NOTES IN LEIPSIC AND DRESDEN.
_Leipsic, May 8._--I have now been nearly two days in this wide-famed
city, and the more I see of it the better I like it. It is a pleasant,
friendly town, old enough to be interesting, and new enough to be
comfortable. There in much active business life, through which it is
fast increasing in size and beauty. Its publishing establishments are
the largest in the world, and its annual fairs attended by people from
all parts of Europe. This is much for a city to accomplish, situated
alone in the middle of a great plain, with no natural charms of scenery
or treasures of art to attract strangers. The energy and enterprise of
its merchants have accomplished all this, and it now stands, in
importance, among the first cities of Europe.
The bad weather obliged me to take the railroad at Halberstadt, to keep
the appointment with my friend, in this city. I left at six for
Magdeburg, and after two hours' ride over a dull, tiresome plain, rode
along under the mounds and fortifications by the side of the Elbe, and
entered the old town. It was very cold, and the streets were muddy, so I
contented myself with looking at the Broadway, (_der breite Weg_,) the
Cathedral and one or two curious old churches, and in walking along the
parapet leading to the fortress, which has a view of the winding Elbe.
The Citadel was interesting from having been the prison in which Baron
Trenck was confined, whose narrative I read years ago, when quite a
child.
We were soon on the road to Leipsic. The way was over one great,
uninterrupted plain--a more monotonous country, even, than Belgium. Two
of the passengers in the car with me were much annoyed at being taken by
the railway agents for Poles. Their movements were strictly watched by
the gens d'arme at every station we passed, and they were not even
allowed to sit together! At Kothen a branch track went off to Berlin. We
passed by Halle without being able to see anything of it or its
University, and arrived here in four hours after leaving Magdeburg.
On my first walk around the city, yesterday morning, I passed the
_Augustus Platz_--a broad green lawn, on which front the University and
several other public buildings. A chain of beautiful promenades
encircles the city, on the site of its old fortifications. Following
their course through walks shaded by large trees and bordered with
flowering shrubs, I passed a small but chaste monument to Sebastian
Bach, the composer, which was erected almost entirely at the private
cost of Mendelssohn, and stands opposite the building in which Bach once
directed the choirs. As I was standing beside it, a glorious choral,
swelled by a hundred voices, came through the open windows, like a
tribute to the genius of the great master.
Having found my friend we went together to the _Stern Warte_, or
Observatory, which gives a fine view of the country around the city, and
in particular the battle field. The Castellan who is stationed there, is
well acquainted with the localities, and pointed out the position of the
hostile armies. It was one of the most bloody and hard-fought battles
which history records. The army of Napoleon stretched like a semicircle
around the southern and eastern sides of the city, and the plain beyond
was occupied by the allies, whose forces met together here.
Schwarzenberg, with his Austrians, came from Dresden; Blucher, from
Halle, with the Emperor Alexander. Their forces amounted to three
hundred thousand, while those of Napoleon ranked at one hundred and
ninety-two thousand men. It must have been a terrific scene. Four days
raged the battle, and the meeting of half a million of men in deadly
conflict was accompanied by the thunder of sixteen hundred cannon. The
small rivers which flow through Leipsic were swollen with blood, and the
vast plain was strewed with more than fifty thousand dead. It is
difficult to conceive of such slaughter, while looking at the quiet and
tranquil landscape below. It seemed more like a legend of past ages,
when ignorance and passion led men to murder and destroy, than an event
which the last half century witnessed. For the sake of humanity it is
to be hoped that the world will never see such another.
There are some lovely walks around Leipsic. We went yesterday afternoon
with a few friends to the Rosenthal, a beautiful meadow, bordered by
forests of the German oak, very few of whose Druid trunks have been left
standing. There are Swiss cottages embowered in the foliage, where every
afternoon the social citizens assemble to drink their coffee enjoy a few
hours' escape from the noisy and dusty streets, One can walk for miles
along these lovely paths by the side of the velvet meadows, or the banks
of some shaded stream. We visited the little village of Golis, a short
distance off, where, in the second story of a little white house, hangs
the sign: "Schiller's Room." Some of the Leipsic literati have built a
stone arch over the entrance, with the inscription above: "Here dwelt
Schiller in 1795, and wrote his Hymn to Joy." Every where through
Germany the remembrances of Schiller are sacred. In every city where he
lived, they show his dwelling. They know and reverence the mighty spirit
who has been among them. The little room where he conceived that sublime
poem is hallowed as if by the presence of unseen spirits.
