continually make during our first year's +struggles with this mighty German tongue; and +nowhere do a foreigner's queer idioms and laughable +choice of words meet with more kindness, +charity, courtesy, and helpfulness than in Germany. +It is astonishing how kind the Germans +in general are in this respect. It is all very well +to say politeness demands such kindness; but +where things sound so irresistibly droll, I think +sometimes we might shriek with laughter where +the Germans kindly correct, and do not even +smile.</p> +<p class="pnext">But we are neglecting Bludenz, for which little +town we mean to say a friendly word. It is +usually considered only a stepping-stone to something +higher and better, but we liked it. The +mountains rise on both sides of the village and +its one long road, where we walked at sunset, +crossing the bridge which spans the foaming, +tumbling, rushing Ill. Beyond the ravine of +the Brandnerthal, the Scesaplana, the highest +mountain of the Raeticon range, rises from fields +of snow. We strolled along, breathing the sweet, +pure air, meeting groups of peasant-girls, all of +whom carried their shoes in their hands. It +was a fête day, and they had been to vespers, putting +their shoes on at the church door and removing +them when they came out. This most practical +and admirable method of saving shoe-leather, +I venture to recommend to the fathers of large +families. It must be superior to “copper-toes.” +When we came back to take our supper in a garden, +somebody was playing Strauss waltzes, with a +touch so loving, spirited, and magnetic, it seemed +as if the mountains themselves must whirl off presently +in response. In this land a garden where +people drink beer and wine, eat, smoke, rest, think, +enjoy, all in the open air, is sometimes made up +of most delightful surroundings; but on the other +hand it sometimes means two emaciated, dyspeptic +trees, a gravel floor, and half a dozen wooden +tables with wretchedly uncomfortable chairs. But +if it is an enclosure in the open air with one table +large enough to hold a beer-mug, it is still a +garden.</p> +<p class="pnext">Our Bludenz garden was pleasant enough, however, +and we sat there till the mountains sank +deeper and deeper into the gloom; and the <em class="italics">Mädchen</em> +who waited upon us told us about her native +village, where her brother was schoolmaster; our +landlady came, too, and talked with us, quietly, +and somewhat with the manner of a hostess entertaining +guests. It was all very pretty and simple +and kindly, and seemed the most natural thing +in the world, as it happened. The people here +had intelligent faces, clear eyes like children, and +pleasant, courteous ways. The trouble about all +these little places is, we don't like to leave them. +It seems as if the new place could not be so +pretty, the new people so kindly and simple and +honest, and we go about weakly, leaving fragments +of our hearts everywhere.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then the mountain tramps we had, climbing +high for a view, and then glorying in it! A little +maid was once our guide, who chattered to us +prettily all the way, and told us the chief events +of her life,—how her father and mother were +dead, and her uncle beat her, and made her work +too hard; how there was a great, great, great bird +who sat up on the barren cliffs so high that never +a <em class="italics">Jäger</em> could climb near enough to shoot him; how +he had eyes as big as a cow's, and when he sat on +the right cliff the weather was always fair, but +when he sat on the left there was storm among +the mountains. This must be true, for we saw the +cliffs. Then she solemnly assured us, if we would +go early to the chapel in a neighboring village the +following morning, we could get absolution for all +our sins, because, as it appeared, the priest there +was going far away, as missionary to America, and +in farewell was washing the souls of his flock with +extra thoroughness. We told the child it was very +fortunate the good priest was going to America. +From what we had heard of that ungodly land, we +thought it must be in sad need of missionary +work.</p> +<p class="pnext">The scenery from Bludenz to Landeck is a series +of picturesque, varied views. The road ascends +with many windings to the pass of the Arlberg, +when you are at last in the Tyrol; and the green, +richly wooded mountains, the jagged, rocky ones, +the lofty peaks where the snow gleams, together +with the pure, invigorating air, and the swing of +our mountain chariot with its five horses,—which, +if not very rapid, were at least strong and fresh,—made +altogether a thoroughly enjoyable experience.</p> +<p class="pnext">On the Arlberg we gathered our first Alpine +roses. They are not so very pretty, except as they +grow often in masses so luxuriant as to give a rosy +effect to a broad slope. That is, they are pretty, +but their graceful cups droop so quickly when you +take them from their native air and native heights, +that they are disappointing.</p> +<p class="pnext">At St. Christoph, which is almost at the top of +the Arlberg, we stopped long enough to refresh +ourselves with a glass of <em class="italics">Tiroler</em> wine, and were +taken into a little chapel behind the inn to see a +wooden statue of St. Christopher, who seems to be +held in peculiar veneration in this region, being +painted or carved in many churches and even on +the walls of houses. This was a great creature +of eight or nine feet, standing in the corner +of the chapel, with glaring, beady eyes, glossy +black painted hair, and a huge staff, to represent +the pine-tree of the sweet old legend, in his hand; +while on his shoulder was perched the child Jesus, +with a face like a small doll. He was as funny +and grotesque a saint as the world can boast, yet +our hearts went strongly out to him when we +learned what a very little peasant-boy it was who +had made him with his pocket-knife out of a block +of wood, and particularly when we observed his +saintship's legs, never too symmetrical, but now +hacked and chipped into utter deformity, and were +told the reason. Every child in this neighborhood +who must leave his mountain home takes a bit of +St. Christopher with him as a talisman against +homesickness. Poor little souls! Imagine them +coming to say, “Lebewohl zu dem heiligen Christoph,” +and tearfully hacking away in the region of +his patellas and tibias and fibulas, because long +ago they have removed the exterior of his stalwart +members, and he will soon be dangerously +undermined. His shoulders are sufficiently developed +to bear considerable cutting down without +perceptibly diminishing them; but I presume the +little ones attack the region which they can most +conveniently reach.</p> +<p class="pnext">Lovely air and lovely hills! No wonder the +children fear Heimweh will come to their hearts +when they can no longer see the little village +houses all huddled together round the church with +the tall spire, while the green hills rise on every +side, and the morning mists roll from them, and +the evening glow warms and glorifies their cold, +white summits, and the impetuous mountain torrent +goes foaming by.</p> +<p class="pnext">We felt premonitory symptoms of homesickness +ourselves for those fair and noble heights, and we +wanted very much to beg for a bit of St. Christopher's +knee-pan. But they would not have given +us an atom of the dear old, hideous, overgrown +giant-saint, worthless heretics that we are.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="in-the-tyrol"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id16"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="115" id="page-115"> </span>IN THE TYROL.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">They said Landeck would not please us, +but it did. They said it was not pretty, +but it was. They said we would not stay +there, but that is all they knew about it +or us. In itself, so far as its houses are concerned, +it is not attractive, it is true; but it lies in a very +picturesque way on both banks of the Inn, which +rushes and roars constantly at this point, and the +hills around are bold and beautiful. It has its +ancient castle, on the heights directly above the +town; but the castle now is a failure, whatever +proud tales its walls might tell us could they +speak,—a failure even as a “ruin,” I mean. It +is not very high, but the path is steep; and when +you get to the top you wish you had remained +below, for there is nothing to reward you. The +view is no finer than you can have from almost +any point here; and the castle is simply nothing to +see, being only a few gray walls without form or +comeliness, in the shade of which, the day we visited +it, sat a few poor old women, who now occupy +it, with snails and bats and wind and storm, rent +free.</p> +<p class="pnext">To Zams, the next village, you walk along the +river road past fields of grain, where cornflowers +and poppies are gayly growing, and the water +hurrying from the mountains sings its loud, bold +song, and everywhere around are the varied hues +and heights of the Tyrolean Alps. At Zams +there is a beautiful waterfall, which you must seek +if you would see, for it hides itself from the world. +Over a bridge, along the river road, then through +lanes where there were more of the pretty cornflowers +and gay poppies, past a group of cottages, +a mill, a noisy brook, a mass of rugged cliffs, we +strolled, the voice of the falling water calling us +ever nearer and nearer, until suddenly at the +last it was before us. The rocks conceal it on +every side up to the last moment when you are +directly at the foot of it,—one of the fine dramatic +effects in which Mother Nature likes sometimes to +indulge.</p> +<p class="pnext">It falls with great force a hundred and fifty feet, +perhaps,—this is a wild feminine guess, yet somewhere +near the truth, I hope,—in a narrow, immensely +swift stream, which, as it issues from the +rock, runs a little diagonally. It has forced a +passage through the rock, and when we saw it was +sweeping through this aperture; but in stormy +weather it hurls itself over the summit of the +ledge, increasing its height many feet, and is magnificent +in its fury. An experienced mountain-climber +told us that there are a succession of these +falls, of which this is the seventh and last, and the +only one that can be seen without painful and dangerous +climbing, they are so singularly concealed. +The stream springs from the glaciers far away, and +leaps from rock to rock in wild, unseen beauty. It +seemed to speak to us of the lonely, frozen heights +and solitude of its birthplace.</p> +<p class="pnext">From Landeck to Innsbruck the scenery, taken +all in all, though pleasing, is less bold and more +monotonous than are many other parts of the +Tyrol. There are many historical points of interest +here, and reminders of the bravery of the +mountaineers in different wars. You see where +they stood high on their native hills hurling down +trunks of trees and huge masses of rock on the +invading Bavarians; and what this work of destruction +failed to do, the sure aim of the Tyrolese +riflemen effectually accomplished.</p> +<p class="pnext">In one village they exhibit the room where +Frederic Augustus, king of Saxony, died suddenly +from the kick of a horse. Having no inordinate +interest in his deceased majesty, we were quite +content to gaze placidly at the outside of the +house from the post-wagon, as we informed the +man who tried to induce us to march in, pay our +fees, and so increase the revenues of the inn. He +was deeply disgusted, and evidently considered us +persons of inferior taste.</p> +<p class="pnext">You are shown, off at the right of the road on +a wooded height, the ruins of Schloss Petersburg, +the birthplace of Margaret, daughter of the count +of the Tyrol through whom Tyrol came into the +possession of the emperors of Austria.</p> +<p class="pnext">We have seen so many little villages more or +less alike, all having saints painted on their houses +in brilliant hues, and mottoes over their doorways,—some +religious, some quite secular and merry, +and all, too, having names of one syllable, composed +chiefly of consonants, such as Imst, Silz, +Zams, Mils, Telfs, Zirl,—we cannot hope to remember +them with that clearness which characterizes +the well-regulated mind on its travels. (No +one in our party <em class="italics">has</em> a well-regulated mind.) But +we have a way among ourselves of designating +places, which is quite satisfactory and intelligible +to us. For instance, we say, “That was where we +drank the cream”; “That was where the innkeeper +was a barrel, with head and feet protruding”; +“That was where that interesting body, +the fire department, were feasting at long tables +and singing Tyrolean songs”; “The village where +we met the procession, old men and maidens, +young men and children, singing, chanting, telling +their beads, bearing candles, and, most of all, +staring at the strangers.”—And what were the +strangers doing? Staring at the people, to be +sure. We always stare. We are here for that +purpose.—“The village where the girl put a +flower in her sweetheart's hat.” And how pretty +it was! The post-wagon had hardly stopped before +a good-looking youth dashed down from its top, +and at the same instant a rosy waiter-girl dashed +out from the inn, bearing a tall mug of foaming +beer. She had eyes but for him. He had eyes +but for her—and the beer. Entranced they met! +They stood a little apart from us by a garden, and +beamed and smiled at each other and whispered +their secrets, and didn't care a straw whether we +stupid “other people” saw them or not. They +had but a few moments of bliss, for the boy +had to go on with the post; but while he was +drinking the very last of that reviving fluid, she +took his hat from his head, and, stooping to the +flowers beside her, chose a great flaming carnation +pink, which she fastened in his hat-band. He +looked pleased, which of course made her look +pleased; but what a wise little village-Hebe it +was to give him the beer first! What would he +have cared for the flower when his throat was +dusty and thirsty! It is such a pity some women +always persist in offering their flowers and graces +too soon,—forgetting the nature of the creature +they adore.</p> +<p class="pnext">In an inn at one village was a table which we +coveted strongly. It was, they said, a hundred +and fifty years old, octagonal, four or five feet in +diameter, made of inlaid woods in the natural +colors, now darkened with age. Broad, solid, firm, +it looked as if it might last a hundred and fifty +years longer and then retain its vigor of constitution. +It had a wise, knowing air, as of having +seen a great deal of the world; and the landlord +told us tales of drinking and fighting and scenes +of rough soldier-life, which were enough to make +it tremble for its existence. Bavarian soldiers +once, when they were occupying the village, used +it rather roughly, and left as many sword-cuts and +dents in it as they could make in its brave, firm +wood. Its centre was a slate or blackboard, on +which beer accounts are conveniently reckoned.</p> +<p class="pnext">Just beyond Zirl, the Martinswand rises sixteen +hundred feet perpendicularly above the road. It +has its story, to which everybody who comes here +must listen.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Emperor Maximilian, in 1493, was chasing +a chamois above the Martinswand, and, having lost +his way, made a misstep, fell down to the edge of +a precipice, and hung there, unable to recover his +footing. The priest of Zirl came with some of +his people, and, it being impossible to reach him, +stood at the bottom of the cliff, elevated the host, +granting him absolution; and then, in horror, +awaited the end. But “an angel in the garb of a +chamois-hunter” appeared at this crisis, and bore +the exhausted monarch to a place of safety. The +perilous spot, nine hundred feet above the river, is +now marked by a cross, and the paten used by the +priest is a blessed relic in a church.</p> +<p class="pnext">The story seems to be quite generally believed +in this neighborhood. We sceptical strangers do +not find it so enormous a morsel to swallow as is +sometimes presented to us. I presume if any of +us were dangling between heaven and earth, with +the immediate prospect of falling nine hundred +feet, we would be very apt to call whatever should +rescue us an “angel.”</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="innsbruck"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id17"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="121" id="page-121"> </span>INNSBRUCK.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Innsbruck impressed us, at first, as +being far too citified for us to delight in. +Entering its streets about sunset, the +time when we have of late been accustomed +to see the cows come home in great herds +from the mountain pastures, we, our bags and +shawl-straps, were deposited upon the sidewalk; +for when the post stops, you stop without ceremony, +and are never taken to the particular hotel +where you wish to go. We stared blankly at the +broad streets and ruefully at one another. Our +eyes, instead of seeing lowing herds, fell upon gallant +young officers in brilliant uniforms. We became +painfully aware of certain defects in our +personal appearance, of which we had been beautifully +unconscious in the rural mountain districts. +We observed for the first time that there were +chasms in our gloves, indented peaks in our hats, +alluvial deposits on our gowns; while our boots +suggested dangerous ravines, bridged across by +one button, instead of boasting that goodly, decorous +row without which no civilized woman +can be truly respectable. We revenged ourselves +by calling Innsbruck “tame,” and declaring that +we would at once flee to our mountain. But it +is surprising how quickly we have become accustomed +to the luxuries of life in an excellent hotel, +how bravely we bear the infliction of well-cooked +dinners, with what fortitude we recline in luxurious +chairs, and allow well-trained servants to wait +upon us. Already we have remained longer than +we intended, there is so much here that interests +us; but soon we start off again to commune with +Nature and get sunburned.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then, the truth is, Innsbruck, which looked so +enormous, so grand, to our eyes, used as they were +to Tyrolean villages,—we know now how the +typical country cousin feels when he comes “to +town” for the first time,—is only a little place +most charmingly situated on the Inn, in a great +broad valley, with mountains ten thousand feet +high on one side, and on the other heights that look +almost as bold. It has, including its large garrison, +eighteen or twenty thousand inhabitants, and with +its pleasant atmosphere, extended views, charming +mountain excursions, peasants in a variety of costumes, +soldiers in a variety of uniforms, excellent +music, and many things of historical interest to +see, is a very enjoyable place.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Museum is thoroughly interesting; a visit +to Schloss Amras, where Archduke Ferdinand II. +and his wife Philippina Welser used to live, is an +inevitable but agreeable excursion; you are shown +buildings erected by celebrated personages,—among +them a “golden roof” over a balcony of +a palace which Count Frederic of the Tyrol built +to prove that he did not deserve the nickname, +“with the empty pockets.” But the chief thing +to see, the glory of Innsbruck, is the Maximilian +monument in the Franciscan church. Maximilian, +in bronze, kneels on a marble pedestal in the centre +of the nave, and eight-and-twenty great bronze +figures of kings and queens and heroes surround +him. Some are stately and grand; some—dare +I say?—are comical. The feet of these mailed +heroes are so broad and big and their ankles so +attenuated, you are reminded of the marine armor +worn by divers; and the waists of the women, in +the heavy folds of ancient times, are so enormously +dumpy and their heads so curious, you smile in +their august faces, though the whole effect of all +these dark, still figures in the dim church is imposing +in the extreme.</p> +<p class="pnext">They are all celebrated people, whose histories +we know; or, if we do not, we ought to. There is +Clovis of France, who looks very important indeed, +and Philip of Spain. There is Johanna, Philip's +queen; Cunigunde, sister of Maximilian; Eleanora +of Portugal, his mother; and there are many more +“dear, dead women,” with stately, beautiful names, +and they themselves, no doubt, were stately and +beautiful too, but they are not handed down to +posterity in a very flattering guise. There is Godfrey +de Bouillon, “king of Jerusalem,” with a crown +of thorns on his head. But the two that are really +lovely to see are Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths, +and Arthur of England. Susceptible, romantic +girls of eighteen should not be allowed to gaze too +long at these ideal young men. It will make them +discontented with the realities of life, and they will +spend their days dreaming of knightly figures in +bronze.</p> +<p class="pnext">Theodoric is considered the finest as a work of +art. So says all established authority; but to me +Arthur is hardly less interesting. Perhaps, in +some absurd way, it gratified us of Anglo-Saxon +blood to see, in the midst of these Rudolphs and +Sigismunds, these counts of Hapsburg and dukes +of Burgundy, a hero who seemed to belong to us; +but, whatever was the cause, the blameless king +won our loving admiration.</p> +<p class="pnext">Theodoric is the more graceful. He stands in +an easy, leaning attitude. He is lost in thought. +He is in full armor, but he may be dreaming +of something far removed from war. Arthur is +firm and proud and strong, looking every inch +a king and a true knight. Both are knightly. +Both are kingly. Their figures are slight and +strong, and they stand like <em class="italics">young</em> heroes amid +these mighty old potentates, some of whom look +as if gout might have been a greater source of +trouble to them than their enemies.</p> +<p class="pnext">If your affections are divided, as were ours, between +the two, the best thing to do, perhaps, is to +repair immediately to the store where the wood-carving +and Tyrol souvenirs make you feel quite +miserable,—you want so much more than you can +possibly have,—and carefully select a Theodoric +and an Arthur from the many representations of +them, in wood of different colors and in various +sizes, that you will there see. If you march off +with them, you will feel sublime enough not to be +beguiled into yielding to the temptation of the +paper-knives and boxes and innumerable fascinating +knick-knacks made by the Tyrolean wood-carvers. +But do have them well packed, for it is very sad +to see Arthur without his visor and Theodoric +with several fractured fingers.</p> +<p class="pnext">On the sarcophagus, below the kneeling Maximilian, +are marble reliefs representing the chief +events in the emperor's life. Thorwaldsen pronounced +the first nineteen the most perfect work +of its kind in the world. These are by Colin, +and the others,—there are twenty-four in all,—by +Bernhard and Albert Abel, are less remarkable +in their perspective, and far less clear. Colin's +are very interesting to study carefully. In battle +scenes, in grand wedding feasts, with hundreds of +spectators, in triumphant entries into conquered +cities, every face, every weapon, every feature, and +all the most minute details are executed with +wonderful clearness.</p> +<p class="pnext">Three or four of the oldest women in the world +were saying their prayers in the church as we +wandered about, or sat quietly looking at these +men and woman of the past, while queer snatches +of history, poetry, and romance came and went +confusedly in our minds.</p> +<p class="pnext">You see here, too, a little “Silver Chapel,” so +called from a silver statue of the Virgin over the +altar. The tomb of the Archduke Ferdinand II., +by Colin, is here, and that of Philippina Welser; +and near the entrance, in the main church, is a +fine statue, in Tyrolese marble, of Andreas Hofer, +and memorial tablets in honor of all the Tyrolese +who have died for their country since 1796.</p> +<p class="pnext">We have been refreshing our memories in regard +to Andreas Hofer, and are extremely interested +in his career; but, having just suffered a +grievous disappointment with which he is connected, +we are going to try to banish every thought +of him from our minds. A play representing his +whole life was to have been enacted to-day in a +neighboring village; but to-day it rains, and as the +village histrionic talent was going to display itself +in the open air, “Andreas Hofer” is postponed till +to-morrow, when, unfortunately, we shall be riding +over hill and dale in a post-wagon. We have tried +to prevail upon the post-wagon powers to allow us +to wait a day, but they are obdurate. We can +wait if we care to pay our passage twice, not +otherwise. This cross may be well for a party that +usually sails along on the full tide of prosperity, +having always the rooms it wants, front seats in +post-wagons, the good-will of drivers and guides, and +that hasn't lost or broken anything since it started.</p> +<p class="pnext">It is possible that we are too successful and +need this discipline. But only think what we +lose!—a village drama in the open air, given by +village amateurs in the <em class="italics">patois</em> of the district. According +to the announcement, the tailor—the +Herr Schneider—was to be director-in-chief; and +the audience would audibly express its praise and +blame, while the actors would have the liberty of +retiring. This, added to heroics in dialect, certainly +promised an entertaining scene. The costumes, +too, were to be like those worn in Andreas +Hofer's time, and the tailor's daughter was to be +leading lady. Was, do I say? Is—is yet to +be, but not for us, alas!</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="ohenschwangau-and-neu-schwanstein"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id18"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="127" id="page-127"> </span>OHENSCHWANGAU AND NEU SCHWANSTEIN.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">It pains me to think that the king of +Bavaria, or any other fine-looking young +gentleman, would deliberately scowl at +an inoffensive party of ladies who were, +one and all, only too pleased to have the opportunity +of gazing smilingly at him. But the truth +is, he did. The way it happened is this. We +and the king of Bavaria are at present travelling +in the North Tyrol. But he cannot have +wanted so much as we to go to the South Tyrol, +which is bolder and grander, or he would have +gone there, not being bound by petty considerations +of convenience and expense like ordinary +tourists. At a little inn, “Auf der Ferne,” between +Innsbruck and Reutte, in a place called +Fernstein, by a lake named Fernsee (and also +“The Three Lakes,” because the land juts out on +one side in two long points, making three pretty +coves where the tranquil water meets the soft +green shores), the post-wagon halted, that our +postilion might drink his glass of native wine. +There were numerous servants in blue-and-silver +livery at the door, and we were told King +Louis was driving in the neighborhood, and that +we would certainly meet him. While we were +waiting, the people regaled us with tales of the +young king's eccentricities. Some of his extravagant +fancies remind one of the Arabian Nights, or +old fairy-tales, more than of anything in these latter +days. He usually travels by night, for instance, +and sleeps, the little that he ever sleeps, +mornings. He drives fast through the darkness, +servants with torches galloping in advance, stopping +here and there only long enough for a change +of horses, his own horses and servants being in +readiness for him at the different inns along the +route. Often his carriage dashes up to this inn, +“Auf der Ferne,” at twelve o'clock at night, and +then this deliciously eccentric being is rowed +across the little Fernsee to a tiny island, where he +partakes, by the romantic gleam of torches, of a +feast prepared by French cooks. Rowed back to +the shore, he starts again with fresh horses and +goes swiftly on, through the night, to some other +inn, where the noise of his arrival awakens all the +sleepers.