There was a grand banqueting-hall, with the blue heavens for a ceiling overhead. There was a drawing-room, the floor long since crumbled away, and only the broken walls remaining. Standing upon the loose earth, you may see the blackened fireplace far above your head, before which fair faces grew rosy centuries ago, and where white hands were outspread that have been dust and mould for ages. There was— But words cannot describe it, though I should speak of the winding ways like a labyrinth beneath it all; of the queer paved court-yard, from whence the knights sallied out in the olden time; of the great tower, split in twain by an explosion during the last siege; of the wine-cellars and the "Great Tun," upon which the servants of the castle danced when the vintage was gathered. In all attempts at word-painting there remains something that defies description, that will not be portrayed by language. And, alas! in that the charm lies.
We turned away from it with regret. One might linger here for days; but we had little time for dreaming.
The road from Heidelberg to Baden-Baden led through a charming country: indeed, we ceased to exclaim after a time over the cultivation of the land. So far as we saw it, the whole of Europe was a market-garden, with prize meadows interspersed. Not a foot of neglected or carelessly-tilled ground did we see anywhere.
We chanced to spend the Sabbath in this most un-Sabbath-like city of Baden-Baden. But so far as we knew to the contrary, it might have been a Puritan village. There was a little English chapel out in the fields beyond the city, where morning service was held, and our windows, overlooking a quiet square, told nothing of the gayeties of the town. It is an interesting old city in itself, built upon a side hill, full of unexpected stone steps leading from one street to another, and by and crooked ways, that were my especial delight. It being just now "the season," the town was full of visitors. The hot springs are of course the nominal attraction; the shops, parks, and new parts of the city, fine; but, after all, the interest centres at the Kursaal, or Conversation-haus. It is a great white structure, with a colonnade where it fronts an open square, and contains reading-rooms, cafés, a grand ball-room, and the gambling salons. Government has at length interfered, and these last, hired by companies paying a certain sum for the privilege of beguiling and beggaring visitors, were to be closed now in two years, I think, or less. In front of the Kursaal a band plays every afternoon; the colonnade and square are thronged with people promenading or occupying the chairs placed there, eating ices, drinking wine, and enjoying the fine music, but all perfectly quiet in manner and plain of dress. No one was gaudily or even strikingly attired. The Hanoverian women were the most marked for their queer head-dresses, consisting of an enormous bow and ends of wide, black ribbon perched upon their crowns, and giving their heads a peculiar, bat-like appearance. And in this connection I might say that national peculiarities in dress are seldom met with in the ordinary course of continental travel. They still exist to some extent among the lower classes, and are often assumed and perpetuated to attract the attention of travellers; but ordinarily you will find people whom you meet anywhere and everywhere to be costumed much alike. Paris fashions, with modifications (and in America with intensifications), have prevailed universally, until there are few outward dissimilarities to be observed among the people of different nationalities. Nothing strikes the attention of the traveller more than this universal homogeneousness; and not in dress alone. In Bruges, under the shadow of the belfry tower, little girls trot off to school in water-proofs, just as they do at home with us; and at the entrance to Stirling Castle, we passed a sturdy little boy with his hands in his pockets, whistling, "Not for Jo," exactly like other sturdy little boys we know at home.
But to return to Baden-Baden.
We almost fancied a sulphurous odor hung about the gambling salons. Not a footfall echoed upon the softly-carpeted floors as we entered. The most breathless silence hung over everything. In the centre, a crowd, three in depth at least, surrounded and hid the table covered with green cloth, before which sat the croupier, with a kind of little rake in his hand. In our eyes he was the incarnation of evil, though to unprejudiced vision he would appear simply a well-dressed—not flashily-arrayed—gentleman, of a rather intellectual countenance, who might have passed upon the street as a lawyer in good practice, or possibly a doctor somewhat overworked.
One after another of the bystanders covered the figures stamped upon the table with gold or silver. The ball in the centre, spinning in its circle, fell into a pocket with a "click." The croupier called the winning number I think (though confessing that the game is a hidden mystery). That quick, sharp utterance was the only sound breaking the silence. At the same time, with wonderful dexterity, he raked the money into a pile, and pushed it towards the winner, or, more frequently, added it to the pile before himself.
I looked in vain for any exhibition of excitement or anxiety among the players sitting or standing around the table. All were serious, silent; some few absorbed. Both sexes were equally represented, and old as well as young. Beside us was standing a woman with a worn, though still fine face, unobtrusive in dress and manner; a traveller and spectator, I judged, like ourselves. It was something of a surprise, not to say a shock, to see her suddenly stretch out her hand, and lay down a handful of gold pieces, selecting the numbers with an air that proved her to be no novice. "Click," fell the ball. The croupier, with a sweep of the rake, gathered up her Napoleons. The bank had won. Again she laid down her gold, placing each piece with thoughtful deliberation. Again they were swept away; and even the third time. She made no exclamation. She did not so much as raise her eyes from the table as she prepared to make a fourth attempt. There was no change in her face, except a certain fixedness which came over it, and a faint tinge of color rising in her cheeks.
We breathed more freely when we had gained the open air. I am sure there was an odor of sulphur about the place.
The scenery around Baden-Baden is striking and wild. Gloomy valleys abound, and dark forests cover many of the hills. We took a kind of wagonet one morning, and climbed the mountain behind the city, passing what is known as the "New Schloss," or castle, before leaving its limits. It is anything but new, however, having been erected some four or five hundred years. Its horrible dungeons, where all manner of torments were inflicted, and tortures suffered by the unfortunate wretches incarcerated here, attract scores of visitors. We went on, by the zigzag road up the mountain, to the Old Schloss upon its summit. This was the residence of the reigning family of Baden before the erection of the New Schloss. Hardly anything remains of it now but the walls of a square tower, from the battlements of which, by mounting to an encircling gallery, you may obtain a view well worth the effort. As far as the eye can see in one direction, extends the Black Forest—the very name of which brings to mind elfish legends innumerable. But, though our way led along its edge, so that we were shut in by the chill and gloom of the evergreens which give it its name, we saw neither elves nor gnomes, nor the traditional "wood-cutter, named Hans, who lived upon the borders of the Black Forest," about whom we used to read when we were children.