I was anxious to see the spot where Poniatowsky fell. We returned over
the plain to the city and passed in at the gate by which the Cossacks
entered, pursuing the flying French. Crossing the lower part, we came to
the little river Elster, in whose waves the gallant prince sank. The
stone bridge by which we crossed was blown up by the French, to cut off
pursuit. Napoleon had given orders that it should not be blown up till
the Poles had all passed over, as the river, though narrow, is quite
deep, and the banks are steep. Nevertheless, his officers did not wait,
and the Poles, thus exposed to the fire of the enemy, were obliged to
plunge into the stream to join the French army, which had begun the
retreat towards Frankfort. Poniatowsky, severely wounded, made his way
through a garden near and escaped on horseback into the water. He became
entangled among the fugitives and sank. By walking a little distance
along the road towards Frankfort, we could see the spot where his body
was taken out of the river; it is now marked by a square stone, covered
with the names of his countrymen who have visited it. We returned
through the narrow arched way, by which Napoleon fled when the battle
was lost.
Another interesting place in Leipsic is Auerback's Cellar, which, it is
said, contains an old manuscript history of Faust, from which Goethe
derived the first idea of his poem. He used to frequent this cellar, and
one of his scenes in "Faust" is laid in it. We looked down the arched
passage; not wishing to purchase any wine, we could find no pretence for
entering. The streets are full of book stores and one half the business
of the inhabitants appears to consist in printing, paper-making and
binding. The publishers have a handsome Exchange of their own, and
during the Fairs, the amount of business transacted is enormous. The
establishment of Brockhaus is contained in an immense building,
adjoining which stands his dwelling, in the midst of magnificent
gardens. That of Tauchnitz is not less celebrated. His edition of the
classics, in particular, are the best that have ever been made; and he
has lately commenced publishing a number of English works, in a cheap
form. Otto Wigand, who has also a large establishment, has begun to
issue translations of American works. He has already published Prescott
and Bancroft, and I believe intends giving out shortly, translations
from some of our poets and novelists. I became acquainted at the Museum,
with a young German author who had been some time in America, and was
well versed in our literature. He is now engaged in translating American
works, one of which--Hoffman's "Wild Scenes of the Forest and
Prairie"--will soon appear. In no place in Germany have I found more
knowledge of our country, her men and her institutions, than in Leipsic,
and as yet I have seen few that would be preferable as a place of
residence. Its attractions lie not in its scenery, but in the social and
intellectual character of its inhabitants.
_May 11._--At last in this "Florence of the Elbe," as the Saxons have
christened it. Exclusive of its glorious galleries of art, which are
scarcely surpassed by any in Europe, Dresden charms one by the natural
beauty of its environs. It stands in a curve of the Elbe, in the midst
of green meadows, gardens and fine old woods, with the hills of Saxony
sweeping around like an amphitheatre, and the craggy peaks of the
Highlands looking at it from afar. The domes and spires at a distance
give it a rich Italian look, which is heightened by the white villas,
embowered in trees, gleaming on the hills around. In the streets there
is no bustle of business--nothing of the din and confusion of traffic
which mark most cities; it seems like a place for study and quiet
enjoyment.
The railroad brought us in three hours from Leipsic, over the eighty
miles of plain that intervene. We came from the station through the
_Neustadt_, passing the Japanese Palace and the equestrian statue of
Augustus the Strong, The magnificent bridge over the Elbe was so much
injured by the late inundation as to be impassable; we worn obliged to
go some distance up the river bank and cross on a bridge of boats. Next
morning my first search was for the picture gallery. We set off at
random, and after passing the Church of Our Lady, with its lofty dome of
solid stone, which withstood the heaviest bombs during the war with
Frederick the Great, came to an open square, one side of which was
occupied by an old, brown, red-roofed building, which I at once
recognized, from pictures, as the object of our search.
