Chapter VI: Hungary (4)

Along the edge of this park, which is shadowed by great trees having all the intensity of northern verdure, and freshened by a little winding stream, open flower-crowded gardens, in whose depths you can discern summer retreats, which are neither châlets, nor cottages, nor villas, but Pompeiian houses with their tetrastylic porticos and panels of antique red. The Greek taste is held in high esteem in Berlin. On the other hand, they seem to disdain the style of the Renaissance, so much in vogue in Paris; I saw no edifice of this kind in Berlin.

Night came; and after paying a hasty visit to the zoological garden, where all the animals were asleep, except a dozen long-tailed paroquets and cockatoos, who were screaming from their perches, pluming themselves, and raising their crests, I returned to my hotel to strap my trunk and betake myself to the Hamburg railway station, as the train would leave at ten, a circumstance which prevented me from going, as I had intended, to the opera to hear Cherubini's "Deux Journées," and to see Louise Taglioni dance the Sevillana....

For the traveler there are but two ways: the instantaneous proof, or the prolonged study. Time failed me for the latter. Deign to accept this simple and rapid impression.

[Footnote A: From "A Winter in Russia." By permission of, and by arrangement with, the publishers, Henry Holt & Co. Copyright, 1874. Since Gautier wrote, Berlin has greatly increased in population and in general importance. What is known as "Greater Berlin" now embraces about 3,250,000 souls. Many of the quaint two-story houses, which formerly were characteristic of the city, have given way to palatial houses and business blocks. Berlin is a thoroughly modern commercial city. It ranks among European cities immediately after London and Paris.]

CHARLOTTENBURG[A]

BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

Then we drove to Charlottenburg to see the Mausoleum. I know not when I have been more deeply affected than there; and yet, not so much by the sweet, lifelike statue of the queen as by that of the king, her husband, executed by the same hand.[B] Such an expression of long-desired rest, after suffering the toil, is shed over the face--so sweet, so heavenly! There, where he has prayed year after year--hoping, yearning, longing--there, at last, he rests, life's long anguish over! My heart melted as I looked at these two, so long divided--he so long a mourner, she so long mourned--now calmly resting side by side in a sleep so tranquil.

We went through the palace. We saw the present king's writing desk and table in his study, just as he left them. His writing establishment is about as plain as yours. Men who really mean to do anything do not use fancy tools. His bedroom, also, is in a style of severe simplicity. There were several engravings fastened against the wall; and in the anteroom a bust and medallion of the Empress Eugenie--a thing which I should not exactly have expected in a born king's palace; but beauty is sacred, and kings can not call it parvenu. Then we went into the queen's bed-room, finished in green, and then through the rooms of Queen Louisa. Those marks of her presence, which you saw during the old king's lifetime, are now removed; we saw no traces of her dresses, gloves, or books. In one room, draped in white muslin over pink, we were informed the Empress of Russia was born.

In going out to Charlottenburg, we rode through the Thiergarten, the Tuileries of Berlin. In one of the most quiet and sequestered spots is the monument erected by the people of Berlin to their old king. The pedestal is Carrara marble, sculptured with beautiful scenes called garden pleasures--children in all manner of outdoor sports, and parents fondly looking on. It is graceful, and peculiarly appropriate to those grounds where parents and children are constantly congregating. The whole is surmounted by a statue of the king, in white marble--the finest representation of him I have ever seen. Thoughtful, yet benign, the old king seems like a good father keeping a grave and affectionate watch over the pleasures of his children in their garden frolics. There was something about these moss-grown gardens that seemed so rural and pastoral, that I at once preferred them to all I had seen in Europe. Choice flowers are planted in knots, here and there, in sheltered nooks, as if they had grown by accident: and an air of sweet, natural wildness is left amid the most careful cultivation. The people seemed to be enjoying themselves less demonstratively and with less vivacity than in France, but with a calm inwardness. Each nation has its own way of being happy, and the style of life in each bears a certain relation of appropriateness to character. The trim, dressy, animated air of the Tuileries suits admirably with the mobile, sprightly vivacity of society there. Both, in their way, are beautiful; but this seems less formal, and more according to nature.

[Footnote A: From "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands."]

[Footnote B: King Frederick William III. and Queen Louise are here referred to. Since Mrs. Stowe's visit (1854) the Emperor William I. and the Empress Augusta have been buried in this mausoleum.]

