It was difficult enough to believe they were there, without seeing them.One ought not to subject his faith to too great a strain at first in Europe.The bones of the Three Kings, by the way, made the fortune of the cathedral.They were the greatest religious card of the Middle Ages, and their fortunate possession brought a flood of wealth to this old Domkirche.The old feudal lords would swear by the Almighty Father, or the Son, or Holy Ghost, or by everything sacred on earth, and break their oaths as they would break a wisp of straw: but if you could get one of them to swear by the Three Kings of Cologne, he was fast; for that oath he dare not disregard.
The prosperity of the cathedral on these valuable bones set all the other churches in the neighborhood on the same track; and one can study right here in this city the growth of relic worship.But the most successful achievement was the collection of the bones of St.
Ursula and the eleven thousand virgins, and their preservation in the church on the very spot where they suffered martyrdom.There is probably not so large a collection of the bones of virgins elsewhere in the world; and I am sorry to read that Professor Owen has thought proper to see and say that many of them are the bones of lower orders of animals.They are built into the walls of the church, arranged about the choir, interred in stone coffins, laid under the pavements;and their skulls grin at you everywhere.In the chapel the bones are tastefully built into the wall and overhead, like rustic wood-work;and the skulls stand in rows, some with silver masks, like the jars on the shelves of an apothecary's shop.It is a cheerful place.On the little altar is the very skull of the saint herself, and that of Conan, her ]over, who made the holy pilgrimage to Rome with her and her virgins, and also was slain by the Huns at Cologne.There is a picture of the eleven thousand disembarking from one boat on the Rhine, which is as wonderful as the trooping of hundreds of spirits out of a conjurer's bottle.The right arm of St.Ursula is preserved here: the left is at Bruges.I am gradually getting the hang of this excellent but somewhat scattered woman, and bringing her together in my mind.Her body, I believe, lies behind the altar in this same church.She must have been a lovely character, if Hans Memling's portrait of her is a faithful one.I was glad to see here one of the jars from the marriage-supper in Cana.We can identify it by a piece which is broken out; and the piece is in Notre Dame in Paris.It has been in this church five hundred years.The sacristan, a very intelligent person, with a shaven crown and his hair cut straight across his forehead, who showed us the church, gave us much useful information about bones, teeth, and the remains of the garments that the virgins wore; and I could not tell from his face how much he expected us to believe.I asked the little fussy old guide of an English party who had joined us, how much he believed of the story.
He was a Protestant, and replied, still anxious to keep up the credit of his city, "Tousands is too many; some hundreds maybe; tousands is too many."A GLIMPSE OF THE RHINE
You have seen the Rhine in pictures; you have read its legends.You know, in imagination at least, how it winds among craggy hills of splendid form, turning so abruptly as to leave you often shut in with no visible outlet from the wall of rock and forest; how the castles, some in ruins so as to be as unsightly as any old pile of rubbish, others with feudal towers and battlements, still perfect, hang on the crags, or stand sharp against the sky, or nestle by the stream or on some lonely island.You know that the Rhine has been to Germans what the Nile was to the Egyptians,--a delight, and the theme of song and story.Here the Roman eagles were planted; here were the camps of Drusus; here Caesar bridged and crossed the Rhine; here, at every turn, a feudal baron, from his high castle, levied toll on the passers; and here the French found a momentary halt to their invasion of Germany at different times.You can imagine how, in a misty morning, as you leave Bonn, the Seven Mountains rise up in their veiled might, and how the Drachenfels stands in new and changing beauty as you pass it and sail away.You have been told that the Hudson is like the Rhine.Believe me, there is no resemblance; nor would there be if the Hudson were lined with castles, and Julius Caesar had crossed it every half mile.The Rhine satisfies you, and you do not recall any other river.It only disappoints you as to its "vine-clad hills." You miss trees and a covering vegetation, and are not enamoured of the patches of green vines on wall-supported terraces, looking from the river like hills of beans or potatoes.
And, if you try the Rhine wine on the steamers, you will wholly lose your faith in the vintage.We decided that the wine on our boat was manufactured in the boiler.
There is a mercenary atmosphere about hotels and steamers on the Rhine, a watering-place, show sort of feeling, that detracts very much from one's enjoyment.The old habit of the robber barons of levying toll on all who sail up and down has not been lost.It is not that one actually pays so much for sightseeing, but the charm of anything vanishes when it is made merchandise.One is almost as reluctant to buy his "views" as he is to sell his opinions.But one ought to be weeks on the Rhine before attempting to say anything about it.
