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i * W i^ .^' i' *f ^ 0- '• »• / f fir' 


18 1? 





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The publimtion o# Victor Hugo's " Rhine " in Paris cre- 
ated a great sensation, which wy immediately shared in 
England, where two translations of the work appeared in 
the same year. The best and most completo^of these has 
been followed in the present, the first American edition of 
the work. The quaintness, point and brilliancy of the 
author it will be seen have not been test sight of. In the 
original the " Tour " was accompanied by a long historical 
dissertation, an elaborate argument on the Affairs of Eu- 
rope, which may find a more appropriate place hereafter in 
a volume of the Author's Miscellanies. 

Oct., 1845. 

g-"*,"'^ — . ,^. ^ ^"^ 




Paris to Meaux — Ferte-sous-Jouarre —Beautiful Valley — Cnangiiig 
Hones — The Hunchback aud the Oendarme — ^Meaux 1 



Peasants emigrating — Ch ateau of Montmort^Epemay i 8 



Arrest of Louis XVI.— Varennes — Royal Disasters — ^The Cathedral— 
Lady Chapel— Chalons — Miraculous Bell — Sainte Menehould— An 
Inn Kitchen— The Hostess of an Inn— Beautiful Valley— Clermont — 
Champagne 12 



Soissons — Stellar Influence — ^The Mail — ^A Night Scene — ^Morning— 
Rheims to Mezi^res — Meziires — Birth-place of Turenne— Travelling 
Comp^ons — Rocroy— Givet ^ ^ 24 

Givet— Inscription — ^Entrance into Belgium — ^An extensive Prospect. . 36 



Banks of the Meuse— Dinant— The Valley of the Meuse — ^Flemish 
Scene— Namur— Names 40 



Road to Huy— Hay— Liige 4& 




Chaudfontaines and Verriera — ^Aix-la-Chapelle 52 



Aiz-la-Chapelle — Singular Legend — Satan outwitted — The Cathedral 
— ^Remains of Charlemagne — Relics — Silver Pulpit — ^Napoleon at 
Aiz — Curious Bas-Relief-— The Throne of Charlemagne — ^The Tomb 
of Charlemagne — Character of Charlemagne — The Allied Sovereigns 
at Aix — An Old Soldier — Square of the Cathedral — ^Birth-place of 
Charlemagne — ^A Vision 55 



Cologne — The Cathedral — ^Road from Aix — German Inns — Second 
Visit to the Cathedral of Colqgne — ^Marie de Medicis— Cologne. ... 71 

Mysteries of History— The Two Queens— Era of Louis XIV 88 



Something to drink 93 

Andernach — ^Tomb of Hoche 98 

Andernach 103 



History of the Rhine 105 



Steaming— A Legend— The Giant of Velmich 121 



The Silver Bell— The Giant— Night Scene— St Goar . , 128 



BT. 60AS. 

Whirl,pool and Echo — The Swiss Valley — Pastoral Scene — ^A Fairy 
Legend — The Rheinfels — Oberwesel — A German Supper — Extraor- 
dinary Echo « 131 

Bacharach 139 



Lorch 144 

Lorch to Bingen—An Adventure — The Seven Sages— A Poet— A Vil- 
lage Festival — A Mountebank— Extremes meet— Tower of Fiirsten- 
berg— Parties of Three— Ruins and Wild Flowers — A lonely Spot — 
Huss and Luther— Man and Nature — Singular Ruins— Singular IScene 
— ^Curious Inscription— Rencontre— French-English— Girlhood and 
Womanhood— Female Curiosity— Oblivion— Legend — ^The Mause- 
thurm — Bishop Hatto— Evening— The Bishop and the Rats— Night 
Scene / « (.# 150 


leokitd of the handsome pecopin and the beautiful bauldour— 

a legend of the rhine. 

Part 1 183 

Part II.— The Bird Phoenix, and the Planet Venus 186 

Part III.— The Difference betwixt the Bar of an Old Man and the 

Ear of a Young one 187 

Part IV.— Of the divers Qualities essential to divers Embassies. . 190 

Part V.— Fidelity rewarded 193 

Part VI.— The Devil himself may sin in being a Glutton 194 

Part VII.— A pleasing Proposition from an old Scholar living in 

a Hut of Leaves 200 

Part VIII. —The Wandering Christian 202 

Part IX. — How a Dwarf manages to amuse himself in a Forest. . 205 

Part X.— Equis Canibusque 207 

Part XL— What one may risk by mounting a strange Horse 211 

Part XII.— Description of an unpleasant Lodging 215 

Part XIII. — Such as the Inn is, so is the Dinner 218 

Part XIV.-^A new Mode of falling from a Horse 221 

PABt XV. — The Figure of Rhetoric most in favor among the pow- 
ers that be 224 


Part XVI. — Debating whet|ier a Man can recognize a Man he hath 

neYer seen 226 

Part XVII ?2S 

Part XVIII. — ^Where serious Minds may find out which is the most 

important of Metaphors 231 

Part XIX.— Dirine Philosophy of Four Sages on Two Legs 233 

Bingen to Mayence. • • 235 

Mayence 24 5 

Frankfort-on-the-Main 257 



Sources of the Rhine — ^The Swiss Republic — Course of the Rhine- 
Monster Rafts — Steamers of the Rhine— Traditions of the Rhine — 
Ecclesiastical Power— Seat of Royalty— The seven Electors — ^The 
Kdnigstiihl— The Imperial Eagle— Caub— The Pfalz— Castles of the 
Rhine 269 



La Fert^-sous-Jouarre. 

Jn/y, 1839. 

The day before yesterday, at about eleven o'clock, I quitted Paris, 
and took the road to Meaux, leaving to my left St. Denis, Mont- 
morency, and the chain of hills at the extremityi of which lies St. 
Pierre; where, my dear friend, in contemplating that distant 
speck, I recalled you to my afTectionateyremembrance, till a sud- 
den turn of the road concealed* from my view the spot so dear to 
us both. 

You know my taste for long journeys in easy stages, unencum- 
bered with baggage, but accompanied by my friends Virgil and 
Tacitus ; and will, therefore, readily understand my projects on 
the present occasion. 

I took the Chalons road (being well acquainted with that of 
Soissons, which 1 travelled some years ago) and found that, thanks 
to the progress and activity of modern demolition, my new route 
retains little to interest the tourist. Nanteuil le Haudoin no 
longer boasts its castle, built under Francis I. Villers-Cotterets 
has converted the magnificent manor-house of the Dukes of Valois 
into a House of Industry ; from whence, as from other interesting 
spots, the sculptures and paintings characteristic of the middle 
ages, as well as the curious ornaments of the sixteenth century, 
have disappeared under the innovations of bricklayers an^ 
plasterers. The grand tower of Dammartin, from the top of 
which Montmartre, though nine leagues off, was distinctly visible, 
has been pulled down. A fissure in the side of this turret gave 


rise to the well-known proverb (which I never exactly compre- 
hended), " Such-a-one resembles the tower of Dammartin, which 
split its sides with laughing !" 

Dej^ved of its ancient bastille, in which the Bishops of Meaux, 
when at variance with the Counts of Champagne, had a right to 
take refuge with seven of their dependants, Dammartin has 
ceased to be the origin of proverbs ; but it gives rise to literary 
notices, such as the following, which I copy, word for word, 
from a little book I fouad on the table at the inn : — 

" Dambiartin (Seine et Oise), a small town situated on a hill, 
contains a manufacture of lace. Principal hotel, the Ste. Anne. 
CuriositieSy the parish church, market-place, and a population of 
1600 souls." 

The quarter of an hour conceded for dinner by that despot of 
the road, the conductor of the diligence, did not enable me to 
ascertain how far the sixteen hundred inhabitants were entitled 
to be called " curiosities ;" and in journeying on to Meaux, before 
I reached Claye, my vehicle broke down. 

You are aware that I ^m fond of pushing forwards on my road ; 
and, as the cabriolet chose to be stlitionary, I hastened to ensconce 
myself ki a diligence which luckily came up at the moment with 
a place vacant. I resumed my journey, perched upon the roof, 
betwixt a little hunchback and a gendarme. 

Here I am, therefore, at La Ferte-sous-Jouarre ; a charming 
little town, which I hailed with pleasure, with its three bridges, 
its pleasant islands, and an old mill placed midway in the river, 
and connected with the bank by an arched way. The beautiful 
pavilion of La Ferte, of the time of Louis XIIL, said to have 
formerly belonged to die Duke of St. Simon, though defaced by the 
bad taste of a grocer, its present proprietor, is deserving attention » 

If the Duke of St. Simon ever did possess this ancient structure, 
I doubt whether his paternal manor-hoase of La Fertl^-Vidame 
exhibited a more severely feudal aspect, or offered a fitter frame 
for the setting off of his aristocratically ducal faoe, than the 
charming and secluded little Ch^eau of La Ferte-sous-Jouarre. 

This is the very moment for travelling ! The fields are alive 
with the business of the harvest-home. Here and there are rising 
immense staoks, resembling iin construction tlie half-ruined pyra^ 


mids so often found in Syria ; while the ridges of cut corn lying 
on the sidea of the hills resemble the back of a zebra. 

I need not remind you, my dear friend, that renovation of ideas 
and sensation is the object of my journey, rather than mere 
adventure : for which purpose a succession of new objects suffices 
me. I am easily contented. Provided I have vegetation around 
me, and air above, — a road in view, and a road in my rear, — I 
have nothing to complain of. If the country be flat, the broa^ 
horizon delights me ; if mountainous, I rejbice in the unexpected 
openings of landscape ; and at the summit of every hill I am sure 
to find an extent of prospect truly delightful. A moment ago we 
traversed a beautiful valley, having to the right and left a thou- 
sand pleasing features: high hills, intersected by patches of 
cultivated ground, afibrding a pleasing prospect : while groups of 
cottages were interspersed here and there, their roofs almost level 
with the ground. Farther in the valley was a watercourse, 
defined by a long line of verdure, and crossed ^y a little stone 
moss-grown bridge, at a point meeting the high road. At the 
moment we arrived a waggon was crosdng the bridge, so swollen 
with merchandize, and so tightly girded, that it resemUed the 
bulky and cinctured body of Gargantua, dragged on fou^ wheels 
by eight horses. Before us, following the undulation of the 
opposite hill, the high road was perceptible, under the rays oi a 
brilliant sunshine ; but varied by the dark shadows of its avenues 
of trees, falling at intervals athwart the road. 

This little landscape, composed of trees, waggon, the white 
road, the old bridge, the humble cottages, sufficed to delight my 
heart. Laugh, if you will ; but such a valley, with the blue sky 
above, is an object of real enjoyment. Yet I was the only person 
present who enjoyed the beautiful sight. The other travellers 
wefe yawning with weariness the whole time it was in view. 

In changing horses, I am sure to be amused by the operations 
at the door of the inn. The horses clutter up to the door like a 
charge of cavalry. Poultry of every color is pecking about the 
yard and among the bushes; with as old broken wheel in a 
comer ; and a tribe of dirty children playing merrily on a heap 
of sand above my head. Swinging from an iron gallows over our 
head, hangs Charles V., Joseph 11., or Napoleon, mighty emperors 


in their day, now reduced to the Ignoble duty of senring as signs 
to obscure inns. The house is distracted by voices giving con- 
tradictory orders ; while the stable-boys and kitchen-maids are 
acting idylliums and pastorals *at the door. The loves of the 
washtubs and the pitchfork are the only food for eclogues now- 
extant. Meanwhile I profit by my elevated position upon the 
roof, to listen to the conversation between the hunchback and the 
gendarme, as well as to admire the little oasis of dwarf-poppies in 
full bloom upon the roof of the house. 

The gendarme and hunchback, by the way, are philosophers 
in their way, who give themselves no airs, but converse humanely 
with each other. 

The hunchback, it 8eems> contributes six hundred francs of 
taxes at Jouarre (the Jovis ara of the ancients, as he was kind 
enough to inform his companion) ; while his father, a resident in 
Paris, pays nine hundred ; which does not prevent him from blas- 
pheming against government every time he pays a half-penny toll 
in crossingthe bridge over the Marne, betwixt Meaux and La Ferte. 

The gendarme, on the other hand, has no taxes to boast of; but 
he gives us, instead, his autobiography. In the action of Mont- 
mirail, in 1814, he fought like a lion, though a mere recruit. In 
the Revolution of 1880, he ran away, merely because he was a 
gendarme. To him this appears more unaccountable than it does 
to me. Aa a recruit of twenty, unencumbered and without 
domestic cares, he fought without a drawback ; as a gendarme, 
he possessed a wife, a child, and (as he himself added) a horse : 
and, with these cares on his mind, he became a coward. It was 
the same man under circumstances totally different. 

Life is a dish that owes its charm to its sauce. There does not 
exist a braver man than a galley-slave. We do not estimate our- 
selves by our skin, but by our garments. The man stripped to 
the skin may be said to care for nothing. The two periods in 
question were, moreover, of wholly opposite interest. The soldier, 
like all other men, is affected by external influences ; and ener- 
gies are diminished or increased by circumstances. In 1830 the 
storm of a Revolution was blowing ; and he found himself bowed 
down and overwhelmed by that force of ideas which constitutes 
the soul of events. And then, what could be more discouraging 


In than his duty ? To fight in defence of inexplicable Orders in 
(vj Council — mere shadows issuing trom a disordered brain — for 
J, a dream, a fantasy ; — brother against brother — soldiers against 
^ mechanics — Frenchman against Frenchman ! 
a,i In 1814, on the contrary, the recruit stood up to repel the 

;2 invader, from evident and simple motives : for himself, his hearth, 
tj his family ; for the plough he quitted — for the thatched cottage 
smoking in the distance — for the ground under his feet — the dear 
bleeding country of his aflfections. In 1830 the soldier scarcely 
M knew for whom he fought. In 1814 there was more than know. 
J, ledge — ^there was feeling ; there was the best of lessons— ^ 

j' At Meaux my attention was taken by three objects : first, a 

J delicious little porch against a dismantled church, to the right in 
^ entering the town ; secondly, the cathedral ; and thirdly, in its 

rear, an old half-fortified mansion, flanked by turrets, and a qua- 
drangular court-yard, into which I boldly entered, undismayed by 
a woman who sat knitting at the aDtrance, but who did not in- 
terrupt me. I was much struck with an external staircase, 
having stone steps, and some curious wood-work, resting upon 
archeS; and covered in with an arcaded roof. I had not time to 
sketch it ; which I regret, it being the only one of the kind I ever 
saw. I suppose it to be of the fifteenth century. 

The Cathedral, begun in the fourteenth century and continued 
in the fifteenth, is a noble structure, but deteriorated by injudi- 
cious restoration, and still incomplete. Of the two towers pro- 
jected by the architect, one only is built ; the other, which was 
newly commenced, remains covered in with a roof of slating. 
The centre door, as well as that to the right, are that of the 
fou^eenth century : and that to the left, of the fifteenth. All 
three are beautiful, though composed of a stone honey-combed by 
the influence of the weather. 

I tried to decipher the bas-relie&. The key-stone of the porch 
on the left represents the history of St. John the Baptist ; but the 
sun falling with dazzling force upon the front, prevented my 
examining it further. The interior of the church is superb. In 
the choir are some tri-lobed groinings of exquisite beauty. They 
are restoring, at the entrance of the choir, two altars of the most 


admirable wood- work of the fifteenth century, but they are injur- 
ing them by smearing them with a vile coat of painting in imita- 
tion of oak. Such b the taste of the natives of Meaux. To the 
left of the choir, close by the beautiful door, I came upon a kneel- 
ing statue of marble, a warrior of the sixteenth century ; but 
without either escutcheon or inscription. Of the name and origin 
of the figure 1 am ignorant ; though you, who know everything, 
would perhaps have made it out. On the opposite side is another, 
which fortunately bears an inscription ; for you would otherwise 
never guess that the worn, severe face, was that of the immortal 
fienigne Bossuet ; to whom I fear I must attribute the destruction 
of the painted windows. I saw his episcopal throne, superbly 
carved in the style of Louis XIV.; but had not time to visit his 
well-known study at the palace. 

It is a curious fact that Meaux possessed a theatre before 
Paris could boast of one ; a neat theatre, built about 1547. A 
manuscript contained in the town library asserts that it was a 
circus in the style of the ancients, covered with a velarium ; and 
so far resembling the modem theatre, that there were private 
boxes, of which certain of the inhabitants of Meaux possessed the 
keys. Mysteries were there performed, and a man named Pasca- 
lus acted the part of the devil, and retained the nickname. 

In 1562 he made over the town to the Huguenots ; the year 
following the Catholics hung him — partly for having surrendered 
the town, partly because of his appellation. Now-a-days, Paris 
has twenty theatres ; Meaux boasts of having but one : which is 
much as if she were to exult in being a country .town instead of a 

This country abounds in remains of the age of Louis XIV. At 
La Fert6 we find the Duke de St. Simon ; at Meaux, Bossuet ; 
at La Fert6-Milon, Racine ; at Chateau Thierry, La Fontaine : 
the whole in a radius of twelve leagues. The haughty aristocrat 
elbows the puissant bishop : while Tragedy takes her place by 
the side of Fable. 

On leaving the Cathedral, the sun being less powerful, I was 
able to contemplate the faqade, of which the relief upon the cen- 
tral portal is the most curious. The lower compartment repre- 
sents Joan, the wife of Philippe-le-Bel, to whose will this church 


owes its erection. The Queen of France, holding her cathedral 
in her hand, is represented standing at the gates of Paradise, 
which St. Peter throws open. Behind the queen stands the hand- 
some monarch Philippe, in the most abject attitude. The queen, 
who is gracefully represented, points over her shoulder towards 
the poor devil of a king — as much as to say to St. Peter, " Give 
him admission into the bargain : I have paid the entrance for 



Montmirail—Montmort — Epemay. 

At Lf^ Fert^-sousJouarre I hired the first vehicle I could procure, 
making only two inquiries — " Does it ride steady ?" — and " Are 
the wheels good ?" — which being satisfactorily answered, away I 
went to Montmirail. There is nothing remarkable about this 
little town, but a fresh landscape at the entrance, and two fine 
avenues. With the exception of the Castle, it consists of a col- 
lection of hovels. 

At five in the afternoon I quitted Montmirail, taking the road 
from Sezanne to Epemay. In an hour I reached Vaux-Champs, 
traversing the field of battle. A moment before, I came up with 
a cart drawn by a horse and an ass, and laden with saucepans, 
coppers, old boxes, straw chairs, and other dilapidated furniture ; 
on the fore part of the vehicle was a basket containing three half- 
naked children, and in tiie rear another basket full of poultry. 
The carter, dressed in a smock-frock, carried an infant on his back ; 
while a woman, trudging by his side, seemed likely to furnish 
another^ They were proceeding towards Montmirail. " Just such 
objects must this spot have presented five and twenty years ago," 
was my reflection. On inquiry I found it was not an ordinary 
move, but an expatriation, the family being on their, way to Ameri- 
ca ; not flying from a field of battle, but from the pursuit of want : 
or, in plain words, a poor family of Alsatian peasants, to whom a 
grant of land has been accorded in Ohio ; and who quit their 
native country, little thinking that Virgil wrote beautiful verses 
about them two thousand years ago. 

These poor people seemed little concerned as to their fate. The 
man was quietly attaching a thong to his whip, the woman hum- 
ming a tune, while the children were amusing themselves with 
play. The furniture was painful to look at. The fowls alone 
appeared depressed by their journey. 


This indifierence astonished me, for I believed the love of 
country to be more deeply rooted in the heart of man. After all^ 
these people abandon with indifference the trees under which they 
grew to maturity. I followed them some time with my eyes, 
wondering which road the wretched group would take ; but, by 
the winding of the road, they suddenly disappeared. For some 
time afterwards I heard the smack of the man's whip and the 
hum of the woman's song, and all was over. 

Soon afterwards I found myself upon the plains rendered glori- 
ous by Napoleon. The sun was sinking, the trees shot forth their 
shadows, so that the furrows were slightly defined here and there. 
A grey mist was rising from the ravines, and the fields were de- 
serted, so that nothing was to be seen but an occasional plough. 
To my ]eft was a stone-quarry, where the newly rounded mill- 
stones were strewed upon the ground, like the men upon an im- 
mense draught-board, of which giants had been playing the game. 

As I much wished to see the Ch&teau of Montmort, about four 
leagues from Montmirail, at Armeniieres, I turned abruptly to 
the left, and took the road to Epernay, at the point where sixteen 
huge elms, bending over the road, exhibit their wild profiles and 
dishevelled wigs. I delight in the elm. All other trees are 
monotonous and unmeaning. The elm seems imbued with a ma- 
licious spirit, and disposed to make game of its neighbors, and 
assume fantastic shapes to puzzle the evening traveller. The 
foliage of young elms expands in all directions, like the explosioa 
of a firework. From La Fert6 to the spot where stand the six- 
teen elms the road is lined only with poplars, interspersed with a 
few aspens and walnut-trees, which had disturbed my peace .of 

The country is flat, and apparently bowadless. But on sudden- 
ly emerging from a clump of trees, the traveller detects to the 
right, as if starting from the earth, a confused multitude of turrets, 
weathercocks, chimneys, and skylights, belonging to the Castle of 

I quitted the carriage at the entrance of the qastle, which is a 
beautiful specimen of the castellated style of the sixteenth centu- 
ry, built of brick, and having a slated roof with ornamental 
weathercocks. It is moated and flanked with a double wall, 


besides three arched bridges communicating with the drawbridge. 
All this is situated in a beautiful landscape, commanding seven 
leaguea of horizon ; and, on the whole, the edifice is in good pre- 
servation. The principal tower contains a winding staircase, as 
well as a slope fi>r horses. There is a curious old iron door from 
the staircase, and in the embrasures are four little iron implements 
of the fifteenth century. 

The garrison of the castle consisted of an old housekeeper, 
named Mademoiselle Jeanette, who received me graciously. Of 
the old apartments, thei^ remains only the kitchen, which is 
spacious and vaulted ; the old drawing-room, turned into a billiard- 
room ; and a charming little boudoir, with gilt mouldings, and a 
beautifully desired rosette on the centre-piece of the ceiling. 
The old drawing-room is unique ; the cross-beams of the ceiling 
painted, gilt, and carved, still existing in a perfect state. The 
spacious chimney-piece, adorned with two noble statues, is in the 
grand style of Henri III. The walls were formerly hung with 
tapestry, representing family portraits ; but during the Revolu- 
tion the people of the village tore them down and burnt them — a 
worthy war to wage against feudality. The present proprietor has 
pasted up in their stead some old engravings of views in Rome 
and the wars of Cbnde, in honor of which magnificence I bestowed 
a sum of thirty sous on Mademoiselle Jeanette. 

After a glance at the ducks swimming in the fosse, I went my 

Having quitted Montmort by an execrable road, I met the mail 
which was to convey you my former letter, and I forwarded by it 
a ^ousand good wishes to my dearest friend. 

The road now lay through a wood. Night was coming on, 
and nothing was to be seen but the huts of the charcoal-burners, 
smoking through the trees. The flames from an occasional 
furnace were at times visible through the dusk ; the wind agitat- 
ed the trees ; and in the heavens the- splendid chariot proceeded 
majestically above, escorted by myriad* of stars, while my hum- 
ble vehicle was jolting along solitarily below. 

Epernay is the City of sparkling Champagne, and neither more 
nor less. It has three churches : the first, of Roman architecture, 
built in 1037, by Thibaut, first Count of Champagne, son of Eudes 


II ; the second, a church of the middle ages, was built in 1540, 
by Pierre Strozzi, Field-Marshal of France, and Lord of Epernay, 
who was killed at the siege of Thionville, in 1558 ; the third, 
the church for divine service, appears to me to have been con- 
structed upon the designs of the estimable grocer whose shop 
seems to form part of the building. The three names annexed to 
their history may suffice to describe them, viz. : Thibaut, Count 
of Champagne ; Pierre Strozzi, Marshal of France ; Poterlet 
Galichet, grocer ; — ^and I need scarcely inform you that this last 
is a disgraceful heap of lath and plaster. Of the first little 
remains ; and of the second, a beautiful porch, and some stained 
glass, part of which represents the history of Noah, depicted in 
the most diverting manner. Both the porch and windows are 
half buried in this disgusting plaster, which reminded me of 
Odry, the actor, with his blue stockings and high shirt-collar, 
attired in the helmet and cuirass of Francis I. 

I was advised to visit a cellar containing fifteen hundred thou- 
sand bottles of wine ; but on my road I chanced upon a field so 
beautifully bespangled with wild flowers, and so bright with sua- 
shine, that I could not tear myself away to proceed to a cellar. 

The pomatum for regenerating the hair, which at La Ferte is 
called Pilogene, is called at Bpemay Fhyothrixy being a Greek 
importation. At the hotel of Montmirail, I had to pay forty sous 
for four fresh eggs ; which, for the country, struck me as some- 
what high. 

I forgot to mention that Thibaut lies buried in his own church, 
and Strozzi in his ; and I am inclined to exact a sepulture in the 
other for my friend the grocer. Strozzi was a fine fellow. Bris- 
guet, the court jester of Henri II., afiected one day to amuse the 
court by smearing his new velvet mantle with grease. The 
Countess laughed, but Strozzi exacted bitter tears by his vengeance 
on the unfortunate fool. For my part I should neither have 
laughed nor revenged myself; and I have always been inclined 
to hold cheap this sorry j^st of the Renaissance. 



Chalons — Sainte M^nehould — Varennes. 

Yesterday, towards the evening, I was journeying on beyond 
Ste. Menehould, having just read those admirable lines — 

" Mugitusque bourn moUesque sub arbore somni. 

« * • • « 

Speluncae vivique lacus " — 

and was leaning upon the eternal pages of the old poet, rumpling 
them with my elbow — my soul full of the vague ideas, at once 
sad and welcome, which sunset often awakens in the mind — 
when I was roused by a jolt upon the pavement. We were enter- 
ing a town. 

" What is the name of this town ?" I inquired. To which the 
coachman replied, " Varennes." The carriage proceeded down 
a street of gloomy aspect, in which the grass is growing, and 
the shutters of the houses are closed. After passing a gateway 
of the time of Louis XIII., of blackened stones, beside which was 
an antiquated well, we reached a triangular space hemmed in 
with white stuccoed dwelling-houses, in an angle of which was a 
door guarded by two stunted tBees. On one side of this triangle 
stands an old belfry ; close to which Louis XVI. and Marie An- 
toinette were arrested in their flight, the 21st of June, 1791, by 
Drouet, the postmaster of Ste. Menehould (there being no posting- 
house at Varennes in those days). 

The king's carriage followed the hppothenuse of the triangle 
forming the Place ; which I now took in my turn. Leaving my 
vehicle, I stood and gazed upon this insignificant space, which in 
so short a space of time was fated to become the fountain-head of 
the Revolution. 


The version of the arrest related by the inhabitants is, that th^ 
king stoutly denied his identity (which, by the way, Charles I. 
would never have done',^nd they were on the point of liberating 
him, when suddenly there came up a M. d'Ethe, who had some 
feeling of malice against the court. This M. d'£th6 — ^I know 
not whether I write his name correctly (but I am not particular 
about the orthography of the names of traitors) — ^this man, I say, 
advanced towards the king, with Judas-like cunning, accosting 
him with " Good day, Sibe." This was enough ! The king was 
denounced and arrested. There were five royal personages in 
the carriage, all lost by this single word. And " Good day, 
Sire," was the death-warrant of Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, 
and Madame Elizabeth, besides a dungeon and early death to the 
Dauphin, and to Madame Royale long exile and the extinction of 
her race. To the observant man, Varennes has a mysterious 
aspect ; to the reflective man, a sinister one ! 

I have already noticed to you, I think, that material nature 
oflen exhibits singular portraits. Louis was darting, at the mo- 
ment of his arrest, down a rapid and dangerous descent, where 
my own horse was nearly falling. The quarry-ground strewed 
with huge millstones, which the other day appeared to me like a 
draught-board, was the site of the action of Montmirail ! — while 
the triangular Place of Varennes exactly represents the shape of 
the knife of the guillotine ! 

The man who aided Drouet in the capture of the king was 
named BiUavd : why not Billot ? 

Varennes is only fifteen leagues from Rheims, the coronation 
city of the ancient kings of France. But then, the Place de la 
Revolution, on which was acted the fatal tragedy of the 21st of 
January, is close to the palace of the Tuileries. How these ap- 
proximations must have tortured the poor fallen king ! Between 
Rheims and Varennes, between the coronation and the forfeiture 
of the throne, my coachman finds only fifleeif leagues distance \ 
but for the mind, there is the vast abyss produced by the Revo- 

I put up at an old established inn, the Grand Monarque, having 
fox its sign the head of Louis-Philippe, which has probably suc- 
ceeded to those of Louis XV., Bonaparte, and Charles X. It is 


exactly forty-eight years ago since the progress of the royal car- 
riage was intercepted in this town, at which period the head sus- 
pended from that old twisted branch of*iron was doubtless that of 
•Louis XVI., who may have possibly put up at the Chrand Mo- 
narque, and seen his own effigies suspended over the door. So 
goes the world ! 

This morning I strolled about the town of Varennes, which is 
charmingly situated on the banks of the river, the antiquated 
houses of the high town forming a picturesque amphitheatre on 
the right bank. The church, in the low town, is insignificant. 
The steeple bears the date 1776 ; it was consequently two years 
older than Madame Royale. 

The royal disaster has left ineffable traces here — a rare in- 
stance Ml France. The innkeeper informed me that a gentleman 
of the town had written a comedy upon the subject ; which re- 
minds me that when they were disguising the Dauphin as a girl, 
in order to aid his escape, he inquired of Madame Royale if it 
" were to act a play ?" 

I have just visited the church, to which I owe an apology ; for 
the portal to the right was pretty enough. If my architectural 
descriptions do not weary you, allow me .to confess that I was 
disappointed with the Cathedral of ChMons. Neither is the road 
so interesting as I expected. One obtains an occasional glimpse 
of the Marne, on the banks of which there are two or three pointed 
steeples, in the style of F6camp ; but the country consists of a 
succession of plains alive with flocks and shepherds ; excellent 
features in a landscape — but one may have too much of a good 

The cathedral is an imposing structure, and possesses some 
beautiful stained glass. In a beautiful little chapel I detected the 
F and salamander of Francis I. Externally there is a Roman 
tower in the severest style, and an exquisite portal of the four, 
teenth century. But all is dreadfully dilapidated. The church 
is dirty ; and the statue of Francis I. and the groinings of the 
roof are daubed with paint. The portal is a vile imitation of St. 
Gervais in Paris ; and as to the open worked steeples I was pro- 
mised, there is nothing of the kind. Those I saw had heavy 


pointed caps of stone, with volutes intermingled with the spires. 
I was greatly disappointed. 

