“CHIEFLESS CASTLES”
The week at Lucerne was one of perpetual rain, and the feast of Corpus
Christi, which took the trio to the place at this special date, was a
grand fizzle, for if it had drizzled and misted and showered during
most of the other days, upon this special one was a steady downpour
which prevented the annual procession from taking its route over the
old bridges and interfered seriously with the parading of holiday
attire. With her two charges, under the shelter of umbrellas, Miss
Cavendish took up a position upon the steps of the Cathedral, where
a dripping host passed them, climbing the way to the church. There
was little to be seen of the advancing procession but a multitude of
umbrellas held at various distances from the ground, water-soaked and
overspread with running rivulets. Some marched bravely, disregarding
the persistent flood, but the little girls, who had started out
white-frocked and garland-decked, presented a sorry appearance as the
red of paper roses and green leaves mingled with the pervasive moisture
and stained the white frocks hopelessly. Draggled and parti-colored,
these looked forlorn enough to bring distress to the countenances of
the disappointed little girls.
“Lucerne is beautiful enough and attractive enough in every way to
invite us to stay longer,” said Miss Cavendish, as they wended their
way back through the sloppy streets, and under weeping trees to their
_pension_, “but there seems to be no end to this rain, and what good
are mountains hidden under a pall of cloud? What is the use of a lake
upon which one dares not venture in a boat? Where is the enjoyment of a
garden with wet paths and soaking benches? What are views seen through
a veil of descending drops? I can imagine that when the sun is shining
this is an entrancing place, but in rainy weather--well, I think we may
as well move on. What do you say, my sweetings?”
“Oh, we are not so wildly enthusiastic about paddling around in rubbers
and rain-coats as to object to any scheme you may have in mind,”
remarked Gabriella. “Where next, Gem?”
“To Heidelberg, thence to Mayence, and down the Rhine to Cologne.”
“That sounds enticing. I’ll pack my trunklet at once,” said Sidney. “My
imagination begins to riot among castles and crags and--”
“Students,” put in Gabriella. “Heidelberg suggests students first
of all; the kind that wear different colored caps and go about with
strange sabre cuts slanting across their manly faces.”
“There is a fine castle at Heidelberg, you know?” continued Sidney.
“So much the better; I like the combination of castles and colleges.”
“And the Black Forest practically begins there,” Sidney went on; “I
always did want to see that.”
“I am afraid you will hardly see the edge of it,” remarked Miss
Cavendish, “for I think we shall not linger long in Heidelberg. Not
that it isn’t a place in which we could linger satisfactorily, but
because it seems better to cover the ground more rapidly unless we have
an abundance of time.”
They arrived at the old university town late in the evening, and took
up their quarters on the pleasant Anlage. A concert was going on at the
Public Gardens and thither they started after supper, to the delight of
the girls, who realized that here would be a gathering of students and
townspeople, too. It was a quiet, orderly performance. Discreet young
women, properly chaperoned by smiling mammas, occupied chairs before
which bowed favored young men, who, with mamma’s consent, bore off the
damsels for a promenade while the music went on. Around and around
marched the slow procession; here were old men and maidens, young men
and children decorously pacing and talking quietly. Here were green
caps, blue caps, red caps, set upon locks of varied hues and above
seamed countenances which betokened that the wearer had participated
in an encounter which, to his thinking, added glory to his student
career. There was no disorder, no confusion, no undue hilarity. Before
the tables where they indulged in moderate draughts of beer, sat groups
of young men, elderly couples, or whole families. It was an interesting
sight to the Americans, who at last arose and said regretfully: “Where
at home could we sally forth by ourselves to an open-air concert where
beer drinking was the correct thing, and where good music could be
heard for such a modest sum as twelve cents? There are surely some
things it would be well to import, among them the delightful freedom
and comfort of cheap and respectable out-door entertainments.”
At the castle their enthusiasm grew in proportion as they climbed the
height. The day was one of June’s fairest, and the gardens were at
their loveliest. Below them nestled the houses of Heidelberg; beyond
wound the silver thread of the Neckar.
“What a beautiful garden one Elizabeth must have had,” said Sidney.
“Let me see. Do I remember rightly? The English building was built by
Frederick V. for his princess, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and not long before the thirty years war,” Miss Cavendish
replied. “The oldest part of the castle dates from the fourteenth
century, and it was the residence of the Electors Palatine. Count
Palatine Otho of Wittelsbach, made the city the capital of his
territory in the thirteenth century, and for five hundred years it was
the principal town of the palatinate.”
