ZURICH AND STRASBURG.
Leaving Lucerne, Mont Pilatus and the Rigi behind us, we speed rapidly
on through pleasant valleys and fragrant meadows. The country loses its
high, mountainous nature, and becomes a level, well-farmed district,
extremely pleasant after three weeks of nothing but huge mountains,
steep passes and rugged hills. Mountain scenery is all very well in its
way, but one can have too much of it. A little is quite sufficient.
Zurich is a beautiful city, lying around the head of the lake of the
same name. The old portion dates back to the twelfth century, and
contains many interesting relics of that period. But around the old part
there has grown up a fine modern city, whose solid substantial
buildings, of fine architecture, contrast strangely with the old houses
and churches that were built centuries ago.
Its location could not be more beautiful. In front is the clear
pale-green lake, from which the limpid Limmat emerges and divides the
city into two parts. Its shores are lined with picturesque villas,
peeping out from among the orchards and vineyards that clothe the banks,
clear to the foot of the snow clad Alps which form a strong background,
being so far away that they are soft and subdued in the hazy air that
partly obscures them from view.
The pride of Zurich is her schools, indeed all of German Switzerland is
proud to recognize this place as its educational center. For centuries
it has enjoyed this distinction, and its University, founded in 1832, is
maintaining in these years the reputation of the city.
[Sidenote: BEER AND MUSIC.]
Where German is spoken three things are always found, music, wine and
beer. Bacchus, Gambrinus and Orpheus go hand in hand, and they engross
the German mind about equally. Zurich has more music to the square foot
than any of the Swiss cities, and the other two members of the trinity
are by no means neglected.
[Illustration: TIBBITTS IN A CONCERT HALL, ZURICH.]
The Tonhalle is a spacious building finely decorated with rare plants
and flowers, and brilliantly lighted with gas jets springing from
artificial palm trees. Here the good citizens of Zurich spend an evening
of perfect enjoyment. An orchestra of seventy pieces, each performer a
trained musician, renders a programme of classical and popular music, in
the most perfect manner. The vast audience, composed of ladies and
gentlemen of the best standing, sit around the little round tables
sipping their light wine or beer, listening to the music and, during
the intervals, chatting and laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
There is a something about such an evening that is irresistable. The
perfect order that prevails, the exquisite music, the brilliancy of the
room, all combined to make it a perfect delight. Night after night--the
programme is never twice alike--the Tonhalle is crowded with the wealth
and fashion of Zurich, people of refinement and culture, who can fully
appreciate and enjoy the delightful music.
There is one custom which obtains all over Germany, and especially in
Zurich, which is a German city in reality, which custom I would could be
transplanted in all its native vigor to America; and that is the
carrying of the family relation into amusement as well as business.
A Zuricher doesn't eat his supper in silence, his mind full of his
business, and after, without a word, put on his hat and overcoat, and
with some indistinct reference to a lodge or a council meeting, or "the
office," walk off to a club or beer place, and spend the evening
convivially, only to return in the middle of the night, and roll into
his bed without knowing or caring whether his wife and children have had
a pleasant evening or no.
Not he! On the contrary, he consults his wife at lunch as to whether she
prefers a dinner at home or at the gardens. The programmes of the
various places are consulted, and it is decided, we will say, that the
Tonhalle affords the most ponderous inducement; and so the whole
family--father, mother, children, and grandchildren and grandparents, if
such there be--go together and dine to the soft pleasings of the lute,
or, rather, to the music of a magnificent orchestra.
For, be it known, at all these musical resorts there are superb
restaurants, where splendid repasts are served at a very low price, so
that in the matter of expense it makes no difference whether a family
dines at home or at the public gardens.
[Sidenote: THE SWISS WAY.]
The whole family sit and chat over their dinner in the jolliest way,
listening to, enjoying and discussing the music, and after the dinner
there is the long evening over the delightful light wines for the ladies
and children, and the heavier beer for the adults; there are cigars for
the males, and confections for the women and children, and so on, until
the hour comes for home.
These concerts are made up of all kinds of music, from the weightiest
classical to the most simple and popular, but the simple and popular is
rendered with as much painstaking conscientiousness as the highest. They
do "Way down upon the Swanee River" as conscientiously as a selection
from Wagner, and as the performance lasts four hours or more there is
variety enough to suit every taste.
And then, after it is over, the whole family go home, pleased with their
simple enjoyment, and they go home together. The husband does not stop
on the way; his enjoyment is with his family, and in his family.