In compensation for not> seeing all I expected, I met with what 
I did not expect at Chalons, viz,, a splendid Lady-chapel. What 
have the antiquarians been about ? They talk of St. Stephen's, 
but do not mention the Lady-chapel, which, with its lofty steeple, 
constructed of wood and covered with lead, is of the fourteenth 
century. This lofty shaft, the lead of which has a scale-like sur- 
face, resembling a serpent's skin, has an ornamental skylight, 
with diminutive gables half-way up, into which I ascended. The 
view of the cily and the river, seen from thence, delighted me. 

The traveller has also to admire the rich windows and front en- 
trance, built in the thirteenth century. In 1793 the people of 
the country demolished the statues and broke down th^. various 
ornamental sculptures throughout the edifice. Previous to this 
there' were also four minarets, of which three were destroyed. 
Nowhere has the idiotic frenzy of the Revolution left more disa- 
greeable traces than here. The revolution of Paris was terrible ; 
that of Champagne simply ridiculous. 

On the lead of the little lantern, to which I ascended, I found 
an inscription in the hand-writing of the sixteenth century, to the 
following eftect : " The 28th of August, 1580, Peaipe was pro- 
claimed at ChSilons." 

This inscription, half effaced, is all that remains to record that 
important political event, the peace concluded between Henri HI. 
and the Huguenots, through the influence of the Duke of Anjou, 
formerly Duke of Alenqon ; which duke, brother of the king, had 
views upon the Low Countries, and even aspired to the hand of 
Elizabeth of England. The religious feuds of France interfered 
with his projects ; and hence the origin of that great event, the 
peace proclaimed at Chalons in 1580, and all but forgotten in 

The man who helped me to scale the lantern is called the 
watchman of the tower ; and from this eminence, exposed to all 
the winds of heaven, he surveys his universe, and constitutes the 
eye of the town, bedless and ever wide awake. To make sure 
of not being overtaken, by sleep, he is compelled to repeat the 
hour every time it is struck by the clock, and make a pause be* 


tween the last and preceding stroke. To be always awake would 
be impossible ; and the assistance of his wife is accordingly per- 
mitted. At midnight she takes her post, and her husband goes to 
bed, returning at mid -day, when she retires again. These two 
human beings are devoted to this strange diurnal rotation, meeting 
only for a minute, once at mid-day, and once at midnight ; and 
an imp, which they are pleased to consider a child, is the result 
of their strangely disunited union. 

Chalons possesses three churches — St. Alpin, St. John, and St. 
Loup. The first has some beautiful stained windows. As to 
the town-hall, it possesses nothing remarkable, but four enormous 
dogs in granite, squatted before the facade. 

About two leagues from Ch&lons upon the road to Ste. M6ne- 
hould, where the eye encounters little besides boundless stubble- 
fields and lines of dusty trees, a magnificent object suddenly 
strikes you — the abbey of " Our Lady of the Thorn." If has a 
steeple of the fifteenth century, as light and open as lace ; though 
coupled with a telegraph, which, like a fine lady, it seems to look 
down upon with supreme contempt. It is startling to come upon 
such a magnificent structtire in such a wilderness. I passed 'two 
hours in this church, and wandered around it, in spite of a hurri- 
cane whidi shook the bells to vibration. From time to time a 
stone fell from the steeple, close at my feet. The water-spouts 
are most fantastically contrived : chiefly of a monster bearing 
another upon its shoulders. Those of the apsis seem to represent 
the Seven Deadly Sins. A voluptuous figure of Wantonness 
must have rather scandalized the monks. 

So few are the dwellings in the neighborhood, that it seems dif- 
ficult to account for the origin of a cathedral without town or even 
village. In the chapel, however, carefully padlocked, there is a 
miraculous well, plain and simple, as all miraculous objects 
ought 'to be. It is doubtless from this supernatural origin that 
the church sprang up, like a tulip from its bulb. 

I journeyed on, till I reached a village which was celebrating its 
annual festival with most discordant music ; on leaving which, I 
discovered a mean-looking building upon an eminence, crowned 
by an object resembling some monstrous insect. It turned out to 


be a telegraph, conversing in signs with its corresponding neigh- 
bor at N6tre Dame de TEpine. 

Evening approached, and the sunset was magnificent. I oon- 
templated the distant hills from a plain or heath, purple with 
bloom as a bishop's robing. On a sudden I saw a road-mender 
raise his barrow, as if to shelter himself under the side, and in- 
ferred that rain was about to fall. 

A heavy black cloud had overspread us ; the wind was im- 
petuous, and the hemlock, in full Uoom, drooped its head*. The 
trees seemed trembling with horror, while thistledown flew along 
the road swifter than the carriage. Threatening clouds rolled 
over our heads, till suddenly the storm burst forth with singular 
beauty ; for a vast arch of light still occupied the western sky, 
so that the dark shadows of the storm were intermingled with 
the golden hues of sunset. Neither man nor brute was visible. 
The thunder roared, and vivid flames of lightning served to 
reveal the features of the surrounding plains. The branches 
of the trees writhed under the tyranny of the whirlwind. All 
this lasted a quarter of an hour, when an awful gust of wind 
dispersing the concentrated clouds, the summits of the eastern 
hills peeped out, and the heavens became restored to peace and 

Meanwhile twilight had come on ; and the sun was dissolv- 
ing in the west into streaks of red, which the approaching night 
gradually extinguished in the horizon. 

It was starlight when I reached Ste. M6n6hould, which is 
rather a picturesque town, lying upon the declivity of a green 
hill, crested by a line of lofty trees. The kitchen of the H6tel 
de Metz is a kitchen worth speaking of; being an immense hall, 
one side of which is decorated with rows of saucepans, the other 
with crockery. In the centre, opposite the windows, is the flre- 
place, a vast cavern, containing a splendid fire. The oeiling- 
is traversed by blackened beams, from which are suspended 
the different household implements ; while in the centre is an 
ample rack, stored with hams and huge flitches of bacon. Un- 
der the chimney is a bright profusion of fire-irons and other 
household utensils; and the flaming hearth seemed to shoot 
its rays into every corner, and defining broad shadows on the 


ceilingy cast a roseate hue upoa the crockery, and metamor- 
phosed the display of copper into a hrazen wall. Were I a 
Homer or a Rabelals> I should say that such a kitchen was 
a world, of which the fire was the sun ; hut if not a world, it 
is decidedly a republic of men, women, and animals. Sta- 
hte-boys, chamber-maids, scullions, stoves, spits, the bubbling of 
saucepans, the hissing of frying-pans, pipes, cards, dogs and cats ; 
all inspected by the vigilant eye of the host : " Mens agilat molem.^^ 

A grave-looking clock, placed in a remote corner, authorita- 
tively warns the busy hive of the passing hour. 

Among the endless articles hanging from the ceiling, a bird- 
cage especially attracted my attention. This diminutive creature 
appeared to me the very type of domestic confidence. This den, 
this laboratory of indigestions, is full of discordant sounds both 
day and night, and yet the little creature sleeps quietly as in its 
nest. Vainly do the men swear, the women brawl, the children 
cry, the dogs bark, the cats mew, the clocks strike, the choppers 
clatter, the frying-pans sputter. The fountain may run, the jack 
may squeak, the wind howl, the diligences thunder under the 
archway ; — ^yet still this little ball of feathers sleeps with its 
head under its wing. God is great ; inspiring even a bird with 

I must here remark that the world in general is unjust with re- 
gard to inns. I, for one, have often spoken harshly of them. An 
inn is an indispensable thing, which we should consider ourselves 
only too lucky to find when wanted ; and which, generally speak- 
ing, contains a most meritorious woman in the shape of the host- 
ess ! Of the landlord let travellers say their worst. Mine host 
is generally as great a brute as the hostess is good-humored. 
Poor woman ! oflen old and infirm, or young and a mother, or 
thereanent, she goes, comes, sees to everything, completes every- 
thing, scolds where scolding is wanted, wipes the children's noses, 
whips the dogs, curries favor with the travellers, cajoles the head 
cook, smiles at one person, frowns at another, keeps an eye upon 
the stores, welcomes the newly-arrived guests, and bids farewell 
to the departing ones : her whole soul and senses ever on the 
alert ! The hostess is the soul of that huge body called an inn ; 
the host a mere cypher — a pot-companion for carters. Thanks to 


the hostess, we overlook the penalty of inn-hospitality. Her well* 
timed assiduities serve as a veil to the impositions, of her bill and 
the venality of her welcome. 

The hostess of the << City of Metz," at Ste. M6n^hould, b a 
young girl of iifleen or sixteen, who manages the establishment 
to perfection, though a performer on the piano. Her father, the 
host, appears to be a worthy man, and the inn is excellait. 

Yesterday I quitted Ste. M6nehould for Clermont ; the road to 
which is beautiful, being a continuous orchard. The villages 
have an aspect partly Swiss, partly German ; the houses being 
built in the style of chalets. Already you foresee your approach 
to the mountains. The Ardennes are in fact at hand. 

Before arriving at Clermont you pass through a beautiful val* 
ley, uniting the boundaries of the Marne and Meuse. The de* 
scent into this valley is enchanting. The road precipitates itself 
between two high hills ; while above is a dense mass oi foliage, 
overhanging the winding road, till, on a sudden turn, the valley 
presents itself. 

A vast circle of hills, in the midst of which is an Italian-look* 
ing ilat-roofed village, and to the right and left hamlets perched 
upon the wooded heights, distant steeples rising here and there, 
immense pastures with numerous herds, and finally a lively 
stream, form the features of the spot. I was a full hour pass- 
ing through this valley. A telegraph placed at the extremity 
was actively employed during my transit ; while the trees rustled^ 
the stream murmured, and the cattle lowed in the sunshine ; and 
I occupied myself in comparing the goodness of the Creator with 
that of the created. 

Clermont is a beautiful village, overlooking a sea of verdure, 
just as Treport appears to control the waves. Through a pleas- 
ing country of hills, plains, and streams, to the left, in two hours 
you reach Varennes. The unfortunate Louis XVL followed this 
beautiful road to his ruin ! 

I must not close this letter without Daentkm' of the illustnatn?> 
names belonging to Champagne : Amyot ; La Fontaine ; Thibaut 
IV., the poet prince, all but a king, who desired no better than to 
have been the father of St. Louis ; Robert de Sorbon, the founder 
3f the Sorbonne ; Charlier de Gerson, who was Chancellor of the 


University of Paris ; the CJommander of Villegagnon, who nearly- 
assigned Algiers to France in the sixteenth century ; Amadis Ja- 
myn ; Colbert ; Diderot ; two painters, Dantara and le Valentin ; 
two sculptors, Girardon and Bouchardon ; two historians, Flodo- 
ard and Mabillon ; two illustrious cardinals, Henri de Lorraine 
and Raul de Gondi ; two eminent popes, Martin IV. and Urban ' 
IV. ; to crown all, a king no less important than Philip. Augustus. 

Those who hold to fitness of things, and translate Sezanne by 
sexdecim asirii — as they used formerly to translate Fontanes by 
faciunt asinos — ^will rejoice to find that in the province of spark, 
ling Champagne was born the author of the " Dictionary of 
Rhymes," Richelet, and Poincinet, the most mystified of an age in 
which Voltaire mystified the whole world. You believe in sym- 
pathies, and that the mind and works of individuals assimilate 
with the nature of their parent soil ; regarding as inevitable that 
Bonaparte should have been a Corsican, Mazarin an Italian, and 
Henri IV. a Gascon ; you will be surprised to hear that Mirabeau 
is almost a native of Champagne ; Danton really so. What have 
you to say in defence of your theory ? After all, why should 
not Danton be a Champagnese ? Is not Vaugelas a native of 
Savoy ? 

The great Fabert was also of Champagnese origin ; that fa- 
mous marshal was the son of a bookseller, and chose never to rise 
too high or fall too low ; a pure and meditative spirit, which kepi 
studiously within the extreme limits of his singular fortune. 
Tried by the successive ordeals of prosperity and adversity, he 
was unchanged by the humiliations as well as by the vanities of 
life ; neither rejecting the one from pride, nor the other from ab- 
jectness, but both from the same unflinching self-possession. He 
refused to be the spy of Mazarin, and to accept the blue riband 
from Louis XIV. : replying to the latter, " I am a soldier, not a 
gentleman ;" to Mazarin, " I am the arm of the state, but not its 

In the olden time Champagne was a powerful and important 
province. The Count of Champagne was Lord of Brie (which 
Brie itself is a little Champagne, just as Belgium is a minor 
France). The Count of Champagne was an hereditary prince, 
and bore the banner of the Lilies of Bourbon, at the coronation 


of the kiDgs of Rome. He convened his own states, composed of 
seven peers, called the Peers of Champagne ; viz. the Counts of 
Joigny, R^thel, Braine, Roucy, Brienne, Grand Pre, and Bar-sur- 

Scarcely a town in this province but has an interesting origin, 
or a district but is the scene of some adventure. In the cathedral 
of Rheims Clovis received the rites of baptism. Troyes was 
saved from Attila by St. Loup in 878, and was the scene of the 
same ceremony solemnized in Paris in 1804 — a pope crowning an 
emperor in France, in the coronation of Louis-le-B6gue by John 
VIII. It was at Attigny that Pepin, Mayor of the Palace, held 
his high court of justice, from whence he held at bay Gaiffer, 
Duke of Aquitaine. At Andelot the interview took place betwixt 
Grontran, king of Burgundy, and Childebert, king of Austrasia. 
Hincmar found refuge at Epernay ; Abeilard, at Provins ; He- 
loise, at Paraclete ; and a Council was held at Fismes.. 

During the Lower Empire, Langres witnessed the triumphs of 
the two Gordians ; and in the middle ages its inhabitants over, 
threw the seven formidable Castles of Changey, St. Broing, Neuil- 
ly-Coton, Cobons, Bourg, Humes, and Pailly. At Joinville, in 
1584, was concluded the War of the League. Chalons afibrded 
a refuge to Henri IV. in 1591 ; and at St. Dizier the Prince of 
Orange met with his fate. In Doulevant the Count of Moret 
sought refuge. Bourmont is the ancient stronghold of the Lin- 
gons ; Sezanne, the military head-quarters of the Dukes of Bur- 
gundy. The Abbey of Ligny was founded by St. Bernard, in 
the patrimony of the Lords of Chatillon, to whom the saint pro- 
ipised, by an authentic deed, as many acres of land in Paradise 
as they granted him on earth ! Manzon is the fief of the Abbey 
St. Hubert, bound to send an annual tribute to the Kings of France 
of six hounds and six hawks. Chaumont is the place where they 
pray to the devil on the festival of St. John, that they may be 
enabled to pay their debts ; Ch^teau-Porcien is the town given by 
the Connetable de Ch£itillon to the Duke of Orleans. Bajr-sur- 
Aube is the town which the king could neither sell nor alienate. 
Clairvaux, like Heidelburg, is famous for its tun. Anconville still 
possesses the cairn of the Huguenots, which every peasant pass- 
ing by increases by adding a stone. The signals of Mont-aigu 


oorresponded with those of Mont-aim e, twenty leagues ofT. Vassy 
was twice hurnt— once by the Romans in 211, and in 1544 by the 
Imperialists; and in like manner, Langres, by the Huns in 
351, and by the Vandals in 407. Vitry, too, was burnt by 
Louis VII. in the twelfth, and by Charles V. in the sixteenth 

Ste. Men^hould is that noble capital of Argonne which, sold 
by a traitor to Charles II., Duke of Lorraine, refused to surren- 
der. Carignan is the Ivoi of the olden time ; and Attila erected 
an altar at Pont-le-Roi. At Romilly a cenotaph was erected to 

The local history of these places constitutes a portion of the 
history of France — small, it is true, but highly important. 

Champagne teems with reminiscences of the sovereigns of our 
ancient kingdom. Their coronations took place at Rheims. It 
was at Attigny that Charles the Simple founded the royal fief of 
Bourbon. St. Louis and Louis XIV., the great saint and great mo- 
narch of the race, first trod the field of glory in Champagne ; the 
first in 1228, at Troyes, of which he raised the siege ; the second 
at Ste. M^n6hould, into which he entered by the breach, in 1652. 
By a singular coincidence, both of these sovereigns were fourteen 
years of age at the time of the exploit. 

Champagne has also some traces of Napoleon ; for, alas ! many 
towns of this province figure in the last fatal pages of his prodi- 
gious epic. Arcis-sur-Aube, Chalons, Rheims, Champaubert, Se- 
zanne, Vdrtus, Mery, La Fere, Montmirail : as many triumphs 
as fields of action. Fismes, Vitry, and Doulevant had each the 
honor of being his head-quarters ; Piney Luxembourg twice, and 
Troyes three times. Nogent-sur-Seine beheld five victories 
gained by the emperor in five days, manoeuvring on the banks of 
the Mame with a handful of heroes. St. Dizier saw two victo- 
ries in eight and forty hours. At Brienne, where he had been 
educated by a Benedictine, he was nearly slain by a Cossack ! 

The ancient annals of this portion of Belgic Gaul, which be- 
came Champagne, are not less poetical than those of more modern 
times. Her plains teem with memories of the past : of Meroveus 
and the Franks : Aetius and the Romans ; Theodoric and the 
Visigoths. Mount Julius, the tomb of Jovinus ; the Camp of 


Attila, near La Cheppe ; the military roads of Ch^Uons, Gruydres, 
and Warcq ; Voromarus, Caracalla, Eponinus, and Sabinus ; the 
Arch of the two Grordians at Langres ) the gate of Mars at 
Rheims ; all these are so many attestations of history. Antiquity 
still lives and breathes, and from ths dust of ages cries aloud, 
" Ste, viator /" Even Celtic antiquity sends forth her confused 
murmurs from the darkest night. Osiris was worshipped at 
Troyes ; the idol Borvo Tomona has left its name at Bourbonne- 
les Bains ; and near Vassy, under the deep shades of the forest of 
Der, where the Haute Borne grimly rises like the spectre of a 
Druid ; and in the strange ruins of Noviomagus Vadicassium, 
Champagne exhibits its surviving link to the mysteries of the 
youth of time. 

From the period of the Romans till the present, besieged in 
turns by the Alains, the Suevi, the Vandals, the Burgundians, 
and the Germans, the cities of Champagne have submitted to all 
extremities rather than surrender. The device of their rock-built 
cities is " Donee moveantur /" The blood of the ancient Gallia 
Comata, of the Catti, the Lingons, the Tricassii, the Catalaunians 
(who defeated the Vandals), and the Nervians (who conquered 
Siagrius), still flows in the veins of the Champagne peasantry. It 
was a soldier of Champagne, named Berteche, who, single-handed, 
killed seven Austrian dragoons at the battle of Jemappes. In 451 
the plains of Champagne were saturated with the blood of the 
Huns ; and had it pleased God, might have equally imbibed that 
of the Russians in 1814. 

Let us speak, therefore, with due respect of this devoted pro- 
vince, which, in the last invasion of France, sacrificed half its 
children to the defence of our native country. The population of 
the department of the Marne alone, in 1813, was 311,000 souls ; 
in 1830, it had not yet re-accomplished 309,000 ! Fifteen years 
of peace had not sufficed to repair the sacrifices of the people. 


From Villers-Cotterets to the Frontien. 

I HAVE been travelling more rapidly, my dear friend, and write to 
you from the little town in. which Louis XVIII. gave his last order 
of the day, in his flight from France, and made his last pun : 
" St. Denis, (rivet " {J'y vais), I arrived here at four o'clock, 
pummelled to death by the ingenious machine which the people 
persist in calling a diligence. Having slept in my clothes for a 
couple of hours, and the day having broken, I rise to write 
to you. 

On opening my window to enjoy the view, I discerned the angle 
of a whitewashed wall, a moss-choked gutter, and an old cart- 
wheel reclining against the wall. As to my room, it is a vast 
ward, furnished with four huge beds. The yawning chimney is 
surmounted with a wretched glass ; while on the hearth lies a 
fagot, equally diminutive, a hearth broom, and a ferocious-looking 
bootjack, the aperture of which rivals the sinuosities of the Meuse, 
and wo betide the wretch who puts his foot into it — for once 
inserted, let him extricate it if he can. - . Others, like myself, have 
probably limped about the house with the bootjack affixed to their 
heel, crying aloud for help. To do justice to the view I just now 
maligned, let me admit that on leaning from my window I dis- 
covered a beautiful mallow in full bloom, standing on a plank, 
supported by two pipkins, and giving itself all the airs of a choice 

Since my last letter a trifling incident, not worth relating, 
forced me to retrace my steps from Varennes to Villers-Cotterets ; 
and the day before yesterday, dismissing my vehicle, I took the 
diligence to Soissons, which being empty, Xw^s able to unfold my 
Cassini maps on the opposite seat. 


Evening was closing as I approached Soissons ; and the smoke- 
dispensing hand of night nearly concealed the beautiful valley in 
ivhich is sunk the village of La Folie. The tower of the cathe- 
dral and the double spire of St. John of the Vineyards were also 
nearly effaced. 4 

Through the vapors pervading the country, however, the mass 
of walls, roofs, and edifices, called Soissons, half surrounded by 
the steel crescent of the Aisne, like a sheaf to which the sickle is 
applied, was partly visible. I paused on the summit of t^e hill, 
to enjoy this beautiful scene. Crickets were chirping in the 
adjoining field ; the trees murmured softly, and were trembling 
with the parting sighs of the evening breeze, as I gazed atten- 
tively, with the eyes of my mind, upon the profound calm of the 
mighty plain, which had witnessed a victory of Caesar, the rule of 
Clovis, and the wavering of Napoleon. Mankind — even Caesar, 
Clovis, and Napoleon — ^are but passing shadows. Even war is a 
shade that passes in their train ; while the Almighty and the 
w^orks of his hand, and the peace of nature by which they are 
overspread, abide in unchanged sublimity for ever and ever. 

Intending to take the mail to S^dan, which arrives at Soissons 
at midnight, I allowed the diligence to proceed without me to the 
town — ^the distance being a pleasant walk. When near my 
journey's close, I rested myself beside a neat-looking house, upon 
which was reflected the glare of a blacksmith's shop from the 
opposite side of the way : and there religiously contemplated the 
serenity of the heavens. The only three planets visible were in 
the south-east, in a confined space, as if in the same quarter of the 
-heavens. The ever-resplendent Jupiter, whose movements of 
late have formed a somewhat complicated knot, appeared on a 
right line with two radiant stars. More to the east, the red and 
fiery Mars scintillated with a ferocious kind of light ; while a 
little above, calmly shone, like a pale and peaceful influence, that 
monster planet, the mysterious and awful world which we call 
Saturn. On the other side, in the far part of the landscape, what 
appeared to be a magnificent revolving beacon of scarlet, white, 
and blue, seemed to shed its brilliant hues upon the gloomy hills 
that separate Noyon from the Soissonais. Just as I was consider- 
ing what could be the origin of this beacon presiding over solitary 


plains, it appeared to desert the hills, and ascend slowly fixun the 
violet haze of the horizon towards thf zenith ; for this supposed 
beacon was neither more nor less than Aldebaran, that tri-colored 
sun, that enormous star of purple, silver, and turquoise, rising 
majestically through the mgue and sinister mysteries of twilight. 
Explain to me, my dear friend, what unaccountable influence 
is attached to these orbs of night, which every poet since the first 
creation of poets, every profound thinker, and every vague 
dreamer of dreams, has by turns contemplated, studied, worship- 
ped ; some, like Zoroaster, with confiding wonder ; others, like 
P3rthagora8, with trembling awe. Seth assigned names to the 
stars as Adam did to the animals of the earth. The Chaldeans, 
and the Genethliacans, Esdras and Zorobabel, Orpheus, Homer 
and Hesiod, Cadmus, Pherecydes, Xenophon, Hecatsus, Herodo- 
tus and Thucydides — ^those venerated eyes of the ancient world, 
long closed in extinction — have gazed from age to age upon the 
more immortal eyes of the heavens, still bright and sparkling as 
ever. The very planets and stars which we gaze upon were 
watched by all the sages of antiquity. Job speaks of Orion and 
the Pleiades. Plato affects to have heard distinctly the vague 
music of the spheres. Pliny conceived the sun to be God himself; 
and attributed the spots of the moon to the vapors of the earth. 
The Tartar poets call the North Pole Senesticol, which means an 
iron nail. Men have been found presumptuous enough to be 
pleasant at the expense of the constellations. " The lion," said 
Rocoles, " might just as well have been called a monkey." Pacu- 
vius, though with flattering self-possession, pretended to arraign 
the authority of astrologers ; protesting that, if real, it would 
rival that of Jupiter : 

" Nam si qui, quie eveutura sunt praevideant, 
^quiparent Jovi." 

Favorinus proposes this startling question : " Are not all human 
events the work of the stars ? — Si vUcb mortisque hondnum rerum- 
quCf humanarum omnium et ratio et causa in ccelo el apud Stellas 
foret ?" He supposes the flies and worms, " muscis ant vemacu. 
Us" to be submitted to sidereal influence, — even to the very 
hedgehogs, " atU ecJdnis" 


^ Aulus Gellius, on setting sail from Egina to the Pirceus, upon 

^^ a calm sea, sat during the night on the poop of the vessel, contem- 
'^- plating the stars. "JVox fmtj et clemens mare, et anni isstas, 
■'' ^ ccB/umque Ifquide seremim ; sedebamus ergo in puppi simul umversi, 
'^•^ et lucenUa sidera considerahamus." Horace, that practical philo- 
sopher, the Voltaire of the Augustan age, though a far greater 
poet, it is true, than the Voltaire of Louis XV. — Horace himself 
^ trcmhled while gazing at the stars. A strange anxiety overcame 
OS his heart, as he indited the following alLbut terrible verses: — 





' HuDC Bolem, et Stellas, et decedentia certis 
Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nulla, 
Imbuti spectant" 

^n For myself, I do not fear the stars, because I love them. Still, 

^ ' I never reflect without a certain depression of spirits, that the nor- 
«• mal state of the heavens is night. What we call day, is the mere 
^ result of our vicinity to a star ! It is painful to dwell too long 
* upon infinite space. The immensity of the universe is overwhelm- 
ing ! Ecstasy is as much a portion of religion as prayer ; but the 
^ one solaces, while the other fatigues the soul. 
^ From the firmament, my eyes now descended to the cottage 

^' wall, against which I rested. Here again was food for reflection. 
'< In this wall, the peasant had inserted an ancient stone, upon which 
'^ were carved two indistinct letters, which the vibration of the forge 
did not permit me precisely to distinguish. I could make out only 
9 J. C. ; the rest seemed defaced by the lapse of centuries. Now, 
if was this inscription of ancient or modem Rome ? — of Rome cer- 
i tainly ; but was it the sacred or profane — ^the city of arts and 
arms, or the city of faith ? 

I know not whether it was the contemplation of the stars which 
had begotten my mood of philosophy, but these mysterious letters 
appeared to stand out in supernatural splendor. " J. C. :" initials, 
I which in one instance depressed mankind to the earth ; in the 

other, raised him to the skies. " Julius Cffisar :" " Jesus Christ." 
I What greater names have been bequeathed us ? Under an inspi- 

ration similar to the idea which now engrossed me, did Dante 
unite together in the lowest abyss of hell, to be devouxed by the 


fearful gorge of Satan, the greatest traitor of mankind, and the 
greatest assassin — ^Judas and Brutus. 

Three cities preceded Soissons on the same site : the Novio- 
dunum of the Gauls ; the Avgusta Suessonum of the Romans ; 
the old Soissons of Clovis, Charles the Simple, and the Duke of 
Mayenne. There remains nothing of the Noviodunum which 
checked the progress of Caesar. " Suessones," says the Com- 
mentaries, '^ celeritate Romanorum permoti legatos ad C<Bsarem de 
dediUone mitturU." A few fragments only are left of Suessonium ; 
among which is the ancient temple, converted during the middle 
ages into the chapel of St. Peter. Old Soissons is far better 
worthy of notice, possessing the church of St. John of the Vines, 
besides its ancient castle, and the cathedral in which Pepin was 
crowned, in 752. I could trace no vestige of the fortifications of 
the Duke de Mayenne, nor ascertain whether those which remained 
produced the remark of the emperor in 1814 (upon certain fossil 
remains in the wall), that those of Si. Jean d'Acre were built of 
exactly the same materials : a curious observation, considering 
how it was made, by whom, and at what a moment. 

The night was too dark when I entered Soissons to admit of 
searching after Noviodunum or Suessonium; so I supped, while 
waiting for the mail, after passing some time before the vast front 
of St. John of the Vines, whose outlines were sharply defined 
against the sky, like a scene on the stage. While wandering up 
and down, I turned to see the stars flitting to and fro through the 
crevices of the gloomy edifice, as if it contained spirits, running, 
rising, and descending in all directions, with tapers in their hands. 

As I was returning to the inn, midnight struck ; and the whole 
town was dark as a cavern. Suddenly, a furious rushing from 
the farther extremity of a narrow street, little likely to be a scene 
of nocturnal disorder, proved to be the arrival of the mail, which 
drew up close to my inn : luckily there was a place vacant. Our 
new mail-coaches are certainly excellent vehicles ; well cushioned, 
with the windows aptly placed both for air and sight. 

Just as I was about to install myself upon the voluptuous 
cushion, a strange confusion of shrieks, wheels, and neighing of 
horses was audible, and from another point of the dismal little 
street, in defiance of the conductor, who only gave me five min- 


utes' respite, I rushed to the scene of disorder ; where, at the foot 
of a massive wall, which possessed the repulsive, odious charac- 
ter peculiar to prisons, a low barred door, with enormous bolts 
stood open. Close to this door was stationed an odd-looking 
vehicle, escorted by two gendarmes, and between this carriage 
and the entrance were four or hve ill-looking fellows struggling 
with a woman, and dragging her towards the carriage waiting at 
hand. A dark-lantern shed its uncertain light upon this heart- 
rending scene. The woman, a hale peasant of about thirty years 
of age, vainly shrieked, fought, and attempted to bite lier ruffianly 
guardians. The glimpse I caught of her face and disordered hair 
exhibited the very picture of despair. 

As I approached, the men were unclasping her hand from an 
iron bar of the prison-door ; and by a sudden jerk they forced her 
into the carriage. By the vivid light of the lantern, I perceived 
that it was made with two lateral windows, strongly barred, and 
the door at the back as strongly secured with powerful bolts. The 
man with the lantern having opened this door, the interior proved 
to be a kind of box without light or air, divided into two compart- 
ments by a thick transverse panel. The door was so contrived, that, 
when shut, it transformed the interior of the carriage into distinct 
chambers. No communication was possible between the two 
cells, only one of which was now occupied, by a being cowering 
like a wild beast ; a kind of square- faced spectre, fiat-headed, 
with large temples, and bristles for hair ; his clothing composed 
of filthy rags. The legs of this wretch were firmly secured ; one 
foot being inserted in a wooden shoe, while the other was partly 
enveloped with bloody linen, his toes apparently about to drop off 
from disease. He appeared insensible to all that was passing 
around him, even to the wretched woman who was being dragged 
towards him. She still, however, resisted the strength of her in- 
exorable keepers, shrieking aloud, '^ Never, never : I would rather 
die on the spot." She had not yet seen her companion in crime. 
Suddenly, in one of her convulsions, she cast her eye upon the 
hideous-looking prisoner, and her shrieks instantly ceased. Hei 
knees gave way under her ; her strength failed ; and in a faint 
voice she murmured, with accents of anguish and despair that 1 
can never forget, " Ob ! that man." 


