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IN AND AROUND BERLIN
BY
MINERVA BRACE NORTON
CHICAGO
A.C. MCCLURG AND COMPANY
1889
COPYRIGHT
BY A.C. MCCLURG AND COMPANY
A.D. 1889
TO MY HUSBAND,
WHOSE GENEROUS SYMPATHY MADE POSSIBLE THESE PAGES;
To my Countrymen and Countrywomen
WHO HAVE VISITED BERLIN;
TO THOSE WHO HOPE TO GO THERE,
AND TO THE
LARGER NUMBER OF ARMCHAIR TRAVELLERS,
I Dedicate this Book.
M.B.N.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 9
II. FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE 20
III. EDUCATION 51
IV. CHURCHES 79
V. MUSEUMS 103
VI. THE GERMAN REICHSTAG AND THE PRUSSIAN PARLIAMENT 125
VII. PROMINENT PERSONAGES 133
VIII. THE EMPEROR'S NINETIETH BIRTHDAY 159
IX. STREETS, PARKS, CEMETERIES, AND PUBLIC BUILDINGS 179
X. PALACES 195
XI. THE HOMES OF THE HUMBOLDTS 209
XII. PHILANTHROPIC WORK 221
XIII. AROUND BERLIN 249
IN AND AROUND BERLIN.
I.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
It was seven o'clock of a gray November morning when we arrived in
Berlin for our first residence abroad. The approach to the city
reminded us of the newer parts of New York, and we found that the
population was about the same. But here the resemblance ceases. New
York is the metropolis of a great nation,--the heart whence arterial
supplies go forth, and to which all returning channels converge; the
cosmopolitan centre of a New World. Berlin is the increasingly
important capital of the German Empire,--growing rapidly, but still
the royal impersonation of Prussia and the Hohenzollerns; seated in
something of mediæval costume and quiet beside the river Spree; as
content to cast a satisfied glance backward to Frederick the Great and
the Electors of Brandenburg as to look forward to imperial supremacy
among the Great Powers, and the championship of continental Protestant
Europe.
There is one continuous thread woven through the old history and the
new, and this appeared in the first hour of our stay. Everywhere on
the streets the one thing most strange to our American eyes was the
number of striking military uniforms mingled with the more sober garb
of civilians. Officers of fine form and gentlemanly bearing, in
uniforms of dark blue with scarlet trimmings and long, dragging,
rattling swords, were commanding the evolutions of infantry in the
main streets; while frequent glimpses of gold-laced light blue or
scarlet jackets or of plumed and helmeted hussars animated the scene
on the crowded sidewalks. Germany is, as it has been from the
beginning, a military power.
We drove first to the home of an American friend. We were not prepared
for the four long flights of stairs up which we were directed by the
porter on the ground floor. "What reverses of fortune have come to
A.," thought we, "that she lives in an attic!" The tenement was a good
one, to be sure, when we found it,--large and lofty apartments with
many windows, commanding a fine view. But to one unused to many
stairs, and weakened by continuous illness in a long sea-voyage, the
exhaustion of that first ascent was something to be remembered. It
was, however, but the precursor of hundreds of similar feats, which
our residence involved, as nearly all families live up several flights
of stairs. Only once did we see an elevator in Germany. In the elegant
hotel known as the Kaiserhof, the sojourning-place of princes,
diplomatists, and statesmen, we took our seats in a commodious
elevator, rejoiced at the thought of such an American way of getting
upstairs. It was fully five minutes before we reached the moderate
elevation of the corridor on which our rooms opened; the liveried and
intelligent official in charge, evidently a personage of importance,
meanwhile replying to our queries and enjoying our evident surprise at
the slow motion, until we forgot our annoyance in the interest of the
conversation which ensued before we reached our destination. Once I
was toiling up the four flights which led to the residence of a
cultivated German lady, in company with the hostess. "Oh," I said
breathlessly, "would there were elevators in Germany!"
"Yes," courteously responded the lady; adding, with a resigned sigh,
the conclusive words which indicated contentment with her lot, "but it
is not ze custom."
It was late in the season, and our lodgings were not engaged in
advance. Americans in increasing numbers make Berlin a winter
residence, and by October the most desirable _pensions_ generally have
their rooms engaged. By the kind offices of our friend, our famishing
party were provided with the rolls and coffee which compose the
continental breakfast, and a fortunate entrance was, after much
seeking, obtained for us to a most desirable boarding-house. Our own
apartment was a large corner room, with immense windows looking north
and east, and, like nearly all rooms in Berlin houses, connected by
double doors with the apartments on either side. A fire was built
before we took possession, but it was two days before we ceased to
shiver. We looked for the stove of which we had heard. More than one
of the five senses were called into requisition to determine which
article of furniture was entitled to that designation. Across one
corner of the room stood a tall white monument composed of glazed
tiles laid in mortar, built into the room as a chimney might have
been, with a hidden flue in the rear connecting it with the wall. A
drab cornice and plaster ornaments of the same color set off the four
or five feet above the mantel which surrounded it, and a brass door,
about ten inches by twelve, was in the middle front of the part below.
