Transcribed from the 1853 Ingram, Cooke, and Co. edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org; second proof by Mike Ruffell.
VISIT TO ICELAND
AND THE
SCANDINAVIAN NORTH
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
MADAME IDA PFEIFFER.
WITH
Numerous Explanatory Notes
AND
EIGHT TINTED ENGRAVINGS.
TO WHICH ARE ADDED
AN ESSAY ON ICELANDIC POETRY,
FROM THE FRENCH OF M. BERGMANN;
A TRANSLATION OF THE ICELANDIC POEM THE VOLUSPA;
AND A BRIEF SKETCH OF ICELANDIC HISTORY.
Second Edition.
LONDON:
INGRAM, COOKE, AND CO.
1853
[Picture: Pictorial title page]
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION
The success which attended the publication in this Series of Illustrated
Works of _A Woman's Journey round the World_, has induced the publication
of the present volume on a country so little known as Iceland, and about
which so little recent information exists.
The translation has been carefully made, expressly for this Series, from
the original work published at Vienna; and the Editor has added a great
many notes, wherever they seemed necessary to elucidate the text.
In addition to the matter which appeared in the original work, the
present volume contains a translation of a valuable Essay on Icelandic
poetry, by M. Bergmann; a translation of an Icelandic poem, the
'Voluspa;' a brief sketch of Icelandic History; and a translation of
Schiller's ballad, 'The Diver,' which is prominently alluded to by Madame
Pfeiffer in her description of the Geysers. {1}
The Illustrations have been printed in tints, so as to make the work
uniform with the _Journey round the World_.
London, August 1, 1852.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
"Another journey--a journey, moreover, in regions which every one would
rather avoid than seek. This woman only undertakes these journeys to
attract attention."
"The first journey, for a woman ALONE, was certainly rather a bold
proceeding. Yet in that instance she might still have been excused.
Religious motives may perhaps have actuated her; and when this is the
case, people often go through incredible things. At present, however, we
can see no just reason which could excuse an undertaking of this
description."
Thus, and perhaps more harshly still, will the majority judge me. And
yet they will do me a grievous wrong. I am surely simple and harmless
enough, and should have fancied any thing in the world rather than that
it would ever be my fate to draw upon myself in any degree the notice of
the public. I will merely indicate, as briefly as may be, my character
and circumstances, and then I have no doubt my conduct will lose its
appearance of eccentricity, and seem perfectly natural.
When I was but a little child, I had already a strong desire to see the
world. Whenever I met a travelling-carriage, I would stop involuntarily,
and gaze after it until it had disappeared; I used even to envy the
postilion, for I thought he also must have accomplished the whole long
journey.
As I grew to the age of from ten to twelve years, nothing gave me so much
pleasure as the perusal of voyages and travels. I ceased, indeed, to
envy the postilions, but envied the more every navigator and naturalist.
Frequently my eyes would fill with tears when, having ascended a
mountain, I saw others towering before me, and could not gain the summit.
I made several journeys with my parents, and, after my marriage, with my
husband; and only settled down when it became necessary that my two boys
should visit particular schools. My husband's affairs demanded his
entire attention, partly in Lemberg, partly in Vienna. He therefore
confided the education and culture of the two boys entirely to my care;
for he knew my firmness and perseverance in all I undertook, and doubted
not that I would be both father and mother to his children.
When my sons' education had been completed, and I was living in peaceful
retirement, the dreams and aspirations of my youth gradually awoke once
more. I thought of strange manners and customs, of distant regions,
where a new sky would be above me, and new ground beneath my feet. I
pictured to myself the supreme happiness of treading the land once
hallowed by the presence of our Saviour, and at length made up my mind to
travel thither.
As dangers and difficulties rose before my mind, I endeavoured to wean
myself from the idea I had formed--but in vain. For privation I cared
but little; my health was good and my frame hardy: I did not fear death.
And moreover, as I was born in the last century, I could travel ALONE.
