by donkey boys, who are indeed anxious to have me take a ride to a
little old city not far away, but in Savoy. It is impossible to tell
a good donkey from a bad one by his looks, and each boy assures me
that his donkey is the best in Aix. By way of proving it to me, he
gives me the word of an American that rode him the summer before; but
were I an Englishman instead of what he took me to be, he would have
had other testimonials more influential. But what these little good
natured plagues say is true, so far as the words of their patrons are
to be trusted; it would be very indecorous to ride his little donkey
three or four miles and have the little owner to run along behind all
the time and whip and beat the poor donkey, and then get off and walk
in without saying he was a "good donkey," "the best you ever saw."
That pleases the little fellows. His donkey is worth 5 or $6, and to
run down his little stock, would be no part of a gentleman.
August is not yet gone, but I am a long way from Paris. Here I am, at
the "City of Watches," Geneva, and lake Leman. Never did a better
opportunity present itself to man, to make a good impression, than
this beautiful day presents Geneva to me, her visitor. Not a cloud
intervenes to Mount Blanc's snow clad peak, fifty odd miles away, and
it looks as if it was merely over yonder hill, to the right of
Byron's house, which is not two miles away. It reminds me of a still
cloud, over a sun-set that indicates fair weather to-morrow. As Mount
Blanc is covered with snow here in August, it makes another mountain
of a lesser height that lies between here and Mount Blanc, appear as
if its top was painted red. Mount Blanc, standing beyond, with her
white capped peak, through the intervening heat of this hot day, the
small one may well resemble a fiery painted mountain. This is the
edge of Switzerland, and still the French is the prevalent language,
which language seems destined to be universal throughout Europe.
After looking over some of the watch factories, I went to Mount Blanc
on horses, and stayed two days at the a city at its base, and went
across the country to Vevey, a small town on lake Leman. To my
astonishment I saw two Americans here. One was Dr. Elliot, of
Louisville, Ky., and the other Mr. N., of New Orleans. The old Dr.
was very glad to see me. He and I had been sick companions together
on the steamship Africa, where and when we both wished that we had
never heard of Europe, but now that we were out of the slough, and
traveling over the Republican land of Wm. Tell in the very best
health and spirits, and like the roe and buck, we were happy in these
Highlands.
Vevey is a very handsomely situated village, one would not forget it
after seeing its picturesque groups of vineyards and rustic huts,
interspersed with fairy-like palaces. It is a lively little place,
and a great many English and rich Switzers come here in the dog days
of summer.
After staying at Vevey a couple of days, I hired a carriage and
plodded on over this hilly land to Switzerland's Capital, Bern. Bern
is a very dull looking place, and most especially so for a Capitol.
The second story of the houses hang over the pavement, so you can
walk the town without getting wet. The language generally is German,
so you see the close alliance of languages in Switzerland.
Five days more; I am in the Great Oberland, among the towering Alps.
I traversed the whole of the valley of Interlaken, to the almost
hidden village of Interlaken. The hotels are all small, generally not
more than ten rooms, and are called pensions; queer name to create
an appetite with.
English come here in summer for cheap living; there is also some
Americans with patience enough to stay a short time and strengthen
their means, that are most too frequently consumed at Paris,
Brussels, or Vienna. As you leave the village to take a tour in a
carriage up the great valley, you pass the ruins of an ancient
castle, which once was the court of an ancient and noble race, whose
ancestors are not to be traced, whose names was Unspunnin. A young
knight belonging to another court scaled the walls and stole away
Ida, the last male descendant's daughter, and made her his bride.
Many years of bloody strife followed, after which the young knight
came forth to Burkard, the lord of this castle and father of Ida,
with his infant son in his arms and offered himself up, when the old
man went into tears and made Rudolph's infant son heir of his
numerous estates.
Farther up the valley a place is pointed out where a great murder was
committed, and a noble young knight was the doer of the deed. He
could never rest afterwards, so he fled from the sight of man, and
has never been heard of since. In the immense vallies of perpetual
glaciers, the snow has lain for thousands of years, and where the
mountains drip upon the glaciers below, crevasses are made through
and under. It is supposed that this knight crept into one of these
and there froze up his heart, unseen by father, mother, sister,
brother, friend or acquaintance.
