FROM BELGIUM TO COLOGNE AND UP THE RHINE.
Brussels—Its Laces and Carpets—Belgium a Small Country—Cultivated
like a Garden—Into Germany—Aix-La-Chapelle—Birthplace of
Charlemagne—Capital of Holy Roman Empire—Cathedral Built by
Charlemagne—A Strange Legend—Shrine of the Four Relics—A
Pulpit Adorned with Ivory and Studded with Diamonds—Cologne—Its
Inhabitants—Its Perfumery—Its Cathedral—A Ponderous Bell—A
Church Built of Human Bones—Sailing up the Rhine—A River of
Song—Bonn—Its University—Birthplace of Beethoven—Feudal Lords—The
Bloody Rhine—Dragon’s Rock—A Combat with a Serpent—A Convent
with a Love Story—Empress of the Night—Intoxicated—Coblentz—A
Tramp-Trip through Germany—Sixteen Thousand Soldiers Engaged
in Battle—Enchanted Region—Loreli—Son-in-Law of Augustus
Caesar—Birthplace of Gutenberg, the Inventor of Printing.
BRUSSELS is noted the world over for its fine laces and superior
carpets. The Kingdom of Belgium is very little larger than the state of
Connecticut, and yet it maintains a standing army of 50,000 men, while
the whole of the United States has a standing army of only 36,000. The
large army, together with the maintenance of the royal family, impose
upon the people a very burdensome taxation. The people here know very
little about improved implements of any kind, their work being done
mostly by main strength and native awkwardness. Belgium is cultivated
like a garden, and is as pretty as a picture.
We now leave Belgium. As the train dashes across an imaginary line, “a
change comes o’er the scene.” The soldiers wear a different uniform,
the people speak a different language, pay homage to a different king,
and handle a different money. Money, however, is a scarce article in
this portion of the moral vineyard.
I have always associated the name of Charlemagne with Aix-la-Chapelle.
It is, therefore, with no little interest that I visit this ancient and
historical city. I find this place of 80,000 inhabitants beautifully
situated in the midst of a fertile valley surrounded by gently sloping
hills. This was the birthplace and favorite residence of Charlemagne,
the Julius Caesar of the eighth century. This venerable place was the
second city of importance in the holy Roman Empire, its being the
capital of Charlemagne’s dominions north of the Alps. Here thirty-seven
emperors were crowned; here ecclesiastical convocations assembled, and
from here imperial edicts went forth.
The Cathedral, or Muenster, built (796-804) by Charlemagne still
stands, and is one of the most interesting objects in the city. On the
right of the principal entrance to the Cathedral is a brazen wolf.
According to the legend connected with this quadruped, the funds for
the erection of the church having run short, the devil offered to
supply the deficiency on condition that the first living being that
entered the house should be sacrificed to himself. The magistrate
entered into the compact, but defrauded the devil of his expected
reward by admitting a wolf into the sacred edifice immediately on its
completion.
I seat myself in the Imperial Throne of Charlemagne, in which also his
remains reposed for more than 350 years, having been found by Otho III,
who opened the tomb in the eleventh century. In the Cathedral Treasury
is the famous “Shrine of the Four Relics.” It is composed of the purest
gold, and is studded with fifteen hundred precious stones. This shrine
is said to contain the robes of the Virgin Mary, the swaddling clothes
of the infant Christ, the bloody cloth in which the body of John the
Baptist was wrapped, and the linen cloth with which the Savior was
girded on the Cross. The relics are shown only once in seven years, on
which occasion thousands of people flock to see them notwithstanding
the exorbitant charges made. It has now been six years since the last
exhibition took place. The next time for robbing the superstitious
people is close at hand.
The pulpit, presented by Henry II, of Germany, is a gem of beauty,
being richly adorned with gold, carved ivory, diamonds, and other
precious stones. I dare say, however, that this Romish pulpit, as
splendid as it is, has seldom been adorned with the precious truths of
God’s blessed Word.
In three hours after leaving Aix-la-Chapelle, Cologne is in sight.
Coleridge sarcastically says:
[Illustration: STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.]
“Cologne has nine separate and distinct stinks;
It is washed by the river Rhine,
But what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?”
It is not at all inappropriate therefore that Cologne should lead
the world in the manufacture of perfumery. The city boasts 140,000
inhabitants, the most of whom are Roman Catholics. A bridge of boats
connects Cologne with a large city on the opposite side of the river.
