A Tramp's Wallet
by active 1852-1870 William Duthie · English · Gutenberg #28320 · 539,625 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Tramp's Wallet
Author: active 1852-1870 William Duthie
Release date: March 13, 2009 [eBook #28320]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28320
Credits: This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAMP'S WALLET ***
This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
A
TRAMP'S WALLET;
STORED BY
AN ENGLISH GOLDSMITH
DURING HIS
Wanderings in Germany and France.
BY
WILLIAM DUTHIE.
DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, TO CHARLES DICKENS, ESQ.
* * * * *
LONDON:
DARTON AND CO., 58, HOLBORN HILL.
MDCCCLVIII.
* * * * *
[_The right of Translation is reserved by the Author_.]
* * * * *
TO
CHARLES DICKENS, ESQ.,
This Volume
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,
IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF HIS SYMPATHY AND
ENCOURAGEMENT DURING
THE PUBLICATION OF THE GREATER PORTION OF ITS CONTENTS;
AND AS A SLIGHT TRIBUTE OF ADMIRATION
FOR HIS UNWEARYING LABOURS AS A PUBLIC WRITER,
TO THE ADVANCEMENT OF THE WHOLE PEOPLE,
BY HIS SINCERE ADMIRER,
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
During a stay of three years and a half in Germany and France, sometimes
at work, sometimes tramping through the country, the Author collected a
number of facts and stray notes, which he has endeavoured in these pages
to present to the public in a readable shape.
Of the twenty-eight chapters contained in the volume, sixteen originally
appeared in "Household Words." They are entitled THE GERMAN WORKMAN;
HAMBURG TO LUBECK; LUBECK TO BERLIN; FAIR-TIME AT LEIPSIC; DOWN IN A
SILVER MINE; A LIFT IN A CART; THE TURKS' CELLAR; A TASTE OF AUSTRIAN
JAILS; WHAT MY LANDLORD BELIEVED; A WALK THROUGH A MOUNTAIN; CAUSE AND
EFFECT; THE FRENCH WORKMAN; LICENSED TO JUGGLE; PERE PANPAN; SOME GERMAN
SUNDAYS; and MORE SUNDAYS ABROAD. Several other chapters were published
in a weekly newspaper; and the remainder, together with the Introductory
Narrative, appear in print for the first time. For the careful and
valuable revision of that portion of his book which has appeared in
"Household Words," the Author here begs to express his sincere thanks;
and to acknowledge, in particular, his obligation to some unknown
collaborator, who, to the paper called "The French Workman," has added
some valuable information.
The desire of the Author in writing the Introductory Narrative was to
present to his readers a brief outline of his whole journey, and a
summary of its results; and to connect, so far as it was possible, the
somewhat fragmentary contents of the body of the work. It was also hoped
and believed that the statistical information there given, although of so
humble a character, would be valuable as illustrative of the social
condition of workmen in the countries to which they refer, and of a
character hitherto rarely attempted.
Written, as these chapters were, at intervals of time, and separately
published, each paper must be taken as complete in itself; and, as they
are separate incidents of one narrative, occasional repetitions occur,
which could scarcely have been erased, now that they are collected
together, without injuring the sense of the passage. For that portion of
the book which has appeared in print no apology will be expected; and,
with regard to the remainder, the Author has rather endeavoured to avoid
censure than hoped to propitiate it.
In conclusion, the Author must add, in order that he may not stand
self-accused of misleading his readers with regard to his personal
position, that good fortune has so far favoured his own exertions, that,
although still of the craft, he can no longer lay claim to the title of a
Journeyman Goldsmith. It was while in that capacity that the greater
part of the following pages were written: he cannot but believe that they
may be of some practical utility; and if, added to this, their perusal
should afford to his readers some portion of that pleasure which their
composition yielded to him, his purpose will have been fully answered.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY NARRATIVE
_Page_
HAMBURG.--ON TRAMP TO BERLIN i
BERLIN AND LEIPSIC.--ON TRAMP TO VIENNA vii
VIENNA xv
ON TRAMP TO PARIS xxiii
PARIS xxix
_Chapter_
I. HAMBURG 1
II. ALTONA.--A POET'S GRAVE.--A DANISH 6
HARVEST-HOME
III. "MAGNIFICENCE."--AT CHURCH.--THE LAST 9
HEADSMAN
IV. WORKMEN IN HAMBURG 15
V. PLAYS AND PICCADILLOES.--"HAMLET" IN GERMAN 19
VI. THE GERMAN WORKMAN 24
VII. HAMBURG TO LUBECK 36
VIII. LUBECK TO BERLIN 41
IX. BERLIN.--OUR HERBERGE 51
X. A STREET IN BERLIN 56
XI. POLICE AND PEOPLE 62
XII. THE KREUTZBERG.--A PRUSSIAN SUPPER AND 65
CAROUSE
XIII. FAIR-TIME AT LEIPSIC 70
XIV. DOWN IN A SILVER MINE 76
XV. A LIFT IN A CART 85
XVI. THE TURKS' CELLAR 94
XVII. A TASTE OF AUSTRIAN JAILS 99
XVIII. WHAT MY LANDLORD BELIEVED 108
XIX. AN EXECUTION IN VIENNA 113
XX. A JAIL EPISODE 116
XXI. A WALK THROUGH A MOUNTAIN 121
XXII. CAUSE AND EFFECT 130
XXIII. GREECE AND HER DELIVERER 137
XXIV. THE FRENCH WORKMAN 139
XXV. LICENSED TO JUGGLE 149
XXVI. PERE PANPAN 152
XXVII. SOME GERMAN SUNDAYS 162
XXVIII. MORE SUNDAYS ABROAD 173
INTRODUCTORY NARRATIVE.
HAMBURG.--ON TRAMP TO BERLIN.
There have appeared from time to time, in public print, sorrowful
recitals of journeys attempted by English workmen in foreign countries,
with no better result than the utter failure of the resources of the
adventurous traveller, and his return homeward by the aid of private
charity or the good offices of his consul. It is precisely because the
travels about to be here narrated were financially a success, being
prosecuted throughout by means of the wages earned during their progress,
that it is thought they may be worthy of publication; not that it is
imagined many such examples may not be found, but because success in such
an undertaking has not hitherto appeared so often before the public as
failure. This narrative is necessarily a personal one; and as it is my
especial object in this place to present these foreign rambles in a
pecuniary point of view, I trust I shall not be misunderstood in stating
minute items of receipt and expenditure, as such details, however trivial
they may appear, are of vital importance in estimating the comparative
position of the foreign and the English workman.
There was more than one cause which prompted me to seek my fortune
abroad; but it is sufficient here to state, that I had worked in the
company of Germans, and had thus become interested in their country, and,
as great depression prevailed at the time among the goldsmiths in London,
I provided myself with a letter of introduction to a working jeweller in
Hamburg, and prepared to start for this outpost of the great German
continent. My whole capital amounted to five pounds sterling; and, armed
with a passport from the Hanseatic consul, and provided with an extra
suit of clothes, a few books, and some creature comforts, I embarked for
my destination on board the "Glory," a trading schooner, then lying in
Shadwell basin.
I paid thirty shillings for my passage, including provisions, and could
have slept in the cabin, and fared with the captain, for two pounds, but
in the weak state of my finances, considered it only prudent to content
myself with sailor's beef and biscuit, and a hard bulk and coil of ropes
for my bed. After, to me, a rough sea and river passage of eight days,
marked by no greater incidents than belonged to the vicissitudes of the
weather, we crossed the sand-bar at the mouth of the Elbe, and were soon
safe at our moorings in the outer harbour of Hamburg. It was Sunday
morning; paddled on shore in the ship's boat, I found myself in a town
utterly strange to me, armed only with a letter addressed to a person
with whom I could not converse, and written in a language I did not
understand. My chief comforts were three sovereigns, carefully wrapped
in a piece of cotton print, and deposited in my fob.
In the course of a ramble through the town, I discovered an English
hotel, and was there happy in making the acquaintance of a needle-maker
of Redditch, Worcestershire, who at once offered to be my interpreter and
guide in search of employment. We began our peregrinations on the
morrow, and I was first introduced to the only English cabinet-maker
established in Hamburg, who, however, did not receive our visit
cheerfully. He drew a rueful picture of trade generally, but more
especially of his own. The hours of labour were long, he said; the work
was hard, and the wages contemptible. He concluded by assuring me that I
had been very ill advised to come there, and that the best course I could
pursue was to take the first ship home again. As I was not yet inclined
to follow this doleful piece of advice, we continued our enquiries. In a
short time I was shaking hands with the jeweller to whom my letter of
introduction was addressed; and before another hour had elapsed, acting
under his instructions, I had the gratification of knowing that I was "in
work," and, best of all, under an employer who spoke the English, French,
and German languages with equal facility. Thus, in ten days from leaving
England, eight of which were spent on the passage, I had found both
friends and employment in a foreign city, and now that my greatest source
of anxiety for the future was removed, felt thoroughly independent and at
my ease.
My companions in the workshop were a quiet Dane who spoke German, and a
young Frenchman, whom I will call Alcibiade, who had been in London, and
acquired a smattering of English. We worked twelve hours a day,
commencing at six o'clock in the morning--the whole city was up and busy
at that hour--and kept on till seven in the evening. Thirteen hours were
thus spent in the workshop, one of which was given to meals. The
practice of boarding the workmen is universal in Hamburg, and we
therefore fared at the table of our "principal," and were amply and well
provided for. During the first week of my stay in Hamburg, I lodged at
an humble English hotel, where I paid at the rate of ten marks a week for
bed and board, a sum equal to eleven shillings and eightpence.
Reasonable as this may appear, it was beyond my resources, and would
indeed have been a positive extravagance under the circumstances.
Moreover, the arrangements of the workshop forbade it. My next lodging
was at a German hotel, where I slept in a little cupboard which hung over
a black, sluggish canal, and was without stove or fire-place. The cost
of this chamber was five marks a month, or scarcely one shilling and
sixpence a week. These expenses will appear paltry and insignificant,
till compared with the amount of wages received, when it will be apparent
that boarding and lodging in an English hotel at eleven shillings and odd
pence a week, was a monstrous extravagance; and that even an apartment in
a German gasthaus, at five marks a month, was more than the slender
pittance received would reasonably bear. Alcibiade, who, besides being
an expert workman, was an excellent modeller and draughtsman, received
seven marks a week, with board and lodging, or eight shillings weekly in
positive cash. Peterkin the Dane, who was yet a novice, was in the
receipt of four marks a week, and paid for his own lodging--weekly pay,
four shillings and eightpence. My own wages were seven marks a week and
board, while I paid for my own lodging; and when, upon the departure of
Alcibiade for Berlin, I took possession of his bedroom--a mere box
without a window--a deduction of one mark was made as an equivalent. I
thus received in wages six marks; lodging may be reckoned at one, and
board at five marks a week--total, twelve marks; which will yield in
English money the magnificent sum of fourteen shillings.
In order to contrast these figures more fully with the pay of our English
artisans, it will be necessary to mention some further expenses to which
the workman in England is not liable, or in which the commercial
pre-eminence of his country gives him a marked advantage. With respect
to the former, as the employer in many cases furnishes only the ruder and
less portable machinery of the workshop, the workman has, to a certain
extent, to provide his own tools; and in regard to the latter, clothing
in general, and more especially cotton, woollen, and worsted articles of
apparel, are nearly as costly as in London.
Of the social position of the workmen, and the rules of the trade Guilds,
I have endeavoured to treat under the head of "THE GERMAN WORKMAN;" but
there are some matters there omitted which may be worthy of mention. I
was forcibly struck, as well in Hamburg as in other towns and cities of
Germany, by the almost total want of that cheap serial literature which
is so marked a feature of popular education in England. There was,
indeed, a penny magazine published in Leipsic, after the type of the
original periodical of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge;
but it found no purchasers among any of my acquaintances, and was only to
be seen, with a few other literary magazines, at the better sort of
eating and coffee-houses. The workmen were gay, and fond of amusement,
but not recklessly so. They were passionately fond of music, and formed
little clubs among themselves for the practice of choral singing. There
was shown no want of respect for the Church and its institutions, quite
the reverse; and I well remember that we were gratified with a holiday on
a day set apart by the authorities for the public confirmation of the
youths about to be apprenticed, and the whole ceremonial of which wore an
imposing and solemn character. The conscription was, I believe, made
also on that day. With respect to the relation between employers and
employed, there existed a degree of amiability and consideration for
which we look too often in vain in England, while it must also be
confessed that every mark of respect was rigorously exacted by the
master, and that his affability towards the workmen sometimes assumed the
character of an affectionate condescension towards a favoured menial. I
did not personally know any one married journeyman in Hamburg; but there
was one jeweller who had entered into the silken bonds of wedlock, and
who was pointed out to me with a shrug of the shoulder and a shake of the
head, as a doomed mortal.
It might be imagined that as the city of Hamburg claims the title of
"free," such assumed liberty might extend to its social institutions; as
well as to its port and navigation. Indeed, the worthy citizens are
under some such delusion themselves, and boast of immunities, and
liberalities of government, such as would place them at the head of the
German nation. It would be hard to know in what they consist. The
passport system is enforced with all its rigours and impertinences; an
annual conscription is taken of its inhabitants, and the more solvent of
them perform military service (this may perhaps be considered a liberty),
as a national guard, with the additional luxury of providing their own
weapons and equipments. Moreover, they were, at the time I write of,
called upon to render certain services in case of an outbreak of fire:
one contributing a bucket, another a rope, and a third a ladder; none of
which articles, as might easily be imagined, were forthcoming when most
wanted. The city tolls were heavy, and stringently levied, and, what
more nearly concerned the exercise of public liberty and private
convenience, the city gates were nominally closed at a certain hour in
the evening, varied according to the season of the year, and were only to
be passed after the appointed period by the payment of a toll. It was
curious to see the people hurrying towards the Jacob Thor on a Sunday
evening as the hour of closing approached, jostling and mobbing each
other in their endeavours to escape the human poll tax.
But men are free, or in fetters, only by comparison; and although the
rule of the senate of Hamburg, when contrasted with British government,
can scarcely be called a liberal one, there is little doubt that
identical laws are in Hamburg less stringently carried out than in other
and most parts of the great German continent.
Seven months' stay in Hamburg found me eager to commence the march into
Germany, which I had long meditated. Five months had already elapsed
since Alcibiade, my French fellow-workman, had departed for Berlin
(paying eight dollars for the journey by post), and he had never written
to inform me of his fortunes. I was resolved to follow him, and, if
possible, to seek him out, for we were already sworn friends; but my
finances would only allow of a journey on foot. During twenty-eight
weeks of employment in Hamburg, I had received two hundred and three
marks banco in wages, which would yield, in round numbers, twelve pounds
sterling, or exactly an average receipt of five shillings per week.
Against this sum were to be placed: expenses for tools, five shillings
and sixpence; trade society and police, five shillings and tenpence;
clothing and washing, three pounds, one shilling and twopence; and rent
and extra board, one pound seven shillings. Seventeen visits to theatres
at prices ranging from two shillings to sevenpence amounted to sixteen
shillings and sixpence, making a total of five pounds sixteen shillings.
The surplus of six pounds four shillings had been further reduced, by
outlay in necessities or indulgences, as the reader may assume according
to his fancy, to thirty marks banco. With this sum of thirty-five
shillings in English money, and consisting of two Dutch ducats and five
Prussian dollars, I started to tramp the two hundred miles between
Hamburg and Berlin. As a matter of explanation it may be stated that,
during a residence of seven months in Hamburg, I had acquired enough of
the German language to trust myself alone in the country.
Under the impression that I might be required to set to work in any town
on my route, like any travelling tinker, I had packed in my knapsack my
best scoopers and an upright drillstock; and these tools, while they
added to its weight, presented so many obdurate points of resistance to
my back. Stowed within the knapsack were an extra suit, two changes of
linen, a few books, a flute, and a pair of boots. It weighed
twenty-eight pounds. My remaining personal property was safely packed in
a trunk, and left in the hands of a friend, to be forwarded by waggon as
soon as my resting place should be determined.
I have only to deal in this place with the statistics of my first tramp.
The distance was lessened sixty miles by taking the _eilwagen_ from
Wusterhausen to Berlin, and nine days in all were spent upon the road.
My total expenses, including the dollar (three shillings) for coach fare,
amounted to eighteen shillings, or an average of two shillings a-day. Of
this sum I may particularise the cost of the straw-litter and early cup
of coffee at the outset of the journey, twopence; at Lubeck, where I
lodged respectably for one night, the bill was two shillings; at
Schonefeld, twopence halfpenny; a lodging, and board for two nights and a
day at Schwerin in a "grand hotel," but faring with the servants, cost
one shilling and ninepence; at Ludwigslust, a comfortable bed after a
grand supper with the carpenters at their house of call, was charged one
shilling and sevenpence; and at Perleberg, where I lodged superbly, the
cost was sixteen silver groschens, or a fraction over one shilling and
sixpence.
Against this I have to place the trade gift of two shillings at Lubeck,
being the whole contents of their cash box, and which was kindly forced
upon me. At Schonefeld I was urged by the masons to demand the usual
"geschenk" from the only jeweller in the village. "Why," exclaimed the
landlord, enthusiastically, "if you only get a penny, it will buy you a
glass of beer!" I overcame the temptation.
BERLIN AND LEIPSIC.--ON TRAMP TO VIENNA.
I was less fortunate in the search for work in Berlin than I had been in
Hamburg. Having started on my travels too early in the year, I paid the
penalty of my rashness. My guide into Berlin was a glovemaker, whose
acquaintance I had made upon the road, and through whom, curiously
enough, I succeeded in discovering my Parisian friend Alcibiade, the
first object of my search. Alcibiade, eccentric, but frank and generous,
received me like a brother. There was no employment to be obtained in
Berlin, or assuredly he would have ferreted it out; more especially as in
the search he had the assistance of one of those philological curiosities
met with in Germany more often than in any other country, a
school-teacher, who seemed to have any number of foreign languages glibly
at the end of his tongue. I stayed a week in Berlin, sleeping at the
Herberge in the Schuster Gasse, described in the body of this work; and
when forced at length to depart, Alcibiade pressed four dollars upon me
as a loan, to help me on my further wanderings. It must be remembered
that my stock was reduced to seventeen shillings on my arrival at Berlin,
and as my expenses in this capital, during a week's vain search for
employment, amounted to nine shillings, I was but indifferently provided.
Under these circumstances I asserted my claim to the trade geschenk, and,
having fulfilled all the conditions of a tramp unable to find work,
received from the Guild twenty silver groschens, or two shillings.
Leipsic was my natural destination, and thither I proceeded by railway,
paying two dollars eight groschens for the transit in an open carriage.
This would give seven shillings in English money. The journey occupied
about twelve hours, and although the average speed through the Prussian
territory was slow, no sooner did we come upon Saxon ground at the
frontier town of Kothen, than we spun along over the sandy waste with a
rapidity which reminded one of a trip on an English railway. It was
already dark when the train reached Leipsic, and in the drizzling rain I
wandered round the city ditch and rampart, unknowing where to find a
lodging. At length, directed by a stranger to a trade herberge in the
Kleine Kirche Hof, after some demur on account of my not belonging to the
proper craft, I was admitted to a sort of out-house, paved with red
bricks, and allowed a bed for the night. On the morrow I presented a
letter of recommendation, from my good genius Alcibiade, to one of the
principal jewellers in the city, and felt inexpressibly happy on being at
once taken into employment. I spent two delightful months in Leipsic.
My fortnight's ramble, with its discomforts and anxieties, had given me a
desire for rest, and in the bustling town, (it was the Easter fair time),
skirted by its fringe of garden, and among its pleasant, good-natured
inhabitants, the time sped happily on.
