hierochontina_) or Holy Rose--a low, gray-leaved annual, utterly unlike
a rose, growing abundantly in the arid wastes of Egypt, and also
throughout Palestine and Barbary, and along the sandy coasts of the Red
Sea. One of the most curious of the cruciferous plants, it exhibits, in
a rare degree, a hygrometric action in its process of reproduction.
During the hot season it blooms freely, growing close to the ground,
bearing its leaves and blossoms upon its upper surface; when these fall
off, the stems become dry and ligneous, curving upward and inward until
the plant becomes a ball of twigs, containing its closed seed-vessels in
the centre, and held to the sand by a short fibreless root. In this
condition, it is readily freed by the winds, and blown across the
desert, until it reaches an oasis or the sea; when, yielding to the
'_Open Sesame_' of water, it uncloses, leaving nature to use its
jealously guarded treasures at her will.
The dried plant, if carefully preserved, retains for a long time its
hygrometric quality. When wet, it expands to its original form,
displaying florets (?) not unlike those of the elder, but larger,
closing again as soon as the moisture evaporates. Hence it is
reverenced in Syria as a holy emblem. The people call it _Kaf Maryam_,
or Mary's Flower, and many superstitions are held regarding it, one of
which is, that it first blossomed on the night on which our Saviour was
born. Growing everywhere, upon heaps of rubbish and roofs of old houses,
by the wayside, and almost under the very door-stones, it creeps into
the surroundings of the people, weaving its chains of white, yellow, or
purple flowers while sunshine lasts, and, when apparent decay overtakes
it, teaching its beautiful lesson of Life in Death. Who can cavil at the
thought which raises it to a symbol of that Eternal Love forever weaving
endless chains from heart to heart, no spot too lowly for its tendrils
to penetrate, or too dreary for its bloom.
Some specimens of the Anastatica have been carried to this country by
travellers. One, in the cabinet of Fisher Howe, Esq., of Brooklyn, and
brought by him from Jericho fourteen years ago, still retains its
remarkable habit; and another, older still, is in the possession of Dr.
Eames.
Among the plants which exhibit curious phases of hygrometric action
might be cited some of the Fig Marigolds (_Mesembryanthemum_); also the
Scaly Club Moss (_Lycopodium_). The latter, after being thoroughly
withered, will, if laid in water, gradually expand, turn green, and
assume the appearance of a thriving plant. When again dried, it becomes
a brown, shrunken mass, capable, however, of being revived _ad libitum_.
Some species of Fungi also exhibit a similar property--and all have
observed with what promptitude the various pine and larch cones cover
their seed in a storm, or even when it 'looks like rain.' I remember
being once not a little puzzled in trying to open a drawer that some
weeks before had been filled with damp pine cones. Upon becoming dry,
each individual had attempted a humble imitation of the genii in the
'Arabian Nights,' expanding to its fullest extent, only to be subjugated
by being cast again into the water.
Some of the Algæ exhibit properties similar to that of the Club Moss;
and a marine plant known as the Californian Rock-rose is still more
curious. Clinging closely to the rocks, and feeding upon some invisible
debris, or, like certain orchids, drawing its sustenance from the air
(for the rocks upon which it grows, sometimes are lifted far above the
water), it attains an enormous size, being in some instances as large as
a bushel basket. It is not without a certain jagged beauty of contour,
resembling, more than anything else, clusters of Arbor Vitæ branches cut
out of wet leather, and meeting in the centre. Once torn from its stony
bed, the Rock-rose curls up into an apparently tangled mass of network,
having the general outline of a rose, but it will at any time, upon
being immersed in water, assume its original appearance. I have seen a
fine specimen of this plant open and close, for the hundredth time,
years after it had been taken from the rock.
The Hygrometric Ground Star (_Geastrum hygrometricum_), found in many
portions of Europe, is well known; nearer home, we have a variety
(_Geastrum Saratogensis_) differing in some respects from its
transatlantic relative, which is of a warm brown color, and flourishes
in gravelly soil.