On the mantel were disposed sundry ornaments, including vases of dried
grasses, and the hand could always be held upon the tiles against
which they stood. In a small fireplace within this unique mass of
tiles and mortar, the housemaid would place a dozen pieces of
coal-cake once or at most twice a day, and after allowing a few
minutes for the kindling to set it aglow, would close and lock the
triple door, and the fire was made for twenty-four hours. In two or
three hours after the lighting of the fire, the temperature of the
room, if other conditions were favorable, might be slightly raised. To
raise it five to ten degrees would require from six to ten hours.
In response to our request to the landlady for an addition of cold
meat or steak to the coffee and rolls of the breakfast, and for more
warmth in the room, accompanied by an expression of willingness to
make additional payment for the same, the reply, given in a courteous
manner, was that Americans lived in rooms much too warm, and ate too
much meat, and that it would be for their health in Germany to conform
to the German customs. However, some spasmodic efforts were made, for
a season, to comply with the requests, which before long were wholly
discontinued; and the strangers learned the wisdom of accommodating
themselves "in Rome" to the ways of the Romans. This, however, was not
accomplished without continued suffering. The meagre "first
breakfast," served about half-past eight o'clock, was supplemented by
a "second breakfast" of a cup of chocolate or beef tea, at about
eleven, to those who were then in the house and made known their
desire for it. But the days were short. Berlin is about six hundred
miles nearer the north pole than New York, in the latitude of Labrador
and the southern part of Hudson's Bay. The climate is milder only
because the Gulf Stream kindly sends its warmth over all Europe,
which lies in much higher latitudes than we are wont to think.
Consequently the days in winter are much shorter than ours, as in
summer they are longer. All the mid-winter daylight of Berlin is
between the hours of eight A.M. and four P.M. With dinner at two
o'clock, from which we rose about three, there was too little light
remaining for visits to museums and other places of interest, so that
the chief sightseeing of the day must be put into the hours between
nine and two o'clock, often far from residence or restaurants; so the
work of the day must be done on insufficient food, and the prevailing
physical sensation was that of being an animated empty cask. We thus
reached a settled conviction that however well the continental
breakfast may serve the needs of Germans, with their slow ways of
working, and their heavy suppers of sausage, black bread, and beer,
late at night, an American home for Americans temporarily in Berlin is
a consummation much to be wished.
It is almost with a feeling of despair that many a woman first unpacks
her trunk in the Berlin apartment which, according to general custom,
is to serve her for sleeping-room, breakfast-room, study, and
reception-room. In a lengthened sojourn, in hotels, _pensions_, and
private residences, I never saw a closet opening from such an
apartment. Indeed, there were, in the houses I visited, no closets of
any kind; unless an unlighted, unventilated cubic space in the middle
of the house or near the kitchen--the upper half often devoted to
sleeping room for domestics, and the lower to a general rendezvous of
odds and ends--might be dignified with that name. A statement which I
once ventured in conversation, as to the closets opening from nearly
every room of an American house, was received with a look of
incredulity and wonder. Neither did I see a real bureau in Berlin. A
poor substitute was a portable piece of furniture, often quite
ornamental, which opened by doors, exposing all the shelves whenever
an article on any one of them was wanted. Here must be kept bonnets,
hats, gloves, ribbons, laces, underwear, and all the thousand
accumulations of the toilet; while a cramped "wardrobe" was the
receptacle of shoes, cloaks, and dresses, hung perhaps three or four
or five deep on the half-dozen wooden pegs within. Bathrooms were the
rare exceptions. As a rule, bathing must be done with a sponge and
cold water, in one's private apartment, where are no faucets, drains,
or set bowls, but the ordinary wash-bowl, pitcher, and jar. Evidently
German civilization does not rate the bath very high among the
comforts of life.
An essential part of the furniture in the kind of apartment I am
describing, is a screen to stand before each bed and wash-stand. The
beds are invariably single, two or more being placed in a room when
needed, the screens, by day, transforming the room into a parlor.
There are no carpets. On the oiled or painted wooden floors rugs are
placed before the beds, before the sofa, and under the table which
always stands before it. One luxury is seldom wanting,--a good
writing-desk, with pens and ink ready for use. It is no trouble to a
German hostess to increase or diminish the number of beds in a room,
the narrow bedsteads being carried with ease through the double doors,
from room to room, as convenience requires.
Pictures are on the walls,--not often remarkable as works of art, but
most frequently stimulants to love of country,--portraits of the
Kaiser and the Crown Prince, and battle scenes in which glory is
reflected on the Prussian arms. Every window is double; the two outer
vertical halves opening on hinges outward, and the inner opening in
the same manner into the room. Graceful lace drapery is the rule, over
plain cotton hangings or Venetian blinds.
