FROM FRANKFORT TO WORMS.
Frankfort-on-the-Main—Met at Depot by a Committee—Frankfort, the
Home of Culture and Art—Birthplace of Goethe—”He Preaches like a
God “—The Home of Rothschild—A Visit to his House—Worms and its
History—Luther and a Bad Diet—Luther Monument—Theses Nailed on the
Door—Fame of Luther and his Followers more Imperishable than their
Bronze Statues.
FROM Mayence, I run up to pay my respects to Frankfort (ford of the
Franks)-on-the-Main; and right royal is the reception extended me.
The good people of this classic city seem really glad to see me,
_especially the hotel keepers_. Reader, you can scarcely imagine what
a pleasure it is to a way-worn pilgrim, as he enters a great city in a
foreign country, to be met by a committee consisting of a full score
of hotel clerks and porters, and half a hundred hack drivers! As the
traveler steps off the train, he is approached by the different members
of the committee, each of whom tries to be more kind and obliging than
any of the others. Indeed, the honored visitor is well-nigh overcome
with gratitude, as he sees these committeemen crowding round him on
all sides, each with an expectant look, a face wreathed with smiles,
and a palm itching to get hold of his purse strings. Such was the
welcome given me at Frankfort-on-the-Main, which city, though it dates
back from the time of Charlemagne, 775, is now as fresh and fair as a
sixteen year old maiden with blue eyes and golden hair.
Frankfort is about the size of Rochester, New York, is a place of great
commercial importance, and, according to population, is by far the
wealthiest city in Germany. It claims two hundred millionaires.
The museum and art galleries here are of the highest type. I can not
use the brush, palette, and easel myself, but some pictures throw a
spell over me that I can not shake off. Murillo’s “Madonna Enthroned,”
Overbeck’s “Triumph of Religion in the Arts,” Rembrandt’s “Parable
of the Laborers in the Vineyard,” are indelibly stamped on the
imperishable tablets of memory; their gilded frames I have entwined
with a garland of forget-me-nots, and with golden cord of appreciation
I have hung them up in the art gallery of the soul. And, if as Keats
says, and as I believe, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” then will
my visit to Frankfort-on-the-Main be a blessing to me until the silver
cord be loosed, and the golden bowl of life broken.
This is the birthplace of Goethe, the Shakespeare of Germany. His
splendid monument stands in the centre of one of the public squares of
the city. The pedestal on which the bronze statue rests is relieved
by raised figures, those on one side being taken from “Faust,” and
the other from “Hermann and Dorothea.” The first is one of the most
masterly productions that ever emanated from the human brain, and
the second one of the sweetest love stories ever embalmed in verse.
Carlyle says of Goethe: “There was none like him; he knew everything.”
If Germany ever produced Goethe’s equal, it was his bosom friend
Schiller, whose life-like statue adorns another of the public squares
of Frankfort. Seeing these two statues, I involuntarily look around for
that of Herder. I always think of Goethe, Schiller and Herder as the
inseparable trio.
The well-known millionaire, M. A. Rothschild who, I believe was at one
time the richest man on earth, was born in Frankfort. The family still
lives, and do a large business here. Through the influence of a friend,
I gain an entrance to Rothschild’s house and private museum, which one
may well imagine contains an elegant collection of curiosities from all
parts of the world. One gold vase alone, set with diamonds and other
precious stones, is said to have cost 800,000 marks or $200,000.
The next place the traveler hangs his hat on the wall is here in Worms.
Ah, what a history has this quaint old German town! How many thrilling
incidents have taken place on its narrow streets during the last
fifteen hundred years! But Worms is of more than a general interest
to the world, since it was the scene of Luther’s fiercest struggle
with Rome. In March, 1521, Luther was summoned to appear before the
Diet, or Supreme Court, of half the World, assembled at Worms, under
the presidency of Charles V. With Napoleonic courage, Luther answered
the call in person. As the bold reformer on his way to trial passed
through Eisenach, where he had sung carols on the street for bread,
his friends met him with the warning; “They will burn you as they did
John Huss;” to which he replied; “Though they should build a fire from
Worms to Wittenberg and reaching to the sky, I would pass through it
in the name of the Lord.” As he was approaching the city, Spalatin
sent a messenger with another warning. This time the monk responded:
“Go tell your master that if there were as many devils in Worms as
there are tiles upon the housetops, I would enter.” He did enter, and
the next day became a turning point in the world’s history. It was
then that this “Christian Hercules, this heroic cleanser of the Augean
stable of apostacy,” went forth in the arena of debate to shiver lances
with kings and popes and princes. Being severely in earnest, grandly
right, and divinely appointed to his office, he hurled his arguments
like withering blighting thunder-bolts. And, if the enemy now and then
put in hard licks, Luther, being possessed of a cool head, quick wit,
and boundless resources, revived like the vigor of vegetation after
the stunning blow had fallen. He stood until there was not a man to
meet him. The haughty hierarchy which he assailed had “bound kings in
chains, and nobles in fetters of iron; but before the fire of his
quenchless zeal those fetters fell, fused as by the lightning touch of
Heaven.”
It is only in accordance with the “eternal fitness of things,”
therefore, that we find in Worms a monument memorializing this severe
conflict and brilliant victory of the intrepid reformer.
As we enter the town from the railway station, we pass through the
Luther-Platz (place or square), in the center of which stands the
Luther Monument, which was erected in 1868 at a cost of $85,000. The
monument is on this wise. There is a massive platform of granite,
forty-eight feet square and nine and one-half feet high, bearing in its
centre a large pedestal, also of granite. This pedestal is surmounted
by another in bronze, adorned with reliefs representing four scenes in
Luther’s life. In the first, we see him administering the communion as
a Catholic priest; second, he is nailing his theses on the church door
in Wittenberg; next, we see him defending himself at Worms; and, last,
he is translating the Bible into his native language.
Now, upon this pedestal, whose sides are thus adorned, stands the
bronze statue of Luther, eleven feet in height, a commanding figure.
In his left hand he holds a Bible, on which his right hand is placed
emphatically, while his face, on which faith is admirably portrayed, is
turned upwards. John Huss, Savonarola, John Wycliffe, and Peter Waldus
are sitting at the four corners of the large pedestal on which Luther
stands.
From the four corners of the large platform, rise four granite
pedestals, not so large as the central one. On these four pedestals
stand bronze statues of Luther’s fellow champions, Malanchthon,
Reuchlin, on one side, and Philip of Hesse and Frederick the Wise of
Saxony, his princely protectors, on the other. The four last-named
statues are each nine feet high. Taken all in all, this is one of the
finest and most impressive monuments I have seen. And why should it
not be so? These men have justly been called the thunderers, the cloud
compellers, the world uplifters, the hammers of the Lord, the pioneers
of progress, the liberators of mankind,
“Whose names are ever on the world’s broad tongue,
Like sound upon the falling of a force;
Who play upon our hearts as upon a harp,
And make our eyes bright as we speak of them.”