Odd Bits of Travel with Brush and Camera Part 10

_A Prussian Capital and a Fas.h.i.+onable Resort._

We Start for Berlin--Mountain and Valley--Harvesters--Villages--A Great City--Unter den Linden--Kroll Theatre and Garden--The City Streets--Ostend--A Fas.h.i.+onable Watering Place--The Promenade--The Kursaal--On the Beach--Bathing Machines--Studies for an Artist--The Race Course--Sunday--The Winning Horse--Fickle Dame Fortune--The English Channel--A Bureau of Information--Queenstown--An Irish La.s.s--The Last Stop--The End of the Journey.

The journey from Frankfort to Berlin is through a pleasant and interesting country. For many miles we look from the car windows upon an undulating landscape: hills and valleys follow each other in rapid succession as our train dashes along at the rate of a mile a minute. Now and then we pa.s.s men and women in the fields; and now young girls with bare feet and short skirts busily raking the hay,--true pictures of "Maud Muller on a summer day." And here is a whole group of "nut brown maids" laughing merrily at their work, while over in a corner of the field is the belle of the countryside listening shyly to the stalwart young harvester who stands on the border of the adjoining meadow.

"Her tresses loose behind Play on her neck and wanton with the wind; The rising blushes which her cheeks o'erspread Are opening roses in the lily's bed."

Now we pa.s.s the harvesters at rest, sitting under the green trees and hedges with their dinner pails beside them. It is a pleasant, peaceful picture. Here is a picturesque village with quaint looking houses, and a little gurgling brook in the foreground. An echo from the distant mountain answers the shrill whistle of our engine and we can see the silvery cloud of smoke that follows us wander off to the right, then fade away in misty fragments. In many of these settlements, there are shaded nooks where tables and chairs are placed, and here the villagers are sipping their beer, in happy social converse.

The young people wave their hands and caps to us as we pa.s.s, and with their bright costumes animate the lovely scenes which, although so close to each other, are of such different character. At last we reach Berlin, and our great iron horse stands puffing in the station, defying man to detect upon him any sign of exhaustion.

In this large city entertainment can be found for people of every kind and taste. The street known throughout the world as Unter-den-Linden is a splendid avenue, one hundred and sixty-five feet in width, and takes its name from the double row of linden trees with which it is ornamented. It is the busiest portion of the city, contains handsome hotels, beautiful palaces, large shops, and many fine statues of celebrated men.

The first day or two after your arrival in the city, engage a carriage and take in the general appearance of the city, its parks and suburbs; then visit the art galleries, museums, palaces and churches until the brain becomes accustomed to the bewildering array of subjects which demand attention. Stroll quietly along Unter-den-Linden stopping now and then at one of the many stores which line this beautiful avenue. At one end of this thoroughfare is the celebrated Brandenburg Gate, a sort of triumphal arch. It is a fine structure, two hundred feet wide and seventy-five feet high, supported by Doric columns. There are five entrances, the central one being reserved for the pa.s.sage of members of the royal family.

The Kroll Theatre and Gardens are a popular resort for the people of Berlin. These gardens are illuminated every evening by thousands of electric lights, arranged in various designs, as flowers, harps and other graceful forms, and this illuminated scene is the centre of a gay throng of pleasure seekers, who promenade the paths, or sit about in groups listening to the music of the fine orchestras stationed at each end of the s.p.a.cious grounds. The entertainment is not over until a very late hour.

There are a number of these gardens throughout the city, which are not, as may be supposed, frequented by the lower cla.s.ses of the people, but by persons of every rank in society. One can hardly appreciate this scene without having pa.s.sed an evening amid its light-hearted crowds.