Thus every objection was overcome; every thing had been duly weighed and
considered. I commenced my journey to Palestine with a feeling of
perfect rapture; and behold, I returned in safety. I now feel persuaded
that I am neither tempting Providence, nor justly incurring the
imputation of wishing to be talked about, in following the bent of my
inclinations, and looking still further about me in the world I chose
Iceland for my destination, because I hoped there to find Nature in a
garb such as she wears nowhere else. I feel so completely happy, so
brought into communion with my Maker, when I contemplate sublime natural
phenomena, that in my eyes no degree of toil or difficulty is too great a
price at which to purchase such perfect enjoyment.
And should death overtake me sooner or later during my wanderings, I
shall await his approach in all resignation, and be deeply grateful to
the Almighty for the hours of holy beauty in which I have lived and gazed
upon His wonders.
And now, dear reader, I would beg thee not to be angry with me for
speaking so much of myself; it is only because this love of travelling
does not, according to established notions, seem proper for one of my
sex, that I have allowed my feelings to speak in my defence.
Judge me, therefore, not too harshly; but rather grant me the enjoyment
of a pleasure which hurts no one, while it makes me happy.
THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER I
In the year 1845 I undertook another journey; {2} a journey, moreover, to
the far North. Iceland was one of those regions towards which, from the
earliest period of my consciousness, I had felt myself impelled. In this
country, stamped as it is by Nature with features so peculiar, as
probably to have no counterpart on the face of the globe, I hoped to see
things which should fill me with new and inexpressible astonishment. How
deeply grateful do I feel to Thee, O Thou that hast vouchsafed to me to
behold the fulfilment of these my cherished dreams!
The parting from all my dear ones had this time far less bitterness; I
had found by experience, that a woman of an energetic mind can find her
way through the world as well as a man, and that good people are to be
met with every where. To this was added the reflection, that the
hardships of my present voyage would be of short duration, and that five
or six months might see me restored to my family.
I left Vienna at five o'clock on the morning of the tenth of April. As
the Danube had lately caused some devastations, on which occasion the
railroad had not entirely escaped, we rode for the first four miles, as
far as Florisdorf, in an omnibus--not the most agreeable mode of
travelling. Our omnibuses are so small and narrow, that one would
suppose they were built for the exclusive accommodation of consumptive
subjects, and not for healthy, and in some cases portly individuals,
whose bulk is further increased by a goodly assemblage of cloaks, furs,
and overcoats.
At the barriers a new difficulty arose. We delivered up our
pass-warrants (_passirscheine_) in turn, with the exception of one young
man, who was quite astounded at the demand. He had provided nothing but
his passport and testimonials, being totally unaware that a pass-warrant
is more indispensable than all the rest. In vain did he hasten into the
bureau to expostulate with the officials,--we were forced to continue our
journey without him.
We were informed that he was a student, who, at the conclusion of term,
was about to make holiday for a few weeks at his parents' house near
Prague. Alas, poor youth! he had studied so much, and yet knew so
little. He had not even an idea of the overwhelming importance of the
document in question. For this trifling omission he forfeited the fare
to Prague, which had been paid in advance.
But to proceed with my journey.
At Florisdorf a joyful surprise awaited me. I met my brother and my son,
who had, it appears, preceded me. We entered the train to proceed in
company to Stockerau, a place between twelve and thirteen miles off; but
were obliged to alight halfway, and walk a short distance. The
Embankment had given way. Luckily the weather was favourable, inasmuch
as we had only a violent storm of wind. Had it rained, we should have
been wetted to the skin, besides being compelled to wade ankle-deep in
mud. We were next obliged to remain in the open air, awaiting the
arrival of the train from Stockerau, which unloaded its freight, and
received us in exchange.
At Stockerau I once more took leave of my companions, and was soon
securely packed in the post-carriage for transmission.
In travelling this short distance, I had thus entered four carriages; a
thing sufficiently disagreeable to an unencumbered person, but infinitely
more so to one who has luggage to watch over. The only advantage I could
discover in all this was, that we had saved half an hour in coming these
seventeen miles. For this, instead of 9 fl. 26 kr. from Vienna to
Prague, we paid 10 fl. 10 kr. from Stockerau to Prague, without reckoning
expense of omnibus and railway. It was certainly a dearly-bought
half-hour. {3}
The little town of Znaim, with its neighbouring convent, is situated on a
large plain, extending from Vienna to Budwitz, seventeen miles beyond
Znaim; the monotony of the view is only broken here and there by low
hills.
