We were three in number, a jeweller from Copenhagen, a Viennese silversmith, and myself, who started from Vienna to walk to Paris. We were all in tolerable feather as to funds. I was possessed of about seventy guldens (seven pounds), and a little packet of fifty dozens of piercing-saws, a trading speculation, which I hoped to smuggle over the French frontier in my boots. I was better providedin all respects than on any of my former journeys. We had forwarded our boxes to Strassburg, our knapsacks were light, and we wore stout walking shoes with scarcely any heels, and had prepared some well-boiled linen wrappers, intended, when smeared with tallow, to serve the purpose of socks. They effectually prevent blisters, and can be readily washed in any running stream. Our first stage was by steam on the Danube to Linz, the capital of Upper Austria; and we took our departure from Nussdorf amid the valedictions and kisses of some thirty male friends, each of whom saluted us thrice—on each cheek, and on the lips, for this is the true German fashion, and may not be slighted or avoided.
A voyage on the water may seem a curious commencement of a foot journey; but the fact is, that no one knows better than the tramp that a railway or a steamboat is always cheaper than shoe-leather and time; and no doubt as these new means of progress increase in number they will entirely change the character of German trade-wanderings. From Vienna to Linz is, in round numbers, a distance of one hundred and fifty English miles, and this one vessel, the “Karl,” got over in two days and a night. The wind was against us, and it must be remembered that it is all up stream. The Danube is upon the whole a melancholy river, of a sullen encroaching character, for its whole course is marked by over-floodings and their consequent desolation. The passage cost ten florins, twenty-five kreutzers, or eight shillings and fourpence, and we slept on the table below, on deck, or not at all, as we best could.
Our real starting-point on tramp was Linz, whence we pursued our way through Wells, Gmunden, Ebensee, and Ishl to Salzburg, in which beautiful city we rested for a day and half. We steamed across lake Traun from Gmunden, and paid a fare of twenty-five kreutzers, or fourpence. From Salzburg we pushed on to Hallein, to visit the salt mines there, and thence diverged still further from the beaten route for the sake of seeing the water-fall of Golling—the stern terrors of the Œfen—and dream away an hour upon the beautiful and romantic waters of Königsee, the King’s Lake. We had crossed the frontier of Bavaria near Hallein, and, having loitered so long among the delightful scenery of its neighbourhood, we now hurried on towards Munich, through Reichenhall, Fraunstein, Weisham, Rosenheim, Aibling, and Peiss. Thirsty and weary, we overtook a timber waggon when within eight miles of the capital, and made a bargain with the driver to carry us forward to ourdestination for six kreutzers, about one penny, each; and upon the unhewn timber of the springless log-waggon we rode into Munich. We had been already fourteen days upon the road, ten of which had been spent on tramp, advancing at an average rate of twenty-five miles a day. From Linz to Munich, by the circuitous route we had taken, I reckon in round numbers at two hundred and fifty miles. My share of the expenses amounted to thirty-six florins, forty kreutzers, say one pound nine shillings in English money, or an average outlay of two shillings a day. It may be added, that many of our expenses were those of ordinary foot-tourists, rather than of tramping workmen; that we had lived well although frugally; and that, save in a goatherd’s hut on the Schaf-berg, we had never slept out of bed.
We spent five happy days in Munich: wandering among picture-galleries and museums; visiting the royal palace in the capital, and the pleasure retreat at Nymphenburg; and the churches, with their painted windows, beautiful architecture, and radiant frescoes. We visited two theatres, and roamed in the English garden, and among the wilder scenery of hills in the environs. Munich is the real capital of modern art, and contains more magnificent public buildings than any city of the same extent in the world. Vulgar figures again: my expenses in Munich amounted to eight guldens, forty kreutzers, Bavarian or Reich’s money, which will yield, as nearly as the intricacies of German coinage will allow of the calculation, fifteen shillings and fourpence. The fare by railway from Munich to Augsburg, our next station, was one gulden, twenty-four kreutzers,—two shillings and fourpence,—and from the latter fine old city we proceeded entirely on foot to Strassburg. We took the road through Ulm, Stutgard, Heilbron, Heidelberg, Manheim, Carlsruhe, Baden-Baden, and Keil; wandering a little from the beaten path near Kissengan to see the beautiful waterworks and garden there. These cities have all been described by innumerable travellers, and I doubt whether I could add anything to the knowledge already possessed of them.