Here may be seen officers of many honors, with conspicuous gold and silver badges, mingling with the groups gathered around the tables, or sauntering up and down the garden walks, as well as the private soldier in his regimentals happily quaffing his beer with his sweetheart by his side. t.i.tle and rank here as well as elsewhere throughout Germany, are honored and respected by all cla.s.ses, and the salute is gracefully made whenever one of the army or navy men meets his superior officer.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Thousands of fas.h.i.+onably dressed people appear upon this promenade." (_See page 343._)]

Berlin with its life and gayety, its grandeur and simplicity, its hospitality and good cheer, captivates our hearts, and we enter joyously into the many diversions it offers; as we sit among the honest and kind-hearted people, we feel the charm of their social atmosphere and wonder why other nations do not allow themselves more time for relaxation and the simple pleasures which abound here.

The Friedrichs-Stra.s.se is the longest street in the city: it is well laid out, and contains many handsome stores. Wilhelms-Stra.s.se is a beautiful avenue, and is considered the most aristocratic street in Berlin, as it contains the palaces of princes, ministers and other distinguished personages. A handsome square opens from this avenue, ornamented with flower-beds and fine statuary.

The museums here are called the Old Museum and the New Museum; they are connected by a pa.s.sage gallery. The entrance to the Old Museum is adorned by handsome statuary, and the grand portico is beautifully painted with allegorical and mythological subjects: within, the walls are decorated with frescoes representing barbarous and civilized life, and in the great rotunda are ancient statues of G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses. From this one pa.s.ses to the Gallery of G.o.ds and Heroes, the Grecian cabinet, the Hall of the Emperors, and that of Greek, Roman and a.s.syrian sculptures. But it is vain to attempt a description of this vast collection of paintings, and other works of art in the short s.p.a.ce I have to devote to the subject. To appreciate a collection of this kind, one should visit it in person.

The Thiergarten is a great park, two miles long, beautifully laid out, and containing many splendid old trees, rustic paths, and artificial ponds and streams. The grounds are ornamented with statuary, and the fine zoological collection is in good condition and well arranged. But we must leave fascinating Berlin, and pa.s.s on to other scenes.

Now we reach Ostend on the coast of Belgium, one of the most fas.h.i.+onable watering-places of Europe. During the season it attracts thousands of visitors, especially from Belgium and Holland. It was originally a fis.h.i.+ng station, but was enlarged by Philip the Good, and fortified by the Prince of Orange in 1583. In the early part of the seventeenth century it sustained one of the most remarkable sieges on record, holding out against the Spanish for a period of three years, and finally surrendering only at the command of the States General.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "There are many odd and fantastic sights here." (_See page 347._)]

To-day promenades take the places of the old fortifications, and handsome residences stand where the simple st.u.r.dy fisherfolk once dwelt in their cottages. The tide of fas.h.i.+on rolls where a simple people lived their daily life of care and toil. Here congregate people of every nation, the old and the young; and the cosmopolitan character of the promenade is a source of great entertainment to the stranger. As we approach the Digue or chief promenade, which is elevated fully a hundred feet above the beach, we are struck with the beauty of this grand esplanade, a hundred feet wide and extending miles along the sh.o.r.e. On the city side are many handsome buildings; residences, hotels, cafes and some stores. These buildings occupy a s.p.a.ce fully a mile in length, but the promenade with its tiled pavement skirts the sea for many miles.

Chairs and benches are placed at convenient intervals for the use of the public, and every day, especially in the afternoon, thousands of fas.h.i.+onably dressed people appear upon this walk, rejoicing in the opportunity to display elaborate gowns; some by strolling to and fro before the benches and chairs, and others by more ostentatiously driving by in handsome equipages, with coachmen and footmen in appropriate livery.

Yet it is delightful to sit here on a clear evening, listening to the harmonious melody of the sea, as it mingles its voice with the strains of a fine orchestra, and watching the merry throng pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing. The silent night afar out on the glistening waters seems like a brooding spirit.

"Thou boundless, s.h.i.+ning, glorious sea, With ecstasy I gaze on thee; And as I gaze, thy billowy roll Wakes the deep feelings of my soul."