</p> +<p class="pnext">We heard him later ourselves at two in the morning +at an inn on the road where we were staying, +and in fact were told by the landlord that he was +expected; were shown the sacred apartment set +apart for his majesty, who now and then sits an +hour in it at some unearthly time of night, and +we were advised to peep through our curtains at +him, his suite, and his horses, torches, etc.; but +such was the sleepiness created by a ride of sixteen +hours in mountain air, that, though we were +dimly conscious something of interest was happening, +I do not think we would have been able to +stir, to see even Solomon in all his glory. This +was the true reason, but the one that we pretended +actuated us is quite different. We remark with +dignity that no young woman of proper spirit will +condescend to peep through a curtain at a man +who has scowled at her, king or no king.</p> +<p class="pnext">But I must tell you how, when, and where the +royal scowl took place. We had left the little inn +by the lake, and were riding along in an expectant +mood, when there came a great clatter of hoofs, +and two blue-and-silver men dashed by followed +by an open carriage, where King Louis sat alone. +A kind fate ordained that the road should be narrow +at this point, with a steep bank on one side, +over which it would not be pleasant to be precipitated; +so the royal coachman, as well as our driver, +moderated the speed of his horses, and we therefore +had an admirable opportunity to see this +“<em class="italics">idealisch</em>” young man—as the Germans call him—distinctly. +The ceremonies performed were few. +Our postilion took off his hat; so did the king. +Then it seemed good in his sight to deliberately +throw back his head, look full in our amiable, smiling, +interested countenances, and indulge in a +haughty and an unmistakable scowl. He must +have slept even less than usual that morning. We +were not accustomed to have young men scowl at +us, and really felt quite hurt. If he had looked +grand and unseeing, had gazed off abstractedly +upon the mountain-tops, we would have been delighted +with him. As it is, we cannot honestly say +that we consider his manner to strangers ingratiating. +Still, as the melancholy fact is that he hates +women, his scowl probably meant no especial aversion +to our humble selves, but was merely the +expression of the immense scorn and disgust he +feels towards the sex at large.</p> +<p class="pnext">In revenge, I hasten to say that, though he certainly +has a distinguished air, and a fine head, and +the great eyes that look so dreamy and poetical in +the photographs of him at eighteen or twenty, he +is not nearly so handsome as those early pictures. +Perhaps he can look dreamy still; but of this he +granted us no opportunity to judge, and he has +grown stout, and has lost the delicate refinement +of his youth.</p> +<p class="pnext">This road to Reutte is one of the finest of the +mountain-passes between the Tyrol and Bavaria. +The deep, wooded ravines, lovely, dark-green lakes, +and noble heights make the landscape very beautiful +and inspiring. Near Lennos, you see on the +east great bald limestone precipices, the snowy +Zugspitze, 9,761 feet high, the Schneefernerkopf, +9,462 feet, and other peaks of 8,000 feet and more; +while you spy picturesque ruins, old hunting-seats, +and fortresses here and there high on the proud +cliffs.</p> +<p class="pnext">Reutte has large, broad, pretty houses. It is +said laughingly that there is not a house in the +place which a king or some other exalted being has +not selected to die in, or in some way to make +memorable.</p> +<p class="pnext">From this place we have pursued still farther +our studies of royalty, having met with so much +encouragement at the outset. We have visited +the Schloss Hohenschwangau, where the king of +Bavaria and his mother, the queen, spend some +time every summer; and also Schloss Schwanstein, +which is yet building, but where the young king +often stays, unfinished as it is.</p> +<p class="pnext">The way to Hohenschwangau leads through a +charming park. The castle was once a Roman +fort, they say, then a baronial estate, then almost +destroyed by the Tyrolese, then bought by King +Max of Bavaria, who had it remodelled and ornamented +with fine frescos by Munich artists.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the vestibule is an inscription in gold letters +on blue, which says something like this:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Welcome, wanderer,—welcome, fair and gracious women!</div> +<div class="line">Leave all care behind!</div> +<div class="line">Yield your souls to the sweet influences of poetry.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">Isn't that a pretty greeting? It's all very well, +however, to have such things written on your walls, +and then to go about the world scowling at people; +but it doesn't look consistent. From the vestibule +you pass into a long hall, where are two rows +of columns, old suits of armor standing like men +on guard on both sides, shields, spears, halberds, +and cross-bows on the walls, and a little chapel at +the end.</p> +<p class="pnext">The frescos throughout the castle are very interesting. +From the billiard-room, with a pretty +balcony, you go into the Schwanrittersaal, where +the pictures on the walls represent the legend of +the Knight of the Swan, and remind you of the +opera of “Lohengrin.” The painted glass of the +doors opening from this room upon a balcony is +of the seventeenth century.</p> +<p class="pnext">There is an Oriental room, with reminiscences +of King Max's Eastern travels. Here you see +Smyrna, Troja, the Dardanelles, Constantinople, in +fresco; rich presents from the Sultan, a table-cover +embroidered by the wives of the Sultan, jewelled +fans, etc.</p> +<p class="pnext">There is an Autharis room, with frescos by +Schwind, telling the story of the wooing of the Princess +Theudelinda by the Lombard king, Autharis. +Do you feel perfectly familiar with the history of +Autharis and Theudelinda? Because, if you do +not, I don't really know of any one just at this +moment who feels competent to give you the +slightest information upon the subject.</p> +<p class="pnext">There is a room of the knights, the frescos +illustrating mediæval chivalry,—a Charlemagne +room. There are, in fact, more rooms than you +care to read about or I care to describe, and many +rich objects to see. In the queen's apartments +was a casket of gold studded with turquoises and +rubies; elegant toilet-tables rosy with silk linings, +soft with falling lace; and there is one dear little +balcony-room, cosy and full of familiar pictures,—Raphael's +cherubs, a little painting of Edelweiss +and Alpine roses; and actually two real spinning-wheels: +one is the queen's, and the other belonged +to a young court lady whose recent death +was a deep grief to the queen, it is said.</p> +<p class="pnext">But the most striking, and in the end fascinating, +thing in the castle is the number of swans +you see. It would be difficult to convey any idea +of the swan-atmosphere of this place. Swans support +baskets for flowers and vases. There are +swans in china, in marble, in alabaster, in gold and +silver, on the tables, on the mantels and brackets, +painted, embroidered on cushions and footstools,—everywhere +you find them. A half-dozen of +different sizes stand together on a small table, +some of them large, some as tiny as the toy swan +a child sails in his glass preserve-dish for a pond. +There is a swan-fountain in the garden; a great +swan on the stove in a reception-room.</p> +<p class="pnext">King Louis can bathe every day in a gold bath-tub +if he wishes. Our eyes have seen it, though +the guide said he had never shown it before. I +have no means of knowing whether the man told +the truth. There is another and yet more enticing +bath-room hewn out of the solid rock. We +entered it from the garden. From without, its +walls look like dark thick glass, through which one +sees absolutely nothing. From within, the effect +is enchanting. You see the highest tower of the +castle on one side rising directly above you, the +lovely garden with its choice flowers and superb +trees, the grand mountains beyond,—and all +bathed in a deep rosy light from the hue of the +glass. It is an enchanted grotto, and very Arabian +Nights-ish. A marble nymph stands on each side +of the bath, which is cut in the centre of the stone +floor, and one of them turns on a pivot, disclosing +a concealed niche, into which you step and slowly +swing round until you are in a subterranean passage, +from which a mysterious stairway leads to +the dressing-room above.</p> +<p class="pnext">We went everywhere, even into the king's little +study, up in the tower, where we were explicitly +told not to go. It was a simply furnished room, +with an ordinary writing-table, upon which papers +and writing-materials were strewn about, and important-looking +envelopes directed to the king. +And it commanded a lovely view of mountains, +broad plains, and four lakes, the Alpsee, Schwansee, +Hopfensee, and Bannwaldsee.</p> +<p class="pnext">Our little tour of inspection was just in time, +for at twelve that night, the castle servants told +us, the king would come dashing up to his own +door, after which there can be of course no admittance +to visitors.</p> +<p class="pnext">Hohenschwangau is most beautifully situated, +but the Neu Schwanstein is still more striking. It +is founded upon a rock. You climb to reach it, +and you can climb far higher on the mountains +that tower behind it. It stands directly by a deep +ravine, and the view from it is magnificent. The +young king here by his own hearthstone has wild +and abrupt mountain scenery,—a rocky gorge, +crossed by a delicate wire bridge, an impetuous +waterfall; and looking far, far off from the battlements +he sees villages, many lakes, dense woods, +winding streams, Hohenschwangau looking proudly +towards its royal neighbor, and the glorious mountains +circling and guarding the valley. Living +here, one would feel like a god on high Olympus +looking down upon humanity toiling on the plains +below.</p> +<p class="pnext">The king likes this place, and it is said wishes +to remain here when the queen, his mother, comes +to Hohenschwangau. But this is an unwarrantable +intrusion upon their little family differences, which +they should enjoy unmolested, like you and me. +Schwanstein in its exterior form and character resembles +a mediæval castle, and the appointments +in the servants' wing, the only part of the interior +as yet finished, are strictly in keeping. There +are solid oaken benches and tables, carved cases +and chests, oaken bedsteads as simply made as +possible, and windows with tiny oval or diamond +panes.</p> +<p class="pnext">The room occupied temporarily by the king is +very small and simple,—has a plain oak bedstead +and dressing-table. Across the bed were thrown +blankets, on which were blue swans and blue lions, +and in the dining-room adjoining the carpet was +blue, with golden Bavarian lions, and the all-pervading +swans. This was a pretty room, the frescos +illustrating the story of a life in mediæval times,—the +life of a warrior from the moment when he +starts forth from his father's door, a fair-haired boy, +to seek his fortunes in the great world. Mountain +scenery, village life, his first service to a knight, +battle, gallant deeds, receiving knighthood, betrayal, +imprisonment, escape, victory,—all the +eventful story until he sits with men old like himself, +and over their wine they tell of the doughty +deeds of the past; and then, older still, and frail +and feeble and alone, he leans upon his staff as +he rests under a tree where careless children play +around him.</p> +<p class="pnext">A charming road, through the woods belonging +to the Schwanstein park, leads to the castle, past +the lovely Alpsee, which looks deep and calm, +and lies lovingly nestled among the beautiful +woods that surround it and that rise high above +it, as if striving to conceal its loveliness from profane +eyes.</p> +<p class="pnext">We saw forty of the royal horses—pretty creatures +they were too—each with the name painted +over the stall. We were reading them aloud, they +were so odd and fanciful, when, as one of us said +Fenella, the little horse that claimed that name +turned her pretty head and tried to come to us. +However gently we would call her, she always +heard and looked at us. Encouraged by this +gracious condescension on the part of a royal +animal, we ventured to make friends with her; +and if ever a horse smiled with good-will and delight +it was Fenella when we gave her sugar.</p> +<p class="pnext">His majesty's carriages were also shown to us, +and received our approval. They are plain and +elegant, but do not differ from high-toned equipages +in general. A narrow little phaeton, low, +and large enough to hold but one person, we were +told was a favorite of the king. In it, with a man +at each side of the horse's head leading him, and +bearing a torch, the king amuses himself by ascending +dangerous mountain-roads at night. They +say it is astonishing where he will go in this manner. +Fancy meeting that scowling but interesting +young man, his torches and his funny little vehicle, +on a lonely peak at midnight!</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="life-in-schattwald"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id19"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="137" id="page-137"> </span>LIFE IN SCHATTWALD.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">We have been in the Tyrol many days, in +villages among the mountains, living in +simplicity, content, and charity to all +mankind. We have believed that our +condition was as thoroughly rural as anything that +could possibly be attained by people who only +want to be rural temporarily as an experiment. +But our present experience so far transcends all +that we have known in the past, that the other +villages seem like bustling, important towns, unpleasantly +copying city ways, compared with this +funny little quiet Schattwald.</p> +<p class="pnext">We came here from Reutte in an open carriage, +passed through a wonderfully beautiful ravine, saw +the lovely dark-green lakes that delight the soul +in this part of the world, little hamlets scattered +about picturesquely among pine-clad hills, bold +peaks towering to the clouds in the distance, and +drove slowly through soft, broad meadows, where +the whole population was out making hay. We +saw many Tyrolean Maud Müllers in bright gowns +that looked pretty in the sunshine. A German +friend told us a certain small object was “an +American hay-cart, and very practical, like all +American inventions.” He was so positive in his +convictions, and, at the same time, so gracious +towards the inventive genius of America, that we +saw it would be useless and unwise to pretend to +know anything about the hay-cart of our native +heath. But if an American hay-cart should see +its Tyrolean prototype, it would shatter itself into +atoms with laughter.</p> +<p class="pnext">So in the serene, perfect midsummer weather, +through this charming country, we came to Schattwald, +the highest village in the Thanheimer Thal.</p> +<p class="pnext">I feel now that it is my duty to give a friendly +caution to people whose nerves are easily shocked, +and to advise them to drop this letter at this very +point, for it is shortly going to treat of exceedingly +realistic and inelegant things.</p> +<p class="pnext">We drove to the village inn. There were hens +and children on the broken stone doorstep, and +men drinking beer in a little pavilion close by. A +broad and jocund landlady told us there was absolutely +no place for us. We are, therefore, ensconced +in a veritable peasant's cottage over the +way, going across to the inn when we are hungry, +which is tolerably often in this mountain air.</p> +<p class="pnext">Our rooms are broad and very low, with wide +casements having tiny panes. A stout wooden +bench against the wall serves as sofa and chairs. +A bare wooden table in front of it is graced by a +great dish filled with Alpine roses, Edelweiss, and +Wildemänner, which is an appropriate name for +the little flower with its brown unkempt head and +shaggy elf-locks blowing in the wind. A six-inch +looking-glass is hung exactly where the wall joins +the ceiling, and exactly where we cannot possibly +see ourselves in it without standing on something, +when we invariably bump our heads. This pointedly +tells us that vanity is a plant that does not +flourish in these lofty altitudes. There are crucifixes +on the walls, and extraordinary religious +pictures; and in the corner of the front door there +is a saint somebody made of wood, life-size, with a +reddish gown, and tinsel stars on a wire encircling +her head. I think she must be Mary, though it +did not occur to me at first, she is such a corpulent +young woman, with a thick, short waist, and +solid feet, which, nevertheless, by their position, +express the idea that she is floating. An old +woman often sits by her, knitting, as we go in and +out.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Is it clean?” I know some one is asking. That +depends upon what you call clean; and when +travelling one must modify one's opinion about +cleanliness and order. For a dressing-room it +would be shockingly unclean; for peasant life up in +the Alps it is—if the expression is permissible—<em class="italics">clean +enough</em>.</p> +<p class="pnext">The floors are clean, and the bedding and +towels. The water is pure and fresh, the dishes +and food perfectly clean. And these, after all, +are the essentials. But things are very much +mixed, to say the least; and the animal kingdom +lives in close proximity to its superiors. In fact, +up here it seems to have no superiors.</p> +<p class="pnext">You sit in the open air eating a roast chicken, +with a bit of salad; and the brother and sister +chickens, that will some day be sacrificed to the +appetite of another traveller, are running about +unconscious of their doom at your feet. A little +colt walks up to you and insists upon putting his +nose in your plate,—insists, too, upon being +petted,—and hasn't the least delicacy or comprehension +when you tell him you are busy and wish +he would go away. He stays calmly, and presently +a goat or two and a big dog join the group. +Such imperturbable good-nature and complacency, +such naïveté, I have never before known animals +to possess. They have been treated since their +birth with so much consideration, they never imagine +that their society may not always be desired. +In fact, the animals and the people have innocent, +friendly ways; and as it never occurs to them you +can be displeased with anything they may do, the +result is you never are. And as to the question +of cleanliness, perhaps the simplest way to settle +it is to say that there is indeed dirt enough here, +but it is all, as the children say, “clean dirt,” and +at all events, with glorious air and lovely mountain +views, brightness and goodness and kindness meeting +you on every side from the peasants, one must +be very sickly either in body or mind, or in both, +to be too critical about trifles.</p> +<p class="pnext">One whole morning we spent in a Sennhütte,—a +cowherd's hut,—high above the village. (Did I +not warn you that ungenteel things were coming?) +And it was one of the most interesting and amusing +half-days we have ever known. There were +fifty cows there, as carefully tended as if they +were Arabian horses, and noble specimens of their +kind of beauty. The prettiest ones were cream-colored, +with great soft eyes. They expected to +be talked to and petted like all the other animals +in Schattwald. There were different rooms, the +mountain breezes blowing straight through them +all, where five or six workmen were making butter +and enormous cheeses. If we do not know how +to make superior cheese and butter, it is not the +fault of our hosts in the Sennhütte, for they left +nothing unexplained.</p> +<p class="pnext">Dare I, or dare I not, tell what should now come +in a faithful chronicle of that morning? I dare. +Towards twelve, the chief workman—a man who +had been devoting himself to our entertainment, +even sending his little son far out on the hills for +Alpine flowers for us—prepared the simple soup +which serves as dinner for these hard-working men, +who eat no meat during the entire summer, and +work nearly eighteen hours a day. We were +interested in that soup, as in everything that was +made, done, or said in that novel place. It was +only cream, and salt, and butter, and flour, but it +was made by a dark-eyed man with his sleeves +rolled up and a white cap on his head, and it +simmered in a kettle large enough to be a witch's +caldron.</p> +<p class="pnext">When quite cooked it was poured into a great +wooden dish that was almost flat, and each workman +drew near with his spoon in his hand. We +were thinking what a pleasant scene this was +going to be, and were about to regard it from afar +like something on the stage, when to our utter +amazement our friend the soup-maker, as simply, +as naturally, with as much courtesy and kindness +as ever a gentleman at his own table offered delicate +viands to an honored guest, gave me a spoon +and assigned me my place at the table.</p> +<p class="pnext">Dear Mrs. Grundy, what would you have done? +I know very well. You would have drawn yourself +up in a superior way, and you would have +looked as proper as the mother of the Gracchi, +and you would have remarked,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“Really, my dear Mr. Cowherd-cheese-maker, <em class="italics">I</em> +have been educated according to the separate-plate +theory.”</p> +<p class="pnext">But then Mrs. Grundy would never have placed +herself quite in our position, for she would not +have been demeaning herself by peering into +churns and kettles, tasting fresh butter, drinking +cream from wooden ladles, and asking questions +about cows, and indeed it is improbable that she +would have allowed herself to even enter such a +place; we will therefore leave Mrs. Grundy completely +out of the question,—which is always a +huge satisfaction,—and tell how we conducted +ourselves under these unforeseen circumstances.</p> +<p class="pnext">With outward calmness, with certain possible +misgivings and inward shrinkings, we smilingly +took the seat assigned in the circle of friendly +young workmen, and dipped our spoon in the +wooden soup-dish with all the other spoons. That +we ate, really <em class="italics">ate</em>, much, I cannot say. Not only +was suppressed amusement a hindrance to appetite, +but the five young men with their rolled-up +sleeves, their <em class="italics">patois</em>, their five spoons dipping +together in unison and brotherly love, though interesting +as a picture, with the cows lazily lying +in the background, and the Tyrolean Alps seen +through the open doors and windows, presented +nevertheless certain obstacles to a thorough enjoyment +of the rustic meal. To taste, according to +our code, was obligatory; to eat was impossible. +We tried to spur on that languid spoon to do its +duty; we philosophized about human equality, +but all in vain; and we ate not in a proper, true +spirit, but like a hypocrite, or an actress, so strong +are these silly prejudices that govern us.</p> +<p class="pnext">But the men were quite satisfied, since their +soup was pronounced excellent; and, having once +accepted their hospitality, we had no difficulty in +excusing ourselves when a second soup—<em class="italics">cheese</em> +being its principal ingredient—was offered us. +Our one regret in the whole experience was, that +we could not summon the primest woman of our +acquaintance to suddenly stand in the doorway +and gaze in, aghast, upon this convivial scene. +That, had it been possible, would have been a joy +forever in our remembrance.</p> +<p class="pnext">This Schattwald certainly has great fascinations +to offer the wanderer who seeks shelter here. +Rough scrambles for Alpine flowers are followed +by a long afternoon of novel enjoyment, listening +to a chorus of hunters singing Tyrolean songs,—<em class="italics">real</em> +hunters, and we never saw their like before +except on the stage! The one who played the +zither was adorned with trophies of the chase,—a +chamois beard on his dark-green hat, and, on +his coat, buttons made from stag-antlers. He was +rather a noble-looking man, with a straightforward, +kindly expression in his eyes, and he sang +the mountain songs with great spirit. They all +sang with enjoyment, and there seemed to be an +immense “swing” to the music. The songs expressed +joy and pride in the freedom of the mountain +life, and alluded in poetical language to their +mountain maids. In several of them the singers +gave the “Jodel,” which we also heard repeatedly +echoing among the mountains, and responded to +from height to height.</p> +<p class="pnext">On the prettiest cottage in the place is this inscription +in verse. I give the literal translation:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“I once came into a strange land;</div> +<div class="line">On the wall was written,</div> +<div class="line">‘Be pious, and also reserved:</div> +<div class="line">Let everything alone that is not thine.’”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">The hunters sang with special delight one song +which frequently asserted that “<em class="italics">Auf der Alm</em> there +is no sin.” This impressed us as a delightful idea, +though somewhat at variance with the theological +doctrines in vogue in a less rarefied atmosphere. +We did not presume to doubt anything they told +us, however. We are rapidly becoming as credulous, +as simple, as bucolic, as they. But, reclining +one evening at sunset on a soft slope above the +village, with the breath of the pines around us, and +listening, in a lotus-eating mood, to the “drowsy +tinklings” of the bells of the herds on the opposite +heights, this problem occurred to us: How +long will it be, at our present rapid rate of assimilation +with things pastoral, and with the slight line +of demarcation that exists in Schattwald between +man and bird and beast, before we also contentedly +eat grass, and go about with bells on our necks?</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="up-the-airy-mountain"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id20"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="145" id="page-145"> </span>UP THE AIRY MOUNTAIN.