us, and the towers of Lahneck come in sight, a feudal castle restored by
a wealthy Englishman, and which occupies a crag above the River Lahn; we
pass little white villages nestled at the foot of the hills, and looking
far inland, see the slopes bristling with vineyards; we are in the land
of the vine. Next comes another great castle, Marksburg, frowning from
its rocky height four hundred and eighty feet above the stream, and we
lazily inspect it by the aid of a double field-glass, as we lie at full
length on a settee, beneath the steamer's awning, and, on inquiry, find
that after being an old feudal castle, and bearing its weight of half a
thousand years bravely, it has been degraded into a states prison! The
little town near the river, an old watch-tower, a road winding off amid
the hills for a foreground, and this old castle high above as the
background, forms so charming a picture, that one wishes it might, by
some magic process, be transferred to canvas, that he could carry it
away, and show it to others as it appeared to him. Farther on we pass
the little castle of Liebeneck; then comes Boppard, where, in feudal
times, once existed an establishment of the Knights Templars. Next we
sweep round a great angle or elbow of the river, and there come in sight
of a little village, with a Gothic church of the fifteenth century,
behind and high above it, the two castles known as "the Brothers,"
connected with each other by a narrow natural bridge of rock.
These two castles have a legend, as in fact nearly all the Rhine castles
have, and half the charm of one's trip consists in having them told to
you at the right time, or recalling the half-forgotten story of boyhood
piecemeal with some _compagnon de voyage_. The story of these castles is
familiar, and is of two brothers loving the same lady, of faithlessness,
of jealousy; and finally the lady in the case, with the delightfully
German romantic name of Hildegarde, retires to the convent at the foot
of the hill--that is the way they always do in these Rhine legends; it
brings the convent into the story, and, perhaps, excites a desire on the
part of the tourist to see the cell occupied by the fair penitent,
without suspecting that the exhibition may prove something more of a
sell than he bargained for. Well, the lady retired, the two brothers
were reconciled, and lived ever after in one castle, instead of two.
More quaint little villages, other ruined castles! Thurnberg, the
"Mouse" tower, looms up, with its square, shattered walls, and round
tower, rising from their midst against the sky as we sweep by it; and
St. Goar, a conspicuous-looking town, comes in view, with the huge ruins
of Rheinfels, three hundred and seventy feet above it, the most
magnificent ruin on the river, a second Ehrenbreitstein in strength, and
which has laughed one siege of fifteen months to scorn in the thirteenth
century, and in 1692 was again defended successfully against an army of
twenty-four thousand men, but blown up by the French revolutionary army
of 1794. It is now simply a picturesque ruin on its rocky eminence, with
the railway track creeping around its base; below the track, nearer the
river, winds the carriage-road to the town.
The Mouse, or Maus Tower, which we passed before reaching Rheinfels, was
so called by the envious counts of Katzenelnbogen (there's a name to
write), who named their own castle, near here, the Cat (Katz); but the
story goes that the mouse and its stout old warrior were more than a
match for the cat; in fact, he was so feared in his day that the proverb
was reversed, and when the mouse was away the cat would play.
Now we reach the precipitous rocks known as the "Lurlei" crags, towering
four hundred and twenty feet above the river, which flows swiftly down
their base; and here was where Lurlei, the siren, sat and chanted her
songs, which lured fishermen, knights, and sailors to their destruction
in the rapids that whirled beneath her lofty and romantic seat. As we
passed we heard no siren's song, but our ears were saluted with the
shrill whistle of that practical chanter of the advance of civilization,
the locomotive, that rushed through a tunnel, piercing the very base of
the magic rock, and whirling out of sight with a shriek that made the
hills echo like the scream of a demon, leaving an angry puff of smoke
issuing from the rocky orifice, as if the fiend had vanished from the
surface to the centre.
Now we pass Oberwesel, with its romantic ravines, picturesque vineyards,
and old ruins of Castle Schönburg; farther on, on the opposite bank, the
grand old castle of Gutenfels stands guard over the town beneath it;
then comes that little hexagonal castle, or stone fortification, on an
island, looking as though anchored in mid stream, known as the Pfalz;
it was erected in the thirteenth century, as a toll-house for exacting
tribute, and has served, if not as a prison, as a place of royal
confinement--tradition being that the Countesses Palatine remained here
during their accouchements. We wind round a point, and the Castle of
Stahleck, once the principal residence of the Counts Palatine, makes its
appearance; then come the ruins of Fürstenburg, once the stronghold of
an old robber, who was bold enough to fire into the emperor's boat that
refused to pay toll as it passed; the stream now narrows perceptibly,
and a little slender tower, perched like a sentinel on watch on its
walls, at a narrow ravine, attracts attention; it is Sooneck, and was a
robbers' stronghold in the eleventh century.
Now we sweep round another bend in the river, and come in sight of the
lofty pinnacles, turrets, and towers of the beautiful Castle of
Rheinstein, two hundred and fifty feet above the river, completely
restored, the banner floating in the breeze from its topmost tower, and
a basket suspended upon an iron crane from one of the towers towards the
river; the whole shows the tourist just how these old strongholds used
to look during the middle ages, and a party of ladies, far up in a
little ivy-clad bower, at an angle of the castle terrace, exchanged
greetings with us in handkerchief wavings as we passed.
Now we come to Ehrenfels, and the vineyards where the Rüdesheimer grapes
are raised; these vineyards are arrayed in terraces, one above the
other, and the banks all along on the side of the hill, upheld by arches
of masonry, and brick and stone supports, put up apparently to keep the
earth in place, and afford more space for the vines from which the
celebrated vintage is obtained. At this point, on a rock, in mid stream,
stands the well-known Mouse Tower, celebrated in Southey's legend as the
retreat of Bishop Hatto, who sought to escape the rats by fleeing to it;
but his enemies swam the stream, entered the stronghold, and
"Whetted their teeth against the stones,
And then they picked the bishop's bones."
Bingen would never have attracted so much attention from Americans and
Englishmen if the Hon. Mrs. Norton, I think it was, had not written her
beautiful poem of the dying soldier, who was a native of the place, and
whose last words to the comrade who knelt by his side on the field of
battle, were his memories of "Sweet Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine,"
and sent messages home to his friends who lived at
"Bingen on the Rhine."
For no other reason than because they had read this poem and wished to
see Bingen, that had been so charmingly written about, did a party of
Americans land here; and in truth the little town was prettily situated,
with a little river at one side of it, the Nahe, flowing into the Rhine,
spanned by an old arched bridge, while its slender spires and white
houses look forth upon the swift-flowing river, divided by the little
island bearing the Mouse Tower, and upon the steep slopes of vineyards
on the other side of the Rhine, backed by the old Castle of Ehrenfels.
After leaving Bingen we come to the square-looking old Castle of
Bromserburg, its shattered turrets green with vines and weeds, and
farther on, other old ruins, "whose names I noted not," except one
little church, that stood out like a white toy, away up on a sharp point
of the hills; and then I was sorry I attempted to note it, for the
Prussian, who spoke English, was compelled to write the name for me, it
being an absolute impossibility for me to do so correctly, according to
the pronunciation of the country; so I will leave Rochuscapelle, and the
bright-looking little villages that we pass, for the old castle,
Johannisberg, which greets our view on its vine-clad eminence, three
hundred and forty feet above the river.
The vineyards which circle round and about the great hill surmounted by
this castle are said to cover forty acres of ground, and it is here that
the celebrated _Jo-hannis-bagger_--as they pronounce it--wine is made.
This Johannisberg vineyard is situated in the district, about fifteen
miles in length, celebrated as producing the finest wines of the Rhine.