The pay was better than in Hamburg, but the living worse. My wages were
four dollars--twelve shillings per week--and board and lodging. I slept
in the same room with my one fellow workman and an apprentice. It was
light, and scrupulously clean, but had the single disadvantage of being
so low in the ceiling, that one could not stand upright in it. Saxony
has the unenviable distinction of being the country the worst fed in
Germany. I had no prejudice against Saxon fare upon my arrival in
Leipsic, but found, after a fortnight's trial, that I could not possibly
endure its unvarying boiled fresh beef, excessively insipid, with no
other accompaniment than various kinds of beans stewed into a sort of
porridge. Potato dumplings were a luxury with us.
I am afraid I seriously offended my worthy "principal," on pleading my
inability to persist in this kind of training. But he acquiesced in the
desire to board myself, and generously made the additional payment of one
dollar sixteen groschens, or five shillings per week, for the purpose. I
found no difficulty in tracing out a "restauration," the proprietor of
which readily undertook to furnish one principal meal per diem for
seventeen silver groschens, that is, one shilling and eightpence
halfpenny per week, paid in advance. Each dinner cost, therefore, a
fraction less than threepence. With the remainder of the allowance it
was easy to purchase a simple supper, and even some small luxuries now
and then. The dinners, although certainly not sumptuous, were wholesome,
and infinitely more relishing than the fresh beef and beans of the
"principal's" table; while there was a relief in quitting the workshop
for a while, to descend the steep wooden staircase leading from the
street into the cellar, which formed the dining-room of the eating-house.
The great Easter fair had just commenced as I reached Leipsic, and with
its termination came my stay in the city also to an end. The work was
exhausted. I had luxuriated in a few brilliants and the old Polish
rose-diamonds, and had descended to mounting a monstrous meerschaum pipe
in silver. But now there was nothing left but the turquoises and
Bohemian garnets, set in millegriffes, and the Herr shook his head, and
decided that they would not pay; so I received notice to leave in a
fortnight. During this period of six weeks, my receipts in wages were
six-and-twenty Prussian dollars, or three pounds eighteen shillings,
which would allow an average of eleven shillings per week with board and
lodging. Of expenses incurred there were: for Guild and police,
eightpence; and clothing and washing, fourteen shillings. The Leipsicers
have an ugly trick of doubling the prices of the theatre during the fair
time, so that my expenditure on that head was _nil_. My trunk, forwarded
from Hamburg in fourteen days, and weighing seventy pounds, cost three
shillings in the transit, including sixpence for city toll.
After a vain search for further employment in Leipsic, and a
disappointment of obtaining a situation in Altenburg, there appeared
nothing before me but a toilsome march through Dresden to Vienna, with
little hope of finding occupation by the way, and scarcely more than
twenty shillings in my pocket. At this crisis there came a welcome
letter from Alcibiade, with the tidings that certain employment, for at
least two months, awaited me in Berlin. This was pleasant news indeed;
and the Herr entered so fully into the necessity of seizing this golden
opportunity, that he kindly released me from a day's labor, that I might
have full time to make my preparations. One would naturally suppose that
a few hours would suffice to pack my little stores and to depart; but
there were the Guild regulations to fulfil, the railway officials to be
waited on, and the police to satisfy. The last-named gentlemen would not
consent to _vise_ my passport till I should produce my railway ticket, as
a proof of my intention to go; while the railway officials doubted the
propriety of issuing a ticket till I had received the authority of the
police for my departure. Here was a case of daggers--a dead lock; but
the railway was obliged to cede the ground, and I departed in peace. As
I was to start at six in the morning, the Herr rose earlier than was his
wont, prepared for me with his own hands a cup of hot coffee, kissed me
on both cheeks, and wished me God speed.
My stay in Berlin was limited to six weeks. It would have been longer,
but that Alcibiade had set his heart upon tramping to Vienna at the end
of that period; and I was pledged to accompany him. We worked together
at one of the court jewellers. Alcibiade stood in high favour, and
received in wages thirty dollars per calendar month, or an average rate
of twenty-two shillings and sixpence a week. My own wages were fixed at
twenty-four dollars a month to begin with, or eighteen shillings a week;
but I received ten dollars for the last ten days of my engagement, which
brought me on a level with my Parisian friend. These were, I believe,
high wages. We worked twelve hours a day. The city of Berlin had
outgrown the feudal usages of Hamburg and Leipsic, and we were no longer
lodged under the same roof with the Herr, nor humbly ate at his table.
Alcibiade had an apartment in a rambling house with a princely staircase,
but the central court of which happened, unfortunately, to be a stable.
An extra bed and double rent enabled us to domicile together, and we paid
for this chamber, roomy and commodious (always overlooking the stable),
per month, together with morning coffee and a bullet of white bread, two
dollars eighteen groschens each. This would give, in English money,
seven shillings and tenpence, being less than two shillings a week. Our
average expenses for living were five shillings each per week; and thus,
while our whole weekly necessities were met by the sum of seven
shillings, we were in the receipt of eighteen shillings and twenty-two
shillings and sixpence respectively. Reckoning, however, the average
wages in Berlin at sixteen shillings a week, it will be seen that the
artisan, whose necessary outlay for food and lodging need certainly not
exceed seven shillings, is at least in as good a position as his
self-vaunted brother of London upon thirty shillings. It naturally
results that the mechanics of Berlin, unlike those of the smaller towns
of Germany, "are married and given in marriage," although the practice is
regarded even there as indiscreet and improvident. It is doubtless a
creditable feeling which demands of the workman that he shall have past
out of his state of servitude, and have gained the position of an
employer of labor, before he dare assume still higher responsibilities;
but the system has also great evils.
During my employment of one calendar month and ten days in Berlin, I
received thirty-four dollars in wages, or five pounds two shillings. Of
expenses, to the trade Guild, were paid tenpence; for a silk hat, four
shillings and twopence; a visit to Potsdam cost three shillings and
tenpence, including railway fare; and the fee for viewing the King's
Palace in Berlin was tenpence. One shilling and twopence were lost in
_agio_, in exchanging my small remaining stock of Prussian dollars into
Austrian gold. I may mention, that the binding of an 18mo. volume in
boards, covered in paper, cost one groschen, eight pfennige, or, as
nearly as it can be calculated, twopence in English money.
As we were upon the point of departure, there arrived in Berlin an old
friend whom we had known in Hamburg, a silversmith of Vienna, accompanied
by two other silversmiths, natives of Lubeck, all bound to the same goal.
We made common cause at once. We started by rail for Leipsic; Alcibiade
provided with a purse of no less than eighty dollars, or twelve pounds
sterling, his savings in Berlin, while my own stock, with all my sparing
and scraping, scarcely amounted to two pounds.
The length of the railway between Berlin and Leipsic is between eighty
and a hundred miles. From Leipsic, where we stayed only one night,
sleeping at the herberge, and supping off roasted pigeons, we had, in
round numbers, about four hundred miles before us.
Having narrated the chief incidents of this journey under other heads, I
will only mention isolated points there omitted, and sum up its general
results. Leipsic was our real starting-point for the tramp, and our
first haven the Saxon capital Dresden. We took the road through
Altenburg, thus diverging considerably from the common route, in order to
visit the silver mines of Freiberg, and ramble through the romantic
scenery of the Plaunischen Grund. We passed through Saxon Altenburg,
Zwickau, Lichtenstein, Chemnitz, Oderan, Freiberg, Tharant, and Wildsruf,
and arrived in the evening of the fifth day at Dresden. We had in
reality no business near Zwickau, but were seduced out of our direct
route by the offer of a cheap ride in an open waggon, and were thus led
to a secluded village, where our couch of rest was among the beer puddles
on the table of the village tap. On the morrow we found we were a day's
march out of our road. Finding that my stock of cash was already reduced
to the half of its original bulk, that I had indeed expended one pound, I
seriously endeavoured to find employment in Dresden; but utterly failing
in that hope, I claimed the "viaticum" of the Guild, which was ten silver
groschens, or one shilling. We lodged at the herberge during our stay,
and were cleanly and comfortably housed, and at a reasonable cost. It is
a fact highly honourable to the Saxons, that the only trade herberges in
Germany which are in any way decent, are those of Leipsic and Dresden.
We rested in the Saxon capital during three days, visiting its principal
attractions, and then prepared once more for the road.
There were many official regulations to observe before we could quit the
city. Alcibiade and I, who had passports, were not called upon to show
the condition of our finances, but our three companions, possessing only
wander-books, an inferior kind of pass which marks the holder as a simple
workman wholly dependent on his labor, were called upon to exhibit a sum
equal to at least ten shillings each. Now, the collective resources of
our three companions were certainly not equal to one pound ten shillings;
but, as may be easily imagined, a little sleight-of-hand would make any
one of them appear to be possessed of the stock of the whole. And this
was done; and thus the police were daily and hourly deceived. In
addition to the usual official routine--the testimony of the father of
the herberge to our having paid our score, the authority of the vorsteher
that we were not indebted to the Guild, and the usual police _visa_--we
had each to obtain the signature of his own consul; that of the Saxon
minister, as a testimony of his willingness to allow us to go; and of the
Austrian consul, as a sign that the Imperial Government was not
disinclined to receive us. This done, we departed under strict
injunctions to proceed through Pirna, a town which, as it was completely
out of our route, we never took any pains to reach. How we escaped
punishment for this infraction of police directions I scarcely know, but
we heard no more of the matter. When we had already passed through the
most romantic portion of Saxon Switzerland, and were slowly descending to
the plain, we met a poor, footsore wanderer, with a woe-begone visage,
who proved to be the dejected object of official vengeance. Four days
before, he had started from Dresden full of life and hope, but on
arriving at the frontier town of Peterswald, it was discovered that he
had neglected to obtain the signature of one of the numerous gentlemen of
whose existence he was scarcely even cognizant, and so was driven back to
Dresden to seek the required attestation, with loss of time, loss of
money, and almost broken-hearted.
When we reached the Saxon frontier our little party, by the addition of
other tramps, had increased to the number of ten; and we leaped the
boundary line at word of command, and stood on Austrian territory. We
had been warned of a rigorous search for letters and tobacco at
Peterswald, and as we had made due arrangements for the visitation, we
felt somewhat slighted at our knapsacks being passed over with little
better than contempt. We had slept upon hay the previous night, but upon
our arrival at Toplitz, which we entered in a cabriolet, three of us
inside with five knapsacks, and other two companions hanging on behind,
we boldly took up our abode at one of the first hotels, and were, the
whole five of us, crammed into a little room on the top floor, and
charged a zwanziger (eightpence) a head for the accommodation. We looked
upon this charge as little short of a robbery. On the following day we
approached Prague, and I got a lift in a waggon, of about ten miles, and
then laid down by the city gates till my four friends should come up.
Upon presenting ourselves at the wicket, we were challenged by the
sentinel, our passes taken from us by the military guard, and a sort of
receipt given for them. Our three companions having only wander-books,
were imperiously directed to their herberge for accommodation, while we
were permitted to consult our own tastes upon the matter. Of course we
accompanied our friends. The herberge gained, we descended by a stone
step to the common room, a vaulted chamber half under ground, very ill
lighted, and provided only with a few rude tables and benches. We called
for beer, being weary and thirsty, (the Praguer beer is especially good)
and requested a private room for our party. The hostess, a fat, vulgar
woman, being called by the astonished servant maid, sneered at our
presumption, and said we must content ourselves with common tramps'
lodging. We submitted; but the Viennese, who had a visit of some
importance to pay in the city, and wished to remove some of the stains of
travel, and make himself generally presentable, having requested some
simple means of making his toilet, was, after considerable delay,
presented with water in a pint mug, and a soiled neckcloth as a towel.
This was too much for the Austrian's proud stomach; a storm of abuse in
the richest Viennese dialect was poured forth upon the landlady, her
maid, and the whole establishment, which being liberally responded to,
there resulted an uproar of foul language, such as was seldom heard, even
in those regions. The hostess threatened us with the vengeance of the
police, should we attempt to leave our authorised herberge, to which we
replied by tossing the beer into the kennel, buckling on our knapsacks,
and stalking into the street. We soon found a decent hotel, with the
accommodation of a large room containing five beds, and at so reasonable
a price that my whole expenses of entertainment during the two days and
three nights of our stay in Prague, amounted only to one florin and forty
kreutzers (schein), or one shilling and sixpence. We heard no more of
our Bohemian herberge and its landlady. I may mention as a further proof
of the different treatment which awaits the holder of the workman's
wander-book, as compared with the bearer of a passport, that on attending
at the police office, Alcibiade and myself were at once called into the
bureau, and our duly _vised_ passports handed to us with great
politeness, while our companions were left to cool their heels in a stone
paved hall, till the officials could find time to attend to them. We
soon left Prague, and were assisted on our journey towards Brunn by a
lift in a country cart, which brought us fifty English miles forward on
our road. We did not sleep in a bed during four consecutive nights; not,
indeed, till we reached the village of Goldentraum, on the Moravian
frontier. This was not the result of any wish of our own, but from an
apparent deficiency of beds in that part of the country. On one occasion
a heap of hay was delicately covered with a clean white cloth, lest the
stubbly ends should trouble our slumbers--a woman's attention you may be
sure--while on another, we slept on the bare boards, with no other
pillows than our knapsacks, in a room, the air of which was at fever heat
from recent bread-baking, and where the fierce flies made circular sweeps
at our ears, and droned about our nostrils. But we did sleep in spite of
that, for we had tramped more than thirty miles during the day.
From Goldentraum there were still twenty English miles to Brunn, the
capital of Moravia, and thence thirty-eight German stunden, or about
eighty English miles, to Vienna. My funds were now reduced to about four
shillings, and we had still one hundred miles before us. One of our
Lubecker silversmiths, who had been ailing throughout the whole journey,
was unable to proceed further on foot, and we left him at Goldenstraun to
take a place in the eilwagen later in the day. We had, however, scarcely
made half our journey, when Alcibiade and the Viennese also gave
in--their feet were fearfully blistered--and seated themselves by the
road-side to await the expected conveyance. The remaining Lubecker, whom
we had called Hannibal, and myself tramped on to Brunn. On the morrow we
traced out our three friends, but found them still so lame that they were
resolved to take the railway to Vienna at an expense of three guldens
(muntz), about six shillings each. As my own resources were reduced to
less than half that sum, and those of Hannibal were in much the same
condition, there remained to us two only a choice of evils: either to
borrow the requisite amount, or to tramp the remaining distance on our
diminished finances. We chose the latter course. We walked the eighty
miles between Brunn and Vienna in two days and a half, subsisting chiefly
on bread and fruit--pears and plums, which were very plentiful--and long
pulls at the pumps. We were once induced to indulge in a half seidle
(pint) of wine, which was offered at a temptingly low price, but found it
of such a muddy and sour quality, that we bitterly repented of our
bargain.
When within a few miles of Vienna, having been on the march since five in
the morning, we laid down on the road-side to sleep. It was with
something like grief that I felt myself forced to abandon one pair of
boots, a few miles before Vienna. I had brought them from London, and
they had done me good service; but now, with split and ragged fronts, and
scarcely a sole, they were only a torture to my feet, and a long way past
repair. I perched them on a little hillock with their toes pointing
towards Vienna, and turned round more than once as we advanced, to give
another farewell look to such faithful and long companions.
After a refreshing sleep on the road-side, we entered Vienna early in the
afternoon. Hannibal was no richer than I was, and my whole stock
consisted of six groschens, a sum equal to threepence.
VIENNA.
My first notes in Vienna must undoubtedly be devoted to the police. As
Hannibal and I arrived at the guard-house of the Tabor Linie, or barrier,
we were ordered by the sentinel to halt and hand over our papers; and,
upon doing so, received a slip of very little better than sugar paper in
return, with printed directions in German, French, and Italian,
commanding our attendance at the chief police office within twenty-four
hours. We knew better than to disobey. On the following morning we
presented ourselves and handed in our tickets, when mine was returned to
me with the words: "Three days' residence," written on the back.
"And should I not obtain employment in three days?" I inquired. "Then
you must leave Vienna."
Hannibal was permitted greater licence, being a native of one of the
states of the Bund; but both he and his fellow-townsmen of Lubeck were
taken into fictitious employment, in order to obtain the necessary
residence-card. Alcibiade, as a Frenchman, and, moreover, as being still
possessed of a certain amount of hard cash, was also more leniently dealt
with. Not having found work on the fourth day I waited again upon the
police, and was at first peremptorily ordered to depart; but, upon
explaining that I had friends in the city, a further stay of fourteen
days was promised, on the production of a written recommendation. On the
following day, through the friendship of our Viennese companion of the
road, I found work at a small shop-keeper's in the suburb of Maria-hilf.
Mark the routine. From my new employer I received a written attestation
of my engagement; with this I waited upon the police commissioner of the
district for his signature, and thence to the magistrate of the suburb to
obtain the authority of his name to the act. This done, I was in a
position to face the head police authorities in the city, and they, to my
astonishment, doled out a six weeks' permission of residence only, and
charged me a gulden, two shillings, for the document. I pleaded my
position as a workman, but was answered that my passport was that of a
merchant. This was disproved by every entry on its broad sheet, more
especially by a written description by the magistrate of Perleberg,
Prussia. All remonstrances were, however, in vain: while unemployed they
had dealt with me as a workman without resources; now that I was under
engagement, they taxed me like a proprietor. Alcibiade at once furnished
the means of meeting this new difficulty, as, indeed, of every other
connected with our finances at this period, and we consoled ourselves
with the assurance that one of us at least was in employment. Our
disgust was only equalled by our despondency when, upon reaching home, we
were met with the news that my new Herr refused to complete his
engagement, having met with an old workman whom he preferred to a
stranger. By law he was bound to furnish me with a fortnight's work, and
I threatened him with an enforcement of my claim; but I knew I should
come off the worse in the struggle, and submitted to the injustice.
In the meantime two of our silversmiths were under fictitious
engagements--a common occurrence, and almost excusable under the
circumstances--and were dining upon credit. The times were bad. I did
not really commence work till the fourth week, and Alcibiade a week
later. But, these first difficulties overcome, our condition improved
daily; and for myself I can say with gratitude, that nowhere in Germany
was I more happy than in Vienna. Our position was this: Alcibiade was
engaged as a diamond jeweller at a weekly sum of six guldens, or twelve
shillings, a little more than half the sum he had earned in Berlin; but
no doubt, had he remained longer in the Austrian capital, he would have
increased his rate of pay. Unfortunately, after three months' stay there
came word from Paris requiring his presence by a certain day at the
military court of the department of Seine et Oise, to which, being a
native of Argenteuil, he belonged, to draw for the conscription.
Alcibiade was too good a Frenchman to hesitate about obeying this
summons, or even to murmur at the sacrifice it demanded of him. He left
Vienna with regret, but with the utmost alacrity; and thus I lost for a
time my best companion and sincerest friend. My first essay as a workman
in Vienna was discouraging, for I undertook, in my extremity, to execute
work to which I was unaccustomed, and made such indifferent progress at
the outset, that the Herr, a Russian from St. Petersburg, would only pay
me five guldens, or ten shillings a week. We worked twelve hours a day,
commencing at six o'clock in the morning in summer time; but there were a
number of fete and saint days in the year, which were paid for--I think
eight in all--including St. Leopold, the patron saint of Vienna; the
birth of the Virgin; _Corpus Christi Die_, and other church holidays. As
I improved in the practice of my new branch of business, I gained
additions to my wages, till I received nine gulden, eighteen shillings, a
week; a sum certainly much above the average pay.