This part of Switzerland is unlike any other part. It is nothing but
mountains and small lakes. The lakes are as apt to be found on the
tops of mountains as in vallies. From these large basins of water on
top of mountains, are crevasses running through side rocks, and
falling off makes the crevasses through and under the glaciers as I
have described.
But here is a specimen of the intelligence of the Switzers of olden
time. It is a little old town with a wall round it, and a hill close
up to the wall all round. The walls could have done no more good than
the hill if there was any spunk in the builders. The lake of Lucern
comes up to this bigoted little spot. Its appelation is in honor of
this important lake of catfish and suckers. It has a piece of art,
too, a lion sculptured in the side of a rock outside the walls. It is
the most natural artificial lion I ever saw. Here is Zurich, the
prettiest city in Switzerland, notwithstanding Byron's praise of
Geneva. Here is the famed "Zurich waters." The people here have not
that staring stupidity so characteristic of the Swiss in other towns.
They are all going along about their business as if they had lived
among strangers all their lives. It is a thriving town, and they
manufacture silks here on quite an extensive scale. In conclusion,
Switzerland is a Republic, and all parts, except the ruggedest
mountains, is in the highest state of cultivation. Wine and wheat
are among their chief studies. They are devout christians. Every mile
of their highways there is an image of the Son of Mary hung high up
by the roadside, denoting his suffering, patience and forbearance.
The Swiss are not a homely people. Their country is too mountainous
for railroads.
SPICY TOWNS IN GERMANY.
Having passed over the borders of Switzerland and Germany, and
through the first German town, called Friedsburg, I will linger a
while at Strasborg. It was once the Capitol of many provinces. In
times gone by, many centuries ago, it was called the Roman's
"Argentoratum," and experienced more than a few of the miseries of
war. The tallest piece of monumental art the world ever had recorded
on the pages of its Chronology, not even the Tower of Babel excepted,
is here in this city of over two thousand years old. Its name is the
Munster, and ought to have been Monster. It is a Church, and was
three hundred years in process of erection. It is 474 feet from the
earth, and to give a clearer perception of its height, it is 24 feet
higher than the Pyramids of Egypt. In it is that famous clock, made
three hundred years ago, which runs yet. This clock might justly have
an other half added to its name, _clock_. Many people flock there
every day to see its manoeuvres. At 12 o'clock, or a few minutes
before twelve, wooden men, representing the Apostles or Priests, come
out of the clock, and some inferior personages also, and march a
short distance and waits a few minutes to be warned of the hour,
then this waited for moment is signalized by a brass cock coming out
of the clock on the other side, which flaps its wings three times and
crows, after which this group of old men returns to their vestry of
study or seclusion, and the clock clicks on as it has done for three
hundred years, and the crowd disperses.
The streets are crowded with soldiers, as in Paris, and the ladies go
about the streets holding up their dresses just the right height to
attract attention.
The rain is over, and there is no more attraction in the spicy town
of Strasborg, so I am going to Baden Baden, the spiciest gambling
place in Europe. In the Park is a great large building in the shape
of a country stable, but full of splendor, called a Casino or
conversation room, and this conspicuous appellation is conspicuously
written on the front of the building. In this open hall--open to
all--is gambling hours between each meal. The great gambling table is
in the centre with numerous stools, such as are to be found in
Stuarts, or any other fashionable Dry Goods store in America. On
these stools are all classes of society that like excitement--dukes,
earls, marquises, barons, knights, valets, and even liveried
coachmen, betting from 5 francs to 10,000 francs. While I was in the
Casino the Prince of Prussia broke the bank. Only thirty thousand
francs is allowed in the Bank at once, and if broken no more business
or amusement goes on that day in that Cassino; but there are others
dealing on the same platform.
