Chapter XI: Conclusion: Of the Account of the Royal Library. the Library of the Arsenal (7)

The moon struggled through a murky sky, after the cessation of rain, as we entered _Saudrupt_: which is little better than a miserable village. Travellers seldom or never sleep here; but we had gone a very considerable distance since five in the morning, and were glad of any thing in the shape of beds. Not an inn in Normandy which we had visited, either by day or by night, seemed to be more sorry and wretched than this, where we--stretched our limbs, rather than partook of slumber. At one in the morning, a young and ardent lover chose to serenade his mistress, who was in the next house, with a screaming tune upon a half-cracked violin--which, added to the never-ceasing smacking of whips of farmers, going to the next market town-- completed our state of restlessness and misery. Yet, the next morning, we had a breakfast ... so choice, so clean, and so refreshing--in a place of all others the least apparently likely to afford it--that we almost fancied our strength had been recruited by a good night's sleep. The landlord could not help his miserable mansion, for he was very poor: so I paid him cheerfully and liberally for the accommodation he was capable of affording, and at nine o'clock left Saudrupt in the hope of a late dinner at NANCY-- the capital of Lorraine.

The morning was fresh and fair. In the immediate neighbourhood of Saudrupt is the pretty village of _Brillon_, where I noticed some stone crosses; and where I observed that particular species of domestic architecture, which, commencing almost at Longchamps, obtains till within nearly three stages of Strasbourg. It consists in having rather low or flat roofs, in the Italian manner, with all the beams projecting _outside_ of the walls: which gives it a very unfinished and barbarous look. And here too I began to be more and more surprised at the meagreness of the population of the _country_. Even on quitting Epernay, I had noticed it to my companion. The human beings you see, are chiefly females--ill-featured, and ill complexioned-- working hard beneath the rays of a scorching sun. As to that sabbath-attire of cleanliness, even to smartness among our _own_ country people, it is a thing very rarely to be seen in the villages of France. At Brillon, we bought fine cherries, of a countrywoman for two sous the pound.

_Bar-le Duc_ is the next post-town. It is a place of considerable extent and population: and is divided into the upper and lower town. The approach to it, along hilly passes, covered with vineyards, is pleasant enough. The driver wished to take us to the upper town--to see the church of St. Peter, wherein is contained "a skeleton perforated with worm-holes, which was the admiration of the best connoisseurs." We civilly declined such a sight, but had no objection to visit the church. It was a Saint's day: and the interior of the church was crowded to excess by women and lads. An old priest was giving his admonition from the high altar, with great propriety and effect: but we could not stay 'till the conclusion of the service. The carriage was at the door; and, reascending, we drove to the lower town, down a somewhat fearful descent, to change horses. It was impossible to avoid noticing the prodigious quantity of fruit--especially of currants and strawberries. _Ligny_ was our next halting place, to change horses. The route thither was sufficiently pleasant. You leave the town through rather a consequential gateway, of chaste Tuscan architecture, and commence ascending a lofty hill. From hence you observe, to the left, an old castle in the outskirts of the town. The road is here broad and grand: and although a very lively breeze was playing in our faces, yet we were not insensible to the increasing heat of the day. We dined at _St. Aubin_. A hearty good-humoured landlady placed before us a very comfortable meal, with a bottle of rather highly-flavoured vin ordinaire. The inn was little better than a common ale house in England: but every thing was "très propre." On leaving, we seemed to be approaching high hills, through flat meadows--where very poor cattle were feeding. A pretty drive towards _Void_ and _Laye_, the next post-towns: but it was still prettier on approaching _Toul_, of which the church, at a distance, had rather a cathedral-like appearance. We drank tea at Toul--but first proceeded to the church, which we found to be greatly superior to that of Meaux. Its interior is indeed, in parts, very elegant: and one lancet-shaped window, in particular, of stained glass, may even vie with much of what the cathedral of this place affords.

At Toul, for the first time since quitting Paris, we were asked for our passports; it being a fortified town. Our next stage was _Dommartin_; behind which appeared to be a fine hilly country, now purpled by the rays of a declining sun. The church of Toul, in our rear, assumed a more picturesque appearance than before. At _Velaine_, the following post-town, we had a pair of fine mettlesome Prussian horses harnessed to our voiture, and started at a full swing trot--through the forest of Hayes, about a French league in length. The shade and coolness of this drive, as the sun was getting low, were quite refreshing. The very postilion seemed to enjoy it, and awakened the echoes of each avenue by the unintermitting sounds of numberless flourishes of his whip. "How tranquil and how grand!" would he occasionally exclaim. On clearing the forest, we obtained the first glimpse of something like a distant mountainous country: which led us to conclude that we were beginning to approach the VOSGES--or the great chain of mountains, which, running almost due north and south, separates France from ALSACE. Below, glittered the spires of _Nancy_--as the sun's last rays rested upon them. A little distance beyond, shot up the two elegant towers of _St. Nicholas_; but I am getting on a little too fast.... The forest of Hayes can be scarcely less than a dozen English miles in breadth. I had never before seen so much wood in France. Yet the want of water is a great draw-back to the perfection of rural scenery in this country. We had hardly observed one rivulet since we had quitted the little glimmering stream at Chateau-Thierry.