Alcibiade and I lodged in a narrow slip of a room, the last of a suite of
three, on the first floor of a house, or rather conglomerate of houses,
in the Neudegger Gasse, Josephstadt. Our landlord was a worthy Bohemian
cabinet-maker; his wife, a Viennese, who kept everything in the neatest
order. I do not know how many families lived in this house; but it was a
huge parallelogram with a paved courtyard, in the centre of which stood a
wooden pump. There was a common stair in each corner, all of stone, and
a common closet at the bottom of each staircase, equally of stone, seat
and all, and very common indeed. Each lodging consisted of three
continuous rooms, with only one entrance from the common stair: first was
the kitchen, with cooking apparatus, and the oven, which warmed the whole
suite; then a larger room with two windows, at once workshop,
dining-room, and bed-room; and beyond this the narrow closet with one
window, which was our dormitory. Thus we had to pass through our
landlord's bed-room to get to our own. The other portions of the
building were arranged much in the same manner, and the house must have
had, in all, at least a hundred inhabitants. There are much larger
houses in the suburbs of Vienna, but they are all built upon the same
principle, with trifling modifications. Here are two cards of address,
which are models of exactness in their way, and will illustrate the
nature of these barracks in the best possible manner:
"JOSEPH UBERLACHNER,
Master Tailor,
Lives in the Wieden, in the Lumpertsgasse, next to the Suspension
bridge, No. 831, the left hand staircase on the second floor, door
No. 31."
"MARTIN SPIES,
Men's Tailor,
Lives in Neubau, Stuckgosse, No 149, in the courtyard, the right hand
staircase, on the second floor, door on the left hand."
The entrance to our house from the street was small and unimportant, and,
as may naturally be supposed, always open. The law was, however, strict
upon this subject, and permitted the house to be open in summer from five
in the morning till ten o'clock at night only; in winter from seven till
nine. There was a little room opening from the passage, where dwelt the
porter of the mansion. It was his duty to close the door at the
appointed hours; a duty which he scrupulously fulfilled, seeing that the
law empowered him to levy a fine of six kreutzers for his own especial
benefit, upon every inhabitant or stranger seeking egress or ingress
after the authorised hour of closing. The Viennese insist upon it that
this impost is recoverable by law; but, as the porter's whole existence
depends upon the employment of his labour in and about the house, and
therefore upon the good-will of its inhabitants, he takes care in general
not to be too pressing for his toll.
Our dormitory, diminutive as it appeared, still managed to contain two
single bedsteads (French), a wash-hand-stand, wardrobe, used in common by
landlord and lodgers, a table, and two chairs. We paid in rent twelve
florins a month, or barely ten shillings between us; add to this, for
washing, candles, and morning coffee (a tiny cup at six in the morning,
before starting to work), another four florins, and our united expenses
for these necessaries did not exceed thirteen shillings per month. As in
Berlin, we dined at a "restauration," or at the "Fress Madam's" (Mrs.
Gobble's), a jocose term for a private eating-house, well known to the
jewellers. The mid-day meal of the Viennese workman is remarkable for
strength and solidity, but also for its sameness. It always takes the
shape of fresh boiled beef and vegetables, the latter arranged in a thick
porridge of meal and fat. It commences, of course, with soup; is
followed by the "rind-fleisch and gemuse," as above; and, if you can
afford it, is concluded by some such sweet dish as flour puddings stewed
with prunes, a common sort of cake called zwieback, omelette, macaroni,
or a lighter kind of cake, baked and eaten with jam. All solid,
wholesome, and of the best. There is a choice of other more relishing
dishes, and of these we usually partook, with an occasional descent into
the regions of beef and greens. Vienna prides itself upon its baked
chickens and Danube carps, but these were beyond our reach on ordinary
occasions; and our usual delectation was upon Augsburger sausages; bacon
and sour kraut; breaded veal cutlets; ditto lamb's head; and roasted
liver and onions. When we drank the ordinary white wine, we did so much
diluted. To sup at the "restauration" would have entailed too great an
expense; we therefore contented ourselves with bread and a taste of
butter at home, moistened by a glass of a liquor resembling gin, seeing
that it was made of the juniper berry, which our landlord obtained for us
at about tenpence a quart. It was supposed to be smuggled from Hungary,
and Vater Bohm coloured and sweetened it with molasses, and called it
Schlipowitzer.
Our weekly outlay for food during the first month of residence in Vienna,
especially while unemployed, did not exceed five florins, _i.e._ four
shillings each. We ate bread and fruit in large quantities; indeed,
during one day my "rations" consisted of: breakfast at eight, half of a
coarse loaf and thirty plums; at twelve, one dozen pears and the other
half of the loaf; at seven a whole loaf, and forty more plums. Cost of
the whole, nine kreutzers (schein), or scarcely three halfpence in
English money. It was not surprising that I should fall ill upon this
diet, and this I accordingly did. When, however, we were in constant
work, we lived as I have already described, and at an average expense of
seven florins--five shillings and tenpence each weekly--and thus the
individual outlay for lodging, food, and other necessaries, was, in round
numbers, seven shillings and sixpence a week. A dinner on New Year's
Day, of baked pork and fried potatoes, with bread, wine, and apple puffs,
cost ninepence.
To return to the police. When my six weeks' permission of residence was
expired, I attended again at the chief office in the Stadt, with the
certificate of my employer, signed and countersigned by
police-commissioner and magistrate, and was granted thereon a further
term of three months at the same fee, two shillings; to me at that time a
day's wages. Subsequently, however, the "Herr," by means of a further
attestation, with vouchers from the landlord of the house, and the usual
official signatures, obtained for me a card of residence for six months,
gratis, and I experienced no more trouble on that head. This, and the
various other certificates, were upon stamped paper of the value of six
kreutzers, or one penny. While upon this subject I may observe, that
domestic servants must make known to the police every change of service.
They are hired by the month. Change of residence is also a matter of
official interference: a printed sheet is handed to the new lodger, with
spaces for name, age, country, religion, condition, married or single,
where last resided, and probable length of stay in new apartments. All
these particulars must be stated and signed, witnessed by your own
particular landlord, and attested by the landlord of the house. The
document is then deposited in the archives of the district police.
At the termination of my first year's stay in Germany, I found that my
receipts in wages, during the twelve months, amounted to twenty-one
pounds six shillings and fourpence, an average of eight shillings and
twopence-halfpenny per week; but it must be remembered that, during nine
months of that period, board and lodging formed part of my remuneration.
I stayed a full year in Vienna, and received in wages, in all, three
hundred and sixty-two guldens, thirty kreutzers, or thirty-six pounds
five shillings. This would give, in round numbers, fourteen shillings
per week throughout the year. Of this sum, as I have said, seven
shillings and sixpence were on an average spent weekly in lodging and
necessary food; there therefore remained six shillings and sixpence for
clothes, amusements, and savings.
When the period arrived at which I had determined upon starting on foot
for Paris, my savings amounted to seven pounds sterling, and with that
sum I thought myself amply provided for the journey. In order that it
may not be supposed that I had suffered undue privations, or enforced, in
financial arrangements, anything beyond a reasonable economy, I must
state, that in addition to paying to the Guild and police, during the
year, eight florins twelve kreutzers, or six shillings and tenpence, I
had witnessed twenty-three theatrical representations, at prices varying
from fourpence to a shilling, at a total cost of eleven shillings and
fourpence; been present at eighteen concerts, at an outlay of seven
shillings and eightpence; and had visited the Bruhl, Woslau, Modlin,
Laxenburg, Helena-Thal, Klosterneuburg, Grinzing, and Weinhaus; the
Treasure Chamber, and picture-galleries innumerable; which latter,
although supposed to be open to public inspection free of expense, were
not conveniently accessible without a fee. Twenty-five kreutzers, or
fourpence, was the price of a seat in the gallery of the suburban
theatres of the Leopold, Joseph, and Wiener vorstadte; while tenpence and
a shilling procured a similar place in the imperial opera and play-house.
Hot sausages and beer were the luxuries vended in the former; while ices,
coffee, and delicate pastry, were the _bonnes bouches_ prepared for the
latter.
I found the workmen in Vienna industrious and submissive; gay,
thoughtless, and kind-hearted. In some trades it was still the practice
for the workmen, if not numerous, to sleep in the workshop. I knew a
cabinet-maker who did so, and he was very cleanly and well lodged. I
knew one or two married journeymen, and there were no doubt very many in
so large a capital as Vienna, but marriage among artisans was generally
condemned. The wages were on the average much less than I have stated; I
knew silversmiths who were earning only three and four florins a
week--six shillings and eight shillings; and I have no doubt that
tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, and others, were paid even less. I
visited one family circle in the Leopoldstadt which consisted of the man,
his wife and child, and three single men lodgers, who all lived and slept
in one room. I found the lodgers airing themselves in the court-yard,
while the beds were made and the room set in order. But I saw very
little of squalor or filth even in the poorest quarters. As a check upon
the assumed thoughtlessness of the Viennese artisans, the pawnbrokers are
by civil ordinance closed a week before and after every great holiday,
such as Easter, Whitsuntide, etc.
There were very many small masters, known in England as master-men, who
worked at home, and by their skill and quickness earned superior wages.
My own landlord was one of them, and called himself a "Gallanterie
Tischler." He was chiefly employed in ornamental woodwork for the
silversmiths, and, being tasty and expert, earned a very respectable
living. He used to buy English knives for certain parts of his work, on
account of the superiority of the steel, but he complained bitterly of
their clumsy and awkward fashion. He was extremely industrious during
the week, and many a pleasant Sunday visit have we paid to Weinhaus and
other suburban villages, when the "heueriger"--the young, half-made
wine--was to be tasted. Heueriger was sold at a few pence a quart, and
is a whitish liquid of an acid but not unpleasant flavour. It is a
treacherous drink, like most white wines, and from its apparently
innocent character tempts many into unexpected inebriation. The Viennese
delight in an Italian sausage called "Salami," said to be made of asses'
flesh, and a pale, but highly scented cheese, as the proper
accompaniments to the heueriger.
Domestic servants in Vienna have one very laborious duty to perform, and
that is the fetching of water from the springs. These springs are simply
pumps in appearance, and were so formerly, but the flow of water is now
continuous, and to be obtained without effort. It is painful to see the
poor girls bending under the weight of their water troughs, which are
carried on the back, and shaped something like a pannier with a flat
side. They are made of wood, hooped like a barrel, and have a
close-fitting lid. The Bohemian women perform duties even more
unsuitable. They are bricklayers labourers; and sift sand, mix mortar,
and carry slates on their heads to the highest houses. In these labours
they are sometimes assisted, or set aside, by the soldiery, the more
well-behaved of whom are allowed to hire themselves as labourers and
porters. In one case, as I know, a soldier was "put in possession," as
his Imperial Majesty's representative, and provided daily with a sum of
money as an equivalent for food.
There is another class of labourers who make themselves particularly
conspicuous in the streets of Vienna, and that is the "holzhacker," or
wood-chopper. Wood is the universal fuel, and is sold in klafters, or
stacks of six cubic feet. A klafter consists of logs, each about three
feet long, and apparently the split quarters of young trees of a uniform
size. This wood, when delivered to the purchaser, is shot upon the
footpath in front of the house, or in the court-yard, if there be a porte
cochere, which is not usual. The business of the holzhacker is to chop
the logs into small pieces for the convenience of burning, and this he
does in an incredibly short space of time, but to the great inconvenience
and sometimes personal risk of the passers by. He is, however, very
independent in his way, and is treated with astonishing forbearance by
the police. He is, moreover, the street wit of Vienna.
The Viennese workmen are not merely uninformed of, but in general,
perfectly indifferent to political matters. This ignorance may in a
great measure result from the unthinking and pleasure-seeking character
of the Viennese public--which levity is encouraged by the Government, as
taverns and concert rooms are open long after private houses are
closed--but is also to be traced to the uneasy position which the
citizens hold with respect to the police. It is not alone that the
restrictions and impediments of official routine render his social
existence a matter of public legislation, but there is an unpleasant
consciousness that his landlord, his neighbour on the same flat, his
barber, or his fellow workman, may be a "vertrauter," a spy in the pay of
the police, and his simplest actions, through their means, perverted into
misdemeanours. A worthy cooper, with whom I occasionally dined, on
reading a skeleton report of a public meeting in England, where working
men had made speeches and moved resolutions, exclaimed, as he threw down
the paper: "But, seriously, don't you think this very ridiculous?"
ON TRAMP TO PARIS.
We were three in number, a jeweller from Copenhagen, a Viennese
silversmith, and myself, who started from Vienna to walk to Paris. We
were all in tolerable feather as to funds. I was possessed of about
seventy guldens (seven pounds), and a little packet of fifty dozens of
piercing-saws, a trading speculation, which I hoped to smuggle over the
French frontier in my boots. I was better provided in all respects than
on any of my former journeys. We had forwarded our boxes to Strassburg,
our knapsacks were light, and we wore stout walking shoes with scarcely
any heels, and had prepared some well-boiled linen wrappers, intended,
when smeared with tallow, to serve the purpose of socks. They
effectually prevent blisters, and can be readily washed in any running
stream. Our first stage was by steam on the Danube to Linz, the capital
of Upper Austria; and we took our departure from Nussdorf amid the
valedictions and kisses of some thirty male friends, each of whom saluted
us thrice--on each cheek, and on the lips, for this is the true German
fashion, and may not be slighted or avoided.
A voyage on the water may seem a curious commencement of a foot journey;
but the fact is, that no one knows better than the tramp that a railway
or a steamboat is always cheaper than shoe-leather and time; and no doubt
as these new means of progress increase in number they will entirely
change the character of German trade-wanderings. From Vienna to Linz is,
in round numbers, a distance of one hundred and fifty English miles, and
this one vessel, the "Karl," got over in two days and a night. The wind
was against us, and it must be remembered that it is all up stream. The
Danube is upon the whole a melancholy river, of a sullen encroaching
character, for its whole course is marked by over-floodings and their
consequent desolation. The passage cost ten florins, twenty-five
kreutzers, or eight shillings and fourpence, and we slept on the table
below, on deck, or not at all, as we best could.
Our real starting-point on tramp was Linz, whence we pursued our way
through Wells, Gmunden, Ebensee, and Ishl to Salzburg, in which beautiful
city we rested for a day and half. We steamed across lake Traun from
Gmunden, and paid a fare of twenty-five kreutzers, or fourpence. From
Salzburg we pushed on to Hallein, to visit the salt mines there, and
thence diverged still further from the beaten route for the sake of
seeing the water-fall of Golling--the stern terrors of the OEfen--and
dream away an hour upon the beautiful and romantic waters of Konigsee,
the King's Lake. We had crossed the frontier of Bavaria near Hallein,
and, having loitered so long among the delightful scenery of its
neighbourhood, we now hurried on towards Munich, through Reichenhall,
Fraunstein, Weisham, Rosenheim, Aibling, and Peiss. Thirsty and weary,
we overtook a timber waggon when within eight miles of the capital, and
made a bargain with the driver to carry us forward to our destination for
six kreutzers, about one penny, each; and upon the unhewn timber of the
springless log-waggon we rode into Munich. We had been already fourteen
days upon the road, ten of which had been spent on tramp, advancing at an
average rate of twenty-five miles a day. From Linz to Munich, by the
circuitous route we had taken, I reckon in round numbers at two hundred
and fifty miles. My share of the expenses amounted to thirty-six
florins, forty kreutzers, say one pound nine shillings in English money,
or an average outlay of two shillings a day. It may be added, that many
of our expenses were those of ordinary foot-tourists, rather than of
tramping workmen; that we had lived well although frugally; and that,
save in a goatherd's hut on the Schaf-berg, we had never slept out of
bed.
We spent five happy days in Munich: wandering among picture-galleries and
museums; visiting the royal palace in the capital, and the pleasure
retreat at Nymphenburg; and the churches, with their painted windows,
beautiful architecture, and radiant frescoes. We visited two theatres,
and roamed in the English garden, and among the wilder scenery of hills
in the environs. Munich is the real capital of modern art, and contains
more magnificent public buildings than any city of the same extent in the
world. Vulgar figures again: my expenses in Munich amounted to eight
guldens, forty kreutzers, Bavarian or Reich's money, which will yield, as
nearly as the intricacies of German coinage will allow of the
calculation, fifteen shillings and fourpence. The fare by railway from
Munich to Augsburg, our next station, was one gulden, twenty-four
kreutzers,--two shillings and fourpence,--and from the latter fine old
city we proceeded entirely on foot to Strassburg. We took the road
through Ulm, Stutgard, Heilbron, Heidelberg, Manheim, Carlsruhe,
Baden-Baden, and Keil; wandering a little from the beaten path near
Kissengan to see the beautiful waterworks and garden there. These cities
have all been described by innumerable travellers, and I doubt whether I
could add anything to the knowledge already possessed of them.
We had passed fifteen days upon the road, and traversed a distance,
roughly estimated, of two hundred and fifty miles. We rested in all four
days in the towns of Augsburg, Ulm, Heidelberg, (of glorious
recollection), and Carlsruhe; and thus, during the ten days of actual
tramp, we had advanced at an average rate of twenty-five miles a day.
Since leaving Vienna, we had walked five hundred miles. On one occasion
only did we march more than thirty miles in the day. This was between
Stutgard and Heilbron. As we limped wearily through the latter city, we
came upon a tavern at the sign of the Eagle, and inquiring, like cautious
travellers, the price of a bed, we found it was twelve kreutzers Reich's
money, fourpence. This was beyond our mark, so we tottered onward to the
Stag, where we were very indifferently lodged for half the money. At
Heidelberg we paid twelve kreutzers for our bed, and were well
accommodated; but this was more by four kreutzers than we considered
ourselves in a position to pay. Our average expenses per day, while on
tramp at this period, were twenty-four kreutzers, or eightpence. My
total outlay from Munich to Strassburg was twenty-one florins, ten
kreutzers, or one pound five shillings; being at the rate of one shilling
and sixpence a day.
It may be right to mention, that a German mile is divided into two
stunden, or hours, and the natural inference would be, that it would
occupy two hours to walk a mile. This is not the case, for a stunden can
generally be traversed in three quarters of an hour; but the German miles
are not uniform, and I well remember one terribly long one between Brunn
and Vienna, which was more than two hours walk. As three English miles
an hour is an average walking pace, a German mile, occupying on the
average an hour and a half in the traverse, should be equal to four and a
half English miles, and this is the rate at which I have estimated it,
although I have seen it variously stated at less than four, and even at
five English miles.
While on tramp, we rose at five in the morning, and walked till eight
fasting, when we took breakfast--a simple affair of milk, or of coffee
and plain bread, with occasionally a little meat as a luxury--we then
proceeded on our march till twelve, always supposing that a town or
village was at such a distance as to render the arrangement possible,
when we dined. This meal consisted invariably of soup--milk soup, if
possible, peppered and salted like broth--and sometimes meat, but not
always, as it was dear, and supposed to be heavy for walking. As by this
time the sun was in its zenith, and our advance in the great heat would
be most fatiguing, and even dangerous, we laid ourselves down to rest
till three, in the open air if possible, and weather permitting; out on
the fields among the corn; stretched upon the hay in some shady nook; or,
as in Bavaria and Wurtemberg during a great part of the route, under the
apple and plum trees which lined the public way, eating of the fruit
unquestioned and without restraint. After this welcome repose we pursued
our march with renewed animation till eight o'clock, when we sought out a
place of rest; and for our evening meal usually indulged in something
more substantial than at any other time of the day. Our beds were not
always clean, and the lavatorial necessaries either deficient or wholly
wanting, in which latter case the pump was our only substitute.