Near Schelletau the scenery begins to improve. On the left the view is
bounded by a range of high hills, with a ruined castle, suggestive of
tragical tales of centuries gone by. Fir and pine forests skirt the
road, and lie scattered in picturesque groups over hill and dale.
April 11th.
Yesterday the weather had already begun to be ungracious to us. At Znaim
we found the valleys still partly covered with snow, and the fog was at
times so thick, that we could not see a hundred paces in advance; but
to-day it was incomparably worse. The mist resolved itself into a mild
rain, which, however, lost so much of its mildness as we passed from
station to station, that every thing around us was soon under water. But
not only did we ride through water, we were obliged to sit in it also.
The roof of our carriage threatened to become a perfect sieve, and the
rain poured steadily in. Had there been room for such a proceeding, we
should all have unfurled our umbrellas.
On occasions like these, I always silently admire the patience of my
worthy countrymen, who take every thing so good-humouredly. Were I a
man, I should pursue a different plan, and should certainly not fail to
complain of such carelessness. But as a woman, I must hold my peace;
people would only rail at my sex, and call it ill-humoured. Besides, I
thanked my guardian-angel for these discomforts, looking upon them as a
preparation for what was to befall me in the far North.
Passing several small towns and villages, we at length entered the
Bohemian territory, close behind Iglau. The first town which we saw was
Czaslau, with its large open square, and a few neat houses; the latter
provided with so-called arbours (or _verandahs_), which enable one to
pass round the square dry-footed, even in the most rainy weather.
Journeying onwards, we noticed the fine cathedral and town of Kuttenberg,
once famous for its gold and silver mines. {4} Next comes the great
tobacco-manufactory of Sedlitz, near which we first see the Elbe, but
only for a short time, as it soon takes another direction. Passing the
small town of Collin, we are whirled close by the battle-field where, in
the year 1757, the great King Frederick paid his score to the Austrians.
An obelisk, erected a few years since to the memory of General Daun,
occupies a small eminence on the right. On the left is the plain of
Klephorcz, where the Austrian army was drawn up. {5}
At eleven o'clock on the same night we reached
PRAGUE.
As it was my intention to pursue my journey after two days, my first walk
on the following morning was to the police-office, to procure a passport
and the all-important pass-warrant; my next to the custom-house, to take
possession of a small chest, which I had delivered up five days before my
departure, and which, as the expeditor affirmed, I should find ready for
me on my arrival at Prague. {6} Ah, Mr. Expeditor! my chest was not
there. After Saturday comes Sunday; but on Sunday the custom-house is
closed. So here was a day lost, a day in which I might have gone to
Dresden, and even visited the opera.
On Monday morning I once more hastened to the office in anxious
expectation; the box was not yet there. An array of loaded wagons had,
however, arrived, and in one of these it might be. Ah, how I longed to
see my darling little box, in order that I might--_not_ press it to my
heart, but unpack it in presence of the excise officer!
I took merely a cursory glance at Prague, as I had thoroughly examined
every thing there some years before. The beautiful "Graben" and
Horse-market once more excited my admiration. It was with a peculiar
feeling that I trod the old bridge, from which St. John of Nepomuk was
cast into the Moldau for refusing to publish the confession of King
Wenceslaus' consort. {7} On the opposite bank I mounted the Hradschin,
and paid a visit to the cathedral, in which a large sarcophagus,
surrounded and borne by angels, and surmounted by a canopy of crimson
damask, is dedicated to the memory of the saint. The monument is of
silver, and the worth of the metal alone is estimated at 80,000 florins.
The church itself is not spacious, but is built in the noble Gothic
style; the lesser altars, however, with their innumerable gilded wooden
figures, look by contrast extremely puny. In the chapel are many
sarcophagi, on which repose bishops and knights hewn in stone, but so
much damaged, that many are without hands and feet, while some lack
heads. To the right, at the entrance of the church, is the celebrated
chapel of St. Wenceslaus, with its walls ornamented with frescoes, of
which the colours and designs are now almost obliterated. It is further
enriched with costly stones.
