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AN EVENING ON THE ELBE.
AN EVENING ON THE ELBE.
The German face is, on the whole, a much happier face than the American; at least it seems so to me. There, rich and poor alike bear fewer evidences of corroding care and disappointment. One reason for this is that the German is not above cultivating the art of enjoyment; and his enjoyment is of a more rational kind than that of the Americans. The German has the power to throw off the cares of business and take a turn at real and restful play. A very short stay in Germany will teach you this. Enjoyment is as much a part of life as business. Simple, inexpensive pleasures are everywhere provided for. Take the one pleasure of music; not a city in Germany, large or small, is without its concert garden; and in these gardens or halls, or what you please to call them, one may hear good music the year round for what seems to an American a ridiculously small sum. Let me describe one of these places in Dresden.
At sometime in the history of the city a certain Prince arranged a pleasure ground for himself in the following way: on the south side of the Elbe river, which divides the present city into Old and New, he threw up, close to the water's edge, a large embankment or terrace. It was, perhaps, 150 feet wide and a quarter of a mile long This terrace he ornamented and planted according to his royal taste; and he erected buildings upon it; and at the west end he arranged five wide steps leading up, and at the four corners, gilt statues of Day and Night, Morning and Evening. Fine buildings across the river and higher up on both sides, a handsome stone bridge not far to the west, and to the north and east several imposing castles, add to the beauty of the view from this terrace.
This place is now devoted to public amusement; and here I am sitting to-night; and if you care to read it, I will describe
what I see and hear. Seated at little tables all about me are people who, I am told, are of the "best" of Dresden. Family groups are not infrequent; the benevolent looking gray-haired old father, the homely but very motherly mother, the children, three or four. They have their evening meal before them; meat and swartz Brod and beer.
The eldest boy, fifteen years old, and the father, will presently have their cigars. The younger son, about twelve, I judge, has just expressed his opinion of the last number of the musical program, something by Von Weber. His words show a keen appreciation and there is some comment on it by the elders. Here and there is an American group, which you distinguish by superior dress, by a restlessness of face and movement, by inattention and noisiness during musical renderings. Yonder is a capital specimen of your tall, blonde, vigorous Englishman; and the vivacity and grace of manner of those two beyond, unmistakably belong to France. One doesn't often meet French, however.
Although considerable beer and wine is drunk all the while, it will be orderly and quiet here as long as you are pleased to stay—much more decently quiet and enjoyable it is, than many church socials in America—much less expensive and more Christianly pleasant. The orchestra that I listen to is good even for this country of orchestras; the music given is the best Wagner, Mendelssohn, Beethoven and Chopin.
And so, here I sit lulled by a thousand pleasing fancies, "melting down the hours" in restful dreamings wrought of deepening twilight, blue, fading hills, twinkling lights and shining stars, the murmuring river, sighing breeze, and the ever sadder and sweeter aspirations of Schubert's Serenade.
J. W. GLEED.