It is quite amusing to see the anxiety written on the brow of
players, and to see the expression of disinterested persons, which we
in America term "stuck on the game." I have seen more excruciating
pain come from an outsider by the loss of some pile of gold, than I
ever saw come from the expression of the loser. Here comes a Count
who has been betting and losing on another bank, and he came to
change his luck. He threw down his last thousand and it won; he let
it all stand on the red, and this time it all goes into the bank. He
exclaims, "that's my luck." Then the outsiders would cast an eye of
pity on him, and say, he might have known that he would lose it, when
the very reason they were not betting, was, they were broke on the
same bank perhaps a week ago. I see six beautiful noble ladies
betting, with their money snugly piled up before them. Their bets
generally range from twenty to one hundred francs. But the most
amusing part of this crowd's entertainment is, the airs that the
money scampers put on. If a lady or gentleman should win, he pays it
with an air of nonchalence and great pleasure; but if he wins, which
he is sure to do in the end, he looks very melancholy, as if it were
the result of accident, and in his opinion it was very vulgar for the
bank to win. I put down a five franc piece, it won; I let the ten
stand, it won; I let the twenty stand, it won; I moved it, and it
lost, and I quit. He attempted to console me by saying I ought to
have let it stand where it was, "what do you bet on now sir," said
he; I don't bet any more said I, I have already lost five francs. He
took me to be a green Yankee and said no more to me. Another amusing
sight was there; it was two more broken American youths, who said
they were waiting for Mr. Peabody to forward them money, and was
"sound on the borry." I did'nt pride myself much here on my
nationality, lest I would have some unprofitable fame. One of them
owed two weeks' board in the British Hotel. He was mighty polite when
he met me in company, and placed me under the truly painful necessity
of being introduced to some person of note whom he had himself been a
bore upon. He asked me if I was acquainted with the Grand Duke, at
the same time looking over the heads of the players, as if he would
call him if he could only get his eye on him. Then he insisted on my
going down to the other Bank, where the chances were better, and
where the Grand Duke of Baden would most likely be. I declined all
invitations, and got a carriage and went out of town to see the ruins
of the Erhreinstein Castle.
Having returned and paid my bill, I left this little German town to
go to Heidelburg, where once dwelled a good Castilian, Frederick the
1st, of the Palatinate.
James lived between Baden Baden and Heidelberg two or three years,
and wrote the two following novels, which gives a better history of
these, the Castles of Heidelberg and Erhreinstein, than any other
history gives or can be obtained at present. He lived at Carlsruth.
The Grand Duke lives at Baden Baden, and Carlsruth, and Heidelberg,
and he is here now at Heidelberg, and was here when my American
friend was hunting him in the Casino.
Tilly, the great French general, blew up the front side of this
castle in 1620, since which all its magnificence has been known but
as tradition. The picture gallery still remains perfect, that is to
say, some wings of it. There is many talented artists now grouped
about in its rural halls, for the grass has grown up in them, taking
copies of these splendid pictures. The city of Heidelberg which this
castle overlooks, is quite a large city for a German interior town. I
was told by my landlord that its population was upwards of 60,000.
The cellar of the old ruins still contains its wine casks. I saw one
cask or vat said to hold 60,000 bottles of wine. Ten men can dine
round a King Arthur's round table on its head. In the cellar is the
statue of one of King Frederick's fools, with one side of his face
painted green and one half of his hair red, whilst the other is not.
He drank eighteen bottles of wine each day and lived one hundred
years. Father Matthew never heard of that juice of such admirable
longevity, or it would have clapped the cap on his spouting
eloquence. German towns are spicy towns. Outside of the city, just
across the Necker, is to be two duels to-day with short swords, and
they fight duels on that duelling ground every day, either students
or other citizens. It is considered a small gladiatorial arena. The
Grand Duke is about to leave for Carlsruth, and the people are
parading with great glee. Children women and men are crowding the
gates in solid batallions; you would think old Zack had come to town.
I am dizzy with reflections of these fast little towns of Germany. As
I whirl along now towards the cradle of the Rothschild's my brain is
rocking its reflective matter from the canton of the quiet and
religious Swiss here to the burghers of this profane people. But here
I am, in the independent little territory of the Duchess of
Darmstadt. Each mile-post is painted barber-pole style. This Duchess
is better known as the Duchess of Nassau. The cars stopped at
Darmstadt, and if a good big southern barber's shop had been here the
people all would have gone in it instead of Darmstadt by mistake. The
gates are barberified in its style of designation.
I saw an American looking out of the cars at these posts until he
felt his beard. All at once he threw himself back in his seat, as if
he thought the country was too dull to look at, and of course
impossible to produce anything sharp enough to take off beards.