There is no more pleasant sight in Europe than a Swiss or German family
around one of these tables, enjoying drinking, music, smoking, and
conversation, all at once. Happy people! They have the rare art of
gratifying all the senses at once, at less cost than an American can any
one singly. The whole cost of an evening in the Tonhalle for a man and
his entire family is less than many an American of very moderate means
spends upon himself alone, and they get ten times as much out of it as
we do.
Tibbitts insisted the first night he was with a German family at one of
these places, that he should certainly marry a German girl and settle in
Switzerland. When you can dine a large family for a dollar, wine, music
and cigars included, was his remark, there is some inducement for having
a family. He could afford, if the price of land kept up in Wisconsin, to
have an indefinite number of children.
And the Young Man who Knows Everything, who felt the influence of the
heady wine he had drank, added, with great gravity: "Better a dinner of
herbs on a house-top with a brawling woman, than to dwell with a stalled
ox in the tents of wickedness." It was his time for a quotation.
From Zurich through Basle, or Bale, we come to Strasburg, one of the
most interesting cities in Europe.
In this old city of Strasburg, founded by the Romans hundreds of years
ago, we get a better idea of old architecture than in any city yet
visited. Its narrow, crooked streets, with high, many-storied roofs,
tell the story of its age in unmistakable language. The unique wood
carving that embellishes the façades of so many of the old wooden
buildings look strange and out of place in this matter-of-fact age, but
in years gone by they gave to Strasburg the name of "the most beautiful
city."
Approaching the city we pass a number of strong fortifications, which
were in active use during the Franco-Prussian war. Strasburg, two miles
from the Rhine, has always been a strategical point, and played a very
important part in the struggle of 1870-71, the siege, which lasted from
the thirteenth of August till the twenty-seventh of September, being one
of the marked episodes of the war.
Once in the city the tourist turns first to the cathedral, which stands
nearly in the center of the city. Unfortunately for the general effect,
it is located in a neighborhood of narrow streets and ugly high-roofed
houses that entirely surround the massive pile, and the first impression
is rather disappointing. But this feeling soon wears off. There is a
certain majesty about the noble building that compels admiration, while
the cloud-cleaving spire, wondrously graceful, is a marvel of strength
and grace. It is a fascinating structure. The more one studies its
beautiful proportions, and the wonderful decorations which so profusely
embellish it, the more he is struck with wonder at the genius of the
architect and the skill of the patient builders.
The present cathedral was begun some time during the twelfth century, on
the site of one destroyed by fire, said to have been built during the
sixth century. Tradition says that the site of the present cathedral has
been devoted to worship from the remotest times; that there was a sacred
wood in the midst of which the Celts built their Druidical Dolmen. After
the Romans conquered Gaul, they founded a fortified town, where
Strasburg now stands, and in place of the Dolmen they dedicated a temple
to Hercules and Mars. Old chronicles record that in the fourth century
St. Armand built a church on the ruins of an old Roman temple, the
previous existence of which is authenticated by the finding of several
brass statues of Hercules and Mars, during the excavations for the
foundations of the first cathedral.
[Sidenote: THE CATHEDRAL.]
From the beginning of the work on the present cathedral
[Illustration: PRINCIPAL ENTRANCE TO STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.]
down to 1870 it has been terribly unfortunate, having been burned,
struck by lightning, shaken by earthquakes, and in 1870 it suffered
terribly by the cannon balls of the German besiegers. In the first part
of the siege of Strasburg, the Germans tried to force the surrender by
the bombardment and partial destruction of the inner town. In the night
of the 23d of August began for the frightened inhabitants the real time
of terror; however, that night the rising conflagrations, for instance
in St. Thomas' Church, were quickly put out. But in the following night
the new church, the library of the town, the museum of painting, and
many of the finest houses, became a heap of ruins, and under the hail of
shells all efforts to extinguish the fire were useless. For the
cathedral the night from the 25th to the 26th of August was the worst.
Towards midnight the flames broke out from the roof perforated by
shells, and increased by the melting copper they rose to a fearful
height beside the pyramid of the spire. The sight of this grand volume
of flames, rising above the town, was indescribable and tinged the whole
sky with its glowing reflection. And the guns went on thundering, and
shattering parts of the stone ornaments which adorned the front and
sides of the cathedral. The whole roof came down and the fire died out
for want of fuel.
