1. The Catholic Union of Germany complains of the severity with
which the state officers of the German Empire, particularly in
Prussia, oppose their rightful endeavors to labor for the true
welfare of the fatherland.
2. The Catholic Union of Germany shall with undaunted courage
defend their natural rights, the rights of the church and of the
German nation, against revolutionary and bureaucratic force.
3. The Union invites all Catholics to join the authorized
organization, and in the confidence of assistance from God, which
the Union implores for itself through the most Sacred Hearts of
Jesus and Mary, they surely expect the speedy triumph of a just
cause.
The other resolutions had reference to the adoption of a short prayer to
the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, under whose protection the Union is
placed; then the appointing of a committee charged with the erection of a
monument to the memory of Herman von Malinckrodt; with the foundation of a
fund for exiled clergymen; to send an address to the oppressed Catholics
of Switzerland; with the making out of a list of the priests who have been
punished in defending the rights of the church; with the establishment of
an intelligence office for young Catholic merchants; with the
recommendation of the _Christian Blaetter_, published in Aix‐la‐Chapelle;
and finally with the recommending of various institutions for the removal
of social evils. All of these motions were not adopted, others were laid
upon the table, in order to concentrate the strength of the young Union
upon the momentous question to the Catholic Germans as to the best means
of ending the conflict now in progress against the church. No one will
deny the wisdom and prudence of this proceeding.
In the afternoon a pilgrimage to Mount Roch was determined upon; it is
four German, or about twenty‐four American, miles from Mayence, and is one
of the most charming places on the Rhine. The congress could not have
closed its labors in a more appropriate manner. Soon after twelve o’clock
the steamer _Loreley_, which was hardly large enough to accommodate the
vast crowd of pilgrims, commenced to move its engines. Inspired by the
pious sentiments which filled their hearts, the pilgrims made the air
resound with songs which charmed the ear, while the beautiful views, as
seen from the deck of the steamer, of the country lying between the Taunus
Mountains and the Rhine, captivated the eye. This little spot has justly
been called the garden of Germany. The whole shore is lined with villages,
rich in monumental reminiscences of past ages, handsome residences and
ancient abbeys, modern and mediæval castles. But the greatest pride of the
Rhineland are the luscious grapes which ripen upon these sunny hills. Who
has not heard of the Marcobrunner, the Steinberger, the Johannisberger,
the Ruedesheimer, and many other species of Rhine wine? The vine‐dresser
of the Rhineland is firmly convinced that in the whole world there is no
wine which in delicacy is equal to his. But let us proceed. The good
Catholic inhabitants of these vine‐clad shores saluted our steamer by
discharging cannons. The Prussian authorities had prohibited in some
places such signs of joy and sympathy to be shown “the enemies of the
state” who were passengers on the _Loreley_. The banner of the Chapel of
S. Roch, which is built upon a high mountain, had from a long distance
been seen waving, and we could also descry the great crowd which had
already taken possession of the top of the mountain. When we approached
the city of Bingen, situated at the foot of the mountain, nearly the whole
population awaited us on the banks of the river. A special deputation
saluted the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Mayence, who had come to address the
pilgrims. The immense crowd, praying and singing, then marched through the
city, which was ornamented with flags, and soon all the streets and paths
leading to the mountain were filled with men, so that it was very
difficult for the marshals to form a regular line of procession in order
to reach the top of the mountain. From this eminence only was it possible
to obtain a good view of the multitude, which was greater, perhaps, than
Mount Roch had ever before carried on its back. It was a splendid
spectacle, and the effect was greatly enhanced by the beauty of the
surroundings—the majestic river, whose course the eye could follow for
miles, the green islands that now and then appeared in the channel of the
river, the blooming vineyards, and the ever‐fertile valleys.
As the chapel could contain only a small portion of the assemblage, the
Rt. Rev. Bishop made his address while standing under the blue canopy of
heaven. We will only give a few extracts from his admirable discourse. In
his introduction he said: “We are here to‐day assembled upon this mountain
from all parts of Germany. Without knowing each other, we yet feel that we
are all united by the common bond of faith, a miniature picture of the
Catholic Church. We stand upon a venerable spot. Here lived S.
Hildegardis, that great prophetess of the middle ages, whom S. Bernard
visited to examine her prophecies. Long before her advent S. Rupert and
his saintly mother Bertha, whose relics are exposed for veneration in this
chapel, dwelt here. At our feet flows the river Rhine, in whose waters the
most beautiful cathedrals of Germany are reflected, and upon whose shores,
from the earliest ages, faithful and honest Catholics have lived. There
(pointing to Niederlingen, with its palace of Carlovingian date) stood the
cradle of Charles the Great, the founder of the old German power and
glory; there that great emperor spent his youth, who never unsheathed his
sword except for the protection of truth, and never lent it to an
unrighteous cause.”
