strip him of his garments. He cannot sell the suit, he says, especially
as the wedding festivities of one of his neighbors are so soon to take
place. In a corner of the room, quietly smoking a clay pipe, sits the
old father, watching without a word the little drama taking place
before him. As the boy reiterates his refusal, the man talks to him in
expostulatory tones, and as we learn, says: "The gentleman from America
is a good man. Let him have the suit: you shall have another." At this
advice the son, though looking rather sulky, yields, and withdrawing to
the adjoining room, exchanges the suit he wears for the old one, and
returns with the desire of my heart rolled up and wrapped in a clean
paper. The evidence of good will on the part of the parent, and the
obedience of the son charm me even more than the possession of the
coveted garments. The boy is a noble lad. As we are about leaving, I
suddenly espy the silver coin buttons which are such an ornament to the
dress, and which are considered a mark of distinction, when worn by old
or young. They are rare and valuable decorations, being buttons made of
coins, and held together by a link, as our sleeve-buttons. They are worn
in the bands of the trousers and shirts, serving the purpose of
suspenders.
The coins are brilliantly polished and present a striking appearance.
They are generally heirlooms, and some of them are of very ancient date.
In general they are cherished as treasures beyond price: these worn by
the boy are exceedingly rare, and are more than a hundred years old,
having belonged to his great-grandfather. The outer and larger coins are
three guilder pieces, the smaller ones one guilder.
To ask for these is indeed the "last straw," and when the father
requests his son to put them in the bundle with the clothing, he bursts
into tears, and his hands tremble as he gives them to me.
For this final test of obedience I thank him heartily, and bestow upon
him a liberal reward for the sacrifice, together with much praise. As he
looks at the guilders with which I have filled his hand, his countenance
brightens, and the rainfall is changed into radiant sunshine. The
neighbors look on this scene with surprise, and many of them declare
that this is a very uncommon occurrence in Volendam, as they have never
known any one heretofore to dispose of family heirlooms to a foreigner.
It is unnecessary to say that I also value the coins beyond price, and
treasure them for their association, and the interesting picture which
they never fail to bring before me.
[Illustration: "Every man is a volume if you know how to read him."
(_See page 256._)]
There is but one hotel in the place, and thither we resort. It is a
small building without pretensions, containing about ten rooms, of no
great size, but clean and comfortable. We learn that board and
accommodations may be had here for four guilders (one dollar) a day.
This hotel has entertained artists from all parts of the world. The
good-natured landlord will do everything in his power to make his guests
comfortable. In the general sitting-room or parlor, there is abundant
evidence that these efforts have been appreciated in the beautiful
paintings presented to him by some of the most famous artists of our
day. He is a loyal upholder of art and artists. His daughter, a fresh
looking maiden, is so much pleased when I say that I too, am an artist
and photographer, that she insists upon taking me up to the third floor
to see the fine view from the windows which overlook the Zuyder Zee. She
also shows me a room which was fitted up for a lady artist from New
York. Here is an unfinished picture upon the easel, of an old Volendam
woman, in her fancy cap and bright colored homespun costume.
This secluded spot offers many attractions for both brush and camera in
interesting studies of figures and landscape, as well as charming water
scenes. We would gladly spend a longer time amid these delightful
pictures, but it is impossible, so we take our departure amid a hundred
good wishes, and as we drive away, the inhabitants who have gathered
from all parts of the town to see the queer Americans, call after us:
"Goeden dag," and "Tot weerziens," (Until we meet again). A dozen or
more children run by the side of the carriage shouting and laughing for
a considerable distance. And so we bid farewell to a hearty and
attractive people and their quaint surroundings.
Let us take a somewhat hasty glance at Cologne, the oldest city on the
Rhine, and one of the largest towns in the Rhenish Province of Prussia.
We cannot afford to miss this town, were it only on account of the great
Cathedral whose lofty towers rise heavenward to a height of five hundred
and twelve feet. How one longs to find himself within these sacred
walls, to stand and gaze upon the wondrous arches, pillars, and dome,
the stained glass and statues, the frescoes and carving, the work of an
endless succession of artists and artisans. Next to St. Peter's at Rome,
this Cathedral is the largest church in the world. It stands upon the
old Roman camping ground, and more than six centuries have passed since
its foundations were laid. The name of its architect is unknown, and
even the original designs have been forgotten. Its interior is four
hundred and thirty feet long and one hundred and forty feet broad.
