One other regulation is almost universal. Each guild must have a place of meeting; not a sumptuous hall, but mere accommodation in a public-house. It is called the “Herberge,” and answers, in many respects, to our “House of Call.” This is the weary traveller’s place of rest—he can claim a shelter here; indeed, in most cases, he dares sleep nowhere else. Here also the guild holds its quarterly meetings. By way of illustration, let us take the Goldsmith’s Herberge in Hamburg; the “Stadt Bremen” is the sign of the house. In it, the goldsmiths use a large, rectangular apartment, furnished with a few rough tables and chairs, and a wooden bench running round its four walls. On the tables are arranged long clay pipes, and in the centre of each table is a small dish of what the uninitiated might take to be dried tea leaves. This is uncut tobacco, which the host, the father of the House of Call, is bound to provide. The secretary and messenger of the guild of goldsmiths are there, together with one or two of the “Altgesellen” (elder journeymen), who perform the active part of the duties of the guild. The minutes of the last meeting, and the incidents of
the quarter—possibly, also, an abstract of the rules—having been read, and new officers, to supersede those who retire, having been balloted for, the business of the evening closes. Then commences a confusion of tongues; for here are congregated Russians, Hungarians, Danes, Hamburgers, Prussians, Austrians; possibly there may be found here a member of every state in the German Union. None are silent, and the dialect of each is distinct. Assiduously, in the pauses of his private conversation, every man smokes his long pipe, and drinks his beer or punch. Presently two female harp-players enter—sources of refreshment quite as popular in Hamburg as the punch. They strike up an infatuating waltz. The effect is wonderful. Two or three couples (men waltzing with men, of course) are immediately on their feet, scrambling, kicking, and scraping round the room; hugging each other in the most awkward manner. Chairs and tables are huddled into corners; for the mania has seized upon two-thirds of the company. The rest cannot forsake their beer, but congregate in the corners, and yell, and scream toasts and “Lebe-hoch!” till they are hoarse.
Two girls enter, with trifling articles of male attire for sale; stocks, pomatum, brushes, and beard-wax; but the said damsels are immediately pounced upon for partners. In the intervals of the music a grand tournament takes place; the weapons being clay-pipes, which are speedily shattered into a thousand pieces, and strewn about the room to facilitate dancing. Such a scene of shuffling, whirling, shouting, and pipe-crunching could scarcely be seen elsewhere.
We will take a German youth destined to become an artisan, and endeavour to follow him through the complication of conflicting usages of which he stands the ordeal. Hans is fourteen years of age, and has just left school with a decent education. Hans has his trade and master chosen for him; is taken before the heads of the guild, and his indenture duly signed and sealed in their presence, they themselves witnessing the document. His term of apprenticeship is probably four years, perhaps six; a premium is seldom given, and when it is, it shortens the period of apprenticeship. The indenture, together with a certificate of baptism, in some cases that of confirmation (which ceremony serves as an important epoch in Germany), and even a documentary proof of vaccination, are deposited in the coffers of the guild, and kept at the Herberge for future reference.
Obedience to elders and superiors is the one great duty inculcated in the minds of all Germans, and Hans is taught to look upon his master as a second father; to consider short commons as a regulation for his especial good, and to bear cuffing—if he should fall in the way of it—patiently. If he be an apprentice in Vienna, he may possibly breakfast upon a hunch of brown bread, and an unlimited supply of water; dine upon a thin soup and a block of tasteless, fresh-boiled beef; and sup upon a cold crust. He may fare better or worse; but, as a general rule, he will sleep in a vile hole, will look upon coffee and butter as undeniable luxuries, and know the weight of his master’s hand.
Hans has one great source of pleasure. There is a state school, which he attends on Sundays, and where he is instructed in drawing and modelling. In his future travels he will find the advantage he has acquired over less educated mechanics in this necessary knowledge; and should he come to England, he will discover that his skill as a draughtsman will place him at once in a position superior to that of the chance-taught workmen about him. He completes his apprenticeship without attempting to run away. That is practically impossible; but he yearns, with all the ardour of a young heart, for the happy day when he may tramp out of his native town with his knapsack on his back, and the wide world before him.
We will suppose Hans out of his time, and declared a free journeyman by the guild. The law of his country now has it that he must travel—generally for three years, perhaps four or six—before he can take up the position of a master. He may work for a short period in his native town as a journeyman, but forth he must; nor is he in any way loth. One only contingency there is, which may serve to arrest him in his course,—he may be drawn as a conscript—and, possibly, forget in the next two or three years, as a soldier, all he has previously learned in four as a mechanic. But we suppose Hans to have escaped this peril, and to be on the eve of his departure.
When an English gentleman, or mechanic, or beggar, in these isles, has resolved upon making a journey, he has but to pack up his traps, whether it be in his portmanteau, his deal-box, or his pocket-handkerchief; to purchase his ticket at the railway or steam-packet station; and without asking or consulting with anybody about the matter, to take his seat in the vehicle, and off he goes.
Not so Hans. He gives his master fourteen days’ notice of his intention to wander; applies to the aldermen of his guild for copies of the various documents concerning himself in their possession; and obtains from his employer a written attestation of his past services. This document is called a “Kundschaft;” is written in set form, acknowledges his probity and industry, and is countersigned by the two aldermen. He is now in a condition to wait upon the “Herberges-Vater” (the landlord of the House of Call), and request his signature also. The Vater, seeing that Hans owes nothing to him or to any other townsman—and all creditors know that they have only to report their claims at the Herberge to obtain for them a strict attention—signs his paper, “all quit.” Surely he may start forth now! Not so; the most important document is still wanting. He has, as yet, no passport or wander-book.
Hans goes to the police-bureau, and, as he is poor, has to wait a long while. If Hans were rich, or an artist, or a master’s son, it is highly probable that ho would be able to obtain a passport—and the possession of a passport guarantees many advantages—but as Hans is simply a workman, a “wander-book” only is granted to him. This does indeed cost him less money, but it thrusts him into an unwelcome position, from which it is not easy to escape. He is placed under stricter rule, and, among other things, is forced, during his wandering, to sleep at his trade Herberge, which, from the very monopoly it thus enjoys, is about the worst place he could go to for a lodging.