“How dreadful that it should have been destroyed.”
“Yes, but what beautiful ruins these are,” said Gabriella. “I think
the castle is much more picturesque than if it were intact. Such a
tremendous place it was. To think that these thick, thick walls were
battered in.”
“I think it was wicked and barbarous, in spite of its having been left
a picturesque ruin,” said Sidney.
“We shall see other fine ruins on the Rhine,” said Miss Cavendish,
“but I doubt if any be more interesting than this. Now if you are all
sufficiently Baedeker-wise we will go back, and this afternoon we can
take the Philosophenweg.”
“Not too early,” said Sidney. “They say it is not so pleasant when the
sun is high.”
But they did start too early, and found it a hot and weary climb,
though the discovery of cherry gatherers at the top of the hill
somewhat compensated them for the long walk. For a few cents they
bargained for as much of the luscious fruit as they could eat, and they
sat down contentedly under the trees till the sun should sink lower and
render their way back less uncomfortably warm.
“We haven’t had really more than a glimpse of Heidelberg,” said Miss
Cavendish, “but I think it gives us a very good idea of the place. Are
you content with what you have seen?”
“Perfectly,” declared the girls, and Gabriella added: “When I make a
study of German I shall come here.”
“And to-morrow we go to Mayence and then on our Rhine trip,” said
Sidney. “We shall stay all night in Mayence, shall we?”
“Yes, there are some things worth seeing there, and we shall want all
day for the sail down the Rhine. At Mayence Gutenberg was born and
there the first printing office was set up. There is a very old and
interesting cathedral there, too, where the Tasso of Mayence is buried.”
“Who was he? Now I am interested,” said Gabriella.
“He was Count Heinrich von Meissen, surnamed Frauenlob, who during life
was calumniated and insulted, but whose body was borne to the grave by
the women whose praises he had sung. Mayence has many interesting pages
of history, and it is full of tradition and relics. Its citizens still
believe that it was in their city that Constantine the Great beheld his
vision of the Holy Cross.”
“Was Heidelberg named for its castle or was the castle named for the
city?” asked Sidney.
“It is said that the city takes its name from Heidelbeeren, or myrtles,
with which the castle hill was covered in the long ago days when it
was possessed by shepherds who led their flocks there.”
“And now there are flocks of students here nibbling in pastures of
knowledge and finding laurels instead of myrtles,” said Gabriella.
“That’s not bad, Gabriella,” said Miss Cavendish. “The town has been
five times bombarded, and burnt to the ground twice, while three times
it has been taken in war and plundered by soldiers, so you see there
are disadvantages in being too attractive.”
“I’d run the risk,” said Gabriella, “if I could be as attractive when I
am old.”
“What a threatening stronghold that castle must have been, perched
up so high above the town and overlooking the country around,” said
Sidney. “No wonder it was considered worthy of an enemy’s worst. When
was it besieged, Gem?”
“At the siege of Chantilly in 1693, but it was partially restored only
to be struck by lightning in 1764, since which time it has remained a
ruin.”
“When the baa-lambies stopped browsing on the hill, what came next?”
asked Gabriella.
“Next came the Romans, probably. After a while it grew to be a market
town and increased in importance as time went on. You remember
Longfellow’s description of the castle, don’t you? It is in ‘Hyperion,’
and of course you have read it.”
“I have of course, but those things don’t make half the impression
when one has not been to the spot. I shall read it with new interest.”
“There is much about Heidelberg in the tale. I forgot to tell you that
the university was founded in 1386.”
“The dates that I have swallowed this day,” said Gabriella. “I wish I
knew how to distinguish the student corps by their caps; there goes a
blue one.”
Miss Cavendish turned over the pages of her book. “The Prussians wear
white, the Westphalians green, the Vandals red, the Rhinelanders blue,
the Swabians yellow.”
“So it is a Rhinelander stalking down the hill there,” said Gabriella,
looking after the student. “Dear me, I am afraid I should soon get
perfectly fascinated with Heidelberg.”
“Then we must hurry away,” said Miss Cavendish, “for the interest
unfolds from hour to hour. The whole neighborhood seems to offer an
endless number of walks and drives, and the whole countryside bristles
with legends, so, lest we are tempted to stay here the rest of our
lives, we must start for Mayence.”