We had passed fifteen days upon the road, and traversed a distance, roughly estimated, of two hundred and fifty miles. We rested in all four days in the towns of Augsburg, Ulm, Heidelberg, (of glorious recollection), and Carlsruhe; and thus, during the ten days of actual tramp, we had advanced at an average rate of twenty-five miles a day. Since leaving Vienna, we had walked five hundred miles.On one occasion only did we march more than thirty miles in the day. This was between Stutgard and Heilbron. As we limped wearily through the latter city, we came upon a tavern at the sign of the Eagle, and inquiring, like cautious travellers, the price of a bed, we found it was twelve kreutzers Reich’s money, fourpence. This was beyond our mark, so we tottered onward to the Stag, where we were very indifferently lodged for half the money. At Heidelberg we paid twelve kreutzers for our bed, and were well accommodated; but this was more by four kreutzers than we considered ourselves in a position to pay. Our average expenses per day, while on tramp at this period, were twenty-four kreutzers, or eightpence. My total outlay from Munich to Strassburg was twenty-one florins, ten kreutzers, or one pound five shillings; being at the rate of one shilling and sixpence a day.
It may be right to mention, that a German mile is divided into two stunden, or hours, and the natural inference would be, that it would occupy two hours to walk a mile. This is not the case, for a stunden can generally be traversed in three quarters of an hour; but the German miles are not uniform, and I well remember one terribly long one between Brünn and Vienna, which was more than two hours walk. As three English miles an hour is an average walking pace, a German mile, occupying on the average an hour and a half in the traverse, should be equal to four and a half English miles, and this is the rate at which I have estimated it, although I have seen it variously stated at less than four, and even at five English miles.
While on tramp, we rose at five in the morning, and walked till eight fasting, when we took breakfast—a simple affair of milk, or of coffee and plain bread, with occasionally a little meat as a luxury—we then proceeded on our march till twelve, always supposing that a town or village was at such a distance as to render the arrangement possible, when we dined. This meal consisted invariably of soup—milk soup, if possible, peppered and salted like broth—and sometimes meat, but not always, as it was dear, and supposed to be heavy for walking. As by this time the sun was in its zenith, and our advance in the great heat would be most fatiguing, and even dangerous, we laid ourselves down to rest till three, in the open air if possible, and weather permitting; out on the fields among the corn; stretched upon the hay in some shady nook; or, as in Bavaria and Wurtemberg during a great part of the route, under the appleand plum trees which lined the public way, eating of the fruit unquestioned and without restraint. After this welcome repose we pursued our march with renewed animation till eight o’clock, when we sought out a place of rest; and for our evening meal usually indulged in something more substantial than at any other time of the day. Our beds were not always clean, and the lavatorial necessaries either deficient or wholly wanting, in which latter case the pump was our only substitute.
Our brief stays in towns or cities were by no means the least fatiguing part of our journey; for it naturally happened that in our anxiety to see whatever was remarkable or beautiful, in museum, picture-gallery, or public building, that our time was tasked even more severely than on the road; always remembering also, that the police required a great deal of attention. My passport has fourteen distinctvisasduring this journey. We found the police in Bavaria the least civil among a very exacting class of people. Here, for the first time, I heard a mode of address which is, I think, peculiar to Germany. It is customary to address strangers in the third person plural,Se; or, when on very familiar or affectionate terms, in the second person singular,Du; but of all modes of speech the third person singular,Er, when applied to the person addressed, is the most opprobrious. A police official thus interrogates a wandering workman:—
“What is he?” “A currier.”
“Where from?” “Siegesdorf.”
“Where to?” “Ulm.”
“Has he got the itch?” “No.”
“Then let him sign this book.”
At Augsburg the police were in a dilemma with respect to us. We had come by rail from Munich, and, to our surprise, were suffered to pass through the gate unchallenged by the sentinel, who paced leisurely before the guard-house. The following morning, on presenting our papers at the police-bureau, we were met with the accusation of having smuggled ourselves into the city; and, as the usual official routine had been departed from, we were ordered to proceed at once to the gates, and humbly deliver up our passports to the sentinel in due form, that the requirements of the law might be fulfilled. This sage proposition was, however, overruled in consideration of our being jewellers: the respectability of the craft being thus acknowledged. It was in Augsburg also that I narrowlyescaped being entered in the books of the Guild as “Mr. Great Britain, native of London;” the slim apprentice whose duty it was to make the entry, having mistaken the name of the country for that of the individual in my English passport.
I may not omit to mention, although I do it with a feeling of humiliation, that during our journey we availed ourselves of whatever assistance was granted by the Guild to “wandering boys” unable to obtain employment. We had a perfect right to this aid, and had, while in work, always contributed to the fund (in which we had, indeed, no option); but I must confess that there was something exceedingly like asking for alms in the whole process of obtaining it. Our slender resources must plead as an excuse. The following were our individual receipts: in Linz, twenty-four kreutzers; in Munich, thirty-six; Augsburg, eighteen; Ulm, fifteen; Stutgard, thirty; Heilbron, twenty-four; Heidelberg, nine, (begged from shop to shop, there being no general cash-box); and Carlsruhe, twenty-four; making a total of one hundred and eighty kreutzers, or the munificent sum of two shillings and sixpence in English money. What must be the fate of those whose dependence was upon such a pittance!