At that moment the man glanced towards her with a fierce and 
sullen air, like a tiger, and clod of the earth, as he was. I could 
no longer contain myself. It was clear the woman was a thief, 
perhaps worse, whom the gendarmes were removing from one 
place to another, in one of those odious vehicles styled by the 
populace of Paris salad- baskets, from its having but one opening. 
Resolved to interfere, I ventured to address the turnkeys, who 
paid no regard to my apostrophe. A worthy gendarme, hoW*ever, 
who would certainly have accosted Don Quixote to ask him for 
his passport, instantly begged me to exhibit mine, which I had 
made over to the conductor of the mail. During my explanation 
with the gendarme, the gaolers, with a violent efibrt, had thrust 
the wretched woman into the vehicle, slammed and bolted up the 
door ; and, when I turned round, there was nothing more to be 
heard but the echoes of revolving wheels and the departing trot of 
the escort. 

Immediately after\^ards I was on the road to Rheims, in a com- 
fortable carriage, drawn by four vigorous horses ; and I thought 
of that miserable woman till my heart was sick in comparing her 
position with mine. 

In the midst of these reflections I fell asleep ; and, on waking 
again at day-dawn, witnessed the gradual reanimation of the trees, 
meadows, and hills ; and all the sleeping things, to the repose of 
which the progress of night-mails is so sternly inimical. 

We were traversing the beautiful valley of Braine-sur-Vesle. 
A fragrant breeze swept athwart the hills, and towards the east, 
at the northern extremity of the twilight, near the horizon, in the 
midst of a limpid pearly haze, and with a kind of sapphire-like 
hue, shone the planet Venus. Her rays, falling upon the fields 
and woods, as yet imperfectly defined, seemed to diffuse inex- 
pressible grace and melancholy over the spot. It was like an eye 
of heaven benignly watching over the sleeping landscape. 

The mail traverses Rheims, full gallop, regardless of the cathe- 
dral : one is scarcely able to perceive, above the gable-ends of a 
narrow street, a few of the minarets, the escutcheon of Charles 
VII., and the slender spire shooting upward from the apsis. 

From Rheims to R6thel there is nothing worth notice. Cham- 
pagne Pouilleuse, the golden locks of whose yellow corn-fields 


have just been cropped by the harvest of July, now exhibits a 
succession of earthy undulations, the summits of which are crested 
with spare*looi{ing briars. Here and there stands a sluggish 
windmill ; while by the roadside a potter is drying his ware upon 
a plank, having at his door a few dozen flower-pots lately turned 
from the mould. 

R^thel lies upon a hill declining towards the Aisne, whose 
windings intersect the town in several places. Little remains to 
attest that this was once the princely residence of the Counts 
of Champagne ; the streets being mean, and the church below 

From Bithel to M6zieres, the road gradually ascends to the 
plain of Argonne, which thus becomes connected with the higher 
plain of Rocroy. The high slated roofs, whitewashed fronts, and 
abutting planks which preserve the houses from rain towards the 
north, gave a peculiar character to the villages. The first sum- 
mits of the Faucilles are now occasionally apparent along the 
horizon. There is scarcely any woodland, but a few scattered 
clumps of trees on the distant hills. The clearings hereabouts, a 
first symptom of civilisation, have lefl little shelter §or the wild 
boars of the Ardennes. 

On arriving at Mezidres, I looked vainly for the ruined towers 
of the Saxon castle of Hallebarde ; and found, instead, only the 
hard zigzags of the celebrated Vauban : but in the passes are 
some remains of the walls attacked by Charles V. and defended 
by Bayard. The church of M6zieres was once renowned for its 
stained glass, and I profited by the half-hour accorded for break, 
fast, to visit it. The window must have been fine, to judge by 
the fragments that remain inserted in the vast windows of com- 
mon glass. The church itself is interesting, of the fifteenth cen- 
tury/ having a charming porch at the southern side. Two bas- 
reliefs of the time of Charles YIII. have been affixed to pillars, 
right and lefl of the choir ; but they are unfortunately mutilated, 
and most injudiciously whitewashed. The whole church has 
been washed with yellow, while the groinings and keystones of 
the roof are picked out in colors, frightful to behold. 

In strolling down the aisle, I was reminded, by an inscription, 
that M6zieres was bombarded by the Prussians in 1815 1 to which 


is added in Latio, " Lector, leva oculos ad fomicem et vide quasi 
quoddam divintz manus indieium.'^ 1 raised my eyes accordingly, 
and saw a large rent in the roof, in which is fixed a well-sized 
bomb, thrown by the Prussians : penetrated through the roof and 
timbers, it has remained ever since in its original position. The 
bomb and the perforation produce a strange effect on the behold- 
ers, more particularly upon remembering that it was at M^zidres 
that, in 1521, the first shells ever used in war were tried. On 
another side is inscribed the event of the marriage of Charles IX. 
with Elizabeth of Austria, happily solemnized, *^felicii^r celebrata 
fuere^^ in the church of M^zieres, the 17th of November, 1570, 
L e.y two years before the slaughter of the St. Bartholomew. 

The principal entrance of the church is of that very period, and 
consequently in good taste. But the front was unfortunately not 
finished till the seventeenth century. The steeple, terminated in 
1626, is heavy and awkward ; exceeded only by those now con- 
structing at Paris to ^veral of the new churches. 

The ramparts of M6zi^res are adorned with fine rows of trees. 
The streets are clean, but gloomy. Even on Sundays they must 
be cheerless ; and nothing recals to mind Hallebarde or Garinus, 
the founders of the city ; or Count Balthazar, who sacked it ; or 
Count Hugo, who ennobled it ; or the two bishops, Fulk and 
Adalberon, who besieged it. The god Macer, with whom origi- 
nated the name of the town, became St. Masert in the Christian 
chapels of the church. 

I found neither monuments nor public edifices at S6dan, where 
I arrived at noon. Pretty women, showy dragoons, trees and 
meadows along the Meuse, cannon, drawbridges, and bastions, con- 
stitute the delights of the town. It is one of the places where 
the austere look of the fortified town is fantastically combined 
with the joyous life of a garrison. I had wished to find traces of 
Turenne ; but, alas ! I was disappointed. The house of his fathers 
is demolished, and there remains in its place a black marble tab- 
let, inscribed in gilt letters — 

" Ici naquit Turenne, 
Le 11 September, 1611.»' 


This date, shining upon the black surface, attracted my attention, 
and called up around me the events with which it is connected. 

In 1611 Sully retired from public life ; Henri IV. having been 
assassinated the previous year. Louis XIII., fated, like his father, 
to die on the 14th of May, was then ten years old ; Anne of 
Austria, his wife, was nearly of the same age, being five days 
younger ; Richelieu, in his twenty-sixth year. A certain burgher 
of Rouen, called Petit Pierre, destined to become the great Cor- 
neille : Shakspeare and Cervantes were then alive, as also Bran- 
t6me and Pierre Mathieu. The virgin queen of England had 
been dead about eight years ; and seven years had elapsed since 
the death of Clement VIII. , that peaceful pope and excellent 
Frenchman. In 1611 died Papirien Masson and Jean Busee ; 
the Emperor Rodolph was declining; Gustavus Adolphus had 
succeeded to Charles IX. of Sweden, the dreamer ; Philip III. 
was expelling the Moors from Spain, in spite of the advice of the 
Duke d'Ossuna ; and the Dutch astronomer, John Fabricius, was 
discovering spots in the sun. All this occurred about the time 
Turenne was born. 

Sedan has not been the faithful guardian of his memory. Not 
a trace of his house is now visible. 

I had not the courage to go to Bazeilles and ascertain whether 
the avenue of trees he planted still exists. There is, however, a 
mean bronze statue of Turenne in the square. The statue is a 
mere tribute to his glory. The room in which he was born, the 
castle where he lived, the trees he planted, would have been tri- 
butes to his memory. 

For still better reasons there exist no traces of Guillaume de la 
Marck, the undaunted predecessor of Turenne in the annals of 
Sedan. It may be remarked as an evidence of the natural pro- 
gress of things and ideas, that when the boar of the Ardennes 
disappeared, Sedan produced a Turenne. 

Having enjoyed an excellent breakfast at the Hotel of the Croix 
d'Or, I decided to return to Mezi^res, to make sure of a convey- 
ance to Givet, lying at five leagues' distance, and strikingly pic- 
turesque. I proceeded on foot, followed by a young and swarthy 
fellow, who trudged on merrily with my carpet-bag. The road 


lies nearly parallel with the Meuse, and about a league from S^. 
dan stands Doncherry, with its old bridge and stately trees. 

Lively villages, pleasant country-houses peeping out of thick 
masses of verdure, meadows grouped with thriving herds, the 
Meuse vanishing and then reappearing the next second, and the 
weather as beautiful as the scenery. Half way on my road, I 
became hot and thirsty, and looked out for some habitation ; and 
lo I the first I met with had inscribed over the door, " Bernier 
Hannas, pork-butcher and corn-chandler.'* Upon a bench closely 
adjoining sat two persons afflicted with the goitre, a disease pre- 
valent in the country. I nevertheless boldly entered the house, 
and drank the cup of water I had asked for. 

At six o'clock I reached Mezi^res, and at seven I started for 
Givet, squeezed into the coupe betwixt a fat gentleman and fatter 
lady, who kept saying tender things to each other across me. In 
going through Charleville, which is about a gun-shot distance 
from Mezieres, I observed the central square, built in 1605, in 
noble style, by Charles de Gonzagues, Duke of Nevers and Man- 
tua, the counterpart of our Place Royale at Paris, the same 
arcades, brick fronts, and high roofs. 

Night came on, and I soon slept profoundly, though often inter- 
rupted by the yawnings and snorings of my fat companions. At 
last, aroused partly by the ejaculations of the postboys, partly by 
the unceasing endearments of my fellow-travellers, I opened my 
eyes : when soldiers suddenly flocked round the diligence, a gen- 
darme imperiously demanding our passports. The rattling of 
chains in lowering a drawbridge, and the light of the street lamp, 
which exhibited mounds of shot, and pieces of ordnance yawn- 
ing at us, announced that we had reached Rocroy. The sight of 
two such memorable spots as S6dan and Rocroy is an interesting 
event ; for if Sedan be the birthplace of Turenne, Rocroy may 
be said to be the birthplace of CJonde. 

While trying to turn a deaf ear to the vulgar commonplace of 
the fat lady and gentleman, whose incessant loquacity almost 
drove me out of my senses, the merry, fantastic, silvery sound of 
chimes suddenly assured me that we were in Belgium, the genu- 
ine land of chimes. Their light and cheering harmony offered 

GIVET. 35 

some compensation afier the fatiguing gossip of my fellow-travel- 

The chimes which enlivened me sent them to sleep. I pre- 
sume we were at Fumay, but the night was too dark to distin- 
guish anything ; so that I passed the fine ruins of the castle of 
Hierches, and the two well-known rocks called the Ladies of the 
Meuse, without being aware of it. Every now and then, I per- 
ceived in the hollows a whitish vapor, like smoke rising from a 
furnace ; and this was the Meuse. 

At length, the dawn of day became apparent. A drawbridge 
was lowered, a gate opened, and the diligence trotted through a 
defile, formed on the left by a black, perpendicular rock, and to 
the right by a long, strange-looking edifice, having a multitude 
of doors and windows, which all seemed open, arid in a dilapi- 
dated state ; so that I saw through it, and witnessed the twilight 
gilding the horizon on the other side of the Meuse. 

At the extremity of this mysterious edifice there was a high, 
closed window, feebly lighted ; the diligence passed rapidly at 
that moment past an imposing-looking tower ; we turned into a 
yard, where a host of chambermaids and other auxiliaries made 
their appearance, and I found that we were arrived at Givet. 



GivxT, August 1. 

GiVET is a clean, ^hospitable, pretty little town, situated on the 
banks of the Meuse, which divides it into Great and Little Givet, 
and at the foot of a lofty precipice of rock, of which the geome- 
trical lines of the fortress of Charlemont somewhat disfigure- the 

The inn, called the Mont d'Or, is pretty good ; though, being 
the only one, it can compel its customers to swallow whatever it 
pleases. The steeple of Little Givet is covered with slate i but 
that of the Great Givet is of a more complicated order of archi- 
tecture. The architect must certainly be indebted to the square- 
crowned cap of some priest or lawyer, with a reversed salad-bowl 
placed upon it ; to which is added a sugar-basin ; and, over all, 
a bottle, in the neck of which is stuck the image of a sun, over- 
topped by the figure of chanticleer, pertly perched on one leg, 
upon the highest vertical ray. Supposing him to have devoted 
one day a-piece to each of these bright inventions, he may fairly 
have rested on the seventh, satisfied with his work. It must 
Jiave been a Fleming. For two centuries the architects of that 
nation were infatuated by outlines of crockery and kitchen uten- 
sils, piled up in Titanic proportions. Even in the construction 
of the steeples they have taken ample care to adorn their cities 
with these colossal conglomerations of pipkins. 

The view of Givet is delightful, when standing, as I did, about 
evening, upon the bridge looking towards the south. Night, 
which is the best veil for the follies of mankind, began to conceal 
the absurd composition of the steeple, and smoke in spiral clouds 
floated from every roof. To my left, I heard the gentle tremor 
of some fine elms, above which, in the clear evening light, rose a 
huge tower dominating over the lesser Givet. On my right stood 
another with a conical roof, half brick, half stone ; the whole 


reflected in the metallic mirror of the Meuse, which was seen 
traversing this darkened landscape. 

Farther on I distinguished, at the foot of the fearful rock of 
Charlemont, the strange-looking, lengthy edifice I had remarked 
on arriving. Above the town, the towers, and the steeples, the 
eye discovered a range of lofty rocks, prolonged till they disap- 
peared in the horizon, enclosing the view as in a circle. Towards 
the extreme boundary of a sky of delicate green, the crescent 
moon was gradually sinking towards the earth, so clear, defined, 
and pure, that it seemed as if the Almighty were displaying the 
moiety of his ring of gold. 

In the course of* the day I had decided to visit the old tower 
which once dominated the lesser Givet. The path ascending to 
it is rugged enough, providing work for the hands as well as for 
the feet. It is necessary to scale the rock, which is hard and 
sharp. Having with difficulty reached the tower, I found it bar. 
ricaded and padlocked. I called, knocked, but nobody answered. 
My efforts, however, were not unrewarded, for on walking round 
the decaying wall I remarked, amongst fragments which daily 
fall into the ravine, a stone of some size, upon which there was 
still a vestige of an inscription. On a closer inspection, I found 
it to run as follows : — 

PARAS.... MODI. S. L. 

The letters, deeply cut, seemed executed with a nail, and above 
them was likewise a signature, still perfect — Jose ChOterez, 1643. 
I have always had a passion for inscriptions. I c(Hifess that the 
one in question puzzled me. What did it mean ? In what 
tongue was it written ? Making allowances for orthography, you 
might have thought it French, and purporting something absurd. 
Loque sale — Ombre parasol — Modis (maudis) la cave — Sol Rosse, 
But taking into account the effaced characters, these words 
were out of the question ; besides, the signature of Jose Gutierez 
protested against it. Comparing the signature, therefore, with the 
words jpara and cftrosy which are Spanish, I conclude that the 


inscription must be in the Castilian, and I have accordingly 
adjusted it as follows : — 


i.e.f <<That which man begins for himself, God completes for 
others ;" which strikes me as being a very fine sentence, both 
Catholic and Castilian. 

But who was Gutierez ? The stone was evidently taken from 
the interior of the tower. The battle of Rocroy took place in 
1643 ; was Jose Gutierez one of the prisoners made on the field ? 
Was it in his dungeon he found leisure to inscribe this melancholy 
summary of his existence ? A probable surmise, for it is evident 
that the letters are the work of a nail ; and so long a phrase, in- 
scribed in hard granite, could scarcely result but from the pa- 
tience peculiar to prisoners. And who mutilated it thus ? — ^time 
and chance ? or some idler of the human race ? I am inclined 
to favor the last hypothesis. Some barber, become a soldier 
through the compulsion of the conscription, had suffered the pen- 
alty of a breach of discipline, and indulged his wit by turning the 
grave lamentation of the Hidalgo into idle ridicule ; a face into a 
grimace. Now, alas ! both barber and noble, the groan and the 
laugh, the tragedy and the parody, are alike dust and ashes, 
trodden by the passer-by into the same ravine, and the same 

The following day, at five in the morning, I found myself com. 
fbrtably seated on the imperial of Van Crend's diligence ; and 
having quitted France by the road leading to Namur, ascended 
the first eminence of the only chain of hills that exists in Bel- 
gium. For the Meuse, flowing in an inverse sense to the decline 
of the plain of the Ardennes,. has succeeded in forming a valley 
in that immense plain called Flanders ; where man has construct- 
ed fortresses, in place of the mountains devised by nature as a 
more permanent defence. After an ascent of half an hour, the 
horses being out of breath, and the Belgian conductor athirst, they 
agreed with one accord to pause and refresh themselves; and 
halted before a small inn, at a village clothing the two sides of a 


wide ravine, which has made its rugged way through the mount- 
ain. This ravine, which is at once the hed of a torrent and the 
main street of the village, is naturally paved with indigenous 

At the moment we were passing, a waggon dragged hy six' 
horses was clambering along this steep and dangerous ravine. It 
was luckily empty j for had it been otherwise, it would have re- 
quired at least twenty horses or mules. Such a waggon seems 
quite unfit for such a purpose, and only serves to furnish improba- 
ble sketches to the young Dutch artists one meets on the road, 
with a staff in hand and a knapsack on their back. 

How is one to occupy oneself on the roof of a diligence, unless 
by looking out at everything that comes in one's way ? I was 
admirably placed for the purpose ; having beneath me a great 
extent of the valley of the Meuse, and to the south the two Givets, 
prettily connected by a bridge ; to the west, the old ruined tower 
of Agimont, apparently forming part of the hill on which it stands, 
and casting a huge pyramidal shadow : to the north, the dark de- 
file into which rushes the Meuse, throwing up a luminous blue 
vapor. In the attic of the inn, about two strides from my seat^ 
and on the same level, sits a pretty peasant girl, dressing herself, 
with the window wide open, which allows the rays of the morn- 
ing sun, as well as the indiscreet eyes of the travellers, to pene- 
trate into the chamber. Above this cottage, in the distance, as if 
to crown the frontiers of France, is extended the immensa line of 
the formidable batteries of Charlemont. 

While I was absorbed in these contemplations, the peasant girl 
suddenly raised her eyes, smiled and made me a gracious bow. 
But instead of closing her window as I expected, she was obliging 
enough to resume her toilet. 



The Banks of the Meuse.— Dinant. — Namur. 

LtS«i, August 3. 

I AM just arrived at Liege by a most charming road, having fbl- 
lowed the course of the Meuse from Givet hither. 

The banks of the Meuse are indeed beautiful : I wonder they 
are so little cited. A few words may serve to describe their lead- 
ing features. 

After the village in which myself and the morning sun had the 
satisfaction of presiding at the tcalet of the pretty peasant girl, 
you ascend a hill which reminded me of the Val-Suzon, near 
Dijon, and where the road winds upon itself snakewise during 
three-quarters of an hour, in the midst of a forest, through deep 
ravines, the channels of torrents. Then follows an extensive 
landscape of plains resembling those of Beance ; when suddenly 
the ground breaks to the left ; and the road commands an awful 
precipice, accessible only to vegetation. It is at least three hun- 
dred feet high, and at the bottom, as if sailing among trees, one 
perceiv^ the boats peacefully gliding along thp Meuse ; while on 
the bank stands a pretty villa, somewhat resembling the orna- 
ments of a clock-case of the time of Louis XV., with a Lilipu- 
tian basin, and a whimsical miniature Pompadour garden, in 
which at a glance you may discern every detail of the place. 
Nothing is more disgusting than this Chinese burlesque of nature ; 
a protest made by the vulgar taste of man against the poetry of 
nature. On losing sight of the gulf, the plain recommences, for 
the ravine made by the Meuse cuts asunder the plain as a furrow 
a field. ^ 

A quarter of a league farther, they lock the carriage-wheel ; 
and the road gradually declines towards the river. This time the 
abyss is delightfully ornamented by multitudes of flowers, and 
fine trees,, brightened by the clear light of the morning sky. 


Orchards, fenced by high hedges/ enliven either side of the 
road, and the green Meuse flows along between precipitous banks. 
Another river less considerable, but still more beautiful, here joins 
the Meuse — ^the Lesse. Three leagues farther is the well-known 
grotto of Han-sur-Lesse, from which the road rapidly recedes. 
The noise of the numerous water-mills of the Lesse produces a 
curious echo from the mountains. 

The lefl bank fo the MeuSe hereabouts presents an uninter- 
rupted series of farms and villages, gradually declining, while the 
right bank as gradually increases in elevation. A buttress of 
rocks encroaches even on the road, while the briars on their jag- 
ged brows are seen to tremble two hundred feet above our Tieads. 
A high pyramidal rock, pointed and bold, like the . spire of a 
cathedral, suddenly shows itself at the turn of the road. 

" Yonder is Bayard's rock," exclaimed the conductor, as we 
pursued the road leading between the mountain and this colossal 
stone, and then turning sharply at the foot of an enormous mass 
of granite, crested with a citadel. The eye now traces a lengthy 
street of antiquated houses, connected with the lefl bank by a fine 
bridge, and terminated at the extremity by the sharp roofs and 
broad windows of a church of the fifteenth century. This is 
Dinant, where you halt for a quarter of an hour, jus* long enough 
to remark a pretty little garden, so cultivated as to convince you 
that you are in Flanders ; the flowers being exquisite, but inter- 
spersed with the inevitable statues of pottery- ware. Onebf them 
represented a woman dressed in a gingham gown and straw hat. 
But on a closer investigation, and thanks to the indications afibrd- 
ed by a little trickling sound, I discovered that she was intended 
for the water-nymph of a fountain. 

Tiie spire of the church of Dinant is, as usual, a huge pipkin. 
Nevertheless, viewed from the bridge, the front is imposing ; and 
altogether the town has an interesting appearance. At Dinant 
you quit the right bank of the Meuse. The suburb of the lefl 
bank, through which you. pass, is admirably disposed round an 
old stronghold, now crumbling to pieces, which formed part of the 
old fortress. At the foot of this tower, I detected, amid a block 
of houses, an interesting specimen of architecture of the fifleenth 


century, with the usual turrets, stone windows, and fimtastical 

On leaving Dinant, the valley widens ; and the Meuse beooroes 
broader. To the right, upon distant heights, are seen two castles 
in ruins. The valley still widening, the rocks disappear, and 
pastures, of a velvet green, embroidered with flowers, are every, 
where visible, interspersed with hop-grounds, orchards, and trees, 
covered with more fruit than foliage; the purple plum, the rosy 
apple, and the scarlet clusters of the service-tree, looking like 
vegetable coral. The road appears to swarm with cackling poul- 
try ; and the boatmen send forth their merry carols from the river 
for the amusement of the smart young maidens, with bare arms, 
and heavy baskets of grass upon their heads, who are seen trudg- 
ing along the road. Then comes the village cemetery, as if to 
rebuke this lightness and joyousness of the scene. In one of 
these village churchyards, I read ihe following inscription : — 

** pie, defunctis miseris succurre, viator !'* 

No memento can, in my opinion, be more touching. Generally 
the dead warn the living; here they supplicate them. Further 
on, having passed a hill where the rocks are mom and fluted by 
the rain, like our old time-worn fountain of the Luxembourg 
(which, by the way, is now submitted to such ill-advised restora- 
tion), the vicinity of Namur becomes apparent. Villas begin to 
obtrude themselves on the peasants' hovels ; statues are to be seen 
among the rocks ; the hop-grounds blend with parks. Nor is the 
effect of this admixture by any means disagreeable. 

Our diligence changed horses in one of these composite vil- 
lages; where, on one side, I perceived a magnificent garden, 
embellished with colonnades and Ionic temples ; and on the oppo- 
site one, a beer-house with a group of Flemish carousers, shaded 
by a splendid rose-tree in full bloom. Within the gold-pointed 
spears, forming the palisade of the villa, stood a pedestal support- 
ing a statue of Venus, half-concealing herself amid the surround- 
ing verdure, as if indignant at being contemplated by the coarse 
eyes of a horde of Flemish boors. Further on stood a well laden 
plum-tree, submitting to the ravages of some laughing girls • one 

NAMUR. 43 

of whom, poised with one foot upon a branch, seemed like a fairy 
about to take her flight. An hour afterwards, I was at Namur. 

The two valleys of the Sawbre and Meuse unite at Namur, 
vhich is situated at the confluence of the streams. The women 
here are peculiarly prepossessing, while the men exhibit grave, 
good, and hospitable countenances. As to the city itself, it has 
nothing remarkable, with the exception of the view from the two 
bridges of the Sambre and Meuse. The history of the city is 
effaced from its configuration ; and it possesses neither architec- 
ture, monuments, edifices, nor old houses. Four or five mean 
looking churches,* some bad specimens of fountains, in the style 
of Louis XV., are all it has to exhibit. Namur never inspired 
but two odes ; that of Boileau and another, the subjects of which 
are an old woman and the Prince of Orange. To si^ the truth, 
this is as much as she merits. 

The citadel predominates ooldly over the town ; still 1 could 
not view, without feelings of respect, those lines which were 
attacked by Vauban, and defended by Cohom. 

Where there are no churches to interest my attention, I study 
the signs of the shops, which, to the curious eye, afibrd much 
information. Independent of the various callings and local 
trades, there is also as much physiognomy in the phraseology 
and names of the inhabitants, as in the more highly sounding 
titles of the nobility. 

I send you three names taken at hazard from the shop.fronts 
of Namur ; each possessing a peculiarity. ^^Vepouse Deharsy, 
negociarUe ;" in reading which, one knows one-s^f to be in a 
country French one day, and the day following, belonging to 
some other nation, where the language has altered and degene- 
rated. A clumsy German idiom is sure to ensue. The next 
name is " Crucifx Piret, Tuercier" Here one perceives the in- 
fluence of Catholic Flanders. Whether as name or surname, 
Crucifix could not exist in Voltairianized France. — " Menendez 
Wodon, horhger" What a strange jumble of Spanish, Flemish, 
and French ; — ^the whole history of the low countries included 

* Victor Hugo seema to have neglected the superb interior of the Church 
of the Jesuits. 


in three words ! By the interpretation of these three shop-fronts, 
I am enabled to trace three national peculiarities ; the one as 
regards the language, the other a^ regards the religion, the last, 
as regards the history of Flanders. 

Let me also remark that, in Dinant, Namur, and Liege, the 
name of Demeuse is of common occurrence; just as in the 
neighborhood of Paris or Rouen you see Deserme and Deseine. 

I must not forget the name of " Janus" a baker ; which re- 
minds me that, in the faubourg St. Denis, at Paris, there is also 
one NerOy a confectioner ; while at Aries, upon the entablature 
of a Roman temple in ruins, you read the name of " Marius, 
hair-cutter and perruquier." 


Banks of the Meuae.— Huy.— Li^e. 

LxKOB, jSugust 4. 

Th£ road from Namur to Li^ge commences with a noble avenue 
of trees. The luxuriant foliage does its best to conceal the 
t«Bteless steeples of the city, which at a distance resemble nine- 
pins, intermingled with cups and balls. 

On quitting the shade of these lofty trees, the fresh breeze 
from the Meuse salutes you agreeably, and the road follows the 
cheerful banks of the river. The Meuse, swollen by the Sam- 
bre, becomes much wider, but the double rampart of rock soon 
reappears, representing at every step some giant fortress, dun- 
geons in ruins, or groups of Titanic towers. The rocks on the 
Meuse are ferruginous, and afford an agreeable variety of tint to 
the landscape. The .elements impart to them a fine rusty coat- 
ing ; but when broken up, produce the odious blue granite with 
which Belgium is infested, which creates such ugly edifices, and 
such magnificent mountains. 

The rock was created by the Almighty. It was man who con- 
verted it to the purpose of a building-stone. 

We passed rapidly through Sanson, a village, above which 
stand, decaying amid the brushwood, the remains of a castle, 
built, it is supposed, under Clodion. 

There is a rock here, pointed out by the conductor, which ex- 
hibits a grim human physiognomy. We next reached Andennes, 
where I remarked a most inestimable treasure for the antiquarian, 
in a pure rustic church of the tenth century, in a perfect condi- 
tion. In another village, Sclayn, I believe there is the following 
inscription over the principal entrance of the church. **^ Let no 
dog enter the house of God." Were I a curate of Sclayn, I 
should think it more important to invite Christians to enter thaa 
to interfere with the expulsion of dogs. 


After passing Andennes, the mountains recede ; a plain sue- 
ceeds to the valley, and the Meuse disappears among the mea- 
dows. The landscape is still fine ; hut the eye is now and then 
offended by &ctory chimneys, the hideous obelisks of modem 

The hills advance once more, the river and the road reunite, 
and vast bastions are perceptible on the summit of a rock. A 
handsome church, by the side of a high square tower, v^rith a 
tower-gate flanked by a decaying watch-tower, are now percepti- 
ble. Several modem habitations, the creation of men of opu- 
lence, in the old-fashioned Flemish fantastical taste, now succeed, 
having flowery terraces on either side of an old bridge, reflected 
in the waters of the Meuse. 

We are now at Huy, next to Dinant, the prettiest town on the 
Meuse, and just midway between Namur and Lidge, as Dinant 
is between Namur and Givet. Huy, which now possesses a 
formidable citadel, was also of a warlike character in times of 
yore ; having stood sieges against the people of Lidge, as often 
as Dinant against those of Namur, in the times when cities 
waged war against each other as kingdoms in our own, as Frois- 
sart inft>rms us, — 

'* La grande ville de Bar-sur-Seigne, 
A fait trembler Troye en Champaigne." 

After Huy, we have one of those pleasing contrasts which 
constitute the charm of the Meuse ; severe-looking rocks being 
opposed to cheerful meadows. Vineyards begin to be apparent 
on the hills ; the first, I should think, in Belgium. 

From time to time one sees a manufacture of zinc close by 
the river, in some ravine, whose rent and creviced roof, with the 
escaping smoke, gives one the idea of a half-extinguished fire ; 
or some alum pit, with its heap of red earth. Here is a hop- 
garden adjoining a bean-field, there a basking garden, whose 
fragrant flowers diffuse perfume around. 

While fretting against the overpowering gabble of innumerable 
geese, ducks, and poultry, one detects a red brick house, with 
slated turrets, stone-framed windows, latticed with lead; dulT, 


clean, and calm ; shaded by a luxuriant vine, with pigeons on 
the roof, bird-cages at the windows, a beautiful child, and a sun- 
beam on the threshold, — ^the whole presenting a subject for 
Teniers or Mieris. 