I have just taken a last look at the gallery this morning, and left it
with real regret; for, during the two visits, Raphael's heavenly picture
of the Madonna and child had so grown into my love and admiration, that
it was painful to think I should never see it again. There are many more
which clung so strongly to my imagination, gratifying in the highest
degree the love for the Beautiful, that I left them with sadness, and
the thought that I would now only have the memory. I can see the
inspired eye and god-like brow of the Jesus-child, as if I were still
standing before the picture, and the sweet, holy countenance of the
Madonna still looks upon me. Yet, though this picture is a miracle of
art, the first glance filled me with disappointment. It has somewhat
faded, during the three hundred years that have rolled away since the
hand of Raphael worked on the canvass, and the glass with which it is
covered for better preservation, injures the effect. After I had gazed
on it awhile, every thought of this vanished. The figure of the virgin
seemed to soar in the air, and it was difficult to think the clouds were
not in motion. An aerial lightness clothes her form, and it is
perfectly natural for such a figure to stand among the clouds. Two
divine cherubs look up from below, and in her arms sits the sacred
child. Those two faces beam from the picture like those of angels. The
wild, prophetic eye and lofty brow of the young Jesus chains one like a
spell. There is something more than mortal in its expression--something
in the infant face which indicates a power mightier than the proudest
manhood. There is no glory around the head; but the spirit which shines
from those features, marks his divinity. In the sweet face of the mother
there speaks a sorrowful foreboding mixed with its tenderness, as if she
knew the world into which the Saviour was born, and foresaw the path in
which he was to tread. It is a picture which one can scarce look upon
without tears.
There are in the same room six pictures by Correggio, which are said to
be among his best works; one of them his celebrated Magdalen. There is
also Correggio's "Holy Night," or the virgin with the shepherds in the
manger, in which all the light comes from the body of the child. The
surprise of the shepherds is most beautifully expressed. In one of the
halls there is a picture by Van der Werff, in which the touching story
of Hagar is told more feelingly than words could do it. The young
Ishmael is represented full of grief at parting with Isaac, who, in
childish unconsciousness of what has taken place, draws in sport the
corner of his mother's mantle around him, and smiles at the tears of his
lost playmate. Nothing can come nearer real flesh and blood than the two
portraits of Raphael Mengs, painted by himself when quite young. You
almost think the artist has in sport crept behind the frame, and wishes
to make you believe he is a picture. It would be impossible to speak of
half the gems of art contained in this unrivalled collection. There are
twelve large halls, containing in all nearly two thousand pictures.
The plain, south of Dresden, was the scene of the hard-fought battle
between Napoleon and the allied armies, in 1813. On the heights above
the little village of Räcknitz, Moreau was shot on the second day of the
battle. We took a foot-path through the meadows, shaded by cherry trees
in bloom, and reached the spot after an hour's walk. The monument is
simple--a square block of granite, surmounted by a helmet and sword,
with the inscription: "_The hero Moreau fell here by the side of
Alexander, August 17th, 1813_." I gathered, as a memorial, a few leaves
of the oak which shades it.
By applying an hour before the appointed time, we obtained admission to
the Royal Library. It contains three hundred thousand volumes--among
them the most complete collection of historical works in existence. Each
hall is devoted to a history of a separate country, and one large room
is filled with that of Saxony alone. There is a large number of rare and
curious manuscripts, among which are old Greek works of the seventh and
eighth centuries; a Koran which once belonged to the Sultan Bajazet; the
handwriting of Luther and Melancthon; a manuscript volume with pen and
ink sketches, by Albert Durer, and the earliest works after the
invention of printing. Among these latter was a book published by Faust
and Schaeffer, at Mayence, in 1457. There were also Mexican manuscripts,
written on the Aloe leaf, and many illuminated monkish volumes of the
middle ages.
