More Hospitality -- Farewells -- Cross Country Walk --
Steinschönau -- The Playbill -- Hayda -- All Glass-workers
-- Away for the Mountains -- Zwickau -- Gabel --
Weisskirchen -- A Peasant's Prayer -- Reichenberg --
Passport again -- Jeschkenpeak -- Reinowitz -- Schlag --
Neudorf -- A Talk at Grünheid -- Bad Sample of Lancashire
-- Tannwald -- Curious Rocks -- Spinneries -- Populousness
-- Przichowitz -- An Altercation -- Heavy Odds -- The
Englishman Wins -- A Word to the Company.
Fresh _Semmel_ for breakfast again the next morning, and renewed
entreaties for my stay. I could only reply by putting on my knapsack.
The old man grieved that infirmity prevented his showing me the
shortest way to Hayda, some ten miles distant, where I should strike
the main road. "But," he said, "Röschen knows the way, and she will be
glad to go. I can trust her with you, for you are an Englishman."
I felt bound to thank him for his compliment to my nationality, and
not less for the unexpected pleasure of his daughter's company.
Röschen went to put on her round hat, and then the mother said she
would like to go too, "just a little half-hour," and tied on her
kerchief. Then I had to give a kiss to the rest of the family--barring
the old man--and with cordial hand-grip and many a good-bye I stepped
from beneath the hospitable roof.
The day was as bright and breezy as heart could wish, and it was
delightful walking in and out, choosing the short cuts across the
fields. The "little half-hour" brought us to a great cross by the
wayside, where the mother, who lamented all the way that I would not
let her carry my knapsack, gave me a hearty kiss, hoped I would soon
come again and stay a month, bade Röschen take care of me, and turned
away homewards with tears in her eyes.
I thought to myself, if my gracious masters--long may they live!--did
but grant me an uncircumscribed holiday, I would stay a month now. And
would I not, oh, worthy hearts! strive to repay your hospitality by
lessons to that young daughter of yours, who craves to learn English
as a hungry man for bread. I had no claim on you: you had never heard
of me, and yet you entertained me as if I had been your son. May the
love that befalls the cheerful giver dwell ever with you!
Röschen knew all the byepaths and little lanes running through belts
of copse, by which, with many a rise and fall among the hills, we took
our way, she all the time wondering at my pleasurable emotions at
sight of the picturesque cottages and pretty scenery. To her they were
nothing remarkable. By-and-by we saw Steinschönau on the left, where
the surrounding hamlets buy groceries, hardware, and napery, and
resort at times for a holiday. While skirting it we saw here and there
on a cottage wall bills of the next Sunday's play. It would be, so
states _Herr Direktor Feichtinger_, _In celebration of the highest
delighting occurrence of the birth of an Imperial Sproutling, with
festive Illumination. First, the Heart-elevating Austrian Folks-hymn:
then Hanns Sachs, Shoemaker and Poet, a_ _Drama in Four Acts._ And he
ends with a notification: _Price of Places as always. But to
Generosity no Limit will be set._ Röschen promised herself much
pleasure from a sight of the play.
Hayda, though a small town, is a place of much importance in the glass
trade. You hear the noise of wheels in every house. "None but
glass-workers here," said the landlord of the inn where we dined. The
repast over, I said good-bye to Röschen, vexed with myself for having
occasioned her so long a walk, and taking the road which I had left at
Markersdorf, stepped out for the _Riesengebirge_--distant a three
days' tramp. The country between teems with manufactures and
population--a cheerful country, hill and dale, grain, flax, and
fruit-trees, and the people for the most part good-looking. Their
faces are round, but not flat, and seemed to me to combine some of the
best points of the German and Czech.
You see dye-works and hear looms at Zwickau--not the Saxon town we
explored a fortnight ago, but a dull place, with a great dull square;
the wooden houses dingy, the brick houses rough and ragged. Beyond, we
pass strange-looking rocks and short ranges of cliffs, the castle and
grounds owned by Count Clam Gallas, and so to Gabel, a town which
bears a _fork_ in its coat-of-arms; and is burdened with recollections
of disasters from fire and sword. It has of course a great square, in
the centre of which stands a tall column, surmounted by a figure of
Christ looking towards the domed church. Its aspect is cheerful,
notwithstanding that the old wooden houses with projecting gables are
blackened by age.
Then the road becomes more hilly, and the distance appears
mountainous. We pass a singular mass of boulders--huge compressed
bladders turned to stone; and from time to time other strangely formed
rocks, betokening extraordinary geological phenomena, as if to prepare
us for what we shall see a few days hence at Adersbach.
By-and-by a deep glen, dark with firs above, green with birches below,
into which you descend by long zigzags. Here among the trees sat a
cuckoo, piping his name loud enough for all that passed to hear. It
was the second time I had heard the gladsome note in Bohemia: the
first was on the White Hill, while walking into Prague. Broad views,
bounded always by hills, open as you emerge from the last slope, and
there in a hollow lies the little village of Weisskirchen, where I
tarried for the night. The innkeeper calls his house the _Railway
Inn_, although there is no railway within half a day's walk, and in
matter of diet all he could offer was smoked sausage--which is my
abomination--and bread and butter.
