Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 12, No. 31, October, 1873Various
History
Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 12, No. 31, October, 1873
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
Yet before that little disaster of my calf period I sighed for the
Rhine: I used its wines more freely than was perhaps good for me, and
when the smoke-colored goblet was empty would declare that if I were a
German I should be proud of the grape-wreathed river too. At Bingen
I once sat up to behold the bold outline of the banks crested with
ruins, which in the morning proved to be a slated roof and chimneys.
And when at Heidelberg I saw the Neckar open upon the broad Rhine
plain like the mouth of a trumpet, I felt inspired, and built
every evening on my table a perfect cathedral of slim, spire-shaped
bottles--sunny pinnacles of Johannisberger.
And now, decoyed to the Rhine by a puerile conspiracy, how could I
best get the small change for my five hours?
[Illustration: STRASBURG CATHEDRAL IN FLAMES.]
Should I sulk like a bear in the parlor of the Maison Rouge until the
departure of the Paris train, or should I explore the city? Some wave
from my fond, foolish past flowed over me and filled me with desire.
I felt that I loved the Rhine and the Rhine cities once more. And where
could I better retie myself to those old pilgrim habits than in this
citadel of heroism, a place sanctied by recent woes, a city proved
by its endurance through a siege which even that of Paris hardly
surpassed? One draught, then, from the epic Rhine! To-morrow, at
Marly, I could laugh over it all with Hohenfels.
The Münster was before me--the highest tower in Europe, if we except
the hideous cast-iron abortion at Rouen. I recollected that in my
younger days I had been defrauded of my fair share of tower-climbing.
Hohenfels had a saying that most travelers are a sort of children, who
need to touch all they see, and who will climb to every broken tooth
of a castle they find on their way, getting a tiresome ascent and hot
sunshine for their pains. "I trust we are wiser," he would observe,
so unanswerably that I passed with him up the Rhine quite, as I may
express it, on the ground floor.
I marched to the cathedral, determined to ascend, and when I saw the
look of it changed my mind.
The sacristan, in fact, advised me not to go up after he had taken my
fee and obtained a view of my proportions over the tube of his
key, which he pretended to whistle into. We sat down together as I
recovered my breath, after which I wandered through the nave with
my guide, admiring the statue of the original architect, who stands
looking at the interior--a kind of Wren "circumspecting" his own
monument. At high noon the twelve apostles come out from the famous
horologe and take up their march, and chanticleer, on one of the
summits of the clock-case, opens his brazen throat and crows loud
enough to fill the farthest recesses of the church with his harsh
alarum.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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