Zigzag Journeys in Northern Lands. The Rhine to the Arctic. A Summer Trip of the Zig-Zag Club Through Holland, Germany, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden

The Saxons were heathens. They honored a great idol called the Irmansaul. They were opposed to Charlemagne, and constantly threatened his frontiers.

Charlemagne invaded their country, overthrew the great image, and after many struggles reduced the people to submission. In accordance with the rude customs of the time, he compelled them to accept Christianity and receive baptism. He is said to have baptized the prisoners of war with his own hand. He divided Saxony into eight bishoprics, and supported the bishops with guards of soldiers. We should look upon such missionary work as this as very questionable to-day, although enlightened nations of this age have sometimes adopted a policy in dealing with other countries that is as open to criticism and censure.

The Pope of Rome became involved in troubles with the Lombards. He appealed for help to the victorious King of the Franks, the recognized champion of the Church. Charlemagne crossed the Alps, conquered Lombardy, and crowned himself with the iron crown of the ancient Lombard kings.

He then repaired to Rome and entered the city in triumph. As he came to St. Peter’s he stooped to kiss the steps in memory of the illustrious men that had trodden it before him. The Pope there received him in great ceremony, and the choir chanted, “Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.”

He now became the most powerful monarch in the world. He gained great victories over the Moors in Spain, and it was in one of the mountain passes there that the chivalrous young Roland, of heroic song, perished. His lands stretched from the Baltic Sea to the Mediterranean.

In the year 800 he went to Rome. It was Christmas Day. He entered the basilica of St. Peter’s to attend Mass. He approached the altar, and bowed to pray. The Pope secretly uplifted the crown of the world and placed it upon his head.

The people shouted, “Long live Charles Augustus, crowned of God, Emperor of the Romans!”

From this time Charlemagne was the Kaiser, or Cæsar, of the Holy Roman Empire on the Tiber and the Rhine.

The Rhine was loved by Charlemagne. He lived much on its borders, and he was buried near it, in a church that he had founded, at Aix-la-Chapelle.

“I’d dwell where Charlemagne looked down,And, turning to his peers,Exclaimed: ‘Behold, for this fair landI’ve prayed and fought for years.’Then all the Rhine towers shook to hearThe earthquake of their cheers.“That day the tide ran crimson red(But not with Rhenish wine);Not with those vintage streams that throughThe green leaves gush and shine:’Twas blood that from the Lombard ranksRushed down into the Rhine.“’Twas here the German soldiers flocked,Burning with love and pride,And threw their muskets down to kissThe soil with French blood dyed.‘The Rhine, dear Rhine!’ ten thousand men,Kneeling together, cried.”Thornbury.

There is a beautiful legend that Charlemagne visits the Rhine yearly and blesses the vintage. He comes in a golden robe, and crosses the river on a golden bridge, and the bells of heaven chime above him as he fulfils his peaceful mission. The fine superstition is celebrated in music and verse.

“By the Rhine, the emerald river,How softly glows the night!The vine-clad hills are lyingIn the moonbeams’ golden light.“And on the hillside walkethA kingly shadow down,With sword and purple mantle,And heavy golden crown.“’Tis Charlemagne, the emperor,Who, with a powerful hand,For many a hundred yearsHath ruled in German land.“From out his grave in AachenHe hath arisen there,To bless once more his vineyards,And breathe their fragrant air.“By Rudesheim, on the water,The moon doth brightly shine,And buildeth a bridge of goldAcross the emerald Rhine.“The emperor walketh over,And all along the tideBestows his benedictionOn the vineyards far and wide.“Then turns he back to AachenIn his grave-sleep to remain,Till the New Year’s fragrant clustersShall call him forth again.”Emanuel Geibel.THE STORY AND LEGEND OF BARBAROSSA

Frederick of Germany was a very handsome man. There was a tinge of red in his beard, and for that reason he came to be called Frederick Barbarossa. He was an ambitious man, and he went to Rome to be crowned.

It was a time of rival popes, and Barbarossa entered into the long controversy, which would make a history of itself. He captured Milan, and levelled the city. The sacred relics in the churches were sent to enrich the churches of Germany. Among these were the reputed bodies of the three Wise Men of the East; these were sent to Cologne, and are still exhibited there amid heaps of jewels.

