MAYENCE, GERMANY, _July 29th, 1888_.
A fine city is this, a large one too, with broad, handsome streets. Our
first visit was, as usual, to the cathedral. Service was going on, and
this being some anniversary day, the church was profusely decorated with
fresh plants and flowers. The entire chancel was filled with ferns and
white blossoms. I sat a while listening to the service, but the only
portion of it I was capable of appreciating was the fine tone of the
organ as it sent out its waves of sweetness over me. When I arose to go
I could not find F., nor could I find the way out. A handsome old German
immediately comprehended my situation, and gallantly escorted me to the
door, and upon leaving me bowed nearly to the ground. The German
gentlemen are very polite; and when we were at Strassburg, at our first
table d’hôte dinner there, we were the only ladies at the table, and
there were ten gentlemen. We were the first to rise to leave, when, to
our surprise and embarrassment, every gentleman arose and bowed. We of
course recognized the courtesy by bowing also. In this Mayence cathedral
we saw the monument to Gen. Lahmberg, who was killed at the siege of
Mainz, and wondered at the ridiculousness of this costly piece of
marble, which is like this: a figure representing Death is pushing the
much-bewigged general into a sarcophagus, which appears altogether too
small for him. Some of the statues and monuments, however, were very
beautiful and appropriate; one of Frauenlob, the ‘champion of women,’
exceptionally so. His bier was carried to the grave by eight beautiful
and noble women.
Like the rest of the German cities, this one seems full of soldiers. At
the barracks we saw crowds of them, and in the streets saw several
regiments marching, fine-looking specimens of mankind, and moving as if
one man. I am told that in this one town there are more soldiers than in
our whole army. That may be so, but I am thankful that our men devote
their lives to better uses than the everlasting preparing for war! Think
of the progress of our comparatively new country. Think of the condition
of our working people! Think of the multitude of invaluable inventions
American brains have given to the world! And when war has to come, that
good may come from it, American men are not far behind, but they do not
spend much time in ‘playing soldier.’ True it is that the military
spirit pervades, fills, the whole of Germany in all ways and in all
directions. At all of the railway stations it greets and surrounds us.
Every man in Germany has served a number of years in the army. They all
stand in a military attitude, and walk with a military step. The
railroad officials and employees have all been soldiers. The rank of
their present positions is indicated by their special uniforms. The
captain of the station wears a showy costume of blue trousers with a red
side-stripe, a frock coat, double-breasted, a gilt belt, and plenty of
large gilt buttons, and a red cap always, with gilt trimmings. The
guards are also dressed in uniform, but wear blue caps. When the
passengers alight, these guards bow and salute, whether to do honor to
the arrivals, or whether the salutes were for each other only, I cannot
say, but will say it is a pretty custom, and much superior to the
hurry-scurry, jostle-about manner of the depot employees in our own
cities.
The railroad stations in Germany are very much finer than our own. The
interiors of the buildings are neat, with comfortable furnishings, fine
restaurants, and dress-coated waiters quick and ready to serve. The
station-houses are surrounded with well-cared-for grounds, containing
flowers, fountains often, gravelled walks, and comfortable seats, so
that waiting for trains never becomes tedious. Think of all this, you
who wait at some of our country stations! And, better than all, every
man is courteous and polite, never in too much of a hurry to answer
questions and give information. To the captain at the station here we
are particularly indebted for kindness and grateful to him for his
assistance, and especially for rendering all as if it were his greatest
pleasure. In a drive about the city we visited the museum. Saw many
quaint old buildings, watch-towers, statues, the Elector’s palace, and a
variety of other fine buildings.
_Grand Hotel du Rhin, Wiesbaden, Germany, July 30th, 1888._--I believe
Wiesbaden is more attractive than Baden. At any rate, nothing could have
charmed me more than the appearance of this town--the name of which
means ‘Meadow bath’--in the lovely drive we have just had through its
pretty streets, bordered with fine trees and magnificent residences.
Hotels are crowded, as we are here in the season for fashionable
recreation and rest, and perhaps I may add, fashionable dissipation.
People bathe in and drink the unsavory waters, and think they are made
as good as new. The springs are a curiosity, and as the water bubbles up
to the surface it emits clouds of vapor, and sends out an odor
suggestive of having washed out Hades. We were fortunate in meeting, in
our drive, Louise, Princess of Nassau, in a very ordinary-looking
turnout, and not prepossessing-looking herself, but our driver informed
us that she is charitable and well-beloved by all. We, later, visited
the palace of the Duke of Nassau. There is a pretty English church here,
and a very beautiful Greek chapel, built by one of the Nassau dukes in
memory of his Russian wife. A figure of the sleeping Duchess, in white
marble, is lovely. These Greek chapels have always a gilded dome. The
natural beauties of Wiesbaden are numerous and unusual. It is said
Kaiser William loved the place.
