From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

Thus floating onward as in a dream, we reached Cologne at five o'clock Saturday afternoon, and found at the Hôtel du Nord a very spacious and attractive hostelry, which made us well content to stay quietly for two or three days.

Cologne has got an ill name from Coleridge's ill-favored compliment, which implied that its streets had not always the fragrance of that Cologne water which it exports to all countries. But I think he has done it injustice for the sake of a witty epigram. If he has not, the place has much improved since his day, and if not yet quite a flower garden, is at least as clean and decent as most of the Continental cities. It has received a great impulse from the extension of railroads, of which it is a centre, being in the direct line of travel from England to the Rhine and Switzerland, and to the German watering-places, and indeed to every part of Central Europe. Hence it has grown rapidly, and become a large and prosperous city.

But to the traveller in search of sights, every object in Cologne "hides its diminished head" in presence of one, the cathedral, the most magnificent Gothic structure ever reared by human hands. Begun six hundred years ago, it is not finished yet. For four hundred years the work was suspended, and the huge crane that stood on one of its towers, as it hung in air, was a sad token of the great, but unfinished design. But lately the German Government, with that vigor which characterizes everything in the new empire, has undertaken its completion. Already it has expended two millions of dollars upon it, and holds out a hope that it may be finished during this generation. To convey any idea of this marvellous structure by a description, is impossible. It is a forest in stone. Looking through its long nave and aisles, one is more reminded of the avenues of New Haven elms, than of any work of man. We ascended by the stone steps to the roof, at least to the first roof, and then began to get some idea of the vastness of the whole. Passing into the interior at this height, we made the circuit of the gallery, from which men looked very small who were walking about on the pavement of the cathedral. The sacristan who had conducted us thus far, told us we had now ascended one hundred steps, and that, if we chose to mount a hundred more, we could get to the main roof—the highest present accessible point—for the towers are not yet finished, which are further to be surmounted by lofty spires. When complete, the crosses which they lift into the air will be more than five hundred feet above the earth!

The Cathedral boasts great treasures and holy relics—such as the bones of the Magi, the three Kings of the East, who came to see the Saviour at his birth, which, whoso can believe, is welcome to his faith. But the one thing which all must believe, since it stands before their eyes, is the magnificence of this temple of the Almighty. I am surprised to see the numbers of people who attend the services, and with an appearance of devotion, joining in the singing with heart and voice. The Cathedral is our constant resort, as it is close to our hotel, and we can go in at all hours, morning, noon, and night. There we love to sit especially at twilight, when the priests are chanting vespers, and listen to their songs, and think of the absent and the dead. We may wander far, and see many lofty structures reared to the Most High, but nowhere do we expect to bow our heads in a nobler temple, till we join with the worshippers before the Throne.

CHAPTER XIII.

BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

Amsterdam, July 30th.

If any of my readers should follow our route upon the map, he will see that we take a somewhat zigzag course, flying off here and there to see whatever most attracts attention. The facilities of travel in Europe are so great, that one can at any time be transported in a few hours into a new country. The junior partner in this travelling company of two has lately been reading Motley's histories, and been filled with enthusiasm for the Netherlands, which fought so bravely against Spain, and nothing would do but to turn aside to see these Low Countries. So, instead of going east from Cologne into the heart of Germany, we turned west to make a short detour into Belgium and Holland. And indeed these countries deserve a visit, as they are quite unique in appearance and in character, and furnish a study by themselves. They lie in a corner of the Continent, looking out upon the North Sea, and seem to form a kind of eddy, unaffected by the great current of the political life of Europe. They do not belong to the number of the Great Powers, and do not have to pay for "glory" by large standing armies and perpetual wars.

Belgium—which we first enter in coming from the Rhine—is one of the smaller kingdoms still left on the map of Europe not yet swallowed up by the great devourers of nations; and which, if it has less glory, has more liberty and more real happiness than some of its more powerful neighbors. If it has not the form of a republic, yet it has all the liberty which any reasonable man could desire. Its standing army is small—but forty or fifty thousand men; though in case of war, it could put a hundred thousand under arms. But this would be a mere mouthful for some of the great German armies. Its security, therefore, lies not in its ability to resist attack, but in the fact that from its very smallness it does not excite the envy or the fear or the covetousness of its neighbors, and that, between them all, it is very convenient to have this strip of neutral territory. During the late war between France and Germany it prospered greatly; the danger to business enterprises elsewhere led many to look upon this little country, as in the days of the Flood people might have looked upon some point of land that had not yet been reached by the waters that covered the earth, to which they could flee for safety. Hence the disasters of others gave a great impulse to its commercial affairs.