The portion appropriated to divine service covers an area of seventy
thousand square feet. It is useless to attempt to describe this vast
structure whose buttresses, turrets, gargoyles, canopies and tracery are
innumerable and bewildering. The Gothic arches and countless pillars
form a grand perspective. There are seven chapels which present a wealth
of paintings, and relics. In the Chapel of the Three Magi is a
marvellous casket of crystal, whose cover is set with precious stones,
which is said to contain the skulls of Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar,
the three Wise Men from the East who followed the star to the cradle of
the infant Christ.
[Illustration: "Goeden dag. Tot weerziens." (_See page 266._)]
In the great treasury of the Cathedral are untold treasures. Here are
silver censers, paintings set in diamonds, shrines of silver, and rare
and priceless relics of every description, besides gold and silver
chalices, fonts, and other church vessels, and a collection of
magnificent vestments.
Many are the vicissitudes through which this wonderful structure has
passed, since its commencement in 1248. At times it seemed abandoned to
ruin, then again the work was taken up and vast sums of money
contributed, and the masterpiece of Gothic architecture was carried on
toward completion, until once more the money was exhausted. It seems as
though the old legend of the architect who sold his soul to the devil in
exchange for the plan of the edifice must have some foundation, for
tradition relates that Satan was finally outwitted by the architect, and
in revenge vowed that the Cathedral should never be finished, and the
architect's name be forgotten. Immense fortunes have been expended upon
it by monarchs and others of the faithful. The great southern portal
alone cost half a million dollars: the bells in the south tower, the
largest of which was cast in 1874, from the metal of French guns, weighs
twenty-five tons. The combined efforts of twenty-eight ringers are
required to set it in motion. The next two in point of size, cast in
1447 and 1448, weigh respectively eleven and six tons. The magnificent
stained glass windows were contributed by famous and royal donors, such
as the Emperor Frederick III., Archbishop Von Daun, Archbishop Von
Hessen, King Lewis I. of Bavaria, Emperor William I., and many others. A
number of these were executed as far back as 1508.
Few structures can compete with this in beauty, grace and elegance of
form. How solemn is the atmosphere within these ancient walls! How
impressive the picture of this apparently boundless interior! In one of
the great pillars is a flight of one hundred steps, which leads to a
gallery extending across the transept, and still nearly forty steps
higher one reaches the gallery which makes the tour of the whole
Cathedral, and upon this one has a beautiful view of the city of
Cologne, the Rhine and the surrounding country. Within the church there
is a corresponding gallery, from which the visitor may observe the
interior decorations, and from the loftiest gallery of all, there is a
vast and delightful panorama which includes river and country as far as
the eye can see. What can be more beautiful than this scene? Where can
one find a grander, more solemn atmosphere than within these walls where
the spirits and the hands of men have worked for ages? Where can he
experience more lofty aspirations toward
"The glorious Author of the universe
Who reins the minds, gives the vast ocean bounds,
And circumscribes the floating worlds their rounds"?
The city of Cologne was founded by the Ubii at the time when they were
compelled by Agrippa to migrate from the right to the left bank of the
Rhine, (B. C. 38). In A. D. 51, Agrippina, daughter of Germanicus, and
mother of Nero, founded here a colony of Roman veterans which at first
was called Colonia Agrippinensis, and afterward Colonia Claudia
Agrippina. In 308 Constantine the Great began a stone bridge over the
Rhine to Deutz. From the end of the fifth century Cologne belonged to
the Franks and was long occupied by the Ripuarian kings. Charlemagne
raised the bishopric which had been founded here in the fourth century
to an archbishopric, the first archbishop being the imperial chaplain
Hildebold who built the oldest cathedral church, and presented to it a
valuable library which still exists.
"The noble city has passed through many vicissitudes, and it was not
until after 1815 under Prussian rule that it began to enjoy a degree of
permanent prosperity. The rapid progress of its steamboat and railway
systems, and the enterprise of the citizens, many of whom possess great
wealth, have combined to make Cologne the centre of the Rhenish trade,
and one of the most considerable commercial cities in Germany."