There are Rudesheim, Hosheim, Hattenheim, the Steinberger, Graffenberg,
and many other "heims" and "bergs," whose mellowness and flavor, which
is more or less injured by travel, may be enjoyed here by wine-drinkers,
in their perfection, at a comparatively moderate cost.
Now we pass two or three islands, with unpronounceable names, more
white-walled towns, backed by castle ruins, or handsome country
residences and well-kept vineyards, with their serried rows of vines
rising terrace above terrace on the hill-sides. Here come the ancient,
quaint little village of Niederwalluf, known in record as far back as
the year 770, Schierstein embosomed in trees, and Biebrich with its
ducal palace, splendid garden, and park; we glide between two islands,
and come in sight of the triple line of fortifications and cathedral
steeples of Mayence.
Mayence, which claims to be the place where the Emperor Constantine saw
his vision of the cross, which is the strongest fortress in the German
confederation, which was founded B. C. 14 by the Romans, and where they
show you the remains of a Roman acqueduct, a Roman burial-ground, and
the site of the Roman camp, and, in the walls of the citadel, a
monument erected by two of the Roman legions in honor of their
commander-in-chief, Drusus, more than eighteen hundred years ago, an
aged-looking, gray, circular tower, forty feet in height,--Mayence, with
its bridge of boats, two thousand two hundred and twenty feet in length,
and Mayence, which is the end of our journey up the Rhine.
We expected, from travellers' stories, to have been disappointed with
the Rhine, and were--favorably disappointed. The succession of natural
beauties of its scenery, the historic interest attached to almost every
foot of the course between Cologne and Mayence, the novelty to American
eyes of the romantic ruins that crown the picturesque heights, the
smiling vineyards, quaint little towns, odd churches, prim watch-towers,
Gothic cathedrals, white-walled cities, and boat-bridges, of course lend
a charm to this beautiful river, and, notwithstanding my national
pride, I cannot agree with some of my countrymen, who assert that the
Hudson River is as rich in picturesque scenery as the Rhine, "leaving
the castles out." The river scenery in America, that in character most
resembles that of the Rhine, is the Upper Mississippi, between Prairie
du Chien and St. Paul, and there some of the remarkable natural
formations of the limestone bluffs supply the place of the Rhine
castles; but where that river widens out into Lake Pepin, the
comparison, of course, ceases.
The Rhine is a river of romance. A sail up the Rhine is something to be
enjoyed by a student, a tourist who has "read up," a lover of travel who
has longed to wander amid the scenes he has pored over on the pages of
books, gazed at in pictures and engravings, and wondered if the reality
could possibly be equal to the counterfeit presentment; and to such it
will be as it was to us,--
"A thing of beauty, _and_ a joy forever."
We rambled around Mayence, visited its filthy market-place, and its old
cathedral, founded in the tenth century, which has felt the stern
vicissitudes of war quite severely, serving at different periods as a
garrison for troops, a hay and provision magazine, &c. In the interior
are quite a number of monuments of German electors, with tongue-puzzling
names, and a tablet to the memory of one of Charlemagne's wives; and in
the Chapter-house is a beautiful sculpture by Schwanthaler, representing
a female figure decorating a sarcophagus with a wreath; a monument,
erected by the ladies of Mayence in 1842, in memory of a certain holy
minstrel, who sang of piety and woman's virtue some time in the early
part of the fourteenth century. Not far from the cathedral is Guttenberg
Square, where we saw Thorwaldsen's statue of Guttenberg, representing
him as an old man, with the long, flowing, philosopher-looking gown, or
robe, full beard, and skull-cap, with some of his precious volumes under
his arm, and upon the pedestal of the monument were bass-reliefs
representing scenes in his life. A bronze statue of Schiller adorns
another square here.
After Mayence, we found ourselves taking a two hours' ride to Wiesbaden,
one of the oldest watering-places in Germany, and for gambling second
only to Baden-Baden. Here we found fine rooms at the Hotel Victoria, and
the polite landlord, Herr Holzapfel, with a desire to facilitate the
enjoyment of the tourist, very graciously presented me with a handsome
little local guide-book, bearing the astounding title, "_Fremdenfuhrer
fur Wiesbaden und seine Umgebung_," and its imprint informed me, "_Im
Auftrage des Verfchönerungsvereins herausgegeven._"
Fancy an individual, unacquainted with the German tongue, with this
lucid little guide, printed in small German text, to aid him in
seeing the sights! However, I thanked the landlord, and pocketed the
guide-book as one of the curiosities of the place. Our first walk was
to the chief attraction here to all visitors, the great gaming-house
known as the Cursaal,--which is suggestive of the more appropriate
title Curse-all,--where the spacious and elegant gaming-saloons, that
have been described so often, were open for play from eleven A. M. to
eleven P. M., and which, during the season, are thronged with players
at the roulette and _rouge-et-noir_ tables. The central figure of
attraction to strangers, when we were there, was the old Duchess of
Homburg, who was each day wheeled in a chair to the table by her
servant, and gambled away furiously, not scrupling a malediction when
she lost heavily, or caring to conceal the eager gratification that
played upon her wrinkled features, or made the gold rattle in her
trembling and eager clutch, when she won.
This gaming-hall is furnished with elegant dining, ball, and
reading-rooms, and adjoining the building is an extensive and elegantly
laid out park and pleasure-ground, where a fine band play during the
afternoon, and throngs frequent its delightful alleys, walks, and
arbors. All these are free to the visitor; and sometimes, in the
evening, the band plays in the ball-room, and gayly-dressed crowds are
whirling about in German waltzes and galops, and couples, for a rest now
and then, will stroll into the adjacent lofty saloons of play, the
silence of which is in striking contrast with the ball-room clatter
without. Here the only loud words spoken are those of the managers of
the table, which, at regular intervals, rise above the subdued hum and
the musical rattle of gold and silver, or its clink against the
croupier's rake, as they sweep in the stakes from every part of the
table to the insatiate maw of the bank, with the familiar and
oft-repeated formula of,--
"_Faites votre jeu, messieurs._"
"_Le jeu, est-il fait?_"
"_Rien ne va plus._"
(Make your game, gentlemen. Is the game made? Nothing more goes). Or, at
the roulette table, audible announcement of the numbers, and color which
wins, determined by the ball in the revolving wheel.
Leaving Wiesbaden, its gamesters, and its mineral spring, the water of
which tasted very much like a warm decoction of salt and water, we sped
on to Frankfort-on-the-Main. Here we rode through beautiful streets,
upon each side of which were broad double houses, surrounded by elegant
gardens. Here is the monument of Guttenberg, consisting of the three
figures of Guttenberg, Fust and Schöffer, beneath which, on the
ornamental work, are likenesses of celebrated printers, and grouped
around the monument are figures of Theology, Poetry, History, and
Industry.
Here we saw the house in which Goethe was born, and rode down through
the _Judengasse_, or Jews Street. The quarter inhabited by the Jews is a
curious old place, some parts too narrow to permit two vehicles passing
each other; the unpainted, high, quaint, and solid old wooden houses,
totally black with age, stores in the lower stories for the sale of
second-hand clothes, and every species of cheap and second-hand
merchandise; on all sides were troops and troops of children, with
sparkling black eyes, and the unmistakable Jewish nose. The houses had
antique carved wood door-posts to deep, dark entries, in which were
deeply-worn stairs, that lead away up to the overhanging stories above;
and in the entry of one of the blackest and most aged of these old
structures yawned a huge trap-door, occupying more than half the space
from the threshold to the stair. Peeping down the aperture, left where
the half leaf had been raised by its old-fashioned iron ring, I could
see nothing but blackness, and imagine how some wealthy Hebrew might
have made this the drawbridge to his citadel, so that the robber, who
gained access beyond the bolts and chains that guarded the portal,
would, with a step, be precipitated into the depths below. An iron ring,
a trap-door, and old house in the Jews' quarter--what an amount of
capital or material for a sensational story-writer in a cheap
publication!