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">“Will you walk into my parlor?” said +every innkeeper from Chur to St. Moritz, +and our minds were half absorbed in +contemplation of the scenery and half in +resisting the allurements of these Swiss spiders, all +of whom declared with many grimaces and shrugs +that we could not accomplish the distance between +the two places in one day.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Does not the regular post go through in one +day?” we inquire. “Then why not we by extra +post?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“You are too late, madame.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“We are not so heavy as the <em class="italics">diligence</em>. We +can go faster.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Impossible, madame.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“<em class="italics">Why</em> impossible?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Not precisely impossible; but it would be better, +ah, yes, madame, far better, to remain here,”—with +the sweetest of smiles,—“and go on to +St. Moritz to-morrow.”</p> +<p class="pnext">They knew this was nonsense. We knew it was +nonsense. They knew that we knew that it was +nonsense. We had borne all that it was fitting we +should bear.</p> +<p class="pnext">“But <em class="italics">why</em>?” we sternly demand.</p> +<p class="pnext">“You will be more comfortable, madame.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“We do not wish to be comfortable.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“You will arrive at midnight.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“We like to arrive at midnight.”</p> +<p class="pnext">What then could the spiders do with flies who +retorted in this unheard-of-way, who resisted advice, +would telegraph for horses, cheer the postilions +with absurdly frequent <em class="italics">Trink Geld</em>, and push +steadily on to St. Moritz high in the upper Engadine?</p> +<p class="pnext">The truly remarkable feature of the expedition +was, that when we left Chur in the morning it was +only with a lazy consciousness that up among the +mountains somewhere was a St. Moritz, which we +at some indefinite time would reach.</p> +<p class="pnext">Innkeeper No. 1 made us think we would like +to go through in one day.</p> +<p class="pnext">Innkeeper No. 2 strengthened the wish.</p> +<p class="pnext">No. 3, by his efforts at discouragement, gave us, +in place of the wish, a determination to go on.</p> +<p class="pnext">No. 4 created in us a frantic resolve to reach +St. Moritz that night, or perish in the attempt.</p> +<p class="pnext">No banner with a strange device did we bear, +yet as the shades of night were falling fast, and +we stopped to change horses at a little inn in an +Alpine village, and queer-looking men with lanterns +walked about the wild place speaking in an +unknown tongue (it was Romanisch, but then we +did not know), and the road was steep before us, +we gloried in resembling the immortal “youth” of +the poem. We always have admired him from the +time we learned him by heart, and repeated him in +our first infant sing-song; but never before did we +have the remotest idea <em class="italics">why</em> his brow was sad, why +his eye flashed like a falchion from its sheath, +why he persisted in his eccentric career. Now it +is clear as light before us. He was goaded on, as +we were, by the Swiss innkeepers.</p> +<p class="pnext">“O, stay!” said they.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Excelsior!” cried we. And on we went, feeling +that a mighty fate was impelling us, alluding +grandly to “Sheridan's Ride,” “How they brought +the Good News,” and all similar subjects that +we could remember where people pushed on with +high resolve, and being in the end grateful to +the petty souls who had roused our obstinacy, +ignorant that even the Alps are no obstacle to +woman's will; for the latter part of the journey +was by perfect moonlight, and therefore do we +bless the innkeepers. Our obstinacy, do I say? +Let the sneering world use that unpleasant term. +We will say heroism, for who shall always tell +where the line between the two is to be drawn?</p> +<p class="pnext">Never shall we forget that wonderful white +night, the gleams and glooms on the mountains, +the silver radiance of the lakes, the vast glaciers +outstretched before us, the mighty peaks towering +to the skies, the impressive stillness broken only +by the bells on our horses' necks, the sound of +their hoofs on the hard road, the rumbling of our +carriage, and the cracking of the whip. We, with +our miserable jarring noises, were the only discordant +element, and we well knew we ought to be +suppressed. It seemed profane to intrude upon +such grandeur, such majestic stillness.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the full sunlight since, all is quite different; +yet we close our eyes, and that glorious white, still +night comes vividly before us, and always there +will be to us a glamour about the Engadine on account +of it.</p> +<p class="pnext">The village of St. Moritz lies picturesquely on +the hillside above a pretty lake of the same name. +The St. Moritz baths are a mile farther on, where +numerous hotels and <em class="italics">pensions</em> stand on a grassy +plateau between high mountains, whose sharp +contour is wonderfully defined in this clear atmosphere +against the peculiar deep-blue of the sky.</p> +<p class="pnext">In a very interesting article about the Upper +Engadine in the Fortnightly Review for March, +the writer speaks with undisguised contempt of +“the Germanized Kurhaus,” “the damp Kurhaus,” +“the huge and hideous Kurhaus,” even telling +people to beware of it. Now, if it were not a +shockingly audacious thing to dare to have any +opinion at all in the presence of the Fortnightly +Review, I would venture most humbly to state +that I am at present staying at that object of +British scorn, the Kurhaus, and like it.</p> +<p class="pnext">It is ugly. It is immensely long and awkward. +If your room is in one end and you have a friend +in the other, you feel, walking through the interminable +corridors, that the introduction of horse-cars +and carriages would promote economy of time +and strength. The Kurhaus certainly has its unamiable +qualities. It is tyrannical. It puts out +its lights at ten o'clock “sharp,” leaving you in +Egyptian darkness and not saying so much as “by +your leave.” [I have observed that men, whom I +have believed to be faultlessly amiable, under these +circumstances lose their composure and utter improper +ejaculations, as they find themselves, in the +midst of an interesting game of whist, unable to +see the color of a card.] But after all, unless +you are in the village proper, where we—again +differing from the awful Fortnightly—would not +prefer to be, it seems to be the best abiding-place, +because everything centres in it. The people +from the other hotels must all come here to drink +the mineral waters and take the baths, to dance +twice a week if they wish, to hear the music three +times a day, to attend various entertainments +given by marvellous prestidigitateurs from Paris +and singers from Vienna; and though these things +are very ignoble to talk about when one is among +the grand mountains, yet there come nights and +days when it rains in torrents, and when the most +enthusiastic mountain-climber must condescend +to be amused or bored under a sheltering roof. +Then, the Kurhaus, being the largest hotel, the +place where things of interest most do congregate, +seems to us the most desirable abode. The Victoria, +which the English frequent, has fresher paint +and newer carpets and finer rooms. But we are +true to the Kurhaus, notwithstanding. We are +grateful to it for a few charming weeks, and in +some way we don't like to see Albion's proud foot +crushing it.</p> +<p class="pnext">It is “Germanized.” That is enough, to be +sure, in the opinion of many English and Americans, +to condemn it; they often like a hotel exclusively +for themselves, and dislike the foreign +element even in a foreign land. But to many of +us it is infinitely more amusing to live in exactly +such a place, where we meet Italians and Spaniards, +French, Germans, Swiss, Dutch, Russians, +people from South America and islands in the far +seas,—in fact, from every land and nation,—than +to establish a little English or American corner +somewhere, wrap ourselves in our national prejudices, +and neither for love nor money abandon one +or the other.</p> +<p class="pnext">To the Paracelsus Spring at the Kurhaus come +all the people every morning to drink the mineral +water, and walk up and down while the band +plays in the pavilion, but very few have an invalid +air. Some drink because the water is prescribed +by their physicians; some, because it is the fashion; +some, because it is not unpleasant, and drinking +gives them an opportunity to inspect the other +drinkers. The mighty names written over the +glasses fill us with amazement. You may be plain +Miss Smith from Jonesville, U. S. A., and beside +your humble name is written that of the Countess +Alfieri di Sostegno, and the name of a marquis, and +even that of a princess; but when they all come to +the spring and glance at you over their glasses, just +as you glance at them over yours, and you see +them face to face, you don't much care if you are +only Miss Smith. It is astonishing what an ordinary +appearance people often have whose great-great-grandfathers +were doges of Venice.</p> +<p class="pnext">It seems positive stupidity here not to speak at +least five languages fluently. To hear small children +talking with ease in a variety of tongues is +something that, after the first astonishment, can be +borne; but it never ceases to be exasperating and +humiliating when common servants pass without +the least difficulty from one language to another +and another. Yet we Americans should perhaps +have patience with ourselves in this respect, and +remember that the ability to speak half a dozen +languages well, which at first seems like pure +genius, is often more a matter of opportunity or +necessity than actual talent, though it certainly +is a great convenience, and gives its possessor +a superior air. “It's nonsense to learn languages, +or to try to speak anything but good, honest +English,” says a young gentleman here,—an +American recently graduated from one of the colleges. +“You can make your way round with it, +and everything that's worth two straws is translated.” +So he brandishes his mother-tongue +proudly in people's faces, and is always immensely +disgusted and incensed at their stupidity when he +is not understood.</p> +<p class="pnext">An Englishwoman the other day bought a picture +of Alpine flowers, and tried to make a man +understand that she also wished a stick upon +which the cardboard could be rolled and safely +carried in her trunk. He knew no English; she, +no German. First she spoke very loud, with emphatic +distinctness, as if he were deaf. Whereupon +he made a remark in German, which, though +an excellent remark, in itself a highly reasonable +statement, had not the least relation to her request. +She then spoke slowly, gently, in an endearing +manner, as if coaxing a child, or endeavoring +to influence a person whose understanding +was feeble and who must not be frightened. He +responded in German,—again sensible, but widely +inappropriate. So they went on, each continuing +his own line of thought, as much at cross-purposes +as if they were insane, until a bystander, taking +pity on them, came to the rescue. The lady was, +however, not indignant that her “good, honest +English” was not understood; she was simply +despairing. It is singular that it never occurs to +some minds that other languages, and even the +people who speak them, may also be good and +honest.</p> +<p class="pnext">Here in the Engadine the dialect is Romanisch, +but the people also speak German, French, Italian, +and often tolerable English. The houses are +solidly built, with very thick walls, curious iron +knockers, deep-sunken windows, with massive iron +gratings over them. The object of the gratings +is doubtful. Some say they are to guard against +robbers; some say they are an invention of +jealous husbands; some, that they are so constructed +in order to allow a maiden and her lover +to converse without danger of an elopement. +Arched, wide doors on the ground-floor, directly +in the front of the house, are large enough to +admit carts and horses into the basements, which +serve as carriage-houses and stables.</p> +<p class="pnext">Is it really summer? Is it possible that in our +beloved America people are suffering from heat, +that Philadelphia is suffocating? Here ladies +wear furs and velvet mornings and nights, and +men wrap themselves in ulsters and shawls. The +air is the most bracing,—the coolest, dryest, +purest imaginable. It is considered admirable for +nervous disorders, and this one can readily believe. +But though it is the fashion to order consumptives +here, many eminent physicians say more invalids +with lung complaints are sent to the Engadine +than should properly come. It certainly seems as +if this immensely bracing air would speedily kill +if it did not cure. “Nine months winter and +three months cold” is the popular saying here +about the climate. Delicate persons are often so +enervated at first by the peculiar atmosphere +that they cannot eat or sleep or rest in any +way.—Indeed, with certain constitutions this air +never agrees.—This condition, however, usually +passes off in a few days; they feel able to move +mountains, and accomplish wonders in the way +of climbing; while people who are well in ordinary +climates come here and forget that they are +mortal. There is something in the air that gives +one giant strength and endurance,—something +inexpressibly delightful, buoyant, and inspiring,—something +that clears away all cobwebs from the +brain.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="the-engadine"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id21"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="154" id="page-154"> </span>THE ENGADINE.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">They say that Auerbach has thought and +written much in the beautiful Engadine,—that +many of his mountain descriptions +are from this grand country. Somewhere +here a seat is shown where he sits and plans +and dreams. Whether it is due to “ozone,” or +whatever it may be, the heart and lungs do unusual +work here, and the brain too. It would +seem that here, if anywhere, would come inspiration. +And yet, when we remember that Schiller +wrote his “Wilhelm Tell” without ever seeing +Switzerland, it teaches us that wide, free genius +can soar in a narrow room, and only petty, mediocre +talent is really dependent upon its surroundings.</p> +<p class="pnext">They who view the Alps with a critic's eye say +that the contours in the Engadine are too sharply +defined, the rocks too bold and rugged, the snow +too glaring white, the air too clear, the whole effect +too hard and unmanageable,—all lacking the +slight haze that is necessary to a perfect mountain +view. This makes me feel very ignorant and small, +for I have not yet learned to speak with condescending +approval of one landscape, and with dignified, +discriminating censure of another. And +yet I don't believe these lofty critics could have +made a grander, nobler Engadine if they had had +the fashioning of it; and if Nature is lovely in +her soft, smiling scenes, in her hazes and mists +and tender lights, so is she also magnificent in her +strength and rugged grandeur, sublime in her stillness, +her frozen heights, as in the Engadine. Most +unutterably impressive is she here.</p> +<p class="pnext">And who shall say that here she does not also +show us loveliness? The Maloja Pass, for instance, +that leads, in its remarkable steep, zigzag down, +down through fragrant woods, where vines and +moss droop over the rocks, till it reaches a milder +temperature, and the warm breath of Italy seems +to touch your cheek. You stand high on the cliff +and look down into the valley, following every curious +winding of the road till it meets the plain, +and goes off towards Chiavenna far away. When +we saw the Maloja, a group of men who looked +like bandits were gathered round a fire and a kettle +where <em class="italics">polenta</em> was cooking. The people here +live on <em class="italics">polenta</em>. It isn't at all bad. We know, +because we've tasted it. We taste everything. +There is a pretty lake and a pretty waterfall here, +concealed, and well worth finding; but the particular +“sight,” the especial thing you must do, is to +stand on the cliff opposite the inn, and watch the +<em class="italics">diligence</em> as it descends a thousand feet in twenty +minutes.</p> +<p class="pnext">Behind the Kurhaus is a hill with shady seats +among the trees, where you can sit by one of +those impatient, impetuous little mountain brooks +that come rushing down from the glaciers, and +that act so young and excited about everything; +and while it talks to you and tells you its wild +stories and eager hopes, you say to it, “Wait till +you've seen a little more of the world, my dear, +and you'll take things more quietly.” And the +water tumbles and foams over the rocks, and sings +strange things in your ears, and you look off upon +three peaks with their heads close together like +Michael Angelo's “Three Fates.” You learn to +love them very much, and to watch their different +expressions. One is greener, softer, milder than +the others. One is sharp, cruel, inflexible rock. +On one, great snow-masses forever lie in stillness, +solemnity, and peace.</p> +<p class="pnext">A little winding path by the water's edge leads +to Crestalta. Here surely it is not grand, but +lovely, every inch of the way. The Inn, which +seems like an old friend now, so often has it met +us in the Tyrol days, we visit here at its birthplace, +and hear its baby name, the <em class="italics">Sela</em>, for it is +not the Inn till it leaves the Lake of St. Moritz. +A coquettish, wayward, merry stream it is in its +youth,—bubbling and laughing in little falls,—stopping +to rest in clear enchanted lakes, whose +depths reflect the skies and clouds and soft green +banks and Alpine cedars, then rushing on, frolicking +and singing boldly as it goes.</p> +<p class="pnext">These are small things to do. They are for the +first day, before one is accustomed to the air here. +They are for invalids who must not work for their +enjoyment. But for the strong, for the blessed +ones with clear heads and tireless feet, what is +there <em class="italics">not</em> to see that is grand and inspiring!</p> +<p class="pnext">O, these mountains, these magical, giant mountains! +How their silence, their vastness, their terrible +beauty, speak to our restless hearts! I can +well believe that mountain races are, as it is said, +deeply superstitious, for there are times when the +effect of the mighty, stern heights is simply crushing. +Old heathenish fancies, without comfort, +without hope, come to us in spite of ourselves. +What are we, our poor little life-stories, our hopes, +and our heart-breakings, our wild storms, and +short, sweet, sunny days, before these cold, eternal +hills? Above their purple sublimity are cruel +pagan gods, who do not hear though we cry to +them in agony. Our feet bleed. Our hearts are +faint. The chasms swallow us. Rocks crush us. +Nature is a cruel, mighty tyrant, and our enemy.</p> +<p class="pnext">But not only thus do the mountains speak. So +many voices have they! So many songs and +poems and mysteries and tragedies and glories do +they tell you! So many strong, sweet chords do +they strike in your soul! Did they crush you +yesterday? Ah, how they lift you up to-day, and +heal the wounds they themselves have made, and +comfort you with a sweet and noble comfort! They +tell you how little you are, but they give you a +great patience with your own littleness. They bid +you look up, as they do, to the heavens above; +to stand firm, as they stand firm; to take to yourself +the beauty and the grace of passing sunshine, +of bird and flower and tree, and song of brook; to +take it and rejoice and be glad in it, though the +gray, sad cliffs are not concealed, and the sorrowful +wind moans in the pines. They whisper unutterable +things to you of this mystery we call +life,—things which you never, never felt before. +They fill you with infinite patience and tenderness, +and send you forth to meet your fate with the +heart of a hero. Ah, what a pity it is that we +must ever leave the mountains; and what a pity +it is that, if we should remain, the mountains +might leave us,—might speak less to us, sustain +and elevate us less! And yet it does not seem as +if a heart that had a spark of reverence in it +could ever grow too familiar with such majesty.</p> +<p class="pnext">From St. Moritz it is not easy to say what excursion +or mountain tramp is the most enjoyable, +but, if I were positively obliged to give my opinion, +I think it would be in favor of the Bernina Pass +and Palü Glacier. You go first to Pontresiná,—a +place, by the way, especially liked and frequented +by the English. With the mountains crowding +round it, and its glimpse of the Roseg Glacier, it +is certainly very beautiful. Samaden, Pontresiná, +and St. Moritz have rival claims and rival champions. +St. Moritz is, however, to us indisputably +superior. Not that we love Pontresiná less, but +that we love St. Moritz more.</p> +<p class="pnext">On this road the superb Morteratsch Glacier +greets you, imbedded between Piz Chalchang and +Mont Pers, and you see the whole Bernina group. +The Morteratsch Glacier has beautiful blue ice-caves, +real ones, not artificial as in Interlaken.</p> +<p class="pnext">From Pontresiná you go higher and higher to +the Bernina hospice, two thousand feet above St. +Moritz. Here, side by side, are two small lakes, +the Lago Nero and the Lago Bianco. The “white” +lake, coming from the glaciers, is the lightest possible +grayish-green, and the dark one is spring +water, and looks purplish-blue beside it. It is +strange to think how far apart the waters of the +sister lakes flow,—the Lago Nero into the Inn, +so to the Danube and Black Sea, while the Lago +Bianco, through the Adda, finds its way to the +Adriatic.</p> +<p class="pnext">To the hospice you can ride, but after that you +must walk over rough rocks and snow, and +past pools where feathery white flowers stand up +straight on tall, slight, stiff stalks, like proud, +shy girls, and at last you are at the Alp Grüm, +where wonderful things lie before your eyes. The +magnificent Palü Glacier is separated from you +only by a narrow valley. You stand before it as +the sun pours down on its vast whiteness, and +on the mountain range in which it lies. Far +below in the ravine the road goes winding away to +Italy, past the villages of Poschiavo and Le Prese: +above, the eternal snows; below, the soft, blooming +valley, lovely as a smile of Spring, and in the +distance even a hint of sunny Italy, for you gaze +afar off upon its mountains wistfully, and feel like +Moses looking into the Promised Land.</p> +<p class="pnext">Everywhere are the brave little Alpine flowers. +They are very dear, and one learns to feel a peculiar +tenderness towards them, as well as to be +astonished at their variety and abundance. There +are many tiny ones whose names I do not know, +but their little star-faces smile at you from amazingly +rough, high places.</p> +<p class="pnext">About the Edelweiss much fiction has been written. +It is true that it often grows in rather inaccessible +spots, but it is not at all necessary to peril +one's life in order to pluck it; and we must regretfully +abandon the pretty, old legend that the bold +mountaineer, when he brings the flower to his +sweetheart, gives her also the proof of his valor +and devotion, and his willingness to risk all for +her dear sake. It is interesting and exciting to +find these flowers,—they do grow at a noble +height,—and here in the Engadine, at this season, +and in this vicinity, they are rare. But, +sweethearts, of all ages, sexes, and conditions, +who will shortly receive from me Edelweiss in letters, +do not be disappointed to hear that, though +my hands were full to overflowing, I plucked them +in gay security, with my feet on firm ground; and +there was only one single place where it wasn't +pleasant to look down, or, to be more impressive, +where a yawning abyss threatened to ingulf me.</p> +<p class="pnext">The Edelweiss is certainly very good to find and +send home in a letter, it is so suggestive of dangerous +cliffs, horrible ravines, and immense daring, +as well as telling very sweetly its little story of +blooming in lonely beauty on the high Alps; but +that any especial valor is required to obtain it, is, +if the truth be told, a mere fable.</p> +<p class="pnext">And the last grain of romance vanishes when +we hear that shrewd guides bring the flowers down +from their own heights, and set them in the path +of enthusiastic but not high-climbing ladies, who +in their delight are wildly lavish of fees. The +Devil can quote Scripture for his purpose, and the +pure, precious little flower can be used as a trap +by mercenary man.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="ragatz"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id22"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="161" id="page-161"> </span>RAGATZ.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Over the Albula Pass we came from St. +Moritz to Chur, and when we went, it +was by the Julia. How grand we feel +going over these great mountain-passes, +where Roman and German emperors, with all their +vast armies, their high hopes and ambitions, have +trod, it is quite impossible to express. The emperors +are dead and gone, and we, an insignificant +but merry little party, ride demurely over the selfsame +route. Blessed thought that the mountains +are meant for us as much as they were for the +emperors; that the beauty and grandeur and loveliness +of nature, everywhere, is our own to enjoy; +that it has been waiting through the ages, even +for us, to this day! It is our own. No king or +conqueror has a larger claim.</p> +<p class="pnext">This was one of the tranquil, joyous days that +have so much in them,—a day of clear thoughts, +unwearying feet, unspeakable appreciation of nature, +and good-will towards humanity. There was +a long, bright flood of sunshine, with beautiful +flakes of clouds floating before a fresh mountain +wind. The great mountains looked solemnly at +us, and the happy laugh of a little child-friend +echoed through the sombre ravines.</p> +<p class="pnext">We passed queer old villages; small dun cattle +with antelope eyes and fragrant breath; wise-looking +goats; pastures that stretched out their vivid +green carpets on the mountain-side; and, above all, +the great snow-slopes.</p> +<p class="pnext">We got some supper in a very grave little village. +The woman who waited upon us looked as +if she had never smiled. This made us want somebody +to be funny. The other travellers were +matter-of-fact Englishmen, some heavy Jews, and +particularly <em class="italics">eagle</em>-looking Americans. The little +woman gave us good coffee, sweet black-bread +and sweeter butter, and eggs so rich and fresh +we felt that they would instantly transform our +famishing selves into Samsons. These eggs had +chocolate-colored shells. The Englishmen, the +Eagles, and the Jews ate solemnly, as if they had +eaten brown eggs from their cradles. But we, +with that curiosity which, whatever it may be to +others, is in our opinion our most invaluable travelling +companion,—of more profit and importance +than all the guide-books and maps, often more +really helpful than friends who have made what +they call “the tour of Europe” three times,—inquired:—</p> +<p class="pnext">“<em class="italics">Why</em>, do Swiss hens lay brown eggs?”