The arrangement of the bedding is peculiar. Over a set of wire springs
is laid the mattress, in a closely fitting white case, buttoned, tied,
or laced together at one end. This case takes the place of an under
sheet. The feather pillow is in a plain slip of white cotton,
similarly fastened. Over the whole a blanket or comfortable is laid,
securely enfolded in another white case, which also serves instead of
an upper sheet. Over this is the feather bed, usually encased in
colored print, sometimes of bright colors. Under this one always
sleeps. Over the bed, from low head-board to foot-board, is stretched
by day the uppermost covering. Ours was of maroon cotton flannel,
bordered in front by a flounce intended to be ornamental. The custom
is to furnish clean cases and pillow-slips once a month, and it is
difficult to secure more frequent changes of bed-linen.
Ventilation is something of which the Germans are particularly afraid.
The impure air of schools, halls, churches, and other places of
assemblage is dreadful, and a draught is regarded as the messenger of
death. When our landlady found that we were in the habit of sleeping
with our windows open, most emphatic remonstrance was made, with the
assurance that this would never do in Berlin. However, like the
drinking of water, against which also warnings are customary, the
breathing of fresh air was to us followed by no harmful results.
These differences in habits and customs of household life, like the
sounds of a strange language, affect the traveller unpleasantly at
first. But differences in national customs are natural and inevitable,
and one gradually becomes accustomed to them, and enabled to live a
happy life in spite of them, as appreciation grows when acquaintance
has made one familiar with many interesting and excellent aspects of
existence here.
II.
FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE.
Holidays and birthdays are more scrupulously and formally observed in
Germany than with us. There are cakes and lighted candles and flowers
for the one whose birthday makes him for the time the most important
personage in the family, and who sits in holiday dress in the
reception-room, to receive the calls and congratulations of friends.
Those who cannot call send letters and presents, which are displayed,
with those received from the family, on a table devoted to the
purpose; and the array is often quite extensive. The presents are
seldom extravagant, consisting largely of the ornamental handiwork of
friends and of useful articles of clothing for common use.
A genuine German family festival on Christmas eve is a pleasant thing
to see. We accepted with pleasure the invitation of Frau B---- and her
family, to be present at theirs. In a large _salon_ adjoining that
where the table was laid for supper, was another long table spread
with a white cloth. Toward the farther end of the table stood a tall
Christmas-tree, decked with various simple ornaments; and the candles
on it were lighted with a little ceremony, the chubby granddaughter of
three years pointing her bare arm and uplifted forefinger to the tree,
and reciting a short poem appropriate to the occasion, as we entered
the room, about half-past seven o'clock. Then the beautiful and
winning child found her toys, her lovely wax doll and its cradle, and
another doll of rubber, small and homely, on which, after the fashion
of little mothers, she imprinted her most affectionate kisses.
Suddenly the room was radiant with a contagious happiness. "The little
Fräulein," daughter of the hostess, just engaged by cable to a
gentleman in America, had found his picture, wreathed with fresh and
fragrant rosebuds, among her presents; and the smiles and blushes
chased each other over her face, as the engagement was thus announced
by her mother to the assembled guests. She answered her
congratulations by more blushes and smiles, laying her hand on her
heart, and saying with true German frankness, "Oh, I am so happy!" No
presents hung on the tree, but those intended for each person were in
a group beside a plate of cakes and bonbons, with a card bearing the
name. Each of the company found his own, delicately assisted by the
hostess and her daughters. Then the servants were called in, to find
their presents on side tables, to receive and express good wishes and
thanks, and to join in the general joy of the household over the
engagement. After supper in the dining-room, we talked awhile, there
was music from the piano, then the married daughter and her family
withdrew with kind "good-nights;" and before a late hour all the other
guests had done the same, not, however, until the national airs of
America and of Scotland had been sung by all present, in honor of the
guests from these countries.
Private hospitality is kind and open, but so far as our observation
went, conducted within certain specified limits seldom overstepped.
Order of precedence is carefully observed, and more honor is shown to
age than with us. The best seat in the drawing-room is the sofa. A
single guest would never be offered any other place, and among a
number the eldest or the most honored would be invariably conducted
there. Hence no one would venture to take this place of honor
uninvited. Sometimes one is secretly glad of not being invited to
crowd behind the table which usually stands, covered with a spread,
inconveniently close before the sofa, and of having instead a chair,
with a better support for the back.
One is expected to bow to the hostess and to each guest on coming to
the table, and also on leaving it. Odd as this seems at first, it soon
becomes a habit rather pleasant than burdensome, and one grows
insensibly to admire the outward politeness of this German custom.
