Читать книгу Schöne Aussicht: A Journal of Our Trip Abroad - Louise Spilker - Страница 7

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WE were dropped at Cuxhaven on July 26th, and from here a train carried us to Hamburg, arriving on the morning of the 26th of July. With the name of Hamburg, the idea of seaport is associated; and one can see at its harbor a forest of masts, but is greatly astonished when he learns the sea is one hundred kilometres distant. In fact, the grandeur of our New York harbor is never so emphasized as when you realize that the large ocean liners that can lie at her very door are unable to enter European harbors. Little tenders carry all passengers to and fro. The Elbe between Hamburg and Cuxhaven is in reality an artificially constructed inlet of the sea, formed by vast dykes, and filled by the mighty waters of the Elbe, driving back the sea itself. The tide, however, brings no sea water to Hamburg; it only holds back the waters of the Elbe, making its effect felt thirty-six kilometres beyond the seaport. It is hard to understand why this German city is such a wonderful shipping point, until you are told that the Hamburg dock possesses the invaluable advantage of being at all times accessible for ocean steamers, an advantage that is wanting in most seaports, such as Antwerp, London, Liverpool, etc. They consist of a so-called “tide-havens,” in contradistinction to “dock-havens.” We will now traverse an old country but a new empire; for the Germany of to-day measures its existence by comparatively few decades. Our Civil War was a thing of the past before German unity was an accomplished fact.

Our introduction into Germany was certainly a satisfactory one. We were surprised to find, upon our arrival the first evening, that it was daylight until 9.30 o’clock and twilight after 10 o’clock; in fact, one could read the paper at that time; daylight again at 3 A.M. The night seemed delayed and dawn hastened, thus robbing the night of some hours at each end. It began to be a serious question as to when Morpheus would operate, but we found upon awakening next morning it was 12 M. (mid-day), not interfering in the least with our slumbers. What a scene of beauty greeted us upon looking out of the window! A beautiful lake, miles long, running right through the centre of the city; graceful swans by the hundreds gliding over its azure depths; fairy launches here, there, and everywhere. The eye rests on beauty—beauty. Pavilions dot its borders, where the happy German and his family are drinking their beer and listening to the music (which is always good in Germany); thoroughly enjoying themselves in their characteristic way, so enviable. The city possesses beautiful streets and picturesque squares; its beauty is greatly enhanced by two artificially constructed lakes called the outer and inner Alster,—“Aussen Alster,” “Binnen Alster,”—the boulevard, as we would say, but known there as the “Jungfernstieg,” is one of the most beautiful promenades in all Europe. Most of the important buildings, monuments, and attractive coffee houses cluster around the “Inner Alster.” The landscape beauty of Hamburg is beyond description. “Schöne Aussicht” greets you in bold letters everywhere you glance, to remind you if you are careless and indifferent to their beauty. Usually four rows of lindens will run the entire length of the streets; drives through the residence portion are quite unlike those of our American cities. The exclusiveness of their homes is a distinct feature. They are hidden almost from view by dense but highly cultivated foliage. Flowers are in greatest profusion about every home, from the palace to the peasant’s home at Cuxhaven. The dogs pulling the milk wagons through the streets, the women carrying their wares and green stuffs on their shoulders, suspended in baskets from wooden sticks, reminds one that he is not in an American city, which for the moment is forgotten in their more modern haunts. There is simply a wilderness of foliage in this city; they give it constant care. Their slavish attention along all artistic lines proves that the German, while he sips his beer and cannot reverse in the waltz or dance the two-step, does not lose his love for art; and the high state of its development here shows him to be above the average American in his merciless greed for wealth.

After a day and night at Nienburg (the birthplace of George W. Spilker), we took the “Schnell Zug” for Berlin, making a short stop-over at Hanover. We were agreeably surprised in their railway systems. While there is considerably more jostle than on one of our good trains, there is a degree of comfort enjoyed in second-class travel that is in some ways superior to our first-class. We ran about fifty-seven miles an hour, a whole compartment to ourselves; remarking it “was the pleasantest long ride that we had ever taken on a railroad train.”