The following morning the interior was covered with ruins, and through
the holes in the vault of the nave one could see the blue sky. The
beautiful organ built by Silbermann was pierced by a shell, and the
magnificent painted windows were in great part spoiled. On the 4th of
September two shells hit the crown of the cathedral and hurled the stone
masses to incredible distance; on the 15th a shot came even into the
point below the cross, which was bent on one side, and had its
threatened fall only prevented by the iron bars of the lightning
conductor which held it.
After the entrance of the Germans into the reconquered town, the
difficult and dangerous work of restoration of the point of the spire
was begun at once and happily ended a few months after. They have now
obliterated all traces of the ruin and devastation of that dreadful
time.
[Sidenote: ROYALTY.]
This is war, and what was this war all about? Why, Louis Napoleon, who
stole France and kept the French enslaved by amusing one-half of them
that he might rob the other half, had to appeal to French patriotism and
plunge France into a war to cover his Imperial thefts. On the other
hand, the Kaiser William, and the iron-handed Bismarck, who had been
grinding the people of Germany for years to prepare for war, were not
slow to accept the challenge. What they wanted was to have more
territory to plunder. There was no bad blood between the French and
German people; it was the self-constituted rulers of the two peoples,
who, for their own glory, set them to butchering each other. And so at
it they went.
These kings and emperors respect neither God nor man, and so they sent
their bombs hurtling through this wonderful temple dedicated to God.
Nothing to the gunners inspired by royalty was the delicate tracery, the
genius-inspired proportions, the almost breathing statues, the
wonderfully beautiful spire, that crystallized dream; nothing to them
the magnificent organ, attuned to the sweetest worship of the Most High,
nothing the recollections of the centuries that clustered about it,
nothing the art treasures it held. It was Strasburg, and Strasburg must
fall.
And they counted God's images in the doomed city even less than they did
God's temple. And so they sent shells crashing through the homes of
Strasburg, and men were killed in its streets, women in the houses, and
children in their cradles. It made no difference to the white-bearded
William, the iron-handed Bismarck, or the sensual Napoleon. It was their
fight, but they bore none of the suffering. The Kaiser actually had the
impudence to order a thanksgiving for the slaughter of ten thousand
Frenchmen, and Louis Napoleon would have done the same had he been in
condition.
I have expressed my opinion of kings before. The more one sees of them
and their work the less love he has for them. Soldiers and thin soup for
the people in Germany, soldiers and starvation in Ireland. That's what
royalty and nobility mean everywhere--brute force and suffering.
The façade of the great cathedral is by Erwin, of Steinbach, the most
famous architect of the middle ages, and is a marvel of beauty, its
massive proportions being toned down and improved by the innumerable
figures, statues, and a fine rose window, forty-two feet in diameter,
that adorn it.
Entering the cathedral, one is greatly impressed with the harmonious
effect produced by the massive yet graceful columns from which spring
the light arches that form the ceiling. The proportions are admirable,
the height being ninety-nine feet, the width forty-five yards, and the
length one hundred and twenty-one yards.
The pulpit, a fine specimen of stone carving, dates back to 1485, and
affords a good idea of the style of art that flourished in Germany at
that time.
[Illustration: PIG MARKET, STRASBURG.]
[Sidenote: THE WONDERFUL CLOCK.]
Next to the cathedral itself, which demands a great deal of study, the
great astronomical clock attracts the most attention. It was constructed
during the years 1838-42, by a Strasburg clockmaker named Schwilgue, and
is a wonderful piece of mechanism. The exterior, handsomely decorated
with exquisite carvings and paintings, shows a perpetual calendar, with
the feasts that vary, according to their connection with Easter or
Advent Sunday. The dial, which is thirty feet in circumference, is
subject to a revolution in three hundred and sixty-five or three hundred
and sixty-six days, and indicates the suppression of the circular
bi-sextile days. There is also a complete planetarium, representing the
mean tropical revolutions of each of the planets visible to the naked
eye, the phases of the moon, and the eclipses of the sun and moon
calculated forever.
Then with the same mechanism a number of figures are made to go through
certain motions at stated intervals. At noon the twelve apostles appear
before the Savior, who raises his hands to bless them, during which time
a cock flaps his wings, and crows three times. A figure of Death stands
in the midst of figures representing the four ages, childhood striking
the first quarter of the hour, youth the second, manhood the third, and
old age the last. Just before each quarter is struck, one of the two
genii seated above this perpetual calendar strikes a note of warning.
When the hour is struck by Death, the second of these genii turns over
the hour glass he holds in his hand. It is a wonderful piece of
mechanism.