The American variety grows abundantly in the drifting sands of Saratoga
County, N. Y. It has no stem or root, excepting here and there a fine
capillary fibre by which it clings to the ground. When dry, it contracts
to a perfect sphere, is rolled by the wind across the sand, and
(according to the account given by Dr. Asa Fitch, who has had a specimen
in his possession for twenty years) shakes a few seeds from the orifice
at its summit at each revolution. This seed ball also possesses the
power of opening when moistened, changing its spherical form to that of
an open flower about two inches in diameter. When opened, it displays
eight elliptical divisions, resembling petals. These are white as snow
on the inside, and traversed by a network of small irregular cracks,
while their outer surface resembles kid leather, both in color and
texture.
The Ground Star differs in habit from the 'Resurrection Flower,' which
never yields its seed unless expanded by moisture (if Dr. Deck's theory
be correct), and is not nearly as intricate or beautiful in construction
as the oriental relic. Indeed, to this day, the 'Resurrection Flower,'
as one must call it for want of a better name, remains without a known
rival in the botanical world. From time to time, brief notices
concerning it have been published; and where writers, sometimes without
having seen the original, have claimed the knowledge or possession of
similar specimens, they have become convinced of their mistake on
personal inspection. Even the plants alluded to in a short account,
given eight years ago, in a leading New York periodical, as being the
same as the 'Resurrection Flower,' proved, on comparison by Dr. Eames,
to be entirely different.
Although it is by no means certain that the plant in Baron Humboldt's
collection, and that owned by Dr Eames, are the only individuals of
their kind in existence, the fact of their great rarity is well
established. As far as I have been able to ascertain, there is but one
'Resurrection Flower' in America.
That new plants might be obtained from this lonely representative of its
race few can doubt; but to this day the germs exposed so temptingly at
each awakening, have never been removed. Old as it is, it has never done
its work, the only seeds it has sown being those of inquiry and
adoration in the minds of all who have witnessed its marvellous powers.
Whether the pretty oriental tale of its origin be true or not--and it
requires an oriental faith to believe it in the face of contradictory
evidence--none can gaze upon that little emblem of 'Life in Death'--so
homely and frail, and yet so beautiful and so eternal--without peculiar
emotion.
What drooping, weary soul, parched with the dust of earth, but sometimes
longs to be forever steeped in that great Love in which it may expand
and bloom--casting its treasures upon Heavenly soil,--and glowing
evermore with the radiance of the Awakening.
RECOGNITION.
Now in the chambers of my heart is day,
And form and order. A most sacred guest
Is come therein, and at his high behest
Beauty and Light, who his calm glance obey,
Flew to prepare them for his regal sway.
Now solitude I seek, which once, possessed,
I fled; now, solitude to me is blessed,
Wherein I hearken Love's mysterious lay,
And hold with thee communion in my heart.
That thou art beautiful, thou who art mine--
That with thy beauty, Beauty's soul divine
Has filled my soul, I muse upon apart.
In the blue dome of Heaven's eternity,
Rising I seem upborne by thoughts of thee.
THE SEVEN-HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY OF A GERMAN CAPITAL.
Most of our countrymen look upon Germany as all one. The varieties of
outlandish customs, costumes, and dialects observed among our emigrant
population from that land are little noticed, and never regarded as
marking districts of the fatherland from which they severally sprung.
One of the most fruitful themes of pleasant humor and biting sarcasm in
our periodical literature and in the popular mouth, is the ignorance
betrayed by enlightened foreigners, and especially foreign journalists,
in regard to the geography of our country; as though America were, _par
excellence_, THE land, and on whatever other subject the world might,
without meriting our contempt, fail to inform itself, our country, not
only in its glorious history and more glorious destiny, but in the
minuter details of the picture, must be understood and acknowledged.