Our brief stays in towns or cities were by no means the least fatiguing
part of our journey; for it naturally happened that in our anxiety to see
whatever was remarkable or beautiful, in museum, picture-gallery, or
public building, that our time was tasked even more severely than on the
road; always remembering also, that the police required a great deal of
attention. My passport has fourteen distinct _visas_ during this
journey. We found the police in Bavaria the least civil among a very
exacting class of people. Here, for the first time, I heard a mode of
address which is, I think, peculiar to Germany. It is customary to
address strangers in the third person plural, _Se_; or, when on very
familiar or affectionate terms, in the second person singular, _Du_; but
of all modes of speech the third person singular, _Er_, when applied to
the person addressed, is the most opprobrious. A police official thus
interrogates a wandering workman:--
"What is he?" "A currier."
"Where from?" "Siegesdorf."
"Where to?" "Ulm."
"Has he got the itch?" "No."
"Then let him sign this book."
At Augsburg the police were in a dilemma with respect to us. We had come
by rail from Munich, and, to our surprise, were suffered to pass through
the gate unchallenged by the sentinel, who paced leisurely before the
guard-house. The following morning, on presenting our papers at the
police-bureau, we were met with the accusation of having smuggled
ourselves into the city; and, as the usual official routine had been
departed from, we were ordered to proceed at once to the gates, and
humbly deliver up our passports to the sentinel in due form, that the
requirements of the law might be fulfilled. This sage proposition was,
however, overruled in consideration of our being jewellers: the
respectability of the craft being thus acknowledged. It was in Augsburg
also that I narrowly escaped being entered in the books of the Guild as
"Mr. Great Britain, native of London;" the slim apprentice whose duty it
was to make the entry, having mistaken the name of the country for that
of the individual in my English passport.
I may not omit to mention, although I do it with a feeling of
humiliation, that during our journey we availed ourselves of whatever
assistance was granted by the Guild to "wandering boys" unable to obtain
employment. We had a perfect right to this aid, and had, while in work,
always contributed to the fund (in which we had, indeed, no option); but
I must confess that there was something exceedingly like asking for alms
in the whole process of obtaining it. Our slender resources must plead
as an excuse. The following were our individual receipts: in Linz,
twenty-four kreutzers; in Munich, thirty-six; Augsburg, eighteen; Ulm,
fifteen; Stutgard, thirty; Heilbron, twenty-four; Heidelberg, nine,
(begged from shop to shop, there being no general cash-box); and
Carlsruhe, twenty-four; making a total of one hundred and eighty
kreutzers, or the munificent sum of two shillings and sixpence in English
money. What must be the fate of those whose dependence was upon such a
pittance!
I had passed two whole years and a few days in Germany, and during a
period of eighty-eight weeks, had been fully at work. I had received
fifty-six pounds thirteen shillings in wages, or an average, throughout
the whole term, of eleven shillings per week. I felt grateful for this
result in a strange country, and left Germany with a lingering step.
As we crossed over the bridge of Kiel on our way to Strassburg, the
French soldiery were quietly fishing on their side of the Rhine, and the
sentinel, from whom we had expected a harsh summons to the guard-house,
and a rigorous search into our knapsacks, eyed us with a look of half
pity, half contempt, and allowed us to pass unchallenged. We were, to
him, only so many miserable "square-heads" (Germans) on our way to Paris.
The curiosities of Strassburg need not detain me: the cathedral, and the
wonderful clock; the theatre, which we visited; the fortifications, which
we overlooked from the lofty spire; those things are set down in every
traveller's guidebook, and the recollection of them is probably much more
agreeable to me than their description would be to the reader. We had
resolved not to tramp through France, and we therefore sought places in
the diligence; and by the time I had paid forty-three francs for my seat
in that respectable vehicle, and ten francs for the carriage of my box
from Vienna to Strassburg, together with two francs for a passeport
provisoire; and by the time also that I had paid some two francs more for
extra luggage, including two loaves and a string of six Strassburger
sausages, which were all included in the weight, I found that I should
arrive in Paris with less than five francs in my pocket. And this I
accordingly did, after a very uncomfortable ride of fifty-two hours, and
within a day of six weeks from our departure from Vienna.
PARIS.
We thought ourselves very ill-used on our first night in Paris, when,
having been wiled into a grand hotel near the Bourse, we were stowed away
on the fifth floor, three in a room, and charged six francs for our beds,
one more for a candle, and one for service. Our parsimonious Dane was so
highly irritated, that he took possession of the candle and carried it
off in his pocket. But Alcibiade was soon by our side, to give us help
and advice with his old kindness; and under his guidance we removed
immediately to more suitable lodgings, and were set in the proper course
to obtain employment. Although scarcely possessed of a single franc in
actual cash, I had fifty dozens of fine piercing-saws, my contraband
speculation, and for which I ultimately obtained about twenty francs.
What was of more importance, in less than a week from our arrival in
Paris I commenced work at the modest remuneration of four francs and a
half, three shillings and ninepence, a day. My two companions were
scarcely so fortunate, but lingered on for a week or two without
employment.
I found myself in a motley company; at one time our atelier contained
three Russians, two Germans, two Englishmen, an Italian, and a Frenchman;
and sometimes a simple inquiry would have to pass through four languages
before it received its answer. I did not remain long amid this babel,
although long enough to be offered six francs a day to remain. I never
afterwards worked for a less rate of remuneration than six francs a day,
but never succeeded in obtaining a sous more. I had many "Patrons" in
Paris. In one establishment there were three workmen continually
employed in making crosses of honour, in gold and silver, to reward the
merit, or to purchase the affection and support, of the French people. I
was variously employed: in gold work; in setting small rose-diamonds; and
upon the most costly brilliant ornaments. Sometimes idling upon three
days a week, or totally unemployed; at other times slaving night and day,
Sunday and all, to complete some urgent order. I have worked nineteen
days in a fortnight.
I have endeavoured to give some details with regard to the manner of
living, working, and lodging, among the labouring population of Paris,
under the head of "THE FRENCH WORKMAN;" and which details were in most
part personal, or such as I had learned from actual experience. My
business here is with results, and I will condense them into as few words
as possible. I stayed in all one year and five months in Paris, during
the whole of which period I was never out of a situation, although at
various times but scantily provided with employment. I received in wages
a total of two thousand three hundred and one francs, thirteen sous, or
ninety-two pounds two shillings and twopence-halfpenny. This would give
an average receipt, upon the seventy-one weeks of my stay, of one pound
three shillings and three-halfpence a week. I have said that during the
greater part of this time I earned at the rate of six francs, or five
shillings a day; if I now give the current expenses per week, a
comparison may from these data be drawn as to the comparative position of
the English and French workman. The usual outlay for food per week
amounted to twelve francs, or ten shillings, of course with fluctuations;
for I have lived a whole week upon five francs when unemployed, and have
luxuriated upon twenty when in full work. Upon striking a balance among
my various lodgings,--I lodged in company and slept double during the
whole period of my stay in Paris--I find the result to be, that we paid
twelve francs each per month, or two shillings and sixpence per week.
This did not include extras: a German stove hired at five francs a month
for the winter season; wood at four francs the hundred pounds weight;
candles at thirteen sous the pound, and soap at a fraction less. Nor
does it include the half franc to the concierge, an obligatory payment
upon presenting yourself at the street-door after midnight. Summing up
these items, we arrive at this result: for food, ten shillings; rent, two
shillings and sixpence; and miscellaneous necessaries, including twelve
sous for washing, of another two shillings and sixpence; or a total of
fifteen shillings of expenditure against, in my case, of one pound three
shillings and odd pence of income. The cost of pleasure in the French
capital must not be omitted; and I feel bound to state that twenty-seven
visits to the theatres, from the pit of the Italian Opera House at four
francs, to the same place at the Vaudeville for eighteen sous; and
thirteen public balls and concerts, from the grand masked ball to that of
the "Grande Chaumiere," were met by an outlay of sixty-eight francs
thirteen sous, or three pounds seven shillings and tenpence-halfpenny.
After an absence of nearly three years and a half, I turned my steps
towards home. From the time that I had crossed the French frontier, and,
upon delivering my papers, had received a passeport provisoire at
Strassburg, I had never sustained cheque or molestation from the police;
but now that I was about to depart, and made the usual application for my
original passport, it was discovered that, as a workman, I should have
had a "livret" upon my first entering Paris, and a number of certificates
and attestations were required, in order to reinstate me in a legitimate
position in the eyes of the law. Escaped from this dilemma, and
officially recognised as _ouvrier_, it was with some surprise that I
found myself dubbed gentleman at the Bureau des Affaires Etrangeres, and
charged a fee of ten franca for the signature of the foreign minister.
Too old a traveller to be entrapped into the payment of so heavy a fine
upon my vanity, I strongly repudiated any more pretentious title than
that of simple workman; and after a tough struggle succeeded in carrying
off the necessary visa at an outlay of two francs. The journey, by
diligence, from Paris to Boulogne, cost twenty-seven francs; I lost a
clear six francs in changing my French savings into English gold--twelve
sovereigns--and, after a rough passage by the Boulogne boat to London, at
an expense of twelve francs, found myself once more in my native city.
Let those who would estimate the value of such an enterprise as mine,
consider its cost and its result. I had passed several years in foreign
travel; I had undeniably profited in the acquisition of new experiences
in my trade; new modes of working, and additional manual skill. I had
rubbed off some of the most valued, and therefore most absurd, prejudices
against foreigners; and made some progress in the acquisition of two
languages--a gain which must ever be a source of mental profit and
gratification. To conclude: I had started on my journey but
indifferently clad, and with scarcely five pounds in my pocket, of which
sum two pounds had been remitted home; and I had been able not merely to
subsist by the labor of my hands, but to enjoy much that was costly, and
an infinite deal more that was pleasurable and advantageous; and to
return home, having liquidated every debt, save that of gratitude, well
provided with apparel, and with ten pounds sterling in my purse.
I would not venture to urge upon any man to follow in my footsteps. I
should scarcely retrace them myself under the same conditions; but I
believe I have shown the practicability of such an undertaking, and its
probability of success, with no more unusual qualifications than a ready
hand, a patient will, and some perseverance.
CHAPTER I.
HAMBURG.
Hamburg at last!--after eight days' sail from London, three of them spent
in knocking about the North Sea, where the wind always blows in your
teeth. Never mind! we are now safely moored to these substantial
timbers; huge piles, driven in a line, which form the outer harbour of
Hamburg. The city lies before us, but there is nothing very imposing in
it; the houses, with gable roofs and whitened walls, look rather
lath-and-plastery, in fact; but we must not express our opinions too
rashly, for first impressions are not always the most faithful after all.
"Now, Tom, is the boat ready?"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
We scramble down the sides of the British schooner, the "Glory," and seat
ourselves along with Tom. What a confusion of boats, long-pointed
barges, and small sailing vessels!
"Mind how you go, Tom."
"Ay, ay, sir!" replies Tom, contemptuously shifting his quid.
These small sailing vessels we see are from the Hanoverian and Danish
coasts. Their cargoes consist principally of wood, and whole stacks of
vegetables, the latter ridiculously small. Those long-pointed barges are
for canal navigation, and are admirably adapted to Hamburg, threaded as
it is by canals in every direction.
Steady! Do you see that curious, turret-looking building, old and
time-worn, guarded by a sentinel?--it is the fort to protect the
water-gate through which we are now passing. It is also occasionally
used as a prison. On the opposite side is a poor, dilapidated, wooden
building, erected on a barge, where permits are obtained for spirits and
tobacco--a diminutive custom-house indeed. There being no one to
question or molest us, we pass on, and in a few moments are at our
landing-place, a short flight of stone steps leading to the Vorsetzen or
quay.
Tom moors his boat with a grave celerity, leads the way up the stone
steps on to the quay, and as speedily disappears down a sort of trap
which gapes in the open street, in the immediate vicinity of the
landing-place. Let him alone; Tom knows the way. We follow him down an
almost perpendicular flight of stairs into a spirit kellar, and gratify
Tom's little propensity for ardent liquors.
Tom has disappeared, and is now paddling his way back to the "Glory," and
we stand upon the humble water-terrace, the Vorsetzen, looking out upon
the shipping. It is a still, bright, Sunday afternoon in September.
There is no broiling sun to weary us; the sky is clear, and the air soft
and cheering, like the breath of a spring morning. We will turn our
backs upon the river and proceed up Neuerweg.
We cannot walk upon the narrow strip of footpath, for, besides that there
is very little of it, our course would become a sort of serpentine as we
wound about the fresh young trees which skirt the edge of it at regular
intervals. But are they not pleasant to look upon, those leafy
sentinels, standing by the stone steps of the houses, shaking their green
tops in happy contrast to the whitened walls? So we will walk in the
road, and being good-tempered today, will not indulge in violent
invectives upon the round-topped little pebbles which form the pavement;
but, should we by chance step into a puddle which has no manner of means
of running out of our way, we will look with complacency at our dirtied
boots, and trip smilingly on. Yes, trip is the word, for I defy the
solemnest pedestrian in Christendom to keep a measured pace upon these
upright, pointed, shining-faced pebbles.
There! we are in the Schaar-markt. Now look around, and say, would you
not fancy yourself in some quaint old English village? What a curious
complication of cross-beams is presented in the fronts of the houses!--a
barring and binding of huge timbers, with their angles filled in with red
bricks. How simple and neat is everything!--the clean stone steps
leading up to the principal entrance of each house, and the humbler
flight which conducts you to the _kellar_ and kitchen. You would imagine
you had seen the place before, or dreamt of it, or read of it in some
glorious old book when your memory was fresh and young.
See that young damsel with bare arms, no bonnet, no cap, but her hair
cleanly and neatly parted in the middle of her head, and disclosing her
round, rosy, honest German face. She is not pretty, but how innocent and
good-tempered she looks; and see how lightly and easily she springs over
those, to us, ruthless pebbles, her short petticoats showing her clean
white stockings and bright shoes to advantage.
And here comes a male native of the place; a shortish, square-built, and
somewhat portly man, clad in a comfortable, old-fashioned way, with
nothing dashing or expensive about him. He is not very brisk, to be
sure; and when you first look at his round face an idea of his simplicity
comes over you; but it is only for an instant, and then you read the
solid, sterling qualities quietly shining in his clear eyes. There is
not a great amount of intellectuality, that is to say nervous
intellectuality, in his contented countenance, but a vast quantity of
unstudied common sense.
We will pass on, leaving the guard-house on our left; and winding up
Hohleweg, many simple and not a few pretty faces with roguish eyes do we
see at the open windows.
We halt only for a moment to look at the noble Michaelis Kirche which
lies to our right, and turn off on the left hand, crossing an open space
of some extent called Zeughaus Platz, and behold us before the Altonaer
Thor, or Altona-gate.
Ah, these are pleasant banks and noble trees! How green the grass upon
those slopes--how fresh the flowers! And what a splendid walk is this,
looking to the right down the double avenue of sturdy stems waving their
spreading tops across the path! You did not think that quaint old town
below could boast of such a border as this; but take a tour about the
environs, and you will find them cheerful, fresh, and beautiful, from
Neuer Kaye to Deich Thor.
We will pass through the simple Altona-gate, and make towards
Hamburger-Berg. Do not be alarmed. Perhaps you have heard of the "Berg"
before, and virtuous people have told you that it is a godless place.
Well, so it is; but we will steer clear of its godlessness; we will avoid
the dancing-houses. Before us lies a broad open road, neither dignified
by buildings nor ornamented by trees, but there are plenty of people, and
they are worth our notice. There is a neat figure in a close boddice and
a hauben, or hood-like headdress; she has taken to winter attire early.
She carries no trailing skirts, nor has she ill-shapen ankles to hide.
Look at her healthy face, though the cheek-bones are rather too high; but
the mouth is ever breaking into a smile. Her hair is drawn back tightly
from her face, tied in a knot at the back, and covered with a velvet
skull-cap, richly worked with gold and silver wire and braid. The effect
is not bad.
There is a country girl from Bardewick--Bardewick, you know, though now a
mere village, is traditionally said to have been once a large and
flourishing city. She has flowers to sell, and stands by the wayside.
She has neither shoes nor stockings, nor is her dark dress and white
apron of the longest. Her tightly fitting boddice is of blue cloth, with
bullet buttons, and has but a short waist, while a coral confines her
apron and dress. Her head-dress is only a striped coloured handkerchief,
tied under the chin, but in such a way that it presents a sort of
straight festoon just above her sparkling eyes, and completely hides her
hair.
But here comes a curiosity of the male species. Surely this is Rip van
Winkle from the States. He has no sugar-loaf hat, but he wears the
trunkhose, stockings, and large buckled shoes of the old Dutchman, and
even his ample jacket, with an enormous sort of frill at the bottom. No,
my friend, let me give you to understand that this is a _Vierlander_, and
a farmer of some means. Do you not see that he has a double row of
bullet buttons on his jacket, down the front of his ample hose, and even
along the edges of his enormous pockets? They are solid silver, every
button of them, nor are the massive buckles on his shoes of any more
gross material. Here come more velvet skull-caps, with gold and silver
worked into them. How jauntily the wearers trip along! It is a fact,
the abominable pavement of Hamburg sets the inhabitants eternally on
their toes.
Here is a Tyroler, and a tall fellow he is; straight as an arrow, and
nimble as a chamois; but yet with a steady, earnest look about him,
although a secret smile is playing round his handsome, mustachioed mouth,
that tells you of a strong and persevering character. He is shaped like
an Adonis, and his short jacket, breeches, pale striped stockings, and
tightly laced boots; the broad leathern embroidered band about his waist,
and the steeple-crowned hat with the little coquettish feather, all help
to make up a figure that you would like to see among his native
mountains. And yet he is but a dignified sort of pedlar, and would be
very happy to sell you a dozen or so of table napkins, Alpine
handkerchiefs, or a few pieces of tape.
Well! he is gone, and before us comes a female figure, who forms a fit
companion to the silver-buttoned _Vierlander_ we have just past. Notice
her dress; she is a _Vierlanderin_. Her petticoats are shamefully short,
you will say, stiff and plaited too as they are, but what a gallant pair
of red stockings she wears, and what a neat, bright pair of buckled
shoes! Her dress consists of a close boddice with long sleeves, all of
dark purple stuff, and her neat black apron does not make a bad contrast
to it. But her head-gear!--her hair is drawn from her face under a
closely fitting caul, while an exaggerated black bow, or rather a pair of
triangular wings, project some distance from the back of the head, and
beneath them two enormous tails of hair trail down her back, each
terminating in a huge red bow.
This country girl appears to have sold all her fruit, and has placed her
basket upside down upon her head. No such thing; that is her peculiar
head-dress; look again, and you will see that it is a small plaited straw
basket, about a foot and a half in diameter, with a very deep straight
edge. It is fastened on her head by a caul sewn into the inside. Well!
at any rate this is a Quakeress we see coming at such a stately pace
along the gravelled road? Wrong again, my friend; this is a young lady
from Heligoland, the little island we passed at the mouth of the Elbe,
and a very prim and neat young lady she is, though where she got her
bonnet shape from I cannot say.
The way is lined with hawkers of every description: fruit, songs and
sausages; toys, sticks and cigars; pipes, sweetmeats and tape; every
imaginable article that was ever sold at a fair is to be found here, and
every vender in a different dress, illustrating at one view the peasant
costumes of every village in the vicinity. As for tobacco, the air is
like a gust from some gigantic pipe. Here is the entrance to Franconi's
Circus, though not yet open for public entertainment. Blasts of
obstreperous music rush upon you from every door; the shrill squealing of
a flageolet being heard above everything else.
Knife-swallowers, mesmerisers, and the eternal Punch--here called
Caspar--ballad-singers, tumblers, quacks, and incredible animals, are
here for inspection. You would fancy it was some old English fair; for
in spite of yourself there is a quaint feeling steals over you, that you
had suddenly tumbled back into the middle of the last century.