We now gained fast upon NANCY, the capital of Lorraine. It is doubtless among the handsomest provincial towns in Europe; and is chiefly indebted for its magnificence to Stanislaus, King of Poland, who spent the latter part of his life there, and whose daughter was married to Louis XV. The annexation of Lorraine to France has been considered the masterpiece of Louis's policy. Nancy may well boast of her broad and long streets: running chiefly at right angles with each other: well paved, and tolerably clean. The houses are built chiefly of stone. Here are churches, a theatre, a college, a public library--palace-like buildings--public gardens-- hospitals, coffee houses, and barracks. In short, Nancy is another Caen; but more magnificent, although less fruitful in antiquities. The _Place de la Liberté_ et _d'alliance_ et _de la Carriére_ may vie with the public buildings of Bath; but some of the sculptured ornaments of the _former_, exhibit miserable proofs of the fury of the Revolutionists. Indeed Nancy was particularly distinguished by a visit of the Marseillois gentry, who chose to leave behind pretty strong proofs of their detestation of what was at once elegant and harmless. The headless busts of men and women, round the house of the governor, yet prove the excesses of the mob; and the destruction of two places of worship was the close of their devastating labours.

Nancy is divided into the _Old_ and the _New Town_. The four principal streets, dividing the latter nearly at right angles, are terminated by handsome arches, in the character of _gateways_. They have a noble appearance.

On the first evening of our arrival at Nancy, we walked, after a late cup of tea, into the public garden--at the extremity of the town. It was broad moon light; and the appearance of the _Caffés_, and several _Places_, had quite a new and imposing effect; they being somewhat after the Parisian fashion. After a day of dust, heat, and rapid motion, a seat upon one of the stone-benches of the garden--surrounded by dark green trees, of which the tops were tipt with silver by the moon beam--could not fail to refresh and delight me: especially as the tranquillity of the place was only disturbed by the sounds of two or three groups of _bourgeoises_, strolling arm in arm, and singing what seemed to be a popular, national air--of which the tune was somewhat psalm-like. The broad walks abounded with bowers, and open seats; and the general effect was at once singular and pleasing. The Hotel-Royal is an excellent inn; and the owners of it are very civil people.

My first visits were paid to churches and to bookseller's shops. Of churches, the _Cathedral_ is necessarily the principal. It is large, lofty, and of an elegant construction, of the Grecian order: finished during the time of Stanislaus. The ornamental parts are too flaunting; too profuse, and in bad taste. This excess of decoration pervades also the house of the Governor; which, were it not so, might vie with that of Lord Burlington; which it is not unlike in its general appearance. In the Cathedral, the monument of Stanislaus, by Girardon, is _considered_ to be a chef-d'ouvre. There was a Girardet--chief painter to Stanislaus, who is here called "the rival of Apelles:" a rival with a vengeance! From thence I went to an old church--perhaps of the thirteenth, but certainly of the fourteenth century. They call it, I think, _St. Epreuve._ In this church I was much struck with a curious old painting, executed in distemper, upon the walls of a side aisle, which seemed to be at least three hundred years old. It displayed the perils and afflictions of various Saints, on various emergencies, and how they were all eventually saved by the interposition of the Virgin. A fine swaggering figure, in the foreground, dressed out in black and yellow-striped hose, much delighted me. Parts of this curious old picture were worth copying. Near to this curiosity seemed to be a fine, genuine painting, by Vandyke, of the Virgin and Child--the first exhibition of the kind which I had seen since leaving Paris. It formed a singular contrast to the picture before described. On quitting this old church, I could not help smiling to observe a bunch of flowers, in an old mustard pot--on which was inscribed "_Moutarde Fine de Nageon, à Dijon_--" placed at the feet of a statue of the Virgin as a sacred deposit!

On leaving the church, I visited two booksellers: one of them rather distinguished for his collection of _Alduses_--as I was informed. I found him very chatty, very civil, but not very reasonable in his prices. He told me that he had plenty of old books--_Alduses_ and _Elzevirs, &c_.--with lapping-over vellum-bindings. I desired nothing better; and followed him up stairs. Drawer after drawer was pulled out. These M. Renouard had seen: those the Comte d'Ourches had wished to purchase; and a third pile was destined for some nobleman in the neighbourhood. There was absolutely nothing in the shape of temptation--except a _Greek Herodian_, by Theodore Martin of Louvain, and a droll and rather rare little duodecimo volume, printed at Amsterdam in 1658, entitled _La Comédie de Proverbes_. The next bookseller I visited, was a printer. "Had he any thing old and curious?" He replied, with a sort of triumphant chuckle, that he "once had _such_ a treasure of this kind!" "What might it have been?" "A superb missal--for which a goldsmith had offered him twelve sous for each initial letter upon a gold ground--but which he had parted with, for 100 francs, to the library of a Benedictin monastery--now destroyed. It had cost him twelve sous." "But see, Sir, (continued he) is not this curious?" "It is a mere reprint, (replied I) of what was first published three hundred years ago." "No matter--buy it, and read it--it will amuse you--and it costs only five sous." I purchased two copies, and I send you here the title and the frontispiece. "_Le Dragon Rouge, ou l'art de commander les Esprits Célestes, Aériens, Terrestres, Infernaux. Avec le vrai Secret de faire parler les Morts; de gagner toutes les fois qu'on met aux Lotteries; de découvrir les Trésors," &c_.

The bookseller told me that he regularly sold hundreds of copies of this work, and that the country people yet believed in the efficacy of its contents! I had been told that it was in this very town that a copy of _the Mazarine Bible_ had been picked up for some _half_ _dozen francs!_--and conveyed to the public library at Munich.