Not far from the cathedral is situated the palace of Count Czernin, a
building particularly favoured with windows, of which it has one for
every day in the year. I was there in an ordinary year, and saw 365; how
they manage in leap-year I do not know. The view from the belvedere of
this palace well repays the observer. It takes in the old and new town,
the noble river with its two bridges (the ancient venerable-looking stone
structure, and the graceful suspension-bridge, six hundred paces long),
and the hills round about, clothed with gardens, among which appear neat
country-houses.
The streets of the "Kleinseite" are not particularly attractive, being
mostly tortuous, steep, and narrow. They contain, however, several
remarkable palaces, among which that of Wallenstein Duke of Friedland
stands pre-eminent. {8}
After visiting St. Nicholas' Church, remarkable for the height of its
spire and its beautifully arched cupola, I betook myself to Wimmer's
gardens, and thence to the "Bastei," a place of public resort with the
citizens of Prague.
I could now observe the devastation caused by the rising of the water
shortly before my arrival. The Moldau had overstepped its banks in so
turbulent a manner, as to carry along with it several small houses, and
even a little village not far from Prague, besides damaging all the
dwellings upon its banks. The water had indeed already fallen, but the
walls of the houses were soaked through and through; the doors had been
carried away, and from the broken windows no faces looked out upon the
passers-by. The water had risen two feet more than in 1784, in which
year the Moldau had also attained an unusual height.
From the same tower of observation, I looked down upon the great open
space bought a few years ago, and intended to be occupied by the termini
of the Vienna and Dresden railroads. Although several houses were only
just being pulled down, and the foundations of but few buildings were
laid, I was assured that within six months every thing would be
completed.
I have still to mention a circumstance which struck me during my morning
peregrinations, namely, the curious method in which milk, vegetables, and
other provisions are here brought to town. I could have fancied myself
transported to Lapland or Greenland, on meeting every where carts to
which two, three, or four dogs were harnessed. One pair of dogs will
drag three hundredweight on level ground; but when they encounter a hill,
the driver must lend a helping hand. These dogs are, besides, careful
guardians; and I would not advise any one to approach a car of this kind,
as it stands before the inn-door, while the proprietor is quenching his
thirst within, on the money he has just earned.
At five o'clock on the morning of the 15th of April I left Prague, and
rode for fourteen miles in the mail-carriage, as far as Obristwy on the
Elbe, at which place I embarked for Dresden, on board the steamer
Bohemia, of fifty-horse power, a miserable old craft, apparently a
stranger to beauty and comfort from her youth up. The price charged for
this short passage of eight or nine hours is enormously dear. The
travellers will, however, soon have their revenge on the extortionate
proprietors; a railroad is constructing, by means of which this distance
will be traversed in a much shorter time, and at a great saving of
expense.
But at any rate the journey by water is the more agreeable; the way lies
through very picturesque scenery, and at length through "Saxon
Switzerland" itself. The commencement of the journey is, however, far
from pleasing. On the right are naked hills, and on the left large
plains, over which, last spring, the swollen stream rolled, partly
covering the trees and the roofs of the cottages. Here I could for the
first time see the whole extent of the calamity. Many houses had been
completely torn down, and the crops, and even the loose alluvial earth
swept away; as we glided by each dreary scene of devastation, another yet
more dismal would appear in its place.
This continued till we reached Melnick, where the trees become higher,
and groups of houses peer forth from among the innumerable vineyards.
Opposite this little town the Moldau falls into the Elbe. On the left,
in the far distance, the traveller can descry St. George's Mount, from
which, as the story goes, Czech took possession of all Bohemia.
Below the little town of Raudnitz the hills gave place to mountains, and
as many enthusiasts can only find those regions romantic where the
mountains are crowned with half-ruined castles and strongholds, good old
Time has taken care to plant there two fine ruins, Hafenberg and Skalt,
for the delectation of such sentimental observers.
