consequence of his story, the internal arrangements appear to have been
much altered. Some of the cellar chambers have been painted in the true
modern German style, about which we should prefer not to say too much.
Some of the mural paintings profess to be representations of scenes in
the story. There is no longer a passage straight through from the
Apostle cellar to the boudoir of Frau Rosa herself, and of the other
vaults the cellar of Bacchus is alone unaltered. Bacchus, indeed, is
the hero of the place. No better description could possibly be given of
him than that which Hauff gives, and therefore we will not attempt to
amplify it. But the same Bacchus does not actually 'in the wood,' so to
speak, sit there. He was taken down ten years ago, and a new one put up
in his place--why, I failed to discover. His cask is, however, like all
the other casks except Frau Rosa (who has disappeared altogether), the
old one, a veritable Thirty Years War cask, beautifully carved with
fantastic figures in relief. In the Apostle cellar all the wine is
Hochheimer or Ruedesheimer, and the names are still graven on each cask,
and 'Herr Judas, 1729,' is said to contain the best wine. But from a
somewhat limited experience it is difficult cordially to endorse the
reported opinion of the late King Ludwig of Bavaria, that the finest
Rhine wines would keep for ever. Let the man who wishes to know what
wine _can be_, by all means go daily for a few weeks to the Rathskeller
in Bremen. Let him pay due homage to the worthies of old time there by
tasting them, one glass of each per diem; but let him not fail to wash
them down speedily with a bottle of twenty-year old Niersteiner or
Ruedesheimer. If you ask, thirsty reader, why these things are to be
found at their best in Bremen, we can only say that North Germany is a
right conservative country; and because the Burgomasters of Bremen
thought it their duty in the seventeenth century to lay down cask upon
cask of the best vintages, their successors think it is their duty
likewise; which is a very practical and righteous feeling. Bacchus,
however, and the two mighty casks which guard his right hand and his
left (like those trusty comrades who stand up in the halls of the
Colleges of our Universities on each side of the drinker, when the
loving cup is passed round, to prevent his being stabbed in the back),
are now empty. The right hand cask was broken open and drained by the
French soldiers in 1806,