Towards the evening, I visited the public library by appointment. Indeed I had casually met the public librarian at the first Bouquiniste's: and he fixed the hour of half-past six. I was punctual almost to the minute; and on entering the library, found a sort of BODLEY in miniature: except that there was a great mass of books in the middle of the room--placed in a parallelogram form--which I thought must have a prodigiously heavy pressure upon the floor. I quickly began to look about for _Editiones Principes_; but, at starting, my guide placed before me two copies of the celebrated _Liber Nanceidos_:[200] of which _one_ might be fairly said to be _large paper_. On continuing my examination, I found civil and canon law-- pandects, glosses, decretals, and commentaries--out of number: together with no small sprinkling of medical works. Among the latter was a curious, and _Mentelin_-like looking, edition of _Avicenna_. But _Ludolphus's Life of Christ_, in Latin, printed in the smallest type of _Eggesteyn_, in 1474, a folio, was a volume really worth opening and worth coveting. It was in its original monastic binding--large, white, unsullied, and abounding with rough marginal edges.

It is supposed that the library contains 25,000 volumes. Attached to it is a Museum of Natural History. But alas! since the revolution it exhibits a frightful picture of decay, devastation, and confusion. To my eye, it was little better than the apothecary's shop described by Romeo. It contained a number of portraits in oil, of eminent Naturalists; which are palpable copies, by the same hand, of originals ... that have probably perished. The museum had been gutted of almost every thing that was curious or precious. Indeed they want funds, both for the museum and the library. It was near night-fall when I quitted the library, and walked with the librarian in a pleasant, open space, near one of the chief gates or entrances before mentioned. The evening was uncommonly sweet and serene: and the moon, now nearly full, rose with more than her usual lustre ... in a sky of the deepest blue which I had yet witnessed. I shall not readily forget the conversation of that walk. My companion spoke of his own country with the sincerity of a patriot, but with the good sense of an honest, observing, reflecting man. I had never listened to observations better founded, or which seemed calculated to produce more beneficial results. Of _our_ country, he spoke with an animation approaching to rapture. It is only the exercise of a grateful feeling to record this--of a man--whose name I have forgotten, and whose person I may never see again. On quitting each other, I proceeded somewhat thoughtfully, to an avenue of shady trees, where groups of men and women were sitting or strolling--beneath the broad moon beam--and chanting the popular airs of their country.

The next morning I quitted Nancy. The first place of halting was _St. Nicholas_--of which the elegant towers had struck us on the other side of Nancy. It was no post town: but we could not pass such an ecclesiastical edifice without examining it with attention. The village itself is most miserable; yet it could once boast of a _press_ which gave birth to the _Liber Nanceidos_.[201] The space before the west front of the church is absolutely choked by houses of the most squalid appearance--so that there is hardly getting a good general view of the towers. The interior struck us as exceedingly interesting. There are handsome transepts; in one of which is a large, circular, central pillar; in the other, an equally large one, but twisted. One is astonished at finding such a large and beautiful building in such a situation; but formerly the place might have been large and flourishing. The west front of this church may rival two-thirds of similar edifices in France.

_Domballe_ was the next post: the drive thither being somewhat picturesque. _Luneville_ is the immediately following post town. It is a large and considerable place; looking however more picturesque at a distance than on its near approach: owing to the red tiles of which the roofs are composed. Here are handsome public buildings; a fountain, with eight jets d'eau-- barracks, a theatre, and the castle of Prince Charles, of Lorraine. A good deal of business is carried on in the earthenware and cotton trade--of both which there is a manufactory--together with that of porcelaine. This place is known in modern history from the _Treaty of Luneville_ between the Austrians and French in 1801. From hence we went to _Bénaménil_, the next stage; and in our way thither, we saw, for the first time since leaving Paris, a _flock of geese!_ Dined at _Blamont_--the succeeding post town. While our cutlets were preparing we strolled to the old castle, now in a state of dilapidation. It is not spacious, but is a picturesque relic. Within the exterior walls is a fine kitchen garden. From the top of what might have been the donjon, we surveyed the surrounding country--at that moment rendered hazy by an atmosphere of dense, heated, vapour. Indeed it was uncommonly hot. Upon the whole, both the village and _Castle of Blamont_ merit at least the leisurely survey of an entire day.

On starting for _Héming_, the next post, we were much pleased by the sight of a rich, verdant valley, fertilized by a meandering rivulet. The village of _Richeval_ had particular attractions; and the sight of alternate woods and meadows seemed to mitigate the severity of the heat of the day. At Héming we changed horses, opposite a large fountain where cattle were coming to drink. The effect was very picturesque; but there was no time for the pencil of Mr. Lewis to be exercised. In less than five minutes we were off for _Sarrebourg_. Evening came on as we approached it. Here I saw _hops_ growing, for the first time; and here, for the first time, I heard the _German language_ spoken--and observed much of the German character in the countenances of the inhabitants. The postilion was a German, and could not speak one word of French. However, he knew the art of driving--for we seemed to fly like the wind towards _Hommarting_--which we reached in half an hour. It was just two leagues from Sarrebourg. We stopped to change horses close to what seemed to be a farm house; and as the animals were being "yoked to the car," for another German Phaeton, I walked into a very large room, which appeared to be a kitchen. Two long tables were covered with supper; at each of which sat--as closely wedged as well could be--a great number of work-people of both sexes, and of all ages. Huge dogs were moving backwards and forwards, in the hope of receiving some charitable morsel;, and before the fire, on a littered hearth, lay stretched out two tremendous mastiffs. I walked with fear and trembling. The cooks were carrying the evening meal; and the whole place afforded such an _interior_--as Jan Steen would have viewed with rapture, and Wilkie have been delighted to copy. Meanwhile the postilion's whip was sounded: the fresh horses were neighing: and I was told that every thing was ready. I mounted with alacrity. It was getting dark; and I requested the good people of the house to tell the postilion that I did not wish him to _sleep_ upon the road.