This evening we went to the Cursaal, a handsome edifice, in which are
ball-rooms, concert rooms, and so forth. There are beautiful grounds,
beautifully laid out, around the building, with parterres of flowers,
miniature lakes, fountains, rustic arbors and seats, and everything to
make the place attractive. The Cursaal, the gardens, and the colonnades
were all brilliantly illuminated, and a fine band playing in front of
the piazza on which we sat. The seats and gardens were thronged with
people,--sitting or walking about, chatting, drinking wine or beer,
listening to the fine music, and having a good time generally. Before
the suppression of gambling in 1872, it was here carried on to about as
great an extent as at Baden. While sitting taking in the brilliant
scene, a lady sitting next me, who could speak a little English,
addressed me. It was quite evident that her tongue must move constantly
in some language. She was ‘cute’ and discerning, and after looking us
well over, ventured to ask, as if know she must, ‘American or English?’
‘American,’ I replied. ‘I thought so; and you never saw a sight like
this before, did you?’ Many of the intelligent people over here seem to
think that there is nothing ornamental or beautiful in America, and it
gives me great pleasure to undeceive and surprise them. Many seem to
have an idea that we are as crude as savages.
These watering-places have some advantages over our own Saratoga and the
Springs of Virginia, in the way of natural scenery, drives, and foliage,
but the hotels at this place do not equal our own, the equipages are far
less elegant, and one can see more handsome women and more tasteful
costumes in one day at Newport than in a whole season here. This hotel
we have not liked as well as the one in which we stayed at Baden. Our
meals have been served in a sort of rustic arbor on a large scale,
gorgeously gotten up, with vines, evergreens, running water, and
flowers; but I must say I had rather eat in the house, where there are
no suggestions of bugs or worms; but the Germans love to eat and drink
out of doors. My candle is growing short, therefore I must make this
letter so, with loving thoughts of you all. Good-night.
_Tuesday, July 31st, 1888._--The sun shone brightly in answer to our
prayers this morning, and we are thankful, for we did want a clear sky
for our canopy while on the Rhine. At seven A.M. we left our hotel, and
were driven a distance of three miles, over a fine road, to the river,
where we found a boat ready for us. The steamers that ply on the Rhine
look very different from our own craft. They are long, narrow, and low.
We made our way on board, with hands full of maps and descriptive
books, with the rest of the crowd, picked up our stools as we went
along, and seated ourselves for a day’s trip on the Rhine, filled with
‘unspeakable emotions’ and a poor breakfast.
At first we see but little of interest,--small villages, gardens,
vineyards, and inns, near the water, and excursionists sitting on their
porticos eating and drinking. Occasionally a cross or a statue on the
hillside varies the scene. We are disappointed in the vineyards: the
vines run up on sticks, and look like stunted pole-bean vines growing,
and our expectations of graceful green-clothed arches and arbors vanish.
‘How muddy the water looks, too!’ said I, ‘and when or where do we get
to the delightful part of the Rhine?’ A young German gentleman sat near
us, who evidently did not like that question, as if it could be for once
thought that any part of the romantic river could be anything but
beautiful. I will tell you more of this gentleman later. At Bingen we
made our first stop, and thought, as everybody does, of Mrs. Norton’s
poem. And I thought of the little boy I so earnestly once trained to
recite her touching lines:--
‘O friend, I fear the lightest heart
Makes sometimes heaviest mourning.’
From childhood we have read of the Rhine and its romantic legends, and
now to us it seems as if every spot must be inhabited by princes and
princesses, dragons, warriors, knights and syrens. The tower, called the
Mouse Tower, which is in the middle of the river, was built in order to
collect taxes from every boat that passed. The legend runs that an
archbishop, at the time of a famine, took what grain there was from the
poor, for his own wants. The starving throng begged him for bread, and
he said to them, ‘You shall have it; go into that empty barn and I will
give you warm bread!’ The people rushed into the barn, when he closed
the doors, and set it on fire, and when they all cried out in terror he
coolly said, ‘Listen to the pipings of the mice.’ From the ashes of the
people armies of mice came to devour him; he rushed to the tower for
safety; but the mice, undaunted, followed him, and ate his flesh to the
bone, and his skeleton was found in the Rhine. You will recall now these
words of the poem--
‘They whetted their teeth against the stones,
And then they picked the bishop’s bones.’
Fragments of poetry come to one’s mind constantly here, for nearly every
spot has been sung of by some one.