Greetings and farewells are more ceremonious, even between intimate
friends, than with us; and to omit a ceremonious leave-taking or to
substitute a light bow and "good day" would not make a pleasant
impression on a German hostess. Americans, especially young ladies,
are much criticised for their independence and lack of courtesy. A
German friend told me that a young American lady who had formerly
been an inmate of her family called to bid her good-by before leaving
Berlin. "I was amazed," she said, "at such politeness." It is not
alone in matters of courtesy that young American ladies shock the
Germans. Though a young lady has more freedom in Germany than in
France and Italy, she is expected to conform carefully to the custom
of going out in the evening or travelling only in company with a
relative if a gentleman, or with an older lady. It is true that
American girls are forgiven some liberties which no German girl would
think of taking, on the ground of American customs; and a careful,
well-bred young lady, from our side the water will seldom fall into
serious trouble if she observes the rule of not going out unattended.
But young ladies from America in Europe hold largely the honor of
their country in their hands, and they ought to recognize this
responsibility.
German politeness has also a reverse side. Perhaps the general absence
of higher education among German women leaves them an especial prey to
idle curiosity and gossip. Not only is one questioned freely as to the
cost of any article of dress by comparative strangers, but questions
as to one's family and private affairs are common, almost customary.
Conversation which does not turn upon such things, or on others
equally trivial and irrelevant, is the exception. The recital on their
part, however, of personal and family history has a charming
good-nature and simplicity, and often a touch of the homely and
pathetic, which reach the heart of the listener. There were few tables
where the conversation was not too loud for our comfort. No one seemed
particularly to care for quiet talk with his neighbor, but the
conversation at a long table was a rattling sharpshooting or a heavy
cannonade from one end to the other, mingled with hearty laughter,
while "Attic salt" was sparing. Table-manners, even among otherwise
charming people, were often shocking to the taste of Americans. What
we should call the first principles of good-breeding were freely
contravened. The nicety and daintiness which in some favored American
and English homes make of the family board a visible and tangible
poem, were very rare in our German experience. And yet there are
charming German tables and well-bred German ladies and gentlemen. One
custom which we have been taught to regard as vulgar and profane is
that of constantly using the names of the Deity by way of exclamation
and emphasis in the most ordinary conversation. Being on sufficiently
intimate terms with a German lady, we one day ventured to inquire
deprecatingly about this habit. "Everybody does it," was her candid
reply; and this was the only reason we ever heard.
"George Eliot" long ago complained of the inconvenience of
perambulating Berlin streets, where you are pushed off the sidewalks
and are in constant danger of involuntary surgical experience through
contact with the military swords that clank and clatter in the crowd.
There is still room for improvement in this respect. The owners of
sabres often seem to take it for granted that the right of way belongs
first of all to them and their weapons, and if any one is thus
inconvenienced that is the business of the unlucky party. The streets
and sidewalks are much wider and less crowded than those in Boston;
but a collision on a Boston sidewalk is rare, while a half-dozen rude
ones in an hour is a daily expectation in Berlin. A Berlin pedestrian
"to the manner born," in blind momentum and disregard of all
obstacles, has no equal in our experience.
It was told me that if you are run over by the swiftly driven horses
in the streets, you must pay a fine for obstructing the way.
Remembering that many regulations are relics of the times when laws
were made for the good of the aristocracy who ride, and not for the
vulgar crowd who walk, we did not try the experiment. Mounted
policemen are to be seen, like equestrian statues, at the intersection
of the more crowded thoroughfares, as Unter den Linden and Friedrich
Strasse, and with a little care there is seldom need of delay in
crossing. I heard of one poor cab-driver who was fined and cast into
prison for injuring a lady who suddenly changed her mind and took a
new tack while just in front of his horses. Regard for foot-passengers
seems thus to have an existence in some cases.
Regard for women is not a thing to which German men are trained. A
gentleman may not carry a small parcel through the street, but his
delicate wife may take a heavier one to save the disgrace of her
husband's bearing it. Among the middle classes, those couples who go
out for a walk with the baby-carriage invariably regard the management
of it as the wife's privilege, leaving to the father the custody of
his pipe or cigar alone. If the baby is to be carried in arms, it is
always the wife, not the husband, who bears the burden. Women in the
humbler classes wear no bonnets in the street, although sometimes in
cold weather they tie a little shawl or a handkerchief about the head.
Their usual habit is, however, to go out in all weathers with the head
as unprotected as the face, even for long distances. A maid follows
her mistress to market, with a basket on her arm, often covered with
an embroidered cloth, in which are placed the purchases of the careful
housemother.
A huckster is frequently accompanied by a dog, both being harnessed to
the little cart which holds the wares. Often the man will be free,
while the woman and the dog side by side drag the cart to which they
are tied, the woman usually knitting even when the air is cold enough
to benumb her fingers. Women knit constantly in the streets about
their other work, whether bowed down under huge bundles of fagots on
their backs, serving milk at the houses, or doing many other things
with which we should regard knitting as incompatible.
The best society is like the court, in being exclusive. It is
difficult for strangers, in Germany as in America, easily to obtain
desirable acquaintance, except by means of letters of introduction,
and the friendship which comes with time and natural selection.
