Of these four kinds of beer, the first—literally Simple—is equivalent to our small-beer, and is much in request by a certain class of topers from its low price, and because they can drink it the whole day without fear of becoming stupid before the evening. The second—White—is very foamy, and has somewhat the lively flavour of ginger-beer: after standing some time in the glass a shake round revives its briskness. The third—Store-beer—is of sufficient strength to bear a year's keeping; and the fourth—Bavarian—is of a similar quality. The last two were the most to my liking.
There was greater choice of beer than of viands; and the half-bent old dame thought fit to apologise because she could give me nothing for supper but omelettes and Klese; the latter a sort of dumpling made of potatoes and a sprinkling of wheaten flour. "If she had only known," and so forth. However, I found them palatable, and ate heartily, and therein she took comfort. Many times did I eat of such dumplings afterwards, for the relish for them is not confined to Saxony. Under the name of Knädeln, or Kipfeln, they are a standing dish among the Bohemians. To hundreds of families in the Erzgebirge they are the only variety—but without the wheaten flour—in a perpetual potato diet: rarely can they get even the sour black bread of the country, and in the years of the potato disease famine and misery desolated many a hearth.
The guests went away early, and then, as twilight fell, nothing disturbed the stillness of the vale save the murmur of running water and the whisper of the breeze among the slopes of firs, inviting to a contemplative stroll.
I rose on the morrow soon after the sun, and scrambled up the Auersberg. It was really a scramble, for I pushed at a venture into the forest, aiming direct for the summit. How the grass and the diminutive black-eared rye glistened with dewdrops! Early as it was, the saw-mill had begun its busy clatter, and here and there on the hills the woodcutters' strokes sounded in the calm morning air. Once under the trees all signs of a track disappeared; and there were slopes slippery with decayed vegetation; little swamps richly carpeted with exquisite mosses; dense patches of bilberry, teeming with berries as purple ripe as when Kunz plucked in another part of the forest but a few miles distant. And after all, owing to the tower on the top having fallen down, and the trees having grown up, the view is limited to a narrow opening on either side, where an avenue, now rarely used, affords an easy though tedious ascent. A square block of stone stands near the remains of the tower, dedicated to an upper forest-master, who had fulfilled fifty years of service, by his friends and subordinates. However, there is such a charm in the wild, lonely forest, that one need not regret half an hour's exertion in scrambling up a steep hill under its shadow.
I amused myself during breakfast with the Erzgebirgischer Anzeiger, a small quarto newspaper, published at Schneeberg thrice a week; the price twelve neugroschen (about fifteen pence) per quarter. Beer and amusements occupied a large space among the advertisements; for every village and every Wirthshaus in the forest, of any notoriety, promised music or dancing on Sundays, sometimes both; and fortunate was the one that could announce the military band. Double Lager beer, a penny the pot, was offered in abundance sufficient to satisfy the thirstiest. "Stewed meat and fresh sausages next Friday," is the inducement held out by one ambitious little alehouse: and an enterprising refectioner declares, "In my garden it gives fine weather." And, as the Dresdner Anzeiger shows, they do similar things in the metropolis. A coffee-house keeper, "up four steps," says: "My most honoured sir, I permit myself the freedom to invite you to a cup of coffee next Sunday afternoon at three o'clock." Certain young men publish their sentiments concerning their hostess, beginning with
"Angels until now have led thee,"
and so on. A fortunate husband and father thanks Madame Krändel for the "happy Entbindung" of his wife, and publishes his wife's maiden name. Parents announce the death of a child, and invite their friends to "quiet sympathy." A stray Berlin paper makes it clear that a like practice prevails in the capital of Prussia. But most amusing of all was the advertisement, in French and English, of the landlord of the Golden Star, at Bonn. Here it is:
"De cet hôtel la renommée
Promet sans exagération
Que vous y trouverez
Le comble de la perfection.
Le luxe de la salle à manger
Surpassera même votre idée."
"By all visitors of the Rhine
Known as one of the most fine
And best conducted models
Of all Continental hotels.
The dining-room allowed to be
A grand pattern of luxury."
Which does not say much for the bard of Bonn. Besides these there was the Illustrated Village Barber, a paper published at Leipzig, full of humorous cuts, over which the rustics chuckled not a little.1
Wildenthal has no church; the people, therefore, are dependent on Eybenstock, three miles distant, for sermons, baptisms, marriages, and burials; but, in common with other villages, it has a good schoolhouse. Hearing the sound of voices as I passed, I went in, and had a talk with the master, who was a model of politeness. He had about a hundred scholars, of both sexes, in a room well-lighted and ventilated, with a spelling-frame, and black music board, ruled for four parts, and other appliances of education placed along the walls. Threepence a week—two and a half neugroschen—is the highest rate paid at country schools; but there are two lower rates to suit folk of scanty means, and the very poorest pay nothing. The children attend school from the age of six up to fourteen, with no vacations except a fortnight at each of the three rural ingatherings—haymaking, harvest, and potato-digging. The hours of attendance are from seven to ten in the forenoon, one to four in the afternoon.
"Yes, they are pretty good children," said the master, in reply to my inquiry; "I have not much trouble to keep them in order; but, in case of need, here is a little instrument (kleines Instrument) which comes to my aid;" and he produced a small birch from a secret place behind his desk.
A general nudging went through the school, and quick, sly looks from one to the other, at sight of the interwoven twigs. "Ha! ha!" cried the master, "you see they recognise it. However, 'tis very seldom called for."
Then, mounting his rostrum, he said: "Now, children, tell me—which is the most famous country in the world?"
"Eng-land!" from all the hundred voices.
"Is it a most highly renowned country?"
"Ja—ja—ja!"
"And how is the chief city named?"
"Lundun"—the u sounded as in full.
"And when Saxony wants factories, and steam-engines, and spinning-machinery, and railways, who is it sends them hither, or comes over and makes them?"
"Eng-land!" again, and with enthusiasm.
"Good. Now, children, look at the Herr standing here by my side—look at him, I say, for he comes from that famous country—Eng-land!"
It was a trial to my courage to become thus unexpectedly the object for all eyes, and feeling bound to say something in return for the master's compliment, I replied that, "If England did do so much for Saxony, it was only paying back in another form the prowess and vigour which the Saxons long time ago had carried into England. Moreover, in Saxony all children could read; but in England there were many boys and girls who could not read."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed the master, holding up his hands. "How can that be?"
"It is part of our liberty. Any one in England is perfectly free to be ignorant if he likes it best."
"Remarkable!"