They arose from their seat under the leafy tree and returned to the
town to prepare for the next stage of their journey, and were in
Mayence the next day in time for dinner. They found this a pleasant
little town where excellent accommodations could be had at a small
hotel. A view of the cathedral, a walk along the fine quay by
the riverside occupied the few hours they had to spare before an
evening meal, and after that an open-air concert gave them all the
entertainment they needed.
“We certainly were not disappointed in Mayence,” said Gabriella as
their steamer was pushing out upon the Rhine the next morning. “That
was a good little hotel and they gave us excellent things to eat at a
very moderate price. I hope we shall not be disappointed in the Rhine;
so many persons are.”
“That is because they look for quantity rather than quality,” said Miss
Cavendish. “They expect to see a river as broad as the Mississippi, and
forget that it is beauty of scenery we are to look for. Between here
and Bonn we may expect to find the finest part of the river.”
“It is a glorious day and the world is very beautiful,” sighed
Gabriella, looking with increasing interest at the scene before her.
“I am going to get a little book of Rhine legends that I see over
there,” said Sidney. “It will help us to enjoy all this storied Rhine.”
The small book, purchased from an affable vendor of photographs,
guide-books and such like wares, proved to be rather an amusing
translation of the Rhine legends, but served the double purpose of
adding to the party’s information as well as to their hilarity. “The
poetry is the funniest I ever saw,” said Sidney, looking up from the
printed page. “Evidently the whole translation has been laboriously
made word by word from a dictionary. Listen to this:
“‘He twirled a small staff in the air
And unintelligibly talked--
Appearing a Being of precipice rare
As if from deep ravine he walked.’
Isn’t that perfectly delightful? Shouldn’t you love to see that kind of
being, Gabriella?”
“Here, here,” called Miss Cavendish, “you are missing all the beautiful
scenery while you are laughing over that nonsense. Leave that part for
a rainy day when you are pining for something to do.”
“This is one occasion when I should like to be wall-eyed,” said
Gabriella, “so I could look on both sides the river at once. While I
am gazing at some enchanting bit on the left, I am missing something I
ought to be looking at on the right.”
“‘The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,’”
quoted Miss Cavendish, as they neared Rolandseck. “Just here, girls, I
think it is more beautiful than any point on the river that we have yet
seen.”
“Oh, isn’t it satisfactory!” cried Gabriella.
[Illustration: “‘HERE, HERE,’ CALLED MISS CAVENDISH, ‘YOU ARE MISSING
ALL THE BEAUTIFUL SCENERY.’”]
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” asserted Sidney. “Do
try to remember more of Byron’s beautiful poem. What is that about
‘chiefless castles breaking stern farewells?’ I wish we had a copy of
Byron. One ought to take a travelling library abroad; it is impossible
to go around laden down with books, yet you want them at every turn.
Are you feeling disappointed, Gem?”
“Not I. It meets my every expectation, and some day I mean to come to
Rolandseck and stay for a week to read Byron.”
“Then you have settled on Rolandseck as your favorite spot along the
river?”
“Yes, I think so, for it commands the Drachenfels, the Siebengebirge
and the mountain of Rolandseck where poor lovelorn Roland built his
castle. It seems to me that here the beauty of the river culminates,
and some day I should like to come back to it when I could take time
for an intimate acquaintance with the neighborhood. What scores of
tales and legends swarm into one’s memory just here. It is here
that one discovers the inspiration of Wagner’s operas, which can be
understood how much better after seeing these renowned castles and
famous cliffs.”
Beyond Bonn the scenery became tamer, and by the time they had reached
Cologne they did not regret that they must leave the steamer. A glimpse
only of the cathedral was all the evening light afforded them, but
this was sufficient to cause them to speak in whispers as they issued
from the splendid interior. “We can walk around and see the outside,
anyhow,” said Sidney. “I want to take in every detail, for it is the
most beautiful thing I ever imagined in the way of architecture. I
am glad the windows of our room at the hotel give us a view of those
magnificent towers. It has been a wonderful day, Gem; that lovely
Rhine, and now this.”
“And we will end it with a garden concert,” said Miss Cavendish. “One
can always be sure of good music in Germany, wherever one goes.”
But they did not dream that one of their most treasured memories would
be connected with their evening in the Flora Gardens, to which they
were directed by the urbane proprietor of their hotel. A good concert
might be expected, they were told, and they would enjoy the gardens
themselves. The long twilight made it possible for them to reach the
place before dark, and it was nine o’clock before the darkness began to
gather over the beautiful garden. The shadowy walks and lovely vistas
so invited them that at the first intermission they left their places
to wander down the paths beyond which were softly plashing fountains
and blossoming plants.