The hint was sufficient. This second German postilion seemed to have taken a leaf out of the book of his predecessor: for we exchanged a sharp trot for a full swing canter--terminating in a gallop; and found ourselves unexpectedly before the gates of _Phalsbourg_. Did you ever, my dear friend, approach a fortified town by the doubtful light of a clouded moon, towards eleven of the clock? A mysterious gloom envelopes every thing. The drawbridge is up. The solitary centinel gives the pass-word upon the ramparts; and every footstep, however slight, has its particular echo. Judge then of the noise made by our heavy-hoofed coursers, as we neared the drawbridge. "What want you there?" said a thundering voice, in the French language, from within. "A night's lodging," replied I. "We are English travellers, bound for Strasbourg." "You must wait till I speak with the sub-mayor." "Be it so." We waited patiently; but heard a great deal of parleying within the gates. I began to think we should be doomed to retrace our course--when, after a delay of full twenty minutes, we heard ... to our extreme satisfaction ... the creaking of the hinges (but not as "harsh thunder") of the ponderous portals--which opened slowly and stubbornly--and which was succeeded by the clanking of the huge chain, and the letting down of the drawbridge. This latter rebounded slightly as it reached its level: and I think I hear, at this moment, the hollow rumbling noise of our horses' feet, as we passed over the deep yawning fosse below. Our passports were now demanded. We surrendered them willingly, on the assurance given of receiving them the following morning. The gates were now closed behind us, and we entered the town in high glee. "You are a good fellow," said I to the gatesman: come to me at the inn, to-morrow morning, and you shall be thanked in the way you like best."

The landlord of the inn was not yet a-bed. As he heard our approach, he called all his myrmidons about him--and bade us heartily welcome. He was a good-looking, sleek, jolly-faced man: civilly spoken, with a ready utterance, which seemed prepared to touch upon all kinds of topics. After I had bespoken tea and beds, and as the boiling water was getting ready, he began after the following fashion: "Hé bien Mons. Le Comte ... comment vont les affaires en Angleterre? Et votre grand capitaine, le DUC DE VELLINGTON, comment se porte il? Ma foi, à ce moment, il joue un beau rôle." I answered that "matters were going on very well in England, and that our great Captain was in perfectly good health." "Vous le connoissez parfaitement bien, sans doute?"--was his next remark. I told him I could not boast of that honour. "Neanmoins, (added he) il est connu par-tout." I readily admitted the truth of this observation. Our dialogue concluded by an assurance on his part, that we should find our beds excellent, our breakfast on the morrow delicious--and he would order such a pair of horses (although he strongly recommended _four_,) to be put to our carriage, as should set all competition at defiance.

His prediction was verified in every particular. The beds were excellent; the breakfast, consisting of coffee, eggs, fruit, and bread and butter, (very superior to what is usually obtained in France) was delicious; and the horses appeared to be perfect of their kind. The reckoning was, to be sure, a little severe: but I considered this as the payment or punishment of having received the title of _Count_ ... without contradiction. It fell on my ears as mere words of course; but it shall not deceive me a second time. We started a little time after nine; and on leaving the place I felt more than usual anxiety and curiosity to catch the first glimpse of the top of _Strasbourg Cathedral_,--a building, of which I had so long cherished even the most extravagant notions. The next post town was _Saverne_; and our route thither was in every respect the most delightful and gratifying of any, and even of all the routes, collectively, which we had yet experienced. As you approach it, you cross over a part of the famous chain of mountains which divide OLD FRANCE from Germany, and which we thought we had seen from the high ground on the other side of Nancy. The country so divided, was, and is yet, called ALSACE: and the mountains, just mentioned, are called the _Vosges_. They run almost due north and south: and form a commanding feature of the landscape in every point of view. But for Saverne. It lies, with its fine old castle, at the foot of the pass of these mountains; but the descent to it--is glorious beyond all anticipation!

It has been comparatively only of late years that this road, or pass, has been completed. In former times, it was almost impassable. As the descent is rapid and very considerable, the danger attending it is obviated by the high road having been cut into a cork-screw-shape;[202] which presents, at every spiral turn (if I may so speak) something new, beautiful, and interesting. You continue, descending, gazing on all sides. To the right, suspended almost in the air--over a beetling, perpendicular, rocky cliff-- feathered half way up with nut and beech--stands, or rather nods, an old castle in ruins. It seems to shake with every breeze that blows: but there it stands--and has stood--for some four centuries: once the terror of the vassal, and now ... the admiration of the traveller! The castle was, to my eye, of all castles which I had seen, the most elevated in its situation, and the most difficult of access. The clouds of heaven seemed to be resting upon its battlements. But what do I see yonder? "Is it the top of the spire of Strasbourg Cathedral?" "It _is,_ Sir," replied the postilion. I pulled off my travelling cap, by way of doing homage; and as I looked at my watch, to know the precise time, found it was just ten o'clock. It was worth making a minute of. Yet, owing to the hills before--or rather to those beyond, on the other side of the Rhine, which are very much loftier--the first impression gives no idea of the extraordinary height of the spire. We continued to descend, slowly and cautiously, with _Saverne_ before us in the bottom. To the left, close to the road side, stands an obelisk: on which is fixed, hi gilt letters, this emphatic inscription:

_ALSATIA._

Every thing, on reaching the level road, bespoke a distinct national character. It was clear that we had forsaken French costume, as well as the French language, among the common people: so obvious is it, as has been remarked to me by a Strasbourgeois, that "mountains, and not rivers, are the natural boundaries of countries." The women wore large, flat, straw hats, with a small rose at the bottom of a shallow crown; while their throats were covered, sometimes up to the mouth, with black, silk cravats. Their hair was platted, hanging down in two equal divisions. The face appeared to be flat. The men wore shovel hats, of which the front part projected to a considerable distance; and the perpetually recurring response of "_yaw yaw_"--left it beyond all doubt that we had taken leave of the language of "the polite nation." At length we reached Saverne, and changed horses. This town is large and bustling, and is said to contain upwards of four thousand inhabitants. We did not stop to examine any of its wonders or its beauties; for we were becoming impatient for Strasbourg. The next two intermediate post towns were _Wasselonne_ and _Ittenheim_--and thence to Strasbourg: the three posts united being about ten leagues. From Ittenheim we darted along yet more swiftly than before. The postilion, speaking in a germanised French accent, told us, that "we were about to visit one of the most famous cities in the world--and _such_ a CATHEDRAL!" The immediate approach to Strasbourg is flat and uninteresting; nor could I, in every possible view of the tower of the cathedral, bring myself to suppose it--what it is admitted to be--the _loftiest ecclesiastical edifice in the world_!

The fortifications about Strasbourg are said to afford one of the finest specimens of the skill of Vauban. They may do so; but they are very flat, tame, and unpicturesque. We now neared the barriers: delivered our passports; and darted under the first large brick arched way. A devious paved route brought us to the second gate;--and thus we entered the town; desiring the post-boy to drive to the _Hôtel de l'Esprit_. "You judge wisely, Sir, (replied he) for there is no Hotel, either in France or Germany, like it." So saying, he continued, without the least intermission, to make circular flourishes with his whip--accompanied by such ear-piercing sounds, as caused every inhabitant to gaze at us. I entreated him to desist; but in vain. "The English always enter in this manner," said he-- and having reached the hotel, he gave _one_ super-eminent flourish--which threw him off his balance, and nearly brought him to the ground. When I paid him, he pleaded hard for an _extra five sous_ for this concluding flourish!

I am now therefore safely and comfortably lodged in this spacious hotel, by the side of the river _Ill_--of which it is pleasing to catch the lingering breezes as they stray into my chamber. God bless you.

* * * * *

P.S. One thing I cannot help adding--perhaps hardly deserving of a postscript. All the way from Paris to Strasbourg, I am persuaded that we did not meet _six_ travelling equipages. The lumbering diligence and steady Poste Royale were almost the only vehicles in action besides our own. Nor were _villas_ or _chateaux_ visible; such as, in our own country, enliven the scene and put the traveller in spirits.

[200] A folio volume, printed at St. Nicolas, a neighbouring village, in
1518. It is a poem, written in Latin hexameter verse by P. Blaru [P.
de Blarrovivo]--descriptive of the memorable siege of Nancy in 1476,
by CHARLES THE RASH, Duke of Burgundy: who perished before the walls.
His death is described in the sixth book, _sign_. t. iiij: the
passage relating to it, beginning

"Est in Nanceijs aratro locus utilis aruis:"

A wood cut portrait of the commanding French general, Renet, is in the
frontispiece. A good copy of this interesting work should always grace
the shelves of an historical collector. Brunet notices a copy of it
UPON VELLUM, in some monastic library in Lorraine. [Three days have
not elapsed, since I saw a similar copy in the possession of Messrs.
Payne and Foss, destined for the Royal Library at Paris. A pretty,
rather than a magnificent, book.]

[201] See page 362.

[202] When this 'chaussée,' or route royale, was completed, it was so
admired, that the ladies imitated its cork-screw shape, by pearls
arranged spirally in their hair; and this head dress was called
_Coiffure à la Saverne_.

_LETTER XIII._

STRASBOURG. ESTABLISHMENT OF THE PROTESTANT RELIGION. THE CATHEDRAL. THE PUBLIC LIBRARY.

_Hôtel de l'Esprit, July 26, 1818_.

MY DEAR FRIEND;

It is Sunday; and scarcely half an hour ago, I heard, from a Lutheran church on the other side of the water, what I call good, hearty, rational psalm-singing: without fiddles or trombones or serpents. Thus, although considerably further from home, I almost fancied myself in old England. This letter will touch chiefly upon topics of an antiquarian cast, but of which I venture to anticipate your approbation; because I have long known your attachment to the history of ALSACE--and that you have Schoepflin's admirable work[203] upon that country almost at your finger's ends. The city of Strasbourg encloses within its walls a population of about fifty thousand souls. I suspect, however, that in former times its population was more numerous. At this present moment there are about two hundred-and fifty streets, great and small; including squares and alleys. The main streets, upon the whole, are neither wide nor narrow; but to a stranger they have a very singular appearance, from the windows being occasionally covered, on the outside, with _iron bars_, arranged after divers fashions. This gives them a very prison-like effect, and is far from being ornamental. The glazing of the windows is also frequently very curious. In general, the panes of glass are small, and circular, confined in leaden casements. The number of houses in Strasbourg is estimated at three thousand five hundred.