As with everything else of public interest around this section, where in
olden times imagination ran riot, this clock has its legend. It is said
that, long ages ago, a mechanic of Strasburg labored and studied for
years for the accomplishment of some purpose that he kept secret from
all his neighbors. Even his only child, a lovely girl who was sought in
marriage by a prospective mayor of the city, and by a handsome young
clockmaker, was not allowed to enter the room where this mysterious work
was being carried on.
In the course of time the elder suitor was made mayor, and then proposed
for the hand of the beautiful girl, who, loving the young man, refused
him. Soon after this, the old mechanic showed to the astonished citizens
of Strasburg, who up to this time had ridiculed him as an insane person,
the wonderful clock he had constructed. He at once became very popular,
much to the disgust of the mayor who had been rejected by his daughter.
The clockmaker's fame spread all over the country, and the citizens of
Basel, a neighboring city, attempted to buy the wonderful piece of
mechanism. But the corporation of Strasburg would not part with it, and
caused a chapel to be built in the cathedral for its reception. Then the
citizens of Basel offered a large sum of money if the master would
construct them a similar clock, and he accepted their offer.
This would never do. The wonderful clock was the principal glory of
Strasburg, and people were coming from all parts of the then civilized
world to see it. If Basel should have a clock like it or superior to it,
it would divide the trade as well as the glory, and Strasburg, instead
of standing alone as the possessor of such a piece of mechanism, would
have a rival. Should Basel get a clock, the citizen thereof would cock
his hat upon one side of his head and say, to a Strasburger, "You
needn't put on airs about your old clock, with its twelve apostles, and
all that. We see your twelve apostles and go you a Judas Iscariot
better. You have a rooster it is true, we admit that, but we have one
with all the latest improvements. He flaps his wings better than yours,
and his crow is three times as loud. Come over to Basel and see a really
good clock."
To prevent this the City Council of Strasburg, at the suggestion of the
mayor who had never got over being rejected by the clock-maker's
daughter, determined to put out the old gentleman's eyes, which they
rightly judged would prevent him from making any more clocks, and
Strasburg would still have the glory of owning the most wonderful one in
the world. This was assented to and the poor man was asked if there was
anything he wanted before the sentence was executed. He asked to have
the terrible operation performed in front of his noble work. When taken
before it, he gazed at it fondly, and secretly slipped out of place two
or three important springs. Just as the torture was completed the works
in the clock began to whirr, it struck thirteen times and then ceased to
work. The glory of Strasburg was destroyed. The artisan lost his sight,
the city its clock, the mayor his love--in short, it was a dead loss all
around, as it always is when fair dealing is departed from.
[Sidenote: ST. THOMAS.]
Years after the young clockmaker married his old blind friend's
daughter, and after many years of hard, steady work, succeeded in
repairing and improving the clock, which was the predecessor of the one
now in the cathedral.
This is the legend of the clock.
In the Protestant church of St. Thomas is one of the finest monuments in
Europe. It was erected by Louis XV. in honor of Marshal Saxe.
In front of a high tablet, upon which there is a long inscription, is a
figure of the Marshal, heroic size, dressed in military uniform. He is
descending a short flight of steps leading to a coffin, the lid of which
Death holds open for his reception. A female figure, representing
France, attempts to detain the Marshal and ward off Death. On the left,
Hercules in a mournful attitude leans upon his club. Commemorating the
Marshal's victories in the Flemish war are the Austrian eagle, the Dutch
lion and the English lion.
The whole work is exquisitely done, the figures of France and Death
being wonderful specimens of carving in marble. The artist, Pigalle, was
occupied twenty years in the execution of this masterpiece.
There are several other things of interest in the old church of St.
Thomas, besides the memorial of the great marshal, though they are of
the ghastly order, and more curious than pleasing.
A great many years ago there lived in Strasburg a lunatic whose very
soul was bound up in this old church. His soul being devoted to it, he
determined to throw in his body, and so he starved himself to death that
he might leave the corporation more money. He left all his fortune to
the church, and the least it could do was to give him a tomb, which it
did, and then carved upon it his emaciated form, taking him after death,
that nothing should be lacking in ghastliness. When religion or vanity,
or a compound of both, is freakish, it is very freakish.
The most repulsive sight in all Europe is within these venerable walls.
The Duke of Nassau wanted immortality, and so his remains--he was killed
in battle--are carefully preserved in a glass case, hermetically sealed,
clad in the very garments he wore when death struck him. And after he
was killed his little daughter, aged thirteen, died, and the family had
her poor remains, clad in the silks and tinsel of the period, disposed
of in the same way.
