The Steamer Was Small, Narrow, And Poor, Though Swift.
Thus we began
to see the Rhine under pressure of circumstances.
The French and Germans chatted merrily. The English tourists looked
conscientiously careworn. Papa with three daughters peered alternately
into the guide book, and out of the loophole in the awning, in evident
terror lest something they ought to see should slip by them. Escaping
from the jam, we made our way to the bow, carrying stools, umbrellas,
and books, and there, on the very beak of all things, we had a fine
view. Duly and dutifully we admired Bingen, Cob-lentz, Ehrenbreitstein,
Bonn, Drachenfels, and all the other celebrities, and read Childe Harold
on the Rhine. Reached Cologne at nine.
Thursday, August 4. We drove to the cathedral. I shall not
recapitulate Murray, nor give architectural details. I was satisfied
with what I saw and heard, and wished that so magnificent a
conception, so sublime a blossom of stone sculpture, might come to
ripe maturity, not as a church, indeed, but rather as a beautiful
petrifaction, a growth of prolific, exuberant nature. Why should not
the yeasty brain of man, fermenting, froth over in such crestwork of
Gothic pinnacle, spire, and column?
The only service I appreciated was the organ and chant: hidden in the
midst of forest arches of stone, pouring forth its volumes of harmony
as by unseen minstrelsy, it seemed to create an atmosphere of sound,
in which the massive columns seemed transfused, - not standing, as it
were, but floating, - not resting, as with weight of granite mountains,
but growing as by a spirit and law of development. Filled with those
vast waves and undulations, the immense edifice seemed a creature,
tremulous with a life, a soul, an instinct of its own; and out of its
deepest heart there seemed to struggle upward breathings of
unutterable emotion.
LETTER XLII.
COLOGNE, 10 o'clock, Hotel Bellevue.
DEAR: -
The great old city is before me, looming up across the Rhine, which
lies spread out like a molten looking glass, all quivering and
wavering, reflecting the thousand lights of the city. We have been on
the Rhine all day, gliding among its picture-like scenes. But, alas I
I had a headache; the boat was crowded; one and all smoked tobacco;
and in vain, under such circumstances, do we see that nature is fair.
It is not enough to open one's eyes on scenes; one must be able to be
_en rapport_ with them. Just so in the spiritual world, we
sometimes _see_ great truths, - see that God is beautiful,
glorious, and surpassingly lovely; but at other times we feel both
nature and God, and 0, how different _seeing_ and _feeling!_
To say the truth, I have been quite homesick to-day, and leaning my
head on the rails, pondered an immediate flight, a giving up of all
engagements on the continent and in England, an immediate rush
homeward. Does it not seem absurd, that, when within a few days'
journey of what has been the long-desired dream of my heart, I should
feel so - that I should actually feel that I had rather take some more
of our pleasant walks about Andover, than to see all that Europe has
to offer?
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