On the way to Reichenberg next morning I saw a small, tasteful iron
crucifix, with a lamp, set up on a stone pedestal by the wayside, at
the cost, so runs the inscription, of _Gottfried Hermann, Bauer in
Rosenthal_; and underneath the devout peasant adds a prayer for the
solace of wayfarers:
An dem Abend wie am Morgen,
Unter Arbeit, unter Sorgen,
In der Freude, in dem Schmerz,
In der Einsamkeit und Stille,
Lenk' O Christ, mit Dankesfülle
Zu dem Kreuz, das fromme Herz![F]
At ten o'clock I came to Reichenberg: a town pleasantly situate on
hilly ground, and animated by many signs of industry. It is the
capital of the manufacturing region, and in importance ranks next to
Prague. In 1848 the German Bohemians, not relishing the dictatorial
tone of the Czechs in the metropolis and southern parts of the
kingdom, made it the seat of their Reform Committee, and held
meetings, in which speech, intoxicated by sudden, and, as it proved,
short-lifed freedom, mistook words for things, and, before the mistake
was discovered, lay once more fettered--faster than ever.
I found out the _Bezirksamt_ at the farther end of the town, and was
there told to go back to the middle, and get my passport signed at the
_Magistratur_. I had to wait while four others passed the desk. The
first, a portly gentleman, evidently of some consideration, was
dismissed in half a minute, and treated to a pinch of snuff by the
clerk. The second, a petty trader, was kept five minutes, and had to
tell why he wished to journey, and what he meant to do. The third, a
peasant, was only released after a cross-examination, as if he had
been a conspirator; and a rigorous scrutiny of his passport, which
occupied a quarter-hour. The fourth, a poor woman, as I have before
mentioned, was denied, and went away with tears in her eyes. Then came
my turn.
"Where are you going?"
I had always the same answer: "To the _Riesengebirge_."
But as no visa could be given for mere mountains, I named Landeshut, a
few miles beyond the frontier, telling the functionary at the same
time that I had no intention of visiting the town, and should in all
probability not go thither.
Apparently it mattered not, for the visa was made out and stamped.
This done, the clerk took my passport, and withdrew to an inner room.
His brother clerks in all the offices I had yet entered had done the
same. What did it mean? Is there a secret chamber where some highest
functionary sits with a black list before him, in which he must search
for suspected names? No one would tell me. After five minutes the
clerk returned, gave me back my passport, but, less courteous than his
fellows, did not wish me a pleasant journey.
I dined at the _Rothen Adler_; strolled through the market-place and
the arcades of the old houses on either side, noting the ways of the
crowd who were buying and selling meal, fruit, and vegetables. Groups
of countrywomen were passing in and out of the church at the upper
end; and countrymen arrived with trains of bullock-wagons--the
vehicles so disproportionately small when contrasted with the animals,
that you could not look at them without laughing. However, they carry
away cotton bales and dyestuffs, of which you see good store in the
warehouses. You see piles of woollen cloth, too, and troops of
factory-girls going to dinner.
You will tarry awhile to admire the view from the hill beyond the
town, and will, perhaps, think the tall chimneys rising here and there
without the crowding roofs rather picturesque than otherwise. All
around is hill and dale; the graceful peak of the _Jeschken_, 3000
feet high, is in sight; and away to the north-east, inviting you on,
rise heaps of blue mountains. And as you proceed you descend every two
or three miles into a charming little valley, where you see little
factories, and stripes of linen stretched out to bleach on the grassy
slopes. So at Reinowitz; so at Schlag; so at Neudorf; so at
Morchenstern. At Grünheid, where I stayed for a half-hour's rest,
there was a noticeable appearance of cleanliness. The inn, inviting of
aspect, would have satisfied even a Dutchwoman. While drinking my
glass of beer I had a talk with the hostesses--two happy-looking
sisters, who presently told me they had a brother in England, at
Oldham, learning how to spin cotton and manage a factory. Did I know
Oldham?--had I ever been there?--could I tell them anything about
it?--and so forth. Having visited more than once that hard-working
town, I was enabled to gratify their curiosity. Then they told me of
an Englishman who was employed in a factory about a mile distant. He
had been there three years, yet his manners were so coarse and
disagreeable that no one liked him, although at first many would have
been his friends. He had learned but very little German, and that of
the worst kind, and was over fond of drinking too much beer. "He has
been trying for some time," they said, "to get a wife; but no woman
will have him. While good Bohemian husbands are to be had, who would
marry a bad Englishman? And so now he is going to fetch a wife from
his own country."
And then they asked, "Are all Englishmen such as he?"
Need I record my answer? It enlightened them as to the real value of
the sample they had described, and made them fully aware that I for
one did not regard Lancashire as England's model county.
