A WHOLE DAY OF SIGHT-SEEING

The four descended the steps, Fritz leading Pixy, and were soon in the main streets of the city, where the constant hurrying of feet and the rush of traffic was a continual subject of wonder to the country boys. In the windows of the large stores they saw so many things that were new to them, some of them from foreign countries, that they could scarcely move on and Uncle Braun waited patiently, answering innumerable questions.

“Is this the first time that you have ever seen diamonds, pearls and other precious gems?” he asked when they remained long at the windows of a large jewelry store.

“Yes,” Fritz replied, “our parents have none, nor have our neighbors. Oh, how beautiful they are! and just see the price that is upon the earrings.”

“Yes, ten thousand marks.”

“Ten thousand marks,” echoed Franz. “Why, that would buy a house and garden in the Odenwald.”

“Does any person except queens and other royal people wear such things?” asked Paul.

“Certainly! There are many people in Frankfort who buy and wear them. If you are surprised at the price of the earrings, I am sure that you would be more astonished did we know the price of the diamond necklace.”

“Uncle Braun, do you suppose that it was this jewelry store that was robbed a few weeks ago?” asked Fritz. “I saw an account of it in a Frankfort paper.”

“I cannot say. There are many jewelry stores here, also many thieves.”

“Oh,” cried the boy, at the remembrance of his own loss, “my new, bright gold-piece ”

“With the likeness of Kaiser Frederick upon it!” completed Franz. “You see we can repeat that wail all right.”

“Don’t tease him, Franz, my boy,” remarked Uncle Braun in a kind, yet rebuking tone. “You have not as yet had the opportunity to show us how you would act if all your money was stolen. Fritz has nothing to be ashamed of that he was deceived by the smooth-tongued stranger. I will tell you what happened to a baker, a middle-aged man, who has lived in Frankfort all his life. He was sitting in his bakery one day when he heard the footsteps of a man going up the steps of his house, which had two front doors, one leading into the bakery and the other up the stairway to the bedrooms.

“He went to the door and looked up and there was a man who appeared to be going up, but was in reality coming down backwards. He halted when he heard the sound at the door.

“He had a large bundle tied up in a compact roll, consisting of bed, pillows and bed clothing and did not appear to be in the least haste.

“‘What are you doing there?’ called the baker.

“‘Isn’t this the pawn-broker’s shop?’ asked the stranger.

“’No, that is on the next square. You go to the corner and turn to the right, and there you are.’

“‘Thank you!’

“The baker returned to his bakery and the man went out and down the street. When night came and the family went to retire there was no bed or bed-clothing in the baker’s room. The clever thief had made off with them.”

Fritz seemed somewhat comforted to hear that he was not the only one who had been outwitted.

Farther on the boys took keen interest in a bicycle race.

“Oh, look at them!” Fritz exclaimed. “A whole regiment of them! How can the dealer sell so many?”

“He must sell a great many more than you see there in order to pay the rent of his store.”

“Yes,” agreed Fritz, knowingly, “the rents are high with us, too; there is one man in our village who pays one hundred and eighty marks for the rent of his store.”

“That is quite a sum of money, my boy,” smiled Uncle Braun, “but look at this small store we are passing. I happen to know that the rent of it is ten times your one hundred and eighty marks.”

“Is that possible? Then if he got but a mark for each pair of shoes, he would have to sell eighteen hundred pairs in a year to make the rent.”

“I don’t know how many he sells, but I do know that he has been there for a long time and does a flourishing business.”

“Oh, listen to the music in this store!” exclaimed Paul, “singing, and no singer to be seen.”

“I thought it would surprise you. That is a phonograph. Now listen, do you know the air?”

“Yes, it is from ‘Der Freischutz,’ and oh, how beautifully it is done! How can it be possible for it to sing so correctly?” and the triplets listened with delight. They would have lingered much longer but Uncle Braun reminded them that time was passing, and there was much more to see.

“Do you know anything of the poet Goethe?” he asked as they passed along.

“Oh, yes!” they all exclaimed eagerly.

“Would you like to see the house in which he was born? I am sure you would, so we will go directly to it. The old house has been restored and is just as it was when he lived there. He was born in 1749. How old would he be if living?”

It did not take the triplets an instant to state exactly the number of years, then their old friend asked which of Goethe’s poems they liked most.

“I like the ‘Singer,’” said Paul, “and I like the ‘Erlking,’ but when my father read it aloud to us last winter my little sister crept under the sofa. She was afraid.”