We were fortunate in seeing the _Grüne Gewölbe_, or Green Gallery, a
collection of jewels and costly articles, unsurpassed in Europe. The
entrance is only granted to six persons at a time, who pay a fee of two
thalers. The customary way is to employ a _Lohnbedienter_, who goes
around from one hotel to another, till he has collected the number, when
he brings them together and conducts them to the person in the palace,
who has charge of the treasures. As our visit happened to be during the
Pentecost holidays, when every body in Dresden goes to the mountains,
there was some difficulty in effecting this, but after two mornings
spent in hunting up curious travelers, the servant finally conducted us
in triumph to the palace. The first hall into which we were ushered,
contained works in bronze. They were all small, and chosen with regard
to their artistical value. Some by John of Bologna were exceedingly
fine, as was also a group in iron, _cut_ out of a single block; perhaps
the only successful attempt in this branch. The next room contained
statues, and vases covered with reliefs, in ivory. The most remarkable
work was the fall of Lucifer and his angels, containing ninety-two
figures in all, carved out of a single piece of ivory sixteen inches
high! It was the work of an Italian monk, and cost him many years of
hard labor. There were two tables of mosaic-work, that would not be out
of place in the fabled halls of the eastern genii, so much did they
exceed my former ideas of human skill. The tops were of jasper, and each
had a border of fruit and flowers, in which every color was represented
by some precious stone, all with the utmost delicacy and truth to
nature! It is impossible to conceive the splendid effect it produced.
Besides some fine pictures on gold by Raphael Mengs, there was a
Madonna, the largest specimen of enamel painting in existence.
However costly the contents of these halls, they were only an
introduction to those which followed. Each one exceeded the other in
splendor and costliness. The walls were covered to the ceiling with rows
of goblets, vases, &c., of polished jasper, agate and lapiz lazuli.
Splendid mosaic tables stood around, with caskets of the most exquisite
silver and gold work upon them, and vessels of solid silver, some of
them weighing six hundred pounds were placed at the foot of the columns.
We were shown two goblets, each prized at six thousand thalers, made of
gold and precious stones; also the great pearl called the Spanish Dwarf,
nearly as large as a pullet's egg; globes and vases cut entirely out of
the mountain crystal; magnificent Nuremberg watches and clocks, and a
great number of figures, made ingeniously of rough pearls and diamonds.
The officer showed us a hen's egg of silver. There was apparently
nothing remarkable about it, but by unscrewing, it came apart, and
disclosed the yelk of gold. This again opened and a golden chicken was
seen; by touching a spring, a little diamond crown came from the inside,
and the crown being again taken apart, out dropped a valuable diamond
ring! The seventh hall contains the coronation robes of Augustus II., of
Poland, and many costly specimens of carving in wood, A cherry stone is
shown in a glass case, which has one hundred and twenty-five faces, all
perfectly finished, carved upon it! The next room we entered sent back a
glare of splendor that perfectly dazzled us. It was all gold, diamond,
ruby and sapphire! Every case sent out such a glow and glitter that it
seemed like a cage of imprisoned lightnings. Wherever the eye turned it
was met by a blaze of broken rainbows. They were there by hundreds, and
every gem was a fortune. Whole cases of swords, with hilts and scabbards
of solid gold, studded with gems; the great two-handed coronation sword
of the German emperors; daggers covered with brilliants and rubies;
diamond buttons, chains and orders, necklaces and bracelets of pearl and
emerald, and the order of the Golden Fleece made in gems of every kind.
We were also shown the largest known onyx, nearly seven inches long and
four inches broad! One of the most remarkable works is the throne and
court of Aurungzebe, the Indian king, by Dinglinger, a celebrated
goldsmith of the last century. It contains one hundred and thirty-two
figures, all of enamelled gold, and each one most perfectly and
elaborately finished. It was purchased by Prince Augustus for
fifty-eight thousand thalers,[**] which was not a high sum, considering
that the making of it occupied Dinglinger and thirteen workmen for seven
years!
It is almost impossible to estimate the value of the treasures these
halls contain. That of the gold and jewels alone must bo many millions
of dollars, and the amount of labor expended on these toys of royalty is
incredible. As monuments of patient and untiring toil, they are
interesting: but it is sad to think how much labor and skill and energy
have been wasted, in producing things which are useless to the world,
and only of secondary importance as works of art. Perhaps, however, if
men could be diverted by such play-things from more dangerous games, it
would be all the better.
[Footnote **: A Prussian or Saxon thaler is about 70 cts.]