Evening approaches : the wind sinks ; the meadows and the 
woods become hushed ; and nothing is heard but the murmur of 
the mighty streams. Vague lights glitter in the houses ; all 
objects become indistinct ; and my fellow travellers outvie each 
other in snoring. 

Presently some person remarks that we shall soon be at Lidge. 
The scene now becomes truly curious. At the foot of the dark 
and wooded hills, towards the west, two balls of fire glare and 
glitter, like the eyes of tigers ; while from an orifice, eighty 
yards above your head, issues a fierce flame, which glances over 
the neighboring rocks and forests. A little further on, at the 
entrance of the valley, is a yawning furnace, which, when occa- 
sionally opened, sends forth volumes of flames. These are the 
forges rendered famous by the engineer Ckx^kerell. Afler pass- 
ing the spot called the Little Flemalle, the scene becomes un- 
speakably grand ; the whole valley being filled with what' appear 
to be the craters of volcanos in eruption. Some emff immense 
clouds of red vapor, glittering with sparks. Others d<efme upon 
their reddening glow the dark circumference of an adjoining vil- 
lage ; in other places the flames are distinguished through the 
aperture of some mis-shapely edifice. 

One might figure to one's-self that a hostile army was march- 
ing through the country, sacking and burning the different towns ; 
some blazing, some smoking, some half extinct. This warlike 
spectacle, seen in time of peace, like a frightful copy of devas- 
tation, is illustrative of the progress of industry, and the vast 
enterprises of Cockerell. 

A discordant and violent noise proceeds from this chaos ; and, 
being curious to visit one of these fiery dens, I got down from 
the carriage. The spectacle is indeed striking, particularly at 
night ; partaking almost of the supernatural. Wheels, saws, 
cauldrons, rollers, cylinders, regulators, every portion of those 
copper glanty which we call engines, and to which steam imparts 
strength and vitality to roar, hiss, grind, groan, to rend asunder 


brass, to twist iron, to pound granite, are scattered about. The 
scorched and smoky workmen howl like hydras and dragons at 
their terrible occupation, as if tormented in that heated atmo- 
sphere by the demons of hell. 

Liege is one of the cjties in process of transition from old to new, 
in which, at every step, the rich old carved and painted f|t>Qts of 
ancient mansions are effaced by modem stucco and plaster casts ; 
the good old-fashioned slated roofs with their fanciful skylights 
and weather-cocks being daily destroyed by the vile taste of the 
vulgar burghers of the town, who read the ConstUutionnel upon a 
terrace paved with zinc or asphalte. 

A Grecian temple, with a cust(jm-house officer for its high 
priest, constitutes the entrance, in place of some fine old tower 
bristling with partizans ; and the high brick chimneys of steam 
&ctories take the place of ancient spires and modern steeples. 

Lidge no longer possesses the ancient cathedral of the prince- 
bishops, built by the illustrious prelate, Notger, a.d. 1000, and 
demolished in 1795, by I know not whom ; but, in its place, she 
is rich in the forges of Monsieur Cockerell. Nor can she now 
exhibit the cloister of the Dominicans, once so famous, and in so 
noble a style of architecture ; for upon the site there stands a 
theatre, with its cast-iron columns and capitals, of which the first 
stone was laid by Mademoiselle Mars. In the nineteenth, as in 
the sixteenth century, Liege is celebrated for the manufacture 
of arms ; competing with France for weapons of war, and with 
Versailles, in particular, for those of the sportsman. 

But the ancient city of St. Hubert, formerly uniting the dig- 
nities of a cathedral and a fortress, and exhibiting pictures both 
ecclesiastical and military, prays and fights no longer. At pre- 
sent her province is to buy and sell ; and Liege may be re- 
garded as an immense hive of industry, the mainspring of an 
extensive national commerce. The Meuse connects thi» city 
with France and Holland ; and with these two arms at her dis- 
posal, both receives and despatches on either side. Even the 
etymological derivation of the name has been extinguished, the 
ancient rivulet Legia being now called Ri-de-Coq- Fontaine. 

Meanwhile Liege lies grouped in a picturesque manner upon 

LIEGE. 49 

the green ridge of St. Walburge, divided by the Meuse into the 
high and low town, which are connected by thirteen bridges, some 
of them possessing architectural merit. As far as the eye can 
reach, it is surrounded by trees and verdure, and still retains a 
sufficient number of turrets, gabled mansions, Roman towers, and 
dreary dungeons, such as those of St. Martin and d'Amerdcsur, 
to furnish matter of interest to the poet and antiquarian, in spite 
of the deterioration of factories and forges. 

As it rained torrents, I had only time to visit four churches. 
St. Paul, the present cathedral, a noble specimen of the fifteenth 
century, having a Gothic cloister, with a curious old portal stu- 
pidly spoiled by modern stucco, and a fine tower, which must 
have been truly beautiful befo^fe some ill-judged architect reformed 
all the angles — ^the same disgraceful operation now in progress 
upon the old roofs of our Hotel de Ville in Paris. St. John, built 
in the severe style of the tenth century, having a fine square 
tower, with a slated steeple, on either side of which are two lower 
towers, also square. Behind this fiiqade is the dome or rather 
the hump of some nondescript church, the door of which opens 
upon a cloister disfigured, scraped, white- washed, and over-grown 
with weeds. St. Hubert, whose Roman apsis, with its arched 
galleries, is magnificent ; and St. Denis, a curious church of the 
tenth century, having a tower of the ninth, which leaves evident 
traces of devastation by fire towards the base, perhaps during the 
irruption of the Normans, in 882. The Roman architects repaired 
and continued the tower in the very state in which it was lefl by 
the fire ; so that the ne\^ly- built part is carried up on the impaired 
walls. Thus the outline of the ruin remains perfectly visible upon 
the tower, even to the present day. 

As I was proceeding from the church of St. Denis to that of 
St. Hubert, through a labyrinth of low narrow streets, in the wake 
of which were ensconced madonnas surrounded with strips of tin 
inscribed with religious devices, I found myself under a high and 
gloomy wall, ornamented in a manner which announced it to have 
pertained to some palace of the middle ages. A low door having 
presented itself, 1 entered a spacious court, and found myself 
within the precincts of the palace of the ecclesiastical princes of 
Li^ge. Never did I behold an order of architecture more strange 


or more gorgeous. Four granite fronts, over which tower four 
prodigious high slated roofs, supported by four low-arched galleries, 
seemingly ready to yield under the pressure of the enormous 
weight, confine the view on all sides. Two of the facades exhibit 
the most complete specimens of the elliptical arches which cha- 
racterize the architecture of the end of the fifteenth, and the be- 
ginning of the sixteenth, century. The windows of this clerical 
palace are much in the style of those usual in churches. Unfor- 
tunately two other fronts, destroyed in the conflagration of 1734, 
have been rebuilt in the mean fashion of that period, and tend to 
detract from the general effect ; though luckily they are not abso- 
lutely at variance with the austere style of the old palace. 

The prince-bishop who was in power a hundred and five years 
ago appears to have allowed of no departure from the original 
simplicity of plan ; and two plain fronts were constructed, such as 
befitted the architecture of the eighteenth century, which allowed 
no medium between the frippery of exaggerated ornament, and 
absolute nakedness. 

The quadruple gallery enclosing the court is in admirable pre- 
servation. Nothing can be more curiously interesting than the 
pillars supporting these broad elliptic arches, which are of grey 
granite like all the others about the palace. In either of the four 
sides you will find that one-half of the shaft of the pillar disap- 
pears, under the embellishment of arabesques — ^a Flemish fancy 
of the sixteenth century ; and to the confusion of the archeologist, 
that these arabesques, as well as the curiously executed capitals 
of the columns, abounding with chimerical figures, leaves unknown 
in botany, apocalyptical animals, winged dragons, and Egyptian 
hieroglyphics, apparently belong to the eleventh century. In 
order not to attribute these short gibbous columns to the Byzan- 
tine architecture, it is necessary to remark that the episcopal 
palace of Lidge was only begun in 1508, by Prince Erard de la 
Mark, who reigned thirty-two years. 

This edifice is now occupied by the courts of law, by booksel- 
lers, and various tradesmen, and who are installed beneath the 
arches, besides a vegetable market in the midst ; and the men of 
the law are to be seen passing to and fro among baskets of cab- 
bages and flowers. Fat-cheeked Flemings stand chattering and 


quarrelling before every pillar, and warm arguments are heard 
throvgh the windows of this gloomy court, in which the silence 
of the cloister once prevailed. The gossip and the pettifogger 
have succeeded to the arrogant prelates of old. Above the high 
roois is a lofty and massive brick tower, formerly the belfry of 
the prince-bishop, and now used as a penitentiary for women ; a 
sorry and cold antithesis, such as the disciples of Voltaire might 
have devised as a jest thirty years ago, but which the prosy utili- 
tarian of to-day has executed as a matter of fact. 

On leaving the palace by the principal door, I examined the 
present facade, the work of the disastrous architect of 1734, resem- 
bling a tragedy by Lagrange Chancel,- in stone and marble. 

There was a wretched man lounging before this frightful build- 
ing, who insisted upon extorting from me a tribute to its merits ; 
but I would not listen to him, though he taught me that Li^ge was 
called by the Dutch, Luik, by the Germans, LaUich, and in Latin, 

The room in which I lodged at Lidge was hung with muslin 
curtains, upon which were embroidered, not nosegays, but melons. 
It was also adorned with engravings, doing justice to our defeats 
of 1814, but some little injustice to our language. The following 
is the exact text which figures at the bottom of one of these prints : 
— " BaiaiHe d^Arcissur-Auhey le 21 Mars, 1814. La plus part 
de la gamison de ceite place, composee de la garde ancienne {pro- 
hahlement la meUe garde) Jut fait prisonrders, et lesalUes entrtrerU 
vainquereuse a Paris, le 2 AvrilP* 



Banks of the Vesdre— Verview. 

Aix-la-Chatsllb, A%f(u»t 4. 

Yesterday, at nine in the morning, as the diligence for Aix-Ia- 
Chapelle was about to starts a worthy Walloon chose to refuse a 
place on the imperial ; reminding me of the Auvergnat peasant, 
who declared he had paid to be in ^e box, and not in the opera. 
I offered to change places with him, and mounted to the roof, 
which pacified him, and the diligence started. Luckily for me, 
the road was gay and interesting. We are no longer upon the 
Meuse, but the Vesdre, the former striking off by Maestricht and 
Ruremonde, towards Rotterdam and the sea. 

The Vesdre is a torrent which descends from St. Cornel is- 
Munster, between Aix-la-Chapelle and Duren, flowing through 
Verviers and Chaudfbntaines to Lidge, along a most beautiful 
valley. The road runs parallel with the river, and they journey 
on happily together through thriving villages, among the trees, 
where there is a rustic bridge before every door ; or in a lonely 
bend of the valley, they creep together under the shade of some 
old manor, with its square towers, high pointed roof, and front 
containing curiously-contrived windows, at once proud and unas- 
suming ; an edifice that is something between the residence of a 
farmer and a lord. Suddenly the scene becomes more gay and 
noisy ; and on the turn of a hill, the eye falls into a mass of wih 
lows and alders, through which the rays of the sun bring to light 
a low built house, with an immense black wheel glittering with 
showers of jewels, which, in vulgar parlance, is called a water- 

Betwixt Chaudfontaines and Verviers, the valley is almost Vir- 
gilian. The weather was divine ; charming children were gam- 
bolling about the gardens ; while groups of cattle were pictur- 


esquely basking in the green meadows. Further on, in the midst 
of ajuxuriant enclosure, stood a solitary cow, of such remarkable 
beauty as would have entitled her to be watched^ by Argus — ^a 
second lo. A shepherd's pipe was audible from the mountains : — 

" Mercurius septem mulcet arundinibus," 

but every now and then a factory chimney, or pieces of cloth dry- 
ing in the sun, afforded a sad interruption to these eclogues. 

The railroad which traverses Belgium, from Ostend and Ant- 
werp to Lidge, and which will shortly reach Verviers, will pene- 
trate these fine hills, and invade these tranquil valleys. 

According to this colossal project, flie railroad will pierce the 
mountain twelve or fifteen times. At every step one perceives 
terraces, mounds of rubbish, foundations of viaducts, and bridges ; 
or at the base of a block of granite, a busy multitude of human 
ants, busily engaged in their arduous toil. These little black 
insects are achieving the work of giants. 

Occasionally, when the holes they have perforated are large 
and deep, thick vapors and a roaring sound are emitted, as if the 
mountain were giving vent to its sufferings. This is some mine 
on the point of exploding. The diligence stops, the workmen on 
the adjoining terrace fly in all directions, and the thunder of an 
explosion is echoed from hill to hill, while fragments of rock are 
showered on every side. I heard of a man having been killed, 
and a tree cut in two, by a mass weighing twenty tons, and that 
a workman's wife, carrying food to her husband, had shared the 
same fate. More interruptions to my pastoral ! 

Verviers, an insignificant town, is divided into three quarters, 
named the Chick Chack, the Basse Crotte, and the Dardanelle, 
I saw a little boy sedately smoking his pipe, who was not more 
than six years old ; and on witnessing my surprise, the young 
smoker laughed immoderately, by which, I conclude, that I ap- 
peared as ridiculous to^him as he to me. 

From Verviers the road runs along the bank of the Vesdre as 
far as Limbourg, that pasty of which Louis XIV. found the crust 
so hard to digest ; but which is now only a dismantled fortress, 
prettily situated on the brow of a hill. 


We are now once more upon the plain, and entering through a 
wide gate- way, discover by the ceremonial of a custom-house, 
and a sentry-box striped with black and yellow, that we have 
entered the dominions of the King of Prussia. 



Aix-la-Chapelle — The Tomb of Charlemagne. 

As regards invalids, Aix-la-Chapelle^is a hot, cold, mineral, fer- 
ruginous, sulphurous, bathing place ; as regards the pleasure* 
seeker, it is a region of balls and concerts. For the pilgrim it is 
the shrine of those precious relics which are exhibited once in 
seven years (the gown of the virgin, the blood of Jesus, and the 
cloth into which fell the head of St. John the Baptist). For the 
old chronicler, it is an abbey for maidens of high descent, suc- 
ceeding to the monastery built by St. Gregory, son of Nicephorus, 
Emperor of the East. For the sportsman, it is no less attractive, 
as the ancient valley of the wild boar {Porcetuniy having become 
BorceUe), The manufacturer views it as containing water suit- 
able for the preparation of wool ; the shopkeeper as a depot of 
pins, needles, and cloth. But for him who is neither manufac- 
turer, sportsman, antiquarian, pilgrim, invalid, or tourist, it is 
simply the City of Charlemagne. 

Here that great emperor was bom and died, in the old half- 
Roman palace of the Frank Kings, of which all that remains is 
the tower of Granus, forming part of the town-hall. He Is buried 
in the church he founded two years afler the death of his wife 
Fastrada, in 796 ; consecrated by Leo III., in 804 : the dedication 
of which two bishops of Tongres, buried at Maestricht, came out 
of their tombs to complete. The ceremony was performed by 
three hundred and sixty-five archbishops and bishops, to represent 
the days of the year. 

This historical and yet fabulous church, which gave its name 
to the town, has, during the last thousand years, undergone many 
transformations. On my arrival at " Aix," I proceeded at once 
to " La Ch&pelle," which presents itself to the reader in the fol- 
lowing manner. 

A portal of the time of Louis XV., of greyish blue granite. 


having fine bronze gates of the eighth century, backed by a Car. 
lovingian wall, surmounted by a row of Saxon arches. Above 
these there is a fine Gothic story, superbly carved, in which you 
realize the elliptic arch of the fourteenth century, but degraded 
by a superstructure of brick, and a slated roof, added not more 
than twenty years ago. To the right of the porch there is an 
immense pine-apple, of the pinus sylvestris, used as an ornament 
by the ancients, in Roman bronze, placed upon a granite column. 
On the opposite side is another column, surmounted by a bronze 
wolf, also Roman, the body half- turned, the teeth clenched, and 
the jaws open. 

Allow me to relate, in a parenthesis, the history of this wolf 
and pine-apple, according to the version of the old women of the 
country. Ages and ages ago a wish was entertained in Aix-la- 
Chapelle to fonnd a church; and the foundations being laid, and 
the walls raised, for six months nothing was heard on the spot but 
the sound of the adze and hammer. But the funds of the pious 
having suddenly failed, the pilgrims passing through the city were 
appealed to, by a tin basin placed before the church door. Scarce- 
ly a dernier, however, was dropped into the vessel. What was to 
be done ? The senate assembled and consulted. The workmen 
refused to labor, and weeds and moss already took possession of 
the newly laid stones, as if they were predestined to ruin ! Was 
the design then to be abandoned ? The town senate knew not 
what to answer ! 

One day, as they were sitting in deliberation, a mysterious 
stranger, of high and imposing aspect, made his appearance before 
them* " Good morrow, gentlemen," quoth he. " What is the 
subject of debate ? — Is it the stoppage of your church which 
causes your anxiety ? — ^You know not how to complete it, eh ? — 
You want money for the endowment?" "Stranger!" replied 
one of the senators with indignation, " You talk too flippantly ; 
we want half a million of gold pieces." " Here they are," re- 
plied the stranger, opening a window, and pointing to a heavy 
laden cart stationed in the square before the town hall, to which 
were yoked ten pairs of oxen, attended by twenty Moors, 
armed to the teeth. 

One of the senators, having accompanied the mysterious stran- 


ger down stairs, took one of the sacks from the cart, and returned 
to empty it before the senate, when it proved to be really full of 
gold ! All present opened their eyes with amazement ; and 
turning towards the stranger, with growing respect, demanded his 
name. " I am the owner of yonder gold. What would you have 
raore 7" replied he. " My residence is in the Black Forest, near 
the lake of Wildsee, not far from the ruins of Heidenstadt, the 
city of the pagans. 1 possess a gold mine and a silver mine, and 
during the night amuse myself with counting over heaps of car- 
buncles. My tastes are simple, but being of a melancholy dis- 
position, I pass my days, watching in the deep and transparent 
waters of the lake, the gambols of the tritons, and the growth of 
the polygonum amphihium. Thus much in answer to your ques- 
tions. I have unbosomed myself as much as I intend ; make the 
most of it ! Yonder is your million of gold pieces ; take them or 
let them alone." 

" We accept them," replied the senate, " and will hasten to 
finish our church." 

" There is one condition to the bargain," observed the stranger. 
" Take the gold and finish your church. But I demand in ex- 
change the soul of the first individual who crosses its threshold 
on the day of dedication." 

" You are the devil then ?" shouted the horrified senators. 

" And you — asses !" was the rejoinder of Satan. 

The burgomasters of the senate now began to quake and trem- 
ble, and make the sign of the cross. But Satan, who was in a 
jocular mood, laughed outright at their panic, as he gaily chinked 
his gold ; so they took courage and began to negotiate. 

" Satan must know what he is about," said they, " or he would 
not retain his situation as devil." 

" After all, it is a bad bargain for mc," retorted his Satanic 
majesty in his turn. " You will have your million, or your church 
to show for it ; I only a wretched soul ! — And whose, pray ? — 
The first that comes to hand — the soul of a chance customer- 
some canting hypocrite probably, who in his dissembled zeal is the 
first to enter, and who would, therefore, under any circumstances, 
have fallen to my share ! I must observe, by the way, gentlemen, 
that the plan of your church is admirable ! Who has been your 


architect ? Tell him, with my compliments, that I perfectly ap- 
prove hiB groined aisles ; and that the pointed arches are in good 
taste. The shaping of the door is not altogether to my fancy, but 
it may be modified. The staircase leading to the vaults will be 
a fine thing in its way ; and 'twould be a thousand pities that what 
is so well begun should stop short for want of funds. What say 
you, gentlemen ? Is it a deal ? My million of money for a sin- 
gle soul — ay, or no ?" 

So spake the tempter. " After all," observed the senators, " we 
may think ourselves lucky to be let off so easily. He might have 
taken a fancy to half-a-dozen souls of ours, — which, let us hope, 
are at present safe from his clutches. Nay, he might have levied 
a tax of souls upon the whole population !" 

The bargain, therefore, was finally struck, and the million 
of gold paid into thtir treasury. Satan vanished from their 
view through an aperture, which emitted the sulphurous blue 
flame usual on such occasions; and two years afterwards the 
church was completed. Meanwhile, though the senators had of 
course sworn to observe the profoundest secresy concerning all 
that had happened, every man of them, the very first evening, 
divulged the whole story to his wife — according to a law ex-sena- 
torial, indeed, but not the less binding. The secret, therefore, 
being generally known, thanks to the wives of the senators, prior 
to the completion of the church, no one dared to set foot in it ! 

Here, therefore, was a new dilemma : the church of Aix was 
built ; and now, no one would enter. It was not a church, but a 
desert ; and, consequently, of no mortal use to mortal soul. 

Again the senate assembles, but to little purpose. They appeal 
to the Bishop of Tongres, to no result ; then to the canons of the 
chapter, but ecpially without avail. 

" What you require is a mere trifle, my lords," ' observed a 
monk belonging to the order whom they next took into consulta- 
tion. " You have undertaken to surrender the first soul that enters 
the new church. But it was not definitively stipulated what sort 
of a soul it was to be. Satan is a fool to allow himself to be so 
overreached. This morning, my lord, afler a hard chase, a fine 
wolf was taken in the valley of Borcette. Drive this ferocious 


beast into the church, and Satan must needs be satisfied. It is 
his own fault if he chooses to make so loose a bargain." 

« Bravo !" exclaimed his auditors ; ^^ the monk has more brains 
in his head than the whole collective wisdom of the senate !" Next 
day at dawn, the bells of the new church rang cheerfully for the 
angelus. " How is this V said the burghers of the city ; " is 
this the day of dedication ? and pray who do they expect will be 
£x>l.hardy enough to hazard the adventure ?" " Not I," — " Nor 
I," — " Nor I," was heard on all sides ; as the Senate and Chap- 
ter advanced gravely towards the chief entrance. 

The wolf was now produced ; and at a given signal, its cage 
door and the church gates flew open at the same moment. On 
discerning the empty aisles, in he rushed. Satan was already on 
the spot, his jaws distended, and his eyes voluptuously closed with 
expectation of a feast. Imagine his rage on discovering his prey 
to be of the brute creation. With a hideous howl, he spread his 
harpy wings, flapping about the arches of the edifice with the roar 
of a tempest ; and finally, on making his exit from the building, 
bestowed a kick of his hoof upoii the brazen gate, by which it 
was rent in twain from top to bottom, as seen to the present day. 

"It is -in memory of this event," say the old women of 
Aix, " that the brazen efligy of a wolf was placed on the lefl of 
the entrance ; while the pine-apple to the right is intended to 
represent the soul so mercilessly gobbled up by the evil one !" 

Such is the local legend. Let us now return to the church, 
premising that I could not discover the rent in the door described 
by the tradition. On entering the cathedral by the principal 
portal, the Roman, Gothic, and rococo styles are confusedly inter- 
mixed, without regard to affinity, fitness, or order, and conse- 
quently without effect. But if you approach from the choir, the 
eflfect is wholly diflferent. The lofly apsis of the fourteenth cen- 
tury shines forth in all its boldness of design, and displays the 
beauty and science of the angle of its roof, the rich carved work 
of the balustrades, its diversified and fantastic spouts, the gloomy 
color of the stone, and the transparency of its lofly lancet win- 
dows, seen through which, houses two stories high appear to sink 
into insignificance. Even from thence, however, the view of the 
church, imposing as it, b hard and discordant. Between the apsis 


and the portal, in a kind of hollow, where all the lines of the edi- 
fice appear to break, is concealed, barely connected with the 
facade by a charming bridge of the fourteenth century^ the 
Byzantine dome, with its triangular frontal, built by Otho III., 
in the tenth century, exactly above the tomb of Charlemagne. 

This fictitious faqade, this buried dome, this broken apsis, con- 
stituta the blemishes of La Chapelle of Aix. The architect of 
1353 chose to unite, in his prodigious design, the old church of 
Charlemagne, devastaited by the Normans in 882, and the dome 
of Otho, burnt in 1236. A series of minor chapels, connected 
with the basis of the grand central chapel, was intended to sur- 
round the whole edifice, with the exception of the portal. Two 
of the chapels which now exist were already built when the fire 
of 1366 took place. This rapid progress was then checked ; and, 
strange to say, the fifleenth and sixteenth centuries did nothing 
for the fine old church, which the eighteenth and nineteenth cen- 
turies continued to spoil. 

It must be confessed, however, that upon the whole, the Cathe- 
dral of Aix exhibits considerable grandeur ; after some minutes' 
contemplation, a sort of majesty seems engendered by the edifice, 
which, like the empire of Charlemagne, was never completed ; 
and represents various styles and periods, just as the latter was 
composed of many nations speaking many tongues. 

To him who contemplates it from without, there is a deep and 
mysterious harmony between the great sovereign of old and the 
great tomb which he provided for himself. I was all impatience 
to see more of it. Having entered through the finely arched 
portal, and the ancient gates of bronze, embellished in the centre 
with a lion's head, and shaped to fit the architraves, the first object 
that struck me was a white rotunda of two stories, lit from above, 
profusely embellished in the florid rustic style ; and on looking 
down in the centre of the pavement I perceived, by the pale light 
diffused from above, a large slab of black marble, worn by the 
feet of many visitors, on which is inscribed, in brazen characters^ 


Nothing can be in worse taste than the rococo style of the chapel ; 
insulting with its meretricious graces so great a name. Cherubs 


with the air of Cupids ; palms, that look like courtly feathers ; 
garlands, flowers, and knots of ribbons, and other frivolous devices ; 
have been inflicted upon the dome of Otho III., and the tomb of 
Charlemagne ! The only object worthy of the precious remains 
contained in this chapel, is an immense circular lamp of ferty. 
eight burners, about twelve feet in diameter, offered in the twelflh 
century by Frederick Barbarossa to the tomb of Charlemagne. 
This lamp, which is of copper and gilt silver, is in the form of an 
Imperial crown, suspended above the marble slab by a massive 
iron chain ninety feet in length. The black slab covering the 
frame is nine feet long, by seven feet wide. 

It is evident that there must have been an early monument to 
Charlemagne in this very spot ; for the antiquity of the marble 
slab is doubtful ; and the inscription of " Carlo Magno " is of the 
last century. The remains of Charlemagne no longer lie under 
the stone ; in 1166 Frederick Barbarossa, whose lamp, however 
magnificent, does not redeem the act of sacrilege, caused the 
Emperor to be disinterred. The Holy Catholic Church laying: 
violent hands on the skeleton, broke it up into relics : and in the 
vestry of the Cathedral, the vicar exhibits to the curious the arm. 
of Charlemagne, which I saw at the cost of a few francs — ^that 
arm, the awe of the world, upon which is pitifully inscribed, by 
some Latinist of the twelflh century, " BracMum sancti CaroK 
magni." His skull was next exhibited, between the finger and 
thumb of a beadle ; the skull from which issued the regeneration 
of Europe, and on which a sacristan now beats the tattoo with his 
thumb-nail !* All these objects are kept in a closet of painted 
wainscot, picked out with gold, surmounted with those Cupid-like 
angels which constitute the real tomb of him whose fame, at the 
expiration of ten centuries, still astonishes the human mind ; 
whose name remains stamped upon the world with the double 
title, " sanctus " and " magnus ;" the two most august epithets 
derivable from services rendered to heaven and earth ! 

* The translator of this work, being at Rouen in 1837, shortly after the 
discovery of the grave of Richard Coeur de Lion, and the exhumation of hi» 
remains, was offered by the sacristan of the church, for a few francs, a por- 
tion of the heart of the English hero, which the man produced m a pill ba»t. 
and warranted genuine. It had the appearance of a piece of mouldy 


The dimensions of the skull and arm are extraordinary. Char- 
lemagne was one of the few men whose physical strength equal 
their moral power. The son of Philip the Bref was a Colossus 
alike in frame and intelligence. His height was seven times the 
length of his foot ; which measure assigned a law to the king- 
dom f This royal foot, the foot of Charlemagne, originated the 
common foot of long measure, which we have recently sacrificed 
to the more prosaic admeasurement of the mUre ; to the extinc- 
tion of a world of poetry and history in favor of the decimal sys- 
tem, without which the world contrived to get on so well during 
six thousand years. The cuphoard in question is rich in treasures. 
The doors are painted within in admirable oil paintings upon 
golden grounds, some of the panels being unquestionably the work 
of Albert Durer. Besides the arm and skull, there is the horn 
of Charlemagne, an enormous elephant's tooth inost curiously 
carved ; the cross of Charlemagne, in which is inserted a piece 
of the true cross of our Saviour, which the Emperor wore round 
his neck when so audaciously disinterred ; a beautiful censer 
given by Charles V., and spoilt by a tasteless addition of modem 
ornament; the fourteen golden medallions, embellished with 
Byzantine sculptures, which figured upon the marble throne of 
the great Emperor ; a shrine given by Philip XL, representing 
the Duomo of Milan ; the cord which bound the limbs of Jesus 
Christ during his flagellation ; a piece of the sponge which 
absorbed the gall with which they moistened his lips when on the 
cross ; and, lastly, the girdle of the Holy Virgin, in worsted, and 
that of our Saviour in leather. This little knotted thong, resem- 
bling a child's whip, had occupied the attention of three Empe- 
rors. From Constantine, who stamped its authenticity with the 
seal or Sigillum, which it still bears, it descended to Haroun-Al- 
Raschid, by whom it was presented to Charlemagne. 

All these venerable and venerated objects are enclosed in Grothic 
or Byzantine cases, adorned with jewellery, like so many shrines 
or microscopic cathedrals in massive gold, sparkling with eme- 
ralds, sapphires, and diamonds, by way of windows. Amidst 
these precious jewels, piled upon the twin shelves of the cupboard, 
are two immense golden shrines, of the most admirable workman- 
ship and coni^derable value. The first and most ancient is 


Byzantine, surrounded with niches in which are seated, with their 
crowns on their beads, sixteen emperors. In this are kept the 
remaining bones of Charlemagne ; and it is never opened. The 
second, which is of the twelfth century, and was given by Barba- 
rossa, contains the famous relics to which J alluded at the begin- 
ning of my letter, and is opened every seventh year. The open- 
ing of this celebrated shrine in 1496, attracted one hundred and 
forty-two thousand pilgrims to Aix-la-Chapelle ; producing a profit 
to the city in fifteen days, of eighty thousand golden florins. 

The last shrine has but a single key, which is broken in two 
pieces, one of which remains in the custody of the Chapter, the 
other in that of the first civil authority. It has been opened upon 
extraordinary occasions for crowned heads. The present King 
of Prussia, when Prince-Royal, was reftised the favor.* In a 
lesser press, close by the other, is a fac simile, in silver gilt, of 
the Germanic crown of Charlemagne. The Carlovingian crown, 
surmounted by a cross, and loaded with precious stones and 
cameos, is formed of a simple circle, dfeurans, which surrounds 
the head, having a semicirclet superadded from the brows, near 
the nape of the neck, which resembles, viewed in profile, the 
ducal horn of Venice. Of the three crowns worn by Charle- 
magne, as emperor of Germany, king of the Lombards, and king 
of France, the Imperial crown is at Vienna, that of France at 
Rheims, and the third, the iron crown of Lombardy, at Milan. 