</p> +<p class="pnext">To this innocent inquiry the little woman with +sombre mien replied that she had boiled the eggs +in our coffee. “Water was scarce, and she always +did it.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Not discouraged, we remarked we would like to +buy the hen that could lay such rich, delicate +eggs, and take her away in our travelling-bag. +The fire and the coffee-pot we might be able to +establish elsewhere, but that hen was a <em class="italics">rara avis</em>. +This small pleasantry caused a little cold ghost of +a smile to flit over her lips, but it was gone in an +instant, and she was counting francs in her coffee-colored +palm.</p> +<p class="pnext">A night in Chur, then the next morning a short +ride by rail, and we are in Ragatz. Do you know +what Ragatz is? It is, in the first place, to us at +least, a surprise; its name is so harsh and ugly, +and the place is so soft, pretty, and alluring. And +coming from that wonderful, electrifying St. Moritz +air directly here, is like dropping from the +North Pole to the heart of the tropics. It is said +the change should not be made too suddenly, that +one should stay a day or two on the route, which +seems reasonable. Happily our strength is not +impaired by the new atmosphere, but we feel very +much amazed. We cannot at once recover ourselves. +There, it was, as somebody says, “always +early morning.” Here, it is “always afternoon.” +There, we had broad outlooks, stern, rough lines, +and vast snow-fields. Here, we are in a lovely +garden, luxuriant with flowers. Grapes hang, rich +and heavy, on the trellises. Shade-trees droop +over enticing walks and rustic seats. Oleanders +and pomegranate-trees, with their flame-colored +tropical blossoms, stand in long rows by the lawns. +Children paddle about in tiny boats on little lakes. +Rustic bridges cross the stream here and there. +A young English girl, with golden hair so long and +luxuriant that it rather unpleasantly suggests Magdalen +as it falls in great waves to the ground, sits +sketching, and wears a thin blue jaconet gown,—wonderful +sight is that blue jaconet! Only yesterday +we left the region of sealskin sacques, breakfast-shawls, +and shivers.</p> +<p class="pnext">The hotel is most charmingly situated. Did I ever +recommend a hotel in my life? It is a rash thing +to do, but I feel impelled to advise people to come +here to the Quellenhof. <em class="italics">We</em> live, not in the hotel +proper, but in one of the “dependencies,” the Hermitage, +a kind of châlet. It is delightful to live +in a Hermitage, let me tell you. Fuchsias and +asters and scarlet geraniums make a glory about +our door. Our windows and balconies look on the +lake just below. Great trees bend over us, and +green mountain slopes come down to meet us on +the other side. Our Hermitage is a quiet, restful +nest. The people occupying the different rooms +go softly in and out. We never meet them. +Marie, with her white cap and white apron, opens +the door for us as we stand under the fuchsia-covered +porch. We hear no hurrying steps, no waiters +and bells, or any hotel noises. Every moment +we like our Hermitage better, and we really think +we own it. It is all very sweet and soft and +lotus-eating here, with balmy odors, and drowsy +hum of bees, and mellow, golden lights on the +mountains. We feel as if a magician had touched +us with his wand, and whirled us off into another +planet. No one can say that we as a party have +not a goodly share of the wisdom that takes things +as they come,—but Ragatz after St. Moritz!</p> +<p class="pnext">That which drew us here is what draws everybody +to Ragatz,—that is, everybody who is not +sent by a physician to drink the water and take +the baths,—the celebrated Pfaffer's Gorge. It is +well worth a long journey and much fatigue and +trouble. From Ragatz you walk through the little +village, then along a narrow road between immense +limestone cliffs, where the Tamina, that most audacious +of mountain streams, hurls itself angrily +by you. The cliffs are in some places eight hundred +feet high, and the Gorge is often extremely +narrow. You pass beneath the vast overhanging +rocks, the two sides leaning so far towards each +other that they almost meet in a natural bridge. +It is cold, damp, and in gloom where you are. You +look up and see the trees and sunlight far, far +above you,—the rocks, at times, shut out the +sky,—and the Tamina acts like a mad thing that +has broken loose, as it sweeps through the sombre +Gorge.</p> +<p class="pnext">After the walk,—I had no ideas of time or +distance in regard to it; everything else was so +impressive these trifles were banished from my +mind,—we reached the hot springs, did what +other people did, and were greatly astonished.</p> +<p class="pnext">A man had insisted upon putting shawls upon +all the ladies of the party. Another man now +insists upon removing them. There is a cavern +before you which looks very black and Mephistophelian. +Everybody slowly walks in,—you too. +It is dark where your feet tread. There are one +or two men with uncertain, wavering lights that +seem designed to deceive the very elect. You begin +to dread snares and pitfalls. The atmosphere +grows hotter, more oppressive, and more suggestive +every instant. You are certain that you smell +brimstone, and expect to see cloven hoofs. You go +but two or three steps, and remain but a few seconds, +the temperature of the cavern is so high, but +you feel as if you were in the bowels of the earth. +A man with a light passes you a glass, and you +fancy you are going to drink molten lead or lava, +or something appropriate to the scene, and are +rather disappointed to find it tastes uncommonly +like hot water, pure and simple.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then you turn and go into the light of day, and +everybody has a boiled look, every face is covered +with moisture; and the outer air sends such a chill +to your very soul, you bless the man whom a few +moments before you had scorned when he hung +the ugly brown shawl on your shoulders. You +seize it with thankfulness, and back again you go +between the massive rocky walls with the Tamina +shouting boisterously in your ears.</p> +<p class="pnext">There is a bath-house near the Gorge for people +who wish to take the waters near their source. +The sunlight touches it in the height of summer +only between ten and four. People go there and +stay, why, I cannot imagine, unless they have lost, +or wish to lose, their senses. The guide-books +speak respectfully of its accommodations, but it is +the dreariest house I ever saw, with a monastic, or +rather, prison look, that is appalling; and the girl +who brings you bread-and-butter and wine looks +at you with a reproving gloom in her eyes, as if +all days <em class="italics">must</em> be “dark and dreary.” We felt quite +frivolous and out of place, lost our appetite, grew +somewhat frightened, and ran away as soon as +possible.</p> +<p class="pnext">The baths at the Quellenhof are pleasant, and +the water, though conveyed through a conduit two +miles and a half long, loses very little of its heat. +It is perfectly clear, free from taste or smell, and +resembles, they say, the waters of Wildbad and +Gastein. An eminent German physician told us +something the other day in regard to the efficacy +of these crowded baths here, there, and elsewhere +in this part of the world,—something that was +both funny and unpleasant to believe. Although +it is not my theory but his plainly expressed +opinion, I shall only venture to whisper it for fear +of offending somebody. He says it is not by the +peculiar efficacy of any particular kind of water +that the bathers in general are benefited, but by +the simple virtue of pure water freely used; that +many people at home do not bathe habitually; +and when a daily bath for five or six weeks, in a +place where they live simply and breathe pure air, +has invigorated them, they gratefully ascribe their +improvement to sulphur or iron or carbonic acid +or some other agent, which is really quite innocent +of special interposition in their case.</p> +<p class="pnext">Beside the baths and the Gorge and its ways of +pleasantness in general, Ragatz has many pretty +walks along the hills between houses and gardens, +and up steep, zigzag forest-paths to the ruins of +Freudenberg and Wartenstein. A broad, sunny +landscape lies before you,—the valley of the Rhine, +Falknis in the background, green pastures and +still waters. Blessed are the eyes that see what +we see.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="a-flying-trip-to-the-rhine-falls"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id23"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="168" id="page-168"> </span>A FLYING TRIP TO THE RHINE FALLS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">There was the rock upon which the Lorelei +used to sit and comb her golden +hair, and sing her wondrous melodies, +and lure men to destruction? Near St. +Graz, there have been and are, I suppose, Loreleis +enough in the world besides the famous maiden of +the poem. We found an admirable place for one, +yesterday, on the top of the great rock that stands +quivering in the Falls of the Rhine. We had sent +our heavy luggage on to Zurich, with that wisdom +which often characterizes us, and, free as air except +for hand-bags, went to see the Rhine Falls.</p> +<p class="pnext">And first we saw Schaffhausen, which has a +pretty, picturesque, mediæval air, as it lies among +the hills and vineyards on the banks of the Rhine. +It has its old cathedral, with the celebrated bell +cast in 1486, which bears the inscription that suggested +to Schiller—as everybody knows—his +“Song of the Bell,”—“Vivas voco, mortuos +plango, fulgura frango”; but besides this there is +not much to see except the tranquil landscape, +and that, fortunately, one does not lose by going +farther.</p> +<p class="pnext">Most people are, I presume, disappointed in the +Falls of the Rhine. At least, I know that many +of my own countrymen pronounce them not worth +seeing “after Niagara.” But—dare I make this +mortifying confession?—what if it is not, “after +Niagara”? What if Niagara is still to you in the +indefinite distance? It ought not to be, of course. +(We all know very well “nobody should go to +Europe who has not seen Niagara.”) But what if +it <em class="italics">is</em>? Under such circumstances may not one +find beauty here?</p> +<p class="pnext">And even with the remembrance of Niagara +clear in your mind, I do not know why the Rhine +Falls, so utterly different in character, may not +still be lovely.</p> +<p class="pnext">Their height is estimated, including the rapids +and whirlpools and all, at about one hundred feet, +which must be very generous measurement, and +they are three hundred and eighty feet broad. It +may have been in part owing to the exquisite atmosphere +of the day we visited them, it may be +we expected too little on account of the tales our +friends had told us, but certainly we found them +very lovely, and Nature seems to have given their +surroundings a peculiar grace. The shores are so +extremely pretty,—the high, bold cliff on one +side, the soft green slopes on the other; the row +of tall, stiff poplars, that look as prim as the typical +New England housekeeper, and give the landscape +that curiously neat appearance, as if everything +were swept and dusted. Then the rocks, +clothed with vines and moss and shrubs and little +trees, rise with so fine an effect in the midst of the +white foaming waters.</p> +<p class="pnext">We saw the falls from every point,—from above +on the cliff; [what a pity there isn't a fine old, +tumble-down, “ivy-mantled tower” there, instead +of the painted, restaurant-looking Schloss Laufen!] +from the little pavilion and platform at the side, +where the foam dashes all over you, and you are +deafened by the roar; from the top of the central +rock in the falls; and from the Neuhausen side.</p> +<p class="pnext">To go from shore to shore, just below the falls, +is really quite an adventure. Your funny flat-boat +careens about in the most eccentric and inconsequent +manner; the spray envelops you; it all +looks very dangerous, and is not in the least. Still +more eventful is a voyage to the central rock, after +which our boatman fastens his skiff—which is a +broad-bottomed scow, to be exact, but skiff sounds +more poetical—securely. You alight on the wet +stones, ascend the rough steps cut in the rock, and +feel that you are doing a novel and interesting +thing. On the top, amid the shrubs and vines, +where the Lorelei ought to be, is only an upright +iron rod. From here we thought the falls were +seen to the best advantage, and it was a delightful +experience to be so near and yet so far,—to stand +so securely amid the foaming, seething mass, to be +actually in the deafening roar. Mother Nature was +in a complacent mood when she placed those rocks +in the midst of the mighty waters. But no,—she +placed the rocks there long ago, and merely brought +Father Rhine towards them in later days. So say +the wise.</p> +<p class="pnext">There were myriads of rainbows in the spray. +On one side was brilliant sunshine flashing on soft +fields and vine-covered hills; on the other, as a +most effective background, against which the whiteness +of the foam shone out, low black thunderclouds. +It was a singular picture, with its strongly +contrasting hues. We could not help being glad +that we had never seen Niagara, we found so much +here to delight in.</p> +<p class="pnext">But, friends, a word of advice that comes from +depths of sad experience. See Niagara before you +come here. At least, read up Niagara. Be perfectly +able to answer all questions as to Niagara's +height, breadth, and volume, and the character of +the emotions created in an appreciative soul by +seeing Niagara. If you cannot, you will suffer. +Somebody will ask you a Niagara question suddenly +at a dinner-party, and you will either reply with +shame that you do not know, or with the courage +of despair you will make an utterly wild guess, +and say something that cannot possibly be true. +There are a great many people in Germany—extremely +intelligent, and to whom it is a delight to +listen—who are wonders of information and appreciation +when they talk about German literature +and German art; are also on easy terms with the +ancient Greeks, and possibly with Sanscrit; but +when they approach America it is as if that +beloved land were an undiscovered country,—an +“unsuspected isle in far-off seas.” The one +thing they positively know is that it has a Niagara. +Therefore arm yourselves with formidable statistics, +and pass unscathed and victorious through the +inevitable volley of questions. Personally, I feel +that I owe Niagara a never-dying grudge; for, +since the harrowing examinations of school committees +in my youthful days, never have I been +subjected to catechisms so pertinacious and embarrassing +as this pride of our land has caused me. +I have succeeded at last in fixing the main figures +in my memory, but am always more or less nervous +when the examination threatens to embrace +the adjacent country. If it advances like heavy +battalions, I can calmly meet it. But when it +comes like light cavalry, is brilliant and inclined +to skirmish, I tremble.</p> +<p class="pnext">It is also well—may I add, for the benefit of +young women contemplating a sojourn in Europe?—to +know the population of your native town, its +area, its distance from the coast, the length of the +river upon which it is situated,—above all, its latitude +and longitude. This last is of incalculable +importance. It is safe to assume that the elderly +German who doesn't instantly embark upon Niagara +will eagerly plunge into latitude and longitude. +Perhaps you think you know all these +things; others equally confident have been rudely +torn from their false security. Of course it is +what we all learned in the primary schools, and we +are expected to know it still; but it is astonishing +what clouds of uncertainty envelop the understanding +when you are suddenly asked in a foreign +tongue, before eight or ten strangers, for the +very simplest facts. Men are so stupid about such +things, you know! They never ask where the May-flowers +grow, where the prettiest walks are, where +you like to drive at sunset, from what point the +light and shade on the hills over the river is loveliest,—in +fact, anything of real importance; but +always they demand these dreary statistics. Was +there never a great man who hated arithmetic?</p> +<p class="pnext">At the Falls of the Rhine people, I regret to +say, make money too palpably. You buy a ticket +of a young woman in a pavilion, and she says it +will take you over the foaming billows and back +again. A man rows you across,—or, rather, propels +the boat in a remarkable manner to the opposite +shore,—when another man demands some +more francs for allowing you to stand on his platform, +get very wet and very enthusiastic. You +ascend to Schloss Laufen, and pay a franc for looking +at the Falls from that point of view. Eager to +see them from every possible place, you come down +and tell your ferryman to take you to the great rock, +that looks so tempting, so hazardous, so altogether +enticing, with the foam dashing against it. The +boat, as it makes this passage, is the most agitated +object imaginable. You survey the Falls from the +rock, and at last are content. You gather a few +leaves and some of the common flowers that grow +upon it, and you almost, from force of habit, give it +also a franc. Then the boat, with convulsive lurches +and dippings and bobbings, plunges through the +rough waters, and finally you reach your original +point of embarkation. The ferryman, an innocent-looking +blond,—your innocent-looking blonds +are invariably the worst kind of people to deal +with,—smilingly demands a fabulous number of +francs, not alone because he has taken you to the +rock, which you knew was an extra, but for the +whole trip, for which you have already paid. You +are afraid of losing your train. Your friends are +high on the bank, wildly beckoning, and waving +frantic handkerchiefs from afar. There is no time +for expostulation, and already fresh victims are +filling the boat. You mutter,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee,”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">which would be a greater comfort if he understood +English as well as he does extortion, and then you +climb the steep bank and hurry after the retreating +figures. You depart impressed with the magnitude +of the Falls of the Rhine, and quite conscious +of a not insignificant fall of francs in your +purse.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="down-from-the-high-alps"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id24"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="175" id="page-175"> </span>DOWN FROM THE HIGH ALPS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">It is not wise to visit what are called the +High Alps first and then make the tour +of the Swiss cities. This order should +be reversed. From loveliness we should +ascend to grandeur, and not come down from +Engadine heights, and space and air, to cities, +pretty lakes, purplish hills, and white peaks in the +background. If we were to see Switzerland again +for the first time—isn't this a tolerably good +Irishism?—and knew as much about it as we do +now,—which doesn't by any means imply that +we couldn't easily know more,—we would certainly +not do as we have done, especially if, as at +present, we were expected to chronicle our emotions. +The fact is, when you come down from the +heights there is a palpable ebb in your impressions. +How can it be otherwise? You glide in +well-oiled grooves over the regular routes of travel. +You see what you have seen in pictures and read +of in books all your life. It is perfectly familiar, +and how can you have the audacity to be very +diffuse about it? Experiences in well-conducted +hotels are not so suggestive as in the rougher +mountain life. It is all very comfortable, very +lovely. Strange—is it not?—that there come +moments when one tires of the comfort and is impatient +with the loveliness, and longs for something +different,—for grand heights, even if the +rocks towering to the skies are fierce and cruel +looking; for the depth of the gloomy ravines; for +the loneliness and cold of the gray, barren peaks; +for the sense of space, immensity, even when harshness +goes with it!</p> +<p class="pnext">We have, then, left the High Alps. We are +now in the region of fine hotels, brilliantly lighted +rooms, flirtations on the piazza, and long trains. +We go where all the world goes, see what all +the world sees, fare sumptuously every day, and, +whether we are arrayed in purple and fine linen +or not, at least we see other people so clothed +upon.</p> +<p class="pnext">Zurich, the busy, flourishing, learned Swiss +town on its pretty lake, we have just left, with its +two rivers running up through the heart of it; +with its bridges and its pleasure-boats; the villages +and orchards and vineyards on the fertile banks of +the lake as far as the eye can reach; the lovely +views of the Alps,—the perpendicular Reisettstock; +the Drusberg, “like a winding staircase”; +the Kammlisstock; great horns in the Rorstock +chain; the pyramidal Bristenstock, which is on the +St. Gothard route; and many, many others, if the +day be clear. Beautiful views of land and lake +you can get from different points here. It certainly +could have been nothing less than lack of +amiability or lack of taste that made us dissatisfied. +Had we seen it first, we might have +been beside ourselves with delight. “Yes, it is +very beautiful,” we say, quite calmly, and it is; +but—</p> +<p class="pnext">Zurich was in short, to us, agreeable, but not +fascinating. We liked it, but left it without a regret. +Our emotions were not largely called into +play by anything. Perhaps our liveliest sensation +was occasioned by the discovery that at that excellent +hotel, the Baur au Lac, we were formally requested +to fee no one, a reasonable amount for +service being charged daily in the bill. This was +a relief indeed. Often one would gladly pay +double the sum he gives in fees merely to escape +the hungry eyes and ever-ready palms. Another +sensation was seeing Count Arnim. He is quite +gray, and looks delicate.</p> +<p class="pnext">The people in the hotels are often a source of +amusement to us. We consider them fair game, +when they are very comical, because—who +knows?—perhaps we also are amusing to them. +Some faces, however, look too bored and miserable +to be amused by anything. It is very inelegant +never to be bored,—to like so many different +people, ways, thoughts, things. We often feel +mortified that we are so much amused, but the +fault is ineradicable.</p> +<p class="pnext">There is an Englishwoman of rank, whom we +have met recently in our wanderings,—exactly +where I dare not tell. She comes every day to +<em class="italics">table d'hôte</em> with a new bonnet, and each bonnet +is more marvellously self-assertive than its predecessor. +She bears a well-known name. She is +my Lady E——ton; but if she were only Mrs. +Stubbs from Vermont, I should say she had more +bonnets, more impudence, and more vulgar curiosity +than any woman I had ever seen. She seized +the small boy of our party in her clutches at dinner, +where an unlucky chance placed him by her +side, and questioned him minutely and mercilessly +during the six courses. Who was his father? +Who was his mother? Had he a sister? Had he +a brother? What did his father <em class="italics">do</em>? Where did +he live, and how? Where did we come from? +Where were we going? How long were we going to +stay? And what were all our names? Was the +young lady engaged to be married to the young +man? How old was the child's mamma? How +old were we all? And so on <em class="italics">ad infinitum</em>. The +boy, though old enough to feel indignant, was not +old enough to know how to escape, and so helplessly, +with painful accuracy, answered her questions; +but on the very delicate point of age we were +providentially protected by a childish, honest “I +don't know.” Some of us who are more worldly-wise +and wicked than the little victim heartily regretted +fate had not given us instead of him to our +lady of the bonnets. It would have been so delicious +to make her ribbons flutter with amazement +at the astonishing tales told by us in reply! Certainly, +under such circumstances, it is legitimate +to call in a little imagination to one's aid.</p> +<p class="pnext">Our cousins, the English, whom we meet on the +Continent, are very much like the little girl of the +nursery-rhyme,—when they are good they are +“awfully good,” and when they are bad they are +“horrid.” (No one is more truly kind, refined, and +charming than an agreeable Englishman or Englishwoman; +no one more utterly absurd than a +disagreeable one.) Possibly this impresses us the +more strongly on account of the cousinship. Aren't +our own unpleasant relatives invariably a thousand +times more odious to us than other people's?</p> +<p class="pnext">I saw a pantomime the other day which, though +brief, was full of meaning. A German lady and +gentleman, quiet-looking, well-bred people, were +walking through a long hotel corridor. The gentleman +stepped forward in order to open the door +of the <em class="italics">salon</em> for the lady. From another door +emerges an Englishman with an unattractive face +and dull, pompous manner. He is also <em class="italics">en route</em> +for the <em class="italics">salon</em>, and, not noticing the lady, steps +between the two. The German throws open the +door and waits. The burly Englishman, solemn +but gratified, accepting the supposed courtesy as a +perfectly fitting tribute from that inferior being, a +foreigner, to himself and the great English nation, +pauses and makes in acknowledgment a profound +bow, which, being utterly superfluous and unexpected, +strikes the lady coming along rapidly to +pass through the doorway, and, naturally imagining +the second gentleman, too, was waiting for +her, literally and with force <em class="italics">strikes</em> her and nearly +annihilates her. The Englishman turns in utter +wonder and gazes at the lady. The three gaze at +one another. Everybody says, “I beg your pardon.” +The Englishman, as the facts dawn upon +his comprehension, has the grace to turn very red, +but has not the grace to laugh, which would be +the only sensible thing to do,—too sensible, apparently, +for a man who goes about thinking +strange gentlemen will delight in smoothing his +path and opening doors for him. Of course, he +ought to have known instinctively, there was a +lady in the case, as there always is. The two +Germans were too polite to laugh unless he would. +But he did not even smile, which proclaimed his +stupidity more clearly than all which had gone +before; and presently three very constrained faces—one +red and sullen, two with dancing eyes and +lips half bitten through—appeared in the <em class="italics">salon</em>, +which, this time, the lady entered first. It isn't +so very funny to tell, but the scene was so funny +to witness, it really seemed a privilege to be the +solitary spectator.