We extend our walk and take in the Kursaal, a handsome structure of marble and iron built upon the side of the promenade. It covers a large area, and within its walls, the sounds of choice music are constantly heard. Dances, concerts and many other forms of entertainment keep this fas.h.i.+onable resort in a whirl both day and night. On many of these occasions the dressing is the most important feature of the affair. The people who resort thither are families of considerable wealth, and can, when they choose, run to extremes in paying court to Dame Fas.h.i.+on.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "One's portfolio might soon be filled with interesting subjects." (_See page 347._)]

Let us descend about noon, by the long low steps, from the promenade to the beach below, and here we will find a long unbroken line of wagons facing the sea. These wagons have large numbers painted conspicuously on their backs: upon one side is a window with a curtain carelessly drawn, and a pair of strong shafts is attached to each vehicle. The stranger will wonder what on earth these unsightly things are designed for, and why they thus mar the beauty of the beach. Have patience; inexperienced stranger, and you will see these inanimate wagons suddenly break ranks and now one, now another be hauled rapidly forward, some to the water's edge, others into the ocean up to the hubs. In explanation of this I would state that when the bathing hour arrives, a horse is attached to each wagon, and the occupant or occupants, when it reaches the water's edge, open the door and spring forth a nymph and her companions, in their scant bathing robes, ready for the plunge. The costumes of both men and women are not such as find favor with fastidious mortals, and many of the scenes witnessed on this beach would not be tolerated at any of our American watering-places.

It is quite common for men, women and children to remove their shoes and stockings and wade ankle deep in the surf.

However, there are many odd and fantastic sights here, and many pretty tableaux on the beach which would delight the eyes of an artist, and I often think that one's portfolio might soon be filled with interesting subjects.

As the races are to be held this afternoon at the Course, a mile beyond the Kursaal, and just off the promenade, we wend our way thither. The race-course is similar to those in England and France. As the appointed hour approaches, a throng of fas.h.i.+onable people seat themselves upon the grand stand, until every place is filled, and even the aisles are crowded with the elite of Ostend.

I forgot to mention the fact that the day is Sunday, but this seems to make little difference to these gayety-loving people.

The horses start, and now betting and excitement go hand in hand.

"Some play for gain: to pa.s.s time, others play For nothing; both do play the fool."

I have the peculiar good fortune on this occasion, of predicting the winning horse a number of consecutive times in my conversation with one of our party who sits beside me. These lucky guesses attract the attention of a stranger who is on my other side, and considering them as so many evidences of remarkable judgment or knowledge, he resolves to profit thereby. Accordingly before the next running, as the horses walk slowly before the spectators and the judges' stand, the man quietly asks me to name the winner in the next race. I quickly make a choice and mention the horse's name. The stranger bids me good-day and hastens away to place his "pile" with some bookmaker on the identical horse which I have named.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Many typical Irish characters come aboard our vessel."

(_See page 353._)]

With a rush of spirit and courage the n.o.ble animals fly over the course, and every jockey seated in a saddle looks determined to win. Faster and faster they urge the flying steeds with spur and voice, and the animals themselves, with distended nostrils and steaming breath dash past the judges' stand in frenzied effort. The merry jingle of the bell proclaims that the goal is reached: the great sign-board with the winner's name upon it is visible to all. What has become of my luck? And what has become of the stranger who relied on my judgment a few moments ago? My horse has lost. Goodness! I feel as though I have committed a crime, and I am very sure that Dame Fortune receives from me in private a score of epithets, not the most complimentary in the world for her unprincipled desertion. I feel sure that if I had my instantaneous camera, or pencil handy, this disappointed man's face would make a foreground in the picture that would surely be a "_winner_."

We leave Ostend on the steamer La Flandre. The schedule time is 10:40 A.

M. We go on board amid shouts of kindly farewell from our friends on sh.o.r.e. As it is a clear bright day with a delightful salt breeze, there is much pleasure in sitting on deck and enjoying the view. The English Channel is generally a turbulent body of water, noted for its many victories over the unfortunates who trust themselves in its power, but to-day it is mild and calm, probably plotting mischief to the next boat load of pa.s.sengers that shall come its way.