And who pays for all this? for whose especial amusement is all this got
up? For our old friend "Jack." Here are English sailors, and French
sailors; sailors in green velveteen jackets; sailors with their beards
and whiskers curled into little shining ringlets. We meet our salt-water
friend everywhere, and, by the intense delight depicted on his features,
"Jack" is evidently in a high state of enjoyment.
Let us go on; we have promised not to visit the dancehouses to-day, and
we will quit this clamorous crowd.
CHAPTER II.
ALTONA.
THE POET'S GRAVE.--A DANISH HARVEST HOME.
We tread upon elevated ground, and far away to our left, down in a
hollow, flows the broad Elbe; placid indeed from this distance, for not a
ripple can we see upon its surface. A few ships are lazily moving on its
waters. Stand aside, and make way for this reverend gentleman; he is a
_prediger_, a preacher of the gospel; he is habited in a black gown,
black silk stockings and shoes, a small black velvet skull-cap on his
head, while round his neck bristles a double plaited frill, white as a
curd, and stiff as block tin. You would take him for the Dutch nobleman
in an old panel painting. It may appear rather grotesque to your
unaccustomed eyes, but remember there are many things very ridiculous at
home.
A blackened gate, a confused mass of houses, an open square, and the
pebbles again, and we are in Holstein, Denmark, in the public square and
market place of Altona. Here it is that the Danish state lotteries are
drawn, and we might moralise upon that subject, but that we prefer to
press onwards to the real village of Altona.
Here through this beautiful avenue of trees; here where the sunshine is
broken into patches by the waving foliage; far away from the din of
trumpets, huxterers and showmen; here can the sweet air whisper its low
song of peace and lull our fervid imaginations into tranquillity. This
is no solitude, though all is quiet and in repose. Under the trees and
in the road are throngs of loiterers, but there is no rude laughter, no
coarse jests; a moving crowd is there, but a quiet and happy one. And
now we come upon the venerable church with its low steeple, its
time-eaten stone walls, and its humble, grassy, flower-spangled graves.
We see a passer-by calling the attention of his friend to a stone tablet,
green and worn with age, and surrounded by a slight railing. Can it be
that there is a spirit hovering over that grave whose influence is peace
and love? May not some mighty man lie buried there, the once frail
tenement of a great mind whose noble thoughts have years ago wakened a
besotted world to truths and aspirations hitherto unknown? There is
veneration and respect in every countenance that gazes upon that simple
stone; a solemn tread in every foot that trenches on its limits. This is
the grave of a great poet. A man whose works, though little read in
modern times, were once the wonder of his country; and whose very name
comes upon the German people in a gush of melody, and a halo of bright
thoughts. It is like an old legend breathed through the chords of a
harp. This is the grave of Klopstock, the Milton of Germany. We will
enter the churchyard, and look for a moment on the unimposing tablet.
The inscription is scarcely legible, but the poet's mother lies also
buried here, and some others of his family. Could there be anything more
humble, more unobtrusive? No; but there is something about the grave of
a great poet that serves to dignify the simplest monument, and shed a
lustre round the lowest mound.
We will cross the churchyard to yonder low brick wall which confines it.
There are clusters of rosy, happy children, clambering about its
crumbling top; little knots of men too in the road beyond--evidently
expecting something. Even this is in keeping with the poet's grave,
which should not be sombre and melancholy, like other graves; and what
could better embellish and enliven its aspect than young, blushing life
clustering around it? We linger awhile among the boisterous children
playing on the churchyard wall, and then we hear a confused sound of
voices and music in the distance.
"What is this we hear, my friend?" we inquire.
"It is the harvest-home; if you wait you will see the procession."
We turn out upon the high road, and soon come upon the first signs of
this Danish festival. An open gravelled space of some extent stretches
out before an imposing mansion of modern appearance; a plantation of
trees on each side shapes the space into a rude semicircle. This mansion
is the manor house, and in front, in the midst of a confused crowd, some
dozen young men in gay sylvan costumes are standing in a circle, armed
with flails, and vigorously threshing the ground. Jolly, hearty young
fellows they are, and a merry chant they raise. One eager thresher in
his zeal breaks his flail at the bend, and a shout from the bystanders
greets the exploit.
Now they thresh their way from the great house to a hostelry where the
remaining portion of the pageant is awaiting their arrival. Let us stand
a little on one side and view the procession. The threshers lead the
way, singing and plying their flails as they advance, thus effectually
clearing the road for the rest. A merry group of other threshers, each
with his lass upon his arm, and his flail swung across his shoulder, come
tripping after, singing the harvest song and dancing to their own music.
Now a rude wooden car comes lumbering on, and within sits a grave man in
old German costume, who from a large sack before him takes handsful of
grain, and liberally casts it about him. This is the sower, but the
grain is in this instance only chaff. Now follow heavy instruments of
husbandry--ploughs and harrows--while rakes, scythes, and reaping-hooks
form a picturesque trophy behind them. A shout of laughter greets the
next figure in the procession, for it is no other than the jolly god
Bacchus. And a hearty, rubicund, big-bellied god he is, and very decent,
too, being decorously clad in a brown suit turned up with red, and cut in
the fashion of the time of Maximilian I., or thereabouts. A perpetual
smile mantles over his broad face, and complacently he pats his huge
rotundity of stomach as he rolls from side to side on the barrel astride
which he is seated. Is he drunk, or does he only feign? If it be a
piece of acting it is decidedly the most natural we ever saw.
Next comes the miller; a lank rascal, with a white frock, a tall, white
tasselled nightcap, and a cadaverous, flour-besprinkled face; and he is
the reaper, too, it would seem by the scythe he bears in his hand: other
threshers close the procession. A happy train it is. God speed them
all! A merry time, and many a bounteous harvest!
Let us turn now upon our steps. Once more before the antique church, the
reverenced grave; and with a soothed and grateful mind, we will bend our
way back to Hamburg, and diving into one of the odorous cellars on the
Jungfern Stieg, will delectate ourselves with beefsteaks and fried
potatoes, our glass of Baierisches Bier, and perhaps a tiny schnapschen
to settle our repast.
CHAPTER III.
MAGNIFICENCE.--AT CHURCH.--THE LAST HEADSMAN.
"Herrlichkeit!" Magnificence! What a name! Ye Paradise-rows, ye
Mount-pleasants, what is your pride of appellation to this? In all
Belgravia there is not a terrace, place, or square that can match it.
Fancy the question, "Where do you reside?"
"In Magnificence--number forty."
Yet it is a fact, Magnificence is a street in Hamburg. I have lived in
Magnificence.
The Herrlichkeit, like many other places of imposing title, loses
considerably upon a close acquaintance. You approach it from the
waterside through a rugged way, blessed with the euphonious appellation
of Stuben Huck; and having climbed over two pebbly bridges--looking down
as you do so at the busy scene in the docks below, where crowds of canal
craft lie packed and jumbled together--you turn a little to the left hand
and behold--Magnificence!
Magnificence has no footpath, but it is not singular in that respect. It
is of rather less than the average width of the streets in Hamburg--and
they are all narrow--and the houses are lofty. It is paved with small
pebbles, and has a gutter running down the centre; and as a short flight
of stone steps forms the approach to the chief entrance of each house,
the available roadway is small indeed. But they are grand houses in
Magnificence, at least they have been, and still bear visible signs of
their former character.
Let us enter one house; it will serve as a type of many houses in
Hamburg. Having mounted the stone steps, we stand before a half-glazed
folding-door, and seeing a small brass lever before us, we test its
power, and find the door yield to the pressure. But we have set a
clamorous bell ringing, like that of a suburban huxter, for this is the
Hamburger's substitute for a knocker. We enter a large stone-paved hall,
lighted from the back, where a glazed balcony overlooks the teeming
canal. You wish to wipe your shoes. Well! do you see this pattern of a
small area-railing cut in wood? That is our scraper and door-mat--all in
one.
To our right is a massive oaken staircase. We ascend in gloom, for the
staircase being built in the middle of the house, only a few straggling
rays of light can reach it, and whence they proceed is a mystery. Every
few steps we mount we are upon the point of stumbling into the door of
some cupboard or apartment; they are in all sorts of places. At length
we reach a broad landing paved with stone. What a complication of doors
and passages, which the vague light tends to make more obscure! Here are
huge presses, lumbering oaken cabinets, jammed into corners. We ascend a
second flight and arrive at another extensive landing. Here are two
suites of apartments, besides odd little cribs in the corners which are
not occupied by other presses. There are still two floors above, but as
they are both contained in the huge gable roof of the house, they are
more useful as store-rooms than as habitable apartments. The quantity of
wood we see about us is frightful when associated with the idea of fire.
We will enter the suite on the right hand; the apartments are light and
agreeable, and overlook the canal, and, when the tide is up, and the
canal full, and the grassy bleaching ground on the opposite bank is
dotted with white linen, it is a pleasant scene indeed; but when the tide
is out--ugh! the River Thames at low water is a paradise to it. The
tidal changes are carefully watched, and it is not an unusual occurrence
to hear the solemn gun booming through the air as a warning to the
inhabitants to block and barricade their cellars and kitchens against the
rush of waters.
* * * * *
It is Sunday morning, and the most beautiful melody of bells I ever heard
is toning through the air. They are the bells of S. Michael's church,
and I am told that the musician plays them by a set of pedal keys, and
works himself into a mighty heat and flurry in the operation. But we
cannot think of the wild manner and mad motions of the player in
connection with those beautiful sounds, so clear and melodious; that half
plaintive music so sweetly measured. They ring thus every morning,
commencing at a quarter to six, and play till the hour strikes.
We descend, and make our way through irregular streets and dingy canals
till we reach the church of St. Jacobi. It stands in an open space, is
neither railed in, nor has it a graveyard attached to it. It is of
stone, and has an immense gable roof, slated, and studded with eaved
windows. A shortish square basement is at one end, from which springs a
tall octangular steeple. Within all is quiet and decorous. The church
is paved with stone, and there is a double row of pews down the centre.
But is this a Protestant Church? Most assuredly; Lutheran. You are
astonished at the crosses, the images, the altar? True! there is
something Romish in the whole arrangement, but it is Protestant for all
that. You cannot help feeling vexed at the pertinacity with which the
Germans whitewash everything, nor do the pale lavender-coloured curtains
of the pulpit appear in keeping with the edifice. Everything is
scrupulously clean.
We are too late to hear the congregational singing, the devotional union
of voices, for as we enter the minister ascends into the pulpit in his
black velvet skull-cap, and bristling white frill. Unless you are a good
German scholar you will fail to understand the discourse so earnestly, so
emphatically delivered. The echo of the building, and the high character
of the composition, will baffle and mislead you; while, at the same time,
the incessant tingling of the little silver bells suspended from the
corners of scarlet velvet bags, which are handed along the pews (at the
end of a stick), during the whole of the sermon, will distract and
irritate you. It is thus they collect alms for the poor. Yet even to
one ignorant of the language, there is a fullness and vigour in the style
and manner of delivery that would almost persuade you that you had
understood, and felt convinced of the truth of what you had heard. As we
quit the church we purchase at the door a printed copy of the sermon from
a poor widow woman, who is there to sell them at a penny each.
We will loiter home to dinner. The streets are thronged with people,
with cheerful, contented faces, and in holiday attire. Who are these
grave gentlemen? This little troop in sable trappings; buskins, cloaks,
silken hose, hats and feathers, and shoes with large rosettes--all black
and sombre, like so many middle aged Hamlets? Can they be masqueraders
on the Sabbath? Possibly some of the senators in their official costume?
No! Oh, human vanity! A passer-by informs us that they are only
undertakers' men--paid mourners. They are to swell the funeral
procession, and are the mere mimics of woe. The undertakers of Hamburg
vie with each other in the dressing of their men, and indeed, one
indispensable part of their "stock-in-trade" are some half-dozen
dress-suits of black, it matters not of what age or country, the stranger
the better, so that the "effect" be good.
* * * * *
We will take a stroll about the beautiful Alster this Sunday afternoon.
It is late autumn, and the early budding trees have already shed their
leaves. But rich, floating masses of foliage are still there--the
deepening hues of autumn, and here and there broad patches of bright
summer green. There are two Alsters, the "inner" and "outer," each of
them a broad expanse of water; they are connected by flood-gates,
surrounded by verdure, and studded with pleasure-boats; while on the city
side several elegant pavilions hang on the water's edge, where coffee and
beverages of every kind can be obtained, and the seldom omitted and
never-to-be-forgotten music of the Germans may be heard thrilling in the
evening air.
It is already growing dusk; let us enter the _Alster Halle_. This is the
most important of these pavilions. It is not large; there is but the
ground-floor. It has much the appearance of a French _cafe_, the whole
space being filled with small, round, white marble tables, and
innumerable chairs. Here all the lighter articles of refreshment are to
be obtained; tea, coffee, wines, spirits and pastry in numberless shapes.
There is an inner room where the more quietly disposed can read his
newspaper in comparative silence; here are German, Danish, French, and
English journals, and a little sprinkling of literary periodicals.
Another room is set apart for billiards, where silent, absorbed
individuals may be seen playing eternally at poule. In the evening a
little band of skilled musicians, in the pay of the proprietor, perform
choice morsels of beautiful music, and all this can be enjoyed for the
price of a cup of coffee--twopence!
THE LAST HEADSMAN.
Ten years ago the ancient city of Hamburg was awakened into terror by the
commission of a fearful murder. The cry of "Fire!" arose in the night;
the _nachtwachter_ (watchman) gave the alarm; and the few means at
command were resorted to with an energy and goodwill that sufficed soon
to extinguish the flames. It was, however, discovered that the fire had
not done the work it had been kindled for; it would not hide murder.
Among the smouldering embers in the _kellar_ or underground kitchen,
where the fire had originated, was discovered the charred body of a poor
old woman, whose recent wounds were too certain evidences of a violent
death. It was also ascertained that a petty robbery of some few dollars
had been committed, and the utmost vigilance was called into exercise to
discover the perpetrator.
All surmises were in vain, till suspicion fell upon the watchman who had
first given the alarm; and the first evidence of the track of guilt being
thus fallen upon, it was not difficult to trace it to its source.
Numerous little scraps of evidence came out, one upon another, till the
whole diabolical plot was stripped of its mystery, and the guilt of the
_wachter_ clearly proved. He was convicted of the crime imputed to him,
and condemned to death by the Senate. But on receiving sentence, the
condemned man assumed a tone totally unexpected of him, for he boldly
asserted that the punishment of death had fallen into disuse; that it was
no longer the law of Hamburg; and concluded by defying the Senators to
carry the sentence pronounced into execution.
It was indeed true that the ponderous weapon of the headsman had lain for
two-and-twenty years rusting in its scabbard; nor without reason. At
that period a criminal stood convicted and condemned to death. The law
gave little mercy in those days, and there was no hesitation in carrying
the sentence into effect. But an unexpected difficulty arose; the old
headsman was but lately dead, and his son, a fine stalwart young man,
was, from inexperience, considered unequal to the task. A crowd of eager
competitors proffered their services in this emergency, but the ancient
city of Hamburg, like some other ancient cities, was hampered with
antiquated usages. Its profits and other advantages were tied up into
little knots of monopoly, in various shapes of privileges and hereditary
rights. The young headsman claimed his office on the latter ground; to
the surprise of all, his mother, the wife of the old headsman, not merely
supported him in his claim, but persisted, with a spirit that might have
become a Roman matron but certainly no one else, that if her son were
incapable, she herself was responsible for the performance of her
husband's duty, and would execute it. The Senate was in consternation,
for this assertion of hereditary right was unanswerable; and while they
courteously declined the offer of the chivalrous mother, they felt
constrained to accept the services of her son.
The fatal morning came; the scaffold stood erected; and pressing closely
around the wooden barriers, stood the anxious crowd awaiting the
execution. The culprit knelt with head erect, his neck and shoulders
bared for the stroke, while the young headsman stood by his side armed
with the double-handed sword, the weapon of his office. At a sign given,
he swung the tremendous blade in the air, and aimed a fearful blow at the
neck of the condemned; but his skilless hand sloped the broad blade as it
fell, and it struck deeply into the victim's breast. Amid a cry of
terror he raised his sword again; again it whirled through the air, and
again it failed to do its deadly work. The miserable wretch still lived;
and a third stroke was necessary to complete the task so dreadfully
began. Who can wonder that that fearful weapon had for years long rested
from its service?
Influenced by this terrible scene, and, let us hope, as well by motives
of humanity as by the conviction of the utter uselessness of such a
spectacle as a moral lesson, the Senate of Hamburg had commuted the
punishment of death into that of a life imprisonment. Yet now they were
taunted with their unreadiness to shed blood, and dared to carry the law,
as it still stood upon the statute-book, into effect. For a while it
seemed that anger would govern the acts of the Senate, for every
preparation was made for the execution. The headsman, whose blundering
essay has been above related, was still living, but he had long filled
the humble office of a messenger, and made no claim to repeat his effort.
Among the many competitors who offered their services, a Dane was finally
selected, and the inhabitants of Hamburg, excited to the utmost degree by
the anticipation of the forthcoming spectacle, awaited the event with a
morbid and gloating curiosity. They were, however, disappointed;
humanity prevailed, and the guilty _wachter_ was conducted to a life
prison.
The Senate of Hamburg has not formally abolished the punishment of death;
but the last _hereditary_ headsman is now growing an old man, and the
first and only stroke of his weapon was dealt thirty-two years ago.
CHAPTER IV.
WORKMEN IN HAMBURG.
Here amid the implements of labor, in the dingy _werkstube_ in Johannis
Strasse; lighted by the single flicker of an oil lamp, with the workboard
for a writing-desk, let me endeavour to collect some few scattered
details about the German workmen in Hamburg.
German workmen! do not the very words recall to your memory old
amber-coloured engravings of sturdy men, with waving locks, grasping the
arm of the printing-press, by the side of Faust, Schoeffer, and
Gottenberg? Or, perhaps, the words of Schiller's "Song of the Bell" may
not be unknown to you, and hum in your ears:
Frisch, gesellen, seyd zur hand!
Von der stirne heiss,
Rinnen muss der schweiss.
Briskly, comrades to your work!
From the flushing brow
Must the sweatdrops flow.
But your modern German workman is somewhat of a different stamp; he
points his moustaches with black wax, trims his locks _a la Francaise_,
and wears wide pantaloons. He tapers his waist with a leathern strap,
and wears a blouse while at his labors. He discards old forms and
regulations as far as he can or dare, and thus the old word "Meister" has
fallen into disrepute, and the titles "Herr" and "Principal" occupy its
place. Schiller, like a true poet, calls his workmen "gesellen," which
is the old German word meaning companion or comrade, but modern
politeness has changed it into "gehulfe," assistant; and "mitglied,"
member. In some places, however, the words "knecht" and "knappe,"
servant or attendant, are still in use to signify journeyman; as
"schusterknecht," shoemaker; "schlachterknecht," butcher's man;
"muhlknappe," miller; "bergknappe," miner; but these terms are employed
more from habit than from any invidious distinction.
Well! we live and work on the fourth floor of a narrow slip of a house in
Johannis Strasse. Herr Sorgenpfennig, our "principal," occupies the
suite of four rooms, and devotes a central one (to which no light can
possibly come save at second hand through the door), to his "gesellen."
We are three; a quiet Dane, full of sage precepts, and practical
illustrations of economy; a roystering Bavarian from Nuremberg, who never
fails to grieve over the thin beer of Hamburg, and who, as member of a
choral union near Das Johanneum, delights in vigorous and unexpected
bursts of song; and myself.