The town is built with long narrow streets curving in semicircles toward
the river. Its sidewalks have the peculiarity of frequently dwindling
away until only a few feet in width. The great Cathedral tower may be
seen for miles, reaching far above the surrounding buildings. Cologne is
a city of legends and relics: old and historic buildings dating back
many centuries are scattered in all directions, and here the visionary,
the lover of myth and legend, can find abundant food for his
imagination. The great and valued possessions of the city are the bones
of the eleven thousand virgins. This is the legend: Fourteen hundred
years ago, St. Ursula and eleven thousand virgins went on a pilgrimage
to Rome, and returning were all slain by the Huns. Their bones were
gathered together and brought to Cologne, where they were buried, and
later the church of St. Ursula, now nearly nine hundred years old, was
built over their tomb. Within this church the bones of the virgins are
enclosed in stone caskets, with apertures through which they may be
seen. The skulls are covered with needlework and ornamented with pearls
and precious stones.
Among other relics, is also to be found here the alabaster vase or
rather one of the vases, in which the Saviour turned the water into wine
at the marriage in Cana. The vase or jar is evidently a very ancient
article: it is much cracked, and one handle is broken off. There are
many points of interest in this old city, for here are museums, gardens,
galleries and churches, and always the picturesque river with its
countless views and pleasure trips.
If one is weary of these legendary stories, or even of sightseeing
itself, let him rest with me in one of the many public gardens,
listening to the charming music of a good orchestra.
There are skilled musicians in these gardens, and their selections are
always well rendered. No loud or idle conversation is indulged in during
these recitals. Should any such breach of good manners occur, the
transgressors are requested to observe the rule of the garden, and if
the offence is repeated, they are ejected from the premises. The
Germans, being such lovers of good music, tolerate no other in their
gardens. There is no admission fee, but the expenses are supposed to be
met by the sale of beer, wine, pretzels and Frankfurt sausages.
Before leaving Cologne I must not forget to mention the refreshing
perfume which has made this city famous all over the world. The
celebrated Eau de Cologne is said to have been invented by Jean Antoine
Marie Farina of Domodossola in the year 1709. One could almost bathe in
the perfume here for the money it would cost to filter our muddy
Philadelphia water. There is an enormous quantity of it manufactured,
and almost every store seems to have it for sale.
[Illustration: "Palace of Bruehl." (_See page 277._)]
A short distance from Cologne, or Koeln as the Germans call it, is the
almost forsaken station of Bruehl. I would advise the tourist to alight
here, and take a close view of the imperial palace known as the Palace
of Bruehl, a handsome building erected about the year 1725. As we advance
toward the beautiful and spacious grounds, it is not difficult to
imagine the magnificent structure looming up in the distance as the home
of royalty. The approach to the palace is studded with marble statues,
and the palace itself is a classic example of the French and German
rococo style of architecture; from it radiate many lovely walks and
bowery avenues which are adorned with fine statuary. Here too are velvet
lawns, noble trees and glowing flower beds, and should one wish to view
the interior of this elegant palace, he will find that some of the rooms
are open to visitors.
Our stay within is necessarily brief. Retracing our steps to the
station, we take the train, and are carried swiftly toward the old town
of Bonn.
Along the Banks of the Rhine.
[Illustration: "Lovely walks and bowery avenues." (_See page 277._)]
_Along the Banks of the Rhine._
Bonn--The Birthplace of Beethoven--The Museum--Monument--A Famous
Restaurant--College Students--Beer Mugs--Special Tables--Affairs of
Honor--Koenigswinter--Magnificent Views--Drachenfels--The Castle--The
Dombruch--Siegfried and the Dragon--A Desecrated Ruin--The Splendor of
the Mountains--Many Visitors--View from the Summit--The Students'
Chorus--German Life--A German Breakfast--The Camera--Old Castles and
Lofty Mountains--Legends of the Rhine--The Waters of the
Rhine--Vineyards.
This town like its sister cities is of ancient foundation, having been
one of the first Roman fortresses on the Rhine. It is the seat of a
university which attracts students from all parts of the world. It is a
prosperous looking place with pleasant villas on the river banks, and
ancient picturesque houses. There are lovely shaded walks in the public
gardens, and a fine view from the Alte Zoll, but the chief interest of
the town for us lies in the fact that it is the birthplace of Beethoven.