In the course of his speech he made mention of a fact which he had
observed when provost of Berlin and delegate for the few Catholic
congregations in Brandenburg and Pomerania. “In the last century King
Frederick II. had determined to drain the marshes along the river Oder,
and had for this end summoned laborers from the Rhine and from the
Palatinate. Those from the last‐named place began their long journey after
they had received assurances that ample provision had been made for their
religious wants, and that lands would be given them for cultivation. These
promises, however, were not fulfilled. When the work was finished, the
poor people were distributed among the different Protestant cities in
Pomerania, in order to force the inhabitants, as it were, to cede to them
some territory. Some of them received as their portion the sandy plains
near Pasewalk. Here wooden sheds were erected, the best of which was
reserved for a chapel. Without a priest, these good people met together
every Sunday for divine service, sang their hymns as if for High Mass, and
an altar‐boy rang the bell at certain parts, just as it was done in their
former homes. Fifty years passed in this way without their ever having
seen a priest, and in the course of these fifty years _not one_ Catholic
became an apostate. This congregation was afterwards visited once a year
by a priest, and this state of things continued for another fifty years;
but during this whole time not a Catholic left his faith—a proof that our
Lord and Saviour, when the priests are expelled, has other means to keep
his own in the true fold. When in our own times institutions are
destroyed, priests are exiled, and bishops are cast into prison, we have
more reason than ever before to impress deeply upon our hearts the words
of Christ: Confidite in me; ego vinci mundum—‘Have confidence; I have
overcome the world’ (S. John xvi. 33). If all else perishes, at least one
divine institution remains which the state cannot destroy—we mean the
_Christian family_. In proportion as the other representatives of God are
prevented from fulfilling their duty, Christian fathers and mothers must,
following the example of S. Bertha, fill their vacancies. What obstacles
did not this saintly woman overcome! Her husband, who ruled over all this
part of Germany, was a heathen, and was killed in a battle with the
Christians; but notwithstanding this, she has given in her son a saint to
the church.”
Turning then to the subject of the schools, the Rt. Rev. Bishop reminded
them of a resolution passed about ten years ago by the Grand Lodge of
Belgium, which commanded the sister lodges to give their written opinions
as to the question in what manner they could best exercise a decided
influence over the public schools. They all agreed on this point: that the
schools should be separated from the church, and that it was not
sufficient to keep the children in school until they were fourteen years
of age, but that compulsory education should be continued up to their
eighteenth year, in order to thoroughly uproot from the minds of the
children the prejudices which they had received from their families and
from the church. To this the objection was raised that such a law would be
in direct opposition to the rights of parents; but in the reply, which was
afterwards published, it was expressly maintained that, if the state had
the right to cut off the heads of men, it could also set them right again.
In view of the present aspect of affairs in respect to the school
question, it is very easy to draw parallels.
At the conclusion of his address the Rt. Rev. speaker again returned to
the text of his discourse: “ ‘Have confidence in Jesus.’ Place not your
hope in princes, who cannot help you. The Holy Ghost has said it; they
also must die. Make no calculations, therefore, as from what earthly
source or from what earthly prince the salvation of the church may be
expected. Confide in me, says Christ. Fear not the power of falsehood, for
I have overcome the world. Be watchful and firm. While the world is
worshipping Mammon it is our duty to imitate the example of those
Catholics who have never bowed their knees before Baal, and who were found
worthy to make any sacrifice for their convictions. Be courageous and of
good cheer! At this time the church needs men of determination. Let every
one, then, do his duty, and God will strengthen us and lead us to
victory.”
These significant words, the truly apostolic appearance of the Bishop of
Mayence, the place, and the feeling exhibited by the vast audience, all
contributed to leave a deep impression upon their hearts. After some short
devotions in the chapel of grace, the pilgrims returned in a seemingly
endless procession, with song and prayer, through the beautiful vineyards
to Bingen. We were told that those in the rear of the procession were yet
upon the top of the mountain when the first had entered already the
parochial church of Bingen, where the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament
was given by the Rt. Rev. Bishop, which ended the festive celebration of
the Second Congress of the Catholic German Union.
The Congress has given testimony that the Catholic people of Germany in
these our days will not be misled or permit violence to be offered to
them; it gave testimony also to the truth which Malinckrodt had expressed
one month before in the _Reichstag_, and eight days before his death, when
he said: “If they imagine that we will bow ourselves before their
Protestant ideas, which they clothe in the garment of the state, they are
greatly mistaken. They can trample us under foot, but we reserve to
ourselves the liberty not to become unfaithful to our convictions.”
The Union has many and powerful enemies; but an old German proverb says:
“Many enemies, many honors.” May Almighty God continue to protect it as
before! Then it will show by its success that, true to its motto, it has
worked for truth, justice, and liberty, and that it has excelled all other
organizations in patriotism.
Switzerland In 1873. Lucerne.
It sounds like a platitude when any one nowadays ventures to lament
returning to the prose from the poetry of travel, so universal is this
feeling, and so constantly is it expressed; yet it is impossible to avoid
noticing it when recalling a railway journey that followed abruptly on
weeks of Alpine rambles. My friend and I had been gradually gathering
discontent, it is true, from the causes I have already stated, and
yesterday, at Berne, had felt that a complete change was necessary; but
further than this we had not stopped to reflect. No sooner, however, had
we started in the train than the scream of the engine‐whistle, the jerking
of the carriages at the stations, the rush of passengers and hoarse cries
of the fruit‐sellers, grated discordantly on our nerves, and a sudden
pining for the grand mountains, with their quiet, simple life and its
elevating tone, took possession of us. Had we carried out our intention of
going to Lyons, it would speedily have grown into a real Swiss _mal du
pays_. Heartily, therefore, did we thank Mrs. C—— for having appeared so
opportunely, and acted the part of a good angel in saving us from a
species of suicide; for we felt that our spirits would have completely
evaporated long before we could have reached Notre Dame de Fourvières or
any other such congenial haven.
“Well, yes,” she answered; “the flat plains of France would assuredly have
proved too harsh a contrast. Now you will still have mountains, besides so
many other matters that must deeply interest you.”
