# Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home/Place XX

frankenfort.
My dear C., August 30.—The spell is broken and we have left Wiesbaden. We arrived here last evening, after a drive of four hours through a tame country, ​varied here and there by a brown village, a church, or little chapel, and the old watch-towers near the town, marking the limits of its territory which does not exceed ten English square miles. I had supposed this was a free city, and 1 was surprised to meet at the gate we entered, soldiers in the Austrian uniform. We should think it an odd sort of freedom that was protected by the forces of a foreign prince. The annual fair is just beginning, and the town is crowded, though these fairs are no longer what they were before the general diffusion of commerce and manufactures; the introduction of railroads will soon put an end to them.
We drove to six hotels before we could find a place to lay our heads in: this is certainly a very "triste plaisir" that we travellers have now and then.
Having secured a roof to shelter us, we sallied forth for a walk. We went up the principal street, the Zed, where the buildings are magnificent, looked in at the shop windows, examined the bronze images at the fountain, and then, as if by instinct, turning at the right places and proceeding just as far as was necessary, we reached the Main, which is not much wider than the Housatonic in our meadows. Returning, we went into the public gardens, which occupy the place of the old ramparts. This green and flowery belt girdling the town is a pretty ​illustration of turning the sword into the pruning-hook. The redeemed ground is laid out with economy of space and much taste. We passed through copses, groves, and parterres, and came out upon a growth of firs encircling a bronze bust of a benefactor who had contributed to this adornment. As I looked at the children and various other happy groups we passed, I wished there were some arithmetic that could calculate the amount of happiness produced by a man who originated a public garden, and set it off against the results of the lives of those great conquerors whose effigies and trophies cumber the earth!
Our first impression of Frankfort is very agreeable. It has not the picturesque aspect of the other Continental towns, but it is clean, with broad streets and modern houses, and appears lively and prosperous, as if one might hve and breathe and get a living in it. M., true to her general preference of cleanliness and comfort to the picturesque, declares it is the only place she has seen since she left England she could be tempted to live in, while L., as true to her peculiar tastes, prefers the oldest, wretchedest German village, provided there is a ruined castle brooding over it, and plenty of fragments of towers, peasants in costume, &c.
"Necessity is the mother of Invention." I believe she is the mother of half our faculties, and so will you, dear C., when I tell you, you who ​would not trust me to buy a go-cart, that I have selected and bought to-day our travelling carriage. Mr. K. tells me I have good reason to be satisfied with my bargain, though I did not take François' advice, who said to me, as we were entering the coach warehouse, "No matter if you are very well pleased, always shake your head and say 'il ne vaut rien'" ("it is good for nothing"): this is a fair specimen of courier diplomacy.
We took tea this evening with Madame ——. She has a gem of a country-house half a mile from town, resembling the cottage of a Boston gentleman. The grounds are laid out and cultivated with the elaborateness of an English suburban villa. Madame —— received us at the gate, and conducted us to seats beside a green painted table surrounded with flower-beds and under the shadow of fine old chestnuts. She told us her husband was induced by these chestnuts to buy the lot for a playground for his grandchildren. Then, in case of a shower, they must have a shelter, and he built a tearoom, and the shelter expanded to its present comfort and elegance; a pleasant illustration of the growth of a project. Madame —— gave us our choice of taking our tea in the garden, the balcony, or the drawing-room. The Germans seem to me to go into their houses as the pigeons do, only for shelter and sleep. Their gardens are, in fact, their drawing-rooms.
​After tea Madame —— took us a drive. We crossed the Main on a stone bridge to Sachsenhausen, a suburb of the town, and drove to an eminence, where we had a good view of the town, the river, and very extensive vegetable gardens. We then drove quite round the town, outside the public gardens. The environs are gay with summer-houses and gardens, now brilliant with dahlias and asters. Very cheerful and uniform they looked, as if each one had a fair portion; not one a feast and another a fast, the too general condition of life in the Old World. On our return we passed the new library, with the inscription, "Studiis, libertati, reddita civitas" ("The city returned to studies and freedom"); and we were beginning to feel as if we were surrounded by a home atmosphere, when we plunged into the Jews' quarter, so dark, narrow, and intricate that it reminded me of Fagan's haunts. The old town is very curious. The old houses have grated windows and massive doors, and are many stories high, each story projecting over that below it. The fronts of those which are of stone are curiously carved or painted in compartments. All this, indeed, looked "the ancient, imperial, free city!"
We finished the day in Madame ——'s box at the theatre, literally the day, for it was yet twilight when we got home. The theatre is by law closed at nine o'clock precisely. This very rational hour obviates a serious objection to the amusement.
​We were fortunate in seeing one of the great dramatic performers of Germany, Emile Devrient. The play was one of the Princess Amelia's; a tale of domestic sorrow, as I ascertained by my interpreters. There was no scenic effect, no dramatic contrivance to aid it. The scene was not once shifted during the play. Devrient seemed to me, as far as I could judge merely from his action, expression, and voice, to deserve the applauses showered on him. The playing was all natural, and the voices of the women marvellously sweet. Have I never yet remarked to you the sweet, low tone of the German woman's voice? From the cultivated actress to your chambermaid, it is a musical pleasure to hear them speak. Is it an atmospheric effect, or the breath of a placid temper? The latter, I thought, when, a moment since, my inkstand was overset, and the girl summoned to repair the mischief held up her hands, smiled, and uttered, in a lute-like tone, a prolonged g—u—t! (good!)
We dined to-day at Mr. Köck's. He is an eminent banker here, and, from his extensive English connexions, is in some sort compelled to be a general receiver of the Continental tourists. We do not bank with him, and therefore have not this ​claim, such as it is, upon his hospitality; but, for all that, it has been most liberally extended to us. A family whose hospitality is not exhausted in such a thoroughfare as Frankfort, must have an inexhaustible fountain of humanity. Hospitality in an isolated country residence is the mere gratification of the appetite of a social being; here it is virtue. Our dinner-table was arranged in a manner quite novel to me. In the centre of the table there was a china vase with a magnificent pyramid of flowers, and the whole table was covered with fruits, flowers, wine, and confectionary.
* "Fruit of all kinds, in coat
* Rough or smooth rind, or bearded husk or shell."
If you think the confectionary was not quite à la Paradise, remember Milton makes Eve to "temper dulcet creams" "from sweet kernels pressed." Considering her unfortunate love of delicacies, her skill, and the climate, nothing is more probable that in the "fit vessels" which Milton mentions she converted her "dulcet creams" into ice. However that may be, Madame K.'s table looked like a sylvan feast. We had the most delicious atmosphere of fruits and flowers, instead of being stupified with the fumes of meat. There was no bustle of changing dishes, no thrusting in of servant's arms. The meat was carved and brought from an adjoining room. We had one of the very largest pineapples I ever saw, raised in Yorkshire!
* ↑ I was afterward informed that there was an alarming effervescence among the students in 1833, which induced the Frankforters to call in the aid of Austria and Prussia, who have kindly since watched over the "tranquillity" of the city—a kind of vigilance in which they excel.
* ↑ The theatre at Frankfort was near our hotel, and it used to amuse me to see the people going to it with much the air of quietness and sobriety that you will see an assembly collecting for a lyceum lecture in a New-England village. Ladies go without any male attendant, and in their ordinary dress. The price of a box ticket is fifty cents. The orchestra is said to be one of the best in Germany. Does not all this indicate a high degree of civilization?
* ↑ This mode of serving a dinner was, as I have said, quite novel to me; but I am told that within the last few months it has become common in New-York. So easily do we adopt foreign fashions!