By this time they had reached the old house, and it was a delight to the triplets to see the rooms in which he had played when a boy like them. They looked from the windows from which he had gazed at the fields beyond, and did not wonder that every intelligent stranger who came to Frankfort paid a visit to the old house, where the greatest poet that Germany has ever known John Wolfgang von Goethe lived and wrote.

“Where would you like to go next?” asked Uncle Braun.

“To the bridge over the Main,” they answered promptly, for they believed that they would never grow weary of watching the cool, rippling water making its way to the Rhine and from thence to the sea. So to the bridge they went and leaned upon the parapet and gazed upon the scene as they had done the evening before.

“Did you ever hear how Frankfort got its name?” asked their guide.

“No, we never heard.”

“It is said that at that point,” he continued, designating it with his cane, “the river was at one time so shallow, owing to a ridge of rocks under its bed, that it could be forded by persons on foot. One time when Charlemagne or Charles the Great was battling against the Saxons, he was compelled to retreat before them, and they were in hot pursuit. The French forces were weak, while the Saxons were strong, but if he and his army could cross the Main, all would be safe. A heavy fog rested upon the river and they could not find the safe fording. The French ran up and down the shore, hoping to see someone who could tell them the location of the ford, but found no one. The enemy was advancing rapidly upon them and they had about given up in despair, when they saw a deer with her young step into the water and cross safely. In full confidence that the instinct of the animal had guided her correctly, they followed and reached the south side of the Main safely. The Saxons followed, but could not find the shallow place to cross, for there was no deer to guide them, and the city, dating from that time, was called Frankenfurt or Frankfort.”

This narrative was of deep interest to the boys, who gazed at the spot where Charlemagne had crossed more than eleven hundred years before.

“Did he live in Frankfort?” asked Paul.

“Yes, for even at that time the city was of some importance. He built a fine palace which he named ‘Frankfort,’ and did much to improve the city and neighborhood. He formed great hunting troops to destroy the wild animals which infested the forests and did much damage, bears, wolves, wild hogs and buffaloes making the forests dangerous to travelers.”

Now that they had heard this story of the river, they took keen interest in all that concerned it, especially the vessels upon its placid waters.

“They can carry great burdens,” remarked Fritz, “more than many horses could pull.”

“Suppose we have a question in arithmetic,” said Uncle Braun. “I am sure that any one of you can solve it. If one such vessel could carry thirty thousand hundredweight, how many horses would it take to draw that burden if two horses could draw fifty hundredweight, and how many wagons and drivers if each driver had two horses?”

Fritz was the ready reckoner of the three, and quickly answered, “Twelve hundred horses, six hundred wagons, and six hundred drivers.”

“Then you can see how much cheaper it is to have freight carried by sea.”

“What are those boards for reaching from the shore out over the water?” asked Paul.

“They are for those who wish to take a bath in the Main; and on these warm evenings it is very agreeable to have this refreshment to weary bodies. Would you boys like to take a bath?”

“What would it cost?” asked Fritz.

“Eight cents.”

“Then I can’t take it. I have no money. Oh, my beautiful, bright gold ”

“But would you take the bath if I pay for it?”

“Do you mean for Franz and Paul, too?”

“Yes, for all three.”

“Franz, do you and Paul take the bath, and Uncle Braun can give me the eight cents, which is just the same to him as if I took the bath.”

“Oh, Fritz, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” exclaimed Paul. “It was not money, but a bath that Uncle Braun offered us.”

Fritz had thought of this before Paul spoke, and his face had turned very red, and he could not raise his eyes to the face of his old friend.

But Uncle Braun laughed heartily at the different expressions upon the countenances of the three boys.

“I am much older than our little man, Fritz, and I must say that I would be tempted to strike a bargain with somebody if every penny was stolen from me. Now in such a predicament, I think we should help each other, so I will give Fritz five nickels to put in his empty pocket which will at least make a jingle.”

“No, no, I will not take them!” cried Fritz, flushing warmly, “I am ashamed of myself.”

“Fritz,” said Paul, “it is a very different thing for you to take the money that Uncle Braun offers you as a gift, than to ask for money in place of a bath when he offers you the bath.”

Franz saw the affair in the same light and advised the acceptance of the nickels, but added that it would take too much time to take a bath when there was so much they wished to see.

They passed on to the residence streets of the city where were some elegant dwellings, one of which especially attracted the attention of Fritz.

“Does a Rothschild live there?” he asked.

“No; there is no male descendant of Mayer Anselm Rothschild living now in Frankfort; nor is there now a Rothschild banking house.”

“Was Mayer Anselm always rich?” asked Fritz.