Glimpses of home-life in cultivated circles are accordingly to be
highly valued.
One delightful visit with supper, to which we were invited, began
about six o'clock. That we might have more in common, the hostess, who
herself spoke English with much intelligence, had invited a German
lady who had resided in Boston to meet us. We were seated on the sofa
and shown some of the many art treasures in the way of fine engravings
which the home contained, the fancy-work of our hostess--a German lady
seems never to be without it--lying neglected as the conversation rose
in interest. Supper was served between eight and nine o'clock, at a
round table accommodating the hostess and her three guests. Delicious
tea, made from a burnished brass teakettle over an alcohol lamp on a
stand beside the hostess, with white and black bread, five kinds of
sausage, cold meat, and pickled fish, composed the first course. There
was a second, composed of little cakes and apples.
Dinner, in our experience, was almost invariably good. First course,
always soup and bread. Second, unless fish were served, some kind of
meat, a variety of vegetables, among which green beans, spinach, and
varieties of cabbage delicately cooked were prominent. This course was
usually accompanied by cooked or preserved fruit. Third course,
various puddings and cakes, all good, some delicious; never any pie.
The luxury of dessert was sometimes omitted. It is not common in
German families, except those frequented by American guests. Radishes
and cheese form an extra course at some suppers. In hotels, of course,
the simple family dinner of three or four courses is replaced by a
more elaborate feast of many courses.
The anniversaries of the death of friends are remembered by dressing
in black, burning candles before their portraits, and visiting their
graves. There is also one day in spring which is celebrated as a kind
of combination of All Saints Day and Decoration Day, when every one
visits the cemeteries, leaving flowers and wreaths in memory of the
loved and lost. Funeral services are held, both at the homes and in
the churches, and are often accompanied by very impressive and
majestic music. In at least one of the cemeteries there is a large and
scientifically arranged crematory. A recent judicial decision,
however, forbids cremation within the municipal jurisdiction.
Sundays, as is well known, are not observed in Germany as in England
and Scotland. But in the parts of Berlin which we were accustomed to
see on that day, including two miles or more between our residence and
the central part of the city, the general sobriety and orderly
appearance would compare favorably with that in the better parts of
many American cities. We were asked on our first Sunday at the
dinner-table if we would like to have seats secured for us at the
opera that evening. Operatic performances and concerts are among the
better entertainments offered on Sunday evenings. The laws are strict,
however, regarding quiet in the streets and the closing of places of
business until after Sunday morning service in the churches. In the
finest residence portions of some American cities we have been
frequently disturbed by the street-cries of hucksters during divine
service on Sunday mornings, while the ear-piercing shouts of newspaper
venders disturb all the peace of the early morning hours. Dime
museums and other places flaunt their attractions in the faces of the
crowd who gather at their doors, and many places of business seem to
be always open. It was not our experience to see or hear anything like
this in Germany. Even the law of despotic power is better than none at
all,--often far better than enlightened law not enforced. Policemen in
the streets of Berlin make short work with the luckless tradesman who
leaves his blinds or doors open on Sunday before two o'clock P.M. Of
course restaurants and places of food supply are open. To all outward
appearance Berlin was a fairly well-ordered city on Sundays. One in
search of evil, however, could doubtless find it, here as elsewhere.
Sunday afternoon is a favorite time for calls and family visits; and
in the pleasant weather the genuine love for out-door life, which
seems dormant in winter, blossoms out luxuriantly. Parents take their
whole families to the numerous gardens in the suburbs for picnics on
Sundays and the frequent holidays. Sunday hours at home are spent by
most German ladies with the inevitable crochet-work or knitting,--even
the most devout seeing no harm in this, nor in their little Sunday
evening parties, with games and music.
One day in the year--Good Friday--is observed as scrupulously as was
ever a Puritan Sunday. The organic Protestant Church of Germany--a
union of the Lutheran and Reformed churches,--has small affiliation
with the Church of Rome; but some observances which we have been
accustomed to associate with so-called Catholicism have lingered with
Protestantism in Germany. Good Friday was a solemn day in the family
where we had our home. Bach's music, brought to light after a hundred
years of deep obscurity by Felix Mendelssohn, and rendered, though at
first with much opposition from musicians of the old school, in the
Sing Akademie of Berlin, now lends every year, on the eve of Good
Friday, its incomparable _Passion-Musik_ to the devotion of the
occasion. "There are many things I must miss," said a cultivated
German to me, "but the _Passion-Musik_ on the eve of Good
Friday,--never! It makes me better. I cannot do without it." We found
this music, at the time of which we speak, an occasion to be ever
memorable for its wonderful power and pathos. The next morning we did
not attend the service in the cathedral, where we wished to go,
knowing that the crowd would be too great for comfort. On returning to
our room from another service, a beautiful arrangement of cut flowers
on the table greeted our senses as we opened the door. It was the
thoughtful, affectionate, and devout offering of our hostess in
reverent memory of the day. After dinner we entered the private parlor
of the family for a friendly call and to express our thanks. No
suggestion of knitting or fancy-work was to be seen. The hostess and
her daughters, soberly dressed, were reading devotional books. "Do you
not go out this afternoon?" I inquired. "No, one cannot go out," was
the reply, indicating probably both lack of disposition and of places
open for entertainment. Later, I ventured out for a walk. Only here
and there could a team be seen, and the throng of pedestrians usually
on the sidewalks in a bright spring afternoon seemed to have deserted
the busy streets, in which comparative silence reigned.