LEIPSIC AND DRESDEN[A]

BY BAYARD TAYLOR

I have now been nearly two days in wide-famed Leipsic, 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 is 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.

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 Sternwarte, or observatory, which gives a fine view of the country around the city, and in particular the battlefield. 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; Blücher, 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 and 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." Everywhere 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, tho 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 retreat toward 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 toward 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 Auerbach'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 pretense 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.

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 amphitheater 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 were 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 mere 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 godlike 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, tho 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 canvas, and the glass with which it is covered for better preservation injures the effect. After I had gazed on it a while, 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 aërial 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 mild, prophetic eye and lofty brow of the young Jesus chain 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 its 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 Savior 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 exprest. In one of the halls there is a picture of 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 footpath 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 17, 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 Melanchthon, a manuscript volume with pen-and-ink sketches by Albert Dürer, 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 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, etc., of polished jasper, agate, and lapis 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 me a hen's egg of silver. There was apparently nothing remarkable about it, but by unscrewing it came apart and disclosed the yolk 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 dropt 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 facets, 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 enameled gold and each one most perfectly and elaborately finished. It was purchased by Prince Augustus for fifty-eight thousand thalers,[B] 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 be 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 playthings from more dangerous games, it would be all the better.

[Footnote A: From "Views Afoot." Published by G.P. Putnam's Sons.]

[Footnote B: A Prussian or Saxon thaler is about seventy cents. Author's note--The thaler went out of use in Germany in 1906.]

WEIMAR IN GOETHE'S DAY[A]

BY MADAME DE STAËL

Of all the German principalities, there is none that makes us feel so much as Weimar the advantages of a small state, of which the sovereign is a man of strong understanding, and who is capable of endeavoring to please all orders of his subjects, without losing anything in their obedience. Such a state is as a private society, where all the members are connected together by intimate relations. The Duchess Louisa of Saxe Weimar is the true model of a woman destined by nature to the most illustrious rank; without pretension, as without weakness, she inspires in the same degree confidence and respect; and the heroism of the chivalrous ages has entered her soul without taking from it any thing of her sex's softness. The military talents of the duke are universally respected, and his lively and reflective conversation continually brings to our recollection that he was formed by the great Frederic. It is by his own and his mother's reputation that the most distinguished men of learning have been attracted to Weimar, and by them Germany, for the first time, has possest a literary metropolis; but, as this metropolis was at the same time only an inconsiderable town, its ascendency was merely that of superior illumination; for fashion, which imposes uniformity in all things, could not emanate from so narrow a circle.

Herder was just dead when I arrived at Weimar; but Wieland, Goethe, and Schiller were still there. Their writings are the perfect resemblances of their character and conversation. This very rare concordance is a proof of sincerity; when the first object in writing is to produce an effect upon others, a man never displays himself to them, such as he is in reality; but when he writes to satisfy an internal inspiration which has obtained possession of the soul, he discovers by his works, even without intending it, the very slightest shades of his manner of thinking and acting.

The residence in country towns has always appeared to me very irksome. The understanding of the men is narrowed, the heart of the women frozen there; people live so much in each other's presence that one is opprest by one's equals; it is no longer this distant opinion, the reverberation of which animates you from afar like the report of glory; it is a minute inspection of all the actions of your life, an observation of every detail, which prevents the general character from being comprehended; and the more you have of independence and elevation of mind, the less able you are to breathe amidst so many little impediments.

This painful constraint did not exist at Weimar; it was rather a large palace than a little town; a select circle of society, which made its interest consist in the discussion of all the novelties of art and science: women, the amiable scholars of some superior men, were constantly speaking of the new literary works, as of the most important public events. They enjoyed the whole universe by reading and study; they freed themselves by the enlargement of the mind from the restraint of circumstances; they forgot the private anecdotes of each individual, in habitually reflecting together on those great questions which influence the destiny common to all alike. And in this society there were none of those provincial wonders, who so easily mistake contempt for grace, and affectation for elegance.

[Footnote A: From "Germany."]