To the visitor, the object of the greatest interest in the city is the
Cathedral, which is said to be the most magnificent Gothic edifice in
the world. It certainly takes the palm over anything I have seen. It is
wholly unnecessary for me to describe this wonderful building to those
who have seen it, and it is impossible to describe it to those who have
not seen it. I hardly know whether one is most filled with admiration,
or struck with awe, as he beholds this great temple whose foundation
stone was laid six hundred years ago. To go around it, one must walk
an eighth of a mile; and yet he forgets the distance as he looks upon
the massive walls rising one hundred and fifty feet above him; as he
views the arched roof more than two hundred feet high; as he eyes the
tapering spires which seem to pierce the bended sky. And yet there
is hardly a square foot, even of the exterior of this architectural
wonder, that is not carved and chiseled in the most exquisite manner
imaginable. The principal entrance to the Cathedral is a doorway,
thirty-one by ninety-three feet. On the inside, one sees a forest
of pillars, fifty-six in number, apparently thirty or forty feet in
circumference, and rising, some one hundred and others two hundred
feet high. The aisles are twenty, thirty, and sixty feet wide. Some of
the windows are twenty by fifty feet. These stained-glass windows and
marble pillars have been presented by the kings and queens and emperors
of different countries. The inside is profusely adorned and decorated
with statues, carvings, paintings and sculpture work of every kind and
character.
The Cathedral bell is seventeen feet across, and weighs twenty-three
tons. To ring it requires fifteen men. As I stand upon the tower, five
hundred and thirty-seven feet above the earth, men in the streets look
like little children, and the business houses resemble play-things.
This elevation affords a fine view of the surrounding country. I can
trace the Rhine and its tributaries for more than twenty miles. Winding
around among the hills and grain fields, these streams, gleaming in the
sunlight, look like silver threads. I say to my friend: “Ah! behold the
‘silver threads among the gold.’” Although I have climbed this spire
to the enormous height of 537 feet, yet above me is a delicate golden
ladder; and, as it was placed here to enable the angels to ascend and
descend, I quietly descend.
The church of St. Ursula is one of the curiosities of the city. St.
Ursula was an English princess who, according to the tradition, when
on her return from a pilgrimage to Rome, in the second century after
Christ, was barbarously murdered at Cologne with eleven thousand other
Christians, most of whom were young women. They were all buried in the
same grave. Some time in the eleventh century the grave was opened, the
bones taken out, and, on the spot of the grave, the present church was
built to the memory of these martyred virgins. These bones form part
of the walls of the church; some of them, also, are preserved in glass
cases, and placed around in the audience-room. Johnson supposes this is
done to inspire in the worshipper a devotional spirit, or, perchance,
to remind him of Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones. Near the pulpit is a
beautiful monument to Princess Ursula. The statue is of alabaster, with
a laurel wreath about her brow and a white dove at her feet.
The Rhine is, indeed, a majestic river. Its broad bosom floats hundreds
of vessels, laden with the produce of its fertile valley, and thousands
of tourists from all parts of Europe and America. At Cologne, we
embark on the “Victoria,” and start up the “legendary stream.” As our
graceful bark glides off over the smooth waters, we turn our eyes back
toward Cologne for a last, long look. And what a pleasing picture it
is to behold the city with its “girdle of fortifications,” to see the
splendid cathedrals and numerous towers outlined against the sky!
Cologne has scarcely vanished from our sight when Bonn appears. Here we
disembark. A few hours suffice to go through the University, to inspect
the Cathedral, to see the bronze statue, and visit the birthplace of
the great musical genius, Beethoven, born in 1770 and died in 1827.
After leaving Bonn, the scenery is more picturesque and beautiful.
On either side of the swiftly-flowing stream, the overhanging cliffs
rise high, one above another, each being crowned with a ruined castle,
whose long, winding corridors and pictured walls once resounded with
mirth and music. High perched upon these basaltic rocks, and surrounded
by almost impregnable walls, feudal lords once held despotic sway.
It really seems that the once thirsty swords have been beaten into
plowshares, and the spears into pruning hooks, for the fruitful vine
now flourishes along the “bloody Rhine,” from its water’s edge to the
height of the castled crags. Even the crevices in the high cliffs are
planted with the vine. This scene inspired Lord Byron to sing the
following beautiful song:
“The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine
Whose breast of waters broadly smiles
Between the banks which bear the vine;
And hills all rich with blossom’d trees,
And fields which produce corn and wine,
And scatter’d cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew’d a scene which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me.”