There are not fewer than forty-seven bridges in the interior of the town. These cross the branches of the rivers _Ill_ and _Bruche_--which empty themselves into the _Rhine_. The fortifications of Strasbourg are equally strong and extensive; but they assumed formerly a more picturesque, if not a more powerful aspect.[204]

There are _seven parishes_; of which four are catholic, and three protestant. This brings me to lay before you a brief outline of the rise and progress of PROTESTANTISM in this place. Yet, as a preliminary remark, and as connected with our mutual antiquarian pursuits, you are to know that, besides parish churches, there were formerly _fourteen convents_, exclusively of chapelries. All these are minutely detailed in the recent work of M. Hermann,[205] from which indeed I have gleaned the chief of the foregoing particulars. A great many of these convents were suppressed in the sixteenth century, upon the establishment of the protestant religion.

But for a brief outline of the rise and progress of this establishment. It must indeed be brief; but if so, it shall at least be clear and faithful. The forerunner of Luther (in my opinion) was JOHN GEYLER; a man of singular intrepidity of head and heart. He was a very extraordinary genius, unquestionably; and the works which he has bequeathed to posterity evince the variety of his attainments. Geyler preached boldly in the cathedral against the lax manners and doubtful morality of the clergy. He exhorted the magistrates to do their duty, and predicted that there must be an alteration of religious worship ere the general morals of the community could be amended. They preserve a stone chair or pulpit, of very curious workmanship, but which had nearly been destroyed during the Revolution, in which Geyler used to deliver his lectures. He died in 1510; and within a dozen years after his death the doctrines of LUTHER, were sedulously inculcated. The ground had been well prepared for such seed. The court of Rome looked on with uneasiness; and the Pope sent a legate to Strasbourg in 1522, to vent his anathemas, and to raise a strong party against the growth of this new heresy--as it was called. At this time, the reformed doctrine was even taught in the cathedral; and, a more remarkable thing to strike the common people, the RECTOR of the church of St. Thomas (the second religious establishment of importance, after that of the cathedral) VENTURED TO MARRY! He was applauded both by the common people and by many of the more respectable families. His example was followed: and the religious of both sexes were allowed to leave their establishments, to go where they would, and to enter upon the married state. In 1530 the mass was generally abolished: and the protestant religion was constantly exercised in the cathedral.

The spirit both of Geyler and of Luther might have rejoiced to find, in 1550, the chapter of St. Thomas resolutely avowing its determination to perform the protestant--and nothing but the protestant--religion within its own extensive establishment. The flame of the new religion seemed now to have reached all quarters, and warmed all hearts. But a temporary check to its progress was given by the cautious policy of Charles V. That wary and heartless monarch (who had even less religion than he had of the ordinary feelings of humanity) interfered with the weight of his power, and the denunciations of his vengeance. Yet he found it necessary neither wholly to suppress, nor wholly to check, the progress of the protestant religion: while, on the other hand, the Strasbourgeois dreaded too much the effects of his power to dispute his will by any compact or alliance of opposition. In 1550, therefore, the matter stood thus. The cathedral, and the collegiate and parish churches of St. Peter the Elder and St. Peter the Younger, as well as the Oratory of all Saints, adopted the _catholic_ form of worship. The other parish churches adopted that of the _protestant_. Yet in 1559 there happened such a serious affray in the cathedral church itself--between the Catholics and Protestants--as taught the former the obvious necessity of conceding as much as possible to the latter. It followed, that, towards the end of the same century, there were, in the cathedral chapter, _seventeen protestant_, and _eight catholic_ canons. Among the _latter_, however, was the celebrated Cardinal de Lorraine:--one of the most powerful, the most furious, and the most implacable of the enemies of Protestantism. The part he took in the massacre of St. Bartholomew's day, consigns his name to everlasting ignominy and detestation.

In 1610 a league was formed for the adjustment of the differences between the Catholics and Protestants: but the unfortunate thirty years war breaking out in 1618, and desolating nearly the whole of Germany, prevented the permanent consolidation of the interests of either party. All this time Strasbourg was under the power, as it even now speaks the language, and partakes of the customs and manners, of GERMANY: but its very situation rendered it the prey of both the contending powers of Germany and France. At length came the memorable, and as I suspect treacherous, surrender of Strasbourg to the arms of Louis XIV, in September 1681; when the respective rights and privileges of the Catholics and Protestants were placed upon a definite footing: although, before this event, the latter had considerably the ascendancy. These rights were endeavoured to be shaken by the revocation of the edict of Nantes in 1685--not however before the Jesuits had been striving to warp the feelings of the latter in favour of the former. The catholic religion was, by the articles of the surrender of the city, established in the cathedral, in the subordinate churches of St. Peter the Elder and St. Peter the Younger, and in the Oratory of All Saints: and it has continued to be exercised pretty much in the same proportion unto this day. The majority of the inhabitants are however decidedly Protestants. Such is a succinct, but I believe not unfaithful, account of the establishment of the PROTESTANT RELIGION at Strasbourg.