</p> +<p class="pnext">From Zurich on to Lucerne, with pretty pictures +all the way from the car windows. We anticipated +feeling romantic here, but so far all we +know is that Lucerne looks very drab. It rains +in torrents, a hopeless, heavy flood. The lake +does not smile at us, or dimple or ripple, as we +have read it is in the habit of doing. The mountains +we ought to be seeing don't appear. The +streets are shockingly muddy. We cannot go to +see the Lion; and as to the Rigi, upon which our +hopes are set, there is small chance that it will +at present emerge from its clouds, and allow us to +behold from the Kulm the wonderful sunrise and +sunset which many go out for to see, but most, +alas! in vain.</p> +<p class="pnext">Great Pilatus tells us to hope for nothing. He +is the barometer of the region. He is very big +and rugged and inspiring, and stands haughtily +apart from the other heights:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">“Overhead,</div> +</div> +<div class="line">Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air,</div> +<div class="line">Rises Pilatus with his windy pines.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">A popular rhyme runs to the effect that when +Pilatus wears his cap only, the day will be fair; +when he puts on his collar, you may yet venture; +but if he wears his sword, you'd better stay at +home. To-day he wears cap, collar, sword,—in +fact, is clothed with clouds, except for a moment +now and then, to his very feet. There are many +old legends about Pilatus and its caverns. One +of the oldest is, that Pontius Pilate, banished from +Galilee, fled here, and in anguish and remorse +threw himself into the lake; hence the name of +which the more matter-of-fact explanation is <em class="italics">Mons +Pileatus</em>, or “capped mountain.” If there were +sunshine, we would believe the latter simple and +reasonable definition. Now, in this dreary rain, +we take a gloomy satisfaction in the dark tale of +remorse,—the darker, more desperate and tragic +it is made, the better we like it.</p> +<p class="pnext">Pilatus and the skies and wind and barometer, +and fate itself, apparently, are against us. But +the Rigi is still there. Behind the cloud is the +sun still shining,—patience is genius, and—we +wait.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="by-the-lake-of-lucerne"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id25"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="182" id="page-182"> </span>BY THE LAKE OF LUCERNE.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Who was so wicked as to call Lucerne +“drab”? If it were I, I don't remember +it, and I never will acknowledge it, +though the printed word stare me in the +face. After the rain it shone out in radiant colors,—the +pretty city with its quaint bridges, and the +Venice-look of some of the stone houses that rise +directly from the lake; the water plashing softly +against their foundations, the little boats moored +by their sides. People who have seen Venice are +at liberty to smile in a superior way if they wish. +We, who have not, will cherish our little fancies +until reality verifies them or proves them false.</p> +<p class="pnext">And the lake,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“The Lake of the Four Forest Cantons, apparelled</div> +<div class="line">In light, and lingering like a village maiden</div> +<div class="line">Hid in the bosom of her native mountains,</div> +<div class="line">Then pouring all her life into another's,</div> +<div class="line">Changing her name and being,”—</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">how lovely it is! Roaming there at sunset was +an ever-memorable delight:—the happy-looking +people under the chestnut-trees on the shore, the +little boats dancing lightly about everywhere, the +pleasant dip of the oars, the chiming of evening +bells; on one side, the city, with its old watchtowers +and slender spires; over the water, the +piled-up purple mountains, with the warm opaline +sunset lights playing about them; behind, the long +range of pure-white peaks, catching the last rays +of the sun, glistening and gleaming gloriously, +while the lower world sinks into gloom, and even +they at last grow dim and vague, and still we float +on in drowsy indolence.</p> +<p class="pnext">The narrow covered bridges, the one where the +faded old paintings represent scenes from Swiss +history, and the Mühlenbrücke with the “Dance +of Death” picture described in the “Golden Legend,” +were both interesting. Prince Henry and +Elsie seemed to go by with all the stream of life,—the +soldiers, and peasant-girls, and monks, and +workingmen in blouses, and children with baskets +on their backs; and queer old women we met as +we stood by the little shrine in the middle of the +bridge, peered in and saw the candles and flowers +and crucifixes, or looked out through the small +windows upon the swift waters beneath. So faint +and obscure are many of the paintings, yet we +found the ones we sought, and saw the</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">“Young man singing to a nun</div> +</div> +<div class="line">Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling</div> +<div class="line">Turns round to look at him; and Death, meanwhile,</div> +<div class="line">Is putting out the candles on the altar.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">The old church with the celebrated organ, which +may be heard every afternoon, has some carved +wood and stained glass that people go to see. Its +churchyard, so little, so old, so pitifully crowded, +is a sad place, like all the cemeteries I have yet +seen here. With their colored ornaments and +tinsel, their graves crowding one against another, +and the multitude of sad, black, attenuated little +crosses that have such a skeleton air, they are positively +heartbreaking: they seem infinitely more +mournful and oppressive than ours at home, with +their broad alleys, stately trees, and the peace and +beauty of their surroundings. There are two new-made +graves in the pavement here. You can't help +feeling sorry they are so very crowded. They +are covered with exquisite fresh flowers, which the +passer-by sprinkles from a font that stands near, +thus giving a blessing to the dead. We have had +ample opportunity to observe all the old monuments +and epitaphs without voluntarily making a +study of the churchyard, for the way to and from +our châlet led through it. To one very ancient +stone we felt positively grateful because its inscription +was funny:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Here lies in Christ Jesus</div> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">Josepha Dub</div> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">Jungfrau</div> +<div class="line">Aged 91.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">We were glad to have Miss Dub's somewhat +prolonged life of single-blessedness to smile over, +so heavy otherwise was the atmosphere of that +little churchyard.</p> +<p class="pnext">The celebrated Lion of Lucerne we found even +more beautiful than we had anticipated. It was +larger and grander, and the photographs fail to +convey a true idea of it, and of the exact effect of +the mass of rock above it. It all comes before +you suddenly,—the high perpendicular sandstone +rock, the grotto in which the dying Lion lies, +pierced through by a broken lance, his paw sheltering +the Bourbon lily; the trees and creeping +plants on the very top of the cliff, at its base the +deep dark pool surrounded by trees and shrubs. +The Lion is cut out of the natural rock, a simple +and impressive memorial in honor of the officers +and soldiers of the Swiss Guard who fell in defence +of the Tuileries in 1792. They exhibit +Thorwaldsen's model in the little shop there, +which is one of the beguiling carved wood-ivory-amethyst +places where, I suppose, strong-souled +people are never tempted, but we, invariably. +There are lovely heads of Thorwaldsen here, by +the way, the most satisfactory I have seen.</p> +<p class="pnext">We live in a <em class="italics">pension</em>, a châlet on the banks of +the lake. It has, like most things, its advantages +and disadvantages. From our balcony we look +out over shrubs and little trees upon the lovely +lake and the mountains. The establishment boasts +numerous retainers, mostly maids of all work; but +our attention is drawn exclusively to a small, pale +girl, whom we call the “Marchioness,” and a small, +pale boy, whom we call “Buttons.” Why need +such mites work so hard? Buttons is only fourteen, +and he drags heavy trunks about and moves +furniture and does the work of two men, besides +running on all the errands, and blacking all the +boots, and waiting at the table.</p> +<p class="pnext">If you ask him if things are not too heavy he +smiles brightly and says, “No, indeed!” with the +air of a Hercules, so brave a heart has the little +man. So he goes about lifting and pulling and +staggering under heavy loads, and breathing hard, +and he has a hollow cough that it makes the heart +ache to hear from such a child; and it does not +require much wisdom to know what is going to +happen to <em class="italics">him</em> before long,—poor little Buttons!</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="up-and-on-and-down-the-rigi"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id26"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="187" id="page-187"> </span>UP AND ON AND DOWN THE RIGI.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Truth is mighty. We have been up the +Rigi Railway, and in spite of the beauty +before our eyes, instead of experiencing +grand and elevated emotions, instead of +remembering the words of some noble poet, instead +of doing anything we ought to have done, +we could only, prompted by a perverse spirit, say +over and over to ourselves,—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“General Gage was very brave,</div> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">Very brave, particular;</div> +</div> +<div class="line">He galloped up a precipice,</div> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">And down a perpendicular.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">Our Rigi experience, taken all in all, was an +agreeable and a very amusing outing. We had +waited long till skies were fair enough for us to +venture, but at last Pilatus looked benign, and we +had the loveliest of sails across that lovely lake, +Lucerne; happy sunlight falling on blue water +and exquisite shores, shadows of floating clouds +reflected in the depths; and all the noble army of +mountains thronging before us, and beside us, and +behind us; bold barren hills rising sharply against +rich and varied foliage; superb white heights afar +off. At Vitznau we waited a short time for our +train, and employed ourselves happily in watching +a great group of fruit-sellers, who stood with huge +baskets of fine grapes, and poor peaches, and figs, +before the bench where we were sitting. After +the fashion of idle travellers, we audibly made our +comments upon the pretty scene:—</p> +<p class="pnext">“If I had not already bought this fruit, I +should buy it of that little boy; I <em class="italics">always</em> like to +buy my fruit of little boys.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“And if I had not already bought mine, I +should buy it of the man with the long tassel +on his cap: I dote on buying fruit of good-looking +young men with tassels on their caps.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Who could dream that this utterly inane conversation +would be understood? But the face of +the youth with the tassel—he looked Italian, +although he was speaking German—suddenly +gleamed and sparkled mischievously, and showed +a row of white teeth, as he pointed at his head +and touched his tassel and said, “Cap! cap!” +with huge satisfaction and pride. Not another +English word could he say, but the similarity between +this and the German <em class="italics">Kappe</em>, and his quick +intuition, told him that we were alluding, and not +unpleasantly, to him.</p> +<p class="pnext">Traveller, beware! Don't buy fresh figs at Vitznau. +We each pursued one to the bitter end; +then politely presented what remained in our paper +to a small fruit-seller, to devour if she liked, or to +sell over again to the next guileless person who +has never eaten fresh figs, and wants to be Oriental. +This civility on our part was received with laughter +by the whole group of men, women, and children, +who all seemed to perfectly appreciate the point of +the joke. It at least was consoling. Being cheated +in buying fruit is an evil that can be borne, but it +is an utterly crushing sensation when people won't +smile at your jokes.</p> +<p class="pnext">The carriage which was to take us up the precipice +we surveyed with curiosity and pleasure,—one +broad car with open sides, affording perfect command +of the views, the seats running quite across +it and turned towards the locomotive, which, going +up, runs behind. Between the ordinary rails are +two rails with teeth, upon which a cog-wheel in the +locomotive works. The train runs very slowly, +only about three miles an hour, which is both safe +and favorable to enjoyment of the scenery, and in +case of accident the car can be instantly detached +from the locomotive and stopped. No one need +think that I am giving these few facts as information, +the very last thing one wants to find in a letter +from Europe. I would not presume,—and of +course almost everybody knows how the Rigi Railway +works; only, it happens, <em class="italics">I</em> did not know, and +I mention these things merely to refresh my own +memory.</p> +<p class="pnext">So far as views are concerned, it is of course +preferable to make the ascent on foot. But where +one is bewildered by the affluence of beauty in +Switzerland, one feels willing to sacrifice something +of it to the new experience of this curious ride. +Some people, it is true, like to <em class="italics">say</em> they walked up +the Rigi. But why shall we indulge in so small a +vanity, when we can easily indulge in a greater +one,—several thousand feet greater, in fact? +When any one boasts, “I walked up the Rigi,” we +shall return quietly, “We ascended Piz Languard +in the Engadine.” For all the world knows the +Rigi is only 5,905 feet high, and Piz Languard is +10,715 feet. We felt that we could afford to ride +up the Rigi, then.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was all extremely spirited and enjoyable, and +we could never forget how strongly we resembled +General Gage. The views were beautiful and +ever varying. The atmosphere was slightly hazy, +so that the dark Bürgenstock beyond the lake, +which lay in loveliness before us, became more +and more shadowy as we ascended; and the Stanserhorn +and Pilatus, and all the Alps of the Uri, +Engelberg, and Bernese Oberland, though distinct, +had yet the thinnest possible veil before their +faces; and the precipice above us was amazing to +see, and the perpendicular reached down, down +into deep ravines, where the narrow waterfalls +looked like silver threads among the trees and +bushes and gray, jagged rocks.</p> +<p class="pnext">Reaching the hotels that stand on the tip-top +of the Kulm, we went to the one that had stoves, +which is the Schreiber, for “bitter chill it was.” +We had barely time to see the whole magnificent +prospect, before the clouds closed in upon us, enveloping +us in such a thoroughgoing way that we +could only allude to the sunset with shrieks of +laughter. And up to the time of the arrival of +the latest train came pilgrims from every quarter, +also bent on seeing the sunset from the Rigi Kulm. +Group after group came up through the mist from +the little station to the hotel, everybody very merry +over his own blighted hopes. Towards evening it +rained heavily, and there was nothing to do but +amuse one's self within doors. This is not difficult +at the Schreiber, an unusually large and well arranged +hotel. To find such spacious, brilliant +<em class="italics">salons</em> up here is a surprise; and when you look +about in them and see persons from many different +grades of society, many nations, and hear almost +every language of Europe, and realize that you +are all here together on a mountain-top and fairly +in the clouds, it is quite entertaining enough without +the books and papers which are at your service. +There were even two Egyptian princes there. The +small boy of our party, whom every one notices and +pets, and who, though speaking absolutely nothing +but English, has a miraculous way of being understood +and of conversing intimately with Russians, +Poles, Greeks, etc., was on friendly terms with the +Egyptians at once, and, after five minutes' acquaintance, +had made his usual demand for postage-stamps. +By the grace of childhood much is +possible.</p> +<p class="pnext">Truly this Rigi Kulm is a curious place. It +is said the spectacle of sunrise rarely deigns to +appear before the expectant mortals who throng +there to see it. Half an hour before sunrise, in +fair weather, an Alpine horn rouses the sleepers, +and people rush out, often in fantastic garb, with +blankets round them and a generally wild-Indian +aspect. There is actually a notice on every bed-room +door in the Rigi Kulm House, requesting +guests to be good enough not to take the coverings +from the beds when they go to see the sunrise.</p> +<p class="pnext">A strange, wild place was the Kulm as the night +advanced. The wind howled, and shrieked, and +moaned, and witches on broomsticks flew round and +round the house and tapped noisily on our window-panes. +If you don't believe it, stay there one night +in a storm, and then you will believe anything. +But though storm and night and cloud encircled +us, we saw vividly, as we sank into our dreams, +the whole superb landscape,—forests, lakes, hills, +towns, villages, plains, the waves of mist in the +valleys, the ever-changing light and shade, the +little fleecy clouds wreathing the glistening snowy +peaks, the sunshine and the glorious sky. The +wide, calm picture was before us still.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was a night of witchy noises, of starts and +fears that we should oversleep and so lose the sunrise, +which, in spite of the storm, the predictions +of the weather-wise, and the promptings of common-sense, +it was impossible for our party not to +confidently expect, so strong an element in it was +the sanguine temperament. From midnight on, +one figure or another might have been seen standing +by the window, two excited, staring eyes peering +wildly through the shutters, anxious to discern +the first glimmerings of dawn; and from every +restless nap we would awake with a start, thinking +we surely heard that “horn.” If the other people +were as absurd as we, they were quite absurd +enough. That Rigi sunrise, whether it comes or +is only anticipated, is enough to shake a constitution +of iron.</p> +<p class="pnext">But no horn sounded, and the lazy sun only +struggled through the clouds as late as eight +o'clock, when the view once more opened before us, +grand and beautiful in the sudden gleam of morning +sunshine. The Bernese Alps magnificently +white,—the Jungfrau, Finster-Aarhorn, many well-known +peaks in raiment of many colors; the lakes +of Lucerne and Zug directly below, and seven or +eight more lakes visible,—in all, a beautiful prospect, +and remarkable from the fact that the gaze +sweeps over an expanse of three hundred miles.</p> +<p class="pnext">Very soon the clouds rolled in again. Not a +vestige of view remained, and a persistent drizzle +sent several car-loads of disappointed but amused +beings down the mountain. We all began to be +sceptical about that Rigi Kulm sunrise which we +had heard described in glowing words. We were +inclined to doubt whether any one, even the oldest +inhabitant, had ever seen it.</p> +<p class="pnext">Some writer says it is dismal on the Kulm in +wet weather. I think if there were only one poor, +drenched, frozen mortal up there aspiring to gaze +upon the glory that is denied him, it would be dismal +in the extreme; but when so many, scores, +hundreds, go, and so few attain their object,—for +the summit of the Rigi is often surrounded with +clouds, even in fairest weather,—it is not in the +least dismal; on the contrary, highly enlivening, +and the trip well worth taking, though it end in +clouds.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the language of a young Russian gentleman +who is learning English, “I have made a little tripe, +and enjoyed my little tripe delicious.”</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="a-kaiser-fest"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id27"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="194" id="page-194"> </span>A KAISER FEST.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">We have been having in Stuttgart what an +intensely loyal newspaper-pen calls “Kaiser +days.” That is, days in which the +city has been glorified by the imperial +presence. We have been having, too, “Kaiser +weather,” for they say the hale old man whenever +he comes brings with him sunshine and clear skies. +Before his arrival all was flutter and expectation. +Festoons and wreaths and inscriptions, waving +banners, bright ribbons and flowers, were everywhere +displayed, giving the whole place a happy, +welcoming air. The decorations were extremely +effective and graceful. Königstrasse, the chief +business street, looked like a bower. Lovely great +arches were thrown across it, and every building +was gay with garlands, flowers, and flags. The +variety of the designs was as noticeable as their +beauty. Sometimes the colors of the Empire and +those of Würtemberg—the black, white, and red, +and black and red—floated together. Sometimes +to these was added the Stuttgart city colors, black +and yellow. Many buildings displayed, with these +three, the Prussian black and white, while other +great blocks had large flags of Prussia and Würtemberg +and the Empire as a centre ornament, and +myriads of little ones, representing all the German +States, fluttering from every window. One saw +often the yellow and red of Baden, the green and +white of Saxony, the white and red of Hesse-Darmstadt, +and the pretty, light-blue and white of Bavaria, +that always looks so innocent and girlish, +amid so much warlike red and bold yellow, as if +it were meant for dainty neckties and ribbons, and +not for the colors of a nation. Many good souls +mourn that even now, after its consolidation, the +German Fatherland is so very much divided into +little sections. Let them take comfort where it +may be found. Were not the rainbow hues of +banners and ribbons a goodly sight in the pleasant +September sunshine? Ribbons, too, have their +uses, and these, of many colors, were a thousand +times more effective than any one flag duplicated +again and again, even the stars and stripes. Pretty +and joyous were they, floating on the breeze: +they told tales of the different lands they represented, +and it was no light task at first to understand +their languages, there were so very many of +them, such multitudes of brave little banners of +brilliant hues, and all to welcome the Kaiser.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Hail to our Kaiser!” said one inscription,—“Welcome +to Suabia!” Poems, too, in golden +letters fitly framed, were here and there waiting +to meet him and do him honor. But the prettiest +greeting was the simplest: “To the German Kaiser +a <em class="italics">Schwäbisch Grüss Gott</em>,” which was over an evergreen +arch in the Königstrasse, and looked so very +sturdy and honest in the midst of all the pomp +and the grand inscriptions that called him Barbablanca, +Imperator, and Triumphator. The house +of General von Schwarzkoppen, commander of the +Würtemberg troops, and the house of the Minister +of War also, displayed, with the national colors, +stacks of arms of every description, from those of +ancient times down to the present day, at regular +intervals between the windows, under long green +festoons. At the American Consul's the flags of +Germany hung with the stars and stripes. Ears +of corn and cornflowers, which are the Kaiser's +<em class="italics">Lieblingsblumen</em>, were woven into the wreaths on +one house. Everywhere were evidences of busy +fingers and happy ideas. At 4 P. M. of the 22d, +while a salute was thundering from the Schutzenhaus, +the imperial extra train entered the city. +Even the locomotive looked conscious of sustaining +unwonted honors, proudly wearing a garland +of oak-leaves round the smokestack, and a circle of +little fluttering flags.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the moment the train came into the station +the band accompanying the guard of honor gave a +brilliant greeting, to which was added the “Hoch” +of welcome. His imperial majesty the Kaiser descended +from the car and embraced his majesty +the king, who was waiting on the platform to receive +him. While the crown prince, the grand +dukes of Baden and Mecklenbürg-Schwerin, Prince +Karl of Prussia, Prince August of Würtemberg, +and other distinguished persons were coming out +of the train, the Kaiser stepped in front of the soldiers +and greeted the generals, ministers, and all the +gentlemen of the court who were there, cordially.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then the <em class="italics">Oberbürgermeister</em>, with committees in +black coats and white rosettes behind him, in behalf +of the city, made his little speech, which I will +not quote because we all know what mayors have +to say on such occasions, and this was quite the +proper thing, as mayors' addresses always are. +Indeed, if I only venture to give the first half-dozen +words, I fear that people who are not used +to the German form of expression will be alarmed, +and will say gently, “Not any more at present, +thank you.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Allerdurchlauchtigster grossnädigster Kaiser +and Konig allerguädigster Herr!” This is the +glorious way it began. Isn't it fine? Can any +one look at that “allerdurchlauchtigster” without +involuntarily making an obeisance? Aren't these +words entirely appropriate to head a huge procession +of aldermen, and other pompous municipal +boards, and do credit to a great city? And +wouldn't you or I be a little intimidated if any +one should say them to us?</p> +<p class="pnext">The Kaiser is, however, accustomed to having +such epithets hurled at him. He was therefore +not dismayed, and replied somewhat as follows:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="pfirst">“This is the first time since the glorious war of the +German nation that I have visited your city. I accept +with pleasure the friendly reception which you have +prepared for me, and heartily unite with you in the +good wishes for our German Fatherland which you in +your greeting have expressed. Until now we have only +sowed, but the seed will spring up. In this I rely +upon your king, who has ever loyally stood by my side. +[Here he turned and extended his hand to the king. +This as a dramatic ‘point’ was very good indeed.] Assure +the city that I rejoice to be within its walls.”</p> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">After which were more and more “Hochs,” and +then the <em class="italics">illustrissimi</em> seated themselves in the carriages +which were waiting to convey them slowly +through the crowded streets. Along the whole +route where the procession passed were fire-companies +with glittering helmets, different clubs and +vereins, school-children,—the girls in white, with +wreaths of flowers to cast before the emperor,—and +soldiers, all stationed in two long lines. Through +the alley so formed the carriages passed, and, behind, +the dense crowd reached to the houses.