ULM[A]

BY THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN

We were now within about twenty English miles of Ulm. Nothing particular occurred, either by way of anecdote or of scenery, till within almost the immediate approach or descent to that city--the last in the Suabian territories, and which is separated from Bavaria by the River Danube. I caught the first glance of that celebrated river (here of comparatively trifling width) with no ordinary emotions of delight. It recalled to my memory the battle of Blenheim, or of Hochstedt; for you know that it was across this very river, and scarcely a score of miles from Ulm, that the victorious Marlborough chased the flying French and Bavarians--at the battle just mentioned. At the same moment, almost, I could not fail to contrast this glorious issue with the miserable surrender of the town before me--then filled by a large and well-disciplined army, and commanded by that nonpareil of generals, J.G. Mack!--into the power of Bonaparte almost without pulling a trigger on either side--the place itself being considered, at the time, one of the strongest towns in Europe. These things, I say, rushed upon my memory, when, on the immediate descent into Ulm, I caught the first view of the tower of the minster which quickly put Marlborough, and Mack, and Bonaparte out of my recollection.

I had never, since quitting the beach at Brighton, beheld such an English-like looking cathedral--as a whole; and particularly the tower. It is broad, bold, and lofty; but, like all edifices, seen from a neighboring and perhaps loftier height, it loses, at first view, very much of the loftiness of its character. However, I looked with admiration, and longed to approach it. This object was accomplished in twenty minutes. We entered Ulm about two o'clock: drove to an excellent inn (the White Stag--which I strongly recommend to all travelers), and ordered our dinner to be got ready by five; which, as the house was within a stone's cast of the cathedral, gave us every opportunity of visiting it beforehand. The day continued most beautiful: and we sallied forth in high spirits, to gaze at and to admire every object of antiquity which should present itself.

The Cathedral of Ulm is doubtless among the most respectable of those on the Continent. It is large and wide, and of a massive and imposing style of architecture. The buttresses are bold, and very much after the English fashion. The tower is the chief exterior beauty. Before we mounted it, we begged the guide, who attended us, to conduct us all over the interior. This interior is very noble, and even superior, as a piece of architecture, to that of Strasburg. I should think it even longer and wider--for the truth is, that the tower of Strasburg Cathedral is as much too tall, as that of Ulm Cathedral is too short, for its nave and choir. Not very long ago, they had covered the interior by a whitewash; and thus the mellow tint of probably about five centuries--in a spot where there are few immediately surrounding houses--and in a town of which the manufactories and population are comparatively small--the latter about 14,000--thus, I say, the mellow tint of these five centuries (for I suppose the cathedral to have been finished about the year 1320) has been cruelly changed for the staring and chilling effects of whiting.[B]

The choir is interesting in a high degree. At the extremity of it is an altar--indicative of the Lutheran form of worship being carried on within the church--upon which are oil paintings upon wood, emblazoned with gilt backgrounds--of the time of Hans Burgmair, and of others at the revival of the art of painting in Germany. These pictures turn upon hinges, so as to shut up, or be thrown open; and are in the highest state of preservation. Their subjects are entirely Scriptural; and perhaps old John Holbein, the father of the famous Hans Holbein, might have had a share in some of them. Perhaps they may come down to the time of Lucas Cranach. Wherever, or by whomsoever executed, this series of paintings, upon the high altar of the Cathedral of Ulm, can not be viewed without considerable satisfaction. They were the first choice specimens of early art which I had seen on this side of the Rhine; and I, of course, contemplated them with the hungry eye of an antiquary.

After a careful survey of the interior, the whole of which had quite the air of English cleanliness and order, we prepared to mount the famous tower. Our valet, Rohfritsch, led the way; counting the steps as he mounted, and finding them to be about 378 in number. He was succeeded by the guide. Mr. Lewis and myself followed in a more leisurely manner; peeping through the interstices which presented themselves in the open fretwork of the ornaments, and finding, as we continued to ascend, that the inhabitants and dwelling houses of Ulm diminished gradually in size. At length we gained the summit, which is surrounded by a parapet wall of some three or four feet in height. We paused a minute, to recover our breath, and to look at the prospect which surrounded us. The town, at our feet, looked like the metropolis of Laputa. Yet the high ground, by which we had descended into the town--and upon which Bonaparte's army was formerly encamped--seemed to be more lofty than the spot whereon we stood. On the opposite side flowed the Danube; not broad, nor, as I learned, very deep; but rapid and in a serpentine direction.