I had passed two whole years and a few days in Germany, and during a period of eighty-eight weeks, had been fully at work. I had received fifty-six pounds thirteen shillings in wages, or an average, throughout the whole term, of eleven shillings per week. I felt grateful for this result in a strange country, and left Germany with a lingering step.
As we crossed over the bridge of Kiel on our way to Strassburg, the French soldiery were quietly fishing on their side of the Rhine, and the sentinel, from whom we had expected a harsh summons to the guard-house, and a rigorous search into our knapsacks, eyed us with a look of half pity, half contempt, and allowed us to pass unchallenged. We were, to him, only so many miserable “square-heads” (Germans) on our way to Paris. The curiosities of Strassburg need not detain me: the cathedral, and the wonderful clock; the theatre, which we visited; the fortifications, which we overlooked from the lofty spire; those things are set down in every traveller’s guidebook, and the recollection of them is probably much more agreeable to me than their description would be to the reader. We had resolved not to tramp through France, and we therefore sought places in the diligence; and by the time I had paid forty-threefrancs for my seat in that respectable vehicle, and ten francs for the carriage of my box from Vienna to Strassburg, together with two francs for a passeport provisoire; and by the time also that I had paid some two francs more for extra luggage, including two loaves and a string of six Strassburger sausages, which were all included in the weight, I found that I should arrive in Paris with less than five francs in my pocket. And this I accordingly did, after a very uncomfortable ride of fifty-two hours, and within a day of six weeks from our departure from Vienna.
We thought ourselves very ill-used on our first night in Paris, when, having been wiled into a grand hotel near the Bourse, we were stowed away on the fifth floor, three in a room, and charged six francs for our beds, one more for a candle, and one for service. Our parsimonious Dane was so highly irritated, that he took possession of the candle and carried it off in his pocket. But Alcibiade was soon by our side, to give us help and advice with his old kindness; and under his guidance we removed immediately to more suitable lodgings, and were set in the proper course to obtain employment. Although scarcely possessed of a single franc in actual cash, I had fifty dozens of fine piercing-saws, my contraband speculation, and for which I ultimately obtained about twenty francs. What was of more importance, in less than a week from our arrival in Paris I commenced work at the modest remuneration of four francs and a half, three shillings and ninepence, a day. My two companions were scarcely so fortunate, but lingered on for a week or two without employment.
I found myself in a motley company; at one time our atélier contained three Russians, two Germans, two Englishmen, an Italian, and a Frenchman; and sometimes a simple inquiry would have to pass through four languages before it received its answer. I did not remain long amid this babel, although long enough to be offered six francs a day to remain. I never afterwards worked for a less rate of remuneration than six francs a day, but never succeeded in obtaining a sous more. I had many “Patrons” in Paris. In one establishment there were three workmen continually employedin making crosses of honour, in gold and silver, to reward the merit, or to purchase the affection and support, of the French people. I was variously employed: in gold work; in setting small rose-diamonds; and upon the most costly brilliant ornaments. Sometimes idling upon three days a week, or totally unemployed; at other times slaving night and day, Sunday and all, to complete some urgent order. I have worked nineteen days in a fortnight.
I have endeavoured to give some details with regard to the manner of living, working, and lodging, among the labouring population of Paris, under the head of “The French Workman;” and which details were in most part personal, or such as I had learned from actual experience. My business here is with results, and I will condense them into as few words as possible. I stayed in all one year and five months in Paris, during the whole of which period I was never out of a situation, although at various times but scantily provided with employment. I received in wages a total of two thousand three hundred and one francs, thirteen sous, or ninety-two pounds two shillings and twopence-halfpenny. This would give an average receipt, upon the seventy-one weeks of my stay, of one pound three shillings and three-halfpence a week. I have said that during the greater part of this time I earned at the rate of six francs, or five shillings a day; if I now give the current expenses per week, a comparison may from these data be drawn as to the comparative position of the English and French workman. The usual outlay for food per week amounted to twelve francs, or ten shillings, of course with fluctuations; for I have lived a whole week upon five francs when unemployed, and have luxuriated upon twenty when in full work. Upon striking a balance among my various lodgings,—I lodged in company and slept double during the whole period of my stay in Paris—I find the result to be, that we paid twelve francs each per month, or two shillings and sixpence per week. This did not include extras: a German stove hired at five francs a month for the winter season; wood at four francs the hundred pounds weight; candles at thirteen sous the pound, and soap at a fraction less. Nor does it include the half franc to the concierge, an obligatory payment upon presenting yourself at the street-door after midnight. Summing up these items, we arrive at this result: for food, ten shillings; rent, two shillings and sixpence; and miscellaneous necessaries, including twelve sous for washing, of another twoshillings and sixpence; or a total of fifteen shillings of expenditure against, in my case, of one pound three shillings and odd pence of income. The cost of pleasure in the French capital must not be omitted; and I feel bound to state that twenty-seven visits to the theatres, from the pit of the Italian Opera House at four francs, to the same place at the Vaudeville for eighteen sous; and thirteen public balls and concerts, from the grand masked ball to that of the “Grande Chaumière,” were met by an outlay of sixty-eight francs thirteen sous, or three pounds seven shillings and tenpence-halfpenny.