Near Leitmeritz, a small town with a handsome castle, and a church and
convent, the Eger flows into the Elbe, and a high-arched wooden bridge
connects the two banks. Here our poor sailors had difficult work to
lower the mast and the funnel.
The rather pretty village of Gross-Czernoseck is remarkable for its
gigantic cellars, hewn out of the rock. A post-carriage could easily
turn round in one of these. The vats are of course proportioned to the
cellars, particularly the barrels called the "twelve apostles," each of
which holds between three and four thousand gallons. It would be no more
than fair to stop here awhile, to give every hero of the bottle an
opportunity to enjoy a sight of these palace-cellars, and to offer a
libation to the twelve apostles; but the steamer passed on, and we were
obliged to make the most of the descriptions furnished by those who were
more at home in these parts, and had no doubt frequently emerged in an
inspired state from the depths of the cellars in question.
The view now becomes more and more charming: the mountains appear to draw
closer together, and shut in the bed of the stream; romantic groups of
rocks, with summits crowned by rains yet more romantic, tower between.
The ancient but well-preserved castle of Schreckenstein, built on a rock
rising boldly out of the Elbe, is particularly striking; the approaches
to it are by serpentine walks hewn out of the rock.
Near the small town of Aussig we find the most considerable coal-mines in
Bohemia. In their neighbourhood is situated the little mountain estate
Paschkal, which produces a kind of wine said to resemble champagne.
The mountains now become higher and higher, but above them all towers the
gigantic Jungfernsprung (Maiden's Leap). The beauty of this region is
only surpassed by the situation of the town and castle of Tetschen. The
castle stands on a rock, between twenty and thirty feet high, which seems
to rise out of the Elbe; it is surrounded by hot-houses and charming
gardens, shelving downwards as far as the town, which lies in a blooming
valley, near a little harbour. The valley itself, encompassed by a chain
of lofty mountains, seems quite shut out from the rest of the world.
The left bank of the river is here so crowded with masses and walls of
rock, that there is only room at intervals for an isolated farm or hut.
Suddenly the tops of masts appear between the high rocks, a phenomenon
which is soon explained; a large gap in one of the rocky walls forms a
beautiful basin.
And now we come to Schandau, a place consisting only of a few houses; it
is a frontier town of the Saxon dominions. Custom-house officers, a race
of beings ever associated with frontier towns, here boarded our vessel,
and rummaged every thing. My daguerreotype apparatus, which I had locked
up in a small box, was looked upon with an eye of suspicion; but upon my
assertion that it was exclusively intended for my own use, I and my
apparatus were graciously dismissed.
In our onward journey we frequently observed rocks of peculiar shapes,
which have appropriate names, such as the "Zirkelstein," "Lilienstein,"
&c. The Konigstein is a collection of jagged masses of rock, on which is
built the fortress of the same name, used at present as a prison for
great criminals. At the foot of the rocks lies the little town of
Konigstein. Not far off, on the right bank, a huge rock, resting on
others, bears a striking resemblance to a human head. The more distant
groups of rocks are called those of "Rathen," but are considered as
belonging to Saxon Switzerland. The "Basteien" (Bastions) of this
Switzerland, close by which we now pass, are most wonderful
superpositions of lofty and fantastically shaped rocks. Unfortunately,
the steamer whirled us so rapidly on our way, that whilst we contemplated
one bank, the beauteous scenes on the opposite side had already glided
from our view. In much too short a time we had passed the town of Pirna,
situate at the commencement of this range of mountains. The very ancient
gate of this town towers far above all the other buildings.
Lastly we see the great castle Sonnenstein, built on a rock, and now used
as an asylum for lunatics.
All the beautiful and picturesque portion of our passage is now past, and
the royal villa of Pillnitz, with its many Chinese gables, looks
insignificant enough, after the grand scenes of nature. A chain of
hills, covered with the country-houses of citizens, adjoins it; and on
the right extends a large plain, at the far end of which we can dimly
descry the Saxon metropolis. But what is that in the distance? We have
hardly time to arrange our luggage, when the anchor is let go near the
fine old Dresden Bridge.