Workmen in Hamburg are still in a state of villanage; beneath the roof of
the "Herr" do they find at once a workshop, a dormitory, and a home. We
endeavour so far to conform to the rules of propriety as to escape the
imprisonment and other penalties that await the "unruly journeyman." The
table of Herr Sorgenpfennig is our own, and a very liberal one it is
esteemed to be. Let me sketch you a few of its items: delicious coffee,
"white bread and brown," or rather black, and unlimited butter, make up
our breakfast. Dinner always commences with a soup, usually made from
meat, sometimes from herbs, lemon, sweet fruit, or other ingredients
utterly indescribable. Meat, to be fit for a German table, must be
carefully pared of every vestige of fat; if boiled it is underdone,
unless expressly devoted to the soup, when the juiceless shreds that
remain are served up with plums or prepared vegetables; if it be baked
(roasting is almost unknown) it is dry and tasteless. Bacon and
sausages, with their inevitable accompaniment, sourkraut, is a favourite
dish; but not so unvaryingly so as some choose to imagine. Acids
generally are much admired in German cookery. In nothing, perhaps, are
the Hamburgers more to be envied, in a gastronomic view, than in their
vegetables. Singularly small as are these products of the kitchen
garden, they are sweeter and more delicately flavoured than any I ever
tasted elsewhere. As _entremets_, and as accompaniments to meat, they
are largely consumed. The Hamburgers laugh at the English cooks who boil
green peas and potatoes in plain water, for here boiled potatoes are
scarcely known--that nutritious vegetable being cut into slices and
fried; while green peas are slowly stewed in butter or cream, and
sweetened with fine sugar. But we "gesellen" have plebeian appetites,
and whatever dish may be set before us, as surely vanishes to its latest
shred. The little patches of puff-paste, smeared with preserve, sent to
us as Sunday treat, or the curious production in imitation of our English
pie, and filled with maccaroni, are immolated at once without misgiving
or remorse. If we sup at all, it is upon pasty, German cheese, full of
holes, as if it had been made in water, or a hot liver sausage, as an
extraordinary indulgence.
And our "Licht Braten?" Herr Sorgenpfennig rubs his short, fat hands,
and his round eyes twinkle again, as he tells his little cluster of
"Herren Gesellen" that there will be a feast, a sumptuous _abendbrod_, to
inaugurate the commencement of candle-light. The "Licht Braten," as this
entertainment is called, is one of the old customs of Hamburg now falling
into disuse. It would be doing Herr Sorgenpfennig an eternal injustice
did we pass over it in silence, more especially as he boasts of it as
real "North German fare." Here we have it: raw herrings to begin with.
Bah! I confess this does not sound well upon the first blush; but, then,
a raw dried herring is somewhat different to one salted in a barrel. To
cook it would be a sacrilege, say the Germans. And then the
accompaniments! We have two dishes of wonderful little potatoes, baked
in an oven, freshly peeled and shining; and in the centre of the table is
a bowl of melted butter and mustard well mixed together. You dip your
potato in the butter, and while you thus soften the deep-sea saltness of
your herring, the rough flavour of the latter relishes and overcomes the
unctuous dressing of your potato. I swear to you it is delicious!
But where is our "braten," the "roast," in fact? Oh, thou unhappy Peter!
I see thee still, reeking over the glowing forge fire, cooking savoury
sausages thou art forbidden to taste! I see thee still, struggling in
vain to "bolt" the blazing morsel, rashly plucked (in the momentary
absence of Sorgenpfennig), from the bubbling, hissing fat, and thrust
into thy jaws. Those burning tears! those mad distortions of limb and
feature! God pity thee, Peter, but it was not to be! Those savoury
sausages are our "braten," and they smack wonderfully after the herrings.
If there is one item in our repast to be deplored, it is the Hamburger
beer, which, however, is as good as it can be, I suppose, for the
money--something under an English penny a bottle. But here is wine;
good, sound wine, not indeed from the Rhine, nor the Moselle, but red,
sparkling, French _vin ordinaire_, at a mark--fourteen-pence the bottle.
Truly, Hamburg, thou art a painstaking, industrious, money-making city,
with more available wealth among thy pitch and slime than other towns can
boast of in their trimness and finery, but spendthrift, and debauched,
and dissolute withal art thou!
_Punch, du edler trank der Britten_!
Punch, thou noble drink of Britons--
the outburst of some exhilarated poet--should be inscribed upon thy
double-turreted gate, good Hamburg! The odorous steam of rum and lemon
contends in thine open streets with the fumes of tobacco; the union of
these two perfumes make up thine atmosphere; while thy public walks are
strewn with the unsmoked ends of cigars, thick as the shrivelled leaves
in autumn.
Seriously, the Hamburger toils earnestly, and takes his pleasure with a
proportionate amount of zeal. His enjoyments, like his labours, are of a
strong and solid description. The workmen trundle _kegle_ balls in long,
wooden-built alleys; and down in deep beer cellars, snug and warm, do
they cluster, fondling their pipes like favoured children; taking long
gulps of well-made punch, or deeper draughts of Bairisches beer. If they
talk, they do so vehemently, but they love better to sit and listen to
some little troop of _harfenisten_--street harp-players--as they tone the
waltzes of Lanner, or sing some chivalrous romance. Sometimes they form
themselves into bands of choristers, and sing with open windows into the
street, or play at billiards as if it were for life, or congregate in the
dance-houses, and waltz by the hour without a pause. In all they are
hearty, somewhat boisterous, but never wanting in good temper.
As marriage is out of the question with the workman in Hamburg, whether
stranger or native--unless indeed the latter may have passed through the
probationary course of travel and conscription, and be already on the
verge of mastership--so also is honourable courtship. His low wages and
dependent position form an impassable barrier to wedlock, and a married
journeyman is almost unknown. By the law of his native city he must
travel for two or three years, independently of the chances of
conscription, and thus for a period at least he becomes a restless
wanderer, without tie or home. No prudent maiden can listen to his
addresses, and thus it is that Hamburg swarms with unfortunates; and this
it is which gives them rights and immunities unknown in any other city.
CHAPTER V.
PLAYS AND PICCADILLOES.--"HAMLET" IN GERMAN.
It is Sunday again. Soberly and sedately do we pass our morning hours.
We waken with the sweet music of bells in our ears; bells that whisper to
us of devotion; bells that thrill us with a calm delight, and raise up in
us thoughts of gentleness and charity.
There is no lack of churches; we see their tapering steeples and deep
gable roofs rising above the general level in many places, and there is a
Little Bethel down by the water's side on the Vorsetzen, for the sailors.
There are two or three Little Pandemoniums in its immediate vicinity, or
at least by that classical title are they designated by the Bethlemites
over the way; but salt-water Jack and fresh-river Jack give them much
simpler names, and like them a great deal better, more's the pity. We
have heard the little jangling bells in the church pews, and they will
not ring in tune, although they tell the deeds of charity; we have
marched staidly home, and joined in Herr Sorgenpfennig's blessing over
the midday meal;--Herr Sorgenpfennig delivers it with the presence and
intonation of an Eastern patriarch, standing among his tribe;--and the
delicacies of German cookery having fulfilled their purpose and
disappeared, with a whispered grace and a bow of humbleness, we sidle out
of the room, and leave the "Herr Meister" to his meditations and his
punch. And so ends the service of the day.
The blond-headed Bavarian begins to hum the last _Tafellied_, and our
quiet Dane smiles reservedly. "Whither, friends, shall we bend our
steps?" No! by the eternal spirit of modesty, we will not visit the
dance-houses to-day! Those vile shambles by the water-side, growing out
of the slime and filth of the river, and creeping like a noxious,
unwholesome weed, up the shaded hill, and by narrow ruts and gullies into
the open country. No! Those half-draped, yet gaping doors, have no
attractions for us; those whining notes of soulless music find no echo in
our ears or hearts. There, in their hideous blandishments, the shameless
sit, miserable in their tawdriness, their painted cheeks peeling in the
hot sun, which they cannot shut out if they would. Throughout the long
day the wearied minstrels pant over their greasy tubes of brass, or
scrape their grimy instruments with horny fingers, praying for the deep
night; and there, through the long day, does the echoing floor rebound
with the beating of vigorous feet; for salt-water Jack is there, and
fresh-river Jack is there, and while there is a copper _pfennig_ in their
pockets, or a flicker of morality in their hearts, doomed are they
equally; for what can escape spoliation or wreck among such a crowd?
Yet from such commodities as these does the merchant spirit of the Senate
of Hamburg draw huge profits; indeed, it is said that the whole expense
of police and city, and what is worse, yet better, the tending of the
sick, the feeding of the poor, and the succouring of the helpless and
desolate, are alike defrayed from the produce of the city's vice; and let
us add, the Senate's fostering care of it.
And if we wandered out beyond the walls to the right or to the left, what
do we find? On the one hand, "Peter Hund's;" on the other "Unkraut's
Pavilion;" mere dance-houses, after all, though for "the better sort."
"Peter" has a tawdry hall, smeared with the escutcheons of all nations,
where music and waltzing whirl through the dense air, hour after hour;
and what is at least of equal consequence to him, Peter holds a tavern in
the next room, where spirits, beer, or coffee are equally at the command
of the drouthy or the luxuriant. And so also if we followed the road
which passes through Stein Thor, away across the leafy fringing of trees
and shrubs which ornament the city's outline; and still on through the
shady avenues of youthful stems, when we come upon a great house with
deep overhanging eaves, square-topped chimneys, and altogether with a
Swiss air about it. There are idlers hanging about the door, for this is
"Unkraut's," and the brisk air of musical instruments streams out of the
open portal. Within all is motion and uproar. A large _salle de danse_
occupies the greater part of the ground floor, the central portion of
which is appropriated to the waltzers, while a broad slip on each side,
beneath an overhanging gallery, running round the whole of the apartment,
remains for those who drink, or take a temporary repose. Sometimes,
however, the flood of waltzers pours in upon the side-tables, amid the
clatter of chairs, the ringing of glass and china, and the laughter of
the spectators. Gentlemen are not allowed to dance with their hats on;
(where else, in Heaven's name, can they place them?) and must lay their
heavy pipes and cigars aside, as smoking is permitted only in the gallery
above. The company is of the "better sort" in the _salle_ below; that is
to say, that vice, shameless and unveiled, is not allowed to flaunt
without a check; but there is taint and gangrene among all; feeble wills
and failing hearts to bear up against the intoxicating stream of music,
and giddy heads for thought or reason amid the whirl and swimming of the
dance.
"Unkraut's" has, however, attractions apart from the ball-room. By a
quiet stair at the end of the gallery, through muffled doors that close
upon you as you enter, and shut out like walls the hum and hubbub below,
we come upon an ill-shapen apartment, where hushed, absorbed men are
seated at desks, as at a school, each with a huge frame dotted with
numbers before him. A strange contrast to the scene without. There is a
heavy quiet in the place, disturbed only by an occasional cough, a
shuffling of feet, and the silvery ringing of little plates of glass. A
monstrous game of Lotto is this. A mere child's play of gambling,
requiring neither tact, wit, nor reasoning; a simple lottery, in fact,
dependent for success upon the accidental marking (each player upon his
own board or table) of the first five numbers that may be drawn. Now we
hear a strange rattling of wooden pieces, shaken in a bag, and as each
piece is drawn, a bustling man with an obstreperous voice, calls out the
number; not in full, sonorous German, but in broad, uncouth Platt
Deutsche (low German), and eager tongues respond from distant corners
claiming the prize. A dull-headed game is this, fitted only for the most
inveterate gamblers; but it yields money to the Stadt, and that is its
recommendation.
As the day wears on, its attractions increase. The Elb Pavilion offers a
rare treat; exquisite music, executed with vigour, delicacy, and
precision. Moreover, its frequenters are decidedly of a respectable
class. But we will not be moved; we have set our hearts upon witnessing
a play of Shakespeare's, announced for this night at the Stadt Theatre,
and that no less a one than "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark."
The Stadt Theatre in Hamburg enjoys a strange monopoly; for by the
Senate's will it is declared that no other theatre shall exist within the
city walls. Yet, curiously enough, a wonderful old woman, by some
unaccountable freak, has the privilege, or hereditary right, of licensing
or directing a theatrical establishment within the boundaries, and thus a
second theatre contends for the favours of the public; and in order to
define its position and state of existence, it is entitled simply Das
Zweite Theatre (The Second Theatre). It is an especially favourite place
of amusement with the Hamburgers, although they play an incomprehensible
jumble of unconnected scenes, called "possen," adapted solely to display
the peculiar talents of certain actors. One odd fellow there reaps
showers of applause for no other exhibition of ability than that of
looking intensely stupid, for he seldom utters a word; but assumes an
appearance of unfathomable vacuity that is inimitable. There are still
two theatres outside the city walls: the one, the Tivoli, devoted to
farces and vaudevilles; the other consecrated to the portrayal of the
deeply sentimental, and the fearfully tragic--with poison, dagger-blades,
convulsions and heavy-stamping ever at command.
But our play! Here we are in the gallery of a splendid edifice, equal in
extent to our Covent Garden Theatre at home, having come to this part of
the house in anticipation of a feeble audience in preference to the
parterre or pit. Note also, that here we pay eight _schillinge_ only,
while a place below would cost us twenty. But the house is crammed, for
Shakespeare draws as well in Germany as in England, perhaps for the
simple reason that in no other country are his works so well translated.
We find ourselves in the midst of a dense cluster of earnest Danes, who
say the most impressive things in the quietest way in the world. They
are strongly interested in the coming performance, for "Hamlet the Dane"
has taken deep hold upon the Danish affections; and in Elsinore, so great
is the consideration entertained for this all but fabulous prince, that
they will point you out the garden wherein his royal father suffered
murder
--most foul, strange, and unnatural,
and the grave where the "gentle prince" himself lies buried. The play
begins; with the deepest earnestness the audience listen, and, crowded as
they are, preserve the utmost quiet. The glorious drama scene by scene
unfolds itself, and passage by passage we recognise the beauties of our
great poet. Herr Carr, starring it from Vienna, is no unworthy
representative of the noble-hearted Dane, although unequal, we think, to
the finer traits, and more delicate emotions of the character. The
dresses are admirable, sometimes gorgeous, and the groupings most
effective. The scenery alone is unsatisfactory; indecisive and
colourless as it is, without depth or tone, it strikes you as the first
effort in perspective of a feeble-handed amateur. As the play proceeds,
the action grows upon us, and the rapt spectators resent with anger the
least outcry or disturbance. The first scene with the players is
omitted, but the concluding portion is a triumph; for as _Hamlet_,
arriving at the climax of his sarcasm, and bursting for a moment into
rage, flings the flute away, with the exclamation: "S'blood, do you think
I am easier to be played on than a pipe?" the whole theatre rings with
the applause.
Presently, however, we are aware of a gap, a huge hiatus in the
performance; a grave, and yet no grave, for the whole churchyard scene,
with its quaint and exquisite philosophy, the rude wit of the
gravediggers, and the pointed moralising of the prince, are all
wanting--all swept away by the ruthless hand of the critic; skulls and
bones, picks and mattocks, wit and drollery, diggers, waistcoats and all!
Not even _Yorick_, with his "gibes" and "flashes of merriment"--not even
he is spared. On the other hand, a portion of a scene is represented
which, until lately, was always omitted on the English stage. It is that
in which the guilty king, overcome by remorse, thus soliloquises:--
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven!
_Hamlet_, coming upon his murderous uncle in his prayers, exclaims:--
Now might I do it, pat, while he is praying;
And now I'll do 't--and so he goes to heaven:
And so am I revenged?
The omission or retention of this scene might well be a matter of
dispute, for while it represents the guilty Claudius miserable and
contrite, even in the height of his success, it also portrays the
anticipated revenge of _Hamlet_ in so fearful a light, that he stands
there, not the human instrument of divine retribution, but with all the
diabolical cravings of Satan himself. I leave this question to abler
critics, and, in the meantime, our play is finished, amid shouts of
delight and calls before the curtain. It is but half-past nine, yet this
is a late hour for a German theatre, where they rarely perform more than
one piece, and that seldom exceeding two hours in duration. Descending
to the street, wrapped in the recollections of the gorgeous poem whose
beauties still echo in our ears, we are vulgar enough to relish hot
sausages and Bavarian beer.
An hour later we pace our half-lighted Johannis Strasse, seeking the
portal of our house amid the gloom. Suddenly we are startled by the
tramp of a heavy foot, and the clang and rattle of a steel weapon as it
strikes upon the ground. A burly voice assails us: "Whither are you
going?"
Is this Bernardo, wandered from the ramparts in search of the ghost of
Hamlet's father?
Not so: it is but one of the night-watch, armed with an enormous halbert
which might have done good service in the thirty years' war. The
faithful _nachtwachter_ strikes it upon the ground with the butt-end at
regular intervals, so that sinful depredators may have timely notice of
his approach. As it has a large hook at the back it is said to be
admirably adapted for catching thieves by the leg, if its opportune
clattering does not keep them out of its reach.
We render a good account of ourselves, and are duly escorted to our home.
CHAPTER VI.
THE GERMAN WORKMAN.
That workmen in England may have some clear knowledge of the ways and
customs of a large number of their brethren on the Continent, I here
intend to put down for their use a part of my own knowledge and
experience.
The majority of trades in Germany are formed into guilds, or companies.
At the head of each guild stands an officer chosen by the government,
whatever it may be--for you may find a government of any sort in Germany,
between an emperor and a senate--this officer being always a master, and
a member of the guild. His title differs in almost every German state,
but he is generally called Trade-master, or Deputy. Associated with him
are two or three of the oldest employers; or, in some cases, workmen in
the trade, under the titles of Eldermen, or Masters' Representatives.
These three or four men govern the guild, and have under them, for the
proper transaction of business, a secretary and a messenger. Such
officers, however, do not represent their trade in the whole state or
kingdom, but are chosen, in every large town, to conduct the multifarious
business that may require attention within its limits.
Although all these guilds are, in their original constitution, formed on
the same model, they differ materially in their internal arrangements.
Much depends upon the ruling government of the state in which they are
situated; for, while in despotic Prussia, what is there called Freedom of
Trade is declared for all, in the "free" town of Hamburg everything is
bound and locked up in small monopolies.
In some parts of Germany there are "close trades," which means to say
that the number of masters in each is definitely fixed. This is so in
Hamburg. For instance, among the goldsmiths, the number of new masters
annually to be elected is three, being about sufficient to fill up the
deficiencies occurring from death and other causes. I have heard of as
many as five being elected in one year, and I have also heard it asserted
that this was to be accounted for on the supposition that the aldermen
had been "smeared in the hand," that is to say, bribed.
There are other trades locked up in a different way. There exist several
of this kind in Nuremberg and thereabouts; as, the awl and punch-makers,
lead-pencil makers, hand-bell makers, gold and silver wire-drawers, and
others. They occupy a particular town or district, and they say, "Here
we are. We possess these trades, and we mean to keep them to ourselves.
We will teach no strangers our craft; we will confine it among our
relatives and townsmen; and in order to prevent the knowledge of it from
spreading any farther, we will allow our workmen to travel only within
the limits of our town or land;" and so they keep their secrets close.
In other trades, the workmen are allowed to engage themselves only to a
privileged employer. That is to say, they dare not execute a private
order, but can receive employment from a master of the craft only. In
Prussia, and some few other lands, each workman can work on his own
account, and can offer his goods for sale in the public market
unhindered, so long as they are the production of his own hands alone;
but should he employ a journeyman, then he pays a tax to Government of
about ten shillings annually, the tax increasing in proportion to the
number of men he may employ.