After an absence of nearly three years and a half, I turned my steps towards home. From the time that I had crossed the French frontier, and, upon delivering my papers, had received a passeport provisoire at Strassburg, I had never sustained cheque or molestation from the police; but now that I was about to depart, and made the usual application for my original passport, it was discovered that, as a workman, I should have had a “livret” upon my first entering Paris, and a number of certificates and attestations were required, in order to reinstate me in a legitimate position in the eyes of the law. Escaped from this dilemma, and officially recognised asouvrier, it was with some surprise that I found myself dubbed gentleman at the Bureau des Affaires Etrangéres, and charged a fee of ten franca for the signature of the foreign minister. Too old a traveller to be entrapped into the payment of so heavy a fine upon my vanity, I strongly repudiated any more pretentious title than that of simple workman; and after a tough struggle succeeded in carrying off the necessary visa at an outlay of two francs. The journey, by diligence, from Paris to Boulogne, cost twenty-seven francs; I lost a clear six francs in changing my French savings into English gold—twelve sovereigns—and, after a rough passage by the Boulogne boat to London, at an expense of twelve francs, found myself once more in my native city.
Let those who would estimate the value of such an enterprise as mine, consider its cost and its result. I had passed several years in foreign travel; I had undeniably profited in the acquisition of new experiences in my trade; new modes of working, and additional manual skill. I had rubbed off some of the most valued, and therefore most absurd, prejudices against foreigners; and made some progress in the acquisition of two languages—a gain which must ever be a source of mental profit and gratification. To conclude: I hadstarted on my journey but indifferently clad, and with scarcely five pounds in my pocket, of which sum two pounds had been remitted home; and I had been able not merely to subsist by the labor of my hands, but to enjoy much that was costly, and an infinite deal more that was pleasurable and advantageous; and to return home, having liquidated every debt, save that of gratitude, well provided with apparel, and with ten pounds sterling in my purse.
I would not venture to urge upon any man to follow in my footsteps. I should scarcely retrace them myself under the same conditions; but I believe I have shown the practicability of such an undertaking, and its probability of success, with no more unusual qualifications than a ready hand, a patient will, and some perseverance.
hamburg.
Hamburg at last!—after eight days’ sail from London, three of them spent in knocking about the North Sea, where the wind always blows in your teeth. Never mind! we are now safely moored to these substantial timbers; huge piles, driven in a line, which form the outer harbour of Hamburg. The city lies before us, but there is nothing very imposing in it; the houses, with gable roofs and whitened walls, look rather lath-and-plastery, in fact; but we must not express our opinions too rashly, for first impressions are not always the most faithful after all.
“Now, Tom, is the boat ready?”
“Ay, ay, sir!”
We scramble down the sides of the British schooner, the “Glory,” and seat ourselves along with Tom. What a confusion of boats, long-pointed barges, and small sailing vessels!
“Mind how you go, Tom.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” replies Tom, contemptuously shifting his quid.
These small sailing vessels we see are from the Hanoverian and Danish coasts. Their cargoes consist principally of wood, and whole stacks of vegetables, the latter ridiculously small. Those long-pointed barges are for canal navigation, and are admirably adapted to Hamburg, threaded as it is by canals in every direction.
Steady! Do you see that curious, turret-looking building, old and time-worn, guarded by a sentinel?—it is the fort to protect the water-gate through which we are now passing. It is alsooccasionally used as a prison. On the opposite side is a poor, dilapidated, wooden building, erected on a barge, where permits are obtained for spirits and tobacco—a diminutive custom-house indeed. There being no one to question or molest us, we pass on, and in a few moments are at our landing-place, a short flight of stone steps leading to the Vorsetzen or quay.
Tom moors his boat with a grave celerity, leads the way up the stone steps on to the quay, and as speedily disappears down a sort of trap which gapes in the open street, in the immediate vicinity of the landing-place. Let him alone; Tom knows the way. We follow him down an almost perpendicular flight of stairs into a spirit kellar, and gratify Tom’s little propensity for ardent liquors.
Tom has disappeared, and is now paddling his way back to the “Glory,” and we stand upon the humble water-terrace, the Vorsetzen, looking out upon the shipping. It is a still, bright, Sunday afternoon in September. There is no broiling sun to weary us; the sky is clear, and the air soft and cheering, like the breath of a spring morning. We will turn our backs upon the river and proceed up Neuerweg.