This bridge had not escaped unscathed by the furious river. One of the
centre arches had given way, and the cross and watchbox which surmounted
it were precipitated into the flood. At first, carriages still passed
over the bridge; it was not until some time afterwards that the full
extent of the damage was ascertained, and the passage of carriages over
the bridge discontinued for many months.
As I had seen the town of Dresden several years before, and the only
building new to me was the splendid theatre, I took advantage of the few
evening hours of my stay to visit this structure.
Standing in the midst of the beautiful Cathedral-square, its noble
rotunda-like form at once rivets the attention. The inner theatre is
surrounded by a superb broad and lofty corridor, with fine bow-windows
and straight broad staircases, leading in different directions towards
the galleries. The interior of the theatre is not so spacious as,
judging from the exterior, one would imagine it to be, but the
architecture and decorations are truly gorgeous and striking. The boxes
are all open, being separated from each other merely by a low partition;
the walls and chairs are covered with heavy silken draperies, and the
seats of the third and fourth galleries with a mixture of silk and
cotton. One single circumstance was disagreeable to me in an acoustic
point of view--I could hear the slightest whisper of the prompter as
distinctly as though some one had been behind me reading the play. The
curtain had scarcely fallen before the whole house was empty, and yet
there was no crowding to get out. This first drew my attention to the
numerous and excellently contrived doors.
April 16th.
The Dresden omnibuses may be cited as models of comfort; one is certain
of plenty of room, and there is no occasion to dread either the corpulent
persons or the furs and cloaks of fellow-passengers. A bell-pull is
fixed in the interior of the carriage, so that each individual can give
the coachman a signal when he or she wishes to alight. These omnibuses
call at the principal inns, and wait for a moment; but the traveller who
is not ready in advance is left behind.
At half-past five in the morning it called at our hotel. I was ready and
waiting, and drove off comfortably to the railway. The distance from
Dresden to Leipzig is reckoned at fifty-six miles, and the journey
occupied three hours.
The first fourteen miles are very agreeable; gardens, fields, and
meadows, pine-forests in the plain and on the hills, and between these,
villages, farms, country-houses, and solitary chapels, combine to form a
very pretty landscape. But the scene soon changes, and the town of
Meissen (famous for its porcelain manufactory), on the right hand, seems
to shut out from our view all that is picturesque and beautiful.
From here to Leipzig we travel through a wearisome monotonous plain,
enlivened at long intervals by villages and scattered farms. There is
nothing to see but a great tunnel, and the river Pleisse--the latter, or
rather the Elster, is rendered famous by the death of Prince Poniatowski.
{9}
The town of Leipzig, celebrated far and wide for its fairs, and more for
its immense publishing trade, presents an appearance of noise and bustle
proportionate to its commercial importance. I found streets, squares,
and inns alike crowded. {10}
Perhaps there does not exist a town with its houses, and consequently its
streets, so disfigured with announcements, in all sizes and shapes,
covering its walls, and sometimes projecting several feet, as Leipzig.
Among the public buildings, those which pleased me most were the
Augusteum and the Burgerschule. The Bucherhalle (book-hall) I should
suppose indebted for its celebrity rather to its literary contents than
to its architectural beauty or its exterior. The hall itself is indeed
large, and occupies the whole length of the building, while the lower
story consists of several rooms. The hall, the chambers, and the
exterior are all plain, and without particular decoration. The Tuchhalle
(cloth-hall) is simply a large house, with spacious chambers, containing
supplies of cloth. The Theatre stands on a very large square, and does
not present a very splendid appearance, whether viewed from within or
from without. The plan of having stalls in front of the boxes in the
second and third galleries was a novelty to me. The orchestra I could
only hear, but could not discover its whereabouts; most probably it was
posted behind the scenes. On inquiry, I was told that this was only done
on extraordinary occasions, when the seats in the orchestra were
converted into stalls, as was the case on the night of my visit. The
play given was "the original Tartuffe," a popular piece by Gutzkow. It
was capitally performed.