On leaving the vestry, I was made over by the beadle to a 
verger, who conducted me about the church, opening every now 
and then certain gloomy-looking recesses, which within glittered 
with magnificence. 

The pulpit, for instance, which at first appears shabby enough, 
by the sudden removal of its exterior covering becomes a splendid 
tower of silver gilt. It is a beautiful specimen of the goldsmiths' 
craft of the eleventh century, given by the emperor Henri 11. to 
the Cathedral. Byzantine ivories richly carved, a crystal ewer 
with its dish, a huge onyx nine inches long, adorn the suit of 
golden armor which surrounds, as it were, the priest of the temple 

• This collection of relics was opened in the month of September, 1842, 
an presence of the King of Prussia and several royal visitors assembled on 
occasion of the reviews at Cologne. 


deputed to expound the word of God. The breast-plate repre- 
sents Charlemagne carrying the Chapelle of Aix upon his arna. 

This pulpit is placed at the angle of the choir, occupying the 
marvellous apsis of 1353. All the stained glass has disappeared, 
and the lancet- windows are plain from top to bottom. The rich 
tomb of Otho III., founder of the dome, destroyed in 1794, is 
replaced by a flat stone marking the spot, at the entrance of the 
choir. An organ given by the Empress Josephine places the 
ignoble style of 1804 in juxtaposition with the exquisite arched 
roof of the fourteenth century. Roof, pillars, capitals, statues, 
in feet the whole choir is covered with stucco. In the midst of 
this degraded choir stands the eagle given by Otho III., with wings 
outspread and fiery eyes, transformed dnto a reading-desk ; appa- 
rently scorning the use to which he is devoted, for he retains the 
globe itself in his talons. This ancient emblem of Caesarean 
sway ought to have been respected. Yet when Napoleon visited 
Aix-la-Chapelle, the eagle of Otho had a thunderbolt added to the 
globe grasped in his talons, which still figures on either side the 
imperial orb. The verger gratifies the curiosity of strangers by 
unscrewing the moveable thunderbolt. Upon the back of the 
eagle, as if by ironical and sad anticipation, the sculptor of the 
tenth century executed an outspread bat, mimicking a human 
fece, upon which the reading-desk is now stationed. 

To the right of the altar is deposited the heart of Mons. An- 
toine Berdolet, first and last Bishop of Aix-la-Chapelle, appointed 
by Napoleon, and, as he is qualified by his epitaph, ^^ primus Aquis- 
granensis episcopus.'' At present, the chapel' is served by a 
chapter, presided over by a dean with the title of provost. 

In another gloomy recess of the chapel, the verger opened a 
closet containing the coffin of Charlemagne, being a superb sai- 
cophagus of white marble, and Roman origin, exhibiting in bas- 
relief the profane abduction of Proserpine. I examined with 
much interest this work of art, which passed for a fine antiquity 
a thousand years ago. 

At the extremity of the composition are four plunging horses, 
of a mingled divine and infernal race, led by Mercury, and drag- 
ging towards a half-open abyss the car, in which Proserpine is 
writhing with despair, struggling in the arms of Pluto. The 


robust arm of the god encircles the form of the young maiden, 
who is thrown back, till her dishevelled hair waves against the 
firm and inflexible face of the helmeted Goddess of Wisdom. The 
allegory exhibits Pluto carrying off Proserpine, to whom Minerva 
is whispering words of advice ; while a smiling Cupid is seated 
at the bottom of the car, betwixt the colossal legs of Pluto. Be« 
hind Proserpine, in fierce attitudes of defiance, stand a group of 
nymphs and furies. The companions of Proserpine are strug* 
gling to detain a car, which is stationed behind as if by way of 
relay, and to which are yoked two winged and flaming dragons ; 
one of the youthful goddesses having boldly seized a dragon by 
the wing, so as apparently to cause him to send forth shrieks of 
pain. This curious relievo is in itself a poem, belonging to a 
vigorous and noble order of sculpture, somewhat emphatic, worthy 
of pagan Rome, and such as Rubens might have conceived in 
modern art. Previous to serving as the sarcophagus of Charle- 
magne, this coffin contained the remains of Augustus. 

Ascending a flight of steps, trodden during the last six centu- 
ries by innumerable emperors, kings, and illustrious visiton» my 
guide conducted me to the gallery which forms the first story of 
the rotunda, called the HochmUnster. Here, under a half-open 
wooden covering, which is never completely removed except for 
visitors of royal rank, I beheld the marble chair or throne of 
Charlemagne. It is formed of four slabs of white marble, plain 
and unsculptured ; the seat being of oak, with a cushion of red 
velvet. It is elevated on a platform, of the height of six steps ; 
of which two are of granite, and four of white marble. Upon 
this same arm-chair, formerly embellished with the fourteen By- 
zantine medallions before alluded to, upon a stone floor raised by^ 
four steps of white marble, with the gloh^ and sceptre and Ger- 
manic sword in his hands, a mantle of state upon his shoulders,, 
the relique of the Cross of Jesus Christ suspended round his neck,, 
and his feet trampling upon the sarcophagus of Augustus, sat 
Charlemagne in his tomb ! During the space of three hundred 
and fifty-two years, or from 814 to 1168, did he retain this digni- 
fied attitude in the grave. But in 1166, Frederick Barbarossa,. 
desirous of having the arm-chair for his coronation, entered the 
tomb, the precise form and nature of which no tradition haa 


handed down, but to which unquestionably belonged the two 
noble gates of bronee which constitute the principal door of the 

Barbarossa was himself an illustrious prince and valiant 
knight ; and it musit have been a strange and fearful moment 
when he, a clowned head, stood face to face with the imperial 
corpse, no less majestic than himself; — the one attired in all the 
pomps of sovereignty ; the other in the still more awful majesty 
of death : the soldier defying a shadow ; the living struggling 
for power with tlte dead. The chapel retained the skeleton, and 
Barbarossa took the marble seat, which he converted into a throne. 
The chair occupied by the remains of Charlemagne literally be- 
came the foundation of four centuries of imperial sway. 

Thirty-six emperors, including Barbarossa himself, were 
crowned and consecrated in the chair still deposited in the Hoeh- 
manster of Aix-la-Chapelle, Ferdinand 1. was the last ; Charles 
V. the last but one. In later years, the coronations of the Empe- 
rors of Grermany M^ere solemnized at Frankfort. 

I tould with difficulty tear myself away from this chair, so 
simple, yet so grand. I contemplated the four steps of marble, 
worn by the heels of the thirty-six Csesars, and having beheld 
the brightness of their pomps and glories successively extin- 
guished, a confusion of startling ideas overwhelmed my mind. 

I remembered that the violator of the Imperial sepulchre, Frede- 
rick Barbarossa, in his old age proceeded for the second or third 
time to the Holy Wars. Finding himself one day on the banks 
of the Cyduus, and suffering from the heat, he was tempted to 
bathe ; he who had dared to profane the manes of Charlemagne, 
presumed to forget the history of Alexander. The chill of the 
river benumbed his limbs to a degree nearly fatal to Alexander, 
even in his youth, and wholly so to Frederick Barbarossa, who 
was old and infirm. At some future day, perhaps, a holy and 
pious inspiration will induce some king or emperor to replace the 
reliques of Charlemagne in his tomb. The imperial remains 
will be religiously collected ; the gates of bronze be restored ; 
and the Roman sarcopliagus, placed at the foot of the chair, which 
will be raised anew upon the stone platform, and once more 
adorned with the fourteen medallions of gold. 


Let the Carlovingian diadem be replaced upon the skull ; the 
orb of empire upon the arm ; the golden mantle upon the bones, 
while the brazen eagle shall nobly resume its place beside the 
master of the ancient world. The various shrines of gold and 
jewels, and the different coffers now in the Cathedral, should be 
deposited around this royal chamber of death ; aad since the 
Catholic church is disposed that we should contemplate the re- 
mains of saints in the form which death assigns them, let there 
be a grated aperture in the wall, and a light suspended from the 
vault of the sepulchre, so that the kneeling pilgrim may hail, 
upon the platform which human feet will defila no longer, seated 
upon the chair incrusted with gold, his crown upon his head, and 
his sceptre in his hand, the imperial phantom which once was 

Striking, indeed, would be the apparition to any gob whose eye 
was bold enough to penetrate this tomb, and all who had courage 
for the contemplation, would quit the spot with ennobled thoughts. 
To such a spectacle people woaki flock from the furthermost 
parts of the earth; and no profound thinker would neglect so 
f^tartling a pilgrimage. 

Charles, the son of Pepin, is one of those complete beings, 
whom mankind contemplates under four different aspects. To 
the eye of history, he is great as Sesostris or Augustus. As re- 
gards romance, he is at once the rival of Rolando as a paladin 
and Merlin as a magician. With respect to the Church, his 
sanctity is as that of St. Jerome or St. Peter. £ut in point of 
philosophy, he may be regarded as the personified genius of civi- 
lisation, which every thousand years or so takes a giant stride 
across some dark abyss, surmounting civil war, barbarism, or 
revolution, under such names as Julius CfiBsar, Charlemagne, or 

In 1804, just when Bonaparte had progressed into Napoleon, he 
visited Aix-la-Chapelle. Josephine, who accompanied him, in- 
t^ulged in the caprice of sitting upon this marble throne. But 
the Emperor, though he did not control this indecorous whim of 
his Creole wife, had attired himself for the occasion, from a deep 
sense of deference to that mighty name, in full regimentals, and 
^ood silent, motionless, and bareheaded, before the chair of 


Charlemagne. Charlemagne died in 814. In 1814, one thou- 
sand years afterwards, almost to an hour, occurred the fall or 
moral death of Napoleon. In the course of the same fatal year 
the allied sovereigns visited the grave of Charles the Great ; when 
Alexander of Russia mounted his gala-uniform in imitation of 
Napoleon, while Frederick William of Prussia appeared in an 
undress, and the Emperor of Austria in a great coat and round 
hat. The King of Prussia entered into all the details of the coro- 
nations of the German emperors, with the provost of the Chap- 
ter; hut the two emperors observed a profound silence. All 
these are now as silent as Charlemagne ! Napoleon, Josephine, 
Alexander, Frederick William, and Francis II., are cold in their 
graves ! 

My guide, who was an old veteran of Austerlitz and Jena, 
living at Aix, having become a Prussian by the grace of the Con- 
gress of 1814, now wears the baldric, and carries the halberd of 
the Cathedral, in the ceremonies and processions of the Chapter. 
One cannot but admire the providence which disposes of even 
the trifling incidents o£ this world : this man, who has Charle. 
magne perpetually upon the tongue, adores the memory of Napo- 
leon. Fron? that circumstance alone, and unknown to himself, 
his words obtain a certain dignity. Tears rushed into his eyes, 
when referring to the great battles he had seen, to his old compa- 
nions, or his colonel. In such a vein did he talk to me of Mar- 
shal Soult, of Colonel Graindorge, and, ignorant how dear to mc 
was the naihe, of General Hugo. He soon recognized me as a 
Frenchman ; and never shall I forget the solemn simplicity with 
which he observed at parting — " You may say. Sir, how you 
beheld, at Aix-la-Chapelle, a pioneer of the 36th of the line 
turned into a verger of the Cathedral." 

He had previously said, " Such as you see me. Sir, I belong to 
three nations. I am "by chance a Prussian, a Swiss by profes- 
sion, but in heart a true Frenchman." 

I confess that his ignorantly military view of ecclesiastical 
affairs amused me exceedingly ; and on quitting the Cathedral, I 
was so pre-occupied, that I scarcely noticed a very handsome 
facade of the fourteenth century, ornamented with seven noble 
statues of emperors, and backed by an obscure street. Besides, 


I experienced some interruption from two travellers who, liktf 
myself, were quitting the church, and had probably been piloted 
by my old soldier. As they were shouting with laughter, I 
turned round, and discovered two gentlemen, one of whom had 
inscribed his name that morning, in my presence, in the register 

of the H6tel de TEmpereur, as " Count d'A ," belonging to 

one of the most illustrious families in Artois. They were talk- 
ing aloud, so that I could not but overhear them. " What 
names !" said they : " It required a revolution to bring them to 
one's ears. Captain Lasoupe ! Colonel Graindorge ! Where the 
devil do such people come from 1" These were the colonel and 
captain of my poor old soldier, nor could I refrain from informing 
them that Colonel Graindorge was connected with Field-Marshal 
de Lorge, father-in-law to the Duke of St. Simon. As to Cap- 
tain Lasoupe, I conclude that he may have been cousin to the 
Duke de Bouillon, uncle of the Elector Palatine of the Rhine. 

Soon afterwards, I found myself in the square before the town- 
hall, which, like the Cathedral, is composed of several other edi- 
fices. From two gl6bmy facades, with high narrow windows, of 
the date of Charles V., rise two towers, the one low and broad, 
the other high, taper, and quadrangular, being a handsome eleva- 
tion of the fourteenth century. The first is the famous tower of 
Granus, scarcely recognizable under its present fantastical mask. 
This steeple, of which the other is a miniature, looks like a pyra- 
mid of turbans placed one upon the other, and diminishing to 
the top. 

Before the facade is a noble staircase, constructed like that of 
the court of the White Horse, at Fontainbleau. In the centre 
of the square is a marble fountain, repaired and somewhat remo- 
delled in the eighteenth century, surmounted by a bronze statue 
of Charlemagne, armed and crowned. To the right and left are 
two minor fountains, columns bearing on their summits two black 
and fierce-looking eagles, half-turned towards the grave-looking 
emperor. It is on that site, perhaps in that Roman tower, that 
Charlemagne was born. 

The ensemble of the fountains, the facade, and the towers, is 
royal, mournful, and severe. The whole speaks powerfully to the 


mind, of Charlemagne ; efiaciog by means of this all-powerful 
unity; the disparities of the edifice : 

" All are but parts of that stupendous whole/' 

The tower of Granus recalls the greatness of Rome, his pro. 
totype ; the facade and fountains, Charles V., the most powerful 
of his successors. The Oriental design of the belfry reminds 
one of that magnificent Caliph, Haroun-AURaschid, his contem. 
porary and friend. 

Evening was approaching : T had passed my whole day in pre- 
sence of stern but grand reminiscences, and the dust of ten cen- 
turies. I felt athirst to breathe the fresh air of the country, to 
look on fields, trees, and birds, and having quitted the town, wan- 
dered amid verdure and vegetation till nightfall. 

Aix still possesses its ancfent wall and towers, not having passed 
under the hands of Vauban. The subterranean passages, said 
to have communicated between the town-hall, the Cathedral, and 
the Abbey of Borcette, nay, even to Limbourg, are filled up and 

At dusk I seated myself upon a green bank, to contemplate 
Aix-laChapelle, which lay beneath me in the valley, as if float- 
ing in a vacuum. By *degrees the evening fog, efiacing the 
fringed roofs of the ancient houses, blotted out even the sharp 
outlines of the two towers, which, with the other belfries of the 
own, reminded me vaguely of the Mu scovite or Asiatic profile of 
the Kremlin. 

Only two masses, of all the city, remained distinctly defined ; 
the town-hall and the Cathedral. All my thoughts and visions of 
the day now rushed anew upon my mind. The town itself, the 
illustrious and symbolical town, seemed to metamorphose itself 
under my very eyes. The first of the two black masses, which 
I still distinguished, became to me an infant's cradle ; the second, 
a shroud ; and, in the complete •absorption of my soul, I seemed 
to expect that the shadow of that giant whom we call Charle- 
magne, would gently ascend upon the pale horizon of night, ho- 
vering between the august cradle of his infancy, and the sepul- 
chre of his eternal greatness ! 



Cologne.— Banks of the Rhine. 

Andbem ACK, AmguH 1 1. 

I AM indignant at myself, my dear friend, for having passed 
through Cologne like a Goth. I was there only eight and forty 
hours, though intending to remain there a fortnight. But after 
the increasing fog and rain of a whole previous week, the sun 
shed its magnificent rays so brilliantly on the Rhine, that I was 
fain to take advantage of it ; desiritg to see the river-landscape 
in all its rich and joyous perfection. 

I (piitted Cologne, therefore, this morning by the steam-boat, 
The CockeriUy and having left behind me the city of Agrippa ; 
having visited neither the old paintings of Ste. Marie of the Ca- 
pitol ; nor the crypt paved with mosaic, of St. Gr^r^on ; nor the 
Crucifixion of St. Peter, painted by Rubens for the half-Gothic 
church in which he was baptized ; nor the bones of the eleven 
thousand virgins in the cloisters of the Ursulines ; nor the inde- 
composable body of the martyr Albinus ; nor the silver sarcopha- 
gus of St. Cunibert ; nor the tomb of Duns Scotus in the church 
of the Minorites ; nor the sepulchre of the Empress Theophania, 
wife of Otho IT., in the Church of St. Pantaleon ; nor ih&^Maier- 
nus Grttft, in the Church of Lisolphus ; nor the two Golden cham- 
bers and the dome in the Convent of Ste. Ursula ; nor the hall 
of the Imperial Diet (now a commercial dep6t) ; nor the old Ar- 
senal, now a com- warehouse. This is a long list of neg«dons to 
prove that I have seen nothing of Col<^ne ; a fact as provoking 
as it is .undeniable. What, then, you will say, engaged my at- 
tention during the day I spent at Cologne ? The Cathedral and 
the town-hall : nothing more ! It could only be in speaking of a 
city so interesting as Cologne, that one presumed to allude to such 
magnificent edifices with apparent indifference. I arrived there 
soon after sunset, and immediately directed my stef s towards the 


Cathedral ; having made over my carpet-bag to one of those most 
worthy porters, in blue and orange uniforms, who are literally in 
the service of the King of Prussia (an excellent and profitable 
employment, let me tell you ; for the traveller is handsomely 
mulcted, that the king and the porter may share the spoil between 
them) ! Before I dismiss the subject of the said porter, let me 
add, that I desired him, much to his surprise, to carry my bag- 
gage, not to any hotel in Cologne, but to one at Deutz, a smail 
town on the opposite bank of the Rhine, connected with the city 
by a bridge of boats. •! decided on this, because, when I am to 
spend some days in a town, I select my window with regard to 
the view ; and the windows of Cologne look towards Deutz, just 
as those of the latter look towards Cologne. I consequently took 
up my quarters where I was able to contemplate the nobler object 
of the two. 

Once alone, I wandered about in search of the dome ; expect- 
ing it at each comer of the street. But not being acquainted 
with this inextricable, intricate city, night came on, and darkened 
the narrow streets ; and, as I seldom inquire my way, I felt that 
I had wandered enough. At length, having ventured through a 
kind of archway, I suddenly found myself in an open space, both 
dark and solitary, but commanding a sublime spectacle. Before 
me, in the fantastic twilight, towered a multitude of gabled oid- 
fiishioned houses, which, to my surprise, were loaded with mina- 
rets and other architectural ornaments. Farther on, about an 
arrow's flight, stood another mass, not so vast as the first, but loft- 
ier; a •kind of square fortress, flanked at the angles by four im* 
mured towers, upon the summit of which something like a gigantic 
feather defined itself, as if waving on a helmet upon the brow of 
the old dungeon. These mysterious and incongruous objects 
proved to be the famous Cathedral of Cologne. 

That which at first appeared to me a black featlier drooping 
from the crest of the gloomy monument, was an immense crane, 
which I next day saw, and which from its lofly throne announces 
to passengers that the unfinished temple is one day to be contin- 
ued ; that this trunk of a steeple, and body of the church, now 
so wide apart, will one day be united ; that the dream of Engel- 
bert de Berg, liealized into a building under Conrad de Hochstet- 


ten, will become Ao the course of two or three centuries more, 
the finest Cathedral in the world. This imperfect Iliad still hopes 
that Homers may be bora for its completion. 

The church was closed. I approached the steeple, the dipien* 
sions of which are prodigious. What I had taken for towers at 
the four angles, are merely the projection of the buttresses. 
Nothing is complete but the first story, composed of a colossal 
ogee, and yet the part finished reaches the height of the towers of 
Notre Dame at Paris I If ever the projected steeple be raised 
upon this huge mass of stone, Strasbourg must sink into insignifi. 
cance. I doubt whether the beautiful steeple of Mechlin, which 
is also unfinished, arises from the soil in such solid and fair pro- 

I have already observed that nothing resembles a ruin more 
than an incompleted plan. Already the briars, stonecrops, and 
parasite plants which delight in mortar, and luxuriate in the cre- 
vices of stone, have begun to clothe the venerable portal. The 
work of man is no sooner perfected than nature attempts its de- 
struction ! There was a deep silence in the place. I advanced 
as near the portal of the front as a rich iron railing of the fifteenth 
century would allow, till I distinctly heard the peaceful murmur 
of those diminutive forests which overrun the salient parts of old 
buildings. A light proceeding from a neighboring window afibrd- 
ed me a glimpse, under the vaultings of the arches, of a crowd of 
exquisite figures of angels and saints, seated for the perusal of a 
volume spread upon their knees, some listening while others 
preached with uplifted finger : an admirable prologue to a church 
which is only the Word substantialised into stone and marble. 

Every " buttress and coigne of vantage " of this fine archi- 
tecture is defaced by the swallows' nests — ^an edifying contrast to 
the work of human hands, which they so boldly and foully 

The light was now extinguished, and I saw nothing but the 
vast span of the Gothic arch, eighty feet wide, completely open, 
without any kind of covering, exposing the tower from top to bot- 
tom, so that my eye was able to penetrate the dark recesses of the 
steeple. Through this window that of the opposite side appeared 
diminished in perspective, also unglazed ; while the stone frame. 


work of the compartments and oriel seemed t4|ced as if with ink 
upon the clear and metallic sky of twilight. Nothing could be 
more melancholy and unique than the contrast between the two 
arched windows, as diversified by the effect of light and shade. 

Such was my first visit to the Cathedral at Cologne. I forgot 
to describe the road from Aix-la-Chapelle to Cologne, but there is 
not much to relate. It resembles Picardy or Touraine : a suc- 
cession of green or yellow plains, with here and there a distorted 
old elm, or pale rows of poplars in the bottom. I do not dislike 
such peaceful scenery, but it does not serve to excite enthusiasm. 
In the villages the old peasant- women appear like spectres, enve- 
loped in long grey or pale pink cotton cloaks, with hoods that 
nearly cover their eyes. The young wear very short petticoats ; 
Iheir head being covered with a tight-fitting coif bedizened with 
spangles or glass beads, which almost conceals their beautiful 
hair, fastened just above the nape of the neck with a large sil- 
ver arrow. When washing the steps of the houses, the calf of 
the leg, in kneeling, is seen as in the old Dutch paintings. As 
for the men, they wear blue smock-frocks and high-crowned hats, 
as becomes the citizens of a constitutional monarchy. 

The road had been inundated with rain. I met no one except 
a young musician, pale and spare, proceeding to the exercise of 
his talents at the balls of Aix or Spa, with a knapsack on his 
back) and his violoncello in a ragged green-baize bag, his staff in 
one hand and his key-bugle in the other ; dressed in a blue sur- 
tout, and embroidered waistcoat, a white cravat, and scanty 
trowsers tucked up at the boot to avoid the mud. Poor wretch ! — 
half dressed for a ball and half for a journey. I detected also in 
a field near the road an indigenous sportsman, having a high- 
crowned apple-green hat, with a lilac satin faded cockade, a grey 
smock-frock, a large nose, and a fowling-piece. 

In a pretty little square town, flanked with brick walls and 
ruined towers, about half way, but its name I forget,* I saw four 
pompous-looking travellers, seated in the ground-floor of an inn, 
the windows being open. Before them was a table well furnished 
with meat, fish, wines, pies, and fruit, which they were carving, 

* Probably Juliers, the capital of the Duchy of Cleves. 


eating, driuking^wjsting, picking, and devouring ; the first red, 
the second crimson, another violet, the fourth purple — living im- 
personations of voracity and gluttony. I seemed to behold the god 
Crauhiy the god GlmOony the god Goififre, and the god GouHafy 
seated round their inexhaustible repast. 

The inns are really excellent in this country : excepting the one 
where I lodged in Aix, which is only tolerable (The Empereur), 
and where I had, to comfort my feet, a splendid carpet — painted 
upon the floor : by way of excuse, I suppose, for the exorbitance 
of the charges. 

To end at once with Aix-la-Chapelle, I must inform you that 
literary piracy flourishes there much as in Belgium. In a street 
leading from the square of the town hall, I found my face exposed 
in a shop window by the side of my illustrious friend Lamartioe. 
Executed by the Prussian re-impression, it is rather less ugly than 
the horrible caricatures sold by the stall-keepers and booksellers 
of Paris as my exact resemblance ; an abominable calumny, 
against which I formally protest. " Ccdum hoc et conscia sidera 

I live in the true German fashion ; dining with napkins the size 
of pocket-handkerchiefs, and sleeping in sheets of similar dimen- 
sions. I eat cherries with my roast mutton — prunes with my 
hare ; and drink excellent Rhejiish and Moselle, which an inge- 
nious Frenchman next to me at dinner pronounced to be fit only 
for young ladies. Af^er emptying his water-bottle, he deigned, 
however, to pronounce the Rhenish wines to be superior to 
Rhenish water. 

In the hotels the waiters usually speak German ; but there is 
always one who speaks French, partaking, of course, a little of the 
Tedescan. But variety has its charm. 

A Frenchman ignorant of German, like myself, loses his time 
by addressing the head-waiter, except upon questions better ex- 
plained in the Guide-books. He is only varnished with French. 
Dig a little, and you will find the German soil of his nature an 
inch below the surface. 

Let me now relate my second visit to the Cathedral of Cologne. 
I returned the following morning. This magnificent church is 
^preached by a walled court-yard, where you are assailed by 


beggars of every description. In relieving them, I recalled to 
mind that, previous to the occupation by the French, there were 
twelve thousand hereditary beggars in Cologne, who transmitted 
their particular stations from generation to generation. This 
strange community has disappeared. If aristocracies perish, pau- 
))erisms cease to be respected. Paupers no longer n^ake bequests 
of their infirmities to their families. 

Having rid myself of the beggars, I entered the church. 
A forest of various-sized columns, protected at their bases by 
wooden palisades, presented themselves ; the capitals concealed 
by a scaffolding of surbased vaultings, constructed in planks, and 
of various curving and elevation. The church is dark, these low 
arches not allowing the eye to reach more than forty feet high. 
To the left there are four or five windows, admitting a brilliant 
light, which reaches from the wooden arch to the pavement ; to 
the right are ladders, pulleys, ropes, windlasses, trowels, and 
squares. At the farther extremity, the chanting, grave voices of 
the choristers and prebends, the beautiful Latin of the Psalms 
floating through the church, the clouds of incense, the organ 
weeping with expressive suavity, and, from the works above, the 
biting of saws, the moanings of cranes, and deadened blows of the 
hammer upon wood,— -completed my impressions of the Dom- 
Kirch or Cathedral of Cologne. 

The spectacle of this fine Gothic edifice, united with the car. 
penter's shop, this stately abbess wedded to a stonemason, and 
compelled to control her peaceful habits, her liugust and dignified 
life, her chants and prayers, her chaste seclusion being sacrificed 
to the riot and coarse dialogues of a noisy horde of workmen, pro- 
duces at first a painful impression. The crane of the steeple was 
placed there on resuming the works, in 1499 ; which works are 
still in sluggish progress, and, if it please Heaven, the Cathedral 
of Cologne shall one day or other be completed. Nothing will be 
finer than tlie completion, if they only know how to accomplish the 
feat. The columns supporting the wooden arches mark out the 
plan of the nave, which is to connect the choir with the tower. 
I examined the stained windows, which are of the time of Maxi- 
milian, and executed in the bold exaggerated style of the German 
restoration of the art. They exhibit kings and knights with fierce- 


looking faces, haughty mien, waving plumes, "^nd gigantic swords, 
armed like headsmen, and caparisoned like war-horses. Their 
formidable spouses kneel close beside them, with the profiles of 
-wolves or lionesses ; and the sun passing through the stained glass 
imparts a vivid glare to their eyes. 

One of these windows represents a beautiful idea, which I have 
before met with ; — ^the Genealogy of the Virgin. At the foot of 
the picture lies prostrate the giant Adam, in imperial costume. 
From his loins issues a tree, whose branches spread over the win- 
dow, showing forth all the royal ancestors of the Holy Virgin. 
David is playing the harp ; Solomon is deep in thought ; and at 
the top of the tree, in a dark blue ground, expands a flower 
exhibiting the Virgin bearing the Child. 

Some steps farther off, I perused the following sorrowful 
epitaph : — 


I transcribe this epitaph just as I saw it, upon a vertical slab of 
stone, inscribed as prose, without any indication of the barbarous 
hexameters and pentameters forming the distich. The closing 
rhyming verses cofllftin a false quantity, mass-dy which surprised 
roe, as in the middle ages people knew at least how to write 
Latin verses. 

The aisle to the right of the transept is only marked out, termi- 
nating in a vast oratory, cold, ugly, and ill-^mished, with the 
exception of a few confessionals. I hastened to return to the 
church. * 

On leaving the oratory, three things simultaneoiK|f struck me : 
to my left, a beautiful little pulpit of the sixteen^ century, cleverly 
designed and miraculously carved in black oJ^k ; farther on, the 
iron railing of the choir, an exquiate specimen of the iron-work 
of the fifteenth century ; and before me was a beautiful gallejpy or 
tribune, with low arches and thick pilasters, much in the style of 


our precursive restoration, and which I suppose to have been 
intended for our unfortunate fugitive queen, Marie de Medicis. 

At the entmnce of the choir, in an elegant shrine, the eyes are 
dazzled by a genuine Italian Madona, covered with spangles and 
tinsel, as well as the Child. Above this gorgeous image, proba- 
bly as an antithesis, you perceive a massive box for the poor, 
fashioned afler the twelfth century, festooned with chains and pad. 
locks, and half-inserted in a coarsely sculptured block of granite. 
On raising my eyes, I saw suspended from the vault some gilded 
sticks tied to a transversal rod of iron, by the side of which is the 
following inscription : ** Quot pendere tides haculos, ioi episcqpus 
annos huic AgrippiruB prcpfuii ecclemB.'* I approve this unerring 
method of counting the years, and making evident to the bishop 
the lapse of time he has either lost or gained. Three stripes are 
now appended to the roof. 

The choir is contained in the celebrated apsis, which at present 
constitutes the Cathedral of Cologne ; the steeple of the tower, 
roof of the nave, and the transept being deficient. 