Upon the whole, the Cathedral of Ulm is a noble ecclesiastical edifice; uniting simplicity and purity with massiveness of composition. Few cathedrals are more uniform in the style of their architecture. It seems to be, to borrow technical language, all of a piece. Near it, forming the foreground of the Munich print, are a chapel and a house surrounded by trees. The Chapel is very small, and, as I learned, not used for religious purposes. The house (so Professor Veesenmeyer informed me) is supposed to have been the residence and offices of business of John Zeiner, the well-known printer, who commenced his typographical labors about the year 1740, and who uniformly printed at Ulm; while his brother Gunther as uniformly exercised his art in the city whence I am now addressing you. They were both natives of Reutlingen, a town of some note between Tübingen and Ulm.

[Footnote A: From "A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour," published in 1821.]

[Footnote B: Ulm has now (1914) a population of 56,000.]

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE AND CHARLEMAGNE'S TOMB[A]

BY VICTOR HUGO

For an invalid, Aix-la-Chapelle is a mineral fountain--warm, cold, irony, and sulfurous; for the tourist, it is a place for redouts and concerts; for the pilgrim, the place of relics, where the gown of the Virgin Mary, the blood of Jesus, the cloth which enveloped the head of John the Baptist after his decapitation, are exhibited every seven years; for the antiquarian, it is a noble abbey of "filles à abbesse," connected with the male convent, which was built by Saint Gregory, son of Nicephore, Emperor of the East; for the hunter, it is the ancient valley of the wild boars; for the merchant, it is a "fabrique" of cloth, needles, and pins; and for him who is no merchant, manufacturer, hunter, antiquary, pilgrim, tourist, or invalid, it is the city of Charlemagne.

Charlemagne was born at Aix-la-Chapelle, and died there. He was born in the old place, of which there now only remains the tower, and he was buried in the church that he founded in 796, two years after the death of his wife Fastrada. Leo the Third consecrated it in 804, and tradition says that two bishops of Tongres, who were buried at Maestricht, arose from their graves, in order to complete, at that ceremony, 365 bishops and archbishops--representing the days of the year. This historical and legendary church, from which the town has taken its name, has undergone, during the last thousand years, many transformations. No sooner had I entered Aix than I went to the chapel.... The effect of the great "portail" is not striking; the façade displays the different styles of architecture--Roman, Gothic, and modern--without order, and consequently, without grandeur; but if, on the contrary, we arrive at the chapel by Chevet, the result is otherwise. The high "abside" of the fourteenth century, in all its boldness and beauty, the rich workmanship of its balustrades, the variety of its "gargouilles," the somber hue of the stones, and the large transparent windows--strike the beholder with admiration.

Here, nevertheless, the aspect of the church--imposing tho it is--will be found far from uniform. Between the "abside" and the "portail," in a kind of cavity, the dome of Otho III., built over the tomb of Charlemagne in the tenth century, is hid from view. After a few moments' contemplation, a singular awe comes over us when gazing at this extraordinary edifice--an edifice which, like the great work that Charlemagne began, remains unfinished; and which, like his empire that spoke all languages, is composed of architecture that represents all styles. To the reflective, there is a strange analogy between that wonderful man and this great building.

After having passed the arched roof of the portico, and left behind me the antique bronze doors surmounted with lions' heads, a white rotundo of two stories, in which all the "fantasies" of architecture are displayed, attracted my attention. At casting my eyes upon the ground, I perceived a large block of black marble, with the following inscription in brass letters:--

"Carolo Magno."

Nothing is more contemptible than to see, exposed to view, the bastard graces that surround this great Carlovingian name; angels resembling distorted Cupids, palm-branches like colored feathers, garlands of flowers, and knots of ribbons, are placed under the dome of Otho III., and upon the tomb of Charlemagne.

The only thing here that evinces respect to the shade of that great man is an immense lamp, twelve feet in diameter, with forty-eight burners; which was presented, in the twelfth century, by Barbarossa. It is of brass, gilt with gold, has the form of a crown, and is suspended from the ceiling above the marble stone by an iron chain about seventy feet in length.

It is evident that some other monument had been erected to Charlemagne. There is nothing to convince us that this marble, bordered with brass, is of antiquity. As to the letters, "Carolo Magno," they are not of a late date than 1730.

Charlemagne is no longer under this stone. In 1166 Frederick Barbarossa--whose gift, magnificent tho it was, does by no means compensate for this sacrilege--caused the remains of that great emperor to be untombed. The Church claimed the imperial skeleton, and, separating the bones, made each a holy relic. In the adjoining sacristy, a vicar shows the people--for three francs seventy-five centimes--the fixt price--"the arm of Charlemagne"--that arm which held for a time the reins of the world. Venerable relic! which has the following inscription, written by some scribe of the twelfth century:

"Arm of the Sainted Charles the Great."