This charge of ignorance is not unfounded. Often have I been not a
little amused when an intelligent German has inquired of me as a New
Yorker, with the sure hope of news from his friend in Panama, or another
to learn how he might collect a debt from a merchant at Valparaiso, or a
third to be informed why he received no answers to letters addressed to
friends in Cuba, and so on. But if the tables were turned upon us, there
is no point on which we should be found open to a more fearful
retribution than on this. I know an American gentleman of education--and
he told me the story himself--who applied at Washington for letters to
our diplomatic representatives in Europe, and who had sufficiently
informed himself to be on the point of sailing for several years'
residence abroad, and still, when letters were handed him for our
consul-general at Frankfort and our minister in Prussia, asked, with no
little concern, whether a letter to our minister in _Germany_ could not
be given him. I knew a correspondent of a New York journal fearfully to
scourge a distinguished German for his ignorance of American geography.
The same person, after months of residence in Munich, having about
exhausted the resources which it offered him for his correspondence,
gave a somewhat detailed account of the affairs of Greece, in which he
referred to King Otho as _brother_ of King Lewis of Bavaria, although
almost any peasant could have told him that the latter was _father_ to
the former.
Indeed, there is nothing strange about this, unless it be that any one
should deem himself quite above the class of blunders which he
satirizes. It is less to be wondered at that one should continue to hurl
his satiric javelins at those who commit the same class of errors with
himself, since he seldom becomes aware of his own ridiculous mistakes.
In regard to Germany, our people know but its grand divisions and its
large cities; and of its people among us but their exterior
distinctions, and mainly those offered to the eye, arrest attention. We
meet them as servants or employés in kitchens, shops, and gardens, and
on farms, or as neighbors, competitors, or associates in business. At
evening we separate, and they go to their own domestic or social
circles, where alone the native character speaks itself freely forth in
the native language and dialect. There only the homebred wit and humor
freely flow and flash. There the half-forgotten legends and
superstitions, the utterance of which to other ears than those of their
own people is forbidden--perhaps by a slight sense of shame, perhaps by
the utter failure of language,--together with the pastimes and
adventures of their native villages or districts, are arrested in their
rapid progress to oblivion, as they are occasionally called forth to
amuse the dull hours or lighten the heavy ones of a home-sick life in a
foreign land. Could we but half enter into the hearts of the peasant
Germans who move among us, and are by some regarded as scarcely raised
in refinement and sensibility above the rank of the more polished
domestic animals of our own great and enlightened land, we should often
find them replete with the choicest elements of the truly epic, the
comic, and the tragic.
How seldom do the people of different lands and languages learn to
understand each other--become so well acquainted as to appreciate each
other's most engaging traits? The German emigrant seeks a home among us,
and desires to identify himself with us. The costume of his native
district is thrown off as soon as he needs a new garment, often much
sooner. His language is laid aside except for domestic use and certain
social and business purposes, as soon as he has a few words of ours.
These words serve the ends of business, and rarely does he ever learn
enough for any other purpose. The other parts of the man remain
concealed from our view. He is to us a pure utilitarian of the grossest
school. His pipe suspended from his mouth, his whole time given to his
shop, his farm, or his garden, and to certain amusements unknown to us,
he is deemed to vegetate much like the plants he grows, or to live a
life on the same level with that of the animal he feeds, incapable of
appreciating those higher and more refined pleasures to which we have
risen--in other words, the true type of dulness and coarseness. An
intelligent Welshman once told me that he could not talk religion in
English nor politics in Welsh. So with the Germans among us. Their
business and politics learn to put themselves into English, their
religious, domestic, and social being remains forever shut up in the
enclosure of their mother tongue, and from this we rashly judge that
what they express is all there is of them. We have never considered the
difficulty of transferring all the utterances of humanity from their
first and native mediums to foreign ones. It is easy to learn the daily
wants of life or the formal details of business in a new language. Here
words have a uniform sense. But the nice shades and turns of thought
which appear in the happiest and most delicate jets of wit and humor,
and which form the great staples of pleasant social intercourse, depend
upon those subtile discriminations in the sense of words which are
rarely acquired by foreigners. One may have all the words of a language
and not be able to understand them in sallies of wit. How nicely
adjusted then must be the scales which weigh out the innumerable and
delicate bits of pleasantry which give the charm to social life! The
words to relate the legends connected with the knights and castles of
chivalry, saints, witches, elves, spooks, and gypsies, the foreigners
among us never acquire, or at least never so as to have the ready and
delicate use of them in social life, until their foreign character has
become quite absorbed in the fully developed American, and the taste, if
not the material for picturing the customs and legends of the fatherland
are forever gone.