</p> +<p class="pnext">The people seemed very eager to see the Kaiser, +but their curiosity was more strongly manifested +than their enthusiasm, this first day of his visit, +at least so it appeared to us. The loyal Tagblatt, +however, says that the cries of the multitude rose +to the skies in a deafening clamor, or something +equally strong. But our eyes and ears told us +that while the people continuously cheered, they +were very temperate in their demonstrations. There +was more warmth and volume in the voices when +they greeted the crown prince. But Moltke alone +kindled the real fire of enthusiasm. They cheered +him in a perfect abandonment of delight. Hundreds +of his old soldiers gave the great field-marshal +far more homage than they accorded the +Kaiser. As soon as he came in sight there was +instantly something in the voices that one had +missed before.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the procession, first, were some of the city +authorities, police and city guard, mounted, preceding +the carriage in which the Kaiser and king +rode. This was drawn by six white horses, with +outriders in scarlet-and-gold livery. The two +sovereigns chatted together, and the Kaiser looked +in a friendly way upon the people, often acknowledging +their greetings by a military salute.</p> +<p class="pnext">Next came the crown prince,—“the stately, +thoroughly German hero, with his dark-blond full +beard,” says the German reporter,—and with him +were the grand duke of Baden and Adjutant Baldinger. +Many carriages followed, full of celebrities. +Prince Karl of Prussia was there, Prince August +von Würtemberg, Prince of Hohenzollern, Princes +Wilhelm and Hermann of Saxe-Weimar. In the +sixth carriage sat the great, silent Moltke, with his +calm face, received with storms of cheering, and he +would put up his hand with a deprecating gesture, +as if to appease the tumult his presence created. +There were, besides, magnates and dignitaries +of all descriptions in the long train. Generals +and majors and hofraths, counts and dukes, men +with well-known names, men recognized as brave +and brilliant soldiers; but it is scarcely expedient +to tell who they all are. My pen has so accustomed +itself to-day to writing the names of sovereigns, +and to linger lovingly over the beautiful six-syllable +words that cluster round a throne, it has +imbibed from these august sources a lofty exclusiveness. +It says it really can't be expected to +waste many strokes on mere dukes. “Everybody +of course cannot be born in the purple,” it admits,—this +it writes slowly with long, liberal sweeps,—“no +doubt counts and dukes are often very estimable +people, but really, you know, my dear, one +must draw the line somewhere”; and it does not +deny that it feels “a certain antipathy towards +discussing persons lower than princes,”—which +impressive word it makes very black and strong,—“except +in the mass.” And then it waves its +aristocratic gold point in a way that completely +settles the matter. I am very sorry if anybody +would like to know the names, but it is such a +tyrant I never know what it will do next; and I +really don't dare say anything more about those +poor dukes, except to mention briefly that there +were seventeen carriages full of manly grace and +chivalry, uniforms and decorations, scarlet, and +blue, and crimson, and gold, and white, blond +mustaches, plumes, swords, and titles.</p> +<p class="pnext">When the line of carriages had passed over the +appointed route, and all the people had gazed and +gazed to their heart's content, the procession approached +the Residenz where Queen Olga received +her imperial relative and guest. He gave her his +arm, and they vanished from the eyes of the <em class="italics">ignobile +vulgus</em>. This was an impressive and elevating +moment; but it is not curious to remember that +after all, if the truth be told, <em class="italics">allerdurchlauchtigster</em> +though he be, he is only her—Uncle William.</p> +<p class="pnext">In the evening was a brilliant and large torch-light +procession, and all the world was out in +merry mood. The illuminated fountains, the statues +and flowers in the pretty Schloss Platz, shone +out in the gleam of Bengal lights, which also revealed +the sea of heads in the square in front of +the palace. A stalwart young workman stood +near us with his little fair-haired daughter perched +on his shoulder. They did not know how statuesque +they looked in the rosy light, but we did. +Much music, many <em class="italics">Hochs</em>, and the edifying spectacle +of all their majesties and royal highnesses in +a distinguished row on the balcony, for the delectation +of the masses, completed the joys of the +evening.</p> +<p class="pnext">If any one imagines for an instant that all this +very valuable information was obtained without +much effort, and heroic endurance of many evils, +he is entirely mistaken. At such times, if you +wish to see anything, you must either be in and +of the multitude, or you must look from a window, +which affords you only one point of view and +curbs your freedom, and doesn't allow you to run +from place to place in time to see everything there +is to be seen. At these dramas enacted by high-born +artists for the purpose of touching the hearts +and awakening the zeal of the lowly, there are no +private boxes and reserved seats. We scorned the +trammelling window, and chose to mingle with our +fellow-men, with our fellow-butcher-and-baker boys, +as well as with little knots of intrepid, amused +women, like ourselves. Upon the whole, we enjoyed +it. We made studies of human nature, +and of policeman nature, which is often not by +any means human, but, as Sam Weller says, “on +the contrary quite the reverse.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Policemen everywhere are glorious, awe-inspiring +creatures. German policemen are particularly +magnificent. They wear such gay coats, and are +often such imposing, big blond men, it is impossible +to look at them without admiration. The way +they thrust and push when they want to keep a +crowd within certain bounds is as ruthless as if +they were huge automata, with great far-reaching +limbs that strike out and hew down when the machinery +is wound up. Practically they are successful; +the only trouble is, it is the innocent ones +in front, pushed by the pressure of the crowd behind, +who are thrust back savagely, with a stern +“Zurück!” by the mighty men, and who are +treated like dumb, driven cattle. A friend who is +always dauntless and always humorous, feeling the +weight of a heavy hand on her shoulder, and hearing +a tempestuous ejaculation in her ear, calmly +looked the autocrat in the face, and with gentle +gravity said, “<em class="italics">Don't</em> be so cross!” at which the +great being actually smiled.</p> +<p class="pnext">After that we thought perhaps these petty officials +dressed in a little brief authority only put on +their crossness with their uniforms. Perhaps at +home with their wives and blue-eyed babies they +may be quite docile. They may even, here and +there,—delicious idea!—be henpecked!</p> +<p class="pnext">This was the sentiment expressed by a loyal +German at the close of the day: “Lord, now lettest +thou thy servant depart in peace, for I have seen +my Kaiser.”</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="the-cannstadt-volksfest"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id28"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="203" id="page-203"> </span>THE CANNSTADT VOLKSFEST.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">It rained, in the first place, which was +very inconsiderate of it; rained on the +race-course, on the school-girls in white +muslin with wreaths of flowers on their +heads, on the peasants in their distinctive dresses, +making their full, white sleeves limp and shapeless, +spotting the scarlet-and-blue bodices of the +maidens from the Steinlach Thal and Black Forest; +rained on the monkey-shows and negro minstrels, +the Punch and Judys, the beer-shops, booths, +and benches, on the country people in their best +clothes, the city people in their worst, upon all +that goes to make up the Cannstadt Volksfest,—in +short, upon the just and the unjust.</p> +<p class="pnext">It was a beautiful experience to sit there in a +waterproof, holding an umbrella and seeing thousands +of other people in waterproofs holding umbrellas, +on the raised circular seats that extended +round the whole great race-course, while, occupying +the entire space, within the track was a mass +of men standing, also with umbrellas; but on account +of our elevated position we could see very +little of the men, while the umbrella effect was +gigantic. It was like innumerable giant black +mushrooms growing in a bog.</p> +<p class="pnext">And all the time the band opposite the empty +royal pavilion played away with great energy, +while without this enclosure for the races, among +the surrounding booths and “shows,” country +people were plunging ankle-deep in the mud, and +the violins that call the world to see the Fat +Woman, the accordion which the trained-dog man +plays, the turbulent orchestras of the small circuses, +and the siren tones of the girl who sings for +the snake-charmer, united to make an ineffable +Pandemonium.</p> +<p class="pnext">This Volksfest was founded fifty years ago by +Wilhelm, father of the present king of Würtemberg, +who did much to promote the agricultural +interests of his people, taking great personal interest +in everything appertaining to farming, stock, +etc., giving prizes with his own hand for the best +vegetables and fruits, the largest, finest cattle,—for +excellence, in fact, in any department. Since +then, it is an established national event, that happens +every year as regularly as September comes; +always attracting many foreigners, to whom it is +amusing and interesting, in the rare opportunities +it affords of seeing many distinctive features of +Suabian peasant-life. It should be visited with +thick boots and no nerves, for the ground is as if +the cattle upon a thousand hills had come down +in a great rage and trampled it into pits and quagmires, +and the noise is—utterly indescribable. To +say that the Volksfest combines the peculiar attractions +of the Fourth of July, St. Patrick's Day, +a State Fair, and Barnum, gives, perhaps, as correct +a notion of the powwow that reigns supreme, +as any elaborate description that might be made.</p> +<p class="pnext">Yes, it is like entertainments of a similar grade +with us,—like, yet unlike. The elephant goes +round, the band begins to play, the men in front +of the different tents roar and gesticulate and try +to out-Herod one another, the jolly little children +go swinging round hilariously on the great whirligigs, +the man with the blacked face is the same +cheerful, merry, witty personage who charms the +crowd at home. Indeed, they are all quite the +same, only they talk German, they are jollier and +fatter, they take their pleasure with more abandon, +and there is one vast expansive grin over the +whole throng. Instead of the tall, thin girl in +book-muslin, who comes in from the country to see +the circus, clinging tight to her raw-boned lover's +hand, both looking painfully conscious and not so +happy as they ought, we have here, too, the country +sweethearts, but of another type. The peasant-girl +and her <em class="italics">Schatz</em>, broad, blissful, rosy, the most +delicious personifications of unconsciousness imaginable, +go wandering about among the clanging +and clashing from the tents, the beer-drinking, the +shouts and rollicking laughter, and find it all a +very elysium. Their happiness is as solid as they +themselves; and if there are other eyes and ears +in the world than those with which they drink in +huge draughts of pleasure as palpably as they +take their beer from tall foaming tankards, they, +at least, are oblivious of them.</p> +<p class="pnext">But we left it raining heavily, cruelly blighting +our hopes. A Volksfest with rain is a heartless +mockery of fate, and a rainy Volksfest, when there +is a Kaiser to see, unspeakably aggravating. But +the obnoxious clouds being in German atmosphere +naturally knew what etiquette demanded of them, +and respectively withdrew just as the pealing of +the Cannstadt bells announced his majesty's approach; +and as he and his suite rode into the +grounds, the sun, who had made up his mind to +have a day of retirement and was in consequence +a little sulky about appearing, had the courtier-like +grace to try to assume a tolerably genial +expression, since he had burst unwillingly into +the imperial presence.</p> +<p class="pnext">The pavilion for the people of the court was +filled with ladies in brilliant toilets, with their +attendant cavaliers, as the glittering train rode +towards it; the city guard in front, according to an +old custom, then the Kaiser and king side by side, +and, after them, all the princes and grand dukes, +etc., whom we have had the honor of mentioning +more than once of late, and of seeing them often +enough to look at them critically and search for +our individual favorites as they gallantly gallop +by. The enthusiasm of the multitude was immense, +and the shouting proved that peasants' +lungs are powerful organs.</p> +<p class="pnext">After the horsemen came a line of open carriages, +in the first of which was the empress and +her majesty Queen Olga; the latter looking, as +usual, pale, stately, gracious, and truly a queen. +Princess Vera, the Grand Duchess of Baden, and +other ladies followed, and they all went into the +pavilion, while the Kaiser and king rode about +among the people, looking at models, machinery, +animals,—and being scrutinized themselves from +the top of their helmets to their spurs, it is needless +to say.</p> +<p class="pnext">Upon joining the ladies the crown prince took +off his helmet, kissed the queen's hand, then his +mother's, which amiable gallantry we viewed with +deep appreciation and interest. The next thing +to see was the prize animals, which were led over +the course past the pavilion, wearing wreaths of +flowers. Some vicious-looking bulls, their horns +and feet tied with strong ropes, and led by six +men, regarded the scarlet of the officers' uniforms +very doubtfully, as if they had half a mind to +make a rush at it, ropes or no ropes. There were +pretty, white cows, who wore their floral honors +with a mild, bovine grace: and sheep with ribbons +floating from their tails, and a coquettish rose or +two over their brows, were attractive objects; but +<em class="italics">pig</em> perversity and ugliness so adorned was too +absurd.</p> +<p class="pnext">The event of the day was the “gentlemen's +races,” as they are called, being under the direction +of a club, of which the Prince of Weimar is +president, and Prince Wilhelm a member. They +were interesting, and the whole picture gay and +pleasing,—the flying horses, with their jockeys in +scarlet, yellow, and blue silk blouses; the pavilion +full of bright colors, the hundreds of banners waving +in the breeze; beyond the grounds, pretty +groves, and the little Gothic church at Berg, well +up on the hill: but, as the Shah of Persia said +when they wanted to have some races in his honor +at Berlin, “Really, it isn't necessary. I already +know that one horse runs faster than another.”</p> +<p class="pnext">There were two structures there which deserve +special notice. When I tell you that they were +composed of ears of corn, apples, onions, etc., you +will never imagine how artistic was the result, +and I quite despair of conveying an idea of their +beauty. One was the music-stand, having on the +first floor an exhibition of prize fruits; above, +the military bands from the Uhlan and dragoon +regiments; yet higher, a platform with tall sheaves +of wheat in the corners, and in the centre, upon +a large base, a column sixty feet high, perhaps, +bearing on its summit a statue of Concordia. +But the walls of this little temple, and the lofty +column too, were all of vegetables, arranged with +consummate skill on a firm background of wood +covered with evergreen. Imagine, if you can, a +kind of mosaic, with arabesques in bright colors; +sometimes a solid white background of onions, +with intricate scrolls and waving lines of deep-red +apples, seemingly exactly of a size, ingeniously +designed and perfectly executed. It was quite +wonderful to observe how firm and compact and +precise this vegetable architecture was; and surprising +enough to discover old friends of the kitchen-garden +looking at us proudly from this thing of +beauty. Golden traceries of corn, elaborate figures +in cranberries, æsthetic turnips and idealized beets,—all +the products of Würtemberg soil, in fact,—utilized +in a masterly way, and all as firm and +sharp in outline as if carved out of stone. A +broad triumphal arch fashioned in the same way +was quite as much of a marvel, and most effective +as one of the gates of entrance.</p> +<p class="pnext">After the races the Kaiser rode away in an open +carriage with the king, and that was the last we +saw of this attractive old gentleman, with his +genial, kindly, honest face, and simple, soldierly +ways,—in his freshness and strength certainly +a wonderful old man, whatever newspapers and +political writers may say of him. They say his +private life is simple in the extreme; that his +library is only a collection of military works; that +he carefully keeps everything that is ever given +him, even sugar rabbits that the children in the +family give him at Easter. It is said that once, in +Alsace, in the midst of the excitement over him +and the celebration, he noticed a little boy all alone +in the streets crying bitterly, and called to him. +“What's the matter, little man?” said the Kaiser.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Matter enough,” replies the exasperated child. +“This confounded emperor is the matter. They're +making such a fuss about him, my ma's gone and +forgotten my birthday.” The next day the boy +received a portrait of the Kaiser, richly framed, +with the inscription,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“From the Emperor of Germany to the little +boy who lost his birthday.”</p> +<p class="pnext">After the line of carriages drove off, the cavalcade +formed again, led this time by the crown +prince and the Grand Duke of Baden; and they +galloped over the course and out of the west gate +in a very spirited way, to the great delight of the +people, who shouted and cheered most frantically. +Is anybody weary of hearing about these distinguished +riders? We are a little tired of them +ourselves, it must be confessed, goodly sights +though they be. But now they are quite gone, +and the last remembrance we have of them is the +fall of their horses' hoofs, the glittering of metal, +and the waving of plumes as they swept through +the pretty arched gateway, stately and effective to +the last.</p> +<p class="pnext">The rollicking spirit of the Volksfest at evening, +stimulated by unlimited beer, was a wonderful +thing to observe. We stayed to see it by lantern-light, +in order to be intimately acquainted with its +merriest phases, and the noise of it rings in our +ears yet, though now the <em class="italics">Fest</em> is quite over, the +<em class="italics">Volks</em> are gone to their homes, the hurly-burly's +done.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="in-a-vineyard"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id29"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="211" id="page-211"> </span>IN A VINEYARD.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Our milkwoman is a person of importance +in her village. This we did not know till +recently, though we were quite aware of +our good fortune in getting excellent milk +and rich cream daily; and we had had occasion to +admire her rosy cheeks and broad, solid row of +white teeth,—in fact, had already laid a foundation +of respect for her, upon which a recent event +has induced us to build largely. A very comely, +honest woman we always thought her; but when +she came smilingly one morning, and invited us, +one and all, out to her vineyards, to eat as many +grapes as we could, to help gather them if we +wished, to see her <em class="italics">Mann</em> and all her family, and +to investigate the subject of wine-making, we were +unanimously convinced her equal was not to be +found in any village in Würtemberg, and the invitation +was accepted with enthusiastic acclamations.</p> +<p class="pnext">We were much edified to learn that the condition +of things demanded a certain etiquette. We +were to visit people of inferior station, we were +told, and, in return for their hospitality, must take +unto them gifts. The idea struck us, of course, +as highly commendable, and we declared ourselves +ready to do the correct thing. But we were quite +aghast to learn that a large sausage should be +offered to our hostess,—in fact, that this object +would be expected by her; that it actually was +lurking behind the pretty invitation to come to +see her under her own vine and fig-tree. A sudden +silence fell upon our little party at the breakfast-table. +It really did seem as if something else +might more fitly express our grateful appreciation +and kind wishes.</p> +<p class="pnext">One little lady spoke:—</p> +<p class="pnext">“A horrid sausage! Why can't we take something +nice,—cold tongue, and chocolate-cakes with +cream in them, for instance?”</p> +<p class="pnext">“O, yes, <em class="italics">do</em>,” says our German friend, with a +sardonic expression. “By all means give our +Suabian peasants chocolate-cakes; but then what +will they have to <em class="italics">eat</em>?” she demands, grimly.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Why, chocolate-cakes, to be sure,” says Miss +Innocence. With a withering air of half-concealed +contempt, the very clever German girl endeavors +to present to the mind of the little lady +from New York—who lives chiefly on sweets—the +reasons why chocolate-cake and the Suabian +peasant are, so to speak, incompatible. Among +other things, she remarked that he could devour a +dozen cakes and be quite unaware that he had +eaten anything; that his hard-working day must +be sustained by something solid; that the sausage +was a support, a solace, a true and tried friend; +and, last and strongest argument, he <em class="italics">liked</em> sausage +better than anything else in the world.</p> +<p class="pnext">We felt disturbed. There was a great disappointing +discrepancy somewhere. Going out to +the vineyards, even in anticipation, had a ring of +poetry in it, while sausage—is sausage the world +over. Nevertheless, to the sausage we succumbed, +and a hideous one, as long as your arm and as big, +was a carefully guarded member of our party to +the vineyard the next day. Fireworks, too, we +carried,—why, you will see later; and so, <em class="italics">dona +ferentes</em>, we went out to Untertürkheim by rail, a +ride of fifteen minutes from Stuttgart.</p> +<p class="pnext">The smile, teeth, and cheeks of our hostess were +visible from afar as we drew near the station. She +beamed on us warmly, and led us in triumph +through the village, which was everywhere a busy, +pretty scene; long yellow strings of ears of corn +hanging out to dry on nearly every house, and the +narrow streets full of the unwonted bustle incident +to the vintage-time.</p> +<p class="pnext">Great vats of grape-juice; wine-presses in active +operation, some of which were sensible, improved, +modern-looking things, some primitive as can be +imagined; the well-to-do people using the modern +improvements, while their humbler neighbors employed +small boys, who danced a perpetual jig in +broad, low tubs placed above the large vats that +received the juice. We ascended the little ladders +at the side of the vats, to satisfy ourselves +as to the kind of feet with which the grapes were +being pressed, “the bare white feet of laughing +girls” being, of course, the picture before our +mind's eye. What we actually saw was, in some +cases, a special kind of wooden shoe, and in others +ordinary, well-worn leather boots! These solemn +small boys in tubs, their heads and shoulders bobbing +up and down before our eyes as they energetically +stamped and jumped and crushed the +yielding mass, filled us with such utter amazement +at the time that we forgot to laugh, but they are +now an irresistibly comical remembrance. Their +intense gravity was remarkable. It would seem +as if the ordinary small boy, who can legitimately +jump upon <em class="italics">anything</em> until all the life is crushed +out of it, ought to be happy. Perhaps these were, +with a happiness too deep for smiles. And perhaps—which +is more likely—it was hard work, +and they realized it meant business for their papas, +and they must spring and jump with zeal, and +there was no play in the matter. One child of +ten or so had such a dignified, important air, as he +stood at the side of his tub, into which his father +was pouring grapes! He looked like an artist +conscious of power waiting for his time, knowing +that immense results would depend upon his +antics. Let me mention with pride that our +milkwoman's <em class="italics">Mann</em> owns the largest press in the +place, and her stalwart, pinky brother works it. +So pink a mortal never was seen. He exhibited +the mechanism of the press with tolerable clearness, +though seriously incommoded by blushes. +We thought he would vanish in a flame before +our eyes. But, observing he grew pinker each +time we addressed him, we wickedly prolonged the +interview as long as possible.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then up the hill we went, through narrow, steep +paths, with vineyards on every side of us, in which +men, women, and children were working busily. +We met constantly long files of young men and +maidens, carrying great baskets of grapes down to +the village, all of whom gave us a cheery Grüss Gott.</p> +<p class="pnext">We found the whole family in the vineyard +working away busily, filling the huge, long, narrow +baskets, which the men carry on their backs by a +strap over the shoulders. They welcomed us cordially, +and bade us eat as many grapes as we could, +which we all with one accord, with great earnestness +and simplicity, <em class="italics">did</em>. If you have never eaten +grapes in a vineyard, perhaps you don't know how +fastidious and dainty you become, how you take +one grape here, one there, select the finest from a +cluster, then toss the remainder into the basket. +Deliciously cool and fresh, with a wonderful bloom +on them, were they, and, together with the crisp +autumn air, the busy bare-headed peasants working +in all the vineyards as far as we could see, +Untertürkheim lying under the hill, and the little +bridge across the narrow Neckar, they filled us +with an innocent sort of intoxication. The brilliant +Malagas with a touch of flame on them in the +sunlight, white ones beyond, and rich black-purple +clusters, lured us on. If the amount consumed +by the foreign invaders during the first half-hour +could be computed, it would seem a fabulous +quantity to mention. We would indeed prefer to +let it remain in uncertainty, one of those interesting +unsolved historical problems about which +great minds differ. But it was not in the least +matter-of-fact eating; on the contrary, a most +refined and elevated feasting upon fruits fit for +the gods.