Near by is the great ruin of the Castle Ehrenfels, where the Archbishop
of Mayence, or Mainz, as the Germans say, used to flee for safety in
times of agitation. Opposite is the Castle of Rheinstein (Rhine Stone),
which has been restored, and is owned and often occupied by the royal
family of Germany, and looks indeed very inviting. The legend connected
with this castle is a pretty tale, because the end gives Gerda, the
lovely daughter of Count Siegfried, to Kuno, the man she loved,
notwithstanding the treachery of his bachelor cousin Kurt, who
endeavored to win her for himself, but as a meet punishment fell from
his horse while following her and was killed. Kuno inherited his
estates, and he, with Gerda, ever after ‘lived in peace.’
We saw the _Siebenjungfrauen_, ‘Seven Virgins,’ now seven cold rocks,
once beautiful maidens. The Lurlei, a river nymph, turned them into
stone for flirting too much with the susceptible youth of the Rhine.
Near by are the huge rocks of the Lurlei, where dwelt the syren, whose
sweet voice lured all who heard it, and whose greatest delight was to
charm these admirers on to their own destruction. It is said that even
now, at the uncanny hour of midnight, the phantom of a boat can be seen,
with the shadowy figure of a man with outstretched arms standing in the
centre, gazing toward the cliff, where he had once seen and been
entranced by the lovely maid and her sweet voice.
“To the Rhine, to the Rhine, go not to the Rhine,
My son, I counsel thee well:
For there life is too sweet and too fine,
And every breath is a spell.
The Nixie calls to thee out of the flood;
And if thou her smiles shouldst see,
And the Lorelei, with her beautiful lips,
Then ’tis all over with thee;
For bewitched and delighted
Yet seized with fear,
Thy home is forgotten,
And mourners weep here.”
I become so absorbed in all these old traditions, that I feel like
telling you the stories as if they were new, but you know them all, and
I must stop or weary you, for you are in practical Boston, and I on this
historic, romantic stream. Near us, on the boat, sat a
distinguished-looking party of Germans, one of whom was the young
gentleman I previously alluded to, and who had watched us, we felt, with
considerable interest, for the citizens of one nation are always
interested in travellers from far-off lands, taking notes of their own.
Hearing me ask of F. a question in regard to one of the old ruins, which
information she was unable to give me, he kindly volunteered the desired
explanation, apologizing at the same time for addressing us. He was
every inch a gentleman, and spoke English a little. His knowledge of
everything in the vicinity, his kind attentions, and the use of his
superior glasses, added greatly to the pleasure of our trip. I think he
_looked_ at my companion, but he talked with me, and was charming. ‘Have
you reached “the delightful part of the Rhine”?’ he asked, and I felt
that I had. The only really beautiful portion is from Bingen to Bonn. It
is between these cities that the river turns and winds from one
mountain side to the other, on whose heights stand the picturesque old
ruins--castles, convents, and crags. Of course the Drachenfels, or
Dragon’s Rock, with the castle ruins, brought to us many memories of the
‘Niebelungen Lay,’ for it was here, on this romantic ground, that young
Siegfried showed his wonderful strength, which has been told and sung of
ever since. If only he had dipped his entire body in the dragon’s blood,
and not left the one spot exposed! But, ah me! I fear we all have the
one vulnerable spot somewhere, for we are all human! In and near this
vicinity the finest grapes grow, and the vineyards are extensive and
receive constant care.
We made a short stop at Bonn, long enough to see the fine statue of
Beethoven, who was born here, and who was descended from a family of
wonderful musicians. Saw the university buildings also, where a young
gallant, once ours, studied, and then we pushed on down the river, the
banks now flat and of little interest, until Cologne came in sight.
Yes, we have greatly enjoyed the Rhine, but taking it entire, I am a
little disappointed, and as these are honest letters, telling you of
sights just as I am impressed by them, I must say, that with the
exception of that portion of the river I have spoken of to you, which is
bordered by the mountains, castle-tipped, I think our own Hudson, with
its lovely banks and its shadowy Catskills, the more beautiful. I am
thinking now of the time, one year ago, when I sat on the deck of the
Mary Powell running up past the grand palisades and dear, lovely, old
West Point. Well, I shall be homesick if I dwell upon that trip. Our
attentive German escort, whose card has told us that he is the son of
Baron von H., and a student at Bonn, now taking his vacation, requested
my consent to accompany us to our hotel, as he was to stop at the same
one, hoping to be able to be of service to us, which very kind offer we
declined, and stepped into a droschky, which soon safely landed us at
the Hotel Disch.
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