which the religious world has with one consent provided as a plaything for children; there were Noah and his family, people walking two and two, and horses sheep, pigs, and goats stowed away at the great side door.
The resemblance was irresistible, and more attractive to Caldecott's mind than any of the legends and mysteries with which German imagination has peopled the district.
There is "no holding" Caldecott now; on the "Hexen Tanzplatz," the sacred ground of Goethe's poetic fancy, within sound almost of the songs of the spirit world that haunt this lonely summit, he sets to work.
The dance of witches, so weird and terrible, (as lately seen on the Lyceum stage in Henry Irving's production of Faust) took a different form in the young artist's eyes, whose fancy sketch from the Hexen Tanzplatz is reproduced opposite. He had been properly "posted," as he expressed it, he had read all that should be read about ghosts, witches, and spectres, and the result is before us. The last sketch from the dreary summit, showing the patient tourists waiting to see the view, was all we could get from him of spectres of the Brocken.
One or two sketches of the interior of his Noah's ark, when some sixty travellers had assembled to supper, completed his subjects.
It may be noted that the feeling for landscape which Caldecott possessed in after years in such a high degree, if it touched him here, was not recorded in pencil. The magnificent scenery eastward through the valley of the River Bode, the grim iron foundries and ochre mines, and the wonderful view from the heights above Blankenberg, familiar to all travellers in the Harz, was recorded in only two sketches; one of a roadside inn, where we were invited to stay, the other of two tourists en route.
How, at the little wayside sheds and "drink gardens" scattered on the mountain paths, the tourists sat persistently back to the view which they had toiled miles to see, were depicted by the artist in pencil, and many little incidents on the road were dotted down for future use.
In the old tenth-century city of Goslar, Caldecott's pencil was never at rest. Taking a guide to save time (whose portrait he gives us, with a note of a curious sixteenth-century street door) he explores from morning to night, choosing as subjects always "the life of the place."
"Drinking the waters at Goslar" in 1872 was a crude effort artistically, which may be contrasted with his sketches of the same scenes at Buxton in 1876, but the humour is irresistible. An extract from our diaries is necessary here to explain the illustration.
"The figures are pilgrims, that have come from far and wide to combine the attractions of a summer holiday with the benefits of a wonderful 'cure' for which the city is celebrated. The promenades and walks on the ramparts lined with trees, are going through the routine of getting up early, taking regular exercise and drinking daily several pints of a dark mixture having the appearance, taste, and effect of taraxacum or senna. The bottles are supplied at the public gardens and cafés situated at convenient distances in the suburbs of Goslar."
On another day he encounters a school starting for two or three days on the mountains, the band making hideous noises as the procession passes out of Goslar. Everything is characteristic here and full of local colour; the order of march, the costumes and the boots of the boys, and the general gravity of the company are given exactly—making the usual allowance for exaggeration. In the background is seen one of the iron factories and an indication of a bit of Harz scenery; the sketch recalling the incident with wonderful vraisemblance. The "School on the March" in its humour and exaggeration may remind the reader of some drawings by Thackeray.
Here, as in Belgium, the harnessing of dogs to carts, drawing sometimes two people over the rough cobble stones of Goslar, excited Caldecott's pity and anger; he made several sketches of the animals and one portrait of their master who had just got down to enjoy a pipe at the corner of a street.
Sketches at various table d'hôtes in hotels, public gardens and the like, were plentiful and perpetual. But the majority were destroyed or put away; out of fifty only one such as "A General in the Prussian Army" (see page 44) being selected for reproduction.[4]
At Clausthal we joined a party to explore one of the iron mines, and Caldecott gives a sketch of the preparations. A note from our diary will best explain the situation.
"In order to descend the mines at Clausthal, visitors have to divest themselves of their ordinary costumes and put on some cast-off suits of ill-fitting garments left at the entrance to the mine for the purpose. As we approach the mouth of the shaft where the miners are waiting with lanterns to commence the descent, our party—consisting of four Englishmen—a professor of geology, a director of mines, an editor and an artist—present the somewhat undignified aspect in the sketch. This change of costume is necessary on account of the wet state of the mines, the thick caps being a protection against loose pieces of ore and the wet earth that falls from time to time in the galleries."
Caldecott gives the generally dismal and disreputable appearance of the party with great verve; his own portrait is presented in a few touches in the background, hurrying into garments much too big for him.
On one occasion the artist takes a solitary walk between Thale and Clausthal, a pathway lined in some parts by rows of trees with forbidden fruit, a novel and tempting experience. There being no mention of this route in the guide books, he writes as he says his "own Baedeker" in the familiar practical manner:—
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