There are also "endowed" and "unendowed" trades. An endowed guild is one
the members of which pay a certain small sum monthly while in work, and
thus form a fund for the relief of the sick and the assistance of the
travelling members of the trade. There are few trades of the unendowed
kind, for the workmen of such trades have to depend upon the generosity
of their companions in the craft in the hour of need; and it is generally
found more economical to pay a regular sum than to be called on at
uncertain intervals for a donation; moreover, the respectability of the
craft is better maintained.
While we talk of respectability, we may add that it was formerly the
especial care of the heads of each guild, to see that no disreputable
persons became members of the trade; and illegitimate children, and even
the lawful offspring of shepherds, bailiffs, and town servants were
carefully excluded. This practice exists no longer, except in some few
insignificant places; but the law is still very general which says that
no workman can become a master who has not fulfilled every regulation
imposed by his guild; that is to say, he must have been apprenticed at
the proper age to a properly-constituted master; must have regularly
completed his period of apprenticeship, and have passed the appointed
time in travel. The worst part of all these regulations is, that, as
they vary in almost every state, the unfortunate wanderer has to conform
to a new set of laws in every new land he enters.
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.
The good magistrate of Perleberg--the frontier town of Prussia, as you
enter from Mecklenburg--had the kindness to affix to my passport a
document entitled, "Ordinance concerning the Wandering of Working-men."
I will briefly translate its contents. The "Verordnung" commences with a
preamble, to the effect that, notwithstanding the various things that
have been done and undone with respect to the aforesaid journeymen, it
still happens that numbers of them wander purposeless about the land, to
the great burden of their particular trades and the public in general,
and to the imminent danger of the common safety. Therefore, be it
enacted, that "passports," that is to say, "passes," in which the
distinct purpose of the journey is stated, such as a search for
employment; or "wander-books," in which occupation by manual labour is
the especial object, are to be granted to those natives of Prussia only
who pursue a trade or art for the perfection of which travelling may be
considered useful or necessary. To those only who are irreproachable in
character, and perfectly healthy in body; this latter to be attested by a
medical certificate. To those only who have not passed their thirtieth
year, nor have travelled for the five previous years without
intermission. To those only who possess a proper amount of clothing,
including linen, as well as a sum of money not less than five dollars
(about sixteen shillings) for travelling expenses. So much for natives.
Foreigners must possess all the above-named requisites; must be provided
with proper credentials from their home authorities, and may not have
been more than four weeks without employment on their arrival at the
frontier. Again, every wanderer must distinctly state in what particular
town or city he intends to seek employment, and by what route he purposes
to get there; and any deviation from the chosen road (which will be
marked in the wander-book) will be visited by the punishment of expulsion
from the country. A fixed number of days will be allotted to the
wanderer in which to reach his destination, but should he overstep that
period, a similar punishment awaits him; expulsion from the country
always meaning that the offender shall retrace his steps, and quit the
land by the way he had entered it. This is the substance of the
"ordinance."
Hans is ready for the road. He has only now to take his farewell. A
farewell among workmen is simply a drinking-bout, a parting glass taken
overnight. Hans has many friends; these appoint a place of assemblage,
and invite him thither. It is a point of honour among them that the
"wandering boy" shall pay nothing. Imagine a large, half-lighted room; a
crowded board of bearded faces. On the table steams a huge bowl of
punch, which the chosen head of the party, perhaps Johann's late master,
ladles into the tiny glasses. He proclaims the toast, "The Health of the
Wanderer!" The little crowd are on their feet, and amid a pretty
tinkling of glasses, an irregular shout arises, a small hurricane of
voices, wishing him good speed.
What songs are sung, what healths are drunk, what heartfelt wishes are
expressed! The German workmen are good friends to one another--men who
are already away from friends and home, and whose tenderest recollections
are awakened in the farewell expressed to a departing companion. Many
tears are shed, many hearty presses of the hand are given, and not a few
kisses impressed upon the cheek. Little tokens of affection are
interchanged, and promises to write are made, but seldom kept. With this
mingling and outpouring of full hearts, the stream of punch still flows
through tiny glasses: but, since "Many a little makes a mickle," the
farewell thus taken ends sometimes as a debauch.
Hans, in the morning, is perhaps a little the worse for last night's
punch. He is attired in a clean white blouse, strapped round the waist;
a neat travelling-cap; low, stout shoes; and, possibly, linen wrappers,
instead of socks. The knapsack, strapped to his back, contains a
sufficient change of linen, a coat artistically packed, which is to be
worn in cities, and a few necessary tools; the whole stock weighing,
perhaps, twenty or thirty pounds. On the sides of the knapsack are
little pouches, containing brushes, blacking, and soap; and in his
breast-pocket is stowed away a little flask of brandy-schnaps, to revive
his drooping spirits on the road. A stout stick completes his equipment.
A last adieu from the one friend of his heart, who will walk a few miles
with him on the way--and so he is launched fairly on his journey.
Hans finds the road much harder, and his knapsack heavier than he had
expected. Now he is drenched with rain, and can get no shelter; and,
when he does, he will find straw an inconvenient substitute for a bed.
At last he arrives at Berlin. He has picked up a companion on the road;
and, as it frequently happens that several trades hold their meetings in
the same house, they both are bound to the same Herberge. Through
strange, half-lighted streets, along narrow edges of pavement, they
proceed till they enter a court, or wynd, with no footpath at all, and
they are in the Schuster Gasse, before the door of the Herberge. The
comrade of Hans announces them as they pass the bar, and the next moment
they are in the travellers' room, amid as motley a group as ever met
within four walls.
Tumult and hubbub. An indescribable odour of tobacco, cummin (carraway),
and potato-salad. A variety of hustled blouses. Sunburnt and haggard
faces. Ragged beards and unkempt locks. A strong pipe hanging from
every lip; beer, or kummil (a spirit prepared with cummin) at every hand.
Wild snatches of song, and hurried bursts of dialogue. Some are all
violence and uproar; some are half dead with sleep and fatigue, their
arms sprawling about the tables. Such is the inside of a German trade
traveller's room.
Hans and his companion hand over their papers to the "father" as a
security, and their knapsacks to a sluttish-looking girl, who deposits
them in a cupboard in the corner of the room, and locks the door upon
them. Our travellers order a measure of Berliner Weiss Bier, to be in
keeping with the rest, and long for the hour of sleep. At length, a
stout young man enters, carrying a lighted lantern, and in a loud voice
of authority summonses all to bed. And there is a scrambling and
hustling among some of the travellers, a hasty guzzling of beer and
spirits, and a few low murmurs at being disturbed, but none dare disobey.
A shambling troop of sixteen or eighteen, they quit the room, and enter a
small paved yard, preceded by the young man with the lantern. There is a
rough building resembling a stable, at the other end of the yard; and, in
one corner, a steep ladder, with a handrail, which leads to a chamber
above. They ascend, and enter a long, low loft, so completely crowded
with rough bedsteads that there remains but a narrow alley between them,
just sufficient to allow a single person to pass. Eight double beds, and
the ceiling so low that the companion of Hans can scarcely stand upright
with his hat on.
"New-comers this way," shouts the conductor.
"What's the matter, now?" inquires Hans of his comrade.
"Take off your coat," is the answer in a whisper; "undo the wristbands,
and throw open the collar of your shirt."
"What for?"
"To be examined."
So they are examined; and, being pronounced sound, are allowed to sleep
with the rest of the flock. In this loft, each bed with at least two
occupants, and the door locked--without consideration for fire, accident,
or sudden indisposition,--Hans passes the first night in Berlin.
But there is no work in Berlin, and Hans must pursue his journey. He
waits for hours at the police-office, as play-goers wait at the door of a
London theatre. By and by, he gets into the small bureau with a
desperate rush. That business is settled, and he is off again. Time
runs on; and, after a further tramp of good two hundred miles, Hans gets
settled at last in the free city of Hamburg.
With the exception of a few factories, such as the silk-works at
Chemnitz, in Saxony, and the colony of goldsmiths at Pfortzheim, in
Wurtemburg, there are few extensive manufactories in Germany. Trade is
split up into little masterships of from one to five or six men. This
circumstance materially affects the relation between the employer and
employed.
The master under whom Hans serves at Hamburg is a pleasant, affable
gentleman; his apprentice Peter may be of a different opinion, but that
is of no consequence. The master has spent the best years of his life in
England and France; has learned to speak the languages of both countries
with perfect facility, and is one of the lucky monopolists of his trade.
He employs three workmen; one of them, who is possessed of that peculiar
cast of countenance generally attributed to the children of Israel, has
been demurred to by the Guild,--and why? Because a Jew is legally
incapable of working in Hamburg. He is, however, allowed the usual
privileges on attesting that he is not an Israelite.
Our master accommodates under his own roof one workman and his apprentice
Peter. The others, whom he cannot lodge, are allowed each one mark-banco
(fourteen pence) per week, to enable them to find a bed-chamber
elsewhere. They suffer a pecuniary loss by the arrangement. Hans sleeps
in a narrow box, built on the landing, into which no ray of heaven's
light had ever penetrated. His bedding is a very simple affair. He is
troubled with neither blankets nor sheets. An "under" and an "over" bed,
the latter rather lighter than the former, and both supposed to be of
feathers, form his bed and bedding. Hans is as well off as others, so he
does not complain. As for the apprentice, Peter, it was known that he
disappeared at a certain hour every evening; and from his appearance when
he turned out in the morning, Hans was under the impression that he
wildly shot himself into some deep and narrow hole, and slept the night
through on his head.
And how does Hans fare under his master's roof? Considering the
reminiscences of his apprenticeship, he relishes his cup of coffee in the
morning; his tiny round roll of white bread; the heavy black rye-loaf,
into which he is allowed to hew his way unchecked; and the beautiful
Holstein butter. Not being accustomed to better food, it is possible
that he enjoys the tasteless, fresh boiled beef, and the sodden baked
meat, with no atom of fat, which form the staple food at dinner. Whether
he can comprehend the soups which are sometimes placed before him,--now
made of shredded lemons, now of strained apples, and occasionally of
plain water, with a sprinkling of rice, is another matter; but the
sourkraut and bacon, the boiled beef and raisins, and the baked veal and
prunes, are certain to be looked upon by him as unusual luxuries.
The master presides at the table, and blesses the meat with the air of a
father of his people. Although workmen in Germany are little better than
old apprentices, this daily and familiar intercourse has the effect of
breaking down the formal barriers which in England effectually divide the
capitalist and the labourer. It creates a respectful familiarity, which
raises the workman without lowering the master. The manners of both are
thereby decidedly improved.
Hans gradually learns other trade customs. His comrade falls sick, and
is taken to the free hospital, a little way out of the city. This
hospital is clean and well kept, but fearfully crowded. The elder
journeymen of the Guild are there too, and they comfort the sick man, and
hand him the weekly stipend, half-a-crown, allowed out of the sick-fund.
Hans contributes to this sick-fund two marks--two shillings and
fourpence--a quarter. He does it willingly, but the master has power to
deduct it from his wages in the name of the Guild. His poor sick friend
dies; away from home and friends--a desolate being among strangers. But
he is not, therefore, to be neglected. Every workman in the trade is
called upon to contribute his share--about sevenpence--towards the
expenses of the funeral; and the two senior, assisted by four other
journeymen, in full evening dress, attend his funeral. His effects are
then carefully packed up, and sent--a melancholy memorial of the dead--to
his relations.
From the same fund which relieves the sick, are the "wandering boys" also
assisted. But the "Geschenk" (gift), as it is called, is a mere trifle;
sometimes but a few pence, and in a large city like Berlin it amounts to
but twenty silver groschen--little more than two shillings. It is not
considered disgraceful to accept this donation; as all, when in work,
contribute towards the fund from which it is supplied.
And what is the amount of wages that German workmen receive? In Hamburg
wages vary from five to eight marks per week, that is, from seven
shillings to ten and sixpence, paid monthly. In Leipsic they are paid
fortnightly, and average about ten shillings per week. In Berlin wages
are paid by the calendar month, and average twenty-four dollars (a dollar
is rather more than three shillings), for that period; so that a workman
may be said to earn about eighteen shillings a week, but is dependent on
his own resources for food and lodging. In Vienna the same regulation
exists, and wages range from five to eight guldens--ten to sixteen
shillings per week--paid weekly, as in England. But a workman in Vienna
may be respectably lodged, lighted, and washed for at the rate of
half-a-crown a week. In Berlin and Vienna married journeymen are to be
met with, but not in great numbers, and in smaller towns they may almost
be said to be unknown. Dr. Korth, in his address to his young friends,
the "travelling boys," on this subject, emphatically says--"Avoid, in
God's name, all attachments to womankind, more especially to those of
whom your hearts would say, 'These could I love.'" And then the quaint
old gentleman proceeds to say a number of ungallant things, which are not
worth translating.
No! the German workman is taught to hold himself free, that he may carry
out the law of his land to the letter; that he may return from his
travels at the appointed time "a wiser and a better man;" that he may
show proofs of his acquired skill in his trade, and thereupon claim the
master's right and position. He is then free to marry, and is looked
upon as an "eligible party." But how seldom does all this come to pass,
may the thousands who swarm in London and Paris; may the German colonies
which dot the American States, sufficiently tell. Many linger in large
cities till they feel that to return to the little native village, and
its old, poor, plodding ways, would be little better than burial alive;
and some return, wasted with foreign vice and purchased adversity,
premature old men, to die upon the threshold of their early homes.
One more question--what are their amusements? It would be a long story
to tell, but certainly home-reading is not a prominent enjoyment among
them. German governments, as a rule, take care that the people's
amusements shall not be interfered with. The workmen throng in
dance-houses, beer-cellars, cafes, and theatres, which are all liveliest
and most attractive on a Sunday; and, as they are tolerably cheap, they
are generally a successful lure from deep thinking or study. Besides,
the German workman has no home. If he stay there at all in holiday
hours, it is to draw, or model, or sing romances to the strumming of his
guitar.
CHAPTER VII.
HAMBURG TO LUBECK.
The bleak, icy winter of North Germany is past. We have trodden its
accumulated snows as they lay in crisp heaps in the streets of Hamburg;
and have watched the muffled crowd upon the frozen Alster, darting and
reeling, skating, sliding, and sleighing upon its opaque and motionless
surface. We have alternately loved and execrated the massive German
oven, which warmed us indeed, but never showed us a cheerful face. We
have sipped our coffee or our punch in the beautiful winter garden of
Tivoli, under the shade of lemon-trees, with fragrant flowers and shrubs
around us; and finally, have looked upon the ice-bound Elbe with its
black vessels, slippery masts, and rigid cordage, and seen the Hanoverian
milk lasses skimming its dun expanse laden with their precious burdens.
We have got over the slop and drizzle, and half-thawed slush, too; and
the boisterous March wind dashes among the houses; and what is better
than all, the fresh mornings are growing brighter and longer with every
returning sun.
Away, then, out of the old city, alone on the flat, sandy road that lies
between Hamburg and Berlin. Here we are, with hope before us, resolution
spurring us on, and a twenty-eight pound knapsack on our backs. Tighten
the straps, my friend, and you will walk easier with your load.
My journey as a workman on the tramp from Hamburg to Berlin I propose to
tell, as simply as I can. I have no great adventures to describe, but I
desire to illustrate some part of what has already been said about the
workmen in Germany, and I can do this best by relating, just as it was, a
small part of my own road experience, neither more nor less wonderful
than the experience which is every day common to thousands of Germans.
I was very poor when I set out from Hamburg in the month of March, with
my knapsack strapped to my back, my stick in my hand, and my bottle of
strong comfort slung about my neck after the manner of a locket. I was
not poor in my own conceit, for I had in my fob--the safest pocket for so
large a sum of money--two gold ducats and some Prussian dollars: English
money, thirty-five shillings. I thought I was a proper fellow with that
quantity of ready cash upon my person, and a six weeks' beard on my chin.
Many adieus had been spoken in Hamburg at our last night's revel, but a
Danish friend was up betimes to see me out of town. At length he also
bade the wanderer farewell, and for the comfort of us both my locket
having passed from hand to hand, he left me to tramp on alone, over the
dull, flat, sandy road. There was scarcely a tree to be seen, and the
sky looked like a heavy sheet of lead, but I stepped out boldly and made
steady progress. The road got to be worse; I came among deep ruts and
treacherous sloughs, and the fields on each side of the road were
flooded. In some parts the road was a sand swamp, and the walk became
converted into a gymnastic exercise; a leaping about towards what seemed
the hard and knobby places that appeared among the mud. This exercise
soon made me conscious of the knapsack, to which I was then not
thoroughly accustomed. It was not so much the weight that I felt, but
the tightness of the belt across the chest, which caused pain and
impediment of breathing. Custom, however, caused the knapsack to become
even an aid to me in walking.
A sturdy young fellow who did not object to mud was pushing his way
recklessly behind me. I was soon overtaken, we exchanged kind greetings,
and jogged on together, shoulder to shoulder. He had been upon his
travels; had been in Denmark for two years, and had left Copenhagen to
return to his native village, that lay then only eight or ten miles
before us. What was his reason for returning? He was required to
perform military service, and for the next two years at least--or for a
longer time, should war break out--was doomed to be a soldier. He did
not think the doom particularly hard, and we jogged on together in a
cheerful mood until his knowledge of the ground became distressingly
familiar, and he illustrated portions of the scenery with tales of
robbery and murder. The scenery of the road became at every turn more
picturesque. Instead of passing between swampy fields, it ran along a
hollow, and the ground was on each side broken into deep holes with
rugged edges; black leafless bushes stood out from the grey and yellow
sand, while farther away in the background, against the leaden sky, there
was a sombre fringe of thickly planted fir-trees. The daylight, dim at
noon, had become dimmer as evening drew near; the grey sky darkened, and
the tales of robbery and murder made my thoughts anything but cheerful.
As the hills grew higher on each side of us, it occurred to us both that
here was a fine place for a murder, and I let my companion go before,
handling my stick at the same time as one ready to strike instantly if
any injury were offered. I was just demonstrative enough to frighten my
companion. We were a mere couple of rabbits. Each of us in his
innocence feared that the other might be a guilty monster, and so we were
both glad enough to get out of the narrow pass. On the other side of the
glen the road widened, and my companion paused at the head of a little
path that led down to a deeper corner of the hollow, and across the
fields. That was his way home. He had but a mile to go, and was already
anticipating all the kisses of his household. He wished me a prosperous
journey; I wished him a happy welcome in his village; and we shook hands
like two young men who owed amends to one another.
He had told me before we parted that there were two houses of
entertainment not far in advance. Already I saw the red-tiled roof of
one, that looked like a respectable farm-house. From the door of that
house, however, I was turned away; and as the darkness of the evening was
changing into night, I ran as fast as I was able to the next place of
shelter. By the pump, the horse-trough, and the dirty pool I knew that
there was entertainment there for man and horse. I therefore raised the
wooden latch, and in a modest tone made my request for a bed. A vixenish
landlady from the midst of a group of screaming children cried to me,
"You can't have a bed, you can have straw." That would do quite as well,
I said.
I sat down at a table in a corner of the large room, called for a glass
of beer, produced some bread and sausage that I had brought with me from
Hamburg, and made a comfortable supper. There was a large wood fire
blazing on the ample hearth, but the landlord and his family engrossed
its whole vicinity. The house contained no other sitting-room and no
other sleeping accommodation than the one family bedroom and the barn.