In a small unpretentious house the great musician was born in 1770, and
here were composed many of those wonderful harmonies which have thrilled
the souls of lovers of music all over the world. The room in which this
noble genius first saw the light of day is in the top of the house, a
garret ten feet by twelve in size, and contains no furniture whatever:
nor is it necessary to remind those who enter it, by aught save the
wreath of green which lies peacefully upon the floor, that the spirit
whose earthly tabernacle dwelt here breathed forth the fire of heaven.
"Creative genius. From thy hand
What shapes of order, beauty rise,
Where waves thy potent, mystic wand,
To people ocean, earth and skies."
In an adjoining room are stored some pieces of furniture which belonged
to Beethoven, and the piano used by him in the composition of some of
his most famous sonatas. Some of the ladies of our party are permitted
to play upon this sacred instrument. Do they hope to be inspired by the
magic spell of the master's touch still lingering among the keys? The
dwelling has been purchased by lovers of the celebrated composer, and
fitted up as a Beethoven Museum. Not far off stands the statue of the
artist and the monument dedicated to him.
Before leaving Bonn, we visit the famous restaurant which is the nightly
resort of the students during the college term. The spacious rooms
composing this cafe communicate with each other by a wide and lofty
doorway. The furniture consists of bare wooden tables, a long counter,
and dozens of shabby chairs which look as if they have seen hard
service. The corpulent and jovial proprietor informs us that these rooms
are filled to overflowing with both gay and serious students every night
in the week, and that here, notwithstanding the ofttimes boisterous
merriment, questions of grave import are often discussed, together with
all the current topics of interest; and that speeches are made brilliant
enough for publication in the daily papers. Here the young orator first
tests his powers, and in all his future career, he will find no more
critical audience than this composed of his fellow-students. Here too
are nights given up to fun and jollity, to college songs and wild and
reckless mirth, when there is not a serious countenance among the crowd.
"He cannot try to speak with gravity,
But one perceives he wags an idle tongue;
He cannot try to look demure, but spite
Of all he does he shows a laugher's cheek;
He cannot e'en essay to walk sedate,
But in his very gait one sees a jest
That's ready to break out in spite of all
His seeming."
Hundreds of voices make the roof ring with tuneful harmony: choruses,
glees and comic ballads follow each other, interspersed with jokes and
puffs at pipes and sips of beer, for the German student is a
"Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun,
To relish a joke and rejoice at a pun."
Pounds of poor tobacco are smoked, and gallons of good beer consumed at
these gatherings, and the landlord is always on the side of the boys
when there is any trouble, and rejoices in all their collegiate honors
and their success in every other line.
Upon the shelves above the tables are long rows of individual beer mugs,
with the owners' names or crests conspicuously painted in gay colors
upon them. These mugs vary in capacity from a pint to two quarts, and
the host assures me gravely that many of the students drain even the
largest ones nine or ten times in the course of an evening. I ponder, as
he speaks, upon the wonderful power of expansion of the human stomach
which performs this feat.
[Illustration: "Not far off stands the statue of the artist." (_See page
284._)]
As a natural consequence of this enormous appetite for beer, one sees in
the restaurants in many of the German cities an especial table
constructed with a deep semicircular curve in the side, which allows
the corpulent guest to drink his favorite beverage in comfortable
proximity to the bottle. Such as these must have been in Shakespeare's
mind, when he wrote: "He was a man of an unbounded stomach."
The deep cuts and scars upon the faces of many of the students, are
matters of great pride with them, as evidences of the number of "affairs
of honor" in which they have been engaged. They look with scorn upon the
fellow collegian whose countenance does not display one or more of these
signs of bloody combat, and are always ready to seize an occasion of
this kind for the exhibition of their bravery or their skill at arms.
Sometimes these duels are a result of the silliest arguments, at others
they are sought by deliberate insult given by the one who wishes to
fight. A glance is sometimes sufficient for a sanguinary meeting.
Will they ever learn that no stain can ever be washed out with blood, no
honor redeemed by the sword, no moral bravery displayed by an encounter
of this kind? It is falling to the level of the brute, with perhaps a
little more skill evinced in the choice of the weapons of warfare. It
cannot but detract from the dignity of the human being, and this is true
to a far greater extent in the case of those who entertain themselves
by witnessing such unnatural sports as prize fights, cock fights, and
most degrading of all, but thank heaven a rare sight in civilized
countries, the bull fight;--all relics of barbarism.