</p> +<p class="pnext">And then we worked, with an energy that won +for us the goodman's wondering admiration, until +every grape was gathered. Never before had the +vines been cleared so fast, said our grateful host. +From above and below and everywhere around +came the sound of pistols and fireworks, each demonstration +indicating that some one had gathered +all his grapes. Now was the fitting moment for +the presentation of the sausage, which was gracefully +transferred from the nook where it was blushing +unseen to the hands of our host, and was graciously, +even tenderly, received. After which we +devoted ourselves to pyrotechnic pursuits, and, this +being a novel experience, we all burned our fingers, +and nearly destroyed our friend the pinky +man by directing, unwittingly, a fiery serpent +quite in his face.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then down, down over the hill through the +thread-like paths between the vineyards, through +the village in the twilight, where every one is still +busy and the small boys still dancing away for +dear life, suggesting—like Ichabod Crane, was it +not?—“that blessed patron of the dance, St. +Vitus,” and past the great fountain, with the +statue of the Turk grimly rising above half a +dozen girls, slowly filling their buckets (you +will never know what wise remarks on the “situation” +that Turk occasioned), we sauntered along +to the station, and presently the train whisked us +away from the village and the gloaming and the +pretty autumn scene, so real, so merry, so innocent, +so healthy, and picturesque. Night and +the city lights succeeded the twilight in the village. +Our hearts bore pleasant memories and +our hands baskets of grapes, given us at the last +moment by that excellent and most sagacious +person, our milkwoman.</p> +<p class="pnext">We hope we were not straying from the true +fold, but certainly our views on the temperance, +or rather the total-abstinence, question were quite +lax as we returned to Stuttgart that evening. +The water in Germany is often so unpleasant and +impure one learns to regard it as an undesirable, +not to say noxious and immoral beverage, while +the light native wines in contrast seem as innocent +as water ought to be. And what is the strictest +teetotaler to do when positively ordered by the +best physicians not to drink the water here, under +penalty of serious consequences in the shape of a +variety of disorders? American school-girls, who +persist in taking water because the home habit is +too strong to be at once broken off, have an amusing +way of examining their pretty throats from +time to time to see if they are beginning to enlarge, +for the <em class="italics">goitre</em> is hinted at (whether with +reason or not I do not know) as one of the possible +evil effects of continued water-drinking in +South Germany. It would seem that even the +Crusaders would here yield to the stern facts, and +at least color the water with the juice of the +grapes that grow in their beauty on the hillsides +everywhere around. And certainly <em class="italics">we</em> may be +pardoned for taking an extraordinary interest in +this year's vintage; for have we not toiled with +our own hands in the vineyards on the Neckar's +banks, did we not see with our own eyes <em class="italics">those +boots</em>, and is it not now the fitting time for the +spirit of '76 to make our hearts glad?</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="among-freiligrath-s-books"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id30"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="218" id="page-218"> </span>AMONG FREILIGRATH'S BOOKS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">A poet's study, when he has lain in his +grave but one short year, and the character +and peculiarities which his presence +gave to his surroundings are yet undisturbed, +is a sacred spot. In light mood, ready to +be agreeably entertained, we went out to pleasant +Cannstadt to see Freiligrath's books, and even in +crossing the threshold of his library the careless +words died on our lips, so strong a personality +has the room, so heavy was the atmosphere with +associations and memories of a man who had lived +and loved and toiled and suffered.</p> +<p class="pnext">How much rooms have to say for themselves, +indeed! How they catch tricks and ways from +their occupants! How faultily faultless and repellent +are some, how strangely some charm us +and appeal to us! This room of Freiligrath's +speaks in touching little ways of the man who +lived there and loved it, as plainly as a young +girl's room tells a sweet, innocent story while the +breeze moves its snowy curtains, beneath which in +his golden cage a canary trills, and the sunshine +steals in on the low chair, the bit of unfinished +work, the handful of violets in a glass, the book +opened at a favorite poem. The girl is gone, but +the room is as warm from her presence as the +glove that has just been drawn from her hand. +Freiligrath sleeps in the Cannstadt <em class="italics">Friedhof</em>, +where for a thousand years the sturdy little +church, with its red roof and square tower, has +watched by the silent ones; but his chair is drawn +up by the great study-table, the familiar things he +loved are as he left them, and his presence is +missed even by them who knew him not. It is, +perhaps, this air of having been touched by a <em class="italics">loving</em> +hand, that impresses one especially in the arrangements +here,—a corner room, looking north +and east, having two windows, through which air +and sunshine freely come, and from which the poet +used to gaze upon a landscape lovely as a dream; +far extended, tranquil, idyllic, in the distance, the +Suabian Alps, rising against the horizon beyond +long, soft slopes of fertile lands crowned by vineyards, +and broad, sunny meadows intersected by +lines of the martial poplar; a glimpse of the +lovely, wooded heights of the park of the “Wilhelma,” +that “stately pleasure dome,” which King +Wilhelm of Würtemberg decreed, and the Neckar +close by, rushing over its dam, and sweeping +beneath the picturesque stone bridge with its +fine arches, and flowing on past the old mill and +quaint gables of Cannstadt to meet the distant +Rhine. How Freiligrath must have loved the +sound of the water that sang to him ever, night +and day, not loud but continuously, soothing him +as a cradle-song soothes a weary child, in these +latter years at quiet Cannstadt after his life-struggles, +and fever, and pain! They say he loved it +well, and that he would often rise from his work +and stand long by the window, looking out on the +singing water and the peaceful landscape, watching +it as we watch a loved face that has for us a +new, tender grace with every moment.</p> +<p class="pnext">The room does not look like the abode of a solitary +man. The easy-chairs seem accustomed to +be drawn near one another for a cosy chat between +friends, and the expression of all things is genial, +<em class="italics">gemüthlich</em>. Not a bookworm, not simply a great +intellect lost in his own pursuits, forgetting the +world outside, but a strong, warm heart throbbing +for humanity, must have been the genius of a room +like this.</p> +<p class="pnext">Under his table lies a deerskin rug, a trophy of +his son Wolfgang's prowess in the chase. On the +walls are pictures of different sizes, irregularly +hung in irregular places, and each one seems to +say, “I was selected from all others of my kind +because Freiligrath loved me.” They are mostly +heads of his favorite authors and poets, small pictures +as a rule,—the one of Schiller sitting by the +open vine-clad window,—Goethe, Heine, Uhland, +and many more of the chief poets of Germany; +Byron, several of Longfellow and the Howitts +(dear friends of Freiligrath), Burns, Burns's sons +and the Burns Cottage, Goldsmith, Carlyle, Jean +Paul; a small colored picture of Walter Scott +bending his gentle face over his writing in front +of a great stained-glass window in the armory at +Abbotsford; a cast of the Shakespeare mask; +a few scenes from Soest, a picturesque old town, +where Freiligrath was, when a boy, apprenticed to +a merchant; a lock of Schiller's hair,—quite red,—with +an autograph letter; a lock of Goethe's +hair, which is dusky brown, with letters, and an +unpublished verse written for a lottery at a fair in +Weimar:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“Manches herrliche der Welt</div> +<div class="line">Ist in Krieg and Streit zerronnen;</div> +<div class="line">Wer beschützet and erhält</div> +<div class="line">Hat das schönste Loos gewonnen.”</div> +<div class="line"> </div> +<div class="inner line-block"> +<div class="line">—<span class="small-caps">Goethe.</span></div> +<div class="line"> </div> +</div> +<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Weimar</span>, d. 3 Sept. 1826.</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">Madame Freiligrath was Ida Melos, daughter of +Professor Melos of Weimar, and when a child was +an especial pet of Goethe. She and her sister tell +many pleasant anecdotes of their life there, and +of their playfellows, Goethe's grandchildren, with +whom they have always been on terms of close intimacy; +and of Goethe as a beautiful old man, +smiling and throwing bonbons from his window to +the group of children at play in the garden below. +Mrs. Freiligrath told us she was a tall, mature +girl, with a wise, grave look far beyond her years, +and they always made her enact Mignon in the +<em class="italics">tableaux vivants</em>. She was so young she did not +know what it was all about, but she “remembers +she liked wearing the wings.” Two gentlewomen, +speaking with a tender sadness of their long, eventful +lives, telling us of associations with some of the +leading spirits of the age, charming in their stories +of the past, appreciative of all that is best in the +latest literature, they harmonize well with the +quiet old house where they graciously dispense +their hospitality.</p> +<p class="pnext">Gently and gravely they showed us the treasures +of the library, which probably during the +spring will come under the auctioneer's hammer, +and be scattered through the world. Seeing it +in its completeness,—seven or eight thousand +volumes amassed through the skill and patience +of a true book-lover, who allowed himself in his +frugal life the one luxury of a rich binding now +and then, and who had a perfect genius for discovering +rare old books hidden away in dusty odd +corners in London bookshops, being, in this respect, +as his friend Wallesrode says, in a recent +article in “Ueber Land and Meer,” a real “Sunday +child,”—one must regret it cannot be preserved +intact, and given as a Freiligrath memorial to some +college.</p> +<p class="pnext">There are first editions here, which on account +of their rareness could command from connoisseurs +their weight in gold: Schiller's “Robbers,” Frankfort +and Leipsic, 1781, first edition; the second +edition, 1782, and many other early editions of +Schiller's works, small, rough, curious-looking, +precious books: also, first edition Goethe's “Gotz +von Berlichingen,” 1773; “Werther,” Leipsic, +1774. The German and English classics stand in +noble, stately rows, with much of value in Italian, +French, and Spanish. The English collection is +especially rich, however. There is a “Hudibras,” +first edition, 1662; “Rasselas,” first edition; a +“Don Quixote” with Thackeray's autograph on +the fly-leaf, written in Trinity College; and there +are “Elzevirs” of 1640-47. The ballads, legends, +Eastern fairy-tales, and imaginative lore are very +attractive. There is a fine selection of works on +German, French, English, Scotch, and Irish dialects, +in all of which Freiligrath was extremely +proficient. How many “Miltons” there are I do +not dare say, and the number is not important, +since this does not pretend to be an inventory; +but there was a whole shelf of them, from the first +edition on.</p> +<p class="pnext">On the library-table lay superb volumes, bound +in richest calf,—Beaumont and Fletcher, London, +1679, in folio; Ben Jonson, 1631, folio; Spenser, +1611; Shakespeare, the rare folio of 1685, and +many other valuable Shakespeares. If only some +one who knows how to love them will buy these +books! It seems like sacrilege to imagine them +in the hands of the unworthy or careless.</p> +<p class="pnext">One could spend days, years, in that quiet room, +with its subtle influences and suggestions, surrounded +by old friends on the shelves, and by +books that look as if they would deign to open +their hearts to us and become our friends also. +And there must one ponder long upon the varied +life of the poet and patriot,—how Fate was always +putting fetters on his Pegasus, binding him +as an apprentice as a boy in Soest, later making +him a clerk in a banking-house in Amsterdam, +and forcing him again to write at a clerk's desk in +London; and how, nevertheless, he sang himself, +as some one says of him, into the hearts of the +German people. They say he was so loved, and his +face so well known through his photographs, that +often, upon going through a town where he personally +was unknown, the school-children in the +streets would recognize him, and instantly begin +to sing poems of his that were set to music and +sung everywhere throughout Germany, particularly +the well-known</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line"><em class="italics">O, lieb, so lang du lieben kannst!</em></div> +<div class="line">“O, love, while love is left to thee!”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">It is said, too, that once on a steamer, during +the Franco-Prussian war, a woman came up to him +and suddenly put her arms round his neck and +kissed him. “That's for Wolfgang in the field,” +said she, having a son herself at the front.</p> +<p class="pnext">And after his struggles for freedom, the persecution +he endured because of his political principles +and his immense influence upon the people, +after his flight into England and long exile, he +came back finally, honored and revered, to his +native land, and spent his last years in this peaceful +abode. He breathed his last, like Goethe, +sitting in his chair. The Neckar still sang on, +outside the vine-clad window. Within, the poet's +voice was hushed forever.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="three-funerals"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id31"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="225" id="page-225"> </span>THREE FUNERALS.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">Three funeral processions which have +lately moved through Stuttgart streets +have awakened, on account of peculiar +associations connected with each, more +attention and interest, more feeling I might perhaps +say, than we selfish beings usually accord to +these mournful black trains that mean <em class="italics">other</em> people's +sorrows.</p> +<p class="pnext">Of these three, the first was the train that bore +the Herzog Eugen of Würtemberg to his last resting-place. +Young, popular, after Prinz Wilhelm +presumptive heir to the throne; the husband of +the Princess Vera,—who is the niece and adopted +daughter of the queen, and according to report a +very lovable person,—he had apparently enough to +make life sweet at the moment he was called from +it. Recently he went to Düsseldorf to take command +of a regiment there. The Princess Vera +remained at the Residenz in Stuttgart, but was +intending to join him immediately. A slight cold +neglected,—a rich banquet followed by night-air,—and +suddenly all was over. He died after an +illness of a day or two, while the princess, summoned +by a telegram, was on the train half-way +between Stuttgart and Düsseldorf.</p> +<p class="pnext">The air is full of fables, and the common people +“make great eyes” when they speak of the poor +duke, and dark hints of foul play, poison, enemies, +cabals, perfidy, delight all good souls with a taste +for the sensational. They, however, who have the +slightest ground for <em class="italics">knowing</em> anything about the +matter, and, indeed, all rational people, declare it +was simply a cold, inflammation, congestion, such +as makes havoc among frail mortal flesh, and never +draws any distinction in favor of blood royal.</p> +<p class="pnext">After the ceremonies at Düsseldorf came the +solemn reception of the remains here. Early in +the evening the streets were thronged with an +immense but quiet, patiently waiting crowd, and, +along the line where the procession was to pass, +burning tar cast a fitful light over the mass of +people: and the flickering flames, fanned by the +night breeze, now would illumine the Residenz +and Schloss Platz and the fine outline of the “Old +Palace,” in the chapel of which the duke was to +lie; now, subsiding, would leave the scene in half +gloom. The slow, sad voice of the dirge announced +the approach of the procession, the whole +effect of which was intensely solemn and impressive. +Outriders with flickering torches, the escort +of cavalry, Uhlans of the Würtemberg regiment in +which he had served, floating streamers of black +and white, the hearse drawn by coal-black horses, +slowly passing, with the loud ringing of all the +bells, made one hold one's breath as the black figures +went by in the lurid light. The inevitable +hour had, indeed, awaited him, and snatched him +from his worldly honors and family affection, and +“der edle Ritter,” in spite of all the “boast of heraldry +and pomp of power” that so lately had surrounded +him, lay silent and cold, while the flames +burned strong and warm and the loud bells +clanged, and he rode slowly on to the chapel in +the old castle, beneath which he now rests with +others of his race.</p> +<p class="pnext">This is not the first sad, stately night-procession +that has occurred here. Wilhelm, father of the +present king, was a strong, original nature, averse +to form, and gave strict orders concerning his own +burial. They were to bury him on a hill, some +miles from the city, between midnight and dawn, +and simply fire one gun over him, he had said. +His son, however, while observing his wishes as to +time and place of burial, took care that the state +and dignity of the procession should befit royalty +dethroned by death. At midnight the train left +the palace, and, with its long line of nobles, cavaliers, +and soldiers, swept slowly out of the city amid +the constant ringing of bells and booming of cannon, +and wound through the soft summer night +along the Neckar's banks, over the bridge at Cannstadt, +while great fires blazed on every hill-top, and +the old king, in the majesty of death, was borne +on, past the fair vineyards and soft fertile slopes of +the land he had loved so well, to the Rothenberg, +on the summit of which they laid him to rest and +fired one gun just as the morning star dropped +below the horizon.</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“And had he not high honor?</div> +<div class="line">The hillside for his pall,</div> +<div class="line">To lie in state while angels wait</div> +<div class="line">With stars for tapers tall,</div> +<div class="line">And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes,</div> +<div class="line">Over his bier to wave—.”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">Certainly, nothing less than the “Burial of +Moses” can have been so grand as this last dark +ride of the strong old king! We behold the train +in its magnificent gloom winding along the Neckar +and up the vine-clad hillside, so often as we see its +route, after nightfall. Dusky, stately forms ride +by, and the wail of the dirge sounds on the evening +breeze. Why may we not all be laid at rest +at night? Sunlight is cruel to eyes blinded by +tears, and glaring day hurts grieved hearts. The +Night is so solemn and tender, why may she not +help us bury our dead?</p> +<p class="pnext">The next procession that we saw with earnest +eyes, after the Duke Eugen's, was that of a student +of the Polytechnic School, who died from the +effects of a sword-wound. There was no anger, no +provocation, nothing which according to the student +code might perhaps soften the memory of the deed. +It was simply a trial of skill with the <em class="italics">Degen</em>, a +slender, murderous-looking sword. Both were expert +fencers. The presence of friends incited them +to do their best. Their pride was roused; neither +would yield, and in the excitement one received a +cut in the head, from the effects of which he died +in a few days. He was a promising scholar and a +favorite with the students, and the affair seems +very shocking in the cruel uselessness of such a +death, though the more bitter fate of course is +his who unwittingly did the deed and must live +with the memory of it in his heart.</p> +<p class="pnext">These student funerals occur now and then. +We have had three or four this winter. Our +countrymen, not sympathizing with student ways +and student traditions, are sometimes apt to call +such spectacles “comedies,” but to us the comic +element has never been apparent. First come +the musicians, playing a dirge,—on this last +occasion a funeral march from Beethoven. Near +the hearse walk the students of the corps of +which the deceased had been a member. They +wear their most elegant uniform,—black velvet +blouses or jackets, buff knee-breeches, high boots, +the cap and sash of the color which distinguishes +the corps, long buff gauntlets, and swords,—altogether +quite striking. On the draped coffin are +the dead student's cap, sash, and sword. The +other corps walk behind, the professors also, and +friends.</p> +<p class="pnext">The last funeral of the three was hardly grand +enough to be called a procession. It was only +a few carriages winding slowly out to the new +<em class="italics">Friedhof</em>. A touching little story preceded it, perhaps +not uncommon, yet, to those who watched +its close, invested with a peculiar pathos. A +young American girl came here last fall, with high +hopes and unbounded energy and courage. She +was in the art-school, and it may be her eager +spirit forgot that bodies too must be cared for, and +it may be that her naturally frail constitution had +been weakened by overwork before she came; but +at all events a cold, which she ignored in her zeal +and devotion to her studies, led to an illness from +which she never recovered. She was entirely +alone and unknown, and at first no one except +the people in her <em class="italics">pension</em> knew of her sickness. +Patient, uncomplaining, and reserved, she bore +whatever came, and was finally taken, as she grew +worse, to a hospital, where she could command +better and more exclusive care. As the facts became +known in the American colony, she was +ministered to most tenderly, and flowers and delicacies +of every description were sent daily to her +little room at the <em class="italics">Olga Heil Anstalt</em>. Indeed, the +good sister who nursed her there found it difficult +to guard her from the visits and kindly proffered +administrations of newly made friends, who came +full of tender sympathy for the lonely girl. Of her +loneliness she never made complaint. When asked +by our consul why she had not at once sent for him +when she was first ill, she replied, smilingly, “Because +I knew you had quite enough to do without +taking care of me.” In fact, she sent for no one, +and only through accident did the English clergyman +and the consul hear of her case. And, lying +in her bare room in a foreign hospital, hearing only +the foreign tongue of which she was not yet mistress, +and at best, when her countrywomen came +to cheer her, seeing only new faces, instead of her +own home-people, her brave, bright smile was always +ready to greet the visitor, even when she +was too languid to utter a word. Her one confessed +regret was that her illness took her from +her art-studies; and her eyes would beam with +delight when a fellow-student in the art-school +would speak of it, of the professors, and the work +there. Her whole enthusiastic soul was absorbed +in this theme, so that her suffering seemed, to her, +of no account in comparison with her high aims +and ideal. Utterly single-hearted, she lay there, +brave and uncomplaining to the last, and seemed +the only one unconscious of the pathos of her +position. Her thoughts were so given to the +beautiful pictures she longed to make, and to the +beautiful pictures others had made, she had none at +all left for the poor girl dying alone in a strange +land, who was filling so many eyes with tears +and so many hearts with pain. She faded away +very gently, and, for a long time before her death, +suffered more from extreme languor than from +acute distress. After it was all over, there was +a little, solemn service in the hospital chapel, attended +by the many who had interested themselves +for her, and some of the professors and +pupils of the Kunst Schule, who added their exquisite +wreaths to the lovely flowers about her. +And then she was taken to the new <em class="italics">Friedhof</em> and +laid beneath the pavement of the Arcade, while +a little band of wanderers stood by—united, +many of them, only through their sympathy with +her who was gone—and listened to the solemn +words of the English service, and looked thoughtfully +out through the arches upon a tender gray +sky, a wide expanse of land—now almost an unbroken +surface, but one day to be filled with +graves—and off upon the hills rising softly beyond; +and the last violets and tuberoses were +strewn upon her resting-place, and the little band +separated, each going his way, but in many hearts +was a tender memory for the young girl whose +brief story was just ended,—a sad thought for +her who never seemed sad for herself.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="some-christmas-pictures"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id32"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="232" id="page-232"> </span>SOME CHRISTMAS PICTURES.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">A few days before Christmas the three +kings from the Orient came stealing up +our stairs in the gloaming. They wore +cheap white cotton raiment over their ordinary +work-a-day clothes, and gilt-paper crowns on +their heads. They were small, thin kings. Melchior's +crown was awry, Kaspar felt very timid, and +was continually stumbling over his train; but Balthazar +was brave as a lion, and nudged his royal +brothers,—one of whom was a girl, by the way,—putting +courage into them with his elbows; and +the dear little souls sang their songs and got their +pennies, and their white robes vanished in the twilight +as their majesties trudged on towards the +next house. There they would again stand in an +uncertain, tremulous row, and sing more or sing +less, according to the reception they met with, and +put more or less pennies—generally less, poor +dears!—into their pockets. Poor, dear, shabby +little wise men,—including the one who was a girl,—you +were potentates whom it was a pleasure to +see, and we trust you earned such an affluence of +Christmas pennies that you were in a state of ineffable +bliss when, at last, freed from the restraint +of crowns and royal robes, you stood in your poor +home before your Christmas-tree. It may have +been a barren thing, but to your happy child-eyes +no doubt it shone as the morning star and blossomed +as the rose.