While I was at supper there came in other wandering boys like myself. I
had escaped the rain, but they had not; they came in dripping: a stout
man, and a tall, lank stripling. The youth wore a white blouse and hat
covered with oil-skin; his trousers were tucked halfway up his legs, and
he had mud up to his ankles. We soon exchanged our scraps of information
about one another. The stout man was a baker from Lubeck on the way to
Hamburg; the stripling, probably not yet out of his teens, was part
brazier, part coppersmith, part tinman; had been three weeks on his
travels, and had come, like myself, from Hamburg since morning. He was
very poor. He did not tell us that; but he ordered nothing to eat or
drink, and except the draught of comfort that he got out of my bottle,
the poor fellow went supperless to bed. Not altogether supperless
though, for he had some smoke. We made a snug little party in the
corner, and talked, smoked, and comforted ourselves, after the children
had been put to bed, and while the landlord, landlady, and an old
grandfather told stories to each other in Low German by the fire. At
nine o'clock the landlord lighted his lantern, and told us bluffly that
we might go to bed. We therefore, having handed him our
papers--passports and wander-books--for his security and for our own,
followed into the barn. That was a place large enough to hold straw for
a regiment of soldiers. It was a continuation of the dwelling-house,
sheltered under the same roof. We mounted three rude ladders, and so got
from floor to floor into the loft. Having guided us safely thither, he
quitted us at once with a "good night;" taking his lantern with him, and
leaving us to make our beds in the thick darkness as we could. The straw
was not straw: it was short-cut hay, old enough to have lost all scent of
hay, and to have acquired some other scents less pleasing to the nose;
hay, trodden, pressed, and matted down, without a vestige in it of its
ancient elasticity. There was nothing in it to remind us of a summer
tumble on the hay-cock. The barn roof was open, and the March night wind
whistled over us. I took off my boots to ease my swollen feet; took my
coat off that I might spread it over my chest as a counterpane; and
struggled in vain to work a hole for my feet into the hard knotted bank
of hay. So I spent the night, just so much not asleep that I was always
conscious, dimly, of the snoring of the baker, and awoke sometimes to
wonder what the landlord's cock had supped upon, for it was continually
crowing in its sleep, on the barn-floor below. When morning broke we
rose and had a brisk wash at the pump, scraped the mud from our boots,
and breakfasted. The baker and I had plain dry bread and hot coffee.
The tinman breakfasted on milk. He said it was better--poor fellow! he
knew it was cheaper. By seven o'clock we were all afoot again, the baker
journeying to Hamburg, the tinman and I road-companions to Lubeck.
At noon, after a five hours' walk, a pleasant roadside inn with a deep
gable roof and snug curtains behind its lattice windows, tempted me to
rest and dine. "We shall get a good dinner here," I said; "let us go
in." The tinman would hear of no such thing. "We must get on to
Lubeck," he replied. "Two more hours of steady walking and we shall be
there." Poor youth! At Lubeck he could demand a dinner at his herberge,
and he had no chance of any other. So we trudged on till the tall
turrets and steeples of Lubeck rose on the horizon. The tinman desired
to know what my intentions were. Was I going straight on to Berlin
without working? Should I seek work at Lubeck? If not, of course I
would take the _viaticum_. "I thought not," I told him. "Ah, then," he
said, "you have some money." The viaticum is the tramp-money that may be
claimed from his guild by the travelling workman. Germans, like other
people, like to take pills gilded, and so they cloak the awkward incident
of poverty under a Latin name.
Lubeck being in sight we sat down upon a grassy bank to make our toilet.
A tramp's knapsack always has little pouches at the side for soap,
brushes, and blacking. We were not so near to the tall steeples as we
thought, and it took us a good hour and a half before we reached the city
gates. The approaches are through pretty avenues of young trees and
ornamental flower-plots. The town entrance at which we arrived was
simply a double iron gate, like a park gate in England. As we were about
to pass in, the sentinel beckoned and pointed us towards a little
whitened watchbox, at which we stopped to hand our papers through a
pigeon-hole. In a few minutes the police officer came out, handed to me
my passport with great politeness, and in a sharp voice bade the tinman
follow him. Such is the difference between a passport and a wander-book.
I, owner of a passport, might go whither I would: tinman, carrying a
wander-book, was marched off by the police to his appointed house of
call. I took full advantage of my liberty, and, as became a weary young
man with two gold ducats in his fob, went to recruit my strength with the
best dinner I could get. Having taken off my knapsack and my blouse, I
soon, therefore, was indulging in a lounge upon the sofa of one of the
best hotels in the sleepy and old-fashioned free city of Lubeck.
CHAPTER VIII.
LUBECK TO BERLIN.
By right of churches full of relics, antique buildings, and places
curiously named, Lubeck is, no doubt, a jewel of a town to antiquarians.
Its streets are badly paved, but infinitely cleaner than the streets of
Hamburg. I did not much wonder at that, for I saw no people out of doors
to make them dirty, when I exposed myself to notice from within doors as
a solitary pedestrian, upon my way to take a letter to a goldsmith in the
market place. The market place is a kind of exchange; a square building
with an open court in the centre, around which there is a covered way
roofed quaintly with carved timbers. In this building the mechanical
trades of Lubeck are collected, each trade occupying a space exclusively
its own under the colonnade. Here, all the tradesmen are compelled to
work, but are not permitted to reside. Each master has his tiny
shop-front with a trifling show of goods exposed in it, and his small
workshop behind, in which, at most, two or three men can be employed. In
some odd little nooks the doors of these boxes are so arranged, that two
masters cannot go out of adjoining premises at the same time without
collision.
Though my friend in Lubeck was a stranger, as a brother jeweller he gave
me friendly welcome. Having inquired into my resources, he said, "You
must take the _viaticum_."--"It is like begging," I
answered.--"Nonsense," he replied; "you pay for it when you are in work,
and have a right to it when travelling."--"But I might find employment,
on inquiry."--"Do not be alarmed, my friend; there is not a job to be
done in the whole city." I was forced, therefore, by my friend's
good-natured earnestness, to make the usual demand throughout the little
group of goldsmiths, and having thus satisfied the form, I was conducted
to our Guild alderman and treasurer. A little quiet conversation passed
between them, and the cash-box was then emptied out into my hand; it
contained twenty-eight Hamburg shillings, equal to two shillings in
English money.
I returned to my hotel and slept in a good bed that night. The morning
broke heavily, and promised a day's rain. Through the lowering weather
and the dismal streets I went to the police office to get my passport
_vised_ for Schwerin in Mecklenburg. Most dismal streets! The Lubeckers
were complaining of loss of trade, and yearned for a railway from Lubeck
to Hamburg. But the line would run through a corner of Holstein, and no
such thing would be tolerated by the Duke. The Lubeckers wanted the
Russian traffic to come through their town and on to Hamburg by rail.
The Duke of Holstein wished to bring it through his little port of Kiel
upon the Baltic.
Too poor to loiter on the road, having got my passport _vised_, I again
strapped the knapsack to my back, and set out through the long avenues of
trees over the long, wet road, through bitter wind and driving rain.
Soaked with rain, and shivering with cold, I entered the village of
Schoneberg at two o'clock, just after the rain had ceased, as deplorable
a figure as a man commonly presents when all the vigour has been washed
out of his face, and his clothes hang limp and damp about his body.
Wearied to death, I halted at the door of an inn, but was told
inhospitably--miserable tramp as I seemed, and was--that "I could go to
the next house." At the next house they again refused me, already
humbled, and advised me to go to The Tall Grenadier. That is a house of
call for masons. I went to it, and was received there hospitably. My
knapsack being waterproof, I could put on dry clothes, and hang my wet
garments round the stove, while the uproarious masons--terrible men for
beer and music--comforted me with unending joviality. They got into
their hands a book of German songs that dropped out of my knapsack, and
having appointed a reader, set him upon the table to declaim them.
Presently, another jolly mason cried out over a drinking song--declaimed
among the others in a loud monotonous bawl--"I know that song;" and
having hemmed and tuned his voice a little, broke out into music with
tremendous power. The example warmed the others; they began to look out
songs with choruses, and so continued singing to the praise of wine and
beauty out of my book, until they were warned home by the host. I
climbed a ladder to my bedroom, and slept well. The Grenadier was not an
expensive hotel, for in the morning when I paid my bill for bed and
breakfast, I found that the accommodation cost me fourpence-halfpenny.
Since it is my desire not to fatigue the reader of this uneventful
narrative, but simply to illustrate by a few notes drawn from my own
experience the life of a German workman on the tramp, I shall now pass
over a portion of the road between Hamburg and Berlin in silence. My way
lay through Schwerin; from Schoneberg to Schwerin is twenty-six English
miles, and we find it a long way. In reckoning distances, the Germans
count by "stunden"--_i.e._ hours--and two "stunden" make one German mile.
From experience, I should say that five miles English were about equal to
one mile German; but they vary considerably. Having spent a night in the
exceedingly neat city of Schwerin beside its pleasant waters, and under
the protection of the cannon in the antiquated castle overhead, I set out
for a walk of twenty miles onward to Ludwigslust. The road was a
pleasant one, firm and dry, with trim grass edgings and sylvan seats on
either side. The country itself was flat and dull, enlivened only now
and then by a fir plantation or a pretty village. Brother tramps passed
me from time to time with a cheerful salutation, and at three o'clock I
passed within the new brick walls of Ludwigslust; a town dignified as a
pleasure seat with a military garrison, a ducal palace, and an English
park.
The inn to which I went in Ludwigslust, was the house of call for
carpenters. The carpenters were there assembled in great force,
laughing, smoking, and enjoying their red wine, which may have come from
France, for Mecklenburg is no wine country. It was the quarter-day and
pay-day of the carpenters, who were about to celebrate the date as usual
with a supper. I went to sit down in the small travellers' room, and was
assailed instantly by the whole army of joiners, some with bleared eyes;
with flushed faces under caps of every shape and colour; and a flexible
pipe hanging from every mouth--Who was I?--What was I?--Whence did I
come?--Where was I born? and whither was I going? etc., etc. When they
had found out all about me and confirmed their knowledge by examination
of my passport, which one dull dog persisted in regarding as a book of
ballads, out of which he sang, I began to ask concerning food. "Nothing
warm in the house," said the housefather, a carpenter himself. "There
will be a grand supper at six o'clock, and everything and everybody is
wanted in the preparation of it. Make yourself easy for the present with
brown bread and dripping, and a glass of beer, and then you can make your
dinner with us when we sup." That suited me well enough.
The carpenters flowed out into the street, to take a stroll and get their
appetites, leaving behind them one besotted man, who propped himself
against the oven, and there gave himself a lecture on the blessings of
equanimity under all circumstances of distress.
"Do you sleep here to-night?" inquired the host. Certainly, I desired to
do so. "Then you must go to the police bureau for a permission."--"But
you have my passport; is not that sufficient?"--"Not in Ludwigslust; your
passport must be held by the police, and they will give you in exchange
for it a ticket, which I must hold, or else I dare not let you have a
lodging." I went to the police office at once; through the ill-paved
street into the middle of the town. I went by a large gravelled square,
which serves as a riding ground for the cavalry in the adjoining
barracks; and a long broad street of no great beauty, ending in a flight
of steps, led me then to the police office, and would have led me also,
had that been my destination, to the ducal palace. The palace fronts to
a paved square; it is a massive, noble edifice of stone, having before it
a fine cascade with a treble fall. To the left, across a green meadow, I
observed the church--the only church--a simple whitewashed building with
a colonnaded front. At the foot of the low flight of steps was the
police office, in which I found one man, who civilly copied my passport
into a book, put it aside, and gave me a ticket of permission to remain
one night in Ludwigslust. I was desired to call for my passport before
leaving in the morning.
At seven o'clock there was no sign of supper. At eight o'clock the cloth
was spread in a long, low lumber-room at the back of the inn, and the
assembled carpenters took their seats before the board, or rather boards
supported upon tressels. I took my place and waited hungrily. Very soon
there was a great steam over the whole table sent up from huge tureens of
boiled potatoes; smaller dishes of preserved prunes, boiled also,
occupied the intervals. A bottle of red wine was placed for every two
men. We then began our meal with soup; thin, sorry stuff. Then came the
chief dishes, baked veal and baked pig's head. The prunes were to be
eaten with the veal, which meat, having been first boiled to make the
soup, and then baked in a deep dish in a close oven to bring out some of
the faded flavour, was a sodden mass, and the whole meal was removed a
very long way from the roast fillet of veal and pickled pork known to an
Englishman. Our pig's head was, however, capital,--no soup had been made
out of that. The carpenters, with assiduous kindness, heaped choice bits
upon my plate, and as I had not dined, I supped with energy. The drunken
man who had fallen asleep by the stove sat by my side with greedy looks,
eating nothing, for he had not paid his share; he was a man who drank
away his gains, and he received no pity.
Then after supper there came toasts. The president was on his legs, all
glasses were filled; men ready. "Long live the Guild of carpenters!
Vivat h--o!" The ho! was a howl; the glasses clashed. "Long live all
carpenters! Vivat ho--o!" At ten o'clock there was a bustle and
confusion at the door, and a long string of lads marched, two and two,
cap in hand, into the room. These were all the carpenters' apprentices
in Ludwigslust. Every quarterly night the hospitable carpenters have
them in after supper to be regaled with beer and cordials, and initiated
into the mysteries of jollity that are connected with the existence of a
master carpenter. "Long live all carpenters' apprentices! Vivat
ho--o--o!" The apprentices having revelled in as much beer and spirits
as could be got through, shouting included, in a quarter of an hour,
formed double line again, and marched out under a fire of lusty cheers
into the street. Some jolly carpenters still lingered in the supper
room, smoking or singing choruses, or making partners of each other for
mad waltzes round the table to the music of their tongues.
Longing for bed, I was obliged to wait until the landlord was at leisure
to attend to me. After I rose next morning, I waited for three hours
impatiently enough until the sleepy host had risen; for until I had
received my ticket back from him I was unable to get my passport and go
on. At length, however, I got out of the brick walls of Ludwigslust, and
marched forward under a clear sky on the way to Perleberg, my next stage,
distant about fifteen English miles.
Having passed through two dirty, ill-paved towns, and being in some
uncertainty about the road, I asked my way of a short, red-faced man who,
being himself bound for the frontier station, favoured me so far with his
company. He was a post-boy whose vocation was destroyed, but who was
nevertheless blessed with philosophy enough to recognise the merits of
the railway system, and to point out the posts marking the line between
Berlin and Hamburg, with the comment that "the world must move." It
seemed to be enough for him that he lived in the recollection of the
people on his old road-side, and that he could stop with me outside a
toll-gate, the first I had seen in Germany, sure of the production of a
bottle for a social dram, in which I cordially joined. Then presently we
came to a small newly-built village, the Prussian military station. A
sentinel standing silent and alone by his sentry box striped with the
Prussian colours, black and white, marked where the road crossed the
Prussian frontier. We passed unchallenged, and found dinner upon the
territory of the Black Eagle, in a very modest house of entertainment.
Travelling alone onward to Perleberg, I stopped once more for refreshment
at a melancholy, dirty place, having one common room, of which the chairs
and tables contained as much heavy timber as would build a house. I
wanted an hour's rest, for my knapsack had become a burden to me, and the
handles of the few tools I was obliged to carry dug themselves
relentlessly into my back. "White or brown beer?" asked the attendant.
Dolt that I was to answer Brown! They brought me a vile treacley
compound that I could not drink; whereas the Berlin white beer is a
famous effervescing liquor; so good, says a Berliner, that you cannot
distinguish it from champagne if you drink it rapidly with closed eyes,
and at the same time press your nose between your fingers. In the
evening I got to Perleberg, and walking wearily up the old, irregular
High Street, established myself at the Londoner Schenke--the London
Tavern. I found the parlour pleasant and almost private, the hostess
quiet and lady-like. While she was getting coffee ready for me, I paid
my call of duty upon the police; for though my passport had been _vised_
to Berlin in half a dozen places, the law required that I should not
sleep in a new kingdom without first announcing my arrival.
At the upper end of the market place I found a red brick building with a
gloomy door, opening upon a broad stone staircase, by which I mounted to
the magistrate's room. That was a lofty hall, badly lighted by two
little windows, and scantily furnished with a few seats. Behind a
railing sat the magistrate in a velvet skull-cap and black robe; a short
fat man with a satisfied face, but unsatisfied and restless eyes. Two
armed soldiers shared with him the space beyond the rail. Two townsmen,
hat in hand, were patiently waiting for their passes. Having mentioned
my business, I was told that I might wait; standing, of course. The
heavy quiet of the room was broken presently by the entrance of two young
workmen in clean blouses, bound upon an errand like my own, who hovered
in a tremulous condition near the doorway.
The magistrate of Perleberg, after awhile, looked at my passport, and
asked "Have you the requisite amount of travelling money to show?" I had
not expected such a question, but the two gold ducats were still in my
fob, and I produced them with the air of a fine gentleman. One of the
soldiers took them in his hand, examined them and passed them to his
comrade, who passed them to the townspeople. "They are good," said the
soldier, as he put them back into my hand.--"Is that enough?" I asked, as
though there had been thousands of such things about other parts of my
person, for I saw that I had made an impression. "That will do," said
the magistrate, "you may sit down." O miserable homage before wealth!
They would not keep me standing.
It had grown dark, and a lighted candle had been placed upon the desk of
the chief magistrate, a most diligent man in his office, who, seeing no
description of my person in the passport, set to work with the zest of an
artist upon the depiction of my features. Examining each feature
minutely with a candle, he put down the results of his researches, and
then finally read off his work to me with this note at the bottom--"The
little finger of his left hand is crooked."
The hostess of the London Tavern, when I got back to my quarters, must
have heard about my wealth. That pleasant little maiden lady told me all
about her house, and how it had been named afresh after the King of
Prussia slept there on his way to London, where he was to act as sponsor
to the Prince of Wales. I, who had been turned away from the doors of
the humblest inns, was flattered and courted by a landlady who had
entertained His Majesty of Prussia. The neatest of chambermaids
conducted me to an elegant bedchamber--"her own room," the little old
maid had said as I left her--and there I slept upon the couch sacred to
her maiden meditations, among hangings white as snow.
The next morning I went out into Perleberg,--a ricketty old place, full
of rats and legends. There is a colossal figure in the market-place of
an armed knight, eighteen or twenty feet high, gazing eternally into the
fruit baskets below. He has his head uncovered, his hand upon his sword,
and is made of stone; but who he is nobody seemed to know; I was only
told that the statue would turn any one to stone who fixed his eyes upon
it in intense gaze for a sufficiently long time. I visited the chief
jeweller, a wonderful man, who was said to have visited nearly all parts
of the known world except London and Paris. I found him with one
workman, very busy, but not doing much; and he was very civil, although
manifestly labouring under the fear that I had come to ask for a
"_viaticum_." I did not. I went back to eat a hearty breakfast at the
London Tavern, where I found the mistress gracious, and the handmaid very
chatty and coquettish. From her talk I half concluded that I was
believed to be an Englishman who travelled like a journeyman for the
humour of the thing: the English are so odd, and at the London Tavern
they had not been without experience of English ways. My display of the
gold pieces must have been communicated to them overnight, by one of the
townspeople who heard me tell the magistrate at what inn I was staying.
From Perleberg to Keritz was eighteen miles. Upon the road I came up
with a poor fellow limping pitiably. He had a flat wooden box upon his
back, being a tramping glazier; and he made snail's progress, having his
left thigh swollen by much walking. I loitered with him as long as my
time allowed, and then dashed on to recover the lost ground. Passing at
a great pace a neat road-side inn, singing the while, a jolly red face
blazed out upon me from the lattice window. "Ei da! You are merry.
Whither so fast?"--"To Berlin."--"Wait an instant and I'm with you." Two
odd figures tumbled almost at the end of the instant out of the house
door. One a burly man with a red face and a large moustache, the other a
chalky young man with a pair of Wellington boots slung round his neck.
They were both native Prussians on the way from Hamburg to Berlin, having
come through Magdeburg, travel
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