Here, in the Jews' quarter, we were shown the house in which Rothschild
was born,--Rochid they call the name here,--and just as we were
emerging from the narrow, gloomy, and dirty passages of this quarter, my
eye caught a familiar object in the little grated window of a sort of
shop or office. I looked a second time, and there, the central figure
amid a straggling display of bank notes of different nationalities, was
a five-hundred dollar United States five-twenty bond, a part of the
stock in trade of a Jew exchange and money broker, who, notwithstanding
the unpretending appearance of his shop, which looked like a prison cell
with the outside shutter down from the grated window, would probably
have been able to furnish a purchaser ten times the amount on demand if
he required it.
In striking contrast to the Judengasse is the Ziel, the finest street in
Frankfort, filled with elegant shops and houses. The Jews in Frankfort
were so tyrannically treated, that they founded the Jews Street
themselves in 1462, and lived exclusively in that quarter of the city
till the year 1806, and in olden times, on Sundays and holidays, the
entrances to this quarter were closed with gates and bars, and any Jew
who ventured into any other part of the city incurred a heavy penalty.
Now, midway between Judengasse and the Ziel rise the business offices of
the Rothschilds, that opulent family to whom even the proudest in their
hours of need would fain doff their caps for favors; and hard by the
progress of toleration is marked by a fine new synagogue, built in the
Oriental style in 1855.
We rode to the Hessian Monument, as it is called, near one of the city
gates; it consists of huge masses of rock heaped together, upon which
stands a pillar bearing a sword, helmet, and ram's head, and on the
sides are bronze tablets with the names of the Hessians who fell on that
spot in 1792. The Latin inscription informs the reader that the monument
was erected by Frederick William, King of Prussia, who was an admiring
witness of their bravery.
When we rattled over the pavements of the city of Heidelberg, on our way
to the Prince Charles Hotel, I looked on all sides for groups and bands
of the celebrated students who figure so prominently in novels and
stories, and half expected to meet a string of six, arm in arm, walking
in the middle of the streets, smoking big meerschaums, and wearing
queer-cut clothes and ornamental caps, or singing uproarious college
songs. Or I might encounter several devil-may-care fellows, each bearing
a scar upon some part of his face, the result of one of those noted
Heidelberg duels the story-writers tell of. But either the story-tellers
had romanced most magnificently, or we had arrived at a time of
day--which we afterwards found to be the case--when the students were
engaged in their favorite pastime of swilling lager beer, in the dense
atmosphere of tobacco smoke, from scores of pipes, in their favorite
coffee-house; for we only met a snuffy old professor in a black
velvet skull-cap and big round spectacles, and an occasional very
proper-looking young man, save one whose scarlet embroidered cap gave
him the appearance of a member of an American base-ball club.
Some forward Americans had gone before us, and secured the remaining
rooms in the Prince Charles, which were next the roof; so we were driven
to the Adler (eagle), on the same square, an enclosure known as the
Cornmarkt, where we were admirably served. Our apartments looked out
upon the curious old square with its fountain in the middle, to and from
which women went and came all day long, and bore off water in jars,
pails, and tubs, some poising a heavy wash-tub full upon their heads,
and walking off with a steady gait under the burden. Overlooking the
little square, rose the famous Heidelberg Castle, three hundred feet
above us; and we could see a steep foot-path leading to it, known as the
Burgweg (castle-way), which commenced on the side of the square opposite
our hotel.
Heidelberg is charmingly situated on the River Neckar, is rich in
historical associations, and, as all readers are aware, is attractive to
the tourist chiefly from its university, and its castle, which is one of
the last creations of the old castle-builders, and seems in its style to
be something between a stronghold and a chateau, a palace and a
fortification. It certainly is a most imposing and magnificent ruin,
with its lofty turrets, great round towers, terraces, arched gateways,
and still splendid court-yards and grounds; the splendor of the building
and beauty of its situation induce one enthusiastic guide-book to style
it "the Alhambra of the Germans."
A good, comfortable night's rest at the Eagle Hotel prepared us for the
ascent next morning by the steep pathway and steps that led up to it
from the Corn Market; up we go, and after an ascent of about fifteen
minutes, we pass through a massive arch-way, known as Frederic IV.'s
building, and stand in the great court-yard of the castle.
The portion of the buildings fronting on this grand enclosure are
elegantly carved and decorated with arcades and life-size sculptures;
here is one known as Rudolf's building, the oldest part of the castle, a
Gothic structure, then Rupprecht's building, founded in the year 1400,
by Rupprecht III., with beautiful Gothic windows, over which are the
architect's arms, three small shields upon an escutcheon. This carving
is taken by many to be some sort of a masonic mark, but is nothing of
the kind, but according to a little local guide, a coat of arms common
to all German artists; and an interesting legend as to its origin is
told, which is to the effect that one day the Emperor Charles V. visited
Holbein, the artist, and found him busy painting at the top of a high
scaffolding; the emperor signed to the artist not to disturb himself,
and at the same time motioned to one of his suite to steady the
tottering ladder; the young noble, however, thinking it beneath his
dignity to render such menial service to an artist, pretended not to
understand the emperor, who thereupon advanced and steadied it himself,
and commanded that from that time the German artists should be reckoned
among the nobility of the empire, and their coat of arms should be such
as Holbein decided upon. The artist then made choice of three small
uniform silver shields on a blue field.
Then we have other beautiful buildings fronting on the great court-yard,
and named after their builders, who at different periods made their
contributions of architectural ornament to this romantic old pile. One
of the most gorgeous is that known as Otto Heinrich's building, finished
in 1559, restored twice,--the last time in 1659, and finally destroyed
in 1764,--but the splendid front remains standing, and even now, in its
partially ruined condition, excites admiration, with its splendid
façade, rich to prodigality with statues, carvings, and decorations.
Ludwig's building is another, into which we can go and see the great
kitchen, with its huge fireplace and great hearth in the middle, where,
on festal occasions, whole oxen were roasted.
Near here is the castle well, fifty-four feet deep, with four pillars
taken from Charlemagne's palace, to support its canopy, the pillars
being those sent to Charlemagne by Rome for his royal edifice. Then
comes Frederick's building, founded by Frederick IV. in 1601, rich in
statues and sculpture, and under it a chapel, over the portal of which
is inscribed, in Latin, the words of the Psalmist,--
"This is the gate of the Lord;
The righteous shall enter into it."
But we are bewildered with the different façades, towers, fronts, and
buildings that succeed each other in this, what we now find to be a sort
of agglomeration of castles, and so pass out to the great stone terrace
or platform that looks down upon the town and the valley below.
These old castle-builders did have an eye for the beautiful; and a grand
point for observation is this great terrace. Only fancy a broad stone
platform, seventy or eighty feet long by thirty feet wide, midway up the
front wall of an elegant castle, rich in architectural beauty, the
terrace itself with heavy cut stone rails, vases, seats, and ornamental
stone bowers at the corners, while spread out far below and before the
spectator lies one of the loveliest landscape views that can be
imagined. We can look right into the streets of the town directly below
us; beyond is the winding River Neckar, with its beautiful arched
bridge, and beyond that a vine-clad height known as the Holy Mountain;
on one side is the lovely valley of the Neckar, romantically and
luxuriously beautiful as it stretches away in the distance. The town of
Heidelberg itself is squeezed in between the castle hill and the River
Neckar, which widens out below the town, and finally unites with the
Rhine, which we see in the distance, and beyond it blue mountains,
binding in the distant horizon, frame in the charming picture.