"I am glad there is here _one_ sabbath in the year," was our inward
comment, "even though it falls on a Friday." Easter was a day of
gladness in the churches, though elaborate adornments of flowers and
new spring bonnets were not so prominent as in American cities. The
respectable church communicant, even if he goes to church on no other
day in the year, usually takes the communion at Easter.
Easter Monday was one great gala-day. All Berlin seemed to be in the
streets in holiday attire; and, to our eyes, no other day ever showed
such universal gladness reflected in the faces and demeanor of the
people. "Prayer Day," answering somewhat to the original New England
Fast Day, was solemnly observed in May; and the holidays of
Whitsuntide dress every house and market-stall and milk-cart with
green boughs, and crowd the railways and the steamers with throngs of
pleasure-seekers.
The few weeks before Easter is a favorite season for weddings, and
these are invariably celebrated in church. Even people in moderate
circumstances make much display at the church ceremony, with or
without an additional celebration at home. We were invited to one at
the Garrison Church, which the soldiers attend, and where most of the
pews on the main floor are held by officers and their families. We
entered the church fifteen minutes before the hour appointed,--four
o'clock. An elderly usher in a fine suit, with swallow-tail coat and a
decoration on his breast, politely gave us liberty to choose our
seats, as the invitations were not numerous and the church is large. A
few persons, mostly ladies, were there before us, and had already
taken the best seats,--those running lengthwise of the church, and
facing a wide central aisle. We joined them, and while waiting felt
more at liberty to inspect the church than at the service on a
previous Sunday. The Grecian interior was undecorated, except that a
mass of green filled the space to the right and left of the altar,
beginning on each side with tall oleanders succeeded by laurels and
other evergreens, growing gradually less in height, until they reached
the pews in the side aisles. A rich altar-cloth of purple velvet,
embroidered with gold, fell below the crucifix and the massive candles
on either side, which are always seen in the Lutheran churches; and in
the aisle below the chancel stood a square altar, covered with another
spread of purple velvet, heavy with gold fringe and embroidery. Two
chairs were side by side just in front of the high altar, and facing
it. Six chairs facing the audience were on the platform on each side
of the altar, directly in front of the mass of green I have described.
Below the steps to the chancel about twenty chairs were placed on each
side of the central aisle, and facing the altar. In each chair was a
printed slip containing a hymn to be sung after the ceremony. About
four o'clock a maid came in with the little granddaughter who on
Christmas eve had spoken the poem at the lighting of the family
Christmas-tree. When they were seated, the handsome little face, with
its white bonnet and cloak, was seen in a side pew very near the
altar. It seemed so like a dream,--the announcement of the engagement
of "the little Fräulein" at that Christmas party; and now the time has
come when the bride is to belong to her mother and her home no more!
Ladies had long ceased looking impatiently at their watches, and were
perhaps busy with their thoughts, as I was, when from the "mittel"
door Court-preacher Frommel entered, his long white hair thrown back,
and crossed through the transverse aisle to the robing-room opposite.
Soon a signal given by an usher to the organist was the prelude to
solemn music, which filled the church; and a stout clerical
assistant, with a book under his arm, appeared at the rear door. Then
Pastor Frommel, in his black robe and simple white muslin bands, took
his place before the high altar and bowed in prayer, the two immense
candles in tall candlesticks on either side the altar, now lighted,
throwing their radiance on his silver hair. Meantime the bridal
procession slowly moved down the side aisle toward the middle of the
church, turned at the transverse aisle, crossed to the centre, turned
again, now toward the altar, passing to it up the central aisle. The
clerical personage with the service-book under his arm passed first.