</p> +<p class="pnext">Other apparitions foretelling the approach of +Christmas visited us. One was an old woman +with cakes. Her prominent characteristic is staying +where she is put, or rather where she puts herself, +which is usually where she is not wanted. +Buy a cake of this amiable old person, whose +breath (with all the respect due to age let it be +said) smells unquestionably of <em class="italics">schnapps</em>, and she +will bless you with astounding volubility. Her +tongue whirls like a mill-wheel as she tearfully +assures us, “God will reward us,”—and <em class="italics">how</em> she +stays! Men may come and men may go, but the +old woman is still there, blessing away indefatigably. +She must possess, to a remarkable degree, +those clinging qualities men praise in woman. Indeed, +her tendrils twine all over the house; and +when, through deep plots against a dear friend, we +manage to lead her out of our own apartment, it is +not long before, through our dear friend's counter-plots, +the old woman stands again in our doorway +with her great basket on her head, smiling and +weeping and bobbing and blessing as she offers her +wares. Queer old woman, rare old plant!—though +you cannot be said to beautify, yet, twining and +clinging and staying forever like the ivy-green, you +were not so attractive as the little shadowy kings, +but you, too, heralded Christmas; and may you +have had a comfortable time somewhere with sausage +and whatever is nearest your heart in these +your latter days! That she is not a poetical figure +in the Christmas picture is neither her fault nor +mine. She may, ages ago, have had a thrilling +story, now completely drowned in <em class="italics">schnapps</em>, but +that she exists, and sells cakes according to the +manner described, is all we ever shall know of her.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then the cakes themselves—“genuine Nurembergers,” +she called them—were strange things to +behold. Solid and brown, of manifold shapes and +sizes, wrapped in silver-paper, they looked impenetrable +and mysterious. The friends in council +each seized a huge round one with an air as of +sailing off on a voyage of discovery, or of storming +a fortress, and nibbled away at it. As a massive +whole it was strange and foreign, but familiar +things were gradually evolved. There was now +and then a trace of honey, a bit of an almond, a +slice of citron, a flavor of vanilla, a soupçon of +orange.</p> +<p class="pnext">Gazing out from behind her cake, one young +woman remarks, sententiously,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“It's gingerbread with things in it.”</p> +<p class="pnext">Another stops in her investigations with,—</p> +<p class="pnext">“It is as hard as a brownstone front.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“It's delightful not to know in the least what's +coming next,” says another. “I've just reached +a stratum of jelly and am going deeper. Farewell.”</p> +<p class="pnext">“Echt Nürnberger, echt Nürnberger!” croaked +the old dame, still nodding, still blessing; and so, +meditatively eating her cakes, we gazed at her +and wondered if any one could possibly be as old +as she looked, and if she too were a product of +“Nuremberg the ancient,” to which “quaint old +town of toil and traffic” we wandered off through +the medium of Longfellow's poem, as every conscientious +American in Europe is in duty bound +to do. It is always a comfort to go where he +has led the way. We are sure of experiencing the +proper emotions. They are gently and quietly +instilled into us, and we never know they do not +come of themselves, until we happen to realize +that some verse of his, familiar to our childhood, +has been haunting us all the time. What a pity +he never has written a poetical guide-book!</p> +<p class="pnext">These unusual objects penetrating our quiet +study hours told us Christmas was coming, and the +aspect of the Stuttgart streets also proclaimed the +glad tidings. They were a charming, merry sight. +The Christmas fair extended its huge length of +booths and tables through the narrow, quaint +streets by the old <em class="italics">Stiftskirche</em>, reaching even up +to the <em class="italics">Königstrasse</em>, where great piles of furniture +rose by the pavements, threatening destruction to +the passer-by. Thronging about the tables, where +everything in the world was for sale and all the +world was buying, could be seen many a dainty +little lady in a costume fresh from Paris; many a +ruddy peasant-girl with braids and bodice, short +gown and bright stockings; many types of feature, +and much confusion of tongues; and you +are crowded and jostled: but you like it all, for +every face wears the happy Christmas look that +says so much.</p> +<p class="pnext">These fairs are curious places, and have a benumbing +effect upon the brain. People come +home with the most unheard-of purchases, which +they never seriously intended to buy. Perhaps +a similar impulse to that which makes one grasp +a common inkstand in a burning house, and run +and deposit it far away in a place of safety, leads +ladies to come from the “Messe” with a wooden +comb and a string of yellow-glass beads. In both +cases the intellect is temporarily absent, it would +seem. Buy you must, of course. What you buy, +whether it be a white wooden chair, or a child's +toy, or a broom, or a lace barbe, or a blue-glass +breastpin, seems to be pure chance. The country +people, who come into the city especially to buy, +know what they want, and no doubt make judicious +purchases. But we, who go to gaze, to wonder, +and to be amused, never know why we buy anything, +and, when we come home and recover our +senses, look at one another in amazement over our +motley collections.</p> +<p class="pnext">At this last fair a kind fate led us to a photograph +table, where old French beauties smiled at +us, and all of Henry the VIII.'s hapless wives +gazed at us from their ruffs, and the old Greek +philosophers looked as if they could tell us a thing +or two if they only would. The discovery of this +haven in the sea of incongruous things around us +was a fortunate accident. The photograph-man +was henceforth our magnet. To him our little +family, individually and collectively, drifted, and +day by day the stock of Louise de la Vallieres, +and Maintenons, and Heloises, and Anne Boleyns, +and Pompadours, and Sapphos, and Socrates, and +Diogenes, etc.,—(perfect likenesses of all of them, +I am sure!)—increased in our <em class="italics">pension</em>, where we +compared purchases between the courses at dinner, +and made Archimedes and the duchess of Lamballe +stand amicably side by side against the soup-tureen. +Halcyon, but, alas! fleeting days, when +we could buy these desirable works of art for ten +<em class="italics">pfennig</em>, which, I mention with satisfaction, is two +and one half cents!</p> +<p class="pnext">But, of all the Christmas sights, the Christmas-trees +and the dolls were the most striking. The +trees marched about like Birnam Wood coming to +Dunsinane. There were solid family men going +off with solid, respectable trees, and servants in +livery condescending to stalk away with trees of +the most lofty and aristocratic stature; and many +a poor woman dragging along a sickly, stunted +child with one hand and a sickly, stunted tree +with the other.</p> +<p class="pnext">As to the doll-world into which I have recently +been permitted to penetrate, all language, even +aided by a generous use of exclamation-points, +fails to express its wondrous charm. A doll kindergarten, +with desks and models and blackboards, +had a competent, amiable, and elderly doll-instructress +with spectacles. The younger members +were occupied with toys and diversions that would +not fatigue their infant minds, while the older +ones pored over their books. They had white +pinafores, flaxen hair, plump cheeks. I think +they were all alive.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then there were dolls who looked as if they lay +on the sofa all day and read French novels, and +dolls that looked as if they were up with the +birds, hard-working, merry, and wise,—elegant, +aristocratic countess dolls, with trunks of fine raiment; +and jolly little peasant dolls, with long yellow +braids hanging down their backs, and stout +shoes, and a general look of having trudged in +from the Black Forest to see the great city-world +at Christmas. Such variety of expression, so +many phases of doll-nature,—for nature they +have in Germany! And in front of two especially +alluring windows, where bright lights streamed +upon fanciful decorations, toys, and a wonderful +world of dolls, was always a great group of children. +Once, in the early evening, they fairly +blockaded the pavement and reached far into the +street, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, not talking much, +merely devouring those enchanted windows with +their eager eyes; some wishing, some not daring +to wish, but worshipping only, like pale, rapt devotees. +And we others, who labor under the disadvantage +of being “grown up,” looked at the +pretty doll-world within the windows and the +lovely child-world without, and wished that old +Christmas might bring to each of us the doll we +want, and never, never let us know that it is +stuffed with sawdust.</p> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="hamburg-again"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id33"><span class="invisible pageno target" title="239" id="page-239"> </span>HAMBURG AGAIN.</a></h2> +<p class="pfirst">It seems almost like having been in two +places at once to be able to tell from +observation a Christmas Tale of Two +Cities. First there was Stuttgart, where +the sun was pouring down warm and summerish +on the hills around the city, and where we were +borne away on the glad tide that went sweeping +along towards Christmas under the fairest +skies that ever smiled on saint or sinner in mid-winter, +until it grew so near the time we almost +heard the Christmas bells. And then there was +Hamburg, to which place—having consigned ourselves +to the tender mercies of a sleeping coupé—we +went rushing off through the night, and found +the dear, glad Christmas just going to happen +there, too, and the great Northern city seemed +very noisy and bold and out-in-the-world after +Stuttgart, nestled so snugly among its hills.</p> +<p class="pnext">Hamburg has, however, its quiet spots, if you +seek them under the great elms in the suburbs, or +among the quaint streets in the oldest portions of +the city. One of the very stillest places is a paved +court by St. George's Church, where the little, old +houses of one story all look towards three great +crosses in an octagonal enclosure, on which Christ +and the two thieves hang, and Mary and John +stand weeping below. It has always been still +there when we have passed through, though close +to the busy streets. It is a place with a history, +I am sure. Indeed, what place is not? But it +is reticent and knows how to keep its secrets. +Perhaps Dickens might have made something out +of the grave, small houses that have been staring +at the crosses so many long years.</p> +<p class="pnext">A very good place for moralizing, too, is down by +the Elbe, where the great ships from all quarters +of the earth lie, and you hear Dutch and Danish +sailors talking, and don't understand a word. +There commerce seems a mighty thing, and the +world grows appallingly great, and you feel of as +much importance in it as the small cat who sits +meditatively licking her paws down on the tug-boat +just below you.</p> +<p class="pnext">But this was to be more or less about Christmas. +Christmas in general is something about +which there is nothing to say, because it sings its +own songs without words in all our hearts; but +a story of one particular Christmas may not be +amiss here, since it tells of a pretty and graceful +welcome which Germans knew how to give to a +wanderer,—a welcome in which tones of tenderness +were underlying the merriment, and delicate +consideration shaped the whole plan.</p> +<p class="pnext">In a room radiant, not with one Christmas-tree, +but with five,—a whole one for each person being +the generous allowance,—stood a lordly fir, glistening +with long icicles of glass, resplendent with +ornaments of scarlet and gold and white. The +stars and stripes floated proudly from its top; unmistakable +cherries of that delectable substance, +Marzipan, hung in profusion from its branches; +and at its base stood the Father of his Country. +George, on this occasion, was a doll of inexpressibly +fascinating mien, arrayed in a violet velvet +coat, white satin waistcoat and knee-breeches, lace +ruffles, silver buckles, white wig, and three-cornered +hat, and wearing that dignified, imperturbable +Washingtonian expression of countenance which +one would not have believed could be produced on +a foreign shore. He held no hatchet in his hand, +but graciously extended a document heavily sealed +and tied with red, white, and blue ribbons.</p> +<p class="pnext">This document was written in elegant and impressive +English. A very big and fierce-looking +American eagle hovered over the page, which was +also adorned by the arms of the German Empire +and of Hamburg. The purport of the document +was that George Washington, first President of the +United States, did herewith present his compliments +to a certain wandering daughter of America, +wishing her, on the part of her country, family, +and friends,</p> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="pfirst">“A merry Christmas and happy New Year,”</p> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">and “all foreign authorities, corporations, and +private individuals were enjoined to promote, by +all legal means of hospitality and good-will, the +loyal execution of the above-mentioned wishes.” +It displayed the names of several highly honorable +witnesses, and concluded:—</p> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="pfirst">“Given under my hand and seal at my permanent +White House residence, Elysium, 24th +December, 1876.</p> +<p class="attribution">—— “<span class="small-caps">George Washington.</span>”</p> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">And the seal bore the initials of the mighty +man.</p> +<p class="pnext">The tree yielded gifts many and charming, but +the sweetest gift was the kindly thought that +prompted the pretty device. Though one had to +smile where all were smiling, yet was it not, all in +all, quite enough to make one a little “teary roun' +the lashes,” especially when one is very much +“grown up,” and so has not the remotest claim +upon the happy things that, “by the grace of God,” +belong to the children? Such scenes make one +feel the world is surely not so black as it is painted.</p> +<p class="pnext">There was during the festivities, later, a bit of +mistletoe over the door, which, in an indirect, +roundabout way, through our ancestral England, +was also meant as a tribute to America, and which +caused much merriment during the holidays in a +family unusually blessed with cousins in assorted +sizes. When certain flaxen-haired maidens felt +that their age and dignity did not permit them to +indulge in such sports, and so resisted all allurements +to stand an instant under the mistletoe-bough, +what did the bold young student cousins? +Each seized a twig of green and stood it up suggestively +in a cousin's fair braided locks, when she +was at last “under the mistletoe,” and</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line">“I wad na hae thought a lassie</div> +<div class="line">Wad sae o' a kiss complain!”</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<p class="pfirst">None but the brave deserve the fair, and then—lest +any one should be shocked—they were positively +all cousins, and when they were more than +five times removed I can solemnly affirm I <em class="italics">think</em> +it was the hand only that was gallantly lifted to +the lips of Cousin Hugo, or Cousin Rudolph, or +Cousin Siegfried; and, if I am mistaken after all, +Christmas comes but once a year, and youth but +once in a lifetime.</p> +<p class="pnext">At the theatre, Christmas pieces were given especially +for the children. The Stadt Theatre one +evening was crowded with pretty little heads, the +private boxes full to overflowing; and across the +body of the house a great, solid row of orphan girls +in a uniform of black, with short sleeves and a +large white kerchief pinned soberly across the +shoulders. They wear no hats in winter, nor do +common housemaids here. A friend in Stuttgart +remarked innocently to a servant who was walking +with her to the theatre one bitter cold night, +“Why, Luise, you'll freeze; you ought to wear +a hat or hood.” “No, indeed!” said the girl, +quite repudiating the idea, “I am no <em class="italics">fraülein</em>.” +They do not seem to suffer any evil consequences, +never having known anything different, and perhaps +the little orphans, too, are not so cold as they +look. It may be they are made to go bareheaded, +to teach them their station and humility, but it +seems a miracle that it does not teach them influenza. +The little things were in the seventh heaven +of delight, and the play a bit of pure, delicious +nonsense,—a fairy-tale with an old, familiar theme,—the +three golden apples and the three princesses +who pluck them, and in consequence are +plunged into the depths of the earth, where a fire-breathing +dragon is their keeper; the despair of +their royal father, who is a portly old gentleman +with a very big crown, and his proclamation that +whoever, high or low, shall rescue them may wed +them; then the procession that sets out in search +of the missing maidens, with the tailor, the gardener, +and the hunter in advance, and the adventures +of the three, until the hunter, who is the +beautiful, good young man who always succeeds,—in +fairy-tales,—finally rescues the princesses, and +marries the youngest and loveliest, while the +tailor and gardener, who have conducted themselves +in a treacherous and unseemly manner, are +punished according to the swift retribution that +always overtakes offenders—in fairy-tales.</p> +<p class="pnext">The action was extremely rapid, the scenery +very effective; there were perfect armies of children +on the stage, some of whom danced a kind +of Chinese mandarin ballet, and some of whom +represented apes, and also danced in the suite of +the Prince of Monkeyland, one of the rejected +suitors of the princesses. In actual life the Prince +of Monkeyland is, unfortunately, not always rejected. +There was a pretty scene when the sunlight +streamed through the Gothic windows of an +old castle, and red-capped dwarfs hopped about +the stone floor, and played all sorts of pranks by +the old well. And then there was the man in the +moon, with his lantern; and all the women in the +moon, who were blue, filmy, misty creatures, bowing +and swaying in a way that made the children +through the house scream with laughter; and +these moony maidens were so very ethereal they +could only speak in a whisper, and almost fainted +when the hunter, who happened to be up that +way, addressed them.</p> +<p class="pnext">“Speak softly, softly, noble stranger,” they implored, +in a whispering chorus, shrinking from him +in affright, with their hands on their ears. “Thy +voice is like a thunder-clap.”</p> +<p class="pnext">It was certainly one of the prettiest spectacular +dramas imaginable, with its innocent, droll plot; +and to see a good old-fashioned fairy-tale put on +the stage so well, and to see it with hundreds of +blissful, ecstatic children, was thoroughly enjoyable.</p> +<p class="pnext">Through the holidays social life here seems to +resolve itself chiefly into great family gatherings, +and the custom of watching the old year out is +very general. One party of between thirty and +forty persons, being only brothers and sisters with +their children, was a charming affair. The dignified +played whist, and the frivolous sang and were +merry in other rooms. Tea and light cakes were +served frequently during the evening, from the +arrival of the guests until the supper at eleven, +when the long table was brilliant with choice glass +and silver and flowers; and fresh young faces and +sweet, benign elderly ones were gathered around. +A family party can be a dismal, dreary assembling +of incongruous elements that make one soul-sick +and weary of the world, or it can be a tender, +cheery, blessed thing. There are, indeed, many +varieties of family parties. Most of the large +ones are perhaps no better than they ought to +be; but <em class="italics">this</em> gathering of a clan happened to +possess the intangible something that cheers and +charms.</p> +<p class="pnext">There were jests and toasts and laughter and +blushes, and there was a wonderful punch, brewed +by the eldest son of the house in an enormous +crimson glass punch-bowl,—which, like the “Luck +of Edenhall,” “made a purple light shine over +all,”—and dipped out with a gold ladle; and +its remarkably intoxicating ingredients, particularly +the number of bottles of champagne poured +in at the last, I shall never divulge.</p> +<p class="pnext">The host rose just before midnight, and alluded +briefly to certain losses, and causes for sadness experienced +by the family during the year; yet they +were still, he said very simply, united, loving, and +hopeful; he then gave the toast to the New +Year, and they all drank it heartily, standing, as +the clock was striking twelve, after which was a +general movement through the room, warm greetings, +hand-pressures and kisses, and suspicious +moisture about many eyes, though lips were smiling +bravely.</p> +<p class="pnext">Then came a walk home through the great city, +whose streets were crowded full at two o'clock in +the morning. “Prosit Neujahr! Prosit Neujahr!” +sounded everywhere, far and near. A band of +workmen, arm in arm, tramp along in great jollity, +pushing their way and greeting the whole world. +“Prosit Neujahr!” they cry to the young aristocrat; +“Prosit Neujahr!” is the hearty response. +For an hour all men are brothers, and everybody +turns away from the sad old year, and gives an +eager welcome to the new young thing, whom we +trust, though we know him not. Above the surging +multitude, and the hoarse, loud voices and +impetuous hearts, and wild welcoming of the unknown, +the starlit night seems strangely still, and +the quiet moon shines down on the great frozen +Alster basin, around which reaches the twinkling +line of city lights. Beyond are the city spires. +“Round our restlessness His rest,” says some one +softly; and so</p> +<blockquote><div> +<div class="line-block outermost"> +<div class="line"><em class="italics">Prosit Neujahr</em>!</div> +</div> +</div></blockquote> +<div class="center line-block noindent outermost smaller"> +<div class="line">Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="level-2 section" id="notices-of-one-summer"> +<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">NOTICES OF “ONE SUMMER.”</h2> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="pfirst">“No more charming story than this has appeared since Howells's +‘Chance Acquaintance.’ ‘One Summer’ is a delightful, and withal sensible, +love-story, which one will be loath to stop reading until the conclusion is +reached. The characters are exceedingly attractive, without anything of the +superhuman or sensational about them, but full of life, vigor, and common-sense; +and a tinge of genuine romance spreads over every chapter.”—<em class="italics">New Haven +Journal and Courier.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“A delightfully fresh and spirited little romance. The style is +graceful and spirited to an eminently pleasing degree; and the plot is charmingly +simple and interesting. The hero and heroine are drawn with rare skill and naturalness. +Their acquaintance begins by an untoward accident, which sets them +at loggerheads; and the means by which their misunderstanding is cleared up, +and they gradually begin to esteem each other, form the substance of the story, +which has a heartiness of tone, and an apparent freedom from effort in its telling, +that make it peculiarly attractive.”—<em class="italics">Boston Gazette.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“One of the most charming stories of the season.”—<em class="italics">Chicago +Inter-Ocean.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“A bright, happy story, delightfully natural and easy. It is +just suited for a pleasant afternoon in a hammock, or lying in a breezy shade.”—<em class="italics">Boston +Traveller.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“It is one of those fresh and breezy love-stories one meets with +but twice or thrice in a lifetime. Altogether for charm of style, simpleness of +diction, and pleasantness of plot, the book is quite +inimitable.”—<em class="italics">Rocky Mountain +News.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“A story of great merit, both as a novel and a work of art. In +reading it, one meets on nearly every page some delicate touch of Nature, or +dainty bit of humor, or pleasant piece of description.”—<em class="italics">The Independent</em> (New +York).</p> +<p class="pnext">“One of the best of summer novels. If we are not mistaken, it +will be borrowed and lent around, and laughed over, and possibly cried over, and +hugely enjoyed, by all who get a chance to read it.”—<em class="italics">The Liberal Christian.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“This little book is one of the most delightful we ever read. It +has made us laugh until we cried; and, if it has not made us cry out of pure sadness, +it is because our heart is very hard.”—<em class="italics">Christian Register</em> (Boston).</p> +<p class="pnext">“The story is charmingly told. The fragrant breath of a rural +atmosphere pervades its scenes; much of the character-painting is admirably well +done; there is a freshness and vivacity about the style that is singularly attractive; +and the whole action of the play comprised within the limits of ‘One Summer' +has a flavor of originality that commands the unflagging attention of the +reader.”—<em class="italics">Boston Transcript.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“It is a dainty little love-story, full of bright, witty things, which +are related in a charmingly fascinating manner.”—<em class="italics">Christian at Work.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“Fresh, airy, sparkling, abounding in delicious bits of description. +Its dialogues brimming with a fun which seems to drop from the lips of +the speakers without the slightest premeditation, its interest sustained throughout: +it is just the book to read under the trees these lazy June days, or to take in +the pocket or satchel when starting upon a journey.”—<em class="italics">Newark Courier.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“It is a clean-cut, healthy story, with no theology and no superfluous +characters. The hero is a manly fellow, and the heroine a sweet and womanly +girl, with no nonsense about her.”—<em class="italics">Boston Globe.</em></p> +<p class="pnext">“It is a woman's book,—bright, fresh, and attractive, and more +than ordinarily interesting. There is a decided dash of fun running through the +story, and plenty of good, healthy romance, which never degenerates into sentimentality. +There is an engaging simplicity about the style, and a refreshing lack +of the modern sensational.”—<em class="italics">Portland Transcript.</em></p> +</div></blockquote> +<div class="vspace" style="height: 5em"> +</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35680 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |