Time had glided along so agreeably ever since my arrival at
Langen-Schwalbach, my body had enjoyed such perpetual motion, my mind
such absolute rest, that I had almost forgotten, though my holiday was
nearly over, I had not yet reached the intended _nec plus ultra_ of
my travels--namely, Schlangenbad, or the Serpents' Bath. On the spur
of the moment, therefore, I ordered a carriage; and, with my wallet
lying by my side, having bidden adieu to a simple-hearted village,
which, for the short remainder of my days, I believe, I shall remember
with regard, I continued for some time gradually to ascend its eastern
boundary, until I arrived nearly at the summit or pinnacle of the
Taunus hills. The view from this point was very extensive indeed, and
the park-like appearance of the whole of the lofty region or upper
story of Nassau formed a prospect at once noble and pleasing. The
Langen-Schwalbach band of wind-instruments was playing deep beneath me
in the valley, but hidden by the fog, its sound was so driven about by
the wind, that had I not recognized the tunes I but faintly heard, I
should not have been able to determine from what point of the compass
they proceeded. Sometimes they seemed to rise, like the mist, from one
valley--sometimes from another--occasionally I fancied they were like
the hurricane, sweeping across the surface of the country, and once I
could almost have declared that the Æolian band was calmly seated above
me in the air.
The numberless ravines which intersect Nassau were not discernible from
the spot where my carriage had halted, and Langen-Schwalbach was so
muffled in its peaceful retreat, that a stranger could scarcely have
guessed it existed.
From this elevated point the Taunus hills began gradually to fall
towards Wiesbaden and Frankfort; but a branch road, suddenly turning to
the right, rapidly descended, or rather meandered down a long, rocky,
narrow ravine, clothed with beech and oak-trees to its summit.
With a wheel of the carriage dragged, as I glided fast down this
romantic valley, the scenery, compared with what I had just left, was
on a very confined, contracted scale--in short, nothing was to be seen
but a trickling stream running down the grassy bottom of a valley, and
hills which appeared to environ it on both sides; besides this, the
road writhed and bent so continually, that I could seldom see a quarter
of a mile of it at once.
After descending about three-quarters of a league, I came to a new
turn, and here SCHLANGENBAD, the SERPENTS' BATH, dressed in its magic
mantle of tranquillity, suddenly appeared not only before, but within
less than a hundred yards of me.
This secluded spot, to which such a number of people annually retreat,
consists of nothing but an immense old building, or "Bad-Haus," a new
one, with two or three little mills, which, fed, as it were, by the
crumbs that fall from the rich man's table, are turned by the famous
spring of water, after fine, fashionable ladies have done washing
themselves in it.
When the carriage stopped, my first impression (which but too often,
I regret to say, has been an erroneous one) was not in favour of the
place; for, though its colours were certainly very beautiful, yet,
from being so completely surrounded by hills, it seemed to wear some
of the features of a prison; and when, my vehicle driving away, I was
first left by myself, I felt for a moment that the little band of
music, which was playing upon the terrace above my head, was not quite
competent to enliven the scene. However, after I had walked in various
directions about this sequestered spot, sufficiently not only to become
acquainted with its _locale_, but to discover that it possessed a
number of modest beauties, completely veiled from the passing gaze of
the stranger, I went to the old "Bad-Haus," to obtain rooms from the
bath-master (appointed by the Duke), who has charge of both these great
establishments.
I found the little man seated in his office, in the agony of
calculating upon a slate the amount of seven times nine; perceiving,
however, that instead of multiplying the two figures together, he had
reared up a ladder of seven nines, which he was slowly ascending, step
by step, I felt quite unwilling to interrupt him; and as his wife
appeared to be gifted with all or many of the little abilities in which
he might have been deficient, I gladly availed myself of her offer
to show me over the two buildings, in order that I might select some
apartments.
The old "Bad-Haus," and Hotel de Nassau, which, being united together,
form one of the two great buildings I have mentioned, are situated
on the side of the hill close to the macadamized road which leads to
Mainz; and to give some idea of the gigantic scale on which these sorts
of German bathing establishments are constructed, I will state, that in
this rambling "Bad-Haus" I counted 443 windows, and that, without ever
twice going over the same ground, I found the passages measured 409
paces, or, as nearly as possible, a quarter of a mile!
Below this immense barrack, and on the opposite side of the road,
is the new "Bad-Haus," or bathing house, pleasantly situated in a
shrubbery. This building (which contains 172 windows) is of a modern
construction, and straddling across the bottom of the valley, the
celebrated water, which rises milk-warm from the rock, after supplying
the baths on the lower story, runs from beneath it. No sooner,
however, does the fluid escape from the building, than a group of poor
washerwomen, standing up to their knees on a sheet, which is stretched
upon the ground, humbly make use of it before it has time to get to the
two little mills which are patiently waiting for it about a couple of
hundred yards below.
After having passed, in the two establishments, an immense number
of rooms, each furnished by the Duke with white window-curtains, a
walnut-tree bed with bedding; a chestnut-tree table, an elastic spring
sofa, and three or four walnut-tree chairs, the price of each room
(on an average from 10_d._ to 2_s._ a-day) being painted on the door,
I complimented the good, or, to give her her proper title, the "bad"
lady who attended me, on the plain, but useful order in which they
appeared; in return for which she very obligingly offered to show me
the source of the famous water, for the sake of which two such enormous
establishments had been erected.
In the history of the little duchy of Nassau, the discovery of this
spring forms a story full of innocence and simplicity. Once upon a time
there was a heifer, with which everything in nature seemed to disagree.
The more she ate, the thinner she grew--the more her mother licked
her hide, the rougher and the more staring was her coat. Not a fly in
the forest would bite her--never was she seen to chew the cud, but
hide-bound, and melancholy, her hips seemed actually to be protruding
from her skin. What was the matter with her no one knew--what could
cure her no one could divine;--in short, deserted by her master and her
species, she was, as the faculty would term it, "given over."
In a few weeks, however, she suddenly re-appeared among the herd,
with ribs covered with flesh--eyes like a deer--skin sleek as a
mole's--breath sweetly smelling of milk--saliva hanging in ringlets
from her jaw! Every day seemed to re-establish her health; and the
phenomenon was so striking, that the herdsman, feeling induced to watch
her, discovered that regularly every evening she wormed her way, in
secret, into the forest, until she reached an unknown spring of water,
from which, having refreshed herself, she quietly returned to the
valley.
The trifling circumstance, scarcely known, was almost forgotten by
the peasant, when a young Nassau lady began decidedly to show exactly
the same incomprehensible symptoms as the heifer. Mother, sisters,
friends, father, all tried to cure her, but in vain; and the physician
had actually
"Taken his leave with sighs and sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow,"
when the herdsman, happening to hear of her case, prevailed upon her,
at last, to try the heifer's secret remedy--she did so; and, in a very
short time, to the utter astonishment of her friends, she became one of
the stoutest and roundest young women in the duchy.
What had suddenly cured one sick lady was soon deemed a proper
prescription for others, and all cases meeting with success, the
spring, gradually rising into notice, received its name from a
circumstance which I shall shortly explain. In the meanwhile, I will
observe, that even to this day horses are brought by the peasants to
be bathed, and I have good authority for believing, that in cases
of slight consumption of the lungs (a disorder common enough among
horses), the animal recovers his flesh with surprising rapidity--nay, I
have seen even the pigs bathed, though I must own that _they_ appeared
to have no other disorder except hunger. But to return to the "bad"
lady.
After following her through a labyrinth of passages (one of which
not only leant sideways, but had an ascent like a hill), she at last
unlocked a door, which was no sooner opened, than I saw glide along the
floor close by me a couple of small serpents! As the lady was talking
very earnestly at the time, I merely flinched aside as they passed,
without making any observation; but after I had crossed a small garden,
she pointed to a door which she said was that of the source, and while
she stopped to speak to one of the servants, I advanced alone, and
opening the gate, saw beneath me a sort of brunnen with three serpents
about the size of vipers swimming about in it! Unable to contain my
surprise, I made a signal to the lady with my staff, and as she hurried
towards me, I still pointed to the reptiles, as if to know why in the
name of Æsculapius they were allowed thus to contaminate the source of
the baths?
In the calmest manner possible, my conductress (who seemed perfectly to
comprehend my sensations) replied, "_Au contraire, c'est ce qui donne
qualité à ces eaux!_"
The quantity of these reptiles, or Schlangen, that exist in the woods
surrounding the spring is very great; and they of course have given
their name to the place. When full grown they are about five feet long,
and in hot weather are constantly seen gliding across the paths, or
rustling under the dead leaves of the forest.
As soon as the lady had shown me the whole establishment, she strongly
recommended me to take up my abode in the old "Bad-Haus;" however,
on my first arrival, in crossing the promenade in front of it, I had
caught a glimpse of some talkative old ladies, whose tongues and
knitting needles seemed to be racing against each other, which made
it very advisable to decline the polite invitation; and I accordingly
selected apartments at one extremity of the new Bad-Haus, my windows
on the north looking into the shrubbery, those on the east upon the
two little water-mills, revolving in the green lonely valley of
Schlangenbad.
The cell of the hermit can hardly be more peaceful than this abode: it
is true it was not only completely inhabited (there being no more rooms
unoccupied), but it was teeming with people many of whom are known in
the great world. For instance, among its inmates were the Princess
Romanow, first wife of the late Grand Duke Constantine of Russia--the
Duke of Saxe-Coburg--the Prince of Hesse Homburg (whose brother, the
late Landgrave, married the Princess Elizabeth of England)--a Prussian
Minister from Berlin, and occasionally the Princess Royal of Prussia,
married to the son of King Frederic William. No part of the building
was exclusively occupied by these royal guests, but paying for their
rooms no more than the prices marked upon the doors, they ascended the
same staircase and walked along the same passages with the humblest
inmates of the place. Yet within the narrow dominion of their own
chamber, visiters were received with every attention due to form and
etiquette. The silence and apparent solitude which reigned, however,
in this new "Bad-Haus" was to me always a subject of astonishment and
admiration. Sometimes a person would be seen carefully locking his
door, and then, with the key in his pocket, quietly stealing along the
passage: at other times, a lady might be caught on tip-toes softly
ascending the stairs; but neither steps nor voices were to be heard;
and far from witnessing anything like ostentation, it seemed to me that
concealment was rather the order of the day. As soon as it grew dark, a
single wick floating in a small glass lamp, open at the top, was placed
at each great entrance door; and another at each extremity of the
long passages into which the rooms on each floor communicated, giving
the visiters just light enough to avoid running against the walls: in
obscure weather, there was also a lamp here and there in the shrubbery,
but as long as the pale moon shone in the heavens, its lovely light was
deemed sufficient.
A table d'hôte dinner, at a florin for each person, was daily prepared,
for all, or any, who might choose to attend it; and for about the same
price, a dinner with knives, forks, table-cloth, napkins, &c., would
be forwarded to any guest who, like myself, was fond of the luxury of
solitude: coffee and tea were cheap in proportion.
I have dwelt long upon these apparently trifling details, because,
humble as they may sound, I conceive that they contain a very important
moral. How many of our country people are always raving about the
cheapness of the Continent, and how many every year break up their
establishments in England to go in search of it; yet, if we had but
sense, or rather courage enough to live at home as economically and as
rationally as princes and people of all ranks live throughout the rest
of Europe, how unnecessary would be the sacrifice, and how much real
happiness would be the result!
The baths at Schlangenbad are the most harmless and delicious luxuries
of the sort I have ever enjoyed; and I really quite looked forward to
the morning for the pleasure with which I paid my addresses to this
delightful element. The effect the water produces on the skin is very
singular; it is about as warm as milk, but infinitely softer: and after
dipping the hand into it, if the thumb be rubbed against the fingers,
it is said by many to resemble satin. Nevertheless, whatever may be
its sensation, when the reader reflects that people not only come to
these baths from Russia, but that the water in stone bottles, merely
as a cosmetic, is sent to St. Petersburg and other distant parts of
Europe, he will admit that it must be soft indeed to have gained for
itself such an extraordinary degree of celebrity: for there is no
town at Schlangenbad, not even a village--nothing therefore but the
real or fancied charm of the water could attract people into a little
sequestered valley, which in every sense of the word is out of sight of
the civilized world; and yet I must say, that I never remember to have
existed in a place which possessed such fascinating beauties; besides
which (to say nothing of breathing pure, dry air), it is no small
pleasure to live in a skin which puts all people in good humour--at
least, with themselves. But besides the cosmetic charms of this water,
it is declared to possess virtues of more substantial value: it is said
to tranquillize the nerves, to soothe all inflammation; and from this
latter property; the cures of consumption which are reported to have
been effected, among human beings and cattle, may have proceeded. Yet
whatever _good_ effect the water may have upon this insidious disorder,
its first operation most certainly must be to neutralize the _bad_
effect of the climate, which to consumptive patients must decidedly
be a very severe trial, for delightful as it is to people in robust
health, yet the keenness of the mountain air, together with the sudden
alternations of temperature to which the valley of Schlangenbad is
exposed, must, I think, be anything but a remedy for weak lungs.
The effect produced upon the skin, by lying about twenty minutes in the
bath, I one day, happened to overhear a short, fat Frenchman describe
to his friend in the following words--"_Monsieur, dans ces bains on
devient absolument amoureux de soi-même!_" I cannot exactly corroborate
this Gallic statement, yet I must admit that limbs, even old ones,
gradually do appear as if they were converted into white marble. The
skin assumes a sort of glittering, phosphoric brightness, resembling
very much white objects, which, having been thrown overboard, in calm
weather within the tropics, many of my readers have probably watched
sinking in the ocean, which seems to blanch and illuminate them as
they descend. The effect is very extraordinary, and I know not how to
account for it, unless it be produced by some prismatic refraction,
caused by the peculiar particles with which the fluid is impregnated.
The Schlangenbad water contains the muriates and carbonates of lime,
soda, and magnesia, with a slight excess of carbonic acid which holds
the carbonates in solution. The celebrated embellishment which it
produces on the skin is, in my opinion, a sort of corrosion, which
removes tan, or any other artificial covering that the surface may
have attained from exposure and ill-treatment by the sun and wind.
In short the body is cleaned by it, just as a kitchen-maid scours
her copper saucepan; and the effect being evident, ladies modestly
approach it from the most distant parts of Europe. I am by no means
certain, however, that they receive any permanent benefit; indeed, on
the contrary, I should think that their skins would eventually become,
if anything, coarser, from the removal of a slight veil or covering,
intended by Nature as a protection to the cuticle.
But whether this water be permanently beneficial to ladies or not, the
softness it gives to the whole body is quite delightful; and with two
elements, air and water, in perfection, I found that I grew every hour
more and more attached to the place.
On the cellar-floor, or lower story of my abode ("the New Bad-Haus"),
where the baths are situated, there lived an old man and his wife,
whose duty it was to prepare the baths, and to give towels, &c. I do
not know whether the Schlangenbad waters corrode the temper as well
as the skin, yet, certainly, this old couple appeared to me to be
continually quarrelling; and every little trifle I required for my
bath, though given to me with the greatest good-will, seemed to form
a subject of jealous dispute between this subterranean pair. The old
woman, however, invariably got the best of the argument,--a triumph
which I suspect proceeded more from her physical than moral powers: in
short, as is occasionally the case, the old gentleman was afraid of his
companion; and I observed that his attitude, as he argued, very much
resembled that of a cat in a corner, when spitting in the face of a
terrier dog. Finding that they did not work happily together, I always
managed to prevent both of them coming to me at once. The old woman,
however, insisted on preparing my bath; and, with a great pole in one
hand, stirring up the water--a thermometer in the other, and a pair
of spectacles blinded with steam on her nose, she very good-naturedly
brought the temperature of the water to the proper degree, which is
said to be 27 of Reaumur.
After I had had my bath, the old wife being out of the way, I one day
paid a visit of compliment to her husband, who had shown, by many
little attempted attentions, that he was, had he dared, as anxious
as his partner to serve me. With great delight, he showed me several
bottles full of serpents; and then, opening a wooden box, he took
out, as a fisherwoman would handle eels, some very long ones--one of
which (first looking over his shoulder to see that a certain personage
was away) he put upon a line, which she had stretched across the
room for drying clothes. In order, I suppose, to demonstrate to me
that the reptile was harmless, he took it off the rope, along which
it was moving very quickly; and, without submitting his project for
my approbation, he suddenly placed it on my breast, along which it
crawled, until, stretching its long neck with half its body into
the air, it held on, in a most singular manner, by a single fold in
the cloth, which, by a sort of contortion of the vertebræ, it firmly
grasped.
The old man, apparently highly satisfied with this first act of his
entertainment, gravely proceeded to show living serpents of all colours
and sizes,--stuffed serpents, and serpents' skins,--all of which seemed
very proper hobbies, to amuse the long winter evenings of the aged
servant of Schlangenbad, or the Serpents' Bath.
At last, however, the fellow's dry, blanched, wrinkled face began
to smile. Grinning, as he slowly mounted on a chair, he took from a
high shelf a broad-mouthed, white glass bottle, and then, in a sort
of savage ecstasy, pronouncing the word "BAROMET!" he placed it in my
hands.
The bottle was about half full of dirty water--a few dead flies and
crumbs of bread were at the bottom--and near the top there was a small
piece of thin wood which went about half across the phial. Upon this
slender scaffolding, its fishy eyes staring upwards at a piece of
coarse linen, which, being tied round the mouth, served as a cork--the
shrivelled skin of its under-jaw moving at every sweltering breath
which it took--there sat a large, speckled, living toad!
Like Sterne's captive, he had not by his side "a bundle of sticks,
notched with all the dismal days and nights he had passed there;" yet
their sum total was as clearly expressed in the unhealthy colour of the
poor creature's skin; and certainly, in my lifetime, I never had seen
what might truly be called--a sick toad.
It was quite impossible to help pitying any living being, confined by
itself in so miserable a dungeon. However, the old man's eyes were
beaming with pride and delight at what he conceived to be his own
ingenuity--and exclaiming "Schönes Wetter!" (fine weather!) he pointed
to the wood-work on which the poor creature was sitting--and then he
exultingly explained that, so soon as it should be going to rain, the
toad would get down into the water. "BAROMET!" repeated the old fellow,
grinning from ear to ear, as, mounting on the chair, he replaced his
prisoner on the shelf.
My first impression was, "_coûte qui coûte_," to buy this
barometer,--carry its poor captive to the largest marsh I could
find,--and then, breaking the bottle into shivers, to give him, what
toads appreciate better than mankind--liberty; but, on reflecting a
moment, I felt quite sure that the old inquisitor would soon procure
another subject for torture; and, as with toads as with ourselves,
"_c'est le premier pas qui coûte_," I thought it better that this poor
imprisoned creature, to a certain degree accustomed to his misery,
should exist in it, than that a fresh toad should suffer:--it also
occurred to me, that if I should dare to purchase his rude instrument,
the ingenious, unfeeling old wretch of a philosopher might be
encouraged to make others for sale.
The old bath, or "bad" man, had vipers' nests, their eggs, and many
other Caliban curiosities, which he was desirous to show me; but
having seen quite enough for one morning's visit, and besides, hearing
his wife's tongue coming along the subterranean passage, I left
him--her--toad--reptiles, &c., to fret away their existence, while I
rose into far brighter regions above them.
After ascending a couple of flights of stairs, I strolled for some
time on the little parade, which is close to the entrance of the old
"Bad-Haus;" but the benches being all occupied by people listening to
the band of music, and besides, not liking the artificial passages
of hedges cut, without metaphor, to the quick, I bade adieu to the
scene; and, entering the great forest, with which the hills in every
direction were clothed to their summits, I ascended a steep, broad road
(across which a couple of schlangens glided close by me), until I came
to a hut, from which there is a very pleasing home view of the little
valley of Schlangenbad. It is certainly a most romantic spot, and that
it had appeared so to others was evident, from a marble pillar and
inscription which stood on the edge of a precipice before me. The tale
it commemorated is simply beautiful. The Count de Grunne, the Dutch
Ambassador at Frankfort, having, in the healthy autumn of his life,
come to Schlangenbad, with his young wife, was so enchanted with the
loveliness of the country, the mildness of the air, and the exquisite
softness of the water, that, quite unable to contain himself, on a
black marble column he caused to be sculptured, as emblems of himself
and his companion, two crested schlangens, eating leaves (apparently a
salad) out of the same bowl--with the following pathetic inscription:--
EN
Reconnaissance
Des Délicieuses Saisons
Passées Ici Ensemble
Par
CHARLES C'te DEGRUNNE
Et
BETSI C'tesse DEGRUNNE.
1830.
Leaving this quiet sentimental bower, and descending the hill,
I entered the great pile of buildings of the old Bad-Haus, or
Nassauer-Hof, and as I was advancing along one of its endless passages,
I passed an open door, from which a busy hum proceeded which clearly
proclaimed it to be a school. My grave Mentor-like figure was no
sooner observed silently standing at its portal, than its master, a
short, slight, hectic-looking lad, scarcely twenty, seemed to feel
an unaccountable desire to form my acquaintance. Begging me to enter
his small literary dominion, he very modestly requested leave to be
permitted to explain to me the nature of the studies he was imparting
to his subjects; the little creatures, from their benches, looking at
me all the time with the same sort of fear with which mice look into
the face of a bull-dog, or frogs at the terrific bill and outline of a
stork.
Having, by a slight inclination, accepted this offer, the young Dominie
commenced by stating that all the children in Nassau are _obliged_,
by order of the Duke, to go to school, from six to fourteen years of
age;--that the parents of a child, who has intentionally missed, are
forced to pay two kreuzers the first time, four the second, six the
third, and that if they are too poor to pay these fines, they are
obliged to work them out in hard labour, or are otherwise punished for
their children's neglect;--that the inhabitants of each village pay
the schoolmaster among themselves, in proportions, varying according
to their means, but that the Duke prescribes what the children are to
learn--namely, religion, singing, reading, writing, Scripture history,
the German language, natural history, geography, and accounts;--and
that the mode of imparting this education is grounded upon the system
of Pestalozzi.
This introductory explanation being concluded, the young master now
displayed to me specimens of his scholars' writing--showed me their
slates covered with sums in the first rules of arithmetic--and then
calling up several girls and boys, he placed his wand in the hand of
each trembling little urchin, who one by one was desired to point
out upon maps, which hung against the walls, the great oceans, seas,
mountains, and capitals of our globe. Having expressed my unqualified
approbation of the zeal and attention with which this excellent young
man had evidently been labouring, at the arduous, "never-ending, still
beginning" duties of his life, I was about to depart, when, as a last
favour, he anxiously intreated me to hear his children, for one moment,
sing; and striking the table with his wand, it instantly, as if it had
been a tuning fork, called them to attention--at a second blow on the
table, they pushed aside their slates and books--at a third, opening
their eyes as wide as they could, they inflated their tiny lungs
brimfull--and at a fourth blow, in full cry, they all opened, to my
no small astonishment, mouths which, in blackness of inside, exactly
resembled a pack of King Charles's spaniels: had the children been
drinking ink, their tongues and palates could not have been darker; and
though, accompanied by their master, the psalm they were singing was
simply beautiful, and though their infantine voices streaming along
the endless passages produced a reverberation which was exceedingly
pleasing, yet there was something so irresistibly comic in their
appearance, that any countenance but my own would have smiled.
The cause of the odd-looking phenomenon suddenly occurred to
me,--having, in the morning, observed several peasants, whose trowsers
at the knees were stained perfectly black, by their having knelt down
to pick bilberries, which grow on the forest-covered hills of Nassau
in the greatest profusion. The children had evidently been grazing on
the same ground, and as soon as the idea occurred, I observed by their
little black fingers that my solution of the dark problem was correct.
Returning to my residence, the New Bad-Haus, the sun, though much
less weary than myself, having sunk to rest, I sat alone for some
time in one of the bowers of the shrubbery belonging to the building.
Occasionally a human figure, scarcely visible from the deep shade of
the trees, glided slowly by me, but whether that of a prince or a
peasant I neither knew nor cared. What interested me infinitely more,
was to observe the fire-flies, which, with small lanterns in their
tails, were either soaring close above me, or sparkling among the
bushes. The bright emerald green light which they possessed was lovely
beyond description, yet apparently they had only received permission to
display it so long as they remained on the wing--and as two young ones,
gliding before me, rested for a moment on a rose-leaf, at my side,
the instant they closed their wings, they were left together in total
darkness. Some (probably old ones) steadily sailing, passed me, as if
on business, while others, dancing in the air, had evidently no object
except pleasure; yet, whether flying in a circle or in a line, each
little creature, as it proceeded, gaily illuminated its own way, and
like a pure, cheerful, well-conditioned mind, it also shed a trifling
lustre on whatever it approached.
As I sat here alone in the dark, I could not drive from my mind the
interesting picture I had just been witnessing in the little village
school of Schlangenbad.
We are all in England so devotedly attached to that odd, easily
pronounced, but difficult to be defined word--liberty, that there
is, perhaps, nothing we should all at once set our backs, our faces,
and our heads against more, than a national compulsatory system of
education, similar to that prescribed in Nassau; and yet, if law has
the power to punish crime, there seems at first to exist no very
strong reason why it should not also be permitted, by education, to
prevent it. Every respectable parent in our country will be ready to
admit, that the most certain recipe for making his son a useful, a
happy, and a valuable member of society, is carefully to attend to
the cultivation of his mind. We all believe that good seeds can be
sown there, that bad ones can be eradicated--that ignorance leads
a child to error and crime--that his mental darkness, like a town,
can be illuminated--that the judgment (his only weapon against his
passions) can, like the blacksmith's arm, by use, be strengthened;
and if it be thus universally admitted that education is one of the
most valuable properties a rational being can bequeath to his own
child, it would seem to follow that a parental government might claim
(at least before Heaven) nearly as much right to sentence a child to
education, as a criminal to the gallows. Nevertheless, as a curious
example of the difference in national taste, it may be observed, that
though in England judges and juries can anywhere be found to condemn
the body, they would everywhere be observed to shrink at the very idea
of chastening the mind; they see no moral or religious objection to
imprison the former, but they all agree that it would be a political
offence to liberate the latter. Although our poor-laws oblige every
parish to feed, house, and clothe its offspring, yet in England it is
thought wrong to enforce any national provision for the mind, and yet
the Duke of Nassau might argue, that in a civilized community children
have no more natural _right_ to be brought up ignorant than naked; in
short, that if the mildest government be justified in forcing a man,
for decency's sake, to envelop his body, it might equally claim the
power of obliging him, for the welfare, prosperity, and advancement of
the community--to develop his mind.
Into so complicated an argument I feel myself quite incompetent to
enter; yet were I at this moment to be leaving this world, there is
no one assertion I think I could more solemnly maintain--there is
no important fact I am more seriously convinced of--and there is no
evidence which, from the observation of my whole life, I could more
conscientiously deliver, than that, as far as I have been capable of
judging, our system of education in England has produced, does produce,
and so long as it be persisted in, must produce, the most lamentable
political effects.
Strange as it may sound, I believe few people will, on reflection,
deny, what a most remarkable difference exists between a man and what
is termed mankind--in fact, between the intelligence of the human being
and that of the species to which he belongs.
If a man of common or of the commonest abilities be watched throughout
a day, it is quite delightful to remark how cleverly he adapts his
conduct to the various trifling unforeseen circumstances which
occur--how shrewdly, as through a labyrinth, he pursues his own
interests, and with what alacrity he can alter his plans, or, as it
is vulgarly termed, change his mind, the instant it becomes advisable
for him to do so. Appeal to him on any plain subject, and you find
him gifted with quick perception, possessed with ready judgment,
and with his mind sparkling with intelligence. Now, mix a dozen
such men together, and intellect instantly begins to coagulate; in
short, by addition you have produced subtraction. One man means what
he cannot clearly explain--another ably expresses what he did not
exactly mean--one, while disputing his neighbour's judgment, neglects
his own--another indolently reclines his head upon his neighbour's
brain--one does not care to see--another forgets to foresee--in short,
though any one pilot could steer the vessel into port, with twelve
at the helm she inevitably runs upon the rocks. Now, instead of a
dozen men, if anything be committed to the care, judgment, or honour
of a large body, or, as it is not improperly termed, a "corporation"
of men, their torpor, apathy, and sloth are infinitely increased, and
when, instead of a corporation, it be left to that nonentity, a whole
nation--the total neglect it meets with is beyond all remedy. In short,
the individuals of a community, compared with the community itself,
are like a swarm of bees compared with bees that have swarmed or clung
together in a lump; and as the countryman stands shaking the dull mass
from the bough, one can scarcely believe that it is composed of little,
active, intelligent, busy creatures, each armed with a sting as well
as with knowledge, and arrangements which one can hardly sufficiently
admire. If this theory be correct, it will account at once for our
unfortunate system of education in England, which, being everybody's
duty, is therefore nobody's duty, and which, like
"The child whom many fathers share,
Has never known a father's care."
In the evening of a long, toilsome life, if a man were to be obliged
solemnly to declare what, without any exception, has been the most
lovely thing which on the surface of this earth it has been his
good fortune to witness, I conceive that, without hesitation, he
might reply--_The mind of a young child_. Indeed, if we believe that
creation, with all its charms, was beneficently made for man, it seems
almost to follow that his mind, that mirror in which every minute
object is to be reflected, must be gifted with a polish sufficiently
high to enable it to receive the lovely and delicate images created
for its enjoyment. Accordingly, we observe with what delight a child
beholds light--colours--flowers--fruit, and every new object that
meets his eye; and we all know that before his judgment be permitted
to interfere, for many years he feels, or rather suffers, a thirst for
information which is almost insatiable.
He desires, and very naturally desires, to know what the moon is?--what
are the stars?--where the rain, wind, and storm come from? With
innocent simplicity he asks, what becomes of the light of a candle when
it is blown out? Any story or any history he greedily devours; and so
strongly does his youthful mind retain every sort of image impressed
upon it, that it is well known his after life is often incapable of
obliterating the terror depicted there by an old nurse's tales of
ghosts, and hobgoblins of darkness.
Now with their minds in this pure, healthy, voracious state, the sons
of all our noblest families, and of the most estimable people in the
country, are, after certain preparations, eventually sent to those
slaughter-houses of the understanding, our public schools, where,
weaned from the charms of the living world, they are nailed to the
study of two dead languages--like galley-slaves, they are chained to
these oars, and are actually flogged if they neglect to labour. Instead
of imbibing knowledge suited to their youthful age, they are made to
learn the names of Actæon's hounds--to study the life of Alexander's
horse--to know the fate of Alcibiades's dog;--in short, it is too
well known that Dr. Lempriere made 3000_l._ a-year by the sale of a
dictionary, in which he had amassed, "for the use of schools," tales
and rubbish of this description. The poor boy at last "gets," as it
is termed, "into Ovid," where he is made to study everything which
human ingenuity could invent to sully, degrade, and ruin the mind of a
young person. The Almighty Creator of the Universe is caricatured by
a set of grotesque personages termed gods and goddesses, so grossly
sensual, so inordinately licentious, that were they to-day to appear in
London, before sunset they would probably be every one of them where
they ought to be--at the tread-mill. The poor boy, however, must pore
over all their amours, natural and unnatural;--he must learn the birth,
parentage, and education of each, with the biography of their numerous
offspring, earthly as well as unearthly. He must study love-letters
from the heavens to the earth, and metamorphoses which have almost
all some low, impure object. The only geography he learns is "the
world known to the ancients." Although a member of the first maritime
nation on the globe, he learns no nautical science but that possessed
by people who scarcely dared to leave their shores; all his knowledge
of military life is that childish picture of it which might fairly be
entitled "war without gunpowder." But even the little which on these
subjects he does learn, is so mixed up with fable, that his mind gets
puzzled and debilitated to such a degree, that he becomes actually
unable to distinguish truth from falsehood, and when he reads that
Hannibal melted the Alps with vinegar, he does not know whether it be
really true or not.
In this degraded state, with the energy and curiosity of their young
minds blunted--actually nauseating the intellectual food which they
had once so naturally desired, a whole batch of boys at the age of
about fourteen[1] are released from their schools to go on board men
of war, where they are to strive to become the heroes of their day.
They sail from their country ignorant of almost everything that has
happened to it since the days of the Romans--having been obliged to
look upon all the phenomena of nature, as well as the mysteries of art,
without explanation, their curiosity for information on such subjects
has subsided. They lean against the capstan, but know nothing of its
power--they are surrounded by mechanical contrivances of every sort,
but understand them no more than they do the stars in the firmament.
They steer from one country to another, ignorant of the customs,
manners, prejudices, or languages of any; they know nothing of the
effect of climate--it requires almost a fever to drive them from the
sun; in fact they possess no practical knowledge. The first lesson they
learn from adversity is their own guiltless ignorance, and no sooner
are they in real danger, than they discover how ill spent has been the
time they have devoted to the religion of the heathen--how vain it is
in affliction to patter over the names of Actæon and his hounds!
That in spite of all these disadvantages, a set of high-bred,
noble-spirited young men eventually become, as they really do, an
honour to their country, is no proof that their early education has not
done all in its power to prevent them. But, to return to those we left
at our public schools.
As these boys rise, they become, as we all know, more and more
conversant in the dead languages, until the fatal period arrives, when,
proudly laden with these two panniers, they proceed to one of our
universities. Arriving, for instance, at Oxford, they find a splendid
high street, magnificently illuminated with gas, filled with handsome
shops, traversed by the mail, macadamized, and, like every other part
of our great commercial country, beaming with modern intelligence. In
this street, however, they are not permitted to reside, but, conducted
to the right and left, they meander among mouldering monastic-looking
buildings, until they reach the cloisters of the particular college to
which they are sentenced to belong. By an ill-judged misnomer, they are
from this moment encouraged, even by their preceptors, to call each
other _men_; and a _man_ of seventeen, "too tall for school," talks
of another _man_ of eighteen, as gravely as I always mention the name
of my prototype Methusalem. What their studies are, will sufficiently
appear from what is required of them, when they come before the public
as candidates for their degrees. At this examination, which is to give
them, throughout their country, the rank of finished scholars, these
self-entitled _men_ are gravely examined first of all in Divinity,--and
then, as if in scorn of it, almost in the same breath, they descant
about the God of this vice, and the God of that; in short, they are
obliged to translate any two heathen authors in Latin, and any other
two in Greek, they themselves may select. They are next examined
in Aristotle's moral philosophy, and their examination, like their
education, being now concluded, their minds, being now decreed to be
brimfull, they are launched into their respective grades of society, as
accomplished, polished men, who have reaped the inestimable advantages
of a _good classical education_. But it is not these gentlemen that I
presume to ridicule; on the contrary, I firmly believe that the 1200
students, who at one time are generally at Oxford, are as high-minded,
as highly talented, as anxious to improve themselves, as handsome, and,
in every sense of the word, as fine a set of lads as can anywhere be
met with in a body on the face of the globe. I also know that all our
most estimable characters, all the most enlightened men our country
has ever produced, have, generally speaking, been members of one of
our universities; but, in spite of all this, will any reasonable
being seriously maintain that the workmanship has been equal to the
materials? I mean, that their education has been equal to themselves?
Let any one weigh what they have _not_ learnt against what they have,
and he will find that the difference is exactly that which exists
between creation itself and a satchel of musty books. I own they are
skilfully conversant in the latter; I own that they have even deserved
prizes for having made verses in imitation of Sappho--odes in imitation
of Horace--epigrams after the model of the Anthologia, as well as after
the mode of Martial; but what has the university taught them of the
former? Has it even informed them of the discovery of America? Has it
given them the power of conversing with the peasant of any one nation
in Europe? Has it explained to them any one of the wonderful works of
creation? Has it taught them a single invention of art? Has it shown
the young landed proprietor how to measure the smallest field on his
estate? Has it taught him even the first rudiments of economy? Has it
explained to him the principle of a common pump? Has it fitted him
in any way to stand in that distinguished situation which by birth
and fortune he is honestly entitled to hold? Has it given him any
agricultural information, any commercial knowledge, any acquaintance
with mankind, or with business of any sort or kind; and, lastly, has
it made him modestly sensible of his own ignorance?--or has it, on the
contrary, done all in its power to make him feel not only perfectly
satisfied with his own acquirements, but contempt for those whose minds
are only filled with plain useful knowledge?
But it will be proudly argued, "THE UNIVERSITY HAS TAUGHT HIM
DIVINITY!" In theory, I admit it may have done so; but, in all his
terms, has the student practically learnt as much Omnipotence as the
hurricane could explain to him in five minutes? To teach young lads the
simple doctrines of Christianity, is it advisable to hide from their
minds creation? It is advisable to allow them to remain out of their
colleges till midnight? But taking leave of the university, let us, for
a moment, consider the political effects of its cramped, short-sighted,
narrow-minded system.
On quitting their colleges, our young men, instead of being sensible,
that although they have read much that is ornamental, their education
has scrupulously avoided all that is useful--instead of modestly
feeling that they have to make up for lost time, and to fight their way
from nothing to distinction like subaltern officers in our army, or
like midshipmen in the navy, they have very great reason to consider
that, far from being literary vessels, rudely put together, they are
launched into society as perfect as a frigate from its dock!
With respect to the drudgery of gaining honours, they feel that they
already possess them, can _produce_ them, and true enough, they show
1st class, 2nd class, and 3rd class honours, which are as current in
the country as the coin of the realm; and, with respect to their
education being _imperfect_, by universal consent, it has for centuries
been coupled with the most flattering adjectives;--it is termed
polite--elegant--accomplished--good--complete--excellent--regular--
classical, &c., &c. In literary creation these young men conceive that
they are luminaries, not specks--ornaments, not blemishes! not merely
in their own opinions, but by universal consent and acclamation. Their
political place is undeniably, therefore, the helm, not before the
mast; they are to guide, conduct, steer the vessel of the state, not
ignobly labour at its oar!
Accordingly, when they take their places in both houses of Parliament,
plunging at once into their own native element, they rise up in the
immediate presence of noblemen and gentlemen who not only boast of
having received exactly the same education as themselves, but who,
as youths, have proudly won the self-same honours which they enjoy;
and I here very humbly beg leave again to repeat, that because our
Parliament maintains, and always has maintained, a front rank of men
of undaunted resolution, transcendent abilities, brilliant natural
genius, and clear, comprehensive, enlightened minds, it does not
follow that the system of our public schools and universities must
necessarily be practically good. On the contrary, it only proves that
human institutions can no more extinguish the native virtue, talent,
and integrity of a country, than they can hide from the world the light
of the sun; but education can misdirect, though it cannot annihilate;
it can give the national mind a hankering for unwholesome instead of
wholesome food,--it can encourage a passion for useless instead of
useful information. On its course high-bred lads may be trained to race
against each other, until the vain object they have strived for can
never in after life re-appear, but their blood warms within them.
Now supposing, for a single moment, that English education be admitted
to be as useless and dangerous as I have endeavoured to describe it,
let us consider what might naturally be expected to be its practical
political effects.
In our two houses of Parliament, classical eloquence would unavoidably
become the order of the day; and classical allusions, when neatly
expressed, would always receive that heartfelt cheer which even the
oldest among us are unable to withhold from what reminds us of the
pleasures and attachments of our early days. Thus encouraged, young
statesmen would feel their power rather than their inexperience;
and, with their minds stored with knowledge declared to possess
intrinsic value, they would not be very backward in displaying it.
Language, rather than matter, would thus become the object of
emulation--speeches would swell into orations--and, in this contention
and conflict of genius, men of cleverness, ready wit, brilliant
imagination, retentive memory, caustic reply, and last, though not
least, soundness of constitution, would rise to the surface, far above
those who, with much deeper reflection, much heavier sense, more
sterling knowledge, and more powerful judgment, were yet found to be
wanting in activity in their parts of speech. Baffled, therefore, in
their laconic attempts to expound their uninteresting, ledger-like,
unfashionable opinions, this useful class of men would probably, by
silence or otherwise, retire from the unequal contest, which would
become more and more of an art, until extraordinary talent was required
to carry political questions so plain and simple, that were votes
mutely to be given by any set of hum-drum men, there would scarcely be
a difference in their opinions.
In the midst of this civil war, a young man, scarcely one-and-twenty
would be very likely rapidly to rise to be the Prime Minister of our
great commercial country! for although, if this world teaches us any
one moral, it is, that youth and inexperience are synonymous; yet when
talent only be the palm, surely none have better right to contend for
it than the young!
Seated on the exalted pinnacle which he has most fairly and honourably
attained, if not by general acclamation, at least by the applauding
voice of the majority, he must, of course, stand against the
intellectual tempest which has unnaturally brought a person of his
age to the surface. Accordingly, by the main strength of his youthful
genius, by his admitted superiority of talent, this beardless pilot
would probably triumphantly maintain his place at the helm--requiring,
however, support from those of his admirers most approaching in
eloquence to himself. To obtain the services of some great orator,
he would (copying the system of his opponents) be induced to appoint
a man, for instance, Secretary for the Colonies, who on this earth
had never reached the limits even of its temperate zone; another, who
had not heard a shot fired, or even seen a shell in the air, would,
perhaps, be created Master-General of our Ordnance; in short, talent
being the weapon or single-stick of Parliament, he would, like others
before him, arm himself with it at any cost, and thus reign triumphant.
However, without supposing such an extreme case, let us fearlessly
recall to mind a miserable fact almost of yesterday. In the fatal year
1825, the British government conceived the purely classical and highly
poetical idea of "bringing a new world into existence!" Most people
will remember with what flowery eloquence the elegant project was laid
before Parliament, and how loudly and generally it was cheered--the
blind were led by the blind--all our senators being equally charmed
at the splendid possibility of their thus politically dabbling in
creation. The truth or moral, however, came upon us at last, like the
simmoon upon the traveller who ignorantly ventures on the deserts of
Africa. The country almost foundered, and though she has, to a certain
degree, recovered from the shock, yet thousands of widows, orphans,
and people of small incomes, are to this day, in indigence and sorrow,
secretly lamenting the hour in which the high-flown parliamentary
project was disseminated.
The charity, pater-noster system of education pursued to this day at
our universities and public schools has produced other historical
facts, which it is now equally out of our power to obliterate, atone
for, or deny. For instance, we all know that in five years Charles II.
touched 23,601 of his subjects for the evil;--that our bishops invented
(just as Ovid wrote his "Metamorphoses") a sort of heathen service
for the occasion;--that the unchristianlike, superstitious ceremony
was performed in public; and that as soon as prayers were ended, we
are told, "_The Duke of Buckingham brought a towel, and the Earl of
Pembroke a basin and ewer, who, after they had made obeisance to his
Majesty, kneeled down till his Majesty had washed._"
Again, everybody knows that Amy Drury and her daughter, eleven years
of age, were tried before "the great and good Sir Matthew Hale," then
Lord Chief Baron, for witchcraft, and were convicted and executed at
Bury St. Edmund's, principally on the evidence of Sir Thomas Brown,
one of the first physicians and scholars of his day: also that Dr.
Wiseman, an eminent surgeon of that period, in writing on scrofula,
says--"_However, I must needs profess that His Majesty (Charles II.)
cureth more in any one year than all the chirurgeons of London have
done in an age._"
The above degrading facts are moral tragedies, which were not acted in
a dark corner, by a few obscure strolling individuals--not even by any
great political faction,--but the audience was the British nation--the
performers the King on his throne, the bishops, the nobility, the
judges, the physicians, the philosophers of the day. In short, theory
and practice, hand in hand, both prove to the whole world the double
error in our system of education. Says theory--if young people,
instead of being taught to look at the ground under their feet, at
the heavens above their head, or at creation around them, are forced
by the rod to study events that never happened, speeches that never
were made, metamorphoses that never took place, forms of worship and
creeds ridiculous and impious, such a nation must inevitably grow up
narrow-minded, ignorant, superstitious, and cruel. Says practice--this
prophecy has been most fatally fulfilled; and accordingly, in England,
people _have_ believed in witchcraft--_have_ put savage faith in the
King's touch,--and, under the name of a mild and merciful religion,
they _have_ burnt each other to ashes at the stake!
The mute steadiness of British troops under fire,--the total want of
bluster or bravado in our naval actions, where, as we all know,
"There is silence deep as death,
And the boldest holds his breath
For a time,"--
the laconic manner in which business all over England is transacted
(millions being exchanged with little more than a nod of assent);
in short, our national respect for silent conduct, form a most
extraordinary contrast with the flatulent eloquence of our
Parliamentary debates.
But to return to our houses of Parliament: shall we now proceed to
calculate what would be the expense of such a system of government or
misgovernment as that which has just been shown to have proceeded,
not from the imbecility of individuals, but from the system of false
education maintained by our public schools and universities? No! no!
for the history of our country has already solved this great problem,
and, at this moment, does it record to our posterity, as well as to the
whole world, that the expense of a great mercantile nation, looking
behind it instead of before it--the price of its statesmen studying
ancient poets instead of modern discoveries--of mistaking the "orbis
veteribus cognitus" for the figure of the earth, amounts to neither
more nor less than a national debt of EIGHT HUNDRED MILLIONS of English
pounds sterling! In short, economy having fatally been classed at
our universities among the vulgar arts, the current expenses of our
statesmen have naturally enough been ordered to be put down to their
children, just as their college bills were carelessly ordered to be
forwarded to their fathers.
However, so long as a nation is _willing_ to purchase at the above
enormous, or at any still greater price, the luxury of reading
Greek and Latin poetry, the misfortune at first appears to be only
pecuniary; and it might almost further be argued, that a nation, like
an individual, ought to be allowed to spend its money according to its
own whim or fancy; but, though this may or may not be true so far as
our money be concerned, yet there is an event which must arrive, and in
England this event HAS JUST ARRIVED, when a continuance of such a mode
of education must inevitably destroy our church, aristocracy, funds; in
short, every thing which a well-disposed mind loves, venerates, and is
desirous to uphold.
The fearful event to which I allude, is that of the lower classes of
people becoming enlightened.
In spite of all that party spirit angrily asserts to the contrary,
most firmly do I believe that there does not exist, in England, any
revolutionary spirit worth being afraid of. In a rich commercial
country, the idle, the profligate, and the worthless will always be
anxious to level the well-earned honours, as well as plunder the
wealth amassed by the brave, intelligent, and industrious; but every
respectable member of society, with the coolness of judgment natural
to our country, must feel that he possesses a stake, and enjoys
advantages which I firmly believe he is desirous to maintain; in fact,
not only the good feeling, but the good sense of the country, support
the fabric of our society, which we all know, like the army, derives
its spirit from possessing various honours (never mind whether they be
of intrinsic value or not) which we are all more or less desirous to
obtain.
But if those who wear these honours degrade themselves--if our upper
classes culpably desert their own standards--if they shall continue
to insist on giving to their children an elegant, useless education,
while the tradesman is filling his son with steady useful knowledge--if
our aristocracy, with the Goule's horrid taste, _will_ obstinately
feed itself on dead languages, while the lower classes are healthily
digesting fresh wholesome food--if writing, arithmetic, modern
geography, arts, sciences, and discoveries of all sorts are to continue
(as they hitherto have been) to be most barbarously disregarded at our
public schools and universities, while they are carefully attended
to and studied by the poor--the moment must arrive when the dense
population of our country will declare that they can no longer afford
to be governed by classical statesmen; and, with an equally honest
feeling, they will further declare, they begin to find it difficult to
look up to people who have ceased to be morally their superiors. That
the lower orders of people in England are rising not only in their
own estimation, but in the honest opinion of the world, is proved by
the singular fact, that the wood-cuts of our _Penny Magazine_ (so
rapidly printed by one of Clowes's great steam-presses) are sent, in
stereotype, to Germany, France, and Belgium, where they are published,
as with us, for the instruction of the lower classes. The same Magazine
is also sent to America (page for page) stereotyped. The common people
of England are thus proudly disseminating their knowledge over the
surface of the globe, while our upper classes, by an infatuation which,
without any exception, is the greatest phenomenon in the civilized
world, are still sentencing their children to heathen, obscene, and
useless instruction; and, though it has beneficently been decreed
"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" our universities seriously maintain that the
religious as well as moral welfare of this noble country depends upon
its continuing in intellectual darkness.
It is now much too late in the day to argue whether the education of
the lower classes be a political advantage or not. One might as well
stand on the Manchester rail-road to stop its train, as to endeavour
to prevent that. The people, whether we like it or not, WILL be
enlightened; and, therefore, without bewailing the disorder, our
simple and only remedy is, by resolutely breaking up the system of our
public schools and universities, to show the people that we have nobly
determined to become enlightened too.
The English gentleman (a name which, in the army, navy, hunting-field,
or in any other strife or contention, has always shown itself able to
beat men of low birth) will then hold his ground in the estimation
of his tenants, and continue to inhabit his estate. The English
nobleman, and the noble Englishman, will continue to be synonymous--a
well-educated clergy will continue to be revered--the throne, as
it hitherto has been, will be loyally supported--our mercantile
honour will be saved--THE HOPES OF THE RADICAL WILL BE IRRETRIEVABLY
RUINED--and when the misty danger at which we now tremble has
brightened into intellectual sunshine, remaining, as we must do (as
long as we continue to be the most industrious), the wealthiest
and first commercial nation on the globe, we shall remember, and
history will transmit to our children, that old-fashioned prophecy of
Faulconbridge, which so truly says,
"Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true."
* * * * *
I had retired to rest much pleased with Schlangenbad and all that
belonged to it, when about midnight I was awakened by a general
slamming of doors, windows, and shutters, occasioned by a most violent
gale of wind, and on opening my eyes, the bright moonlight scene,
which, without even moving my head, I beheld, was mysteriously grand
and imposing. Although the moon, which had just risen, was as I lay
not discernible through my windows, yet its silvery light beamed so
strongly that the two little white-washed mill-cottages in the valley
seemed to be even brighter than I had observed them during the day. But
what particularly attracted my attention was the apparent writhing of
those great hills which, as if they had only just been rent asunder,
hemmed me in. Every tree on them was bending and waving from the
violence of the squall, and as cloud after cloud rapidly hurried across
the moon, sometimes, obscuring and then suddenly restoring to my view
the strange prospect, the uncertainty of this undulating movement
gave a supernatural appearance to the scene, which more resembled the
fiction of a dream, or of a romance, than any possible effect of wind
on trees. The clean, glistening foliage seemed scarcely able to stand
against the gale, which still continued to increase, until a loud peal
of thunder, followed by a few heavy drops, announced a calm, which
was no sooner established, than the light of the moon appeared to be
converted by Nature into a heavy deluge of rain. For some few moments,
I listened, I believe, to the refreshing sound, and to the rushing of
the stream beneath me; but as the darkness around me increased, my eyes
closed, and I again dropped off to sleep.
The little society of Schlangenbad, like that of most of the towns and
villages in this part of Germany, is composed of Lutherans, Catholics,
and Jews. The two former sects have each a place of worship allotted
to them in the Old Bad-Haus or Nassauer-Hof, and their two chambers,
standing nearly opposite to each other, remind me very strongly of
those twin-roads which in England often lead from one little country
town to another.
On each is the stranger invited to travel--one boasts that it is the
nearest by half a quarter of a mile, the other brags that "it avoids
the hill." Such is the distinction between the two Christian sects at
Schlangenbad;--both start from the same point--both strain for the same
goal, and yet they querulously refuse to travel together.
After having spent two or three days in rambling up and down the
valley, searching for and admiring its sequestered beauties, like
Rasselas, I felt anxious to scale the mountains which surrounded me,
and accordingly inquired for a path, which, I was told, would extricate
me from my happy valley; however, after I had continued on it some
way, fancying I could attain the summit by a shorter cut, I attempted
to ascend the mountain by a straight course. For some time I appeared
to succeed pretty well, feeling every moment encouraged at observing
how high I had risen above the grassy valley beneath; however, the
mountain grew steeper, and the trees thicker and larger, until I began
to find that I had a much heavier job on my hands than I had bargained
for; nevertheless, upwards I proceeded, winding my way through some
magnificent oak timber, until at last I attained actually the top of
the mountain: yet so surrounded was I by trees, that, very much to my
disappointment, I found it impossible to see ten yards before me. For
a considerable distance I walked along the ridge, hoping to find some
gap or open spot which would enable me to get a glimpse of the country
beneath me, but in vain,--for, go where I would, I was like a reptile
crawling through a field of standing corn; in short, nothing could I
see but trees, and even they appeared to be of no value, as a great
number of stately oaks were in every direction rotting just as if they
were beyond the reach and ken of mankind. As I was winding between
these timber trees, hoping, at least, to see deer or wild game of
some sort, it began to rain, and though I had no disposition, on that
account, to abandon my object, yet absolutely not knowing where to seek
it, I was almost in despair, when it occurred to me to climb one of the
trees; and the idea had no sooner entered my head, than I felt quite
angry with myself for not having thought of it before: however, I was
some little time before I could find one to suit, for to swarm up the
huge body of any of the great oaks would have been quite impossible.
As soon as I found a tree adapted to my purpose and my age, I climbed
it in spite of the rain, and I was no sooner in the position of King
Charles the Second, than I witnessed one of the most splendid views
that can be well conceived.
Beneath me was the Rhine, glistening and meandering in its course,
while nearly opposite and beneath me lay Bingen, which appeared to be
basking on the banks of a lake. Almost every one who has travelled
on the Rhine speaks in raptures of this part of it, yet the view I
enjoyed, seated on the limb of my tree, was altogether superior to
what they could have witnessed, because at one view I beheld the
beauties which they had only successively admired. The hills on which
I was placed were clothed to their summits with foliage, feathering
down to the very water's edge; and instead of the little portion of
the river, which, as one niggles along, is seen bit by bit from the
steam-boat, its whole course seemed to be displaying itself to my view.
The opposite shore was comparatively flat, and as far as I could see,
a boundless fertile wine country appeared to extend there. The shower,
which was still falling in heavy drops upon my tree, only belonged to
the mountain on which it stood, for the whole country and river beneath
were basking in sunshine. It was really delightful to enjoy at once the
sight of so many beautiful objects, and I hardly knew whether to admire
most the lovely little islands which seemed floating at anchor in the
Rhine, or the vast expanse of continent which was prostrate before me;
but without continuing the description, any one who will only look in
his map for Bingen, and then imagine an old man seated in the clouds
above it, will perceive what a salient angle I occupied, and what a
magnificent prospect I enjoyed.
As soon as I had imbibed a sufficient dose of it, I commenced my
descent, which was of course easy enough when compared with the fatigue
I had suffered in attaining the object. The trees were dripping, and
the mossy surface of the ground made my feet equally wet; however,
rapidly descending, I soon got first a glimpse of my own window in
the New Bad-Haus, then a peep of the little quiet mills whose wheels
I saw slowly turning under the clear bright water that sparkled
above them; and really when I at last got down to the green secluded
valley of Schlangenbad, I felt that I would not exchange its peaceful
tranquillity for the possession of all the splendid objects I had just
witnessed.
Yet in viewing this humble scene, as well as in revelling over that
magnificent prospect where space and wood seemed to be infinite, the
very air smelling of health and freedom, there was a small feature
in the picture which gave me very painful reflections. There are
perhaps many who will say, that two or three peasants' roofs are
specks, which (whatever sad secrets may lie hidden beneath them) ought
not to disturb the mind of the spectator, being objects much too
insignificant to be worthy of his notice; yet the more I observed the
splendour of the mountain scenery,--the more the verdant valley seemed
to rejoice,--the more the wild deer, dashing by me, appeared to enjoy
the gifts of creation,--the more difficult did I find it to forget the
abject poverty of the two or three poor families which were inhabiting
this smiling valley; and (on the principle of not muzzling the ox
that treadeth out the corn) it certainly did seem to me hard, that,
surrounded as these poor people are by an almost boundless forest of
timber trees, quantities of which, stag-headed, are actually returning
to the dust from which they sprung, they should by the laws of their
country be rigidly forbidden to collect fuel to cheer the inclemency of
the winter, or even with their fingers to tear up a little wild grass
beneath the trees for their cow.
Considering that the storm, like the wind, cometh where it listeth,
afflicting the poor man even more than the well-sheltered rich one, it
seems hard, in districts so nearly uninhabited, that when the oak tree
is levelled with the ground, the mountain peasant who has weathered the
gale should be prevented from plundering this wreck of the desolate
forest in which he has been born. Nevertheless, that such is the case,
will be but too evident from the following short extracts from a very
long list of forest penalties, rigidly enforced by the Duke of Nassau:--