This subject therefore naturally brings me to notice the principal _Temple of Worship_ in which the rites of either religion seem, for a long time, to have been alternately exercised; and this temple can be no other than _the Minster_--or, as we should say, the _Cathedral._ Ere I assume the office of the historian, let me gratify my inclinations as a spectator. Let me walk round this stupendous structure. At this moment, therefore, consider me as standing in full gaze before its west front--from which the tower springs. This tower seems to reach to heaven. Indeed the whole front quite overwhelms you with alternate emotions of wonder and delight. Luckily there is some little space before it, in which trees have been recently planted; and where (as I understand) the fruit and vegetable market is held. At the further end of this space in approaching the Cathedral, and in running the eye over the whole front, the first thing that strikes you is, the red or copperas colour of the stone--which I presume to be a species of sand stone. This gives a sort of severe metallic effect. However you are riveted to the spot wherein you command the first general survey of this unparalleled front. The delicacy, the finish, the harmonious intricacy, and faery-like lightness, of the whole--even to the summit of the spire;--which latter indeed has the appearance of filigree work, raised by enchantment, and through the interstices of which the bright blue sky appears with a lustre of which you have no conception in England--all this, I say, perfectly delights and overwhelms you. You want words to express your ideas, and the extent of your gratification. You feel convinced that the magnificent edifice before you seems to be the _ne plus ultra_ of human skill in ornamental gothic architecture. Undoubtedly one regrets here, as at Antwerp, the absence of a corresponding tower; but you are to form your judgment upon what is _actually_ before you, and, at the same time, to bear in mind that this tower and spire--for it partakes of both characters--is full _four hundred and seventy four_ English feet in height![206]--and, consequently, some twenty or thirty feet only lower than the top of St. Peter's at Rome. One is lost in astonishment, on bearing such an altitude in mind, considering the delicacy of the spire. There is no place fitting for a satisfactory view of it, within its immediate vicinity.[207]

This western front, or facade, is divided into three stages or compartments. The bottom or lower one is occupied by three magnificent porches; of which the central is by far the loftiest and most ornamental. The period of their execution is from the year 1270 to 1320: a period, when gothic architecture was probably at its highest pitch of perfection. The central porch is divided into five compartments on each side--forming an angle of about forty-five degrees with the door-way. The lower parts of these divisions contain each a statue, of the size of life, upon its respective pediment. The upper parts, which blend with the arch-like construction, are filled with small statues, upon pediments, having a sort of brilliant, fretted appearance. All these figures are representations of characters in Scripture. Again, above this archway, forming the central ornaments of the sharper angles, are the figures of the Almighty, the Virgin and Child, and Solomon. In front, above the door way, upon a flat surface, are four sculptured compartments; devoted to scriptural subjects. The same may be said of the right and left porch. They are equally elaborate, and equally devoted to representations of scriptural subjects. They will have it, that, according to tradition, the daughter of Ervin de Steinbach, the chief architect of the western front, worked a great deal at this central porch, and even sculptured several of the figures. However this may be, the _tout ensemble_ is really beyond any thing which could be satisfactorily conveyed by a written description.

We now cast our eye upon the second division of this stupendous facade; and here our attention is almost exclusively devoted to the enormous circular or marygold window, in the central compartment. It is filled with stained glass--and you are to know that the circumference of the outer circle is one hundred and sixty-English feet: or about fifty-three feet in diameter; and I challenge you to shew me the like--in any building of which you have any knowledge!

Perhaps the most wonderful part of this structure is the open filigree work of the tower, immediately above the platform: though I admit that the _spiral_ part is exceedingly curious and elaborate. Of course there was no examining such a wonder without mounting to the platform, and ascending the tower itself. The platform is about three hundred feet from the pavement. We quitted this tenement, and walked straight forward upon the platform. What a prospect was before us. There flowed the RHINE! I felt an indescribable joy on my first view of that majestic river. There it flowed ... broad and rapid ... and apparently peaceful, within its low banks. On the other, or eastern side of it, was a range of lofty hills, of a mountainous character. On the opposite side of the town ran the great chain of hills--called the VOSGES--which we had crossed in our route hither; and of which we had now a most extensive and unobstructed view. These hills were once the abode of adventurous chieftains and powerful nobles; and there was scarcely an eminence but what had been formerly crowned by a baronial castle.[208] Below, appeared the houses of Strasbourg ... shrunk to rabbit-hutches--and the people ... to emmets!

It remained to ascend the opposite tower. At each of the four corners there is a spiral stair-case, of which the exterior is open work, consisting of slender but lofty pillars; so that the ascending figure is seen at every convolution. It has a fearful appearance to the adventurer: but there is scarcely the possibility of danger. You go round and round, and observe three distinct terminations of the central work within--forming three roofs--of which, the _third_ is eminently beautiful. I could not help expressing my astonishment at some of the exterior columns, which could not be much less than threescore feet in height, and scarcely twelve inches in diameter! Having gained the top of one of these corner spiral stair-cases, I breathed and looked around me. A new feature presented itself to my view. About one hundred feet beneath, was the body of this huge cathedral. Immediately above, rose the beautifully-tapering and curiously ornamented SPIRE--to the height of probably, one hundred and twenty-five feet! It seemed indeed as if both tower and spire were direct ladders to the sky. The immortal artist who constructed them, and who lived to witness the completion of his structure, was JOAN HÜLTZ, a native of Cologne. The date of their completion is 1449. Thus, on the continent as well as in England, the period of the most florid style of gothic architecture was during the first half of the fifteenth century.