We cannot walk upon the narrow strip of footpath, for, besides that there is very little of it, our course would become a sort of serpentine as we wound about the fresh young trees which skirt the edge of it at regular intervals. But are they not pleasant to look upon, those leafy sentinels, standing by the stone steps of the houses, shaking their green tops in happy contrast to the whitened walls? So we will walk in the road, and being good-tempered today, will not indulge in violent invectives upon the round-topped little pebbles which form the pavement; but, should we by chance step into a puddle which has no manner of means of running out of our way, we will look with complacency at our dirtied boots, and trip smilingly on. Yes, trip is the word, for I defy the solemnest pedestrian in Christendom to keep a measured pace upon these upright, pointed, shining-faced pebbles.
There! we are in the Schaar-markt. Now look around, and say, would you not fancy yourself in some quaint old English village? What a curious complication of cross-beams is presented in the fronts of the houses!—a barring and binding of huge timbers, with their angles filled in with red bricks. How simple and neat is everything!—the clean stone steps leading up to the principal entrance of each house, and the humbler flight which conducts you to thekellarand kitchen. You would imagine you had seen the place before, or dreamt of it, or read of it in some glorious old book when your memory was fresh and young.
See that young damsel with bare arms, no bonnet, no cap, but her hair cleanly and neatly parted in the middle of her head, and disclosing her round, rosy, honest German face. She is not pretty, but how innocent and good-tempered she looks; and see how lightly and easily she springs over those, to us, ruthless pebbles, her short petticoats showing her clean white stockings and bright shoes to advantage.
And here comes a male native of the place; a shortish, square-built, and somewhat portly man, clad in a comfortable, old-fashioned way, with nothing dashing or expensive about him. He is not very brisk, to be sure; and when you first look at his round face an idea of his simplicity comes over you; but it is only for an instant, and then you read the solid, sterling qualities quietly shining in his clear eyes. There is not a great amount of intellectuality, that is to say nervous intellectuality, in his contented countenance, but a vast quantity of unstudied common sense.
We will pass on, leaving the guard-house on our left; and winding up Hohleweg, many simple and not a few pretty faces with roguish eyes do we see at the open windows.
We halt only for a moment to look at the noble Michaelis Kirche which lies to our right, and turn off on the left hand, crossing an open space of some extent called Zeughaus Platz, and behold us before the Altonaer Thor, or Altona-gate.
Ah, these are pleasant banks and noble trees! How green the grass upon those slopes—how fresh the flowers! And what a splendid walk is this, looking to the right down the double avenue of sturdy stems waving their spreading tops across the path! You did not think that quaint old town below could boast of such a border as this; but take a tour about the environs, and you will find them cheerful, fresh, and beautiful, from Neuer Kaye to Deich Thor.
We will pass through the simple Altona-gate, and make towards Hamburger-Berg. Do not be alarmed. Perhaps you have heard of the “Berg” before, and virtuous people have told you that it is a godless place. Well, so it is; but we will steer clear of its godlessness; we will avoid the dancing-houses. Before us lies a broad open road, neither dignified by buildings nor ornamented by trees,but there are plenty of people, and they are worth our notice. There is a neat figure in a close boddice and a hauben, or hood-like headdress; she has taken to winter attire early. She carries no trailing skirts, nor has she ill-shapen ankles to hide. Look at her healthy face, though the cheek-bones are rather too high; but the mouth is ever breaking into a smile. Her hair is drawn back tightly from her face, tied in a knot at the back, and covered with a velvet skull-cap, richly worked with gold and silver wire and braid. The effect is not bad.
There is a country girl from Bardewick—Bardewick, you know, though now a mere village, is traditionally said to have been once a large and flourishing city. She has flowers to sell, and stands by the wayside. She has neither shoes nor stockings, nor is her dark dress and white apron of the longest. Her tightly fitting boddice is of blue cloth, with bullet buttons, and has but a short waist, while a coral confines her apron and dress. Her head-dress is only a striped coloured handkerchief, tied under the chin, but in such a way that it presents a sort of straight festoon just above her sparkling eyes, and completely hides her hair.
But here comes a curiosity of the male species. Surely this is Rip van Winkle from the States. He has no sugar-loaf hat, but he wears the trunkhose, stockings, and large buckled shoes of the old Dutchman, and even his ample jacket, with an enormous sort of frill at the bottom. No, my friend, let me give you to understand that this is aVierländer, and a farmer of some means. Do you not see that he has a double row of bullet buttons on his jacket, down the front of his ample hose, and even along the edges of his enormous pockets? They are solid silver, every button of them, nor are the massive buckles on his shoes of any more gross material. Here come more velvet skull-caps, with gold and silver worked into them. How jauntily the wearers trip along! It is a fact, the abominable pavement of Hamburg sets the inhabitants eternally on their toes.