It is mainly North Germany with whose institutions we have become more
or less familiar through our newspaper literature, and the numbers of
students who have from time to time gone thither for educational
purposes. Some acquaintance has also been made with Baden and
Wirtemberg, in South Germany, as these principalities have a population
mainly Protestant; and Heidelberg, at least, has been a favorite resort
for American students. But the same is not true of Catholic South
Germany. Munich's collections and institutions of art--mainly the work
of the late and still living King Lewis I.--have, indeed, become
generally known. Mary Howitt, in her 'Art Student in Munich,' has given
us some graphic delineations of life there. The talented and witty
Baroness Tautphoens has done us still better service in her 'Initials'
and 'Quits,' in relation both to life in the capital and in the
mountains; yet the character, institutions, and customs of the people
remain an almost unexplored field to the American reader.
In the middle of the twelfth century Munich was still an insignificant
village on the Isar, and had not even been erected into a separate
parish. About this time Henry the Lion added to his duchy of Saxony,
that of Bavaria, and having destroyed the old town of Foehring, which
lay a little below the site of Munich on the other side of the river,
transferred to the latter place the market and the collection of the
customs, which had till then been held by the bishops of Freising with
the imperial consent. The emperor Frederic I., in the year 1158,
confirmed, against the remonstrances of Bishop Otho I., the doings of
Henry. The duke hastened to surround the village with a wall and moat to
afford protection to those who might choose to settle there, and in
twenty years it had become a city. But the duke fell into disgrace with
the emperor, and the latter revoked the rights he had granted; but this
was like taking back a slander which had already been circulated. The
effect had been produced. Munich was to become a capital.
Bishop Otho's successor would gladly have destroyed the infant city and
the bridge which had been the making of it. In consequence, however, of
his early death, this beneficent purpose toward his see of Freising
remained unexecuted. The next successor continued the same policy. He
built a castle with the design of seizing the trading trains which
should take the road to Munich, perhaps deeming this the best way of
magnifying his office as a leader in the church militant. But before he
could achieve his purpose of cutting off all supplies from the rival
town, and turning trade and tribute all to his own place, a new defender
of the rising city had sprung up in the house of Wittelsbocher--the same
which still reigns over the kingdom of Bavaria,--and the matter of the
feud was finally adjusted by the quiet surrender of the bridge and the
tolls to the city.
The imperial decree, therefore, of 1158, must be regarded as having laid
the foundation of Munich as a city, and accordingly the seven hundredth
anniversary of its founding was celebrated in the year 1858. I shall
place a notice of this _fête_ at the head of the list of those which
occurred during my residence in that capital.
It was a part of the plan that the ceremony of laying the foundation of
a new bridge over the Isar should be performed by the king. This was
deemed specially appropriate, because the springing up of the city had
depended upon a bridge over the river to draw thither the trade which
had gone to the old Freising. This occurred on Sunday, and I did not see
it. I never heard, however, but that his majesty acquitted himself as
well in this stone mason's work as he does in the affairs of court or
state--just as well, perhaps, as one of our more democratic Chief
Magistrates, accustomed to splitting rails or other kinds of manual
labor, would have done. I took a walk with my children at evening, and
met the long line of court carriages returning, followed by a procession
on foot, the archbishop, with some church dignitaries, walking under a
canopy and distributing, by a wave of the hand at each step of his
progress, his blessing to the crowds which thronged both sides of the
broad street. Some, perhaps, prized this more than we did, but I do not
suppose that there was anything in the nature of the blessing or in the
will of the benevolent prelate to turn it from our heretical heads.