I cannot, of course, describe, in the limits of a sketch, the
massiveness, vast extent, and splendor of this castle, the production of
three centuries,--commenced when the crusades were at their height, and
not finished till long after cannon were in use; so that we mark the
progress and changes of architecture in each century, and cannot but
feel that, in some respects, the builders of old times were in advance
of those of the present day. One might stay here weeks, and enjoy the
romantic scenery of the vicinity and the never-ending new discoveries
which he makes in this picturesque old ruin. In 1689 the French captured
the place and undertook to blow up the principal round tower; it was so
solidly and compactly built, however, that the enormous mass of powder
they placed under it, instead of lifting the great cylinder into the air
to fall back a heap of ruins, only broke off a third part of it, which
toppled over entire in one solid chunk, and it lies as it fell, broken
off from the main body as if by the stroke of a gigantic mallet, and
exposes the wall of close-knit masonry _twenty feet in thickness_.
We wander through halls, court-yards, vaulted passages, deep dungeons,
and lofty banquet halls, into round and square towers; cross a regular
broad old drawbridge wide enough for a troop of mail-clad knights to
ride out from the great arched entrance, which stands in good
preservation, with its turrets and posts for warders and guards, and
there is the huge, deep castle moat and all, just as we have read about
them, or seen them illustrated in poetic fictions.
We pass out upon a sort of long spur or outwork from the castle--a kind
of outer battery, which is styled the great terrace, and was built in
1615--a charming promenade, upon which is a mall, shaded by trees, and
from which we get another picturesque view of the scene below, and of
the castle itself.
But we must not leave Heidelberg Castle without seeing the Great Tun;
and so we pay our kreutzers to the little maid who acts as guide, and
descend below, to the cellars of the famous wine-bibbers of old. We came
to a cellar in which there was a big barrel indeed, as it held two
hundred hogsheads of wine; but this not coming up to the expectations of
some of the party, there were expressions of dissatisfaction, until our
guide informed us that this was only the front cellar, where they used
to keep twelve _little_ barrels of this size, and pointed out the raised
platforms upon which they used to stand; but the _great_ barrel was in
the back cellar. So we followed in, and found a big barrel indeed, large
as a two-story house, thirty-two feet long and twenty-six feet high. It
holds eight hundred hogsheads of the vinous fluid, and its contents fill
two hundred and thirty-six thousand bottles. The diameter of the heads
of this big barrel is twenty-two feet, and the circumference of the
centre two hundred and thirty-one feet. The bung-hole of this great
cask, however, seems more out of proportion than an elephant's eye, for
it measured scarcely four inches in diameter. Steps lead around the tun,
and up to its top, upon which is laid a platform, on which a cotillon
has been danced by enthusiastic visitors. Remember, this is down cellar.
If they keep barrels of this kind _down cellar_, the reader may imagine
the size of the house above, and, perhaps, the drinking capacities of
those who used to inhabit it.
A beautiful carriage road, passing the ruined walls, and leaving them
below, leads up to a pretty _chalet_, three hundred feet above the
castle; and here, one day, we halted on the rocky platform, and
gladdened the heart of the landlord by an order for lunch for the party,
which was spread for us in the garden, from which we could look down
into the ruins of the old castle, upon the town below, and the winding
river. We were not permitted to enjoy our _al fresco_ repast, for a
thunder storm came rolling up the valley, and we were hustled in doors,
where, however, we found the host was prepared for such emergencies, as
our viands were spread out in an apartment with a glass side, looking
towards the valley, so that we sat there, and watched the great gusts
sweep up the river, and the rain come swirling down in sheets of
rattling drops, amid the peals of thunder that echoed and reverberated
between the hills, and finally swept past with the shower, angrily
muttering in the distance, as though the spirits of the Hartz Mountains
and Black Forest were retiring before the fairies of the valley, who
went sweeping after them in great clouds of shining mist, overarched by
a gorgeous rainbow.
We enjoyed the prospect from this place, which was the site of the
ancient castle, traces of which still remain, and then took carriage for
the Königsstuhl, or King's Seat, a round tower far above us. A ride of
about an hour through the dripping woods, with the vegetation bright and
fresh from the recent shower, brought us to this elevation, which is
eight hundred and fifty feet higher than the castle, and seventeen
hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea.
Upon the summit of the King's Seat, a round stone tower, ninety feet in
height, is erected, which we ascended, and were rewarded with a still
more extensive view than any we had previously had of the surrounding
country. In one direction is the dark and sombre foliage of the Black
Forest; in another, the picturesque mountains and valleys of the
Odenwald; in another, we look down upon the old castle and town far
beneath, and see the River Rhine winding away off through the landscape,
like a crinkled ribbon of steel; there are the Hartz Mountains, of which
we have read so many old German legends, in which wehr wolves, and
mysterious huntsmen, who wound magic horns, figured. Far in the
distance, beyond the dark-green forests, we descry, with our
field-glass, the cathedral spire of Strasburg. Turn whichever way we
may, the view is superb, and the hill is indeed a kingly seat, for it
commands as magnificent a prospect as king could wish to look upon.
Heidelberg is a paradise of pipes--so I thought till I reached Vienna;
but meerschaums of splendid carving and quality are sold here at prices
so low, in comparison with what they cost in America, that the
temptation to smokers to lay in a stock is almost irresistible. Malacca
joint canes, with elegantly carved pure ivory handles, are another
article that is marvellously cheap here, twenty francs (four dollars,
gold) purchasing the best and most elaborate patterns, the grips or
handles of which were wrought into figures of fruit, flowers, wreaths,
and heads of birds and animals. The shop windows held many pictures of
students' clubs,--some clubs famed for the number of glasses of beer
their members could guzzle, he being elected president who could hold
the most of that liquid--in fact, who made the biggest beer barrel of
himself. In other windows were displayed huge horns, with a silver cup,
and a tall mug, of huge capacity, said to represent the draught of the
presidents of two rival clubs,--supposed to be what they could swill at
a single pull.
The beer halls frequented by the students are similar to the great lager
beer saloons in this country; and, in the evening, the tables are
thronged with students, talking, discussing questions, playing dominoes,
smoking, and drinking. There is a tremendous clatter of voices, and the
smoke is so thick--well, none but Germans and Spaniards could live in
such a dense cloud.
The University of Heidelberg, which is the oldest in Germany, I think
was founded in 1386. The university buildings--which are very old, some
of them erected in 1693--are plain and unpretending in their appearance.
The great library here contains over two hundred thousand volumes, and
many curious manuscripts, which we did not inspect, as they are of
interest chiefly to scientific scholars, and only accessible between the
hours of ten and twelve in the forenoon. There is but little in the town
of Heidelberg itself to interest the tourist. The great attraction is
the noble old castle, and the romantic highlands about it.
A three hours' ride from Heidelberg, and we are at Baden-Baden, that
gayest of the gay watering-places on the continent. We are driven to our
hotel, the Hotel de l'Europe, a most charming house, large, clean, and
splendidly kept by hosts who thoroughly know their business, and
entirely free from any of the extortions, swindles, and sharp practices
which disgrace our Saratoga and Newport hotels. Indeed, everything in
the hotels in Baden-Baden is so comfortable to the tourist, so pleasant,
and even luxurious, and at such comparatively moderate cost, that one is
half inclined to think the proprietors of them may be interested in the
gambling bank, and have an object in making their houses too agreeable
to leave with a short visit. There are three proprietors to this hotel;
and always one, and generally two, are in constant attendance in the
lower halls and at the table d'hote, to attend personally to their
guests, to answer all questions, and, in fact, to serve them in every
way possible, which, it is but justice to say, is done in the most
unexceptionable manner.