Barbarossa was constantly at war with popes and kings: he gained victories and suffered reverses; but his career was theatrical and popular in those rude times, and he was regarded as a very good monarch as kings went.

He once held a great peace festival at Mentz, to which came forty thousand knights. A camp of tents of silk and gold was set up by the Rhine, and musicians, called minnesingers, delighted the nobles and ladies with songs of heroes and knights. The songs and ballads then sung became famous, and this festival may be said to be the beginning of musical art in music-loving Germany.

Europe was now startled with the news that the Saracens under Saladin had taken Jerusalem. Barbarossa was about inaugurating a new war with the Pope; but when this news came he and the Pope became reconciled, and he resolved to go on a crusade.

He was an old man now, but he entered into the crusade with the fiery spirit of youth. His war-cry was, —

“Christ reigns! Christ conquers!”

He won a great victory at Iconium.

There was a swift, cold river near the battle-field, called Kaly Kadmus. A few days after the victory, Barbarossa went into it to bathe. He was struck by a chill and sank into the rapid current, and was drowned. He was seventy years of age. His body was found and interred at Antioch.

Of course the Germans attached to Barbarossa a legend, as they do to everything. They said that he was not dead, but had fallen a victim to enchantment. He and his knights had been put to sleep in the Kyffhauser cave in Thuringia. They sat around a stone table, waiting for release. His once red, but now white, beard was growing through the stone.

They also said that the spell that bound Barbarossa and his knights would some day be broken, and that they would come back to Germany. This would occur when the country should be in sore distress, and need a champion for its cause.

Ravens flew continually about the cave where the monarch and his knights were held enchanted. When they should cease to circle about it, the spell would be broken, and the grand old monarch would return to the Rhine.

They looked for him in days of calamity; but centuries passed, and he did not return.

The legend is thus told in song: —

“The ancient BarbarossaBy magic spell is bound, —Old Frederick the Kaiser,In castle underground.“The Kaiser hath not perished,He sleeps an iron sleep;For, in the castle hidden,He’s sunk in slumber deep.“With him the chiefest treasuresOf empire hath he ta’en,Wherewith, in fitting season,He shall appear again.“The Kaiser he is sittingUpon an ivory throne;Of marble is the tableHis head he resteth on.“His beard it is not flaxen;Like living fire it shines,And groweth through the tableWhereon his chin reclines.“As in a dream he noddeth,Then wakes he, heavy-eyed,And calls, with lifted finger,A stripling to his side.“‘Dwarf, get thee to the gateway,And tidings bring, if stillTheir course the ancient ravensAre wheeling round the hill.“‘For if the ancient ravensAre flying still around,A hundred years to slumberBy magic spell I’m bound.’”Friedrich Rückert.

The seven evenings with historic places on the Rhine had proved a source of profitable entertainment to the Club. It was proposed to continue the plan, and to follow Mr. Beal’s and the boys’ journey to the North.

“Let us add to these entertainments,” said Charlie Leland, —

“(1) A Night in Northern Germany. We will call it a Hamburg Night.

“(2) A Night in Denmark.

“(3) A Night in Sweden and Norway.”

The proposal was adopted, and Master Beal was asked to continue the narrative of travel, and all the members of the Club were requested to collect stories that illustrate the history, traditions, manners, and customs of these countries.

CHAPTER XII.

HAMBURG

Hamburg. – Berlin. – Potsdam. – Palace of Sans-Souci. – Story of the Struggles and Triumphs of Handel. – Story of Peter the Wild Boy

HAMBURG, the fine old city of the Elbe, is almost as large as was Boston before the annexation; it is familiar by name to American ears, for it is from Hamburg, as a port, that the yearly army of German emigrants come.

“I looked sadly upon Hamburg as I thought how many eyes filled with tears had turned back upon her spires and towers, her receding harbor, and seen the Germany of their ancestors, and the old city of Charlemagne, with its historic associations of a thousand years, fade forever from view. Down the Elbe go the steamers, and the emigrants with their eyes fixed on the shores! Then westward, ho, for the prairie territories of the great empire of the New World!