More curious rocks as we drop down towards Tannwald--a place, as its
name indicates, of fir forests. It lies deep among hills, watered by a
stream brawling along a stony bed, and here and there you see the
weatherbeaten heads of huge boulders peering from among the trees. The
road makes short and frequent windings by the side of the stream; now
skirted by groves of mountain ash, and slopes red with clustering
loosestrife; now by feathery larches, green and graceful, contrasting
beautifully with the melancholy firs. Then you pass an enormous
spinnery, its thousand spindles driven by the dashing torrent; and
peeping between the plants and flowers with which nearly every window
is adorned, you see an army of girls within, busy at the machinery.
Another and another spinnery succeeds; the houses of the masters
appear aloft on pleasant sites, and signs of prosperous trade crowded
into the bend of a narrow valley. In one place you see a broad alley
through the firs to the top of the highest hill, cut at the masters'
cost for the recreation of the workpeople. Thickly-strewn cottages
betoken a numerous population. "I wish there were more factories,"
said the landlord of the _Goldene Krone_, "for we have people
enough--more than enough." Every year things got dearer, greatly to
the folks' surprise. Not many months ago a traveller has passed
through, who told them that things would never be cheap again; but no
one would believe him. Some of the best spinners could earn from five
to six florins a week: thriftiness, however, was a rare virtue, and to
earn the money easier than to save it. Perhaps mine host was the man
of all others in Tannwald best able to speak with knowledge on this
economical question.
If so minded, you can travel from Reichenberg to Tannwald by
_Stellwagen_; beyond, the road becomes more and more hilly, and
worsens off to a stony track broken with deep ruts. By taking a short
cut directly up the hill you may save a mile or more on the way to the
next village--Przichowitz; a name that looks unpronounceable. It is a
steep climb for about half an hour, provoking many a halt, during
which you enjoy the ever-widening view. From the expanse of hill and
dale to the numberless cottages all around you, each fronted by a
fenced flower-garden, and haunted by the noise of looms, you will find
ample occupation for the eye. And if you wish to observe domestic
labour competing with the factory-units with an organized
multitude--the opportunity is favourable.
Przichowitz stands on what appears to be the very top of the hill till
you see the wooded eminence, _Stephanshöh_, beyond. There are two
inns: the _Grünen Baum_, with a fourth share of a bedroom; the
_Gasthaus zur Stephanshöh_, somewhat Czechish in its appointments. I
quartered myself at the latter; and discovered two redeeming
points--good wine and excellent coffee.
At bedtime the landlord demanded my passport, with an intimation that
he should keep it in his possession all night. I demurred. He might
bring his book and enter my name if he would: as for giving up to him
a document so essential to locomotion anywhere within sight of the
black and yellow stripes, I saw no reason why I should, and therefore
shouldn't.
"But you must."
"But I won't."
"The gendarme will come."
"Let him come. He will find at least one honest man under your roof."
The hostess came forward and put in her word: the company present, who
were topping-off their three hours' potation of _Einfach_ with a glass
of _Schnaps_, ceased their conversation, and put in theirs:
"Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil,
"Wi' usquebaugh we'll face the devil."
the _Kellnerinn_ waiting all the while with my bed-candle in her hand.
Every one, except the serving-maid, who held her peace, sided with the
landlord.
I urged the same reply over and over again, that not having been asked
at any other _Wirthshaus_ to yield possession of my passport for a
night, I could not believe that any regulation to the contrary
prevailed for Przichowitz.
At length the company, as it appeared, having exhausted their
suggestions, the landlord fetched his book, and had dipped a pen into
the inkstand, when two soldiers, who were eating a supper of sausage,
brown bread and onions, at a table apart, beckoned him, and whispered
something in his ear.
The whisper revived his suspicions, and would have renewed the
altercation; but I took up my knapsack, asked what was to pay, and
declared for a moonlight walk to Rochlitz.
The demonstration made him pause: he opened the book, dipped the pen
once more into the inkstand, and looked wonderingly at my passport,
which I held open before him. He tried to spell it out; but in vain.
The pen went into the inkstand again; but to no purpose. He was
completely bothered; and at last, putting the pen in my hand, he said,
not now in a peremptory tone--"Will you enter your own name, if I let
you do it?"
It would have served him right had I refused, and left the task
entirely to him. However, not to be too hard upon him, I promised not
to inscribe Brown, Jones, or Robinson, and wrote what was required.
Then, looking round on the company, I said: "A pretty set of cowards
you are! Here are nine of ye, two of them soldiers, and you all take
the part of a suspicious landlord against one--and that one a
foreigner. No wonder you are all afraid of a gendarme; and submit to
ask leave when you want to go a day's journey. Try, in future, and
remember that honesty does not become rogue by travelling on foot.
Good night!"
"So, now it's settled," said the _Kellnerinn_, who still waited with
the candle in her hand; and she led the way up-stairs.
Before sleeping I repented of my speech; for what could be expected
from people who never attended a vestry meeting--never saw a general
election--never exercised the privilege of booting a candidate on the
hustings?
And never had a _Times_ to publish their grievances.
FOOTNOTE:
[F] In the evening as at morning,
Under work, under cares,
In joy, in sorrow,
In solitude and silence,
Lead, O Christ, with thankfulness
To the Cross, the pious heart.