THE DEAD AND THE DEAF--MENDELSSOHN THE COMPOSER.
It is now a luxury to breathe. These spring days are the perfection of
delightful weather. Imagine the delicious temperature of our Indian
summer joined to the life and freshness of spring, add to this a sky of
the purest azure, and a breeze filled with the odor of violets,--the
most exquisite of all perfumes--and you have some idea of it. The
meadows are beginning to bloom, and I have already heard the larks
singing high up in the sky. Those sacred birds, the storks, have
returned and taken possession of their old nests on the chimney-tops;
they are sometimes seen walking about in the fields, with a very grave
and serious air, as if conscious of the estimation in which they are
held. Everybody is out in the open air; the woods, although they still
look wintry, are filled with people, and the boatmen on the Main are
busy ferrying gay parties across. The spring has been so long in coming,
that all are determined to enjoy it well, while it lasts.
We visited the cemetery a few days ago. The dead-house, where corpses
are placed in the hope of resuscitation, is an appendage to cemeteries
found only in Germany. We were shown into a narrow chamber, on each side
of which were six cells, into which one could distinctly see, by means
of a large plate of glass. In each of these is a bier for the body,
directly above which hangs a cord, having on the end ten thimbles, which
are put upon the fingers of the corpse, so that the slightest motion
strikes a bell in the watchman's room. Lamps are lighted at night, and
in winter the rooms are warmed. In the watchman's chamber stands a clock
with a dial-plate of twenty-four hours, and opposite every hour is a
little plate, which can only be moved two minutes before it strikes. If
then the watchman has slept or neglected his duty at that time, he
cannot move it afterwards, and his neglect, is seen by the
superintendent. In such a case, he is severely lined, and for the second
or third offence, dismissed. There are other rooms adjoining, containing
beds, baths, galvanic battery, &c. Nevertheless, they say there has been
no resuscitation during the fifteen years it has been established.
We afterwards went to the end of the cemetery to see the bas-reliefs of
Thorwaldsen, in the vault of the Bethmann family. They are three in
number, representing the death of a son of the present banker, Moritz
von Bethmann, who was drowned in the Arno about fourteen years ago. The
middle one represents the young man drooping in his chair, the beautiful
Greek Angel of Death standing at his back, with one arm over his
shoulder, while his younger brother is sustaining him, and receiving the
wreath that drops from his sinking hand. The young woman who showed us
these, told us of Thorwaldsen's visit to Frankfort, about three years
ugo. She described him as a beautiful and venerable old man, with long
white locks hanging over his shoulders, still vigorous and active for
his years. There seems to have been much resemblance between him and
Dannecker--not only in personal appearance and character, but, in the
simple and classical beauty of their works.
The cemetery contains many other monuments; with the exception of one or
two by Launitz, and an exquisite Death Angel in sandstone, from a young
Frankfort sculptor, they are not remarkable. The common tomb-stone is a
white wooden cross; opposite the entrance is a perfect forest of them,
involuntarily reminding one of a company of ghosts, with outstretched
arms. These contain the names of the deceased with mottoes, some of
which are beautiful and touching, as for instance: "_Through darkness
unto light_;" "_Weep not for her; she is not dead, but sleepeth_"
"_Slumber sweet!_" etc. The graves are neatly bordered with grass, and
planted with flowers, and many of the crosses have withered wreathes
hanging upon them. In summer it is a beautiful place; in fact, the very
name of cemetery in German--_Friedhuf_ or Court of Peace--takes away the
idea of death; the beautiful figure of the youth, with his inverted
torch, makes one think of the grave only us a place of repose.
On our way back we stopped at the Institute for the Deaf; for by the
new method of teaching they are no longer dumb. It is a handsome
building in the gardens skirting the city. We applied, and on learning
we were strangers, they gave us permission to enter. On finding we were
Americans, the instructress immediately spoke of Dr. Howe, who had
visited the Institute a year or two before, and was much pleased to find
that Mr. Dennett was acquainted with him. She took us into a room where
about fifteen small children were assembled, and addressing one of the
girls, said in a distinct tone: "These gentlemen are from America; the
deaf children there speak with their fingers--canst thou speak so?" To
which the child answered distinctly, but with some effort: "No, we speak
with our mouths." She then spoke to several others with the same
success; one of the boys in particular, articulated with astonishing
success. It was interesting to watch their countenances, which were
alive with eager attention, and to see the apparent efforts they made to
utter the words. They spoke in a monotonous tone, slowly and
deliberately, but their voices had a strange, sepulchral sound, which
was at first unpleasant to the ear. I put one or two questions to a
little boy, which he answered quite readily; as I was a foreigner, this
was the best test that could be given of the success of the method. We
conversed afterwards with the director, who received us kindly, and
appointed a day for us to come and witness the system more fully. He
spoke of Dr. Howe and Horace Mann, of Boston, and seemed to take a great
interest in the introduction of his system in America.