“More than six thousand vessels enter the harbor of Hamburg in a year. The flags of all nations float there, but the British red is everywhere seen.

“We visited the church of St. Michael, and ascended the steeple, which is four hundred and thirty-two feet high, or one hundred feet higher than the spire of St. Paul’s in London. We looked down on the city, the harbor, the canals. Our eye followed the Elbe on its way to the sea. On the north was Holstein; on the south, Hanover.

“From Hamburg we made a zigzag to Berlin and Potsdam. The railroad between the great German port and the brilliant capital is across a level country, the distance being about one hundred and seventy-five miles, or seven hours’ ride.

“Berlin, capital of Prussia and of the German Empire, the residence of the German Emperor, is situated in the midst of a vast plain; ‘an oasis of stone and brick in a Sahara of sand.’ It is about the size of New York, and it greatly resembles an American city, for the reason that everything there seems new.

“It has been called a city of palaces, and so it is, for many of the private residences would be fitting abodes for kings. The architecture is everywhere beautiful; all the elegances of Greek art meet the eye wherever it may turn. Ruins there are none; old quarters, none; quaint Gothic or mediæval buildings, none. The streets are so regular, the public squares so artistic, and the buildings such models of art, that the whole becomes monotonous.

“‘This is America over again,’ said an American traveller, who had joined our party. ‘Let us return.’

“Many of the buildings might remind one of the hanging gardens of old, so full are the balconies of flowers. The fronts of some of the private residences are flower gardens from the ground to the roofs.

“The emperor’s palace is the crowning architectural glory of the city. It is four hundred feet long.

“We visited the Zoölogical Gardens and the National Gallery of Pictures, the entrance to which makes a beautiful picture.

“We rode to Potsdam, a distance of some twenty miles. Potsdam is the Versailles of Germany. The road to Potsdam is a continuous avenue of trees, like the roads near Boston.

“Of course our object in visiting the town was to see the palace and gardens of Sans-Souci, the favorite residence of Frederick the Great.

“Frederick loved everything that was French in art. The French expression is seen on everything at Sans-Souci. The approach to the palace is by an avenue through gardens laid out in the Louis Quatorze style, with alleys, hedges, statues, and fountains.

“The famous palace stands on the top flight of a series of broad terraces, fronted with glass. Beneath these terraces grow vines, olives, and orange-trees. In the rear of the palace is a colonnade. There Frederick used to pace to and fro in the sunshine, when failing health and old age admonished him that death was near. As his religious hopes were few, his reflections must have been rather lonely when death’s winter came stealing on.

“The room where Frederick studied, and the adjoining apartment where he died, are shown. The former contains a library consisting wholly of books in French.

“We returned to Hamburg.

“We were in old Danish territory already. We stopped but one night at Hamburg on our return; then we made our way to the steamer which was to take us to the Denmark of to-day, Copenhagen.”

Among the stories on the Hamburg Night was one by a music-loving student of Yule, which he called

THE CITY OF HANDEL’S YOUTH

The composer of the “Messiah,” George Frederick Handel, was born at Halle, Germany, Feb. 23, 1685. He sang before he could talk plainly. His father, a physician, was alarmed, for he had a poor opinion of music and musicians. As the child grew, nature asserted that he would be a musician; the father declared he should be a lawyer.

Little George was kept from the public school, because the gamut was there taught. He might go to no place where music would be heard, and no musical instrument was permitted in the house.

But nature, aided by the wiser mother, triumphed. In those days musical nuns played upon a dumb spinet, that they might not disturb the quiet of their convents. It was a sort of piano, and the strings were muffled with cloth. One of these spinets was smuggled into the garret of Dr. Handel’s house. At night, George would steal up to the attic and practise upon it. But not a tinkle could the watchful father hear. Before the child was seven years of age he had taught himself to play upon the dumb instrument.

One day Dr. Handel started to visit a son in the service of a German duke. George begged to go, as he wished to hear the organ in the duke’s chapel. But not until he ran after the coach did the father consent.

They arrived at the palace as a chapel service was going on. The boy stole away to the organ-loft, and, after service, began playing. The duke, recognizing that it was not his organist’s style, sent a servant to learn who was playing. The man returned with the trembling boy.