The Hotel de l'Europe is wide, deep, and cool; the broad staircase in
the centre is ornamented with pretty flowers in pots, and running and
trailing plants twining about the balusters, all the way up to the
second story. Directly beneath my window is a beautiful strip of
flower-garden, and the fresh air comes in at the casement laden with the
odors of roses, carnation pinks, honeysuckles, and a score of other
beautiful flowers, which are blooming in profusion. Beyond this little
garden, say twenty or thirty feet from the hotel, runs the little River
Oos, over a smooth-paved, artificial bed of stone--a swift, clear,
sparkling little stream, of scarce three feet deep, and its width of not
more than a score, spanned by little rustic bridges, connecting the
grounds of the different hotels that are strung along its banks with the
opposite shore, which is the broad, high road, along which the numerous
gay equipages which frequent watering-places are continually passing.
Beyond the road, beneath shady trees, is the Trink Halle, or, as the
English have dubbed the place, the pump-room, probably because there is
no pump there, except the natural one of the springs, whose mineral
waters are conducted into ornamental fountains, which the drinkers and
bathers visit at seven A. M., to the inspiriting and lively music of an
excellent band. This pump-room is a long, one-story building, two
hundred and seventy feet long and thirty-six wide, the façade resting on
sixteen Corinthian pillars. Beneath the façade, and upon large panels of
the building behind the colonnade of pillars, are fourteen great
frescoes, executed by an artist named Götzenbreger, and representing
pictorially some of those wild legends and weird stories of magic and
enchantment for which Germany is so noted.
Baden, be it remembered, lies at the entrance of the celebrated Black
Forest, popularly inhabited by various powerful enchanters, gnomes,
dwarfs, and sprites. These great pictures were all handsomely executed,
but the weather, to which they are partially exposed, is rapidly fading
away their rich tints. There was one, representing a beautiful,
light-haired, blue-eyed German girl, with but a light drapery flowing
around her shapely limbs as she walked down to a mountain stream with
her arm on the neck of a snow-white stag: an entranced huntsman knelt
upon the opposite bank, gazing at this lovely vision; and while he
gazed, one busy gnome was twisting a tough bramble about his ankle,
another huge-headed fellow was reaching out from beneath a rock, and
severing his bow-string, while a third, a sturdy, belted and hooded
dwarf, was robbing his quiver of its arrows: all around, the rocks
looked out in curious, wild, and grotesque faces; they leered from the
crags, grinned from pebbles in the water, or frowned awfully from the
great crags above the hunter, who, dazzled by the enchantress, sees
nothing of this frightful scene, which is like the figures of a troubled
dream--thoroughly phantasmagoric and German. Another picture shows a
brave knight just on the point of espousing a weird lady before an
abbot, the satanic glare of whose eyes betrays his infernal origin;
cock-crow has evidently prevented these nuptials, as at one side
chanticleer is represented vigorously sounding his clarion, and in the
foreground lies another figure of the same knight in a deep sleep. Other
scenes represent encounters of shepherds with beautiful water-sprites or
Undines of the mountain lakes and rivers, knights at enchanted castles,
and sprites in ruined churches, each one being the pictorial
representation of some well-known legend of the vicinity.
We arrived at Baden on Saturday, after dark, and I was roused Sunday
morning to look out upon the scene I have described, by the music of a
magnificent band, which commenced with the grand hymn of Old Hundred;
then a piece from Handel; next came the grand Wedding March of
Mendelssohn; and we looked from our windows to see throngs of people
promenading up and down the piazza in front of the Trink Halle, to the
inspiriting harmony, or coming in every direction from the different
hotels and _pensions_, or boarding-houses, for their morning drink of
spring-water. Gradually the music assumed a livelier character, till it
wound up with sprightly quadrilles and a lively polka, played with a
spirit that would almost have set an anchorite in a dancing fever.
A fit illustration was this of the regard for the Sabbath in this
headquarters of the enemy of man, where, at noon, the great doors of the
gambling-house swung open, and the _rouge-et-noir_ and roulette tables
were at once thronged with players, without intermission, till midnight.
This great gaming-house, which has been so often described, is styled
the Conversation-haus, and is beautifully fitted up with drawing-rooms,
lofty and elegant ball-room, with each end opening out into magnificent
gardens, that are rich in parterres of flowers, shady alleys, beautiful
trees, fountains, and statues. During the afternoon and evening these
gardens are thronged, the magnificent band plays the choicest of music,
elegantly-dressed people saunter amid the trees and flowers, or sit at
little tables and sip light wines, eat ices, and chat; you hear German,
French, English, and Italian amid the clatter of voices in any momentary
lull of the music; you may order your ice-cream in any of these
languages, and a waiter is at hand to understand and serve you; you may
spend the whole day in this beautiful spot, enjoy music that you gladly
pay a concert price at home to hear, without a penny expense, or even
the remotest hint for remuneration from any servant, except it be for
the refreshments you order--for the proprietor of the gaming
establishment gladly defrays all the expenses, for the privilege he
enjoys exclusively, and he pays besides the sum of sixty thousand
dollars per annum; so we enjoy it somewhat freely, although we cannot
help reflecting, however, that those who really bear the expense are the
victims insnared in the glittering and alluring net which they
themselves help to weave.
From the flutter of passing butterflies of fashion, the clatter of
tongues, the moving throng, and rich strains of music, we pass through
the noiselessly swinging doors that admit us to the almost hushed inner
court of the votaries of chance. Here, as at Wiesbaden, the only voices
above a subdued tone are those of the dealers, with their regular
formula of expression, while ever and anon, following the rattle of the
roulette wheel, comes the clink of the gold and silver which the
presiding high priests of Mammon rake into the clutches of the bank.
People of every grade, nation, and profession jostle each other at these
tables. Here all meet on a common level, and rank is not recognized. The
only rank here is the guinea-stamp, and that, if the possessor conduct
himself in an orderly manner, insures prince and peasant an equal chance
at the tables. The language used is French.
I have seen beautiful young ladies, scarce turned nineteen, seated here
next their young husbands, with whom they were making their bridal tour,
jostled by the elegant Parisian member of the demi-monde, whose noble
"friend" hands her a thousand francs to enjoy herself with for a while;
young students, trembling, eager old men; raw Americans, taking a
"flyer;" and sometimes astonishing the group by the magnitude of their
bets; old women, Russian counts, who commence by getting several notes
changed into a big pile of gold, which steadily diminishes beneath the
assaults they make on the bank, with as little effect as raw infantry
charging against a fortified breastwork; nay, I even saw the sallow
countenance of a Turk, looking on from beneath his fez cap, while its
owner fumbled uneasily at his girdle till he had detached his purse, and
gratified his curiosity by losing a few gold pieces; professional
gamblers, sharpers, women of uncertain character; old, young, and
middle-aged, all sacrificing at the same shrine.
"But some win?"
Yes, and the very ones whose success is least expected. Old habitués
will study the combination of figures for weeks, and keep a record of
the numbers, and the order in which they turn up, and then, having, by
mathematical certainty, made sure of lucky numbers, stake--and lose. The
croupiers go on regularly, mechanically, and, unmoved by success or
loss, or whatever takes place about them, they rake in heavy stakes, and
pay out huge losses, without moving a muscle of their countenances, or
betraying the least emotion, raking in a huge stake while I was watching
the game that made even the old habitués glare at the player, without
even so much as a glance at him, and paying out a big loss with only the
simple dialogue,--
"_Billets du banque?_"
"_Non._"
And a dozen rouleaux of twenty-franc pieces were pushed over to the
winner.