“No. He came of poor Jewish parentage, and lived in his childhood in a poor little dwelling in a narrow street, but by his honesty and strict integrity he became the founder of a banking house known over the world, and his five sons, Anselm, Solomon, Nathan, Charles and James, became heads of great banking houses in different cities.”

“Then the father was born in Frankfort?” remarked Paul.

“Yes. Mayer Anselm Rothschild was born in Frankfort in the year 1743, and died here in 1812.”

“Then he was six years older than Goethe,” commented Paul.

“Yes, they were great men in their different lines, and were contemporaries; that is, they lived at the same time.”

“But it must have been tiresome to stay in a bank and count money,” remarked Franz. “I would rather be a forester and live in the woods. My father says that healthy blood and sound limbs are better than money.”

“Yes, but a rich man can live where he chooses,” quoth Fritz. “If Mayer Rothschild wished to live in the woods, he could have done so. Couldn’t he, Uncle Braun?”

“Yes, but his living there would only be for pleasure, while the father of Franz lives there to protect and care for our forests. Each man should do his duty to the best of his ability in the sphere that Providence has placed him.”

“Boys, do you see that old gray tower rising high above the treetops?” he continued. “It is the old Eschenheimer tower, and gave its protective strength to the city wall, which long ago has disappeared; but the old tower remains a monument of the past. Do you notice that ivy has climbed to its very top? There was an old saying that when ivy reaches the top of any high building, the beginning of the end has come, and you will soon see that building in ruins. But the ivy reached the top long ago, and the tower still stands.”

“And looks strong enough to stand forever,” said Paul.

“Did you ever hear of Hans Winkelsee, who was once imprisoned there?” asked Uncle Braun.

“No. Please tell us about him,” said the three eagerly.

“Hans Winkelsee was, in his time, one of the boldest, most daring robbers that ever infested the Frankfort forests and the foresters did their best to entrap him and make him their prisoner, but for a long time he eluded them. At length his time came, and he who had lived the wild, free life of a bird of prey was in a narrow cell at the top of Eschenheimer tower, judged guilty of so many crimes that he was sentenced to death.

“He who had roamed the forest, after deer and other wild animals, and had lain in wait to plunder travelers, now saw nothing, heard nothing but the creaking of the weather-vane on the top of the tower, which tormented him by day and robbed him of sleep by night until he preferred going to the gallows to longer imprisonment.

“’Oh, that I were free to see the bright sunshine, the moon and the stars; hear the thrush sing and the owl hoot!’ he would say to himself in the darkness of his cell. ’But I see nothing, hear nothing but the horrible grating sound overhead.’

“‘Well, Winkelsee,’ said the jailor one evening as he stood at the cell door, ’you must feel it a great relief to be safely in here, as would a bear that had escaped the hunters and the dogs, and was safe in the depths of his cave.’

“’I could endure it if it were not for that fiendish weather-vane. If I only had my good rifle in my hand and was upon the ground, I would shoot a bullet hole through it for every night it has robbed me of sleep.’

“’Now, Winkelsee, do you really imagine that you could shoot to the top of the tower from the ground?’

“’I don’t imagine it. I know it, and it would be a joy to me to have revenge upon it for robbing me of sleep.’

“’Hans Winkelsee, the burgomaster and the judge who condemned you would believe you a boaster, or out of your mind did they hear you say this, for it is simply impossible.’

“’You can go and tell them, and say that if I lose my life upon the gallows, they lose the best marksman in the kingdom.’

“The jailor shook his head, then turned the key in the lock and went slowly down the steps. He believed that the judge and the burgomaster would laugh at him should he give them Winkelsee’s message. Yet he feared that if the imprisoned man died upon the scaffold, he would feel self-reproach and remorse for not giving him the one chance for his life.

“He went to the judge and told him, and a council was called to discuss the question. As in most cases, part were in favor of giving him the chance for his life, and the other part believed that he was planning a flight, and his associates would gather about to help him escape.

“But there were huntsmen among them who were eager to see what Winkelsee could do and argued that if he failed, it would then be time enough to have him executed, so they decided that as soon as the clock struck twelve the next morning they would allow him the trial of his skill.

“A deputation was sent to tell him of the decision.

“‘I am not afraid of the gallows,’ he said, ’but am willing to have a chance for my life on condition that I have my own rifle and one of my comrades accompany me to the spot where I take my stand. Can you agree to this?’

“They assured him that both requests should be granted, and hoped that the trial would be a success.

“’I have no fear in regard to it. I know what I can do. Now you can leave me to myself, and to-morrow I will leave this martyr cage and be as free as the birds of the air.’