The choir is splendid. Shrines of the most delicate carving in 
wood^-chapels, rich with noble sculpture — ^paintings of every 
period — ^tombs of every form.- Bishops in granite, reposing in a 
fortress ; others in touchstone, borne by a procession of weeping 
angels ; bishops in marble, laid upon a lattice- work of iron ; 
bishops of brass, stretched upon, the ground ; bishops in boxwood, 
kneeling before the altar; lieutenant-generals of the time of 
Louis XV., leaning on their sepulchres ; Crusaders, each with 
his dog lying affectionately against^his steel-clad heel ; statues of 
the apostles, in cloth of gold ; confessionals, in oak, with their 
twisted columns; nobly carved stalls; baptismal fonts, in the 
form of sarcophagi ; altar-stones adorned with little figures ; frag- 
ments of stained glass ; Annunciation of the fifteenth century, 
upon a gold ground, in whie* the angel, whose parti-colored wings 
are lined wflh white, gazes with a somewhat human eye on the 
Holy Virgin; ta^stries executed after the designs of Rubens; 
iron- work one might attribute to Quentin Matsys ; and cabinets 
with painted doors and gilded shutters, worthy of Frank Floris. 

411 this, however, is in a disgracefully neglected state, and if 
the Cathedral be in process of external improvement, sad havoc 


goes on withia. Not a tomb but is mutilated,* or an iron rail but 
has lost its gilding, and dust and dirt are visible in all directions. 
The flies are effacing the face of the venerable Archbishop of 
Heinsberg; and the brazen individual who lies upon the pave* 
ment under the name of Conrad of Hochsteden, who intended to 
have built this gigantic cathedral, is unable now to crush the 
spiders which seem to hold him down, like Gulliver, enchained by 
their threads. Alas ! a feeble arm of flesh b worth as many 
thousands cast in brass ! I rather believe that a bearded figure 
of an old man I noticed lying mutilated in a corner is by Michel 
Angelo ; — ^which reminds me that at Aix-la-Chapelle 1 saw the 
famous columns taken by Napoleon, and retaken by Blucher, 
heaped up in an angle of the old cloister burying-ground, like 
trunks of trees waiting the operation of the saw-pit. Napoleon 
intended them for the Louvre ; Blucher left them in a chamel* 
house. One of the questions which we are oftenest compelled to 
ask ourselves in this world is " Cui bono ?" 

There were, apparently, but two tombs cared for and respected, 
amidst all this degradation — the cenotaphs of the Counts of 
Schauenbourg, a couple who seem to have been foreseen by Vir* 
gil. Both were Archbishops of Colc^ne ; both lie in the same 
place of sepulture ; having two handsome tombs of the seventeenth 
century, opposite each other, so that Adolphus von. Schauenbourg 
is able to contemplate his brother Antony. I have purposely 
delayed to mention the most venerable part of this sacred edifice, 
the famous Shrine of^e Magi, which consists of a vast chamber, 
embellished with marbles of* all kinds, environed with thick 
copper gratings ; the architecture being in the mixed and fantastic 
styles of Louis XIIL and Louis XV. It is situated in the rear 
of the high altar, at the extremity of the choir. Three turbans 
introduced into the composition of the grating first attract the eye ; 
and on looking up, one perceives a ^s-relief, representing the 
Adoration of the Magi : lower down you perceive t!^ following 
lines : — 

" Corpora sanctorum recubant hie terna Magorum. 
£x his sublatum nihil est alibive locatum." 

I advanced toward the tomb ; and through this grating, scrupu. 


lously shut, beheld; through a cloudy glass, the famous Byzantine 
shrine of massive gold, sparkling with diamonds and pearls ; just 
as, through the obscurity of twenty centuries, behind the gloomy 
and austere film of Church traditions, you hail the Oriental story 
of the Three Wise Men of the East. 

On either side the venerated grating, two hands, in gilt copper, ' 
emerge from the marble, each holding a begging-box, and under 
which the Chapter has engraved the following indirect solicitation : 

" Et apertis thesauris suis obtulerunt ei munera." 

Three lamps burn perpetually before the shrine, named Caspar, 
Melchior, and Balthazar, after the names of the three Magi. As 
I was about to withdraw, I felt a prick in the sole of my foot, and 
looking down, I found it to be the head of a large copper nail upon 
which I had trodden, which was inserted in a slab of the marble 
pavement. I now remembered that Marie de Medicis desired to 
have her heart deposited under the Chapel of the Three Kings. 
The pavement under my feet probably covered this royal heart. 
On the surface of the stone, as may be seen by traces still visible, 
was formerly placed a plate of gilt brass, according to the German 
custom of adorning graves with the name or escutcheon and 
epitaph of the deceased. It was the nail of this plate which had 
just pricked my foot. When the French were in possession of 
Cologne, the revolutionary ideas, or possibly some rapacious 
coppersmith, extirpated this plate bearing the device of the Bour- 
bons, as well as many others which surrounded it ; for quantities 
of copper fastenings protruding from the pavement, announce 
many similar defacements. And thus this wretched queen, who 
found herself obliterated in the first instance from the heart of 
Louis XIIL, her son, and afterwards from the remembrance of 
Richelieu, her 45reature, was fated in the sequel to have her very 
sepulchral inscription erased from the face of the earth. 

So strange is destiny ! This Marie de Medicis, this widow of 
Henri IV., exiled, forsaken, and distressed, as afterwards her 
daughter Henrietta, the widow of Charles I., came and died at 
Cologn% in 1642, in a lodging belonging to one Ibach, No. 10, in 
the St^rngasse, in the very house where sixty- five years before. 
in 1577, her painter, Rubens, was born. 


The Cathedral of Colc^e, viewed by day, and reduced frc»n 
that imaginary proportion which the evening light confers on 
every object, and which I call crepuscular grandeur, loses some- 
what of its dignity. The outline, though fine, is dry, arising 
probably from the perseverance of the architect in repairing and 
csementing the venerable apsis. Great caution is required in the 
reparation of ancient edifices. As they now stand, I prefer the 
half-finished tower to the perfect apsis. All things considered, 
with due deference to the prejudices of the ultra refined, who 
choose to consider the Cathedral of Cologne the Parthenon of 
Christian architecture, I know no reason for assigning the palm 
to this sketch of a cathedral, rather than to our own Ndtre Dame, 
or those of Amiens, Rheims, or Chartres. 

Even the Cathedral of Beauvais, also a mere apsis, scarcely 
known and little vaunted, does not seem to me, whether in size 
or details, much inferior to that of Cologne. 

The town-hall, situated near the Cathedral, is one of those 
charming motley edifices built at difierent periods and composed 
of every style, which are to be met with in those self-established 
communities whose laws, habits, and customs have an equally 
incongruous origin. The progress of the formation of such 
edifices and communities affords a curious study, being rather a 
work of agglomeration than of construction. All is the result of 
progressive increase, and encroachments upon the property of 
neighbors, rather than of forethought or a preconcerted plan. 

Growing wants have created an extension of means. The 
town-hall of Cologne, therefore, though probably possessing some 
Roman vault among its foundations, was nothing more, towards 
1250, than a gloomy-looking building, such as our Maisons attx 
pUiers, But as there was now occasion for a belfry, for the ptfir- 
pose of alarms, defence, and watchfulness, the fourteenth century 
erected a tower for both civil and feudal purposes. 

Under Maximilian the cheering breath of the regeneration of 
the arts began to agitate the gloomy stone foliage of the cathedrals ; 
a taste for elegance and embellishment became universal ; and 
the authorities of Cologne felt the necessity of bestowing a |^roper 
exterior upon their town-hall. They accordingly sent to Italy 
fot some disciple of the school of Michel Angelo ; or perhaps to 


France, for some able competitor of Jean Goujon ; and to their 
gloomy facade of the thirteenth century added a triumphant and 
magnificent porch. 

A few years afterwards, they felt the want of a public lounge 
near their registry^ffice, and laid out a charming plot of ground, 
surrounded by arcades, sumptuously embellished by escutcheons 
and bas-reliefs ; which I was so fortunate as to see, but which, 
henceforth, will be seen by few, for they are on the eve of falling 
into ruins. 

Lastly, under Charles V., having found it necessary to have a 
vast hall for the purpose of sales, proclamations, and assemblies 
of burgesses, they erected, opposite their belfry, a handsome brick 
and stone building, of the highest order of taste and design. 

At the present day, the nave of the thirteenth century, the por. 
tico and pleasance of Maximilian, the hall of Charles V., grown 
old together, and alike abounding in traditions and events, 
fortuitously mingled and grouped together, unite to render the 
town-hall of Cologne as original as it is picturesque. 

As a production of art, and the reflection of history, I prefer it 
to the cold, insipid style, with its triple front over-burthened with 
archivaults, and the parsimonious deficiency of embellishment 
visible in its stunted roofs without minarets, crest, or chimneys, 
with which, in the very teeth of the good city of Paris, the ipasons 
are masking our superlative specimen of the genius of Bocador. 

For we are singular people ! We submit to the demolition of 
the ancient H6tel de la Tremouille, and create public monuments 
of this wretched nature, permitting individuals to call themselves 
architects, who presume to lower two or three feet, and thus com- 
pletely disfigure, the lofly Toofe of Dominique Bocador, to adopt 
the fiat attics of their own invention. Are we always to remain 
the same tasteless barbarians, who, pretending to adore Corneille, 
allow him to be retouched and corrected by the hand of Monsieur 
Andrieux ? No matter — ^let us return to Cologne. 

I ascended the tower, and beneath a dull grey sky, somewhat 
in harmony with my thoughts, contemplated this interesting city. 

Cologne on the Rhine, like Rouen on the Seine, and Antwerp on , 
the Scheldt, that is, like all cities seated on broad and rapid riven*, 


is built in the form of a strung bow, of which the river is the 

The roofs are slated, and crowded together, and packed like 
cards doubled together : the streets are narrow, the gables carved 
and ornamented. A red boundary of city walls, rising on all 
sides above the roofs, hems in the town, buckling it as in a belt 
to the river. From the tower of Thurmchen, to the superb tower 
of Bayenthurme, among the battlements of which stands the 
marble statue of a bishop bestowing his benediction on the Rhine 
— from Thurmchen to Bayenthurme, the city exhibits, to the 
length of a league, a facade of fronts and windows. 

Afidway, a long bridge of boats, gracefully curving with the 
current, crosses the river, connecting that multifarious mass of 
gloomy architecture, Cologne, with Deutz, which consists of a 
small cluster of white houses. 

From the centre of Cologne, and round the peaked roofs, turrets, 
and flower-decked attics, arise the varying altitudes of twenty-seven 
churches, independent of the Cathedral. Four of these are 
majestic Roman edifices, each of a difierent design, and worthy 
of the title of cathedral. To the north is St. Martin ; to the west, 
St. G^reon ; the church of the Holy Apostles to the south ; and 
Ste. Marie of the Capitol to the east ; — forming a forest of towers, 
steeples, and domes. 

Considered in detail, this city is all life and animation, the 
bridge being crowded with passengers and carriages, the river 
with sails, and the banks with masts. The streets swarm — ^the 
windows chatter — ^the roofs sing in the sunshine. Here and 
there groves of trees refresh the gloomy-looking houses ; while 
the old edifices of the fifteenth century, with their long friezes of 
fruits and flowers, afford a refuge to the pigeons and doves who 
sit cooing there to their hearts' content. Around this vast com- 
munity — rich from industry, military from necessity, maritime 
from site — ^an extensive and fertile plain extends in all directions, 
depressed towards Holland, most part of which is watered by the 
Rhine. Towards the north-east it is bounded by that nest of 
romantic legends and traditions called the Seven Mountains. 

And thus the horizon of Cologne is circumscribed on one side 
by Holland and her commerce, on the other by Germany and her 


poetry ; embodying those two graad phases of the humaa mind, 
the real and the ideal. Cologne itself is a city devoted to the 
delights of business, as well as the pleasures of imagination. 

On descending from the belfry, f paused in the court-yard be- 
fore the magnificent porch. Just now I called it triumphant ; 
the word should have been " triumphal," for the second story of 
this admirable composition is a series of minor triumphal arches, 
side by side, like arcades, and dedicated with suitable inscrip- 
tions ; the first to Ceesar ; the second to Augustus ; the third to 
Agrippa, the founder of Cologne {CoJonia Agrippina) ; the fourth 
to Constantine, the Christian Emperor ; the fiflh to Justinian, the 
lawgiver ; the sixth to Maximilian, the Emperor, then on the 
throne. Upon the faqade, the sculptor poet has carved three 
bas-reliefs, representing three lion tamers ; Milo of Crotona, 
Pepin-le-Bref, and Daniel the prophet. At the two extremities 
he has placed Milo of Crotona, who subdued his lions by manual 
strength : and Daniel, who employed spiritual influence. Be- 
twixt the two, as a link naturally uniting the one with the other, 
he placed Pepin-le-Bref, who subdued the beasts of the forest 
with the exact measure of physical and moral strength requisite 
for a soldier. The union of moral and physical force engenders 
courage. A combination of the athlete and the prophet forms 
the hero. 

Pepin is represented sword in hand, and his lefl arm, wrapt in 
his cloak, is plunged into the jaws of the lion, who, snarling and 
showing his fangs, is rearing on his hinder legs, in the formidable 
attitude usually described as the lion rampant. Pepin confronts 
him valiantly. Daniel is represented standing with his arms 
motionless, and his eyes upraised to heaven, while the lions. play 
at his feet ; to show that superiority of soul triumphs without 
effort. As to Milo of Crotona, with his arm clenched in the 
cloven tree, he is struggling fiercely with the lions, who devour 
him, the penalty of blind and unintelligent presumption confiding 
in muscular power. In the three contests, it is only vulgar 
strength which is defeated. 

These bas-reliefs contain a world of meaning. The effect of 
the last is terrible. I cannot describe the awful influence, pro- 
bably unsuspected by the sculptor himself, exercised by this 


gl4x>niy poem, which represents nature wreaking vengeance upon 
man ; the v^etahle and brute creation making common cause 
against the enemy, their oak coming to the aid of the lion to ex- 
terminate a gladiator. Unfortunately, the whole of this has* 
relief, entablatures, mouldings, cornices, colonnades, all this 
beautiful porch, has been restored, scraped, and stuccoed, with 
the most deplorable nicety. 

As I was leaving the town.hall, a man oldened rather than 
old, depressed rather than infirm, of miserable exterior, but 
haughty deportment, traversed the court. The guide who ac- 
companied me to the belfry pointed him out to my notice. 

" That man is a poet," said he, '< who wastes his substance in 
the wine-houses, and his time in writing epics." 

It appears that this individual, whose name retains an honor- 
able obscurity, has indited odes against Napoleon, — ^against the 
revolution of 1830, — ^against the romantic school, — ^against the 
French — ^to say nothing of an epopee imploring the architect to 
continue the cathedral of Cologne in the style of the Pantheon 
at Paris. Let him play the Homer if he please ; but a dirtier 
specimen of the sons of Apollo it never was my fate to look on. 
This species of epic poet is luckily unknown in France. On the 
other hand, as I was crossing a narrow obscure street, some min- 
utes later, a little old man started abruptly from a barber's shop, 
crying aloud, " Sir, sir, sir ! the French are mad, sir ; stark mad, 
sir ! drum a drum drum f ra ta plan plan ! — war with all the 
worli, sir ! hang, hang, hang ! The Emperor, eh ? The French 
are hrave, sir, and stuck it well into the Prussians, eh ? They 
got a dose and a half at Jena, sir, hang, hang, hang ! rum, hravo 
for the French, sir ! Brum a drum drum .'" This mad harangue 
delighted me. France still retains an honorable place amid the 
recollections and hopes of these noble nations. One bank at 
least of the Rhine still loves us ; I had almost said awaits us. 

Towards evening, when the stars shot forth their light, I strolled 
upon the shore opposite Cologne. I had before me the whole 
city, with its innumerable gables and sombre steeples, defined 
against the pallid sky of the west. To my lefl, like the giantess 
of Cologne, stood the lof^y spire of St. Martin, with its two open- 
worked towers. Nearly fronting me was the gloomy cathedral. 


with its thousand pinnacles bristling like the back of a hedge- 
hog, crouched up on the brink of the river, the immense crane 
on the steeple forming the tail, while the lanterns alight towards 
the bottom of the gloomy mass glared like its eyes. Amid this 
pervading gloom I heard nothing but the gentle ripple far below 
at my feet, the deadened sounds of horses' hoofs upon the bridge, 
and from a forge in the distance the ringing strokes of the ham- 
mer on the anvil ; no other noise disturbed the stillness of the 
Rhine. A few lights flickered in the windows from the forge ; 
the sparks and flakes of a raging furnace shot forth and extin- 
guished themselves in the Rhine, leaving a long luminous trace, 
as if a sack of fire was shooting forth its contents into the stream. 
Influenced by this gloomy aspect of things, 1 said to myself, — 
The Gaulic city has disappeared, the city of Agrippa vanished 
— Cologne is now the city of St. Engelbert, but how long will it 
be thus ? The temple built yonder by St. Helena fell a thousand 
years ago— the Church constructed by Archbishop Anno will also 
fall — ^the ruin is gradually undermining the city ; every day 
some old stone, some old remembrance is detached from its place 
by the wear and tear of a score of steam-boats. A city does 
not afiix itself with impunity to the grand artery of Europe. 
Cologne, though more ancient than Treves and Soleure, the two 
most ancient communities of the Continent, has been thrice re- 
formed and transformed by the rapid and violent current of ideas 
ascending and descending unceasingly, from the cities of WiU 
Ham the Taciturn to the mountains of William Tell, and bring- 
ing to Cologne from Mayence the opulence of Germany, and from 
Strasbourg the opulence of France. 

A fourth climacteric epoch appears to menace Cologne. The 
mania of utilitarianism and positivism, so called in the slang of 
the day, pervades every quarter of the world, and innovations 
creep into the labyrinth of its antique architecture, and open 
streets penetrate its Gothic obscurity. What is called " the 
taste of the day" is beginning to invade it, with houses or front- 
ages in the fashion of our Rue de Rivoli, to the profound amaze- 
ment of the shopkeepers. Nay, have we not seen that there 
exist drunken rhymers who would fain behold the old minister 
of Conrad of Hochstetten converted into the Pantheon of Souf- 


flot ? In that cathedral, still endowed and adorned, for vanity's 
sake rather than from devotion, the ancient tombs of the Arch 
bishops are decaying. The peasaut-women, with their superb 
old costume of scarlet, and coifs of gold and silver, have yielded 
their place upon the quays to smart and flippant grisetles, attired 
in the Paris fashion ; and I saw the last brick dislodged from the 
old cloister of St. Martin, in order that a caf6 might be built on 
the site. Long rows of pert white houses give a cockneyfied air 
to the Catholic and feudal suburb of the martyrs of Thebes ; 
and an omnibus takes you across the historical bridge of boats, 
for six sols, from Agrippina to Tvxtium ! — ^Alas, alas ! the old 
cities of Europe are departing. 



As regards the men and things of the day, nny dear Mend, the 
tlungs may know what they are about, but the men^ I am pretty 
sure would be puzzled to give an account of themselves. In 
contrasting the mysteries of history with those of nature ; in the 
midst of the eternal comparisons which I cannot choose but make 
between the events in which God conceals his purposes, and the 
works of creation in which they are clearly manifested ; I have 
often experienced a sudden pang, in picturing to myself that the 
forests, lakes, and mountains, the deep thunder of the clouds, 
or the flower which nods its little head at us as we pass, the star 
that twinkles in the vapors of the horizon, the ocean that groans 
and murmurs as for an omen of warning to some listening ear, 
may be imbued with terrible intelligence — endowed with knowv 
ledge and science, and view with pity the ignorant son of clay 
who gropes his way among them, through the darkness of his in- 
tellectual night ; that they may despise our impotent pride, and 
the vanity whose eyes are blindfolded by ignorance. It goes 
against the impulses of my self-love that the tree should be cer. 
tain of the fruit it is d^tined to bear, while man is unable to 
siirmise his own future destiny or opinions. 

The life and intelligence of a man lie at jhe mercy of a divine 
influence, which the Christian calls providence, the freethinker 
chance ; which mixes, combines, and organizes all things ; con- 
cealing its machinery in the shadow of night, and setting forth its 
work in the light of day. While intending to do one thing, we 
are often betrayed into the contrary. " Urceus exit.'' 

History teems with examples of this. When the husband of 

Catherine de Medicis and lover of Diane de Poitiers allowed him- 

self to be allured by the mysterious charms of Philippe Due, the 

-^beautiful Piedmontese, he was fated to engender, not only Diane 


d'Angouleme, to become the wife of Famese^ but the reooncilia* 
tion at a future time between his son, afterwards Henri III., with 
his cousin, afterwards Henri IV. 

When the Duke de Nemours galloped down the steps of the 
Holy Chapel, mounted upon his famous palfrey, " the Royal," 
he not only introduced the fashion of such dangerous amusements, 
but prepared the way for the disastrous death of the King of 
France. On the 10th of July, 1559, in the lists of St. Antoine, 
Montgomery, his face streaming under the red plumes of his 
casque, with his chivalrous exertions, fixing his lance into his 
rest, rushed on a royal knight, bearing the device of tfie fleur-de- 
lys, and^applauded by every lady present, — ^little surmising the 
importance of the event reserved for his hands ! Never did the 
wand of fairy possess the power of that disastrous lance ! With 
a single thrust, it sealed the fate of Henri II., demolished the 
palace of the Tournelles, constructed the Place Royale, and in 
short suppressed the leading personage of the drama on the stage, 
changed its whole scenery and decorations, and overturned the 
system of social life. 

When, afler the battle of Worcester, Charles II. ccmcealed him- 
self in the oaky he intended only to secure a hiding-place ; instead 
of which, he conferred a name upon a constellation, " the Royal 
Oak,'' and afforded to Halley the means of thwarting the wishes 
of Tycho Brahe. The second husband of Madame de Mahitenon 
in revoking the Edict of Nantes, and the parliament of IGSQ* in 
dethroning James II., were working a way for that curious battle 
of Almanza, which beheld a Frei^h army commanded by an 
Englishman, Marshal Berwick, and an English army commanded 
by a Frenchman,^ Ruvigny, Lord Galloway. Had not Louis 
XIII. died on the 14th of May, 1643, the old Count Fontana would 
never have thought of attacking Rocroy five days afterwards ; 
nor an heroic prince, twenty-two years of age, have enjoyed the 
brilliant opportunity of the 19th of May, which raised the Duke 
d'Enghien into the " Great Cond6 !" 

In the midst of the crowd of historical facts with which chro- 
nology abounds, what singular eehoes, what wonderful parallels, 
what unexpected results ! In 1664, after the insult offered at . 
Rome to his ambassador the Duke de Crequy, Louis XIV . caoied 


the Coraicans to be expelled from the Holy City ; and one hun- 
dred and forty years afterwards, an obscure Corsican, grown into 
the Emperor Napoleon, exiles the Bourbons from France ! What 
mysterious shadows, and what flashes of light, then darkness ! 
When, about 1612, the youthful Henri de Montmorency observed 
at his father's, among the gentlemen attached to his establishment, 
a pale-faced looking page engaged in menial occupation, Laubes- 
pine de Ch&teauneuf by name, how was he to suppose that the 
youth then so submissive and respectful would progress into the 
Keeper of the Seals, and eventually preside by commission at the 
parliament 'of Toulouse, and furtively procure a dispensation from 
the pope in order to proceed to the decapitation of his former 
master Henri II., Duke of Montmorency, field-marshal of France 
by the chances of the sword, and by the grace of God a peer of 
the realm ? 

When the President De Thou polished, retouched, and revised 
so minutely in his book the edict of Louis XL of the 22d De- 
cember, 1477, who could have foretold that this same edict, with 
Laubardemont for a handle of the same, would serve as an axe 
for Richelieu to decapitate his son ? 

In the midst of the chaos of events, order prevails. The con- 
fusion exists but in appearance ; all is submitted to the laws of 
the Almighty. After a long lapse of time, the startling facts 
which astounded the senses of our fathers, return like comets, 
from the darkest abyss of history. The same treasons recur — 
the same treachery, the same disasters, the same wrecks. The 
names alone are changed ; 1;(ie facts are identical. A few days 
before the fatal treaty of 1814, Napoleon could have said to bis 
thirteen marshals, '' Amen dico vobis quia unus vestrum me tradi- 
turns est" 

Brutus .continues to be adopted by Csesar, a Charles to prevent 
a Cromwell from proceeding to Jamaica, and a Louis XVI. to 
forbid a Mirabeau embarking for India. From age to age despo- 
tic queens are punished by refractory sons, and ungrateful queens 
by ungrateful sons. An Agrippina brings forth the Nero who is 
to put her to death ; a Marie de Medicis, the Louis XIII. who is 
lo drive her into exile. Admire, I beg of you, the strange com- 
bination of ideas, by which I have arrived almost unintentionally 


4Lt two queens, two Italians, two crowned shadows of the past : 
Agrippina and Marie de Medicis ; spectres who still haunt the 
romantic precincts of Cologne, the names of despairing queen- 
mothers. At sixteen hundred years' distance of time, the daugh- 
ter of Germanicus, who was mother of Nero, and the wife of 
Henri IV., who was the mother of Louis XIII., stamped their 
names indelibly in the annals of Cologne. 

Of these two widows — for an orphan is the widow of her father 
— rendered so, the one by poison, the second by the poniard — one 
of them, Marie de Medicis, there breathed her last ; the other, 
Agrippina, was bom there, and brought prosperity to the resting- 
place of her cradle. At Cologne I visited the house in which 
Marie de France expired ; the house of one labach or Jabach ; 
and instead of telling you what I saw there, I shall tell you what 
I thought. Pardon fne, my friend, if I do not give you all the 
minute details in which I usually indulge, and which in my opi. 
nion serve to point and define the character of a man through 
that of the objects with which he surrounds himself. In the 
present instance I spare you. 

The unfortunate Marie de Medicis died the 3 July, 1642, at 
the age of sixty-eight, after an exile of eleven years. She had 
wandered about in various directions — ^in Flanders — in England 
— unwelcome everywhere, as is usually the case with the unfor- 
tunate. In London, Charles I. treated her nobly, and she re- 
mained there three years, receiving from the royal bounty j&lOO 
per diem. ' At a later period — I say it with regret — Paris repaid 
to the Queen of England in a singular manner the hospitality 
manifested in London to a Queen of France. Henrietta Maria, 
the daughter of Henri IV., and widow of Charles I., was lodged 
in the Louvre, in I know not what wretched garret, where she 
was forced to remain in bed during the cold weather, for want of 
fire, waiting the few louis promised her by the Coadjutor, then in 
power. Her mother, the widow of Henri IV., ended her days at 
Cologne, in a similar condition and the most abject want. At the 
request of the cardinal minister, Charles I. sent her away from 
England. I am sorry to say it of the royal and melancholy 
author of the Eikon BasiUkej and can ill understand how he 
who stood firm before Cromwell, trembled before Richelieu. 


To follow the train of these details fraught with ominous in- 
gtruction, Marie de Medicis was shortly followed to the grave by 
her persecutors ; by Richelieu, who died in the same year, and 
by Louis XIII., who died the year following. To what end then 
all these ferocious animosities between one human being and ano- 
ther 1 Of what use their intrigues, their persecutions, their 
quarrels, and perfidy, when all these were to sink into the grave 
together ? The Almighty, whose purposes are inscrutable, alone 
can answer. 

An awful suspicion rests on the memory of Marie de Medicis. 
The shade of Ravaillac appears always to lay his grisly finger on 
the sweeping folds of her royal robe. I was always panic-struck 
by the terrible words of the President H^nault, which were per- 
haps unintentionally written : '' The queen was noi stridently sur» 
prised at the death of Henri IV" 

I confess that these mysteries greatly enhance in my estimation 
the pompous and unreserved epoch of Louis XIV. The shadows 
and obscurities which tarnish the beginning of his century serve 
only to impart greater lustre to the splendors of its later years. 
It exhibits the power of Richelieu ennobled by the majesty of the 
throne — ^the greatness of Cromwell united with the serenity of 
the right divine. The grandeur of Louis XIV. is reflected from 
the. greatness of all around him, which, while it diminished the 
glory of the sovereign, augments a thousand-fold the gk)ries of the 

As for me, who like to find things in a state of fitness and com- 
pletion, without having indulgence to show or allowances to caa- 
cede, I have ever entertained deep sympathy with that grave and 
magnificent prince, so well-born, so well-bred, so well-surrounded ; 
every inch a king, from the cradle to the tomb ; a monarch in 
the highest acceptation of the word ; the sovereign centre of civili- 
sation, the central point of Europe, round which revolved and 
disappeared eight popes, two kings of Spain, five sultans, three 
kings of Portugal, four kings and one queen of England, three 
kings of Denmark, one queen and two kings of Sweden, four 
kings of Poland, and four czars of Muscovy ; the polar star of a 
whole century, which for seventy-two years witnessed from its 
supreme elevation the mysterious phenomena of the European 


Musee Walnf. 

At Colc^e, in addition to the cathedral, the town-hall, and the 
Hotel Ibach, I visited at the Schleiss Kottin, near the city, the re- 
mains of the subterraneous aqueduct which, in the time of the 
Romans extended from Cologne to Treves, and of which the 
traces are still visible in thirty-three villages. In Cologne itself 
I visited the Musee Walraf, and I am tempted to favor you with 
its inventory. For ^ present, however, I spare you. Let it 
suffice you to know, that if I did not see there, thanks to the 
depredations of Baron Hubsch, the war-chariot of the ancient 
Germans, the famous Egyptian mummy, and the culverine four 
yards long, cast at Cologne in 1400, I saw at all events the beau- 
tiful Roman sarcophagus and armor of Bishop Bernard de Galen, 
besides an enormous cuirass supposed to have been that of the 
Imperial general, Jean de Wert. I looked in vain, however, for 
his sword eight feet long, his famous pike, and Homeric helmet, 
of which it is recorded that two men could scarcely lift it from 
the ground. 

The pleasure of seeing curious objects, museums, churches, or 
town halls, is considerably lessened by the constant demand for 
fees. Upon the Rhine, as in all much-frequented countries, such 
demands sting you like gnats. On a journey let the traveller put 
fniXh in his purse, and without it let no man look for the tender 
mercies of hospitality, or the grateful smile of a kindly farewell. 
Allow me to set forth the state of things which the aborigines of 
the Rhine have created, as regards the fee or pour hoire. As you 
enter the gates of a town you are asked to what hotel you intend 
to go ; they next require your passport, which they take into their 
keeping. The carriage pulls up in the court-yard of the post- 
house ; the conductor, who has not addressed a word to you dur- 


ing the whole jourQey, opens the door and thrusts in his filthy 
hand — " Some^ng to drink" A moment afterwards comes the 
postilion, who, though prohibited by the regulations, looks hard at 
you, as much as to say, " SametMng to drink /" They now un- 
load the diligence, and some vagabond mounts the roof and throws 
down your portmanteau and carpet-bag — " Something to drink /" 
Another puts your things into a barrow, and inquiring the name 
of your hotel, away he goes, pushing his barrow. Arrived at the 
hotel, the host insinuatingly inquires your wishes, and the fol- 
lowing dialogue takes place, which ought to be written in all lan- 
guages on all the doors of all the rooms. 

" Good day. Sir." 

" Sir, I want a room." 

" Good, Sir : {bawls out) No. 4 for this gentleman." 