I saw one of these unexpected winners, in the person of a young
Heidelberg student, who commenced with a couple of Napoleons (forty
francs). He won; doubled his stake, won again; doubled, and won again;
then he took up the pile of gold, and placed two double Napoleons
(eighty francs) on a single number; it came up, and the bank paid him
the amount won, which was fifteen or twenty times the amount of his
stake; he put this whole heap on _rouge_ (red), and the ball fell in
rouge, and he won, and the amount was doubled; he moved the increased
heap to _noir_ (black), and won again! He pulled the heap of loose gold,
rouleaux, and notes towards him; players looked up, an obsequious
servant brought a chair for him to sit down, and two or three friends
gathered at his back; he crammed gold and notes--all but five
twenty-franc pieces--promiscuously into his pantaloons pocket, bet those
five on the red, won; moved the ten to the black, won again; the twenty
to another figure, and won thrice his stake.
By this time other players began to follow him in their bets; he put
forty francs on a single number, and half a dozen players crowded their
bets on to the same.
It lost.
Nothing daunted, they followed him, and rained down their Napoleons upon
the black; this time they were rewarded; black won.
The student pocketed his heap of gold again, all except five pieces, and
then with that capital bet again; lost three of the five; tried a single
number with one Napoleon, lost, of course; put the other on the black,
won again; balanced the two pieces on his fingers for a moment, while
half a dozen players were watching him, and then put one on the black
again, which in an instant was almost obscured by the thick plating of
metal that followed the lead of his stake from other players.
"_Rouge, dix-huit._"
Down came the croupier's rake, and away rattled the glittering heap
towards the banker, while the student smilingly balanced his remaining
Napoleon in a sort of uncertain manner on his forefinger, then turned
and whispered a word to his friends, rose and tossed the twenty francs
magnificently to the servant who had handed him a chair, and who was
still behind him, and then, with bulging pockets, walked away.
Baden is beautifully situated, and its scenery and surroundings
charming. A broad, well-kept, and shady avenue commences opposite our
hotel, and affords a splendid drive of over two miles, and, like the
drive at Newport, is frequented by gay equipages during the fashionable
season. Then there are the old and new castles above the town, reached
by winding and romantic roads, and from the summit of the former a fine
view of the valley of the Rhine, and the beautiful valley of Baden, with
its great hotels, elegant grounds, and pretty villas.
The bazaar, a sort of open-air fair of booths, in a pleasant grove, not
far from the grounds of the Conversation-haus, is another novelty, and
an attractive one to foreigners; for here is a collection of all those
miscellaneous trinkets that tourists load themselves down with, such as
carved wood of Switzerland, garnets from Prague, worsted work from
Berlin, shaded photographs from Munich, all sorts and kinds of
sleeve-buttons, breast-pins, shawl-pins, ivory carvings, ribbons,
crystals from the Alps, leather work from Vienna, and a thousand and one
curious and pretty articles to tempt the taste of purchasers.
We left the beautiful Hotel de l'Europe, with its pleasant rooms,
elegant _table d'hote_, and prompt attention, with regret, for two
reasons: one, that it was so agreeable a place of rest; and the other,
that the price, at this most expensive of the hotels, with all its
privileges, was less than two dollars per diem.
Up and away, for we must see the grand old Cathedral of Strasburg--a two
hours' journey; and here we are, at the magnificent portal of this
edifice, founded by old King Clovis, in 510. The carvings above the
portal are magnificent. Here are equestrian statues of Clovis, Dagobert,
and other old worthies, elegantly wrought, amid a wealth of rich
tracery and carving; but as the spectator looks up, up, up, at the
magnificent cathedral tower and spire, soaring away into the air till it
seems to have a needle-like sharpness, he gets almost dizzy with gazing;
and, upon being informed that the ascent of this highest spire in the
world is not unattended with danger, of coarse all Americans are seized
with an uncontrollable desire to ascend it; and so were we.
So we took a look at the splendid front, with the two great square
towers, something after the style of those of York Minster or
Westminster Abbey, with a huge rose window between them; the elegant
Gothic architecture of arches, pillars, and points; the grand, arched
portal, crowded, every inch of it, with carving and statues; and
finally, up again at the light steeple, which, from one of the square
towers, rose into the air with such grace and boldness.
We enter direct from the street, pay the custodian at the foot of a
flight of stairs of easy ascent, and, ladies and all, begin the
climb-up. We go till we have trodden over three hundred and thirty
stairs, and find ourselves two hundred and thirty feet above the street,
upon a place called the platform. Here are several rooms, and a
custodian lives up here, who acts as a watchman for fires, has general
charge of the place, keeps a visitors' register, and sells stereoscopic
views. The panoramic view from here is superb, and this point, which is
about two thirds of the way up, is as high as ladies generally ascend;
for the remainder of the ascent, which is by circular staircases on four
sides of the tower, requires some nerve and steadiness of head, the
masonry being of open-work, with the apertures nearly large enough for
the body to pass through, while the staircases, which are winding and
narrow, are likely to provoke an attack of giddiness. I could compare
the ascent to nothing but an ant climbing a corkscrew. Every turn
brought us to these great wrought openings, which, from the ground,
appeared like delicate lacework, and which seemed to give one the
feeling, as he went round and round, as if he were swinging and swaying
in the network between heaven and earth; and the wind, which pipes,
whistles, rushes, roars, and sighs, in every variety of tone, and
apparently from every point of the compass, owing to the innumerable and
different-shaped openings, adds to this illusion.
Breathless, we reach a circular gallery running round outside, and at
the top of the square part of the steeple, and pause, clinging to the
stone-work of the balustrade to look at the fine view, which takes in
Baden, the Black Forest, the Rhine, and the chain of the Jura, in the
distance.
Still higher! Here we are at the base of a pyramid of light, ornamental
turrets, which gradually converge towards a point, and support the
"lantern" above us. The winding staircases in these turrets were also
narrow, and through open stone-work, as before, till you reach the
lantern, an enclosed observatory. Higher up is the "crown" which, as the
steps leading to it are outside, and with no other protection than the
wall to which they were fastened, we did not care to attempt. The total
height of this lofty spire is four hundred and sixty-eight feet.
The descent through the open-work spire to the platform where the ladies
were left was far more trying to the nerves than the ascent. In
ascending, one is continually looking up, and the open spaces in the
stone-work have the appearance of passages through which you are to
pass, but continually avoid by the winding of the staircase; but in
descending, the gaze being directed downward, you have the vast height
continually before the view; the huge apertures, which appear at your
very feet at every turn, seem like yawning crevasses, through which to
shoot your body into the blue distance, or on to the Gothic points and
pinnacles that are far, far below. I clung to the rope and iron
hand-rails convulsively, and am not ashamed to mention that, more than
once, as I came to the more elaborate open-work of this stone filigree,
which seemed to dangle between heaven and earth, I closed my eyes, and
followed the rail, feeling the way downwards. The descent was made
almost in silence, and there was a sigh of relief when the platform was
reached, and we joined the ladies again.
The open-work that one encounters in the turrets during the ascent of
the spire, although scarcely large enough to admit the passage of a
man's body, is so frequent, and so directly on the staircases, which are
winding and narrow, as to give the semblance of great danger and
insecurity, though comparatively very little exists. The only thing to
be feared is giddiness, which might render it difficult for the
adventurer to go up or down, after reaching a certain point; and it is,
therefore, not advisable for those liable to be affected in that manner
to attempt the ascent above the gallery, which really adds very little
to the view.