Frankfort may be strictly termed the capitol of Germany; because all
the German Princes meet here once a year and hold a conference on the
great topics of interest to the whole German people. This gathering
is called the Diet. This Diet enacts for the German principalities,
some of the most wholesome and sound logical laws that comes from the
parliament of any nation of these modern times. Frankfort has
produced the most sagacious merchants the world ever knew. I have
just been to look at Goethe's house. It has stood the scathing
weather of the main for five hundred years, but none of the
calamities of time have laid their fingers upon it, save a slight
decay.
"Frankfort on the Oder" must not be misconstrued so as to convey an
idea of this Frankfort. This is generally designated as Frankfort on
the Main. It is a town full of high spirited people, and lively as
crickets, but less sedate. Business is always good here. Each man is
in some degree possessed with the ambition of a Rothschild. I am
going to see the house of the primitive Rothschild, and then off to
the Rhine.
Here I am at Mainz, on the banks of the Rhine. Looking at my ticket
down the Rhine, I see this is the 17th of September, but the weather
indicates summer time. This old, dead, but vast town, has the
distinction allotted to it of producing the first book printer.
I will not attempt, as most chroniclers, to describe the impression
the legend river of Europe made on me; suffice it to say that, on
every peak, and that is saying a good deal, is the ruins of tyrants,
and every hole that is made through these turrets, sends out a woeful
wisp of a "Blue Beard's wrath," that quickens the pulse of a modern
civilian.
I am now in town, at a great hotel, called Disch. Here is a very old
city, and in old times Roman emperors were proclaimed here. The wife
of Germanicus, Aggrippa, the mother of the tyrant that "fiddled"
whilst Rome was burning, was born here. In this city is a church
which has already cost four millions of florins, and is not finished
yet. In this church is one of the most imposing pieces of splendor
the eye of man ever gazed on. Inside of this case of jewels is three
skulls filled with jewels. They glitter about in the nose and eyes
and ears like moving maggots, and causes man to gaze with amazement
upon the peculiarities of the people of German towns. Its name is
Cologne. Its modern merit is its production of Colognes, not little
towns, but the fluid possessing requisite qualifications of
admittance to the private apartment of the sweetest virgin.
I must now bring this chapter to a close and go down among the
Dutch.
DOWN AMONG THE DUTCH.
Having been disappointed in seeing a magnificent city, and smelling
one, I am rapidly running down the Rhine to the Netherlands--Holland
among the Dutch. These boats are hardly worth mentioning, more than
to say they have steam and a crew. The crew are very stupid looking;
mind you I say stupid looking, but I don't mean to say they are
stupid. They have nothing to say or do with the passengers. They
don't leave their watch and come to the cabin to sit a minute and
talk with passengers, and occasionally "take a hand" at a game, as
they do on our inferior boats running the Yazoo, Arkansas, Red and
Black River, until the boiler hisses, or the boat snags. They are
slow but sure.
In the cabin, which is below, is a sufficient number of small tables
in restaurant style, and whoever eats does it _a la carte_. If you
eat what is worth only fifteen grochens, you only pay fifteen
grochens; but, if you eat one hundred grochens' worth, you will pay
one hundred grochens; not one cent over or under is required, for the
Dutch, as a class, are a reasonable, just and inoffensive people,
therefore wish nothing but fair understanding and dealing. They
always keep an interpreter on a cheap scale, to enable them to get
along without difficulty. He was either a waiter, dish washer or
potato-peeler, but on a no more expensive scale. They are the last
people I am acquainted with to count unhatched chickens.
Captain Husenhork, I understand, is a gentleman and a good humored
man, but the eye of a lynx would have a task to catch a smile upon
his hickory countenance. He brought an old Dutch musket on deck for
me to amuse myself with, shooting at snipe along the dykes. I shot
into their midst several times, but they all flew up, circled around
and lit at the same place. I never before saw so many of this style
or genera of bird. Their bills was the most conspicuous part of them.
The boat is now turning to land at a pretty large town called
Arnheim; but Holland is so low that a man cannot see the spires of a
city until he enters its walls.
Holland is one vast marsh. It is dyked so as to drain each acre, but
it is the richest soil in Europe, and its productiveness is so
profitable that its owners would not swop it for the land of Goshen.
It has nourished a people that seem to be well adapted to its nature;
the forbearance of the Dutch people is not to be equalled by any. The
labor required to till such soil as Holland's, has been the best
friend to the Hollanders, for no people on the earth enjoys the labor
as does a Holland farmer, and no people could make it so profitable.