Let us leave this unpleasant subject, however, and allow ourselves to be
spirited away to a veritable fairy land of beauty, and quaint legendary
associations. The little town of Koenigswinter nestles at the foot of the
Seven Mountains, from which there are innumerable views of the Rhine and
the surrounding country. A halo of romance surrounds this region, and in
the many excursions from this point, the lover of the weird and
visionary will find his every step accompanied by imaginary maidens of
rare grace and beauty, brave knights, crafty priests, wild huntsmen,
cruel dragons, super-human heroes, and all the wonderful personages of
legendary lore. The town is a thriving, modern looking place of about
thirty-five hundred inhabitants, excluding the floating population of
tourists who throng the hotels and scatter themselves among the private
families.
We arrive here early in the afternoon, and establish ourselves in a
comfortable and attractive hotel. The day is clear and pleasant, and
desiring to make good use of the hours of daylight before us, we
determine to make the ascent of the Drachenfels. There are a number of
different routes or paths, by which one may reach the summit of this
mountain on foot; or, should the tourist prefer to ride, he can use the
Mountain Railway which approaches the top in a line almost straight.
Protected by stout shoes, carrying wraps, and armed with long and strong
wooden staffs, we walk slowly along the mountain road, pausing at
intervals to gaze upon the beautiful scenes which surround us in every
direction. The great peak known as the Drachenfels or Dragon rock, in
which from the river a vast cavern may be seen, owes its name to the
numerous legends which are connected with it. In the cave, it is said,
lived a terrible monster who daily demanded of the people the sacrifice
of a young maiden, who was bound and decorated with flowers, and placed
near the entrance to his lair. Siegfried slew the dragon and by bathing
in his blood, became invulnerable. The maiden whose life he thus saved
was Hildegarde, the beautiful daughter of the Lord of Drachenfels, whom
he afterward married and bore to the castle whose crumbling and
picturesque ruins seem to cling to the lofty crag, fifteen hundred feet
above the Rhine. This castle was once a mighty stronghold of the robber
chieftains; its foundation is associated with Arnold, Archbishop of
Cologne at the beginning of the twelfth century, who in 1149 bestowed it
upon the Cassius Monastery at Bonn. It was held as a fief by the counts
of the castle.
Henry, Count of Drachenfels, furnished the chapter of the Cathedral of
Cologne with the stone for its construction from a quarry which from
this fact still bears the name of Dombruch, or cathedral quarry. In the
Thirty Years' War the half-ruined castle was occupied by the Swedes, but
was besieged and taken from them by Duke Ferdinand of Bavaria, Elector
of Cologne, who completed its destruction.
The cliff is now surmounted by a beautiful new castle, the Drachenburg,
built in 1883 for the Baron von Sarter. It is in the Gothic style, and
is elaborately decorated with frescoes and stained glass. The upper part
of the mountain is covered with trees below the cliff, the lower part
with grapevines, while along the banks of the Rhine at its foot are
picturesque cottages, nestling among trees and vines. The Drachenfels is
the loftiest of the Seven Mountains, and its summit commands one of the
finest prospects on the Rhine. In the ruins of the old castle, ingenious
and progressive man has seen fit to ignore sentiment, and thrust a
modern restaurant, where in spite of his shocked sensibilities, the
weary traveller may in return for German marks, rest and refresh himself
with sparkling wine which is famous for its fine quality and flavor,
while the cool breezes fan his brow and soothe his excited brain.
[Illustration: "The great peak known as the Drachenfels, or Dragon
Rock." (_See page 291._)]
One lingers long, dazzled by the splendor of this superb view. Mountains
and valley, river and islands unite in a glorious picture which
entrances the soul, and thrills the heart with gladness; while the pure,
bracing mountain air, laden with the perfume of the grape, fills the
lungs with "a perpetual feast of nectar's sweets."
Many tourists surround us, and we hear a perfect babel of tongues:
French, English, German and other languages greet our ears, assuring us
that visitors from all parts of the world are enjoying this magnificent
panorama with us.
What a pity the camera will not encompass the wonderful scene.