Viewed architecturally, Strasburg Cathedral seems to bring together all
the styles or orders of architecture of the middle ages, from the
simplicity of the Byzantine to the Gothic, with its arches and excess of
superfluous ornament. The façade of the church, and especially the
portal, is so elaborately ornamented with carved work as to convey the
impression of chasing, instead of sculpture. The figures in bass-relief
and carving represent scenes in the life of the Saviour, the saints, and
the apostles, besides statues of kings and warriors.
A view of the interior is grand and impressive. Fourteen great cluster
pillars uphold the lofty Gothic arched roof, over a hundred feet above
the pavement. Midway, and above arches that unite the pillars, is a
beautiful Gothic gallery on both sides, and many of the great
stained-glass windows, representing scriptural subjects, are of wondrous
beauty.
In the nave is a beautiful pulpit, built in 1486, and covered with
little statues, delicately carved, and not far from it the organ, up
midway between the floor and arched ceiling. The perspective view in
these old cathedrals is grand, and figures hardly give one an idea of
their vastness. This cathedral is five hundred and twenty-five feet
long, one hundred and ninety-five feet in width, and is one of the
finest of those wonderful monuments of religious art that rose during
the middle ages.
The great astronomical clock here is a curious and wonderful piece of
mechanism. Fancy a structure twenty-five or thirty feet in height, and
twelve or fifteen broad at the base, having on either side two others
nearly of equal height, one being the masonic flight of winding stairs,
surmounted by five small emblematical Corinthian pillars, and the other
a Gothic pillar, its panellings enriched with figures.
Placed directly in front of the base of the clock is a celestial globe,
which, by means of the clock-work, shows the precession of the
equinoxes, solar and lunar equations for calculating geocentric
ascension and declination of the sun and moon at true times and places.
Then in the base itself is an orrery after the Copernican system, by
which the mean tropical revolution of each of the planets, visible to
the naked eye, is shown. Then comes an ecclesiastical calender, a sort
of perpetual almanac, indicating holy, feast, and fast days; above, and
about ten feet from the floor, and just beneath the clock-dial, is an
opening with a platform in front, upon which come forth figures
representing each day of the week, as Apollo on Tuesday, Diana on
Monday, &c. Thus a figure in a chariot representing the day appeared at
the entrance in the morning, it had reached the centre in full view by
noon, and drove gradually out of sight at the close of day. On either
side of the clock-dial sat two Cupids, the size of a three-years-old
child, one holding a bell and hammer, with which it strikes the hours
and quarters, and the other an hour-glass, which it reverses each hour.
Above is another dial, with the signs of the zodiac; above that a figure
of the moon, showing its different phases, also put in motion by the
clock-work; and, still above this, two sets of automaton figures, which
appear only at twelve o'clock, at which time there is always a crowd
gathered to witness their performance.
We viewed this wondrous piece of mechanism for an hour, and witnessed
the following movements: At quarter past eleven the Cupid near the dial
struck one; then from one of the upper compartments ran forth the figure
of a little child with a wand, and as he passed he struck one on a bell,
and ran away (Childhood, the first quarter). Round whirl the wheels of
time, and the second quarter chimes; but this time it is Youth that
passes, and taps the bell with his shepherd's staff twined with flowers.
Again, we reach the third quarter, and Manhood strides forth, the mailed
warrior, and smites the sonorous bell, ere he leaves the scene, three
sounding blows with his trenchant weapon--the third quarter. Once more,
the hands tremble on the point of noon; the fourth quarter is here, and
Old Age, a feeble, bent figure, hobbles out, pauses wearily at the bell,
raises a crutch, and taps four strokes, and totters away out of
sight--"last scene of all," when, as a finale, the skeleton figure of
Death, before whom all the four have passed, slowly raises his baton,
which the spectator now discovers to be a human bone, and solemnly
strikes the hour of twelve upon the bell. While he is engaged in this
act, a set of figures above him, representing the twelve apostles, pass
in procession before the Saviour, who blesses each as they pause before
him in turn, and chanticleer, the size of life, perched upon the
pinnacle of one of the side structures, lifts up his voice in three
rousing crows, with outstretched neck and flapping wings, while the
Cupid on one side of the dial reverses the hour-glass for the sand to
flow back, and the other also strikes the hour with his bell and hammer.
Not far from this clock, in a sort of niched window, there is a
sculptured figure, said to be that of the architect of this cathedral,
represented as looking towards the entrance of the transept, and in such
position as to attract attention and provoke inquiry--a cunning device
for perpetuating one's memory as long as the figure shall last.
Before leaving this fine cathedral we are reminded of the ancient order
of Masons by an enclosure opening out of one of the chapels, which is
the area of the workhouse of the stone-cutters of the edifice. These
Master Masons down to this day form a particular and exclusive society,
which originated in the days of the great master mason and architect of
this cathedral, Erwin of Steinbach, who rebuilt the nave in 1275,
commenced the façade of the church, designed its towers, and
superintended the work and the carrying out of the grand designs in its
construction through various vicissitudes till his death in 1318.
The masons of this cathedral were distinct from other operative masons,
did not admit all who presented themselves, and had secret signs, known
only to each other. From the lodge of this cathedral emanated several
others in Germany, and a general meeting of the masters was held at
Ratisbon in 1459, at which they were united under one government or
jurisdiction, and the Grand Masters chosen on that occasion were the
architects of the cathedral at Strasburg, in which city the Grand Lodge
was then established.
The Emperor Maximilian I. confirmed the establishment of this body
October 3, 1498, and it remained here till the early part of the
eighteenth century, when it was removed to Mayence. With this bit of
masonic history we will bid adieu to Strasburg Cathedral.
The Church of St. Thomas looks inferior after it, though its magnificent
monument to Marshal Saxe is one of the sights of the city. As we ride
through the streets we see long-legged storks soaring far overhead, and
perched on a tall old chimney-stack, behold the brushwood nest of one of
these long-billed residents.
We view the bronze statue of Guttenberg, who made his first experiments
in the newly-discovered art preservative of arts in this city in 1436,
and four hundred years afterwards he is remembered in this bronze
memorial.
I don't know what it was in particular that made me wish to see Basle,
except it was, that when a youngster, I read of a curious old clock
which the inhabitants on one side of the river put up to mock those on
the other, which, the story said, it did by sticking out its tongue and
rolling its eyes at every motion of the pendulum; so, when domiciled at
the hotel of the Three Kings in that ancient town, I looked out on the
swift-flowing Rhine, and as I gazed at the splendid bridge, nearly a
thousand feet long, wondered if that was the one over which the
wondrous head had ogled and mocked. Fancy my disappointment at being
shown at the collection of antiquities a wooden face scarcely twice the
size of life, which is said to be the veritable Lollenkonig, or lolling
king, that used to go through this performance in the clock tower on the
bank of the river till 1839. Here, in this collection, which is in a
hall or vestry attached to the cathedral, we saw many curiosities; among
them the arm-chair of Erasmus; for it was here in Basle that Erasmus, it
will be recollected, waged bitter war with the Church of Rome; here also
was preserved all that remains of the celebrated frescoes, the Dance of
Death, painted in the fifteenth century, and ascribed to Holbein. The
cathedral, a solid old Gothic structure, has some finely ornamented
ancient arched portals, and its two towers are each two hundred feet in
height.