We land at Konigswinter (King’s Winter), and ascend the bluff, nine
hundred and eighty feet above the Rhine, to the Castle of Drachenfels,
or dragon’s rock. This Castle commands the most extensive view of any
on the Rhine. In descending, we visit the curious cave which, according
to a mythical story, was once the dwelling-place of a huge serpent who
jealously guarded the pass and allowed no one to ascend the cliff. A
brave knight slew the dragon, and after bathing himself in its blood,
became invulnerable and mighty in strength. He then built the Castle on
the uplifted rock, and made himself lord of the surrounding country.
[Illustration: A VIEW ON THE RHINE.]
Just as the sun sets, we approach the beautiful island of Nonenwerth
where, half hidden beneath the rich foliage, we see an old convent.
Just above this floating island, rises a huge rock whose summit was
once crowned with a splendid castle, of which only one crumbling arch
now remains. The legendary history connecting the castle and convent
is as beautiful as it is touching. Just after the time of Charlemagne,
a brave and gallant knight, by the name of Roland, paid court to the
beautiful and accomplished Princess Hildegude. The affection was
reciprocated, and the two soon became affianced lovers. At this time,
Roland was summoned by his king to the Crusade. Time sped on, and
anxiously did the devoted Hildegude look for his return. But, alas! she
received tidings of his death. Straightway for her all beauty faded
from every earthly object. She therefore gave her heart to God, and
her body to the convent on the adjacent island. The sad news, however,
proved untrue. Roland had been wounded but not fatally. All during his
absence the fires of love burned brightly upon the altars of devotion.
With joyous anticipation, he returned to receive the hand of her whose
radiant smile was the light of his life. But, alas! poor Roland! He
found that his lady-love was in that living tomb from which death
alone could set her free. Broken-hearted, he built the castle, one
moldering arch of which still stands, and there lived in solitude and
wretchedness, catching an occasional glimpse of his imprisoned love.
After her death, he spoke no more until he passed beyond the stars to
meet her who anxiously awaited his coming.
The last rays of the setting sun light the lamps of night, and it seems
as if each star tries to outshine every other one. The moon, with these
brightly-beaming stars as her attendants, comes forth as “Empress of
the Night.” Standing on deck and looking out over the scene, I find
that moon and stars are pouring a perfect flood of glory over tower,
and castle, and crag, and cliff, and wooded hill.
By this time we are so completely intoxicated with pleasure that we
think it best not to indulge any longer. So, as the clerk of the boat
calls out, “Coblentz,” we step ashore, and one hour later we are
dreaming about what we had seen during the day. Next morning, as the
sun first peeps over the eastern hills, he finds the pedestrians on
their way to Ems, a beautiful little city nestling among the wooded
hills of Germany. The walk proves a delightful exercise; and before
the dew is off the grass, we are seated in Ems on the bank of the
river which flows through the city. This was a favorite resort of the
late Emperor William during the summer. On the way to Ems, we have the
pleasure of witnessing a sham battle between several thousand German
soldiers. No one is killed. One officer is badly hurt by his horse
falling on him.
Before eleven o’clock, we are again gliding up the river. We seem now
to have entered an enchanted region. No description we have ever read
of the Rhine could equal the sight itself. Here
“The noble river foams and flows,
The charm of the enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresh beauty varying round.”
The channel now becomes narrow, the stream swift and deep. As we pass
castle after castle and behold the wrecks and ruins, we feel that we
are “passing back down the stream of time.” Here on the left is the
Loreli, a great rock rising up more than four hundred feet. According
to the legend, a nymph had her dwelling in a cavern of this rock, and,
with the music which issued forth from her golden harp, she enticed
sailors and fishermen to their destruction in the terrific whirlpools
and rapids at the foot of the precipice.
Passing the national monument erected in honor of Germany’s victory
over France, in 1870, and Bingen, “fair Bingen on the Rhine,” we come
at length to Mayence, a frontier town of fifty thousand inhabitants,
strongly fortified with a garrison of thirty thousand soldiers. Mayence
was founded B. C. 14, by Drusus, the son-in-law of Julius Caesar. Here
the grandsons of Charlemagne met to divide his mighty empire into
Germany, France, and Italy. This is the birthplace of Gutenberg who,
in 1440, invented the art of printing. Mayence has shown her high
appreciation of that gifted son of genius by erecting the handsome
“Gutenberg Statue.”