The other parts of this celebration consisted in dinners, plays in the
theatres, a meeting at the _Rathhaus_, at which were read papers on the
development of Munich for the seven hundred years of its existence, and
a procession, the whole occupying about a week. I shall only notice
specially the procession, and in connection with it the art exhibition
for all Germany, which closed at the same time, having been in progress
for three months; for the two greatly contributed to each other.
The illustrated weekly, published at Stuttgart by the well-known
novelist Hacklaender, under the title of _Ueber Land und Meer_, refers
to these festivities in the following terms:
'Munich, the South German metropolis of art, was, during the
closing days of September, transformed into a festive city. The
German artists had assembled from all parts of the country, that
they might, within those walls, charmed by the genius of the muses,
wander through the halls in which the academy had collected the
best works of German art, and take counsel upon the common
interests, as they had formerly done at Bingen and Stuttgart. The
artists and the magistracy vied with each other in preparing happy
days for the visitors--an emulation which was crowned with the most
delightful results. The artists' festival, however, was but the
harbinger to the the city of the great seventh centennial birthday
festival of the Bavarian capital, which had been so long in
preparation, and was waited for with such impatience. Concerts and
theatres opened the festal series. Services in all the churches of
both confessions consecrated the coming days, and the laying of the
foundation of the new bridge over the Isar, leading to the
Maximilianeum, formed, historically, a monumental memorial for the
occasion. Favored by the fairest of weather, the city celebrated
the main festival on the 27th of September. It was a historical
procession, moved through all the principal streets of the city,
and caused departed centuries to pass in full life before the eyes
of the citizens and the vast assemblage of strangers there present.
It was no masquerade, but a true picture of the civilization of the
city, from its first appearance in history to the present day--'a
mirrored image,' says a chronicler of the festival, 'of times long
since gone by.
'The twelfth century opened the procession--representations of the
present time in science, art, and industry, as developed under the
reigns of Lewis and Maximilian, which have been so promotive of all
that is great, closed it up. But one voice was heard in regard to
the success of this festival.'
The plan was to let representatives of the people for this whole period
of seven hundred years pass before the eyes of the spectators in the
fashions and costumes of their respective ages, bearing the implements
or badges of their several guilds or professions. The preparation had
been begun months beforehand. Artists had been employed to sketch
designs. The best had been selected. The costumes were historical. We
see sometimes in every part of our country, costumes extemporized from
garrets for old folks' concerts and other like occasions, but generally
they do not correspond with each other, or with the performances. The
result is committed to accident. The actors wear what their meagre
wardrobes of the antique furnish. The wider the divergence from present
fashions the better. Chance may bring together the styles of a dozen
successive periods, and render the whole without coherence. In such an
exhibition our interest is felt simply in the grotesque. It shows us how
a countenance familiar to us is set off by a strange and outlandish
costume. It represents no history. Such was not this procession. Its
front had twelfth century costumes of peasants, burghers, and even the
ducal family. So down to the very day of the festival; for statues of
the present royal family on open cars closed up the long line. It did
not seem indeed quite right that the successive ages of the dead should
pass before us living, and the living age alone lifeless. In one part of
the procession was an imperial carriage of state drawn by six horses, a
man in livery leading each horse, with all the necessary footmen,
outriders, and outrunners. The whole was antiquity and novelty happily
combined. The costumes and insignia of all classes, with the tools and
implements of all handicrafts, from the day when Duke Henry and Bishop
Otho, seven hundred years before, had had their petty bickerings about
the tolls of a paltry village, down to the present day, the whole
transformed into a living panorama, and made to pass in about four hours
before the eye.