for a second; yet there rises before me now, as I write, the low broad brow seamed with wrinkles, the shaggy, over-hanging grey eyebrows; the wild ashen eyes, which glared as those of a demoniac; the coarse mouth, with its fleshy lips compressed till they were white; the profusion of wolf-grey hair about the cheeks and chin; the thin, bloodless hands, raised and half-open, extended towards me as though they would clutch and tear me.
In the madness of terror, I flung myself along the seat to the further window.
Then I felt that it was moving slowly down, and was opposite me again. I lifted my hand to let down the window, and I touched something: I thought it was a hand—yes, yes! it was a hand, for it folded over mine and began to contract on it. I felt each finger separately—they were cold, dully cold. I wrenched my hand away. I slipped back to my former place in the carriage by the open window, and in frantic horror I opened the door, clinging to it with both my hands round the window-jamb, swung myself out with my feet on the floor and my head turned from the carriage. If the cold fingers had but touched my woven hands, mine would have given way; had I but turned my head and seen that hellish countenance peering out at me, I must have lost my hold.
Ah! I saw the light from the tunnel mouth; it smote on my face. The engine rushed out with a piercing whistle. The roaring echoes of the tunnel died away. The cool fresh breeze blew over my face and tossed my hair; the speed of the train was relaxed; the lights of the station became brighter. I heard the bell ringing loudly; I saw people waiting for the train; I felt the vibration as the brake was put on. We stopped; and then my fingers gave way. I dropped as a sack on the platform, and then, then—not till then—I awoke. There now! from beginning to end the whole had been a frightful dream caused by my having too many blankets over my bed. If I must append a moral,—Don’t sleep too hot.
DIE FRANKISCHE SCHWEIZ.
If you take a map of Germany and look for the kingdom of Bavaria, you will find, about midway between the ruins of Rhineland and the sources of the Danube, a small triangular tract of country lying between three cities. To the north and on the left hand there is Bamberg, with its noble cathedral and donjon of Altenberg, from which you may look down on countless acres of cultivated land, rich in vineyards, orchards, and fruit gardens. On the right there is Baireuth, cheerless and deserted by the courtly patronage it once enjoyed; and at the southernmost of the three points, from the midst of a flat country, and surrounded by goodly walls, rise the fair steeples and the high-pitched roofs of Nuremberg.
I am selfish enough to be thankful that the ordinary route of continental tourists merely skirts this same triangle and does not enter it. In these days, when Londoners swarm up the Rigi with no more ado than if it were Primrose Hill, drink bottled stout in Venetian palaces, post up their names on the Pyramids, and go shooting over Mount Sinai, it is pleasant to find some part of the accessible Continent unfrequented by Cockneys. Now and then an artist wandering in search of “mountain beauty,” sometimes a geologist who wishes to enrich his museum, but oftener a cunning angler with an eye to trout, finds his way here to revel in luxuriant scenery, grub for fossils in the caves of Kuhloch, or fill a fishing-basket on the Wiesent’s banks.
The line of rail from Nuremberg to Forcheim (which is the best starting-point for a tour in Franconian Switzerland) is not very interesting, and therefore, luckily, not very long. The only place of note on the road is Fürth. This part of the railway was the first laid down in Germany, and was opened in 1835. Fürth owes its importance to the unamiable policy of an ancient law which prohibited Jews from residing, or even sleeping, within the walls of Nuremberg. They were allowed to settle in the adjacent village, which, from being at first merely their refuge, has gradually risen to be their seat of trade. Brass and metal wares, gold-leaf and buttons, toys and trinkets, pipes and mirrors, are among the manufactures of Fürth. The nationality of its inhabitants—or, at least, a large proportion of them—is plainly indicated. One meets the Jewish type of feature in the shops, at the cafés, everywhere. That unmistakable nasal twang peculiar to the race greets the ear at the corner of every street. Young sons of Israel sell their fruit along the trottoir; old Shylocks, with gold headed canes and profusely jewelled shirt-fronts, hobble to and fro. We might imagine ourselves in the Ghetto at Rome, or the Judengasse at Frankfort, except that the inhabitants here are prosperous and their shops clean and respectable. The Jews here have schools and a college of their own, a separate court of justice, several synagogues, and a Hebrew printing establishment.
The celebrated museum, or rather warehouse, of mediæval antiquities, now removed to Nuremberg, was originally formed here by Herr Pickert, a dealer whose collection is one of the most valuable and comprehensive in its spécialité, and compared with which the largest establishment in Bond Street would sink into utter insignificance. There we may see not only whole suits of armour, but complete wardrobes of costume, from shirt to doublet, from cap to shoe, illustrating male and female dress of the middle ages from all parts of the world, to say nothing of a collection of silver and gold smiths’ work, of majolica, ivories, and jewellery, which would have attracted notice even in the midst of our magnificent “Loan Museum.” Some of the armour has served as a model to Fleischmann of Nuremberg, from whose manufactory is annually exported to America and elsewhere a large quantity of papier maché facsimiles, so like their originals, even to the rust upon them, that nothing short of touch distinguishes the good knight’s sword and breastplate from their counterfeits. The spurious spirit of chivalry which induces our Transatlantic friends thus to decorate their walls with these sham