After that I saw the skull of Charlemagne, that cranium which may be said to have been the mold of Europe, and which a beadle had the effrontery to strike with his finger.

All were kept in a wooden armory, with a few angels, similar to those I have just mentioned, on the top. Such is the tomb of the man whose memory has outlived ten ages, and who, by his greatness, has shed the rays of immortality around his name. "Sainted, Great," belong to him--two of the most august epithets which this earth could bestow upon a human being.

There is one thing astonishing--that is, the largeness of the skull and arm. Charlemagne was, in fact, colossal with respect to size of body as well as extraordinary mental endowments. The son of Pepin-le-Bref was in body, as in mind, gigantic; of great corporeal strength, and of astounding intellect.

An inspection of this armory has a strange effect upon the antiquary. Besides the skull and arm, it contains the heart of Charlemagne; the cross which the emperor had round his neck in his tomb; a handsome ostensorium, of the Renaissance, given by Charles the Fifth, and spoiled, in the last century, by tasteless ornaments; fourteen richly sculptured gold plates, which once ornamented the arm-chair of the emperor; an ostensorium, given by Philippe the Second; the cord which bound our Savior; the sponge that was used upon the cross; the girdle of the Holy Virgin, and that of the Redeemer.

In the midst of innumerable ornaments, heaped up in the armory like mountains of gold and precious stones, are two shrines of singular beauty. One, the oldest, which is seldom opened, contains the remaining bones of Charlemagne, and the other, of the twelfth century, which Frederick Barbarossa gave to the church, holds the relics, which are exhibited every seven years. A single exhibition of this shrine, in 1696, attracted 42,000 pilgrims, and drew, in ten days 80,000 florins. This shrine has only one key, which is in two pieces; the one is in the possession of the chapter, the other in that of the magistrates of the town. Sometimes it is opened on extraordinary occasions, such as on the visit of a monarch....

The tomb, before it became the sarcophagus of Charlemagne, was, it is said, that of Augustus. After mounting a narrow staircase, my guide conducted me to a gallery which is called the Hochmünster. In this place is the arm-chair of Charlemagne. It is low, exceedingly wide, with a round back; is formed of four pieces of white marble, without ornaments or sculpture, and has for a seat an oak board, covered with a cushion of red velvet. There are six steps up to it, two of which are of granite, the others of marble. On this chair sat--a crown upon his head, a globe in one hand, a scepter in the other, a sword by his side, the imperial mantle over his shoulders, the cross of Christ round his neck, and his feet in the sarcophagus of Augustus--Carolus Magnus in his tomb, in which attitude he remained for three hundred and fifty-two years--from 852 to 1166, when Frederick Barbarossa, coveting the chair for his coronation, entered the tomb. Barbarossa was an illustrious prince and a valiant soldier; and it must, therefore, have been a moment singularly strange when this crowned man stood before the crowned corpse of Charlemagne--the one in all the majesty of empire, the other in all the majesty of death. The soldier overcame the shades of greatness; the living became the despoliator of inanimate worth. The chapel claimed the skeleton, and Barbarossa the marble chair, which afterward became the throne where thirty-six emperors were crowned. Ferdinand the First was the last; Charles the Fifth preceded him.

In 1804, when Bonaparte became known as Napoleon, he visited Aix-la-Chapelle. Josephine, who accompanied him, had the caprice to sit down on this chair; but Napoleon, out of respect for Charlemagne, took off his hat, and remained for some time standing, and in silence. The following fact is somewhat remarkable, and struck me forcibly. In 814 Charlemagne died; a thousand years afterward, most probably about the same hour, Napoleon fell.

In that fatal year, 1814, the allied sovereigns visited the tomb of the great "Carolus." Alexander of Russia, like Napoleon, took off his hat and uniform; Frederick William of Prussia kept on his "casquette de petite tenue;" Francis retained his surtout and round bonnet. The King of Prussia stood upon the marble steps, receiving information from the provost of the chapter respecting the coronation of the emperors of Germany; the two emperors remained silent. Napoleon, Josephine, Alexander, Frederick William, and Francis, are now no more.

A few minutes afterward I was on my way to the Hôtel-de-Ville, the supposed birthplace of Charlemagne, which, like the chapel, is an edifice made of five or six others. In the middle of the court there is a fountain of great antiquity, with a bronze statue of Charlemagne. To the left and right are two others--both surmounted with eagles, their heads half turned toward the grave and tranquil emperor.