Here is a Tyroler, and a tall fellow he is; straight as an arrow, and nimble as a chamois; but yet with a steady, earnest look about him, although a secret smile is playing round his handsome, mustachioed mouth, that tells you of a strong and persevering character. He is shaped like an Adonis, and his short jacket, breeches, pale striped stockings, and tightly laced boots; the broad leathern embroidered band about his waist, and the steeple-crowned hat with the little coquettish feather, all help to make up a figure that youwould like to see among his native mountains. And yet he is but a dignified sort of pedlar, and would be very happy to sell you a dozen or so of table napkins, Alpine handkerchiefs, or a few pieces of tape.
Well! he is gone, and before us comes a female figure, who forms a fit companion to the silver-buttonedVierländerwe have just past. Notice her dress; she is aVierländerin. Her petticoats are shamefully short, you will say, stiff and plaited too as they are, but what a gallant pair of red stockings she wears, and what a neat, bright pair of buckled shoes! Her dress consists of a close boddice with long sleeves, all of dark purple stuff, and her neat black apron does not make a bad contrast to it. But her head-gear!—her hair is drawn from her face under a closely fitting caul, while an exaggerated black bow, or rather a pair of triangular wings, project some distance from the back of the head, and beneath them two enormous tails of hair trail down her back, each terminating in a huge red bow.
This country girl appears to have sold all her fruit, and has placed her basket upside down upon her head. No such thing; that is her peculiar head-dress; look again, and you will see that it is a small plaited straw basket, about a foot and a half in diameter, with a very deep straight edge. It is fastened on her head by a caul sewn into the inside. Well! at any rate this is a Quakeress we see coming at such a stately pace along the gravelled road? Wrong again, my friend; this is a young lady from Heligoland, the little island we passed at the mouth of the Elbe, and a very prim and neat young lady she is, though where she got her bonnet shape from I cannot say.
The way is lined with hawkers of every description: fruit, songs and sausages; toys, sticks and cigars; pipes, sweetmeats and tape; every imaginable article that was ever sold at a fair is to be found here, and every vender in a different dress, illustrating at one view the peasant costumes of every village in the vicinity. As for tobacco, the air is like a gust from some gigantic pipe. Here is the entrance to Franconi’s Circus, though not yet open for public entertainment. Blasts of obstreperous music rush upon you from every door; the shrill squealing of a flageolet being heard above everything else.
Knife-swallowers, mesmerisers, and the eternal Punch—here called Caspar—ballad-singers, tumblers, quacks, and incredibleanimals, are here for inspection. You would fancy it was some old English fair; for in spite of yourself there is a quaint feeling steals over you, that you had suddenly tumbled back into the middle of the last century.
And who pays for all this? for whose especial amusement is all this got up? For our old friend “Jack.” Here are English sailors, and French sailors; sailors in green velveteen jackets; sailors with their beards and whiskers curled into little shining ringlets. We meet our salt-water friend everywhere, and, by the intense delight depicted on his features, “Jack” is evidently in a high state of enjoyment.
Let us go on; we have promised not to visit the dancehouses to-day, and we will quit this clamorous crowd.
the poet’s grave.—a danish harvest home.
We tread upon elevated ground, and far away to our left, down in a hollow, flows the broad Elbe; placid indeed from this distance, for not a ripple can we see upon its surface. A few ships are lazily moving on its waters. Stand aside, and make way for this reverend gentleman; he is aprediger, a preacher of the gospel; he is habited in a black gown, black silk stockings and shoes, a small black velvet skull-cap on his head, while round his neck bristles a double plaited frill, white as a curd, and stiff as block tin. You would take him for the Dutch nobleman in an old panel painting. It may appear rather grotesque to your unaccustomed eyes, but remember there are many things very ridiculous at home.
A blackened gate, a confused mass of houses, an open square, and the pebbles again, and we are in Holstein, Denmark, in the public square and market place of Altona. Here it is that the Danish state lotteries are drawn, and we might moralise upon that subject, but that we prefer to press onwards to the real village of Altona.