Going through some of the quaint, old-fashioned streets of Basle, we
were struck with the quiet, antique, theatrical-canvas-look which they
had. Here was an old circular stone fountain, at which horses could
drink and the people fill their jars; the pavement was irregular, and
the houses were of odd architecture, which we in America, who have not
been abroad, are more than half inclined to think exist only in the
imagination of artists, or are the fancy of scene-painters. I came upon
one of these very scenes which I have before referred to, in this old
city, and stood alone a quarter of an hour looking at the curious street
that lay silent in the sunshine, with scarce a feature of it changed
since the days of the Reformation, when Basle held so important a
position in the history of Switzerland, and "Erasmus laid the egg that
Luther hatched;" and had a group of cavaliers in doublet and hose, or a
soldier with iron cap and partisan, sauntered through the street, they
would all have been so much in keeping with the scene as to have
scarcely excited a second glance at them.
In the evening we attended one of those cheap musical entertainments
which are so enjoyable here in the summer season of the year. It was
given in a large building, one side of which opened on the river bank;
and while thirty pieces of music played grand compositions, sprightly
waltzes, or inspiriting marches, we sat at the little tables, with
hundreds of other listeners, who sipped light wines or beer, enjoyed the
evening air, and looked out upon the dark cathedral towers, the lights
of the town reflected in the swift stream of the Rhine, watched the
small boats continually passing and re-passing, marked "the light drip
of the suspended oar," coming pleasantly to the ear, as they paused to
listen to the melody, while now and then the tall, dark form of some
great Dutch lugger-looking craft of a Rhine boat moved past, like a huge
spectre out of the darkness--a dreamy sort of scene, the realization of
old Dutch paintings, half darkened with age, that I have often gazed at
when a boy. And all this fine music and pleasant lounge for half a franc
(eleven cents).
"Wines extra?"
Yes. We called for a half flask, prime quality; price, a franc and a
half more; total, forty-four cents. But then we were luxurious; for beer
that was "_magnifique_" could be had in a "_gros pot_" for three cents.
We rode from Basle to Zurich in a luxurious, easy, comfortable
drawing-room car, which a party of us--six American tourists--had all to
ourselves, and whirled through long tunnels, and amid lovely scenery, in
striking contrast to our hot, uncomfortable railroad ride from Strasburg
to Basle. The Swiss railway carriages are on the American plan, and the
line of the road itself kept in exquisite order. The houses of the
switchmen were pretty little rustic buildings, covered with running
flowering vines, plats of flowers before them, and not a bit of rubbish
or a speck of dirt to be seen about them. The little country stations
are neatly kept, and have flower gardens around them; and, as we passed
one crossing where two roads met, a diamond-shaped plat, about twenty
feet space, enclosed by the crossing of three tracks, was brilliant with
its array of red, blue, and yellow flowers. At the stations and
stopping-places there seemed to be special pains taken to keep the rude,
unsightly objects, that are seen at stations in America lying about
uncared for, out of sight. Here, and in Germany, we notice the red poppy
scattered in and growing among the wheat, which one would suppose must
injure the grain; but the people say not, though it imparts, I think, a
slightly perceptible bitter taste to the bread.
We seem now to have got thoroughly into a land where they know how to
treat travellers, that is, properly appreciate the value of tourist
patronage, and treat them accordingly; and well they may, for a large
portion of the Swiss people make their living for the year off summer
tourists.
Notwithstanding this, and notwithstanding the English grumblers who
scold at these better hotels, better railway accommodations, and better
attention than they can get anywhere else,--notwithstanding the shoddy
Americans, whose absurd parade, lavish expenditure of money, ignorance,
and boorish manners make them a source of mortification to educated men,
and have served, in France and Italy during the past few years, almost
to double certain travelling expenses,--notwithstanding this, the
traveller will be more honorably dealt with, and less liable to be
cheated, in Switzerland than elsewhere in Europe. Efforts are made to
induce travellers to come often, and stay long. Roads, passes, and noted
points are made as accessible as possible, and kept in good order during
the season. No impositions are allowed by guides, post-drivers, &c., and
the hotel-keepers strive in every way to make their houses as attractive
as possible in every respect to the guest, who enjoys the real luxury of
an elegant hotel, in an attractive or celebrated resort, at a reasonable
price, and does not suffer to that extent the same irritation that he
experiences in England or America at such places--of knowing he is being
deliberately swindled in every possible manner.
Here we are in Zurich,--"by the margin of Zurich's fair waters,"--at the
Hotel Baur au Lac, fronting Lake Zurich--a large and beautiful hotel,
with an extensive garden, with flowers, shrubs, and pretty walks in
front of it. Our windows command a full view of the beautiful lake, with
its sides enlivened with chalets, villages, vineyards, and a
highly-cultivated country, while in the background rise the snow peaks
of the Alps, glittering in the morning sunlight, or rosy in its parting
rays. There was the great Reiseltstock, looming up over eighty-six
hundred feet, the Kammtistock, very nearly ten thousand feet, between
which and the Scheerhorn is imbedded a great glacier, the Bristenstock,
and other "stocks" and "horns" that I have not noted down, and therefore
forgotten, save that even in the distance they looked magnificently
grand, and like great altars with their snowy coverings lifted up to
heaven.
The scenery of mountain, lake, and valley, seen from the promenades in
Zurich, like grand pictures framed in the rim of the horizon, and
presenting charming aspects, varied by the setting sun, give the tourist
a foretaste of the picturesque beauty of the country he is now just
entering. Lake Zurich, or the Zuricher See, as they call it, looked so
pretty and romantic that we determined to embark on one of the little
steamboats, and sail up and down it, to know and enjoy it better. So,
after enjoying the creature comforts of the fine hotel, and fortified
with a good night's rest, we embarked in the morning.
This lake is twenty-five miles long, and, at its broadest part, two and
a half miles wide. As we sailed along, we noted the beautiful slopes of
the hills, which are finely cultivated at the base, close down to the
little villages on the shore. Above are vineyards and orchards, and
still farther up, the dark-green forests clothe the hills, which lift
their frontlets twenty-five hundred feet above the clear mirror that
reflects them on its surface. We passed numerous picturesque little
villages, making landings on alternate shores as we proceeded. Here was
Thalwyl, charmingly situated, Horgen, with its hotel and charming garden
upon the lake front, the picturesque little wooded peninsula of Au, and
a pretty little village of Mannedorf, behind which rises a romantic
height, called some sort of a "stiel" or "horn." And so we glided along,
sometimes stopping at little villages that seemed, as we approached
them, children's toys upon a green carpet, this effect heightened by
the huge mountains, which rose grand and sublime in the distance; but
they had all that novelty so charming to the tourist--their odd-shaped
little churches, and curious and quaint houses nestling in romantic
nooks, and the occasional odd dress worn by peasants who had come down
from the interior, and the customs which to us seemed so old-fashioned.
We found our steamer was a mail-boat, and at one station, instead of the
usual official in waiting, the sole occupant of the little pier was a
huge Newfoundland dog, who seized the little mail-pouch, holding perhaps
a couple of quarts, that was tossed ashore, and galloped off with it at
full speed for the village, half a mile distant, to the infinite
amusement of the spectators. He was the regular mail-carrier, performing
the service twice a day of bringing down the mail-pouch, which he
deposited on the pier on the arrival of the boat, and carrying back the
one which was left by it.
We went on shore at a town bearing the delightfully-euphonious name of
Rapperschwyl--a picturesque old place, with an old castle and church,
and wooded heights, which command fine views. At this point a fine
bridge, forty-five hundred feet long, and supported by one hundred and
eighty oaken pillars, crosses the lake. So we strolled over it, and
through the town, which contains about two thousand inhabitants, looked
at the old church and castle, and then reëmbarked on the return steamer,
once more to admire the beauty of the scenery of the lake shores in this
romantic region, and birthplace of Switzerland's freedom.