The evening was approaching. I had passed the whole of the day among these grand and austere "souvenirs;" and, therefore, deemed it essential to take a walk in the open fields, to breathe the fresh air, and to watch the rays of the declining sun. I wandered along some dilapidated walls, entered a field, then some beautiful alleys, in one of which I seated myself. Aix-la-Chapelle lay extended before me, partly hid by the shades of evening, which were falling around. By degrees the fogs gained the roofs of the houses, and shrouded the town steeples; then nothing was seen but two huge masses--the Hôtel-de-Ville and the chapel. All the emotions, all the thoughts and visions which flitted across my mind during the day, now crowded upon me. The first of the two dark objects was to me only the birthplace of a child; the second was the resting-place of greatness. At intervals, in the midst of my reverie, I imagined that I saw the shade of this giant, whom we call Charlemagne, developing itself between this great cradle and still greater tomb.

[Footnote A: From "The Rhine." Translated by D.M. Aird.]

THE HANSEATIC LEAGUE[A]

BY JAMES HOWELL

The Hans, or Hanseatic League, is very ancient, some would derive the word from hand, because they of the society plight their faith by that action; others derive it from Hansa, which in the Gothic tongue is council; others would have it come from Hander see, which signifies near or upon the sea, and this passeth for the best etymology, because their towns are all seated so, or upon some navigable river near the sea. The extent of the old Hans was from the Nerve in Livonia to the Rhine, and contained sixty-two great mercantile towns, which were divided into four precincts. The chiefest of the first precinct was Lübeck, where the archives of their ancient records and their prime chancery is still, and this town is within that verge; Cullen is chief of the second precinct, Brunswick of the third, and Dantzic of the fourth. The kings of Poland and Sweden have sued to be their protector, but they refused them, because they were not princes of the empire.

They put off also the King of Denmark with a compliment, nor would they admit the King of Spain when he was most potent in the Netherlands, tho afterward, when it was too late, they desired the help of the ragged staff; nor of the Duke of Anjou, notwithstanding that the world thought he should have married our queen, who interceded for him, and so it was probable that thereby they might recover their privileges in England. So I do not find that they ever had any protector but the great Master of Prussia; and their want of a protector did do them some prejudice in that famous difference they had with our Queen.

The old Hans had extraordinary immunities given them by our Henry the Third, because they assisted him in his wars with so many ships, and as they pretend, the king was not only to pay them for the service of the said ships but for the vessels themselves if they miscarried. Now it happened that at their return to Germany, from serving Henry the Third, there was a great fleet of them cast away, for which, according to covenant, they demanded reparation. Our king in lieu of money, among other facts of grace, gave them a privilege to pay but one per cent., which continued until Queen Mary's reign, and she by advice of King Philip, her husband, as it was conceived, enhanced the one to twenty per cent.

The Hans not only complained but clamored loudly for breach of their ancient privileges confirmed unto them, time out of mind, by thirteen successive kings of England, which they pretended to have purchased with their money. King Philip undertook to accommodate the business, but Queen Mary dying a little after, and he retiring, there could be nothing done. Complaint being made to Queen Elizabeth, she answered that as she would not innovate anything, so she would maintain them still in the same condition she found them. Hereupon their navigation and traffic ceased a while, wherefore the English tried what they could do themselves, and they thrived so well that they took the whole trade into their own hands, and so divided themselves (tho they be now but one), to staplers and merchant-adventurers, the one residing constant in one place, where they kept their magazine of wool, the other stirring and adventuring to divers places abroad with cloth and other manufacturies, which made the Hans endeavor to draw upon them all the malignancy they could from all nations.

Moreover, the Hans towns being a body politic incorporated in the empire, complained thereof to the emperor, who sent over persons of great quality to mediate an accommodation, but they could effect nothing. Then the queen caused a proclamation to be published that the easterlings or merchants of the Hans should be entreated and used as all other strangers were, within her dominations, without any mark of difference in point of commerce. This nettled them more, thereupon they bent their forces more eagerly, and in a diet at Ratisbon they procured that the English merchants who had associated themselves into fraternities in Emden and other places should be declared monopolists; and so there was a committal edict published against them that they should be exterminated and banished out of all parts of the empire; and this was done by the activity of one Sudennan, a great civilian.