Here through this beautiful avenue of trees; here where the sunshine is broken into patches by the waving foliage; far away from the din of trumpets, huxterers and showmen; here can the sweet air whisper its low song of peace and lull our fervid imaginations into tranquillity. This is no solitude, though all is quiet and in repose. Under the trees and in the road are throngs of loiterers, but there is no rude laughter, no coarse jests; a moving crowd is there, but a quiet and happy one. And now we come upon the venerable church with its low steeple, its time-eaten stone walls, and its humble, grassy, flower-spangled graves. We see a passer-by calling the attention of his friend to a stone tablet, green and worn with age, and surrounded by a slight railing. Can it be that there is a spirit hovering over that grave whose influence is peace and love? May not some mighty man lie buried there, the once frail tenement of a great mind whose noble thoughts have years ago wakened a besotted world to truths and aspirations hitherto unknown? There is veneration and respect in every countenance that gazes upon that simple stone; a solemn tread in every foot that trenches on its limits. This is the grave of a great poet. A man whose works, though little read in modern times, were once the wonder of his country; and whose very name comes upon the German people in a gush of melody, and a halo of bright thoughts. It is like an old legend breathed through the chords of a harp. This is the grave of Klopstock, the Milton of Germany. We will enter the churchyard, and look for a moment on the unimposing tablet. The inscription is scarcely legible, but the poet’s mother lies also buried here, and some others of his family. Could there be anything more humble, more unobtrusive? No; but there is something about the grave of a great poet that serves to dignify the simplest monument, and shed a lustre round the lowest mound.
We will cross the churchyard to yonder low brick wall which confines it. There are clusters of rosy, happy children, clambering about its crumbling top; little knots of men too in the road beyond—evidently expecting something. Even this is in keeping with the poet’s grave, which should not be sombre and melancholy, like other graves; and what could better embellish and enliven its aspect than young, blushing life clustering around it? We linger awhile among the boisterous children playing on the churchyard wall, and then we hear a confused sound of voices and music in the distance.
“What is this we hear, my friend?” we inquire.
“It is the harvest-home; if you wait you will see the procession.”
We turn out upon the high road, and soon come upon the first signs of this Danish festival. An open gravelled space of some extent stretches out before an imposing mansion of modern appearance; a plantation of trees on each side shapes the space into a rude semicircle. This mansion is the manor house, and in front, in the midst of a confused crowd, some dozen young men in gay sylvan costumes are standing in a circle, armed with flails, and vigorously threshing the ground. Jolly, hearty young fellows they are, and a merry chant they raise. One eager thresher in his zeal breaks his flail at the bend, and a shout from the bystanders greets the exploit.
Now they thresh their way from the great house to a hostelry where the remaining portion of the pageant is awaiting their arrival. Let us stand a little on one side and view the procession. The threshers lead the way, singing and plying their flails as they advance, thus effectually clearing the road for the rest. A merry group of other threshers, each with his lass upon his arm, and his flail swung across his shoulder, come tripping after, singing the harvest song and dancing to their own music. Now a rude wooden car comes lumbering on, and within sits a grave man in old German costume, who from a large sack before him takes handsful of grain, and liberally casts it about him. This is the sower, but the grain is in this instance only chaff. Now follow heavy instruments of husbandry—ploughs and harrows—while rakes, scythes, and reaping-hooks form a picturesque trophy behind them. A shout of laughter greets the next figure in the procession, for it is no other than the jolly god Bacchus. And a hearty, rubicund, big-bellied god he is, and very decent, too, being decorously clad in a brown suit turned up with red, and cut in the fashion of the time of Maximilian I., or thereabouts. A perpetual smile mantles over his broad face, and complacently he pats his huge rotundity of stomach as he rolls from side to side on the barrel astride which he is seated. Is he drunk, or does he only feign? If it be a piece of acting it is decidedly the most natural we ever saw.
Next comes the miller; a lank rascal, with a white frock, a tall, white tasselled nightcap, and a cadaverous, flour-besprinkled face; and he is the reaper, too, it would seem by the scythe he bears in his hand: other threshers close the procession. A happy train it is. God speed them all! A merry time, and many a bounteous harvest!
Let us turn now upon our steps. Once more before the antique church, the reverenced grave; and with a soothed and grateful mind, we will bend our way back to Hamburg, and diving into one of the odorous cellars on the Jungfern Stieg, will delectate ourselves with beefsteaks and fried potatoes, our glass of Baierisches Bier, and perhaps a tiny schnapschen to settle our repast.
magnificence.—at church.—the last headsman.
“Herrlichkeit!” Magnificence! What a name! Ye Paradise-rows, ye Mount-pleasants, what is your pride of appellation to this? In all Belgravia there is not a terrace, place, or square that can match it. Fancy the question, “Where do you reside?”
“In Magnificence—number forty.”
Yet it is a fact, Magnificence is a street in Hamburg. I have lived in Magnificence.
The Herrlichkeit, like many other places of imposing title, loses considerably upon a close acquaintance. You approach it from the waterside through a rugged way, blessed with the euphonious appellation of Stuben Huck; and having climbed over two pebbly bridges—looking down as you do so at the busy scene in the docks below, where crowds of canal craft lie packed and jumbled together—you turn a little to the left hand and behold—Magnificence!