“’Winkelsee, I advise you not to take the affair so lightly. If you fail, your last chance for life fails with it.’

“The news of the trial of his skill spread through the city and the next day at twelve a great crowd assembled to witness the test of skill.

“When Hans was escorted to the spot by one of his associates, his rifle was put in his hand. He pressed it to his breast as if it were a long lost friend, examined it carefully to see that it had not been tampered with, then said, ‘I am ready. Shall I shoot?’

“The burgomaster nodded and Hans took aim at the weather-vane and fired.

“Stillness reigned in the great multitude, then hunters and marksmen shouted and cheered, for there was a bullet hole in the weather-vane, plainly visible to the spectators. Hans loaded the rifle, took aim, a second bullet whizzed through the air, and a second hole appeared in the weather-vane close to the first.

“‘He is in league with satán,’ cried a voice in the crowd. ’No mortal being could do that without the evil one’s help.’

“‘He is satán himself,’ cried another, ’and could shoot a hole through the moon if his rifle would reach that far.’

“Shot after shot followed, each one leaving a bullet hole in the vase, until the whole nine were there, and anyone having good eyes can see them to-day.”

“Fritz, Franz, I see them!” cried Paul. “Oh, he was a wonderful marksman. I wonder if anyone is living now who could do it?”

“But,” suggested Franz, “how easily the maker of the weather-vane could make the nine holes before it was placed on the top of the tower.”

“You boys can settle that question among yourselves,” replied Uncle Braun, “but listen to the rest of the story. The burgomaster and councilmen were glad to have the chance to spare the life of the stalwart and expert marksman, and told him that he was free to go, providing he would no longer molest travelers in the forest.

“He made no reply, and the councilmen held a consultation and one of them went to him with another offer.

“’The head-master of hunting died lately, and his place must be filled,’ he said. ’You have given such an exhibition of your skill as a marksman that we offer the place to you. You can then live in the city of Frankfort and have all the rights and privileges of a citizen, together with the compensation that goes with the office, and our good wishes.’

“All expected Winkelsee to accept this offer with gratitude, but he waved his hand in refusal.

“‘I do not wish the place,’ he said. ’All my life I have been free and free I will be. My imprisonment let me see what it is to be buried alive. I would feel if enclosed by the walls of a city as a chaffinch would feel in the craw of a hawk. No matter if your city walls enclose a larger place, it is yet a cage. No, I will not stay. Hans Winkelsee seeks the woods. There he was born, there he will die and be buried under a shady oak tree.’”

The boys were so interested in the story that they did not realize that it was past their supper hour, but Uncle Braun knew that they must be hungry.

“We will go into a restaurant,” he said, “and each of you can order whatever you wish just so that the price does not exceed ten pennies for each. That will buy enough to stay your hunger until you can reach home to enjoy the good supper your aunt will have ready.”

“Ten cents will get enough for us and leave a little over for Pixy,” remarked Fritz.

“No, I will provide for Pixy. He, too, is my guest.”

It was a new and pleasant experience to the boys to give an order in A fine restaurant, and each chose ten cents’ worth of cake, which they pronounced delicious, and which with glasses of cool water refreshed them greatly.

“Would it not be well to take your kind aunt some of the cake which you like so well?” asked Uncle Braun.

“We should have thought of it ourselves,” said Franz. “Paul and I will buy twenty cents’ worth and Fritz need not help because he has lost his money.”

“There was no need to remind him of his loss,” rebuked Paul.

“There is no need to remind me, true enough,” sighed Fritz, “for it is never out of my mind. When I saw the fine houses I thought to myself that it took gold-pieces like mine to build them. When I saw the tower and heard the story of Winkelsee, I thought that I would not give my gold-piece for his rifle and when I walk along the streets I think that perhaps I may find a gold-piece like the one I lost.”

“But, my dear boy,” said Uncle Braun, “what would be your gain would be someone’s loss; perhaps it would be the only piece that a poor widow had to pay rent or to buy bread for her children.”

“I am ashamed that I wished to find one, but my gold-piece was so new and bright.”

“There is no need to be all the time grieving about what cannot be helped,” grumbled Franz.

“My boy,” said Uncle Braun kindly, “do not censure him. It is a comfort to speak to friends of what troubles us, and a pleasure to speak of what interests us. I knew three young men in college who were very fond of the pleasures of the table. What they had to eat, what they wished to eat, and where they hoped to eat, seemed to be their only object in life, and they spoke of it continually. It certainly was not entertaining or instructive conversation.”