These reflections having restored us to good‐humor, we fully enjoyed the
approach to Lucerne, as the train wound round the wooded hills alongside
the green Reuss, rushing on in full‐grown vigor from the lake, and past
the mediæval walls and towers that still guard the sturdy old town. The
sun was setting as we entered the station, just as happened a few nights
previously when we drove into Interlachen; but in other respects
everything was different. Here, the train was rapidly emptied of its
hundreds of Northerners, still brimful of their city ways, or ill at ease
in some faultless Alpine costume fresh from a London shop; while there,
though one could detect many season‐loungers, effort at display was not
thought of, especially amongst tourists, for dress and such externals had
long since lost their importance in the wear and tear of real
mountaineering. And what a noise and bustle and clatter steam, and
everything belonging to it, entails! Enough to drive one wild, after many
weeks of leisurely excursion habits—the tinkling bells of the steamboats
waiting at the pier to carry off impatient tourists to fifty different
destinations, the crowd of omnibuses, the jostling of porters, and, to
complete the trouble, the announcement that no rooms could be had at the
Schweizerhof or Lucernerhof, or various other _hofs_; although we had
telegraphed from Berne, and expected to find all ready. If we would try,
it was said, at the Beau Rivage—the hotel furthest off—there was just a
chance. Worn out by the noise and fuss, we two begged to walk, the
remainder of our party offering to drive on in a carriage without delay,
in order to secure any vacant places there might be before the omnibus and
its load of new‐comers should reach the hotel.
No arrangement could have been happier; for as we crossed the handsome new
bridge, on issuing from the station, the scene at once restored our
shattered nerves. The sun had just sunk behind the wood‐clad hills, dotted
all over with pretty villas and _pensions_, that rise to the northwest
above the town, and whose sharp, dark outline every instant became blacker
against the clear sky above, which, on its part, was rapidly changing from
one tint to another, each more delicate than the preceding one. Below, the
river moved like a mass of molten gold, whilst the covered bridge close by
and the old tower at the corner wore a dark, warm brown hue, all the
richer from the reflection of the waters beneath. Turning round towards
the lake, on whose margin we stood, the magnificent panorama of snow‐
tipped mountains which encircle its upper end transfixed us with
admiration. Every peak, every line, was visible in the clear atmosphere,
from Mount Pilatus, bathed in a flood of purple, right in front, to the
most distant of the long line rising beyond. In a few minutes the colors
in the west grew faint and fainter, but a fresh after‐glow lit up the
mountain‐crests opposite, fading gradually into the tenderest pink, until
one by one they sank into the approaching night. How wonderfully beautiful
it was! Impossible to be surpassed! And for an instant we felt half
tempted to become unfaithful to the glorious Jungfrau and lovely
Interlachen. But the abiding impression of all such scenes in this favored
land is, without doubt, one of marvel at the varieties of God’s creation,
and nowhere does one more cordially echo that inspired voice which of old
cried: “Let every spirit praise the Lord!”
Lost in admiration at this effect of color on water, wood, and mountain,
we grew deaf to the clatter of the passing crowd across the bridge, when
suddenly the sound of bells aroused our attention. It seemed as if every
church‐bell in the place had been set a‐ringing; and so it really was! We
listened; but, unaccustomed as we had now so long been to the beautiful
practice, some minutes elapsed before we recognized the true mark of a
Catholic country—the Ave Maria or Angelus bell! A learned divine has
written lately that it would simplify matters very much if the world were
classed in two divisions only—namely, those who say the Angelus, and those
who do not; or, in other words, those who, believing in the Incarnation
and Redemption, boldly and lovingly profess it before God and men, and
those Christians whose faith in the mystery is so feeble or their piety so
lukewarm that it gives them no happiness to acknowledge it, and who are
therefore worse than the heathens, who know not of it. No happier welcome
could have been given to us, who had been suffering from a spiritual
famine for the last few weeks. Calmed by the sweet sounds, which were even
softened by the gurgling waters at our feet, we followed our guide along
the quay, unmindful of its white dust, fussy tourists, and the general
unæsthetic aspect of its many monster hotels, our eyes fixed, as we
proceeded, on the _Hofkirche_, or principal church, which towers above it
at one end.
It was late when we emerged after dinner from the glare of lights and hot,
crowded _table‐d’hôte_ rooms of the Beau Rivage on to the balcony of the
hotel, and the same moon which had entranced us so recently when shining
on the Jungfrau was beginning to climb up the heavens, right behind Mount
Pilatus. The stern mountain stood opposite to us on the other shore, his
rugged form showing dark and unfriendly against the silvered background,
but a tremulous path of light came dancing towards us straight across the
placid waters. Tiny boats, that were hitherto indistinguishable in the
surrounding gloom, shot in numbers, freighted with mysterious figures,
across the luminous, quivering pathway; the green and red lights of
steamers were seen advancing gradually from out the distant darkness of
the lake, like wicked monsters rising from the deep to devour the elves
and nymphs gambolling peacefully in our midst, while close to us, round
the near curve of the bay, the town, still busy with life and movement,
shone in a perfect blaze of illumination, the lamps along its quay
glittering like stars reflected in the still waters underneath. Poet or
painter never imagined in their highest flights of fancy a more fairy‐
like, suggestive scene, and again we felt and acknowledged the truth that
no art or science of man can approach God’s own handiwork in its exquisite
variety and beauty.
