In our car we had as our only travelling companions two priests, with their long, flowing gowns and big hats. They continually prayed and crossed themselves for a while, and we feared that they did not realize that we were also two human beings and Christians, so entirely did they ignore us. But after a time they looked up, and we found an occasion to make a remark to them, which opened the way for a conversation, although a limited one, as they could not understand one word of English, and we stumbled much in German, but they were very bright, and looked over with us our German conversation book, and we made quite a merry party. Our route was through and over the Black Forest mountains, said to be the most picturesque of all mountains. We passed through numerous tunnels, some very long ones, and in utter darkness, as they did not light the cars at all, giving one a good chance to think of all the terrible accidents one ever heard of, and making one feel all the time as if something dreadful might happen. I never did like to be in the dark, unless as a tired child with my mother’s arms close about me. When not underground, which seemed but little of the time, the scenery we saw was bold and memorable. The whole region of this Black Forest is full of traditional stories, and we stretched our necks as we turned precipitous corners, hoping to get a glimpse of the ‘Black Huntsman’ dashing down the dizzy heights back of us or in the green valleys below. We saw two castles, and a huge monastery, ‘built on a rock’ on a high elevation. And now, being in the mood, I think I will tell you of something we saw later,—a cavern which is called ‘The Noble Lady’s Grave,’ and this is the story which shows why so named, as told to us, or at least the main points: ‘The husband of the lady left her alone in their home in the Black Forest, with only her attendants for society, and, of course, she being of noble birth, could not ‘chum’ much with her servants. He left her thus to join the Crusades. She pleaded with all a loving wife’s earnestness for him to remain with her, but without avail. It looks as if the knight cared more for glory than for his better half, but may be, let us be charitable, ‘he had business she could not understand,’ or perhaps ‘he had to meet a man,’ as many of the self-sacrificing husbands of our own time are obliged to do, greatly to their own discomfort, but ‘duty is duty, you know.’ At any rate he tore himself away from her clinging arms, in spite of tears and entreaties, undoubtedly hoping to cover himself with glory in the holy city. Perhaps he had wearied of the gloom, dismalness, and monotony of life in the Black Forest, and ‘needed a change.’ His wife, of course, had more resources for pleasure; she could do the mending of the family, tell the cook what to have for dinner, and go to church and give thanks for so brave a husband, and offer prayers for his welfare. The lonely, noble lady did all of these things most faithfully for a while, but they soon ceased to be entertaining, and life itself grew wearisome. There was no mail to be expected in those days, no letters to answer, no progressive euchre parties, no Browning clubs, no sewing circles, no amateur theatricals, and not even a neighbor to talk about, and no one to talk about the neighbors with. Poor forlorn woman! Worn and weary with the watching and the waiting, ‘He cometh not,’ she said. Her crusader most selfishly tarried too long. But one fine day somebody’s else crusader came along, and just as the noble lady was packing her ‘Saratoga’ to fly with him to the lands where loneliness and the ‘blues’ were unknown, her own lawful crusader appeared, killed her would-be rescuer, and shut the poor, out-of-patience wife up in this cave in the hillside, which was her prison living and her grave when dead.
After the descent of the Black Forest range was made, we struck into pretty, green valleys, where women, young girls, and children were making hay,—Gretchens and Maud Müllers. Oxen and cows were used instead of horses, and I saw two women harnessed into a hay-cart, which was loaded with hay, and a man riding comfortably on top, smoking his pipe. I would have liked to have seen him fall off, but I was told that men at home, in this part of the world, are so few, that the women give them the easy places, and work for them, and coddle and pet them to their hearts’ content. The large majority of the men are away at the barracks. The homes of the working people, just here, look as if intended to illustrate a revised edition of ‘the happy family.’ Human beings, both sexes, of several generations, judging from the very old looking women and the few old men, and the little babies we see, with horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, and hens, all live under one outside upper roof, having perhaps the choice of apartments inside. The door-yards look neat, but without exception, every house has somewhere near the never-to-be-missed fertilizer pile, often higher than the house, and generally the bigger the house the bigger the pile. Stocks up, they sell; stocks down, they buy. Financial excitements, you see, are necessary even here. The houses are never painted, and the roofs are covered with straw. At one station where we changed cars we saw a group of Alsatian women with the genuine Alsatian bows on their heads instead of bonnets. The bows were made of some black material, and I think must have measured fully one yard from one end to the other.
LETTER IX.
Hotel de la Ville de Paris, Strassburg.
