A multitude of ship-masts rose from the coast, and from beyond the pointed gables of the old city, lessening in altitude as the vista lengthened. This first glimpse was a more fascinating picture than we were afterward able to find. Yet the hotel helped the preconceived idea that Danzig was really a second Nuremberg.
The broad stone steps, or stairway, which started from the portecochère, were whitened by ashes, as one so often sees them in Germany—a pretty state of things for a lady descending in a black dress. The room we were to occupy was an immense ball-room, utilized in quiet times for a bed-room. Two candles burned in their tall candlesticks on the center-table, and by the light of the twilight we could see across the street some beautiful and curious carvings in the opposite gabled houses. The price paid for accommodations was large enough to have enabled us to see castles in the air, and to have our ball-room illuminated with gas until morning. We concluded they seldom had guests in this hotel, and therefore made heavy profits when some did come along.
That evening we wandered around the old crooked streets—paved in cobble-stones, which wore our shoes almost in pieces—until we were glad to pause in front of the great old red-brick cathedral. Its towers cut the big yellow moon in two at every angle we could see them. We stretched our heads to take in the tremendous dimensions of the cathedral, and the ornamentations of some of the best houses, until we suddenly remembered that it was nearing midnight, and that we had been in actual service at sight-seeing and traveling since an early hour that morning, so we returned to our ball-room and two candles. The next morning, we imagined, we would have a great treat in hunting up old carved furniture, for which Danzig, we had been told by our German friends, was equal to Augsburg; but the antiquarians had left no place unexplored. No trace of massive-legged table or curiously-carved chairs was to be found, save in the Museum and the Rathhaus (Council Hall). The stairway of the Council Hall remains indeed a monument to the ingenious designer and skillful carver, and the judge’s chair is most curious.
A fine old convent has been turned into a museum. Its kreuz gänge, or cross-passages, give the place a most mysterious, sequestered air, and they are gradually collecting some great pictures and treasures within its walls. But the Rathhaus, in its architecture, surpasses everything in Danzig, excepting, perhaps, its fine old gateways.
The most distinguished houses in Danzig have on either side of the entrance, at a distance of five feet, immense stones hewn out of solid rock. They are nine feet, probably, in circumference. A chain is attached, which is given a graceful swing before being fastened again to either side of the front door, about as high up as the brass knocker. As these big round stones grow smaller in perspective, they give a peculiar air to a street. They seem to be peculiar to Danzig, unless one or two dwellings in Edinburgh have them. The big stones, the large chains, the tremendous brass knockers, and the innumerable windows in the six stories of the pointed gables, suggest aristocratic dwellings, and surpass the houses in Nuremberg.
An important political meeting at Stettin defeated our intention of seeing Marienburg on our return to Berlin. Marienburg is a place few foreigners find out, but Lübke, in his “History of Art,” represents the architecture of the palace occupied by the knights, or crusaders, for two centuries, as one of the most exquisite ruins in all Germany. Thorn and Königsburg were also homes for this order of knights.
The following day at noon it was rather refreshing to drive into so modern and gay a place as Berlin, and forget that so many people must exist in places like Danzig. Mediæval life seems still to enwrap them there as in a garment. Their eyes are closed to any modern idea or project.
Berlin contains all that is new and progressive in Germany. That day as we sat in the garden of the “Thiergarten Hotel,” eating delicious salmon, the old emperor drove by in his open carriage, with his faithful jäger. He was still a subject for curiosity, as it was so soon after the attempt had been made to assassinate him, June 7, 1878. He was fired on as he drove by in this same open carriage with this same faithful jäger. The sight of the old emperor recalled the previous months which had been so full of political stir in Europe. The session of the Berlin Congress, and the occupation of Bosnia by the Austrians had taken place.
To describe Berlin to those who have not visited it, is simply telling, generally, the size of palaces, the number of art collections, the width of streets, the squares occupied by statues, the places of amusement, etc., but even when these objects and interests are put in writing they leave little impression until the place is seen. But there is another aspect of the great Prussian capital. It is a wonderful place just now, attracting so many foreign students to its university, the best musical talent to its conservatories, and the first military genius within its walls. No matter what branch of study one may choose, the instruction and illustration is right at hand. To the student of politics it is a most fruitful field, not only because distinguished statesmen frequent its streets every day, but because grave problems in political science are discussed in the Reichstag or taught in the University. The student of physics or of natural science can work under Helmholz and others; the student of music can secure Joachim or Clara Schumann, or the student of art, Knaus, or Richter. Berlin has no pulpit orator. The Dom is more frequented because of its tombs than for any living influence it extends. It contains the coffins of Frederick William the great elector, and Frederick I., king of Prussia. The Mendelssohn choir chants its anthems, and the emperor and empress bow at its communion table; but St. Hedwig’s Church is better attended. The American Chapel, built by the efforts of Mr. Whright, our American minister to the Prussian court, a devout Methodist, is still occupied and attended by travelers of the American-English type.
The annual exhibition of pictures in the academy, the many fine concerts, the treasures in the old museum, the Royal Library, the palaces, and the lovely drives along “Unter den Linden,” are only mentioned to show what Berlin does contain in the way of sights and pleasures. This Unter den Linden, the street so well known, was planned by Frederick William, in the seventeenth century, and is now worn by many royal carriages and busy hurrying mortals. The street about the opera house is crowded every morning by the eager buyers of tickets, which must be secured in the morning.