It was impossible to sit indoors on such an evening, so we wandered down
to the walk beside the water’s edge, an impulse evidently shared by all
the inhabitants; for, as we passed on, it seemed as though every one,
including tradesmen with their wives and families, had come forth to
refresh mind and body after their busy day’s work. The promenade was alive
with people, either sitting or quietly sauntering up and down in
apparently happy groups, but without noise or boisterous sound, in perfect
harmony with the beautiful surroundings.
“This scenery surely must have a powerful effect on the inhabitants,” I
remarked to Mrs. C——, as we too at length sat down on a bench in front of
the hotel. “I can’t conceive living constantly within view of all this
beauty without having one’s mind raised to a higher tone by its
influence.”
“No doubt,” she replied; “and now you can understand the full meaning of
Swiss _Heimweh_, or _mal du pays_; how, when these people once begin to
pine for their mountains, it becomes a true malady. It does not follow,
however, that scenery, as a matter of course, produces admiration or
appreciation of its charms. You know the world‐old observation of this
lack in ancient Greek poetry. Nor have the modern Greeks any more feeling
for natural beauty than their ancestors; in fact, they positively dislike
the country. The Turks are different; but, generally speaking, southerners
never give it a thought. It seems to be more a matter of race than of
locality, and the Swiss, especially in these cantons, being Teutonic, have
the true German love of nature, which makes them so worthy of living in
this favored land! That accounts, too, for their love of the supernatural,
to which their lively faith has always given a religious form. The very
name of this Mt. Pilatus and its story show this tendency at once.”
“What is the story?” I inquired. “I remember reading about it, but have
quite forgotten. At this moment one might fancy anything—dragons,
concealed in caverns, swooping down on forlorn maidens, knights rescuing
Hildegardes and Kunigundes, or any other thing you like, on an evening of
this sort.”
“Oh! no,” she answered: “the homely, burgher lives of the Swiss rarely led
them to the romantic, but their simple piety, as I have said, clothed
their tales with a religious coloring. This, for instance, is where they
believe that Pilate committed suicide; that, having been banished to Gaul
by the Emperor Tiberius for failure in the administration of his province
when governor, he could no longer bear living in public, and his uneasy
conscience drove him from one wild district to another until he stopped
here; but even then he continued miserable, and finally threw himself into
the small lake near the summit yonder, over which his spirit still hovers.
He is the author of all the storms hereabouts. He cannot bear strangers,
but, especially if they disturb him maliciously by throwing stones into
this lake, he avenges himself by thunder and lightning and a general
confusion of the elements. They were so persuaded of this in the middle
ages that the Lucerners actually made a statute forbidding any one to
explore the mountains, and there are records of several persons being
severely punished for venturing up in defiance of the order. He regulates
the weather even now; for you can always tell by Pilatus what kind of day
it is likely to be. Have you never heard the lines?
“ ‘Wenn Pilatus trägt sein Hut
Darum wird das Wetter gut.
Trägt er aber seinen Degen
Darum wird’s wohl sicher regnen.’(31)
“The _Hut_, or Hood, is a little cloud which settles on the summit only,
but the sword is a long streak across the centre of the mountain, which
bodes rain and all manner of bad weather. There are ominous stories,
besides, of dragons and winged serpents, which were formerly seen to fly
from Pilatus to the Rigi at night, leaving fiery tracks behind them, and
tormenting the shepherds and their flocks.”
“Well! if ever there were an excuse for pantheism and belief in a spirit‐
world animating nature, it certainly would be in Switzerland! Everywhere I
go the mountains, cloudy sunsets, the whole moving face of nature, speak a
language ever varying in one sense, but uniform in leading one’s thoughts
upwards.”
“Yes; and even in bad weather you would not tire of it! Pilatus is never
so grand as when the storm‐clouds gather round his brow and roll down
pitilessly on this very spot.”
“I should very much like to know whether the people keep up their piety
now, and how they are likely to act in the coming religious storm,” I
remarked.
“I have just had an interesting conversation on that very point with an
old Lucerner,” said Mr. C——, who now rejoined us, and who, we noticed, had
stopped to speak to some acquaintance on the promenade when we first
started. “That was old H——, whom we met at Kissingen three years ago,” he
continued, addressing his wife. “He has retired from his appointment, and
returned to this his native town. He was rejoiced to see me, and offered
his services; and, thinking he might be useful as a guide, I have begged
him to call at our hotel in the morning. He gave me a most interesting
account of matters here. They are all staunch Catholics, he says, except a
few, who are lukewarm and seduced by the rationalism and liberalism of
Olten and Berne. From these alone do they fear dissension. But they are
not numerous. However, they tried last winter to get one of the churches
given up to them. Fortunately, the town council is orthodox and firm, and
Herr H—— is certain that Lucerne will be true to her name, and continue a
_light_ to her neighbors.”
“What a happy play on the word!” I remarked—“a genuine _jeu de mot_. She
certainly merits the title in a material sense already, with that girdle
of brilliant lamps shining like jewels along the quay.”
“It is not a _jeu de mot_ of my invention,” answered Mr. C——. “The name is
said to take its origin from the fact itself. Some of the Swiss towns,
such as Chur and Geneva, date from the Roman times of Switzerland; but
there are no traces of Roman buildings or settlements here. It is said,
however, that even then there was a lantern or kind of light‐house at this
spot for the boats on the lake, which was dignified by the Latin name of
_Lucerna_, or _light_; and this, amidst the vicissitudes of centuries, has
clung to it, and, as you say, is as suitable as ever. The town itself,
like so many others, is the offspring of a monastery somewhere about the
same time as St. Gall and Einsiedeln. But those old walls, with the quaint
towers which still encircle it, are only from the XIIIth or XIVth century.
The barbarians, you may remember, overran the continent several times in
the IXth, Xth, and XIth centuries, pillaging and burning on all sides; but
it was noticed that the walled towns escaped, for they did not understand
the art of besieging them. One of the German emperors, therefore, issued
orders that all the towns should erect fortifications, and that, in times
of war, the rural population should take refuge within them. Basel was one
of the first that was enclosed in Switzerland, being on the frontier. Then
St. Gall, which had sprung up round the great monastery, and was also near
the frontier; Zurich and Lucerne followed later. Lucerne has kept up the
old Swiss character better than almost any other town, from its position
near these forest cantons, which have more or less imbued it with their
spirit. The forest cantons,” he continued, as if in answer to my inquiring
look, “are those which border this lake, and give it the name of the ‘Lake
of the Four Cantons!’ They are Schwytz, Uri, Unterwalden; and now Lucerne
makes the fourth—the cradle of Switzerland and the noblest portion of its
people. Lucerne has hitherto been a sort of outpost for them—their point
of connection with the political world beyond; and so far it has always
held stoutly by its old friends. I remember the religious civil war and
the _Sonderbund_, between 1842 and 1848, and Lucerne was the head and
front of all that movement. Those old towns, amongst their various tales,
could tell many even of that period; for within their walls, as well as in
some of the churches, 1,800 prisoners were confined after the first
victorious resistance Lucerne offered the Protestant Volunteers. Amongst
the number was a certain Dr. Steiger, said to be the leader of the
Protestants. He lay in one of the towers, condemned to banishment and
imprisonment by the tribunals of Lucerne, when one night he escaped, aided
by three countrymen who were devoted to him, and finally fled to America.
I well recollect what a sensation it made, especially when, a few days
afterwards the great champion of the Catholics—a peasant—was found
murdered in his cottage! Then these Catholics made a defensive league
amongst themselves to resist the interference of the Protestant cantons in
their religious affairs, and which they therefore called the _Sonderbund_.
On this the opposite faction took their stand, asserting that its
principle was contrary to the spirit of the Confederacy. It was a good
watchword in any case wherewith to rouse their partisans, and they
succeeded in this so completely that the Diet soon voted that the league
ought to be put down by force. A large army was at once collected, and,
surrounding these Catholic cantons as with a cordon, they very soon
crushed them. How well I remember it all! Whether the experience is
recollected here it is hard to say; but Herr H—— muttered something about
their all being determined to stand up manfully for their faith, even if
it should ultimately be necessary to fight for it.”
“Fighting for one’s faith is sublime, and stirs one’s deepest feelings,” I
replied, “and that the spirit which induces it still exists, despite our
prosaic, material age, we have seen by the Papal Zouaves, and also, united
with love of country, in the Bretons, Vendêans, and others during the
French and Prussian war. But it is impossible to combine the idea of
fighting of any kind with this poetic scene, and I would rather go to
sleep to‐night dreaming of nymphs and sprites than of war and prisons, or
even of Pilate himself or any other gloomy visions in this fairyland. I
fear I am ungrateful for all your information, in feeling almost sorry
that we touched on these topics,” I said, laughing, as we reluctantly
turned homewards late that evening.
I had spoken wisely. Most difficult it is to pacify one’s mind after such
a conversation, and, between reflections on the past and speculations on
the future of these Swiss Catholics, the night was far advanced before my
eyes closed in sleep. Suddenly I was awakened by a full‐toned church‐bell
booming across the waters. It might again be the Angelus; but looking at
my watch, it was only a quarter before five o’clock, and moreover it was
still dark. Then it must be some convent‐bell summoning the community to
Matins and Prime. It was an uncharitable proceeding on their part, thought
I, to waken up a whole town; and the peal kept on for the entire quarter
of an hour. At half‐past five came another similar bell; and then, soon
after, a chorus of full tones, like that which had greeted our arrival on
the previous evening, rang out the Angelus from every church‐tower in the
place, followed at six and half‐past six by others in our immediate
vicinity. It was quite impossible to sleep; yet, tired though we were, the
joyful sensation of awakening in a Catholic land reconciled us to the
penalty it thus imposed. Up and out we should at once go in search of the
Masses which these bells indicated. But there be no such hurry, said the
hotel servants; for there would be eight o’clock Mass in the Hofkirche
close by. Then we discovered that, so far from the quarter to five bell
belonging to any convent, it was in truth rung in order to rouse the
towns‐people to Mass at the S. Peterskirche—the first each day of the
series which ended at eight o’clock at the Hofkirche. And then we
recollected how the same custom prevails in Germany, according to the
early habits of all German races; how hopeless it seems ever to be up and
out before the inhabitants of a small German town; and how, in the Rhenish
provinces for instance, the five o’clock Mass in summer, and the six
o’clock in winter, are the most fully attended, even in the severe seasons
of frost and snow.