We went again at the appointed time, and as their drawing teacher was
there, we had an opportunity of looking over their sketches, which were
excellent. The director showed us the manner of teaching them, with a
looking-glass, in which they were shown the different positions of the
organs of the mouth, and afterwards made to feel the vibrations of the
throat and breast, produced by the sound. He took one of the youngest
scholars, covered her eyes, and placing her hand upon his throat,
articulated the second sound of A. She followed him, making the sound
softer or louder as he did. All the consonants were made distinctly, by
placing her hand before his mouth. Their exercises in reading, speaking
with one another, and writing from dictation, succeeded perfectly. He
treated them all like his own children, and sought by jesting and
playing, to make the exercise appear as sport. They call him father and
appear to be much attached to him.
One of the pupils, about fourteen years old, interested me through his
history. lie and his sister were found in Sachsenhausen, by a Frankfort
merchant, in a horrible condition. Their mother had died about two years
and a half before, and during all that time their father had neglected
them till they were near dead through privation and filth. The boy was
placed in this Institute, and the girl in that of the Orphans. He soon
began to show a talent for modelling figures, and for some time he has
been taking lessons of the sculptor Launitz. I saw a beautiful copy of a
bas-relief of Thorwaldsen which he made, as well as an original, very
interesting, from its illustration of his history. It was in two parts;
the first represented himself and his sister, kneeling in misery before
a ruined family altar, by which an angel was standing, who took him by
one hand, while with the other he pointed to his benefactor, standing
near. The other represented the two kneeling in gratitude before a
restored altar, on which was the anchor of Hope. From above streamed
down a light, where two angels were rejoicing over their happiness. For
a boy of fourteen, deprived of one of the most valuable senses, and
taken from such a horrible condition of life, it is a surprising work
and gives brilliant hopes for his future.
We went lately into the Roemerberg, to see the Kaisersaal and the other
rooms formerly used by the old Emperors of Germany, and their Senates.
The former is now in the process of restoration. The ceiling is in the
gorgeous illuminated style of the middle ages; along each side arc rows
of niches for the portraits of the Emperors, which have been painted by
the best artists in Berlin, Dresden, Vienna and Munich. It is remarkable
that the number of the old niches in the hall should exactly correspond
with the number of the German Emperors, so that the portrait of the
Emperor Francis of Austria, who was the last, will close the long rank
coming down from Charlemagne. The pictures, or at least such of them as
are already finished, are kept in another room; they give one a good
idea of the changing styles of royal costumes, from the steel shirt and
helmet to the jewelled diadem and velvet robe. I looked with interest on
a painting of Frederic Barbarossa, by Leasing, and mused over the
popular tradition that he sits with his paladins in a mountain cave
under the Castle of Kyffhäuser, ready to come forth and assist his
Fatherland in the hour of need. There was the sturdy form of Maximilian;
the martial Conrad; and Ottos, Siegfrieds and Sigismunds in plenty--many
of whom moved a nation in their day, but are now dust and forgotten.
I yesterday visited Mendelssohn, the celebrated composer. Having heard
rame of his music this winter, particularly that magnificent creation,
the "Walpurgisnacht," I wished to obtain his autograph before leaving,
and sent a note for that purpose. He sent a kind note in answer, adding
a chorus out of the Walpurgisnacht from his own hand. After this, I
could not repress the desire of speaking with him. lie received me with
true German cordiality, and on learning I was an American, spoke of
having been invited to attend a musical festival in New York. He invited
me to call on him if he happened to bo in Leipsic or Dresden when we
should pass through, and spoke particularly of the fine music there. I
have rarely seen a man whose countenance bears so plainly the stamp of
genius. He has a glorious dark eye, and Byron's expression of a "dome of
thought," could never be more appropriately applied than to his lofty
and intellectual forehead, the marble whiteness and polish of which arc
heightened by the raven hue of his hair. He is about forty years of age,
in the noon of his fame and the full maturity of his genius. Already as
a boy of fourteen he composed an opera, which was played with much
success at Berlin; he is now the first living composer of Germany. Moses
Mendelssohn, the celebrated Jewish philosopher, was his grandfather; and
his father, now living, is accustomed to say that in his youth he was
spoken of as the son of the great Mendelssohn; now he is known as the
father of the great Mendelssohn!