And there they are to this day, as beautiful a commentary on human hopes
and human ambitions as one would wish to see.
The Duke of Nassau was a mighty man in his day, and he hoped to be
remembered of men for all time. What is he now? The flesh has melted
from his bones, the very bones are crumbling into dust, the garments in
which he was clad are disappearing, and all there is of him is a
grinning, ghastly skeleton, and the daughter is the same in the same
way; the flesh has disappeared from her bones, the little finger, once
so plump and taper, is now a bone which time has eaten away to almost
nothing; the ring of gold which she wore in life is still there, but it
hangs on a time-wasted bone, the flesh having melted from under it.
It is a ghastly commentary. The duke undertook a fight with Time with a
certainty of Time's winning. The philosopher draws a moral from his poor
remains, the loose-minded make jokes over them. Could he hear the
comments on his once august body he would get up and walk out of that
church, and go and bury himself somewhere in some cemetery, that he
might, as he should, be forgotten once for all. The duke should have
realized the fact before he had himself put in this glass case, that so
far as earth goes, everything ends with death, and that efforts that men
have made to perpetuate their memory have been invariably failures. The
kings who built the pyramids, solid as they are, are scarcely
remembered.
It was in a famous beer house in Strasburg that we met an American who
was not of the regulation kind, and who, consequently, was a sweet boon.
[Sidenote: A PHILOSOPHICAL TRAMP.]
He came into the place with a slouching gait, though his manner was by
no means deprecatory or humble. There was nothing in him to distinguish
him from the regular tramp, except that his rum-illuminated face carried
on its surface more intelligence and less brutality than the usual tramp
shows, and he evidently had some idea of not bidding eternal good-bye to
his respectability. Instead of the greasy wrap about the throat of the
regular tramp, he had a paper collar, which he had unquestionably
picked up somewhere and turned, and his coat was buttoned up carefully
to conceal the painfully evident absence of a shirt, a deceit the
confirmed tramp would scorn to practice. And then he wore a tall hat,
and had made attempts to brush it, and his carriage, when he knew he was
observed, was bold and defiant, and not cringing or slouching.
He sat down at the table with us, and commenced conversation with some
remarks about the weather, some original remarks concerning the state of
trade, and from that he glided with a grace that was to be commended
into a disquisition as to the effect upon the commerce of the world of
the building of a ship-canal across the Isthmus, and likewise the effect
it would have upon the climate of the United States, ending his
conversation with the request of the loan of a dollar.
"How happens it," I asked, "that a man informed as you are, with your
evident education and your general information should be borrowing
dollars in this way?"
"Excuse me, sir," said he; "I have not borrowed dollars, as yet, though
I hope to. You have, as yet, made no response to my modest appeal. But
why am I thus? Can you tell? Can I tell? Who is responsible for what
happens to him? Who can control tastes? Who can analyze that subtle and
unknown thing we call mind?"
"But who are you, anyhow?"
"I am a graduate of Harvard, sir, and a son of one of the once
wealthiest men in Boston."
"Why this condition of things, then?"
"My dear sir, I was born fortunately--you would say unfortunately--I say
fortunately. I had tastes, appetites, and a philosophical mind. While a
student I indulged those tastes to the top of my bent. I was the best
billiard player, the most constant and steady drinker, the hardest
rider, and, in fact, the most confirmed pleasure seeker in the college.
I utterly refused to do anything that did not please me. I learned much,
for the pursuit of knowledge afforded me a delight, but I would learn
nothing the getting of which did not afford me pleasure.
"At the close of my college career, the world was before me. The
question was, what should I do? What should be the plan of my life?
Should I go into business, and make a great fortune? Should I go into
literature, and make myself an imperishable name? Should I go into
politics, and control the destinies of nations?
"Fortunately philosophy came to my aid. What earthly good would all this
do me? What good of piling up money? What good of making a name, and
what earthly use was there in controlling the destiny of nations? I
could do something for myself, and what I did for myself I got the good
of, but why worry about making a name, or why labor to make money which
I could not take with me?
"I could see no good in any of it, and so I followed the impulses of my
nature, feeling that if nature was no guide then was I lost, indeed.
"I sang, I drank, I yachted, I did everything till my money was gone,
and here I am."
"Would it not have been better for you had you followed a more reputable
career?"