They had sauntered quite away from the groups of persons who were
lounging along the broader walks and had come to a quiet, lonely
spot shaded by overhanging boughs of densest leafage. Suddenly from
the midst of this bosky grove came a note of marvellous purity, then
another, and presently such a song of marvellous sweetness fell upon
their ears as held them spellbound.
“Is it a nightingale?” whispered Gabriella.
Miss Cavendish nodded an assent.
Sidney stood with eyes full of tears. Gabriella clasped her hands
tensely and looked up into the deeply green branches where the songster
had made his retreat. Not a word was said while the bird trilled out
his notes of ecstasy. The concert which they had come to hear was
forgotten. They stood in mute delight while the song burst forth from
time to time. Silence, and then a repetition of the glorious song in
all its fulness; it seemed as if the little creature’s heart must burst
with the rapture of it, and to those who listened it was as if it came
from no earthly being but that it was a voice from Paradise. At last it
ceased, and the three, after listening in vain for a repetition, caught
only a distant echo of the song and they walked quietly away.
“Let us go home,” said Sidney. “I don’t want to hear the rest of the
concert. That nightingale’s song is enough for one evening.”
“It was the most exquisitely delicious thing I ever listened to,”
Gabriella said. “Oh, Gem, who could have dreamed that we, who listened
in vain for a nightingale in Italy, should have found one here? What
a red-letter day it has been! That beautiful Rhine, that wonderful
cathedral, that heavenly song! It has been almost too much; I feel as
if I should like to creep off somewhere in this garden and weep.”
“That would be such a typically German thing to do,” laughed Miss
Cavendish. “You haven’t said _wunderschoen_ once, but your desire
to shed tears in this garden would satisfy even Jean Paul who might
address you something like this: ‘Thou sweet one! Thou of the tender
heart and tearful eyes! that rapturous song has broken the fountain
of thy youth with its melody and thy soul gushes forth in sparkling
drops!’”
“Stop making fun of Jean Paul,” cried Gabriella. “You are ready to cry
yourself, and are ashamed of it, and that is why you speak so lightly.”
“That is about the truth, Rella,” returned Miss Cavendish soberly. “It
has been a day of sheer delight to me as well as to you, but I can’t
afford to be too sentimental when I have two romantic maidens gazing at
me with such languishing eyes.”
The cathedral by morning light was even more beautiful than at evening.
The wonderful coloring of the stained glass against the greyish white
of the stonework seemed then more effective.
“No wonder it has been so many years in building,” remarked Sidney.
“The exact date of its commencement is 1248, I find, but for a long
time no work was done upon it.”
“It is hardly possible to conceive of the magnificence of its
proportions,” observed Miss Cavendish. “I cannot realize that it is
four hundred feet long and that the towers are five hundred feet high.”
“I want to know the legend of St. Ursula and of the Theban legion,”
Gabriella said.
“You surely haven’t forgotten the story of St. Ursula and the eleven
thousand virgins. We looked that up in Italy.”
“So we did. Yes, I remember now.”
“The martyrs of the Theban legion were Christians who, with the rest
of the Roman army, crossed the Alps. They were ordered by Maximilian
to sacrifice to Jupiter, but this they refused to do, and the command
was given for every tenth man to be slain. This order was repeated at
every refusal of the remaining members of the legion to join in the
sacrificial rite, till only a very few were left; these escaped and
became hermits.”
“Speaking of legends,” remarked Gabriella, “I forgot to call your
attention to the funniest bit of writing I have seen yet. It beats
your Rhine legends, Sidney. It hangs in my room at the hotel where you
can see it for yourselves and prove the truth of my copy. The lack of
punctuation agrees with the original. It is one of the curiosities
which I shall take home with me.” And she produced a paper which read:
“To open and close the electrical on is requested to turn to the right
hand when going to bed it must be closed otherwise the lightning must
be paid.”
A chorus of laughter went up after the reading of this remarkable
notice. “I’ve been wondering ever since where one finds the lightning
which must be paid,” Gabriella informed the other two. “Do you suppose
they keep it bottled up in a sort of office and make a fetish of it,
and that one goes in and desposits a mark as a sacrificial offering, or
something like that?”
“It is the loveliest bit of English we have yet discovered,” Sidney
averred. “I must have a copy of it. Cologne has certainly afforded
us plenty of laughter if her cathedral does silence us and if her
nightingale does move us to tears.”