We felt, therefore, like sluggards as we ascended the paved hill and
mounted the steps leading up to the Hofkirche. It was a bright morning,
and pleasant, good‐humored faces met us, as we paused to notice the
exterior, so plain and unadorned compared to the beautiful Cathedral of
Berne. But this seemed all the more suitable to the simple life of
Lucerne, with which the fact of the church standing, as it does, in the
midst of its cemetery, is in perfect harmony. A curious piece of mediæval
sculpture, representing the Garden of Olives, is let into the wall of one
of the towers, and we were examining it when to our surprise sounds of
music from the inside reached us. But a greater surprise awaited us when,
on entering the church, we found it perfectly full. A most devout
congregation occupied every seat in the nave. On one side knelt the men,
on the opposite the women. Whilst High Mass for the dead was being sung at
an altar outside the choir‐screen, in front of which was placed the bier,
Low Masses were going on at side altars near, and another at the high
altar behind. Everywhere earnestness and devotion were perceptible; and a
more striking contrast to our previous day’s experience in the Cathedral
of Berne, where daily services were unknown, it would be utterly
impossible to imagine. Yet what must such a morning have been there in the
olden days; for even now external advantages are in its favor. The Lucerne
church has far fewer claims to architectural beauty, and its general
ornamentation is in the bad taste of the last century. But these faults
were at the moment imperceptible to us, who had eyes only for the life and
spirit pervading the crowd of worshippers that filled it. It is a fine
church, however, in its own way, and quite in keeping with the character
of the inhabitants. The choir is imposing, and the metal‐work of its
screen excellent. There are old stained‐glass windows too; and a wood
carving of the Death of Our Lady over a side altar would be perfect, were
it not for the amount of gilding and gaudy coloring with which it has been
loaded.
But the benches are the most characteristic point in the building. At one
period they must all have been appropriated, though they are now free; for
each division still retains a shield, on which is painted a coat‐of‐arms
and the name of a citizen, or of his wife or widow, with the date of the
year, going back in some cases to the beginning of the last century. When
High Mass was over, the women in going out passed round by the bier, on
which they sprinkled holy‐water, followed by the men, who seriously and
piously performed the same act of fraternal charity. Thence we followed
them to the small mortuary chapel outside, but so filled was it by a
weeping group that we turned back and sauntered round the covered gallery,
or cloister, which borders this beautiful _Gottesacker_, or “God’s acre,”
as the Germans so truly call their cemeteries. Sauntering it certainly
was; for it was difficult to move quickly, so many were the inscriptions,
so well tended the hundreds of pretty graves. Marks of affection and
remembrance were visible at every step in fresh wreaths and baskets of
beautiful flowers, arranged with a taste and art that told what loving
hearts must have guided the skilful hands that made them. Some good oil‐
paintings and handsome monuments also adorn this gallery; but the most
attractive part of the whole burial‐ground is its eastern end. This is
appropriated to diminutive graves and crosses, hung with white bows of
ribbon and white flowers. We knew that in the Catholic Church there is a
special service for infants—one of pure joy without a word of grief; but
never before had we seen any particular spot set apart for these baptized
little angels. Later, we found that it is a custom universal in the
burial‐grounds of these Catholic cantons; but none that we afterwards saw
ever struck us so much as this one of Lucerne.
The whole place, too, was full of stone stoups, provided with water and
branches of blessed box, wherewith to sprinkle the graves. Foot‐passengers
have a right of way from an upper road through this churchyard, and we saw
many stop, as they passed, to perform this work of charity over a tomb,
with a pious aspiration for the repose of the souls. “Have pity on me, my
friends,” is a prayer well responded to in this touching _Gottesacker_,
where the dead still dwell in the hearts of the living, truly under the
shadow and protecting influence of the church and of the cross. The
doctrines of the Catholic faith in the communion of saints and
intercession for the holy souls in purgatory are here so practically
carried out, that they must get intertwined with the tenderest feelings of
each Lucerner, and developed in their best sense from childhood upwards,
becoming their comfort and mainstay from the cradle to the grave.
And then in what a beautiful position this old church stands—at the head
of the town, guarding its flock, and a beacon to the weary‐minded! From
our guide‐book we learned that originally it had formed part of a
Benedictine convent, and is dedicated to S. Leodegarius, or S. Leger. The
very name of this saint takes us back to the furthest antiquity, to the
earliest days of Christianity in these parts; for he was the great Bishop
of Autun in the VIIth century whose sanctity and courage shone
conspicuously during sixty years in the stormy times of the Clovis and
Clotaire kings and of their _maires du palais_, until he was at last
cruelly put to death by order of Ebroin, one of the most wicked of that
tribe, and who governed in the name of the Frankish king, Theodoric. It
tells, too, of those days when the present Switzerland, having been
included in Charlemagne’s empire, was still fluttering between his
successors in Burgundy and those in Germany; and how far the fame of
saints and martyrs spread and made their mark on countries which, in those
days of slow communication, were distant from their own. The convent
itself must have been an old foundation, for the church was formed into a
collegiate chapter in 1456, and the two existing towers belong to that
period. The remainder, destroyed by fire in 1633, was rebuilt soon after
in the unarchitectural style of that century. Probably we owe the
cloisters round the cemetery and the massive parochial house near, also to
the monastic period. Quite worthy, in any case, of Benedictine refinement
was the view obtained from the open arches on one side of the cloisters.
But alas for modern innovations! My friends remembered this as one of the
most lovely points of view in Switzerland some fifteen years ago; but now
the roof of that huge caravansary, the International Hotel, rises just
high enough close in front to shut out, from all but two openings,
everything save the sight of its own ungainliness. From these two,
however, it is possible to judge what the world has lost, looking out over
the lake and surrounding mountains; and we lingered long, drinking in the
charms of this matchless landscape, which again presented itself under an
aspect quite different from that of the preceding evening.