Indescribable confusion reigns in our hotel, at Liverpool, for more than a hundred of its guests are on the point of sailing for America.

Innumerable packages, grips, umbrellas and walking sticks line the corridors. Every one is moving to and fro in hot haste. One lady asks me if I know at what hour the steamer on which she has taken pa.s.sage will sail: another wants information in regard to her steamer: a man with perspiration trickling down his face begs me to tell him how to send his five trunks and other baggage to the landing stage. These and many more annoying and importunate people make life a burden to me. I do not know why they choose me to share in their misery. Do I look like a walking bureau of information, I wonder! If I do, I shall learn how to change my expression. But in truth the faces of these bewildered people are a study, and I am genuinely sorry for them.

The steamer cuts loose from her moorings, and moves gracefully out into the great ocean. As we approach Queenstown, we observe the small farms and dwellings close to the edge of the water. Then the lighthouse and the forts which guard the entrance to the harbor come into view, and now we drop anchor and wait for pa.s.sengers and the mails. A little steam tug becomes visible, and as she draws nearer, we learn that she is bearing the mails and pa.s.sengers to our s.h.i.+p. At last she is close beside us, and when made fast, the transfer takes place. Now is the time for the camera or sketch book, for many typical Irish characters come aboard our vessel, with strange, half-frightened faces, and their worldly belongings carried on their backs, or clutched tightly in their hands.

Among the group I notice a middle-aged woman with a young pig nestling peacefully under her arm. Whether it is a pet, or simply a piece of live stock to begin housekeeping with in the new country, I cannot say, but with a contented expression on both faces, Bridget and her pig disappear into the special quarters which are reserved for the emigrants. This whole scene is very interesting. The old-fas.h.i.+oned black glazed oilcloth bag and trunk play a conspicuous part in the picture, and here and there are seen bundles tied in red bandanna handkerchiefs and carried on the end of a stick, which is slung over the shoulder, while the corduroy knee breeches, woollen stockings, heavy shoes and pea-jackets with caps to match give us a fine representation of the Irishman on his native heath.

Several small boats are floating at our side: from one of these a rope is thrown to a sailor on our deck, and a bright and comely Irish girl climbs nimbly up, hand over hand, and stands among the cabin pa.s.sengers.

With quick, deft movements she pulls up a basket filled with Irish knickknacks, such as pipes, crosses, pigs, spoons and forks made of bog-wood; these, with knit shawls and similar articles, she displays on deck, and it would be difficult to find a prettier, wittier, more attractive specimen of old Ireland's la.s.ses than this. By means of her ready tongue she disposes of all her wares, and when the whistle warns all hands to leave the deck, she glides gracefully down the rope, and settling herself in her little boat, pulls for the sh.o.r.e.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Several small boats are floating at our side." (_See page 354._)]

This is our last stop until we reach New York. The anchor is pulled up, and away we go steaming on our homeward voyage. The little steam tug runs along beside us for a time, then the whistles of both vessels blow a farewell to each other, and our little comrade gradually fades from our sight.

Suddenly a heavy fog comes up, and the incessant blowing of the fog-horn is a tiresome sound: but the wind follows up the mist and scatters it far and wide, and now we have the boundless prospect of the ocean before us.

"Strongly it bears us along in smiling and limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean."

As we gaze upon it day after day, its beauty and grandeur grow upon us more and more. I can think of no better words than those of Childe Harold which so beautifully express the thoughts the scene inspires.

"Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll.

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin--his control Stops with the sh.o.r.e; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deeds, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined and unknown."

Then, as if by magic, the huge waves lessen in their angry murmurs, the surface becomes quiet and calm; evening creeps on, and the glow from a descending sun illuminates the scene. As I look upon this beautiful and restful picture, I think how true the words:

"Beyond is all abyss, Eternity, whose end no eye can reach."