In taking a hack ride a few miles in the country around Arnheim, I
can say the nurseries are unsurpassed by Switzerland, the Hanse
States, or France.
Having gossiped in Arnheim two days, I called for my bill, paid it,
packed my trunk for Amsterdam. Wine being such an extravagant item I
thought I would enquire into it, as I might get some information why
it was so much more in Holland than the other parts of the Rhine. I
found that wine was an imported liquor, consequently, the duty made
the difference between wine on that side of the Rhine and the other.
A swilly beer is most universally the beverage of the Netherlands.
The clerk supposing that I was not satisfied with the length of my
bill, took it in his inspection and examined it carefully, and said,
"Sir, you eat snipe." "Well is that any reason you should make my
bill like a snipes?" "Yes sir," said he, "it is extra." "All right,
sir, I did not ask you about any part of the bill except wine." Next
day I was in Amsterdam, the wealthiest city of Holland. It is a city
of canals; they run through all the main parts of the town, leaving a
large side-walk on each side. Some pretty large ships are in the
heart of the town. Bridges run across the canals, but they revolve on
hinges and are easily turned.
The gayest time of Amsterdam is dead winter. Then the Zuyder Zee and
all its canals are frozen over, when ladies and gentlemen are skating
night and day. Vessels sail charmingly on the ice, but their bottoms
are made for the ice instead of water. Balls and pic-nic parties are
numerous in winter. The Amsterdam ladies are all healthy looking. I
saw half a dozen ladies yesterday shooting snipe, when I rode out to
Saandam. They had on nice little boots and moved among the high grass
like skilful hunters. At Saandam I registered my name in the little
"book of names," in the house of Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia.
He ran away from Russia and came here and rented this little house
with only two rooms, and lived in poverty here, to learn to build
ships. Hollandaise builders worked with him a year at a time, but
knew not that it was Peter the Great, of the Russias. The little
frame hut is three hundred years old, but has been preserved on
account of its strange and novel history.
26th of September, and I am at the capitol of Holland, The Hague. The
King lives here, about a quarter of a mile from my hotel, the
"Bellevue." But I just dined with a King. The father of the Queen is
the old King of Wurtemburg, and he is putting up here, and we have a
guard of honor at our door. He is going out--he bows to me.
COL. FELLOWES LEARNING DUTCH.
I must now introduce the reader to an American "merchant Prince,"
better known by his associates as the "Prince of Good Fellows." This
is Cornelius Fellowes, of the respectable firm of Messrs. Fellowes &
Co., of New Orleans, La. He is rather more than a medium size man,
and straight as an exclamation point, with handsome limbs. He cannot
be justly termed handsome, without adding _man_. His face was the
color of a last year's red apple all free from decay; his hair is
light for black, and not very thick on top, and he is aged 48 years.
He is no politician, statesman, or orator, but as a business man, he
is "sound on the goose." I know of no man that could settle business
disagreements to the entire satisfaction of both, better than Mr.
Fellowes. He would have made a profound judge, his heart and talent
alike is so justly qualified. He is a very liberal and extravagant
man, more so than any man I am acquainted with, but he is by no means
a benevolent man; I don't mean to say that he is stingy, for he is
not, but I mean to indicate that he always has some original idea of
his own to make him give; for example, if a group of little ragged
girls come around him begging, he will instantly feel his pockets,
and take out all the change, but the most of it would go into the
hands of the prettiest or cleanest, at the same time saying, "this is
a pretty little girl," and if there is any left they will be sure to
get the remainder. Or if a group of little boys are the beggars, he
will give the most to the smartest, and exclaim, "he is a smart
little fellow." And sometimes he is conscious of this partiality, and
tries to evade it by throwing the coin among the boys to see them
scuffle for it, but this trait of his is so marked, that he will be
sure to throw it on his favorite's head, and if he fails to catch it,
it is a sure sign of another chance for the boys. He laughs heartily
when his boy catches it, as if it done his soul good. He is so proud,
or haughty, or perhaps I had better say, naturally aristocratic, that
he can descend from his sphere to vulgar without knowing it, and
joke, laugh, and even offer some of his drink, but if you forget
yourself, he will recollect himself. He can treat a free colored man
as polite as he can a poor white one, and a class that are below them
must be in his estimation what they are.