On returning to the hotel we found Mr. and Mrs. C—— deep in conversation
with Herr H——, who had come according to appointment. He was a shrivelled‐
up, active, little old man of about seventy, formerly professor in a
gymnasium in the north of Germany, but the aim of whose life had been to
save a certain sum, in order to return and end his days in his own beloved
Switzerland. This he had accomplished within the last two years. The C——s
had taken a great fancy to the old man when they made his acquaintance at
Kissingen, and he was now burning to be of some use to them. And a great
help he proved in planning the next week’s excursions, so as to make them
finish off at Einsiedeln on the 14th, the chief feast of that monastery.
The day was perfectly lovely, and the atmosphere so clear that he pleaded
hard to take us up to the Linden Avenue, a terrace walk, twenty‐five
minutes off, and commanding a magnificent panorama. But we should see the
mountains during the rest of our travels, we argued in reply, and our
minds were so full of Wordsworth and Longfellow, and, through them, of the
covered bridges of Lucerne, that we could hear of nothing else. Our party
consisted of Mr. and Mrs. C——, their two daughters, and a good‐humored,
boyish son of eighteen, besides my friend and myself; so at last a
compromise was effected by dividing our forces. One daughter went with Mr.
and Mrs. C—— to the Linden walk, while our new Swiss acquaintance politely
offered to conduct our division over his native place.
Our first visit, as a matter of course, was to “the Lion,” the pride and
glory of modern Lucerne! Turning off from the fussy, bustling quay,
leaving excitement and noise behind, we wandered through quiet, winding
streets that led to the former Zurich road, until, in a leafy recess
containing a large basin filled by trickling water, on which the sun
played through the foliage of the overhanging beech‐trees, this grand king
of animals lay right before us, hewn out of the perpendicular face of the
living rock. Overhead is carved the inscription, _Helvetiorum fidei ac
virtuti_.(32) This monument, erected in memory of the Swiss guards who
fell whilst defending Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette at Versailles, and
on the 2d and 3d of September, 1792, was designed by the great
Thorwaldsen, and executed by a Zurich sculptor, the expenses being
defrayed by subscriptions from all parts of Switzerland. The lion is
dying, the spear still in his side, a bundle of spears under him, but one
paw still firmly clasping the Bourbon shield. It is colossal; the whole
attitude full of strength, firmness, and sorrow—a sorrow inspiring such
sympathy that the longer one looks the more human it appears. Yet it is
not that hopelessly sad expression of his grand Chæronean prototype, which
once having had the good‐fortune to see on the spot, I never can forget.
But then what different events they commemorate! The Greek, the defeat of
an over‐glorious nation, crushed to despair; this of Lucerne, the loss,
but also the noble heroism, of a few of Switzerland’s sons only, who, if
they could be so faithful in the cause of strangers, what might not be
expected from them and their brethren in defence of their own hearths and
homes! And as we stood transfixed to the spot, unwilling to stir, it was
pleasant to hear from Herr H—— that foreign service of this sort has now
ceased. At least no body of Swiss serve abroad together, except as the
Pope’s guards, whose picturesque Michael‐Angelesque costumes must be
remembered by every one that visited Rome in its palmy days. Formerly, not
only did they serve as mercenaries in various countries, but there were
regular treaties in force between the Swiss government and foreign
sovereigns, authorizing the latter to recruit throughout the cantons.
These, however, have been swept away, and this “Lion” is now the only link
with those times. Close by is a chapel where, according to pious custom,
Mass is now and then said for the departed heroes, and the altar cloth of
which has been worked by the Duchesse d’Angoulême, one of Marie
Antoinette’s two children, protected and saved by those very soldiers.
We had not prepared ourselves for this beautiful, poetic work of art, and
hence it was perhaps doubly difficult to leave it; but time pressed, and
Herr H—— led the way back to the brilliant quay. He was eloquent on its
palatial hotels, and proud that in this particular Lucerne is so far ahead
of all other Swiss towns, except perhaps Geneva. But still, he said, this
did not compensate him for olden days. How different it had been in his
boyhood, in the years prior to 1820, when the present Schweizerhof Quay
did not exist! A long, covered wooden bridge, 1,300 feet in length, ran,
in its stead, from the middle of the town, near the Swan Hotel, right
across here to the foot of the Hofkirche. And then, to our intense regret,
we discovered that this was the chief bridge mentioned by Wordsworth in
his continental tour. He first speaks of the Hafellbrücke, still existing,
and then goes on to say:
“Like portraiture, from loftier source, endears
That work of kindred frame, which spans the lake
Just at the point of issue, when it fears
The form and motion of a stream to take;
When it begins to stir, _yet_ voiceless as a snake.
“Volumes of sound, from the cathedral rolled,
This long‐roofed vista penetrate; but see,
One after one, its tablets, that unfold
The whole design of Scripture history;
From the first tasting of the fatal tree,
Till the bright star appeared in eastern skies,
Announcing One was born mankind to free;
His acts, his wrongs, his final sacrifice;
Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes.
“_our_ pride misleads, our timid likings kill.
Long may these homely works devised of old,
These simple efforts of Helvetian skill,
Aid, with congenial influence, to uphold
The state, the country’s destiny to mould;
Turning, for them who pass, the common dust
Of servile opportunity to gold;
Filling the soul with sentiments august—
The beautiful, the brave, the holy, and the just.”
Then in a note he goes on to relate that the pictures on the “cathedral
bridge amounted to 240, all from Scripture history; subjects from the Old
Testament faced the passenger going to the cathedral, and those from the
New as he returns.” What would he have said could he have foreseen such a
speedy annihilation of his aspirations for their long maintenance, and
especially when replaced by all that drives away remembrance of that
“history” and tends to keep men’s thoughts fastened to earth instead of
raised to heaven!
