Wiesbaden, admittedly the queen of Continental spas, is a dream of a
town of over 80,000 inhabitants, lying in a sheltered valley on the
southern slope of the Taunus Range. It creeps along the spurs of the
surrounding hill to within one half-hour’s distance of the Rhine. These
hills are densely wooded, a veritable wilderness, traversed by the most
romantic walks and paths. The woods are so dense—apparently all young
trees (by the size only I judge)—that not an inch of the blue canopy
could be seen at any step of the walk; thus sheltering this delightful
watering-place from the bleak winds of the north and east, consequently
affording a climate so mild that the chestnut, almond, and magnolia,
and other of like trees flourish in the open air, the temperature never
reaching zero in their bleakest winters. It is attractive in every way.
Its “Kurhaus,” with its Ionic columns and great flower gardens, looks
across to the “Friedrichsplatz,” connected by the old and new
colonnades. Here is the scene of constant merriment afternoon and
evening; grand music, Sousa occupying the grand-stand the week prior to
our arrival. We attended one of the mid-summer fête balls in this grand
“Kurhaus,” which is conducted very differently from our American
Assembly balls. There are in all three or four beautiful dance halls,
gigantic in size and glorious in appointment. The German band, in the
intermissions, leads the entire assemblage from room to room (all
connected by arches) in the grand march, where they simply proceed with
the dance as they left off. Several Americans, dancing the glide waltz
and two-step, were frequently applauded.
On the south side of the new colonnade rises the Royal Court Theatre, a
handsome pile, with its rich boroque interior, where nothing but grand
opera is played. From here we made a side trip to Frankfort-on-Main to
hear “Tannhäuser.”
The Wiesbaden Springs have been known from Roman times. The waters are
drunk mostly from Kochbrunnen Spring, which supplies the immense “Drink
Halle.” After consulting an eminent specialist, we found three glasses
were the most taken per day; telling us to drink but one. This half-way
disgusted us, who had been accustomed to ten or twelve pints per day.
Then, too, to find it was specially beneficial for aged people, we
became less impressed. Our environs were so charming here, that we
lingered longer than at any place in the province. One delightful day
was spent at Mainz, where we drove in a carry-all with a charming
company. The conveyance, which held eleven persons, represented five
nationalities—a Russian and his wife; the ex-President of the
Argentine Republic, South America, with his wife and daughter (French
and Spanish); an Englishman; several Germans, and ourselves. The
daughter was one of the most exquisite pieces of femininity, both as to
manner and dress, that it is your privilege to meet; her father, having
served as minister to both Chili and Peru, possessed vast wealth; they
were able to give us many ideas of South America’s importance, both
socially and financially. They were equally proud to say they were
Americans.
We witnessed what we would probably term an “Imperial Review,” Kaiser
Wilhelm reviewing a grand body of cavalry and artillery at
Mainz-on-the-Rhine. From the frequency of these affairs, you would
think the Emperor has no idea of peaceful intentions at any time. This
review came off in the morning. The troops were pouring in by the
thousands when we arrived. Train-loads of soldiers and horses. All
Germany must have been there that day. All roads leading to the
training ground were filled with pedestrians and carriages,—many royal
personages. The big hollow square was a noble ground, of level
greensward, perhaps a mile square, hedged about by one of those
beautiful dense woods. It was bordered by thousands of people in their
holiday attire, which always adds to the charm. The whole was a
brilliant spectacle. Your attention was divided between the place where
the Imperial party stood, the central attraction of the group being the
Emperor on a gray horse, backed by his gay and glittering guard, with
their banners and insignia—as brave a show as chivalry ever made—and
the field of green with its long lines in martial array. Every variety
of splendid uniform; their love of gay and dazzling combinations,
combined with their shining brass and gleaming steel, and, last but not
least, their magnificent horses of war, made it a splendid sight. These
regiments of black, gray, and bay lined up to a straight line in the
review before his Majesty with the graceful precision that was not
surpassed by the best-drilled old veterans. Over it all was one of
those beautiful German skies—the sun hidden, and just an atmospheric
condition to make it restful and interesting to the artist. I
understand now much better why the artist longs for a German sky, and
the benefits derived from fellowship with those of similar tastes and
feelings. The Emperor kept changing horses, so as not to be exactly
located. A few days before King Humbert of Italy had been assassinated,
hence his extra precaution. The manœuvrings were such as to stir the
blood of the least sanguine. A regiment, full front, perfectly drilled,
would charge down on a dead run from the far field, men shouting,
sabres flashing, horses prancing, toward the Imperial party, then they
would gallop off and disappear in the woods to scout the enemy. Others
galloping take their places, some coming up the centre, while their
predecessors filed down the sides, so that the whole field in one
minute was a moving mass of splendid color and glistening steel; the
next, all drawn up in precise lines, so that it was a constant wonder
how they could bring order out of such confusion. This display was
followed by flying artillery; battalion after battalion came clattering
by, stretching over the large field. The great guns kept up a repeated
discharging during the sham battle, which waked all the surrounding
country with echoes. The great advantage of smokeless powder was here
demonstrated. What seemed to us a hundred thousand soldiers was said to
have been only thirty thousand. Then followed the rush of the people
and vehicles to see the royal party, pushing and smashing and
tiptoeing, driving at full speed as though there were no crowd, each
trying to get into position to see the Emperor and his guard ride by.
It was minus any Yankee Doodle cheering. We were absolutely too close
to the Emperor to take a snap-shot, as it proved.