Dr. Handel was both amazed and enraged. But the duke, patting the child on the head, drew out his story. “You are stifling a genius,” he said to the angry father; “this boy must not be snubbed.” The doctor, more subservient to a prince than to nature, consented that his son should study music.

During three years the boy studied with Zachau, the organist of the Halle Cathedral. They were years of hard work. One day his teacher said to George, “I can teach you no longer; you already know more than I do. You must go and study in Berlin.” Berlin was at once attracted to the youthful musician by his playing on the harpsichord and the organ. But the death of his father compelled him to earn his daily bread. Willing to descend, that he might rise, he became a violin player of minor parts at the Hamburg Opera House. The homage he had received prompted his vanity to create a surprise. He played badly, and acted as a verdant youth. The members of the orchestra sneeringly informed him that he would never earn his salt. Handel, however, waited his opportunity. One day the harpsichordist, the principal person in the orchestra, was absent. The band, thinking it would be a good joke, persuaded Handel to take his place. Laying aside his violin, he seated himself at the harpsichord, amid the smiles of the musicians. As he touched the keys the smiles gave place to looks of wonder. He played on, and the whole orchestra broke into loud applause. From that day until he left Hamburg, the youth of nineteen led the band.

Handel’s extraordinary skill as a performer was not wholly due to genius. He practised incessantly, so that every key of his harpsichord was hollowed like a spoon.

Handel’s greatest triumphs, as a composer, were won in England. But the music-loving Irish of Dublin had the honor of first welcoming his masterpiece, the “Messiah.” Such was the enthusiasm it created that ladies left their hoops at home, in order to get one hundred more listeners into the room.

A German poet calls the “Messiah” “a Christian epic in musical sounds.” The expression is a felicitous description of its theme and style. It celebrates the grandest of events with the sublimest strains that music may utter. The great composer commanded, and all the powers of music hastened with song and instrument to praise the life, death, and triumph of the Christ. No human composition ever voiced, in poetry or prose or music, such a masterly conception of the Virgin’s Son as that uttered by this magnificent oratorio.

The sacred Scriptures furnish the words. The seer’s prophecies, the Psalmist’s strains, the evangelist’s narrative, the angels’ song, the anthem of the redeemed, are transferred to aria, recitative, and chorus. The sentiment is as majestic as the music is grand. He who sought out the fitting words had studied his Bible, and he who joined to them musical sounds dwelt in the region of the sublime.

All the emotions are touched by the oratorio. Words and music quiver with fear, utter sorrow, plead with pathos, or exult in the joy of triumph. A symphony so paints a pastoral scene that the shepherds of Bethlehem are seen watching their flocks. One air, “He was despised,” suggests that its birth was amid tears. It was; for Handel sobbed aloud while composing it. It is the threnody of the oratorio.

The grandeur of the “Messiah” finds its highest expression in the “Hallelujah Chorus.” “I did think,” said Handel, describing, in imperfect English, his thought at the moment of composition, – “I did think I did see all heaven before me, and the great God himself.”

When the oratorio was first performed in London, the audience were transported at the words, “The Lord God omnipotent reigneth.” They all, with George II., who happened to be present, started to their feet and remained standing until the chorus was ended. This act of homage has become the custom with all English-speaking audiences.

“You have given the audience an excellent entertainment,” said a patronizing nobleman to Handel, at the close of the first performance of the “Messiah” in London.

“My lord,” replied the grand old composer, with dignity, “I should be very sorry if I only entertained them; I wish to make them better.”

A few years before his death Handel was smitten with blindness. He continued, however, to preside at his oratorios, being led by a lad to the organ, which, as leader, he played. One day, while conducting his oratorio of “Samson,” the old man turned pale and trembled with emotion, as the bass sung the blind giant’s lament: “Total eclipse! no sun, no moon!” As the audience saw the sightless eyes turned towards them, they were affected to tears.

Seized by a mortal illness, Handel expressed a wish that he might die on Good Friday, “in hope of meeting his good God, his sweet Lord and Saviour, on the day of his resurrection.” This consolation, it seems, was not denied him. For on his monument, standing in the Poets’ Corner of Westminster Abbey, is inscribed: “Died on Good Friday, April 14, 1759.”