When our first disappointment was over, we learned from Herr H—— that this
quay, now so venerable‐looking from its shady chestnuts, has been won from
the lake, like the Thames embankment, within the last forty years. It has
one advantage, namely: that the whole tourist‐life which brings such gain
to Lucerne has been added on to it, without in any way interfering with
the ordinary life of its inhabitants. Happily, it would be impossible to
change the old part without sweeping it entirely away—a summary proceeding
that no one would think of. The original town lies on a strip of land
between the lake and encircling hills, and is composed of solidly‐built
old houses in narrow streets, that are thoroughly sheltered, but without
any view, and consequently unfit for tourist requirements. Air and
landscape—the two essentials for the wealth‐bringing strangers—were
fortunately found available in the large space gained from the lake, while
the neighboring hills seemed as if especially created for the countless
_pensions_ that now cover them in every direction. “Travellers,” said Herr
H——, “—travellers are the great desire of Lucerne. They supply the place
of trade and manufactures, which we do not possess, except in a small way
in the Krienz valley yonder. Both here and throughout all these forest
cantons, the whole energies of the population are of late years directed
to this object. You will find them building hotels in all directions as
you travel through that district,” pointing to the upper end of the lake,
which we were lingering to admire from the promenade. “It sometimes seems
like over‐building, but the larger the houses, the more quickly they seem
to fill. The crowds that swarm here from June to October, from every
quarter of the globe, are quite marvellous. Since the French war,
especially, the Germans come in shoals. It is becoming like another
invasion of the northerners! I suppose we dare not call them Huns and
Vandals,” he continued, laughing. “But I confess I fear their influence in
the long run, for they are chiefly the population of the manufacturing and
commercial towns of Prussia and the North, and even when they are not
decidedly infidel, they are not overburdened with religion, and are
perfectly indifferent to its observances. I was stopping up at the Kaltbad
for a month this summer, and only a few out of 420 guests ever thought
about Sundays. ‘Who does, when at a watering‐place?’ said some. There was
no Protestant service, it is true, except the English, but still there
might have been some difference made between it and other days; but,
except amongst the Catholics, one could notice none, unless that the
dinner was sometimes rather better than on week‐days. And even the foreign
Catholics were often very lukewarm. It is a very bad example, to say the
least, for the natives. Fortunately, however, the strangers mix with them
very little, and they fall back into their customary life when these
crowds go home about the end of September. Then all is changed. The
country hotels shut up, and even here they dismiss their large staff of
servants, and only keep a small portion of each house open. But they are
looking forward to a great increase of winter business in Lucerne later,
when the St. Gothard tunnel, which is now begun, shall be finished;
though, of course, it will be nothing compared to the summer influx.”
“And what becomes of the poor servants?” I asked. “Are they turned adrift
on the world?”
“Oh! dear, no. They are engaged for the hotels at Nice and Mentone, and
all along the Riviera, in bodies of a hundred at a time. If you happen to
go south in November, you will doubtless fall in with many a Kellner or a
house‐maid you met up here in the summer. That is the form the Swiss
foreign service has taken in our days of steam and easy communication. And
very much they distinguish themselves. Both men and women are considered
more honest and active than those of any other nation, and consequently
are at a premium. That wonderful race of ‘Kellners’—a race apart—which
goes by the generic name of German waiter, is largely composed of the
Swiss element. Strangely enough, however, every waitress you meet, even in
these districts, is certain to come from the canton of Berne. The women
there have a _spécialité_ in that line. The peasants of the Catholic
cantons keep to the housemaid department, as a rule, and our Lucerne
maidens become ladies’ maids or governesses in English families. And very
well they turn out, too. Both in this town and in the rural cantons they
are a solidly good, pious population. Very conservative also; in fact,
most conservative, in spite of our staunch republicanism, and most united
at the same time.”
It suddenly occurred to us to ask whose funeral we had seen that morning.
“No doubt of some distinguished citizen?”
“No,” replied Herr H——, “not particularly distinguished; only an old and
highly‐respected tradesman. Oh! no; that is an every‐day occurrence. All
the neighbors consider it a duty to attend the High Mass and to pray for
each other. I was there, amongst others, just before I went to the Beau
Rivage Hotel; for, although I have spent so many years away from Lucerne,
I knew this man from my earliest childhood, and he has been working all
his life for every one you saw there this morning, so that the least we
might do was to go and pray for the repose of his soul, poor fellow! They
will do the same for each one of us in turn. Here is a column of
advertisements, composed of nothing but ‘Thanks’ from relatives,” he said,
drawing a Lucerne daily paper from out of his pocket, and amongst the
number we read the following touching one:
“The widow and children of —— return their heartfelt thanks to all the
kind friends who spontaneously attended the High Mass for, and the funeral
of, their lamented husband and father on ——. They are not only grateful
for this mark of respect, but they wish to assure these good neighbors
that the loving sympathy and the kind manner in which it was offered by
each, have done more to soften their grief than they can now express.”
“We are a small community,” continued Herr H——,“ only 14,500
inhabitants—simple folk, working our way on through life without any rich
manufacturers or overgrown proprietors, as at Zurich, Berne, and Geneva,
so there cannot be much rivalry or pretension. You will not find private
villas or large châteaus round this lake—nothing, for instance, even like
those handsome ones on the Lake of Thun; but we all hold together, and I
only hope the young generation will continue to walk in the footsteps of
their fathers.”
To Be Concluded Next Month.