" Sir, I wish to dirfe." 

" Directly, Sir," &c. 

You ascend to your room. No. 4, your baggage having pre- 
ceded you, and the barrow gentleman appears. 

" Your luggage. Sir — Something to drink " 

Another now appears, stating that he carried your baggage up 

" Good," say you, " I will not forget you with the other serv- 
ants when I leave the house." 

" Sir," replies the man, " 1 do not belong to the hotel — Some- 
thing to drink,^' 

You now set out to walk, and a fine church presents itself. 
Eager to enter, you look around, but the doors are shut ! 
" Compel!^ intrare^^^ says holy writ, according to which the priests 
ought to keep the doors open. The beadles shut them, however, 
in order to gain " something to drink" An old woman, perceiving 
your dilemma, points to the bell-handle by the side of a low door ; 
you ring, the beadle appears, and on your asking to see the 
church, he takes up a bundle of keys and proceeds towards the 
principal entrance, when, just as you are about to enter, you feel 
a tug at your sleeve, with ft renewed demand for '^'something to 

You are now in tl^e church. " Why is that picture covered 
with a green cloth ?" is your first exclamation. 



** Because it is the finest we possess/' replies the beadle. 
<< So much the worse," is your -reflection. << In other places 
they exhibit their best paintings, here they conceal their chef- 

" By whom is the picture 1" 

« By Rubens." 

" I wish to see it" 

The beadle leaves you a moment, and returns with a grave- 
looking personage, who, pressing a spring, the picture is exposed 
to view ; but upon the curtain redosing, the usual significant sign 
is made for "something to drinky*' and your hand returns to the 

Resuming your progress in the church, still conducted by tin 
beadle, you approach the grating of the choir, before which stands 
a magnificenUy attired individual, no less tllan the Sidssef waiting 
your arrival. The choir is his particular department, wfaieh, 
after having viewed, your superb cicerone makes you a pompous 
bow, meaning, as plain as bow can speak, "something to drink.*' 

You now arrive at the vestry, and wonderful to say, it is open ; 
you enter, when lo ! there stands another verger, and the beadle 
respectfully withdraws, for the verger must enjoy his prey to him- 
self. You are now shown stoles, sacramental cups, bishops' 
mitres, and in some glass case, lined with dirty satin, the bones 
of some saint dressed out like an opera-dancer. Having seen all 
this, the usual ceremony of " something to drvnk*^ is repeated, and 
the beadle resumes his functions. 

You find yourself at the foot of the belfry, and desire to see the 
view from the summit. The beadle gently pushes open a door, 
and having ascended about thirty steps, your progress is inter- 
cepted by a closed door. The beadle having again departed, you 
knock, and the bell-ringer makes his appearance, who begs you ' 
to walk up—" Something to drink" It is some relief to your 
feelings that this man does not attempt to follow you as you make 
your way upwards to the top of the steeple. 

Having attained the object of y«ur wishes, you are rewarded 
by a superb landscape, an immense horizon, and a noble blue 
sky; when your enthusiasm becomes suddenly chilled by the 
approach of an individual who haunts you, buzzing unintelligible 


words into your ears, till at last you find out that he is especially 
charged to point out to strangers all that is remarkable, either 
with regard to the church or landscape. This personage is 
usually a stammerer, and often deaf: yoii do not listen to him. 
but allow him to indulge in his muttering, completely forgetting 
him, while you contemplate the immense pile below, where the 
lateral arches lie displayed like dissected ribs, and the roofs, 
streets, gables, and roads appear to radiate in all directions, like 
the spokes of wheels, of which the horizon is the felloe. 

Having indulged in a prolonged survey, you think about 
descending, and proceed towards the stairs ; and lo ! there stands 
your friend with his hand extended. 

You open your purse again. 

^' Thanks, Sir !" says the man, pocketing the money ; << I will 
now trouble you to remember me" 

<< How so— have I not just given you something ?" 

** That is not for me. Sir, but for the churoh ; I hope you will 
give me something to drink," 

Another pull at the purse. 

A trap-door now opens, leading to the belfry ; and another inan 
shows and names you the bells. << Somethifig to drink" agaio ! 
At the bottom of the stairs stands the beadle, patiently waiting to 
reconduct you to the door ; and " something to drink" for him fol- 
lows as a matter of course. 

You return to your hotel, taking good care not to inquire your 
way, for fear of further demands. Scarcely, however, are you 
arrived when a stranger accosts you by name, whose face is 
wholly unknown to you. 

This is the commissioner who brings your passport, and de- 
mands ** something to drink," Then comes dinner ; then the 
moment for departure — " Something to drink," Your baggage is 
taken to the diligence — '< Something to drink," A porter places it 
on the roof; and you comply with his request for ^^ something to 
drink" with the satisfaction of knowing that the claim is the last. 
Poor comfort, when your n^beries are to recommence on the 
morrow ! 

To sum up, after paying the porter, the wheel-barrow, the man 
who is not of the hotel, the old woman, Rubens, the Suisse, the 


verger, ringer, church, under-ringer, stammerer, headle, commis- 
sioner, servants, stable-hoy, postman, you will have undergone 
eighteen taxings for fees in the course of a morning. 

Calculating all these from the minimum of ten sols to the maxi- 
mum of two francs, this drink-money becomes an important item 
in the budget of the traveller. Nothing under silver is accepted. 
Coppers are the mere sweepings of the street — an object of inex- 
pressible contempt. To this ingenious class of operatives the 
traveller represents a mere sack of money, to be emptied in the 
shortest manner possible. 

The government sometimes comes in iR)r its share ; takes your 
valise, and portmanteau, shoulders them, and then holds forth its 
official hand. In some great citite the porters pay a certain tax 
to government, of so much per head on every traveller. . I had 
not been a quarter of an hour in Aix-la-Chapelle before I had 
given << something to drink" to the King of Prussia. 



I WRITS to you again from ADdeniach) where I returned three 
days ago. 

Andemach is an ancient Roman station, succeeded by a Gothic 
commmiity still existing. The landscape from my window is 
enchanting : I see, at the Ibof of a high hill which allows me 
only a slight glimpse of the sky, a tower of the 13th century, at 
the summit of which shoots ibrth another, smaller, octagonal, and 
crowned with a conical nx)f. To my right lies the Rhine, and 
the pretty village of Leutersdorf peeping through the trees ; to my 
left, the four Byzantine steeples of a beautiful church of the 11th 
century — ^two at the portal, and two at the apsis. 

The two large towers of the portal are of a strange and irre- 
gular outline, but produce a fine effect. They are square, sur- 
mounted by four sharp triangular gables, with four slated inter- 
stitial lozenges, which, joining at their summits, form the point of 
the pinnacle. Undetf* my window the ducks, hens, and children 
are cackling in perfect harmony ; and yonder 1 see in the dis- 
tance the peasants working in the vineyards. This noble view 
did not suffice to the tasteful being who embellished ray roc»n ; 
for suspended near my window is a glazed frame, containing the 
portraits of two immetise candlesticks, at the bottom of which is 
inscribed " View of Paris." ' By dint of uncommon penetration, 
I discovered it to be intended for the Barriere du Trone — a strik- 
ing likeness, certainly. 

On the day of my arrival I visited the interior of the handsome 
church which is spoiled by whitewashing. The Emperor Valen- 
tinian, and a child of Frederick Barbarossa, are buried in this 
church. A Christ iil the sepulchre, the figures of natural size, 
of the 15th century — a knight of the 16th, in semi-relief, fixed in 
a wall — ^in a loft, a number of minor figures in grey alabaster, 


fragments of some mausoleum, but admirably executed — ^this is 
all a humpbacked ringer had to show roe, for a piece of plated 
copper representing thirty sols. 

I must now relate to you an adventure, the impression of which 
on my mind is that of a painful dream. 

On leaving the church, which almost adjoins the fields, I ^valked 
round the town. The sun had just set behind the wooded and 
cultivated hill, which was a volcaiiic mass out of the memory of 
history, and is now a basaltic quarry of millstone, which formed 
the export of ArUmacmm two thousand years ago, and is that of 
Andemach in the present day, which has witnessed the decay of 
the citadel of the Roman prefect, of the palace of the IHngs of 
Austrasia (from the windows of wHich those ingenious princes are 
recorded to have fished fbr carp in the Rhine) ; the tomb of 
Valentinian, the abbey of the noble nuns of St. Thomas, now 
falling to decay ; to say nothing of the ancient walls of the feudal 
city of the Electors of Treves. 

I traced out the ditch along these walls, against which the pea- 
sants pitch their huts, and find shelter for their cabbages and car-* 
rots against the northern blast. The noble city, though dismantled, 
still exhibits fourteen round or square towers, used at present as 
dwellings for the poor, and the ragged children play at the doors, 
while the young maidens chatter with their lovers in the embra- 
sures of the catapults. The formidable stronghold, which de- 
fended Andemach, to the east, is a vast ruin, dolefully opening 
its shattered bays and windows to the rays of the sun or moon ; 
while the quadrangle, overgrown with beautiful turf, is used by 
the old women for bleaching their linen. 

Leaving behind me the high Gothic gateway of Andemach, 
shattered by black shot-holes, I found myself on the bank of the 
river. The beautiful sand, with here and there patches of sofl 
turf, allured me towards the distant hills of the Sayn. The 
evening was gratefully mild, and nature sinking into repose. 
The reed-sparrows flew to the water, then back to their haunts. 
Beyond some fields of tobacco I saw carts yoked with oxen, 
dragging loads of the basaltic tufa with which the Dutch construct 
their dykes. Close beside me was moored a boat from Leuters- 
dorf, having on its prow the austere but endearing word " Pius." 


On the other side of the Rhine, at the foot of a long hill, 
another vessel with sails was towed along hy thirteen horses. 
The cadenced tread of the cattle and the tingle of their hells 
reached my ears. A white-looking city was visible in the dis- 
tant haze ; while towards the east, at the extreme verge of the 
horizon, the full moon, red and round as the eye of a Cyclops, 
shone betwixt two lids of clouds, on the tranquil brow of heaven. 

How long I wandered thus, plunged in the mysteries of nature, 
I know not ; but night had set in, the country was hushed, and 
the moon shining at its very zenith, when I suddenly came to 
myself at the foot of an eminence crowned by an obscure mass, 
round which black lines defined themselves ; some in the form of 
a gallows, others like masts, *with transversal spars. Having 
reached the eminence, by striding through sheaves of fresh-cut 
beans, I found the dark object to be a tomb, placed upon a circu- 
lar foundation of stone. 

Why this tomb in the fields ? Why this scaffolding ? I was 
full of eager interest and curiosity ; and perceiving a low door 
constructed in the masonry, clumsily closed up with boarding, I 
knocked with my cane, but the inmate, if inmate there were, did 
not answer. 

By an easy ascent, on turf covered with blue flowers, which 
seemed to have expanded in the moonshine, I clambered up to 
view the tomb, which consisted of a large truncated obelisk, 
placed on an immense block representing a Roman sarcophagus, 
the whole being in blue granite. Around the monument, and up 
the shall, was a scaffolding with a long ladder placed against it ; 
and I perceived four spaces on the four sides of the block, from 
which bas-reliefs had been lately displaced. At my feet were 
strewed fragments of cornices and entablatures, visible by the 
light of the moon. 

With anxious eyes I sought the name of the occupant of the 
tomb. Three sides were blank ; but on the fourth I found in cop- 
per letters the following dedication : " The Army of thb Sambre 
AND Meuse to their General-in-Chtef ;" and below, the moon 
enabled me to read the name of 



The letters had been removed, but their grooves in the granite still 
remained indelible. 

This name, in such a place at such an hour, caused a deep and 
inexpressible sensation in my mind. I always admired Hoche. 
Like Marceau, he was one of those great men by whose ministry 
Providence, intending that the cause of the revolution should 
triumph, and France prevail, prepared the way for Bonaparte ; 
mere precursors — ^incomplete ordeals— crushed into dust by Des- 
tiny, as soon as she brought from the shade the complete and stem 
profile of the one man needful. Such was the ftite of Hoche. 

The date of 18th April, 1797, occurred to my mind, as bright 
in the annals of heroism. Not knowing where I was, i looked 
anxiously around me : to the north was a vast plain ; to the south, 
at about a gun-shot distance, the Rhine ; and at my feet, at the 
bottom of the hillock which served for the base of the tomb, a 
village having at its entrance an old square tower. 

At that moment a man passed, at a short, distance from the 
monument, of whom I asked in French the name of the village. 
He was perhaps an old soldier, war being as active as civilisation 
in conveying our language to all the nations of the earth ; for he 
instantly answered, " Weisse Thurmy" and disappeared. 

These two words, signifying the " White Tower," reminded 
me of the " Turris Alba" of the Romans. Hoche died upon an 
illustrious spot ; for it was here that Ceesar firsi passed the Rhine 
two thousand years ago ! 

What is the object of the scaffolding ? Are they degrading or 
repairing the monument ? I could not guess ! Having scaled 
the basement, and ascended the scaffolding, 1 looked into an aper- 
ture of the base, and discerned the interior of a gloomy quadran- 
gular chamber. The moon penetrating one of the crevices, I per- 
ceived a white figure, upright and standing against the wall : and 
having entered the chamber by a narrow aperture, creeping on 
my knees, I found in the centre of the pavement a hole, through 
which they had no doubt lowered the coffin into the vault below. 
A cord was still suspended there, the ends of which were lost in 
the darkness. 

Having approached and looked into tlie vault below, I vainly 


attempted to discern the coffin. I could scarcely distinguish the 
vague outline of a recess, formed in the vault. 

I remained there for some time, absorbed in the two.fold ni3's- 
tery of death and darkness. An icy breath appeared to issue 
from the aperture of the vault, as if blown from the yawning 
mouth of the grave. I can scarcely express the excitement of 
my mind. This tomb in this lonely spot — ^the unexpected re- 
cognition of so great a name — the gloomy chamber — the vault, 
whether occupied or empty — the mysterious scafiblding — all 
served to overwhelm my thoughts and depress my mind. 

Emotions of pity filled my heart, on seeing how the illustrious 
dead become neglected when their graves lie in a land of exile ! 
This trophy, erected by a victorious army, is at the mercy of all 
and every one. A Fifench general lies far from his country, in 
a common bean-field ; and Prussian masons appear to be in pos- 
session of his tomb ! 

Methought I heard a voice issue from the disjointed stones, ex- 
claiming " France ! take hack the Rhine" 

Half ap hour afterwards I was on the road to Andernach. 




I CANNOT understand these tourists ! This is a charming town, 
and the country about it beautiful. The view from the summits 
of the hills includes a circle of giants, from the Siebengebiirge to 
the crests of Ehrenbreitstein. Every stone recalls an historical 
recollection — every step produces a fresh charm ; while the in- 
habitants exhibit joyous good-humored faces, such as breathe wel- 
come to the traveller. The inn (H6tel 4e I'Empereur) ranks 
among the best in Germany. Yet, in spite of all this, Andernach, 
though a chauning spot, is literally deserted ! No one makes it 
an object ! Foreign tourists resort exclusively to Coblentz, Baden, 
or Mannheim ; rarely attracted by memorable scenes of history, 
the beauties of nature, or such poetry as abounds at Andernach.* 

I returned a second time to the church, the Byzantine orna- 
ments of which are very rich, and in exquisite style. The south- 
ern portal has some curious capitals and fine groinings, deeply 
•carved. The pediment, forming an obtuse angle, presents a By- 
zantine painting of the Crucifixion, still tolerably distinct. 

Upon the front, near the arched door, is a bas-relief of the period 
of the revival of the arts, in which Jesus is represented kneeling, 
his arms out-spread in an attitude of terror, while around him are 
crowded all the dreadful images and implements pertaining to his 
passion. The mantle of mockery, the reed sceptre, the wreath 
of thorns, rods, hammers, pincers, nails ; the ladder, lance, and 
sponge filled with gall ; the sinister profile of the bad thief; the 
livid effigy of Judas, with the purse about his neck ; and lastly, 
immediately before the eyes of the Divine Master, the cross, be- 
twixt the arms of which, as the most supreme and most insup- 
portable of his torments, on the summit of a small column, is a 
crowing cock, as the emblem of the ingratitude and desertion of a 

• Victor Hugo appears to have overlooked one of the most interesting 
objects in this neighborhood— the lake and convent of Laach. 


friend ! This last accessory is well imagined,— developing the 
ascendency of moral over physical torture. 

The gigantic shadows of the two towers extend over this mourn- 
ful elegy. • Round the bas-relief the sculptor has engraved a 
legend which I copy : — 

<< V08 omnes qui transitis per ^iam, attendite, et videte si est dolor 
similis sicut dolor ineus, 1538." 

Before this severe fa<;ade, at a short distance from this united 
lamentation of Job and Jesus, some beautiful rosy-faced children 
were gambolling on the turf, wheeling about an unfortunate half- 
wild, half-tamed rabbit in a barrow. Such were for the moment 
the " passers by !" There is another church at Andernach — 
Grothic, and having a nave of the fourteenth century, now trans- 
formed into a stable for Prussian cavalry. As the door stands 
open, one perceives within the aisles long ranks of horses. Over 
the door is inscribed " Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis ;" which at 
present seemed to apply to the horses ! I could have wished to 
ascend into the curious tower I see from my window, which most 
probably is the ancient watch-tower of the town ; but the steps 
are broken, and the roofs falling in. I therefore gave up the 

This magnificent ruin is, however, so embellished with flowers, 
so well taken care of, that it appears to be inhabited. The tenant 
is at once the most capricious and mildest of inmates, being no 
other than the presiding genius of ruins, who, whenever she takes 
possession of an old pile, rips up the floors, ceilings, and stairs, 
so that man cannot disturb the peaceful nests of the birds she 
cherishes ; and places flowers at all the windows, in pots formed 
of venerable stones, hollowed out by the wind and rain. The old 
town of Andernach is literally crested with wild flowers. 



The Rhine. ^ 

0T, Qtikn, ^wffttti 17. 

1 HAVE often told you how fond I am of rivers. Ideas float upn 
their current as well as merchandise. For everything m creation 
has its specific duty. Rivers, like gigantic trumpets, announce 
to the ocean the beauty of the earth j the fertility of the plains, 
the splendor of cities, and the glory of mankind. 

But, above all rivers, I love the Rhitie, which I beheld for the 
first time a ytar ago, in passing over the bridge of boats at Kehl. 
Night was set in, and as the carriage was proceeding at a walk, 
I remember to have experienced a profound respect in traversing 
the venerable river. Long had I wished to behold it. It is never 
without emotion that I enter into communication, I had well nigh 
said into communion ^ with those grand objects of nature, which 
have also played a great part in history. Moreover, objects the 
most discrepant present to me I know not what strange affinities 
and harmony. 

Do you remember, my dear friend^ our journey from the Rlione 
to the Valserine, in 1825, in our agreeable tour to Switzerland — 
one of the pleasantest recollections of my life ^ We were tli^n 
but twenty years of age. Do you remember, I say, with what 
ferocious rage the Rhone flung itself into the gulf, while the frail ' 

bridge trembled under our feet ? From the moment of that visit 
the Rhone has al^ ays been typified in my mind as a tiger, while 
the Rhine equally reminds me of a lion. ' 

The evening on which 1 saw the Rhine for the first time, this 
idea presented itself more strongly than ever to my mind, I con* 
tempi ate d long and earnestly this prond and noble river, impetuous j 

without fury, — wild, but majestic. It was swollen and magnifi- || 

cent when I crossed it, even so as to wave its yellow mane, or, as 
Boiletti hath itj ita " muddy beard/^ against the bridge of boatfl. 



The two banks had vanished in the twilight ; its roar was sub- 
dued, yet powerful. There was something in the strength and 
dignity of the stream that reminded me of the ocean itself. Yes, 
my dear friend, the Rhine is a noble river, — ^at once feudal, repub- 
lican, and imperial ; a noble union of French and German. The 
whole history of Europe may be considered under two points of 
view, in this river of warrior and thinkers, — ^this throbbing artery 
which revivifies the proud pulses of France, — ^this ominous mur- 
murer which promotes the reveries of Almaine. 

The Rhine combines every quality a river can exhibit. The 
rapidity of the Rhone, the breadth of the Loire, the rocks of the 
Meuse, the sinuosity of the Seine, the translucency of the Somme, 
the historical reminiscences of the Tiber, the regal dignity of the 
Danube, the mysterious influence of the Nile, the golden sands 
of the glittering streams of the New World, the phantoms and 
legends of some Asiatic stream. 

Before history took pen in hand, perhaps before man existed to 
afford matter for history, where the Rhine now flows, smoked and 
flamed a double chain of volcanoes ; the extinction of which de- 
posited on the soil two strata of lava and basalt in parallels, like 
two prolonged walls. At the same epoch, the gigantic crystal- 
lizations, which constitute the mountains, were in process of 
formation ; and the alluvial formations, which constitute the 
secondary mountains, were in process of desiccation. The mon- 
strous mass we call the Alps was gradually refrigerating ; the 
snows were accumulating on its brow, — of which, two great thaws 
served to inundate the earth ; the one on the northern declivity, 
overflowing the plains, was intercepted by the double barrier of 
the extinguished volcanoes, and turned towards the ocean ; the 
other, flowing from the western declivity, rushed from mountain 
to mountain, passed the basis of that other volcanic mass we call 
the Ardeche, and discharged itself into the Mediterranean. The 
flrst of these inundations, in short, formed the Rhine ; the second, 
the Rhdne. 

The first tribe recorded by history as gathering towards the 
Rhine, is that great semi-savage family called the Celts, and which 
Rome entitled the Gauls. " QiU ip&orum lingua Celta, nostra vero 
GaM vocantury" says Caesar. The Rauraci settled themselves 


nearest the source ; the MogUDtii nearest the mouth. The Romans 
next appear upon the scene. Caesar passed the Rhine ; Drusus 
built his fifty citadels ; the consul Munatius Plancus began the 
building of a city on the northern extremity of the Jura ; Martins 
Yipsanius Agrippa established a fortress at the disemboguing of 
the Main, and a colony before Tuitium. The senator Antony 
founded under Nero a settlement near the Batavian Sea, and the 
v^hole Rhine was now submitted to the sway of Rome. * 

When the twenty-second legion, which had encamped in the olive- 
fields, the scene of our Saviour's cross and passion, returned from 
the siege of Jerusalem, Titus despatched it to the Rhine: and this 
Roman legion continued the work of Martins Agrippa. A city 
seemed necessary to the conquerors, for the purpose of uniting the 
Melibocus with the Taunus ; and Moguntiacum, planned by Mar- 
tins, was constructed by the legion, and afterwards enlarged by 
Trajan, and embellished by Adrian. 

I must here notice a curious fact. This twenty-second legion 
was that which brought Crescentius, the first who preached the 
word of Christ in the Rheingau, and established the new religion. 
God had decreed that the same blindness which pulled down the 
last stone of the Temple upon the Jordan, should lay the first 
stone of that on the Rhine ! 

AAer Trajan and Adrian came Julian, who founded a fortress 
on the confluence of the Rhine and the Moselle : after Julian, 
Yalentinian, who erected castles on the two extinct volcanoes 
which we now call the Lauenberg and Stromberg. Thus in the 
course of a few centuries was founded and consolidated in that 
important line of Roman colonies, Vinicella, Altavilla, Lorca, 
Trajani Castrum, Versalia, Mola Romanorum, Turris Alba, Vic- 
toria, Bodobriga, Antoniacum, Sentiacum, Rigodulum, Tulpetum, 
Broilum, which begins at the Cornu Romanorum, at the Lake of 
Constance, and descends the Rhine, inclining upon Augusta, 
which is Basle ; upon Argentina, which is Strasbourg ; upon Mo- 
guntiacum, now Mayence ; upon Confluentia, now Coblentz ; upon 
Colonia Agrippa, now Cologne ; and unites itself, near the sea, to 
Trajectum-ad-Mosam, now Maestricht, and Trajectum-ad-Rhe- 
num, which is Utrecht. 

The Rhine now became Roman. Henceforward it was only 


the river which watered the farther Helvetic province, the first 
and second Germany, the first Belgian and Batavian provinces. 
The bearded Craul of the north, who about the third century came 
to stare at the Gaul of Milan in his toga, and the Gaul of Lyons, 
was subdued and tamed. The Roman castles of the left bank 
held in awe those of the right ; and the legionary, clad in cloth of 
Treves and armed with a partizan of Tongres, had only to watch 
* from the summit of his rocks the war-chariot of the Germans, a 
rolling tower with scythe-armed wheels, and a pole bristled with 
lances, drawn by oxen, and having a castle to contain ten archers, 
which sometimes ventured on the other side of the Rhine, as far 
as under the balista of the fortresses of Drusus. 

Those irresistible incursions of the northern hordes towards the 
regions of the south, which are repeated at certain climacteric 
epochs of the age of nations, under the name of invasion of the 
Barbarians, eventually overpowered Rome, at the predestined 
moment of her conversion. 

The granite barriers and military strongholds of the Rhine 
were overthrown by this human inundation ; and about the six- 
teenth century the rocky heights of the Rhine were as fully crested 
with Roman remains as in the present day we see them with the 
ruins of feudal times. 

Charlemagne restored these ruins, rebuilt the fortresses, and so 
opposed the old German hordes, re-appearing under different 
names — the Boemans, Abodrites, Welebates, and Sarabes ; he 
constructed at Mayence (where his wife Fastrada was buried) a 
bridge upon stone piles, which they say can still be seen when the 
waters are low ; rebuilt the aqueduct of Bonn ; repaired the Ro- 
man roads of Victoria, now Neuwied ; of Baccharia, now Bacha- 
rach ; of Vincella, now Winkel ; of Thronus Bacchi, now Trau- 
bach ; and constructed for himself, from the remains of Julian's 
baths, a palace, the Saal, at Nieder Ingelheim. In spite, however, 
of his genius and power, the efforts of Charlemagne served only 
to galvanise a skeleton. Rome was now nothing more than a 
dead body. 

It was essential that the new physiognomy of the Rhine should 
be full of youth and vigor. Already, as I before mentioned, under 
the Roman yoke an unnoticed grain of seed had fallen in the 


Rheingau. Christianity, that eagle from the throne of God, 
having begun to extend its wings, had deposited among the rocks 
of the Rhine an egg containing the germ of a new world. In. 
iniitation of Crescentius, who about the year 70 evangelized the 
Taunus, St. Apollonarius had visited Rigomagum ; St. Goar had 
preached at Bacchiara ; St. Martin, Bishop of Tours, had cate- 
chized at Confluenza ; St. Maternus, previous to departing for 
Tongres, had abided at Cologne ; St. Eucharius had established 
himself in a hermitage in the forest of Treves, in which also St* 
Gezelin had struggled for three years, on the summit of a column, 
with a statue of Diana, which he at length overcame and cast 
down by the severity of his countenance. 

At Treves many Christians died the death of martyrs in the 
court of the palace of the Roman prefect of Gaul, and their ashes,, 
tlirown to the winds, became seed, and fructified. During the 
passage of the Barbarians, however, the ground on which it had 
fallen was fated to remain barren. On the contrary, there occurred 
a prodigious landslip in the path of civilisation. The chain of 
tradition was snapped asunder ; and in the chasm history lost- 
sight of men and events. The predominant personages of this 
gloomy period traversed the Rhine like shadows, barely allowing 
a moment's reflection of their fantastic and evanescent shades to 
depict itself in the stream. 

To the historical era of the Rhine succeeded the epoch of the 

The imagination of man, like nature, allows of no vacuum. 
Where the sound of the human noise becomes silent, nature awak- 
ens the song of birds, agitates the leaves of the forests, and ani- 
mates the thousand murmurs of solitude. Where historical truth 
is at fault, imagination comes to its aid. In place of the substance 
of history, we have the shadows of romance. Fiction begins te 
vegetate, thrive, insinuate itself and flourish in the crevices of the 
ruins of time : like thorna and gentians in those of some ruined 
palace. Civilisation, like the sun, has her alternate nights and 
days...; her plenitudes and eclipses. She must both rise and set,, 
to produce a perfect day. 

No sooner, therefore, had the dawn of civilisation shed its light 
upon th9 Taunus, than the warbling and twittering, of innumecablft 


legends and &bles became audible upon the banks of the Rhine. 
Bvery remote distance, brightened by glimpses of this glimmering 
light, discovered multitudes of supernatural forms and pleasii^ 
phantoms, while the more gloomy parts appeared haunted by 
frightful demons. 

Beside the Roman remains rose those beautiful Saxon and 
Grothic castles, built of basaltic stone, now in ruins ; while a whole 
population of imaginary beings, created by the solitary visions of 
beautiful dames and valiant knights, took possession of the Rhein- 
gau ; Oreads, who took to the woods ; Undines, who took to the 
rivers ; Gnomes, who were said to dwell in the bowels of the 
earth ; the Striker, or Sprite of the Rocks ; the Black Huntsman, 
riding over the thicket, mounted upon a sixteen-horned stag ; the 
maiden of the Black Marsh ; the six maidens of the Red Marsh ; 
Wodan, the ten-handed god ; the starling, who expounds enigmas ; 
the crow, who croaked his prophecies ; the magpie who related 
the history of her grandmother ; the marmouset of the Zeitel- 
moos ; Everard with the beard, who came to the aid of princes 
who had lost their way in the chace ; and Sigfried the homed, 
who attacked dragons in their dens. The devil laid the first stone 
of Teufelstein, and placed his ladder at Teufelsleiter. He even 
dared to preach publicly at Gernsback, in the Black Forest ; but 
God deigned to erect on the opposite bank of the river, facing the 
Teufelskauzel, the Pulpit of the Angels ! 

While the Seven Mountains were overrun with monsters, hy- 
dras, and gigantic spectres, at the other extremity of the chain, 
the biting wind of the Wisper blew over from Bingen clouds of 
old fairies of the size of grasshoppers. 

The Scandinavian mythology, engrailing itself in these valleys 
upon the legends of the saints, produced strange results — the 
fanciful efHorescence of the human imagination. The Drachen- 
fels had, under other names, their Tarascus and St. Martha. 
The double fable of Echo and Hylas identified itself with the 
formidable rock of Lurley. The virgin serpent crept about in 
the vaults of Augst. Hatto, the wicked bishop, M'as devoured in 
his tower by his subjects, transformed into rats. The seven scom- 
fiil sisters of Schoenberg were transformed into rocks ; and the 
Rhine then possessed its maidens, as the Meuse its "4adie8/*' 


The demon Urian crossed the Rhine at Dusseldorf, carrying upon 
his back, doubled in two like a miller's sack, the hill he bore 
away from the sea-shore at Leyden, in order to swamp Aix-la- 
Chapelle ; but exhausted by fatigue, and deceived by an old 
woman, he stupidly dropped it at the gates of the imperial city, 
where, to this day, it is called Looseberg. 