“But I wish to do my share toward buying the cake for Aunt Steiner,” said Fritz, and he took out ten cents of the money given him by Uncle Braun, the other boys each added ten, and quite a large piece of the rich cake was ordered, wrapped in white paper, paid for and then they were ready to go to 37 Bornheimer street, for Uncle Braun had decided that they had enough sight-seeing for one day.

They parted from their kind guide with many thanks for the pleasures he had given them, and went slowly up the long steps. When they opened the door of the cheerful supper room, all was so homelike and comfortable, and Mrs. Steiner welcomed them so gladly that they felt that it was a great blessing to have a second home.

“Dear boys,” she said, “rest a little while, then one of you get a pitcher of fresh water and all go to your room and wash faces and hands and brush your hair, and you will be refreshed and rested for supper.”

Fritz had carried the cake, and when his aunt returned to the kitchen he slipped it back of the stove until the proper time to present it, then all went to their room.

“Are you hungry?” asked Franz.

“Yes, hungry as a wolf,” replied Paul, “but don’t let us speak of it again, or Aunt Steiner will think that we are Odenwald wolves and all we came to see her for is what we get to eat. You know what Uncle Braun said of those three young men and I don’t wish to be like them.”

Upon returning to the supper room Fritz said, “Let us set the table for Aunt Fanny.”

“All right,” responded Franz, springing up. “Do you put on the tablecloth and I will put on the dishes.”

“No, let us both spread the cloth, and both put on the dishes,” returned Fritz, but Franz got a plate from the cupboard, and when Fritz attempted to take it out of his hands it fell to the floor and broke into many pieces.

“Now see what you have done!” ejaculated Franz.

“No, what you have done,” retorted Fritz.

Question and answer flew back and forth like snowballs in winter, and then Mrs. Steiner appeared at the door.

“Dear, dear, that is a great display of crockery!” she said.

“Franz did it,” said Fritz.

“No, it was Fritz.”

“Oh, you innocent lambs,” she said laughingly, “of course neither of you did it, so it must be that little man on the clock face who stepped down to break a plate. Or perhaps it was the dog; he is hiding his face between his feet as if ashamed to look up.”

“No, no, Aunt Fanny, it was not my Pixy,” exclaimed Fritz, “I will take all the blame upon myself.”

“It was partly my fault,” echoed Franz, “and I am sorry that the plate is broken.”

“So am I,” rejoined Fritz, “and I will pay for it.”

“Hear him, offering to pay for it,” laughed Mrs. Steiner, “when he has no money. Never mind, my boy, you need not pay for the plate. I have plenty more, and here is a mark to put in your empty purse.”

“But, Aunt Fanny, my purse is not empty,” and he told of the nickels given him by Uncle Braun.

“It was kind in him to take you out; and he is very generous in every way. Now pick up the pieces of plate, and put them upon this waiter and then we will set the table and have supper.”

This was done, and while his aunt was out of the room Fritz took out one of the pink plates, put the cake upon it and set it in the middle of the table. It was a great surprise to her and she was gratified that they remembered her while they were out, and said so, whereupon the conscientious boys would not let her remain in ignorance of the fact that it was Uncle Braun who suggested it.

“Well, it is no matter who first thought of it,” she said cheerfully, “you boys used your money to prepare a surprise for me. We will cut it in four parts and it will make a fine dessert.”

The boys insisted that she should keep it all for herself, but she said she would enjoy her part more when all had a share, so they did not refuse it.

“Now, boys, tell me something of your afternoon,” said Mrs. Steiner, and each vied with the others to describe what they had seen. Fritz contributed his share of it by telling of his wish that he could find a gold-piece on the street, and what Uncle Braun said in regard to it, ending with “Oh, my new, bright, gold-piece with the ”

“Oh, dear, are we again to hear that cry?” grumbled Franz. “You are like Hannibal weeping upon the ruins of Carthage.”

“You have not lost any gold-piece, and you are wrong about Hannibal; it was Scipio who wept on the ruins of Carthage.”

“You are both wrong,” corrected Paul, “it was Marius who wept upon the ruins of Carthage. Wasn’t it, Aunt Steiner?”

“My dear boy, I have forgotten much that I once knew of ancient history, but I think that Hannibal was a great Carthagenian general who fought the Romans. Whether he wept or not over the ruins of Carthage I cannot say; but I do know that you boys are tired and sleepy and the sooner you get to bed the better. Go now, don’t forget to say your prayers; and Fritz, see that your head keeps on the pillow of the lounge and not on the chair beside it.”