In the Leipzig theatre I had a second opportunity of observing, that as
regards the love of eating our good Saxons are not a whit behind the
much-censured Viennese. In the Dresden theatre I had admired a couple of
ladies who sat next me. They came provided with a neat bag, containing a
very sufficient supply of confectionery, to which they perseveringly
applied themselves between the acts. But at Leipzig I found a
delicate-looking mother and her son, a lad of fifteen or sixteen years,
regaling themselves with more solid provisions--white bread and small
sausages. I could not believe my eyes, and had made up my mind that the
sausages were artificially formed out of some kind of confectionery--but
alas! my nose came forward but too soon, as a potent witness, to
corroborate what I was so unwilling to believe!
Neither did these two episodes take place in the loftiest regions of
Thalia's temple, but in the stalls of the second tier.
Beautiful alleys are planted round Leipzig. I took a walk into the
Rosenthal (Valley of Roses), which also consists of splendid avenues and
lawns. A pretty coffee-house, with a very handsome alcove, built in a
semicircular form, invites the weary traveller to rest and refreshment,
while a band of agreeable music diffuses mirth and good humour around.
The rest of the scenery around Leipzig presents the appearance of a vast
and monotonous plain.
April 17th.
I had intended to continue my journey to Hamburgh via Berlin, but the
weather was so cold and stormy, and the rain poured down so heavily, that
I preferred the shorter way, and proceeded by rail to Magdeburg. Flying
through the dismal plain past Halle, Kothen, and other towns, of which I
could only discern groups of houses, we hurriedly recognised the Saale
and the Elbe; and towards 10 o'clock in the morning arrived at Magdeburg,
having travelled seventy miles in three hours and a quarter.
As the steamer for Hamburgh was not to start until 3 o'clock, I had ample
time to look at the town.
Magdeburg is a mixed pattern of houses of ancient, mediaeval, and modern
dates. Particularly remarkable in this respect is the principal street,
the "Broadway," which runs through the whole of the town. Here we can
see houses dating their origin from the most ancient times; houses that
have stood proof against sieges and sackings; houses of all colours and
forms; some sporting peaked gables, on which stone figures may still be
seen; others covered from roof to basement with arabesques; and in one
instance I could even detect the remains of frescoes. In the very midst
of these relics of antiquity would appear a house built in the newest
style. I do not remember ever having seen a street which produced so
remarkable an impression on me. The finest building is unquestionably
the venerable cathedral. In Italy I had already seen numbers of the most
beautiful churches; yet I remained standing in mute admiration before
this masterpiece of Gothic architecture.
The monument with the twelve Apostles in this church is a worthy memorial
of the celebrated sculptor Vischer. In order to view it, it is necessary
to obtain the special permission of the commandant.
The cathedral square is large, symmetrical, and decorated with two alleys
of trees; it is also used as a drilling-ground for the soldiers' minor
manoeuvres. I was particularly struck with the number of military men to
be seen here. Go where I would, I was sure to meet soldiers and
officers, frequently in large companies; in time of war it could scarcely
have been worse. This was an unmistakeable token that I was on Prussian
territory.
The open canals, which come from all the houses, and meander through the
streets, are a great disfigurement to the town.
Half-past three o'clock came only too quickly, and I betook myself on
board the steamer _Magdeburg_, of sixty-horse power, to proceed to
Hamburgh. Of the passage itself I can say nothing, except that a journey
on a river through execrable scenery is one of the most miserable things
that can well be imagined. When, in addition to this, the weather is
bad, the ship dirty, and one is obliged to pass a night on board, the
discomfort is increased. It was my lot to endure all this: the weather
was bad, the ship was dirty, the distance more than 100 miles, so that we
had the pleasant prospect of a delightful night on board the ship. There
were, moreover, so many passengers, that we were forced to sit crowded
together; so there we sat with exemplary patience, stared at each other,
and sighed bitterly. Order was entirely out of the question; no one had
time to think of such a thing. Smoking and card-playing were
perseveringly carried on all day and all night; it can easily be imagined
that things did not go so quietly as at an English whist-party. The
incessant rain rendered it impossible to leave the cabin even for a short
time. The only consolation I had was, that I made the acquaintance of
the amiable composer Lorzing, a circumstance which delighted me the more,
as I had always been an admirer of his beautiful original music.