My dear ——: Strassburg is a larger city than I had expected to see, and some parts of it are very fine. The university buildings are handsome, as are many others. The great cathedral, however, is the one particular object of interest. We first took a look at the exterior, and many looks, for its beauties are manifold. The carvings, statues, and bas-reliefs are magnificent, as are also the towers, turrets, and the spire. The west front, so called, has a rose window, and on each side of this window is a large square tower. The entire façade is most exquisitely sculptured. ‘But oh!’ said F., ‘do look up at the spire; does it seem possible any object so elaborate and graceful could be made of stone?’ The height of this spire is nearly five hundred feet. It looks so light and airy, so like a wonderfully executed piece of filagree work, towering towards the clouds, that I fear you cannot imagine its beauty from a hasty description. It has been said to look like ‘lace work,’ and the building itself, so fine are its carvings and sculptures, said ‘to look as if it were placed behind a rich, open, flower-like screen, or in a case of open-work stone,’ and these comparisons will, I think, convey to you a little idea of its general appearance, and you will be spared the lameness of neck that I suffered, from the long stretch in looking up. Even in this land of art, architecture, music, sculpture, and poetry, we are often reminded that flesh, muscle, and nerves need some consideration. This church is indeed a rare poem, an epic of the first water, and its author, the architect, was Erwin von Steinbach, whose tomb is in one of the chapels. F., anxious to do the most daring things, decided to ascend the spire by way of the spiral staircase; I declined. She ascended and descended with a level head, and declared she would not have missed the sights, for anything, of the closer view of the stone-work, and of the panoramic picture from the elevation. Of the interior I shall not tell you much, but its rich, elegant carvings, its beautiful stained-glass windows, its clusters of pillars, its ornately sculptured pulpit, were objects of our great enthusiasm and delight.
Of the wonderful clock I will tell you a little. This astronomical clock is in the south transept, and tells not only the time of the day but indicates every event connected with astronomical phenomena, like the changes of the moon, the seasons, the church calendar, and so forth. A child strikes the quarter of the hour, a youth the half hour, a young man the third quarter, and an aged man, tottering slowly, comes and touches the bell with his staff, and passes on, soon followed by the figure of Death, who strikes the full hour with a human bone; and just then, the figures representing the twelve Apostles march in front of a statue of the Saviour, who bends to give each one his blessing, and a cock crows loudly thrice, while another figure—Time—turns an hour-glass, for running of the sand to indicate the next hour. It is all extremely ingenious and interesting. The clock has been partly reconstructed, as it is said the original, made in 1448, was partially destroyed by the maker. The legend runs that the genius who invented and made this wonderful structure of mechanism for Strassburg was urged to make one for another town. The Strassburgers becoming jealous, sent for the clock-maker, and requested him to give his promise that he would never make another; but this he refused to do, which so angered them they gave an order to have the poor man’s eyes put out. Hearing of this terrible crime which was soon to be inflicted upon him, he offered to make a few necessary repairs on the clock before losing his eyesight. As soon as he had done this, his eyes were forever destroyed, but at the same moment a crash from the clock was heard—weights, bells, and figures fell to the ground, for the man had destroyed instead of repairing his work. The clock just escaped being again destroyed at the time of the bombardment by the Germans in 1870. The cathedral was greatly damaged, but has been well repaired. One cannot wonder that the French feel bitterly toward the Germans for taking from them, with Alsace, this city so rich in its churches, but such is war. And long ago, when this same place was a free German town, Louis XVI. captured it for France, and now Germany claims it again. French and German seem to be about equally spoken here.
We met E. W. in the street to-day, and a pleasant surprise was her face. In this strange country, mere acquaintances seem like dear friends, and dear friends dearer than ever before. I wish I could hear your voice to-day, but I know you are with us in thought, and glad that these days are so filled with brightness for us, but we must not forget that they cannot always last; we are so apt to, just as in summer we forget that flowers so soon wither; but the fragrance of their fallen leaves remains with us long, as will the sweet memories of these gliding hours.
Holland Hotel, Baden Baden, July 23d, 1888.—At four P.M. we reached here from Strassburg. Our hotel is one of the best, and after settling our baggage in our spacious, handsomely furnished room, we went out to reconnoitre. The town is lovely,—beautiful streets, buildings, shops, and grand old shade trees everywhere, and just now the place is crowded with people, driving, walking, flirting, and sauntering through the streets, stores, and gardens, bareheaded. This reminds me more of Saratoga in the summer season than any place I have before seen, although there is not the display of dress here, or the taste displayed in what dress there is, that we see in our American watering-places. In fact, so far, I have had to come to the conclusion that European ladies show very little good judgment and no style in dress, with the one exception of the Parisians. The Duchess of Baden, who is the daughter of the good old Emperor William, lives very near our hotel, and other members of the royal family of Germany are here, but are, of course, all in deep mourning for the dearly loved and much-lamented late Emperor Frederick.