"I don't see it. I could have done anything that I wanted to, but to
what purpose? Sir, the world is coming to an end, shortly. The approach
of various planets to the earth, the frequency of comets, the changes so
common now that have been totally unknown, all conspire to a very sudden
ending of the planet on which we live and move. Within my life-time,
doubtless, there will be a collapse. We shall either get away from the
sun or get into it, or some erratic planet will come bouncing into us,
and the entire universe will go to eternal smash. The earth will either
melt or freeze solid, or it will be dispersed into infinitesimal
fragments.
"Now, sir, let me ask you what encouragement there is for a man to worry
himself about making a fortune with this terrible condition of things
staring him in the face? What good would the ownership of the New York
Central Railroad be when there is a certainty that the entire structure,
road-bed, depots, rolling stock and everything will be utterly destroyed
within my life-time? Under such circumstances who would care to own a
city, or to possess in fee simple the cattle on a thousand hills? What
is beef going to be worth then?
[Sidenote: ONE FRANC.]
"And then reputation. When the earth melts and the sky is rolled up
like a scroll, where is your Shakespeare? Where is Milton, Byron, Burns,
and the long list of men who have written that their names may be
everlasting? The dust of Shakespeare will be mingled with that of the
organ grinder across the street, and the pyramids will be of no more
account than the dirt-heap on the other side, which the Street
Commissioner never moves away. The libraries will all be destroyed, and
in the general annihilation, clergymen, scholars, capitalists, life
insurance agents, presidents, emperors, book agents and tramps will all
stand upon a common level. One fragment of me may assume the character
of an aerolite and astonish the natives of another planet, and another
fragment may go to feed the sun and thus furnish heat for the shivering
tramp on Mars, and mingled with me may be the iron that is now in the
system of Vanderbilt.
"Therefore I have no desire for a name or money. Things are not
sufficiently permanent to be desirable for an ambitious man.
"But speaking of the great cataclysm that is imminent, I did not hear
any response to my application for a loan of a dollar to relieve my
hunger. That is permanent, and will be till the universal smash-up."
I gave the man a franc.
"It is little but it will do, it will assuage the pangs of hunger. A
philosopher needs but little. Thank you. Farewell forever. In the smash
that is to come, let us hope that our fragments may come together, and
that we may sail through space in company."
And he departed. He did not go to a restaurant, but he went, as straight
as the bird flies, to the nearest brandy shop from which he emerged in a
minute with his face illuminated. He did not live by bread alone.
Strasburg is rich in antiquity, rich in the quaintest old houses on the
continent, houses that commence inland from the sidewalk, each story
projecting above the one under it, the fronts filled full of carving of
the quaintest and most curious description. These houses, some of them,
count the years of their being by the hundreds, and Strasburg, sleepy
old town that it is, either keeps them because she is too lazy to pull
them down, or because she really treasures them because of their age.
An American looking at them feels that time has gone backward with him,
and that he has awakened in the fourteenth century.
Here you see the genuine Alsatian costume. The women are, as a rule,
fine-looking, some of them pretty, and the style of dress fits their
peculiar style of beauty. They wear immense bows of wide black ribbon,
which stands up at the back of the head, and flares out at the sides
like the wings of a wind-mill. This admits of no hat or any other
head-gear, and its effect, though odd at first sight, is rather
pleasing. However, anything looks well on a pretty woman, and the women
of Alsace are all comely. They wear their gowns short, that the effect
of shapely ankles and trim feet may not be lost, and altogether they are
good specimens of femininity.
The peculiarity of the old houses in Strasburg, already spoken of, is
greatly intensified by the huge storks' nests that crown the large
awkward chimneys of many of the houses. All Summer long, the great white
storks live in Strasburg, until the cold weather drives them further
south. Their nests are built on the tops of chimneys, of rough sticks
and straw, and are very clumsy-looking affairs. But when there is a
white stork standing in them, solemn and grave, on one leg, the other
drawn closely under him, the effect is extremely ludicrous.
The stork is a peculiarly Strasburgian institution. It is considered a
bad omen if a stork leaves a house, in the chimney of which he has once
built his nest, and misfortune is certain, so they believe, to follow
any one who mistreats or offends a stork.
There are thousands of legends about them, in brief the stork figures in
everything Strasburgian. It is said that about a week before their
departure in the Autumn, all the storks meet in a meadow outside of the
city and hold solemn council, the oldest acting as chairman, and all
talking and discussing things the same as men do, in their own language.
It is not said that they come to blows in their debates, as American
Congressmen do, but that is doubtless because they know only French and
German usages. The stork is a well behaved bird.