Another story, which is associated with the woods of Hanover, near Hamburg, was entitled

PETER THE WILD BOY

In the year 1725, a few years after the capture of Marie le Blanc, a celebrated wild girl in France, there was seen in the woods, some twenty-five miles from Hanover, an object in form like a boy, yet running on his hands and feet, and eating grass and moss, like a beast.

The remarkable creature was captured, and was taken to Hanover by the superintendent of the House of Correction at Zell. It proved to be a boy evidently about thirteen years of age, yet possessing the habits and appetites of a mere animal. He was presented to King George I., at a state dinner at Hanover, and, the curiosity of the king being greatly excited, he became his patron.

In about a year after his capture he was taken to England, and exhibited to the court. While in that country he received the name of Peter the Wild Boy, by which ever after he was known.

Marie le Blanc, after proper training, became a lively, brilliant girl, and related to her friends and patrons the history of her early life; but Peter the Wild Boy seems to have been mentally deficient.

Dr. Arbuthnot, at whose house he resided for a time in his youth, spared no pains to teach him to talk; but his efforts met with but little success.

Peter seemed to comprehend the language and signs of beasts and birds far better than those of human beings, and to have more sympathy with the brute creation than with mankind. He, however, at last was taught to articulate the name of his royal patron, his own name, and some other words.

It was a long time before he became accustomed to the habits of civilization. He had evidently been used to sleeping on the boughs of trees, as a security from wild beasts, and when put to bed would tear the clothes, and hopping up take his naps in the corner of the room.

He regarded clothing with aversion, and when fully dressed was as uneasy as a culprit in prison. He was, however, generally docile, and submitted to discipline, and by degrees became more fit for human society.

He was attracted by beauty, and fond of finery, and it is related of him that he attempted to kiss the young and dashing Lady Walpole, in the circle at court. The manner in which the lovely woman received his attentions may be fancied.

Finding that he was incapable of education, his royal patron placed him in charge of a farmer, where he lived many years. Here he was visited by Lord Monboddo, a speculative English writer, who, in a metaphysical work, gives the following interesting account: —

“It was in the beginning of June, 1782, that I saw him in a farmhouse called Broadway, about a mile from Berkhamstead, kept there on a pension of thirty pounds, which the king pays. He is but of low stature, not exceeding five feet three inches, and though he must now be about seventy years of age, he has a fresh, healthy look. He wears his beard; his face is not at all ugly or disagreeable, and he has a look that may be called sensible or sagacious for a savage.

“About twenty years ago he used to elope, and once, as I was told, he wandered as far as Norfolk; but of late he has become quite tame, and either keeps the house or saunters about the farm. He has been, during the last thirteen years, where he lives at present, and before that he was twelve years with another farmer, whom I saw and conversed with.

“This farmer told me he had been put to school somewhere in Hertfordshire, but had only learned to articulate his own name, Peter, and the name of King George, both which I heard him pronounce very distinctly. But the woman of the house where he now is – for the man happened not to be home – told me he understood everything that was said to him concerning the common affairs of life, and I saw that he readily understood several things she said to him while I was present. Among other things she desired him to sing ‘Nancy Dawson,’ which he accordingly did, and another tune that she named. He was never mischievous, but had that gentleness of manners which I hold to be characteristic of our nature, at least till we become carnivorous, and hunters, or warriors. He feeds at present as the farmer and his wife do; but, as I was told by an old woman who remembered to have seen him when he first came to Hertfordshire, which she computed to be about fifty-five years before, he then fed much on leaves, particularly of cabbage, which she saw him eat raw. He was then, as she thought, about fifteen years of age, walked upright, but could climb trees like a squirrel. At present he not only eats flesh, but has acquired a taste for beer, and even for spirits, of which he inclines to drink more than he can get.

“The old farmer with whom he lived before he came to his present situation informed me that Peter had that taste before he came to him. He has also become very fond of fire, but has not acquired a liking for money; for though he takes it he does not keep it, but gives it to his landlord or landlady, which I suppose is a lesson they have taught him. He retains so much of his natural instinct that he has a fore-feeling of bad weather, growling, and howling, and showing great disorder before it comes on.”

Another philosopher, who made him a visit, obtained the following luminous information: —

“Who is your father?”