Magnificence has no footpath, but it is not singular in that respect. It is of rather less than the average width of the streets in Hamburg—and they are all narrow—and the houses are lofty. It is paved with small pebbles, and has a gutter running down the centre; and as a short flight of stone steps forms the approach to the chief entrance of each house, the available roadway is small indeed. But they are grand houses in Magnificence, at least they have been, and still bear visible signs of their former character.
Let us enter one house; it will serve as a type of many houses in Hamburg. Having mounted the stone steps, we stand before a half-glazed folding-door, and seeing a small brass lever before us,we test its power, and find the door yield to the pressure. But we have set a clamorous bell ringing, like that of a suburban huxter, for this is the Hamburger’s substitute for a knocker. We enter a large stone-paved hall, lighted from the back, where a glazed balcony overlooks the teeming canal. You wish to wipe your shoes. Well! do you see this pattern of a small area-railing cut in wood? That is our scraper and door-mat—all in one.
To our right is a massive oaken staircase. We ascend in gloom, for the staircase being built in the middle of the house, only a few straggling rays of light can reach it, and whence they proceed is a mystery. Every few steps we mount we are upon the point of stumbling into the door of some cupboard or apartment; they are in all sorts of places. At length we reach a broad landing paved with stone. What a complication of doors and passages, which the vague light tends to make more obscure! Here are huge presses, lumbering oaken cabinets, jammed into corners. We ascend a second flight and arrive at another extensive landing. Here are two suites of apartments, besides odd little cribs in the corners which are not occupied by other presses. There are still two floors above, but as they are both contained in the huge gable roof of the house, they are more useful as store-rooms than as habitable apartments. The quantity of wood we see about us is frightful when associated with the idea of fire.
We will enter the suite on the right hand; the apartments are light and agreeable, and overlook the canal, and, when the tide is up, and the canal full, and the grassy bleaching ground on the opposite bank is dotted with white linen, it is a pleasant scene indeed; but when the tide is out—ugh! the River Thames at low water is a paradise to it. The tidal changes are carefully watched, and it is not an unusual occurrence to hear the solemn gun booming through the air as a warning to the inhabitants to block and barricade their cellars and kitchens against the rush of waters.
It is Sunday morning, and the most beautiful melody of bells I ever heard is toning through the air. They are the bells of S. Michael’s church, and I am told that the musician plays them by a set of pedal keys, and works himself into a mighty heat and flurry in the operation. But we cannot think of the wild manner and mad motions of the player in connection with those beautiful sounds, so clear and melodious; that half plaintive music so sweetly measured.They ring thus every morning, commencing at a quarter to six, and play till the hour strikes.
We descend, and make our way through irregular streets and dingy canals till we reach the church of St. Jacobi. It stands in an open space, is neither railed in, nor has it a graveyard attached to it. It is of stone, and has an immense gable roof, slated, and studded with eaved windows. A shortish square basement is at one end, from which springs a tall octangular steeple. Within all is quiet and decorous. The church is paved with stone, and there is a double row of pews down the centre. But is this a Protestant Church? Most assuredly; Lutheran. You are astonished at the crosses, the images, the altar? True! there is something Romish in the whole arrangement, but it is Protestant for all that. You cannot help feeling vexed at the pertinacity with which the Germans whitewash everything, nor do the pale lavender-coloured curtains of the pulpit appear in keeping with the edifice. Everything is scrupulously clean.
We are too late to hear the congregational singing, the devotional union of voices, for as we enter the minister ascends into the pulpit in his black velvet skull-cap, and bristling white frill. Unless you are a good German scholar you will fail to understand the discourse so earnestly, so emphatically delivered. The echo of the building, and the high character of the composition, will baffle and mislead you; while, at the same time, the incessant tingling of the little silver bells suspended from the corners of scarlet velvet bags, which are handed along the pews (at the end of a stick), during the whole of the sermon, will distract and irritate you. It is thus they collect alms for the poor. Yet even to one ignorant of the language, there is a fullness and vigour in the style and manner of delivery that would almost persuade you that you had understood, and felt convinced of the truth of what you had heard. As we quit the church we purchase at the door a printed copy of the sermon from a poor widow woman, who is there to sell them at a penny each.
We will loiter home to dinner. The streets are thronged with people, with cheerful, contented faces, and in holiday attire. Who are these grave gentlemen? This little troop in sable trappings; buskins, cloaks, silken hose, hats and feathers, and shoes with large rosettes—all black and sombre, like so many middle aged Hamlets? Can they be masqueraders on the Sabbath? Possibly some of the senators in their official costume? No! Oh, human vanity! Apasser-by informs us that they are only undertakers’ men—paid mourners. They are to swell the funeral procession, and are the mere mimics of woe. The undertakers of Hamburg vie with each other in the dressing of their men, and indeed, one indispensable part of their “stock-in-trade” are some half-dozen dress-suits of black, it matters not of what age or country, the stranger the better, so that the “effect” be good.