Then came the bride on the arm of the groom. There were a few
orange-buds hidden here and there in the fluffy mass of her front
hair; a veil of tulle was fastened behind them in a gathered coronet,
and fell down over the folds of her white silk dress, whose train
swept along the aisle to the length of a yard and a half. I saw no
ornaments, save a wreath below the high, full, white ruche at the
throat, perhaps of geranium leaves, and a full bouquet of pink
rosebuds in the right hand. From my glance at the train of the bridal
dress, I looked up to see six bridesmaids coming after, each on the
arm of a groomsman. The first bridesmaid was a lovely sister of the
bride, in a dress of cream-white silk without train, pink flowers in
her hair, and carrying a large bouquet of full-blown cream and crimson
roses. The second bridesmaid wore a dress of silk,--not ecru and not
palest olive, but a shade between the two,--with a perfectly fitting
corsage, likewise _décolleté_, and for ornaments a necklace of large
pearls, a bouquet, and flowers in her hair. The first groomsman was in
civilian's dress; but the second was in all the glory of full
regimentals, with scarlet trimmings and showy buttons. The third
bridesmaid wore pink silk, with a bouquet at the centre of the
heart-shaped corsage; but unlike the others, she had no flowers in her
hair. Of the following bridesmaids, one wore pink silk of a paler
shade, one was in lemon-color, and the last in palest mauve, with
trimmings of garnet velvet. The bridesmaids filed to the right, and
the groomsmen to the left, as they reached the altar, before which
Pastor Frommel now stood. As the bride and groom approached, they
remained a moment standing with bowed heads in silent prayer, as the
custom is on entering a German church, and then took the two chairs
which had been placed for them, facing the minister. I had been struck
by the beauty of the widowed mother, as she followed the bridesmaids,
leaning on the arm of her brother,--a fine-looking, dignified officer
from Potsdam, in full uniform, with broad silver epaulettes. The black
hair of the mother--dressed high and gracefully on the crown of her
uncovered head, set off by a fine white marguerite and a yellow
one--and her dark eyes and complexion were in strong contrast to the
fair hair and light German complexion of the younger ladies. She was
in a dress of garnet silk, fitting perfectly her tall and graceful
form. The bridesmaids took the six chairs on the right of the altar,
facing the audience and before the mass of greenery, which made an
effective background for so much youth, beauty, and elegance; and the
groomsmen took the corresponding chairs on the left. The mother and
uncle parted at the steps below the altar, she taking the first chair
on the right, and he on the left, with the central aisle between them.
Next came two elderly ladies, in dark silk with long trains, with
uncovered and ornamented hair, and white shoulder-shawls of silk or
wool, each with a gentleman; and they were seated to the right and
left respectively. The bride's eldest married sister came next, in a
splendid robe of blue satin, with a long train, looking very young and
_distingué_. She and her husband filed to the right and left, as the
others had done. The second married sister of the bride followed, in a
similar dress of pink satin; and her very handsome husband, in his
full military suit, was a decided addition to the courtly-looking
assemblage. These five ladies filled the front row of chairs on one
side, as did the gentlemen accompanying them on the other side. Eight
other ladies, all in full dress,--one wearing an ermine
cape,--followed, each with a gentleman; and these were seated in the
second row.
When for a few brief moments I first caught sight of all this
elegance, I felt as though I were in a dream; then came a rush of
emotion, because I loved the fair young bride, and was touched at the
thought of the solemn place in which she stood,--forsaking home and
friends and native land to go to what seems to these home-dwelling
Germans a far, strange country, all for the sake of a young man whom a
year ago she had never seen. I was as sorry for the mother, too, as I
could be for one so handsome and so dignified. How fast one feels and
thinks in such a time! Before the hush which followed the procession
and the temporary change while all were finding their appropriate
seats, the feeling of sympathy had given place to one of stimulated
imagination, and this dim old soldiers' church, with the majestic
music filling all its spaces, seemed merely the setting for some scene
at a royal court in the olden time, where beauty and brilliance and
grandeur were a matter of course.
The music ceased, all present rose, while Pastor Frommel read a brief
service from the book, and said "Amen." Then we sat down again, and
the pastor preached the wedding sermon, which we were told is a matter
of course at a German marriage. The sermon over, the bride and groom
stood up before him, and he looked down with a fatherly glance upon
the bride whom he took into his own house to prepare for confirmation
only a few short years ago, and whom he is now to send with his
marriage benediction across the sea. In a sweet, calm voice he
addressed them; then the bride hands her bouquet to her sister
bridesmaid sitting near, and removes her own glove; the groom takes
from his pocket a ring, and gives it to the minister, who places it on
the bride's finger, speaking a few solemn sentences, of which only the
last reaches my ears: "What God hath joined together, let not man put
asunder." For the first time in the service, the bride and groom kneel
before him who bends over them; then follows a prayer, and it is
finished. They rise, and are seated an instant; then rise again as the
pastor gives his hand in congratulation to the groom; and when he
places his hand with a few words in that of the bride, she bends low
over it and kisses it in a pathetic farewell. The pastor goes first.
The bride and groom bow in silent devotion before the altar until the
time seems a little long, then turn and come down the aisle, followed
by their retinue as they went in, but twain no more. The mother wiped
away a tear quietly once or twice during the service, the unmarried
sister bridesmaid looked as sweet and calm as always she does at home,
but the bride, silently taking farewell of friends and native land,
was deeply moved. No one had any voice for the printed hymn, and the
organ alone supplied its music. The newly married couple went in the
first carriage which rolled homewards, the others followed without
observing precedence, and a small and quiet home reception closed the
day.
