In Frankfurt-am-Main was born one of the three supreme1 poets since Greece and Rome—Goethe—from whom I shall quote more than once; but Frankfurt has present glories that I saw. It is one of many beautifully governed German cities. I grew even fond of its union Station, since through this gate I entered so often the pleasures and edifications of the town. The trains were a symbol of the whole Empire. About a mile north of Nauheim the railroad passes under a bridge and curves out of sight. The four-fifteen was apt to be my express to Frankfurt. I would stand on the platform, watch in hand, looking northward2 for my train. At four-eleven the bridge was invariably an empty hole. Invariably at four-twelve the engine filled the hole; then the train glided3 in quietly, and smoothly4 glided on, almost punctual to the second. So did the other trains.
The conductors were officials of disciplined courtesy and informed minds. They appeared at the door of your compartment5, erect6, requesting your ticket in an established formula. If you asked them something they told you correctly and with a Teutonic adequacy that was grave, but not gruff. Once only in a score of journeys did I encounter bad manners. Now I should never choose these admirable conductors for companions, but as conductors they were superior to the engaging fellow citizen who took my ticket down in Georgia and, when I asked did his train usually make its scheduled connection at Yemassee Junction7, cried out with contagious8 mirth:
"My Lawd, suh, 'most nevah!"
In these German trains another little discord9 jarred with some regularity10: the German passengers they brought from Berlin, or were taking back to Berlin, were of a heavy impenetrable rudeness—quite another breed than the kindly11 Hessians of Frankfurt.
We know the saying of a floor—that it is so clean "you could eat your dinner off it." All the streets of Frankfurt, that I saw, were clean like this. The system of street cars was lucid—and blessedly noiseless!—and their conductors informed with the same adequate gravity I have already noted12.
I found that I developed a special affection for Route 19, because this took me from the station to the opera house. But all routes took one to and through aspects of municipal perfection at which one stared with envy as one thought of home.
Oh, yes! Frankfurt is a name to me compact with memories—memories of clean streets; of streets full of by-passers who could direct you when you asked your way; of streets empty of beggars, empty of all signs of desolate13, drunken or idle poverty; of streets bordered by substantial stone dwellings14, with fragrant15 gardens; of excellent shops; the streets full of prosperous movement and bustle16; an absence of rags, a presence of good stout17 clothes; a people of contented18 faces, whether they talked or were silent—the same firm and broad contentment, like a tree deep-rooted, in the city face that was in the country face.
These burghers, these Frankfurters, seemed to be going about their business with a sort of solid yet placid19 energy, well and deliberately20 aimed, that would hit the mark at once without wasting powder. It was very different and very superior to the ill-arranged and hectic21 haste of New York and Chicago; here nobody seemed driven as though by invisible furies—the German business mind was not out of breath.
Such are my memories of Frankfurt at work. Frankfurt at leisure was to be seen in its Palm Garden. This was the town's place of general recreation; large, various, beautifully and intelligently planned; with space for babies to roll in safety, and there were the babies rolling, and their nurses; with courts for tennis, and thither22 I saw adolescent Frankfurt strolling in flannels23 and short skirts after business hours; with benches where sat the more elderly, taking the air and gazing at the games or the flowers or the pleasant trees; with paths more sequestered24 that wound among bowers25, convenient for sweethearts—but I did not see any, because I forbore to look. A central building held tropic plants and basins, and large rooms for bad weather, I suppose, with a restaurant; but on this fine day the music played and we dined outside.
An entrance fee, very small, served to make you respect the Palm Garden, since humanity seldom respects what it pays nothing for. Most unexpected show of all in this Palm Garden were the flowers under glass. I had erroneously supposed that any German scheme of color would be heavy, and possibly garish26. Never had I beheld27 more exquisite28 subtlety29 on so extended a scale of arrangement. One walked through aisle30 after aisle of roses and other blooms in these greenhouses—everywhere was the same delicat............