There was there for the queen, Gilpin, as nimble a man as Suderman, and he had the Chancellor of Emden to second and countenance him, but they could not stop the said edict wherein the Society of English Merchant-Adventurers was pronounced to be a monopoly; yet Gilpin played his game so well, that he wrought underhand, that the said imperial ban should not be published till after the dissolution of the diet, and that in the interim the Emperor should send ambassadors to England to advise the queen of such a ban against her merchants. But this wrought so little impression upon the queen that the said ban grew rather ridiculous than formidable, for the town of Emden harbored our merchants notwithstanding and afterward Stade, but they not being able to protect them so well from the imperial ban, they settled in the town of Hamburg. After this the queen commanded another proclamation to be divulged that the easterlings or Hanseatic merchants should be allowed to trade in England upon the same conditions and payment of duties as her own subjects, provided that the English merchants might have interchangeable privilege to reside and trade peaceably in Stade or Hamburg or anywhere else within the precincts of Hans. This incensed them more, thereupon they resolved to cut off Stade and Hamburg from being members of the Hans or of the empire; but they suspended this decision till they saw what success the great Spanish fleet should have, which was then preparing in the year eighty-eight, for they had not long before had recourse to the King of Spain and made him their own, and he had done them some material good offices; wherefore to this day the Spanish Consul is taxed of improvidence and imprudence, that there was no use made of the Hans towns in that expedition.

The queen finding that they of the Hans would not be contented with that equality she had offered betwixt them and her own subjects, put out a proclamation that they should carry neither corn, victuals, arms, timber, masts, cables, minerals, nor any other materials, or men to Spain or Portugal. And after, the queen growing more redoubtable and famous, by the overthrow of the fleet of eighty-eight, the easterlings fell to despair of doing any good. Add hereunto another disaster that befell them, the taking of sixty sails of their ships about the mouth of Tagus in Portugal by the Queen's ships that were laden with "ropas de contrabando," viz., goods prohibited by her former proclamation into the dominions of Spain. And as these ships were upon point of being discharged, she had intelligence of a great assembly at Lübeck, which had met of purpose to consult of means to be revenged of her thereupon she stayed and seized upon the said sixty ships, only two were freed to bring news what became of the rest. Hereupon the Pope sent an ambassador to her, who spoke in a high tone, but he was answered in a higher.

Ever since our merchants have beaten a peaceful and free uninterrupted trade into this town and elsewhere within and without the Sound, with their manufactures of wool, and found the way also to the White Sea to Archangel and Moscow. Insomuch that the premises being well considered, it was a happy thing for England that that clashing fell out betwixt her and the Hans, for it may be said to have been the chief ground of that shipping and merchandising, which she is now come to, and wherewith she hath flourished ever since. But one thing is observable, that as that imperial or committal ban, pronounced in the Diet at Ratisbon against our merchants and manufactures of wool, incited them more to industry. So our proclamation upon Alderman Cockein's project of transporting no white cloths but dyed, and in their full manufacture, did cause both Dutch and Germans to turn necessity to a virtue, and made them far more ingenious to find ways, not only to dye but to make cloth, which hath much impaired our markets ever since. For there hath not been the third part of our cloth sold since, either here or in Holland.

[Footnote A: From "Familiar Letters." "Montaigne and 'Howell's Letters'," says Thackeray, in one of the "Roundabout Papers," "are my bedside books." Howell wrote this letter in Hamburg in October, 1632.]

HAMBURG[A]

BY THÉOPHILE GAUTIER

To describe a night journey by rail is a difficult matter; you go like an arrow whistling through a cloud; it is traveling in the abstract. You cross provinces, kingdoms even, unawares. From time to time during the night, I saw through the window the comet, rushing down upon the earth, with lowered head and hair streaming far behind; suddenly glares of gaslight dazzled my eyes, sanded with the goldust of sleep; or the pale bluish radiance of the moon gave an air of fairy-land to scenes doubtless poor enough by day. Conscientiously, this is all I can say from personal observation; and it would not be particularly amusing if I should transcribe from the railway guide the names of all the stations between Berlin and Hamburg.

It is 7 a.m., and here we are in the good Hanse town of Hamburg; the city is not yet awake, or at most is rubbing its eyes and yawning. While they are preparing my breakfast, I sally forth at random, as my custom is, without guide or cicerone, in pursuit of the unknown.