I essayed to mount to the very pinnacle; or _bouton_ of the spire; but the ascent was impracticable--owing to the stair-case being under repair. On the summit of this spire, there once stood a _statue of the Virgin,_ above a cross. That statue was taken down at the end of the fifteenth century, and is now placed over the south porch. But, what do you think supplied its place during the late Revolution, or in the year of our Lord 1794, on the 4th day of May? Truly, nothing less than a large cap, made of tin, and painted red--called the _Cap of Liberty!_ Thank heaven, this latter was pulled down in due time--and an oblong diamond-shaped stone is now the finishing piece of masonry of this wonderful building. In descending, I stopped again at the platform, and was requested to see the GREAT BELL; of which I had heard the deep-mouthed roar half a dozen times a day, since my arrival. It is perhaps the finest toned bell in Europe, and appeared to me terrifically large--being nearer eight than seven feet high.[209] They begin to toll it at four or five o'clock in the summer-mornings, to announce that the gates of the town are opened. In case of fire at night, it is very loudly tolled; and during a similar accident in the day time, they suspend a pole, with a red flag at the end of it, over that part of the platform which is in a line with the direction of the fire.

A grand defect in the structure of this Cathedral, as it strikes me, is, that the nave and transepts do not seem to belong to such a western front. They sink into perfect insignificance. Nor is the style of their exterior particularly deserving of description. Yet there is _one_ feature in the external architecture of this Cathedral--namely, a series or suite of DROLLERIES ... of about four or five feet high ... which cannot fail to attract the antiquary's especial notice. These figures are coarsely but spiritedly cut in stone. They are placed upon the bracket which supports the galleries, or balcony, of the eastern side of the facade of the tower, and are about sixty-five English feet from the ground. They extend to thirty-two feet in length. Through the kind offices of my friend Mr. Schweighæuser, junior, (of whom by and by) I have obtained drawings of these droll subjects,[210] and I am sure that, in common with many of our friends, you will be amused with the sight of a few of them. They are probably of the date of 1370;

The common people call this series the _Sabbath of Demons,_ or _the Dance of the Witches_. You are to know, however, that on the opposite side of the cathedral there is a series of figures, of the same size, and executed nearly in the same style of art, descriptive of scriptural events, mixed with allegorical subjects. Having now pointed out what appears to me to be chiefly interesting in the _exterior_ of this marvellous building, it is right that I give you some notion of its _interior_: which will however occupy but a short portion of your attention. Indeed--I grieve to speak it--both the exterior and interior of the _nave_ are wholly unworthy of such a magnificent west-front.

The nave and choir together are about three hundred and fifty-five English feet in length; of which the nave is two hundred and forty-four--evidently of too scanty dimensions. The width of the nave and side aisles is one hundred and thirty-two feet: the height of the nave is only seventy-two feet. The larger of the nine clustered columns is full seventy-two feet in circumference; the more delicate, thirty feet. There is really nothing striking in this nave; except that, on turning round, and looking up to the painted glass of the circular or marygold window, you observe the colours of it, which are very rich, and absolutely gay, compared with those of the other windows. There is a profusion of painted glass in almost all the windows; but generally of a sombre tint, and of a correspondent gloomy effect. Indeed, in consequence of this profusion, the cathedral absolutely wants light.

The choir is sixty-seven feet wide, without side aisles, and is much lower than the nave. It is impossible to speak of this choir without indignation. My good friend--the whole of this interior has recently undergone rather a martyrdom than a metamorphosis. The sides are almost entirely covered with _Grecian_ pilasters and pillars; and so are the ornaments about the altar. What adds to the wretched effect of the whole, is, a coat of _white-wash_, which was liberally bestowed upon it some forty years ago; and which will require at least the lapse of another century to subdue its staring effect. There are only three chapels in this cathedral. Of _altars_ there are not fewer than twelve: the principal being in the chapels of St. Lawrence and St. Catharine.

It was near the chapel of _St. Catharine_, that, on the morning of our first visit, we witnessed a group of country people, apparently from the neighbourhood of _Saverne_--from their huge, broad, flat hats--engaged in devotion before the image of some favourite saint. The rays of a bright sun darted through the windows, softened by the varied tints of the stained glass, upon their singular countenances and costumes; and the effect was irresistibly striking and interesting.

In the centre of the south transept, there rises a fine, slender, clustered column, reaching to its very summit. On the exterior of this column--placed one above another, but retreating or advancing, or in full view, according to the position of the spectator--are several figures, chiefly females; probably five feet high, with labels or scrolls, upon each of which is an inscription. I never saw any thing more elegant and more striking of its kind. These figures reach a great way up the pillar--probably to the top-- but at this moment I cannot say decidedly. It is here, too, that the famous Strasbourg _Clock_, (about which one Dasypodius hath published a Latin treatise in a slim quarto volume[211]) is placed. This, and the tower, were called the _two great wonders of Germany_. This clock may be described in few words: premising, that it was preceded by a clock of very extraordinary workmanship, fabricated in the middle of the fourteenth century--of which, the _only_ existing portion is, a _cock_, upon the top of the left perpendicular ornament, which, upon the hourly chiming of the bells, used to flap his wings, stretch out his neck, and crow twice; but being struck by lightning in the year 1640, it lost its power of action and of sending forth sound. No modern skill has been able to make this cock crow, or to shake his wings again. The clock however is now wholly out of order, and should be placed elsewhere. It is very lofty; perhaps twenty feet high: is divided into three parts, of which the central part represents _Our Saviour_ and _Death_, in the middle, each in the act as if to strike a bell. When, in complete order, Death used to come forward to strike the _quarters_; and, having struck them, was instantly repelled by our Saviour. When he came forward to strike the _hour_, our Saviour in turn retreated:-- a whimsical and not very comprehensible arrangement. But old clocks used to be full of these conceits.