In a family where we found a home we were once asked, with other
temporary residents, to attend a small evening gathering. At the usual
hour of half-past eight we were led out to supper by the hostess. The
table was very handsome with its fine linen and an elaborately
embroidered lunch cloth extending through the whole length of a board
at which fourteen were seated. I counted ten tall wine bottles, and at
every plate except two, wine-glasses were standing. Several of the
European ladies drank off three or four glasses as they might have
done so much water. "You are temperance?" said a young lady from
Stockholm at my left, in her broken English. I said, Yes; and on
inquiry found she knew something of the great temperance movement in
her own country, of which she told me over her wine. She said she
thought a glass would do me good. I said, "No, it would flush my face
and do me harm;" to which, without any intention of discourtesy, she
replied simply, "I do not believe it." Five plates of various sizes
were piled before each individual. The smallest was of glass, for
preserved fruit and sweet pickles, four kinds of which were passed,
all to be deposited, if one partook of all, on the same plate. The
other plates and the whole service were of beautiful old Berlin china,
white, with a line of dark blue and another of gilt around the edge of
each piece, and the monogram of the grandmother to whom it originally
belonged in the centre of each piece in blue letters. The first course
was excellent chicken broth, served to each guest in a china cup, with
a roll. The second course was cold roast beef and hot potatoes, served
in three different ways, with rolls and plenty of wine. The third
course was offered to me first by a handsome serving-maid lately from
the country, with a clear face, bright dark eyes, dark hair, and rosy
cheeks. Admiring her, I cast only a brief and doubtful glance on the
large plate she bore, at one side of which were two lifelike sheep
three or four inches high, with little red ribbons around their necks
and standing in the midst of greenery. "This is confectionery," I
thought, "and these are sugar sheep for ornament." Disposed on other
parts of the plate were sundry rounds and triangles which looked
peculiar; but my custom was, at German tables, "to prove all things"
and "hold fast that which is good." So I decided on a creamy-looking
segment, covered with silver-paper, and showing at the sides a
half-inch thickness of what I hoped was custard-cake. The plate was
next passed to a lady at my right, who cut a little piece off a white
substance; and I thought, "She has ice-cream." Before I had touched my
portion, a suspicious odor diverted my attention from the
conversation. I found that the course was cheese and radishes, that my
neighbor had "Dutch cheese," that the sheep were the butter and I had
none for my roll, and that I had possessed myself of perhaps the whole
of one variety of European cheese in tin-foil, the peculiar aroma of
which was anything but agreeable to my cheese-hating sense. I begged a
German Fräulein who sat near and who was intensely enjoying the
situation to relieve me, when she kindly took about one third of my
delicacy, leaving the rest in solitary state until the end of that
course. Fortunately, the non-winedrinkers were offered a cup of tea
just here, and I ate my roll with it in thankfulness. My American
friend laughingly made a remark to her German neighbor,--a tall and
dignified lady, but very vivacious. She turned her head, saying in
hesitating English, "Speak on this side; I am _dumb_ in that ear."
Meanwhile the conversation, not as at American tables a low hum, but
rather the rattle of artillery, fires away, across the table, along
its whole length, anywhere and everywhere, much sounding, little
meaning, amid infinite ado of demonstration and gesticulation. The
next course was the nearest approach to pie I saw at any German
table,--_apfeltochter_,--a browned and frosted crust, nearly eighteen
inches in diameter, between the parts of which was cooked and
sweetened apple.
I noted the different nationalities at the table,--the mother and her
daughters, Germans of the Germans; a buxom young girl from the
country, a fine singer; the tall German, and the young Swedish lady of
whom I have spoken; another Swedish lady from Gothenburg, tall, very
dignified, with gray eyes and dark hair, an exquisite singer. Then
there was Herr G----, also from Sweden, and Fräulein von K----, a
young Polish lady, with striking black eyes and hair and a laughing
face. Other guests were two Norwegian gentlemen. One of them, tall,
dark, and with the dress and bearing of a gentleman, said to my
American friend, "Yes, I speak English _very well_" which we found to
be the case. As I had mentally completed this summary, my friend said
to me in a low "aside," "The young lady at your left is a
free-thinker, the Polish lady is a Roman Catholic, Herr G----is a Jew;
the rest Lutherans, except you and me." And one of us at home was of
"Andover," and the other "straight Orthodox"!
Later, we adjourned to the drawing-room, spacious and handsome after
the German fashion. I asked one of the daughters of the house, who I
knew had spent some years in Russia, if the portrait of a middle-aged
gentleman hanging near me, much decorated and with a gilded crown at
the top of the frame, were not that of the late Czar (Alexander II.),
when she replied, "It is our Emperor!" And I had seen his Majesty at
least half a dozen times! But he was a much older man now. One of the
Norwegian gentlemen sat down at the piano and played portions of a
recent opera, and a game of questions and answers followed. Oranges
and little cakes were served before the company broke up at the early
hour of half-past eleven.