At this period, which would present to us an abyss of obscur. 
ity, but for certain magic sparks flitting here and there in the 
darkness, rocks, woods, and valleys would almost appear to have 
been peopled only by apparitions. Illusions, prodigies, demon 
hunts, infernal castles, sound of harps in the thickets, melodious 
songs by invisible syrens, and frightful shouts of laughter by mys- 
terious beings, are of common occurrence. Human heroes become 
almost as fantastic as supernatural beings. Cuno of Sayn, Sybo 
of Lorch, *• Strong Sword,'' Griso the pagan, Attich, duke of 
Alsace, Thassilo, duke of Bavaria, Anthysis, duke of the Franks^ 
Samo, king of the Vandals, according to legends and traditions, 
must have wandered about half-mad in these bewildering woods, 
seeking and bemoaning their loves, fair princesses with charming 
names, such as Geld, Garlinda, Liba, Williswinda, or Schonetta. 
All these adventures, half romance and half reality, are described 
by the legends as perpetually coming and going, lost towards 
evening in impenetrable forests, breaking down the trees iand 
brambles, like the Knight of Death of Albert Darer, under the 
tramp of their huge horses, followed by giant greyhounds, stared 
at by the insects in the branches, and in the dark accosting some 
black cbarcoaUbumer seated by his fire, who proves to be Satanoi 
throwing into his cauldron the souls of sinners. 

In other traditions, naked nymphs present to the traveller cas- 
kets filled with jewels. Sometimes, little old men appear to them, 
restoring their sister, bride, or daughter, whom they find upon a 
mountain sleeping on a bed of moss, in some grotto dazzling with 
crystals, shells, and coral ; at other times there appears some 
powerful dwarf, who, according to the old poems, " speaks with 
\he utterance of a giant." 

Among these chimerical heroes, we occasionally find some man 
of fiesh and blood, such as Charlemagne and Roland, Charle- 


magne at all ages, child, youth, or old man, is a fiivorite with 
these ballad-mongers. 

Some legends pretend that he was bom at a miller's in the 
Black Forest ; and that Roland, instead of dying at Roncesvalles, 
from the onset of a whole army, expired of love upon the Rhine, 
before the convent of Nonnenswerth. At a later period, the Em. 
peror Otho, Frederick Barbarossa, and Adolphus of Nassau, 
appear in the Rhenish tradition. These well-known names, inter- 
mingled with the marvellous of fiction, arise from glimpses of 
history breaking through the ruins and rubbish with which it is 
lumbered ; the stones of the old structure appearing here and 
there, in spite of the mantle of verdure by which it is overgrown. 
At length, like the clouds of a storm, the shadows disperse. Fic- 
tion gives way to truth. A new day is dawning. Civilisation 
revives, and history recovers her self-possession in company more 

Four men assemble from four different parts of Germany, and 
from time to time, near a stone upon the left bank of the Rhine, 
under a row of trees betwixt Rhens and Kapellen, and seated 
upon this stone, make and unmake the Emperors of Grermany. 
These are the Electors of the Rhine ; and the stone, their seat of 
ToytAty, is called the Kdnigstuhl. 

The place selected by them is midway in the valley of the 
Rhine. Rhens, which belongs to the Elector of Cologne, views 
towards the west, on the left, Kapellen, belonging to the Elector 
of Treves, and to the north, on the right bank, on one side Ober- 
lahnstein, belonging to the Electorate of Mayence, and on the 
other, Braubach, to the Elector Palatine. In an hour each Elec- 
tor is able to reach the Kdnigstuhl from his own territories. 

Every year, on the second day of Whitsuntide, the chief bur- 
gesses of Coblentz and Rhens used to assemble at this spot on 
pretence of diversion, and discuss mysterious things amongst 
themselves ; a commencement of civic combination tending to sap 
like a mole the foundation of the formidable Germanic edifice ; the 
immortal and eternal conspiracy of the little against the great, 
and most audaciously working its way at the very foot of the 
Kdnigstuhl, under the very shade of the Imperial throne of feu- 
dality ! Near the same spot, in the electoiral palace of Stolzen 


fels, which overlooks the small town of Kapellen, now a sfdendid 
ruin, Werner, Archbishop of Cologne, maintained, from 1380 to 
14:18, a host of alchymists, who, though they made no gold, effect- 
ed, in seeking the philosopher's stone, some of the earliest disco- 
veries in chemii^try. So that in a very brief lapse of time, a 
spot now almost overlooked was for Imperial Germany the suc- 
cessive cradle of democracy and science. 

From this period the Rhine assumed a character at once mili- 
tary and religious. Monasteries were founded, and the churches 
on the declivities connect the villages cm the river side with the 
strongholds on the mountain-top ; a striking image, demonstrating 
at every turn of the Rhine the appropriate position of a minister 
of God in human society. 

The ecclesiastical princes multiplied the edifices in the Rhein-^ 
gau, in imitation of the Roman prefects a thousand year» befoie. 
Archbishop Baldwin of Treves built the church of Oberwessel ;. 
Archbishop Henry of Wittingen built the bridge of Coblentz across 
the Moselle ; Archbishop Walram of Juliers consecrated by a 
magnificent cross of stone Ihe Roman ruins and volcanic forma<> 
tion of Godersberg ; both being rather suspected of witchcraft. 
Temporal and spiritual sovereignty was united in these princes, 
as in the Pope. Hence a double jurisdiction, governing both soul 
and body, not limited, as in secular states, by the benefit of 
clergy. John de Barnich, the chaplain of St. Goar, having poi- 
soned at the communion table a Countess Katzenellenbogen, the 
Elector of Cologne first excommunicates him as his bishop ; then, 
as his prince, orders him to be burnt alive. On the other hand, 
the Elector Palatine is deeply impressed with the necessity of 
resisting the encroachments of the three Archbishops of Cologne, 
Treves, and Mayence ; and the Countesses Palatine maintain the 
dignity of their sovereignty, by bringing their children into the 
world in the Pfalz, a tower built before Caub, in the centre of the 
bed of the Rhine. 

Amidst these developments, simultaneous or successive, of the 
Prince Electors, the orders of chivalry established themselves on 
the Rhine. The Teutonic Order installed itself at Mayence, 
within sight of the Taunus ; while at Treves, within sight of the 
Seven Mountains, the Knights of Rhodes formed a settlement at 


Martinahof. From Mayence the Teutonic Order ramified as &r 
as Coblentz, which became one of its commandersbips* The 
Templarsy already masters of Courgenay and Porentruy in the sea 
of Basle, obtained Boppart and St. Goar on the Rhine, and Trau- 
bach, between the Rhine and the Moselle. This is the same 
Traubach so fiunous for its wines, the Thranus Bacchi of the 
Romans, afterwards the property of Pierre Flotte, of whom Pope 
Boniface observed, that " he was lame in body and blind of mind." 

While bishops, princes, and knights were laying their founds- 
tions, commerce also established its colonies. Many minor towns 
sprang up, in imitation of Coblentz upon the Moselle, and May- 
ence upon the Main, at the confluence of the rivers, and the estu- 
aries of torrents which discharge themselves into the Rhine from 
the numerous valleys of the Hundsruck and Hohenruck, from 
the crests of Hammerstein, and the Seven Mountains. Bingen 
was founded on the Nahe ; Niederlahnstein, cm the Lahn ; En- 
gers, upon the Sayn ; lirlich, on the Wied ; Linz, opposite the 
Aar ; Rheindorf, on the Mahrbachs ; and Berghoin, on the Sieg. 

Still, throughout the epoch which separates tlie ecclesiastical 
rule from the feudal, the commanderships of the Knights Tem- 
plars, and the bailiwicks of commons, the nature of the country 
had served to create a multitude of minor Seigneuries. From 
the Lake of Constance to the Seven Mountains, every elevation 
on the banks of the Rhine had its castle or burgh, and burgrave 
or boroughreeve. These formidable Barons of the Rhine, the 
sturdy produce of a hard and savage nature, nestling among 
briars, and cradled amid basaltic columns, secure in their battle- 
mented holds, and served by their dependents on bended knees, 
like the emperor himself, men of prey, partaking of the eagle and 
the owl, though powerful only in their narrow communities, were 
there all-powerful in commanding hill and dale, raising troops, 
beating up the highways, enforcing tolls, despoiling the traders on 
their way from Dusseldorf or St. Gall, barring the river with 
their chain, and bidding defiance to the neighboring towns when- 
ever they presumed to remonstrate. 

In this wise did the Burgrave of Ockenfels provoke the import- 
ant town of Linz ; and the knight Hausner de Hegau, the impe- 
rial city of Kaufbeuem. Occasionally, in these singular con- 


tests, the cities, confiding little in their own strength, implored the 
aid of the emperor ; a measure sure to provoke the scorn of the 
burgrave, who appeared at the next patronal festival of the town, 
in the lists of the city, mounted upon hi3 miller's ass. 

During the devastating wars of Adolphus of Nassau, and Didier 
of Isembourg, several of the knights having strongholds on the 
Taurus had the audacity to pillage the suburbs of Mayence, 
under the very eyes of two pretenders disputing the government 
of the city ; such being their manner of observing neutrality. 
The Rhenish burgrave fought neither for Nassau nor Isembourg, 
but for himself. 

It was not till the reign of Maximilian, when the great captain 
of the Holy Roman Empire, GreorgeofFrundsberg, destroyed the 
last of these burghs, Hohenkraehen, that this turbulent race 
became suppressed; for those who, in the beginning of the 
tenth century, were heroic bui^raves, had ended in the sixteenth 
by becoming mere banditti. 

Meanwhile the present progress of events, which for years 
afterwards at^sumed no palpable form, was accomplishing mighty 
things for the Rhine. Under shelter of the very sails of com- . 
merce, an heretical spirit in matters of religion, and a freedom of 
inquiry and opinion, floated up and down this great river ; upon 
which, it would'seem, that every modification of human thought 
was to find a passage. One might imagine that the soul of Tan<- 
quelin, who in the twelfth century preached against the suprema- 
cy of the Pope before the Cathedral of Antwerp, escorted by two 
thousand armed followers with the pomp and ceremonial of a king, 
had returned up the Rhine after his death, and inspired John 
Huss in his house at Constance, and from the Alps, descended the 
Rh6ne, and incited Douoet in the county of Avignon. Huss was 
burnt, and Doucet drawn and quartered. The hour of Luther 
had not yet struck. According to the almighty will of Provi. 
dence, there are men destined to pluck the ripe fruit — others, the 

The sixteenth century approached. In the fourteenth century 
artillery was invented, not far from the Rhine, at Nuremburg ; 
and in the fifteenth, on its very banks, printing. At Cologne, in 
1400, was cast the famous culverine, fourteen feet long. In 


1472 Vindolin of Spires had printed his Bible. A new world 
was now in embryo ; and it is highly worthy cf remark, that it 
was oa the banks of the Rhine the two instruments employed by 
God in the great work of civilisatioa sprang into existence — ^the 
Catapult and the Book, the weapons of strength and of argument. 
The Rhine has obtained over the destinies of Europe a kind of 
providential influence. It is the great transversal entrenchment 
separating the south from the north. Providence created it for a 
frontier river, and man by means of fortresses converted the river 
into a wall of defence. The Rhine has beheld the face and 
reflected the shadow of all the illustrious warriors who, for the 
last thirty centuries, have ploughed the old Continent with their 
swords. Caesar crossed the Rhine, approaching it from the 
South; Attila, in descending from the North. Clovis gained 
there his battle of Tolbiac ; Charlemagne and Bonaparte have 
reigned over its shores. The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, the 
Emperor Rodolphe of Hapsbourg, and the Palatine, Frederick I., 
were here great, formidable, and victorious. Gustavus Adolphus 
issued from the tower of Caub orders to his victorious army. 
Louis XIV. appeared on the banks of the Rhine ; Enghien and 
Conde crossed its waters. 

So, alas ! did Turenne ! Drusus lies under his marble slab at 
Mayence ; Marceau under his, at Coblentz ; and Hoche, at An- 
demach. The vigilant eye of history beholds two eagles soaring 
eternally over the memories of the Rhine — ^that of the Roman 
legions, and that of the legions of France. 

Over this Rhenus Superbus, as the Romans called the beautiful 
river, have floated alternately the pontons bristling with lances, 
partisans, or bayonets ; inundating Germany with the army of 
Italy, Spain, and France ; or serving to pour in hordes upon the 
ancient Roman dominions, the Gothic tribes still emulating their 
sires of old. The pine rafts of the Murg and St. Gall ; the por- 
phyry and serpentines of Basle ; potash from Bingen ; salt from 
Karlshall ; leather from Stromberg ; quicksilver from Lansberg ; 
wines from Johannisberg and Bacharach ; slates from Graub ; 
salmon from Oberwesel ; cherries from Salzig ; charcoal from 
Boppart ; tin- ware from Coblentz ; glass-ware from the Moselle ; 
forged iron from Bendorf ; millstones and sandstones from Ander- 


nach ; sheet-ipon from Neuwied ; mineral-waters from Antoni- 
usstein ; the cloths and pottery of Wallendar ; the red wines of 
Aar ; copper and lead from Linz ; freestone from Kdningswinter ; 
woollens and silks from Cologne : all are consigned to its ready 
means of transport ; — ^the majestic river gravely acoomplisbes 
the purposes of God, as a channel through Burope, whether for 
peace or war ; hemmed in by a double range of hills, during the 
greater part of its course ; clothed on the one bank with oak, oa 
the other with vines ; here the emblem of strength^nd there, of 

joy J 

Homer knew nothing of the Rhine. In his time, it passed for 
one of the rivers situated in the gloomy country of the Cimmeri^ 
ans, where the rain is perpetual, and sunshine rare. Virgil pro- 
nounced it to be a frozen stream ; the " Frigora Rhetd." Shak- 
speare calls it the " Beautiful Rhine." For ourselves (till the 
Rhine shall form the absorbing political question of Europe), it is 
only a high road for the idlers and pleasure hunters resorting to 
the bathing.places of Ems, Spa, and Baden. 

Petrarch visited Aix-la-Chapelle, but I do not remember that 
he has alluded to the Rhine. 

Geography, in its inflexible distribution of territory, according 
to the landmark of hill, valley, and stream, which all the Ccm- 
gresses in the world will never suffice to suppress, manifestly 
assigns the left bank of the Rhine to France. Divine Providence 
has thrice awarded to her bo^ hanks — under Pepin le Bref, Char- 
lemagne, and Napoleon. 

Pepin le Bref held supreme dominion on the Rhine. His em- 
pire comprised France properly so called, excepting Aquitaine 
and Gascony ; and Germany properly so called, as far as the 
Bavarian territory exclusively. 

The empire of Charlemagne extended twice as far as that of 
Napoleon. It is true, and no less memorable, that Napoleon pos- 
sessed three empires, or rather, was thrice an Emperor : directly 
and immediately of the empire of France; and, through his 
brothers, of Spain, Italy, Westphalia, and Holland, kingdoms 
which he had constituted outposts to the central empire ; morally 
and by right of supremacy, of all Europe, which was beginning 
to form the mere basis of his prodigious power. 


Thus computed, indeed, the Napoleonic empire was upon a par 
with that of Charlemagne. 

Charlemagne, whose empire possessed the same centre and 
mode of extension as that of Napoleon, in addition to the inherit- 
ance of Pepin le Bref, annexed Saxony, as far as the Elbe ; Gar. 
many, as far as the Saal ; E^lavonia, as &r as the Danube ; 
Dalmatia, as &r as the embouchures of the Cattaro ; Italy, as &r 
as Ga6ta ; Spain, as far as the Ebro, to its dominions. He halt- 
ed in Italy onl|^ at the boundaries of the Beneventines and Greeks ; 
in Spain only at the frontiers of the Saracens. 

When this immense concentration was disorganized in 843, 
Louis le Debonnaire being dead, and having already suffered the 
Saracens to recover their share in that portion of Spain contained 
betwixt the Ebro and Llobregat, each of the three fractions of the 
empire sufficed to create an Emperor. Lothaire had Italy and a 
great triangular partition of GauL; Louis had Germany ; and 
Charles France. 

At a later period, in 855, when the first of three fractions in its 
turn divided itself from this morsel of the empire of Charlemagne, 
three more sovereignties were (treated. Louis had Italy ; Charles, 
Provence and Burgundy ; and Lothaire, Austrasia, thence called 
Lotharingia and Lorraine. The second portion, the kingdom of 
Louis the Germanic, breaking up, the larger portion formed the 
empire of Grermany, while the remainder was parcelled out into 
counties, duchies, principalities, free cities, and the margraviates 
assigned to the guardians of the frontiers. 

Lastly, when the third parcel, the state of Charles le Chauve, 
crumbled under the weight of years and princes, it sufficed for 
the creation of a king — ^the king of France ; of five sovereign 
dukes — ^those of Burgundy, Normandy, Brittany, Aquitaine, and 
Gascony ; of three sovereign counts — those of Champagne, Thou- 
louse, and Flanders. 

Such emperors are Titans, who, for the moment, grasp the 
universe in their hands ; of which, when death unclenches the 
mighty hold, all falls to the ground. 

The right bank of the Rhine may be said to have belonged to 
Napoleon as well as to Charlemagne. He never, however, pro- 
jected a Duchy of the Rhine, as was frequently intended by minor 


{loUticiliiis, during the prolonged struggle between the crown of 
France and that of the house of Austria. He was well aware 
that a longitudinal kingdom, not insular, is untenable ; that it 
benda in two at the first shock. A principality must not content 
itself with simple order; the order of internal strength is.requi- 
site for the existence and maintenance of states. With the excep. 
tion of a few mutilations and agglomerations, the Emperor took 
the Confederation, such as geography had formed it, merely sys- 
tematizing its organization. The Confederation ifiust be able to 
show a front, either to the south or the north. As it was backed 
by France, Napoleon reversed its frontage. His policy was a 
hand which settled . and unsettled empires with the strength of a 
giant and the sagacity of a chess-player. In strengthening the 
Rhenish princes the Emperor was promoting the influence of the 
crown of France, and diminishing that of the crown of Germany. 
The electors, converted into kings, and the margraves and land- 
graves into grand-dukes, gained, as regarded Russia and Austria, 
all that they lost as regarded France. They were kings for 
the Emperor of the north, though governors of provinces for Na- 

Thus the Rhine has four distinct phases, four varying physi- 
ognomies : the first, the antediluvian, and possibly pre- Adamite 
epoch of its volcanoes ; seeondly, the ancient historical epoch of 
contests between Germany and Rome, bright with the glory of 
Ceesar ; thirdly, the epoch of Charlemagne ; fourthly, the modem 
historical epoch of contests betwixt France and Grermany, illus- 
trated by Napoleon ; for, do what you will to avoid the monotony 
of these glorious names — ^travel through history from beginning 
to end, — Ceesar, Charlemagne, and Napoleon are the great milita- 
ry time-marks which intercept your progress along the highway 
of the past. 

And now to conclude with a single observation. The Rhine, a 
providential river, is not less a symbolical one. In its course, 
in its descent, in the countries it washes, it constftutes the type 
of that civilisation which it has served to form, and will tend to 
complete. It flows from Constance to Rotterdam ; from the nest 
of the eagle, to the haunt of the herring ; from the city of popes, 
councils, and emperors, to that of burgomasters and merchants ; 


from the Alps to the ocean ; just as human nature itself is 
forced to descend from lofty ideas, replete with immutable grandeur, 
to those of wider scope, variable, stormy, gloomy, useful, navi- 
gable, and unfathomable ; which undertake all things, maintain 
all things, fertilize all things, and engulf all things ; from theo- 
cracy to democracy ; from a great thing to a still greater. 

A LEGEND. 191 


La Souris. 

Saimt Ooax. 

On Saturday last it rained all day. I embarked from Andernach 
on board the steamboat, the Stadt Manheim; and we had been 
ascending the Rhine for several hours, when suddenly a gust of 
wind from the south-west (the Favonius of Virgil and Horace), 
which, under the name of Fohn, occasions such hurricanes on tlie 
Lake of Constance, broke through the canopy of clouds suspend- 
ed over oar heads, dispersing them in all directions with the Jbois- 
terous glee of a schoolboy. 

In a few minutes the true and eternal blue cupola, sustained by 
the four points of the horizon, re-appeared, gladdened by a ge- 
nial southern ray, which enabled the passengers to resume their 
place upon the deck. We were just then prc^ressing (as usual, 
between the vine and the oak) in face of an old and picturesque 
village, Velmich, whose GrOthio tower, now stupidly restored and 
disfigured, was flanked only a few years ago by four watch-tow- 
ers, like the military tower of a Burgrave. Above Velmich 
stands, almost vertically, one of those blocks of lava frequently 
met with on the Rhine, of such immense dimensions as to resem- 
ble the trunk of a huge tree half-split by the axe of the wood- 
man. Upon the same volcanic ridge a superb feudal fortress of 
the same stone and color shoots up like a natural excrescence of 
the mountain. On the bank of the Rhine a group of young 
washerwomen, laughing merrily, were hanging out their linen in 
the sun. 

I could not resist this picture, and set foot on shore. I knew 
the ruins of Velmich from report, and that they are less visited 
than any other on the Rhone, being difficult and even dangerous 
of access. The peasants shun the spot as full of spectres, and 
the scene of dreadful events. It is said to be infested with ardent 


flames, which conceal themselves during the day in subterranean 
caverns, and are only visible at night, issuing from the great round 
tower, the continuation of an immense well, now filled up, its 
source being below the level of the Rhine. 

In this well a lord of Falkenstein (a fatal name in Rhenish le- 
gends), who lived in the fourteenth century, was in the habit of 
dropping, without confession, such of his own vassals or casual 
passengers as he thought proper ; and their souls, emerging from 
purgatory, are supposed to haunt the castle. In his time there 
was a silver bell in the steeple of Velmich^given and blessed by 
Winifred, bishop of Mayence, about the year 740 : a period me- 
morable for the reign of Constantino VL, in Rome and Constan- 
tinople ; for the rule of the pagan king M assilius, over four king- 
doms in Spain ; and for the reign of Clotaire in France, who was 
afterwards triply excommunicated by St. Zacbarias, the ninety- 
fourth Pope. This bell was never rung except for the prayers of 
forty hours, on the approaching end of a Lord of Velmich. Fal- 
kenstein, believing neither in God nor devil, and wanting money, 
resolved to obtain this precious bell ; and had it unhung and 
brought to his stronghold. 

The prior of Velmich, in great indignation, instantly proceeded 
to the castle of the delinquent, in his sacred robes, accompanied 
by two choristers carrying the cross, to demand restoration of his 
bell. But Falkenstein laughed him to scorn, exclaiming, " You 
want your bell, eh ! You shall have it, and more of it perhaps 
than you desire !" saying which, he had the bell tied round the 
poor prior's neck, and flung him into the well ; which, by com- 
mand of the Burgrave, was filled with stones to the depth of fifty 

Some days afterwards Falkenstein fell ill : night canoe on ; 
when lo ! the astrologist and physician who watched over the 
Burgrave heard, with awe and anguish, the toUings of the silver 
bell issue from the depths of the earth ! On the morrow, Falken- 
stein died. 

Since that time, every year, at the hour of the Burgraye's 
death, in the night of the 18th of January (the festival of the put- 
pit of St. Peter at Rome), the strokes of the bell are said to be 


distinctly heard under the mountain. So runs one of the legends 
of Velmich. 

A neighboring hill, which confines the torrent on the other side 
of Velmich, is said to be the tomb of a giant ; for the imagina- 
tion of man, judiciously regarding volcanoes as^the vast forges 
of nature, has placed the Cyclops species wherever smoke issues 
from a mountain : every iEtna has its Polyphemus. 

I clambered to the ruins, my fancy haunted at once by Falken- 
stein and the giant, afler inquiring from the village children the 
most eligible path, a service for which I allowed them to select 
their reward among the contents of my purse ; for the minor 
coinage of this people is the most incomprehensible thing in the 
world ; for my part I cannot pretend to understand the mysteries 
of their barbarian mint. 

The path is difficult, but not dangerous, unless to persons sub- 
ject to vehigo ; and after heavy rains, which render the rooks 
slippery. Moreover, this fantastic and accursed ruin has the ad- 
vantage over all the others of being wholly unfrequented. No 
one follows you ; no cicerone of hobgoblins asks you for " some' 
iking to drink y" no bolted door impedes your progress. You 
ascend the old basaltic steps used by the Burgraves, by the aid 
of brambles and tails of grass, and no officious hand interferes. 

In twenty minutes I reached the. summit of the. height form- 
ing the basis of the ruin, when I paused an instant previous to 
entering. Behind me, under a postern now a shapeless mass, 
was a .flight of steps, overgrown with turf. Before me, an exten- 
sive landscape developed itself ; at my feet lay a village grouped 
round its steeple, encircled by a bend of the Rhine ; and be- 
yond the Rhine a crescent of hills, crowned here and there 
with castles, and surmounted again by the horizon of a deep 
blue sky. 

Having taken breath, I crept under the postern, and began to 
ascend the sod-covered steps. At that moment, the ruined for- 
tress struck me as being so wild and solitary, that I literally 
should not have felt surprised at beholding some supernatural 
form creeping from under the thick curtains of ivy, and bringing 
in her apron fantastic flowers from another world : Gela, the bride 
of Barbarossa ; or Hildegarde, the wife of Charlemagne, that 


charming empress, who was learned as Solomon in the occult vir. 
tues of simples and minerals, and herborized among the moun- 
tains of the Rhine. 

I gazed some time upon the northern wall, with the vague de- 
sire of seeing iiflps start forth from its crevices ; " for even in the 
North do gnomes abound," said the gnome of the legend to Cuno 
of Sayn. Three little old witches are said, in the legend of the 
giant of Velmich, to chant the following stanza :-«^ 

" Sur la tombe du geant 
J'ai cueillie trois brlns d'orties ; 
En fil les ai coDverties, 
Prenez ma soeur ce present." 

I was forced, however, to content myself with hearing and see- 
ing nothing more romantic than the ironical whistling of a black- 
bird perched upon some distant sprig. 

In order to give a complete notion of this famous yet obscure 
tower, I cannot do better than transcribe my notes as I made them 
on the spot ; — ^the only authentic mode of description. ^* I have 
reached the ruins. The round tower, though dilapidated at the 
summit, is still of prodigious elevatfon ; at two-thirds of which 
are the vertical grooves of a drawbridge, the entrance to which is 
now walled up. On all sides, dilapidated old walls, the broken 
windows of which define them into halls, though they have nei- 
ther door nor ceiling. Stories without stairs, stairs without rooms, 
gaping vaults, and overgrown floors. I have often marked with 
what scrupulous jealousy solitude keeps and defends that which 
man has once abandoned. She barricades the very entrance with 
the most formidable and impenetrable thickets of holly, nettles, 
thistles, thorns and heath ; in fact, more fangs and nails than are 
furnished by a whole menagerie of tigers. Amidst this savage 
seclusion, briars, those serpents of the wilderness, creep about and 
prick at ease your feet. But Nature in all her pranks is beauti- 
ful, and the whole mass presents a rich entanglement of wild 
plants, some showing their blossoms, some their fruits, some gaudy 
autumnal foliage. Around me I find mallow, bindweed, blue bells, 
aniseed, pimpernel, torch- weed, yellow gentian, strawberry, thyme, 
the purple sloe-tree, the hawthorn with its scarlet berries, with 


the snaky coils of the bramble, loaded with their berries, now of 
a sanguine hue ; an elder, two beautiful acacias. In a retired 
corner, there is a plot of ground planted with beet- root, by some 
peasant having a Voltairian contempt of ghosts — perhaps a suffi- 
cient crop to produce a lump of sugar.* To my l^il is a tower 
without any visible aperture ; to my right, a subterraneous pas- 
sage, the roof falling in, and changing it to an abyss. Superb 
blasts of wind ; an admirable blue sky seen through the fissures 
of an immense wall. I am about to ascend a grass-grown stair 
toCa lofty room. I have reached it. Nothing gained but two 
charming landscapes on the Rhine, of hills and villages. I lean 
over the compartment, at the bottom of which is the subterraneous 
passage. Above me are two remains of sculpture ; chimneys 
in blue granite of the fifteenth century, still retaining vestiges of 
soot and smoke. Traces of painting upon the windows. Above, 
a pretty turret without stair or roof, overgrown with flowers, which 
seem to droop over and look at me. I hear the washerwomen 
laughing on the bank of the Rhine. I descend to a lower room. 
Nothing I Traces of attempts at pulling up the pavement ; some 
treasure, supposed to be concealed by the gnomes, has been 
searched for by the peasants. Another room. A square hole in 
the centre of the vaulted floor. Two names on the wall : ' Pho^ 
davius ;' < KulorgaJ* I inscribed mine by the side of them. Ano- 
ther vault. Nothing ! From hence I commenced the open sub- 
terraneous passage ; but it is unapproachable : but a ray of sun 
has found its way thither. This subterraneous passage lies at 
the bottom of the great square donjon, which occupied the angle 
opposite the round tower. It must have been the prison. A vast 
compartment facing the Rhine. Three chimneys, one of which 
retains fragments of columns. Three stories fallen below me. 
At the bottom two arched vaults ; one covered with dead branches ; 
over the other twigs of ivy are gracefully waving. I descend, 
and find vaults built upon the basaltic stone of the mountain 
itself. Traces of smoke. In the other great compartment into 
which I first entered, and which must have been the court, near 

• All this will remind the reader of the jotted notes in Byron's journey 
in the Jura, for the composition of the incomparable third canto of " Childe 


the round tower, there is white plaster on the wall, vestiges of 
paint, and these two figures traced in red : ^3 — 18. I went round 
the exterior of the castle, following the fosse. Here you have to 
clamber from bush to bush, above a rather formidable precipice. 
Neither door nor traces of aperture at the base of the great tower. 
The wind flutters the leaves of my note-book, and prevents my 
writing. I re-enter the ruins, and am now writing upon a little 
moss-grown projection of the old wall." Such are, verhaimy my 
rough notes. 

I forgot to state that this immense ruin is named ike Mouse, and 
for the following reason : — In the twelflh century, the site was 
occupied by a small burgh, much watched, and oflen molested by 
a strong castle, about half a league distant, called the Cat {ik 
Katz), so abbreviated after the name of its lord, Katzenellenbogen. 
Kuno of Falkenstein, who inherited the insignificant bui^h of 
Velmich, constructed here a far stronger castle than its neighbor, 
which he named Die Matisey declaring that, at some future time, 
his Mouse would devour the Cat. 

His vaunt was fully justifi^^d, and Die Matise, though now in 
ruins, is not the less a sinister and powerful fortress created out 
of the volcanic remains on which it stands, and which seem to 
sustain their offspring with pride and affection. I am inclined to 
think that no one ever presumed to think lightly of the mountain 
which brought forth the Mouse. 

I lingered in the ruins till sunset, which is a favorite moment 
of spectres and phantoms. I felt, my dear friend, as though I 
had returned to the joys of boyhood ; and wandered, and jumped 
about, deranging the old stones, eating blackberries, and tried all 
means in my power to provoke the presence of the supernatural 
agents of the place. While treading down and crushing the 
grass,^! inhaled the acrid emanations of certain weeds which 
thrive in ruins, to which from my boyhood I have been partial. 
After all, considering the ill repute of its well, full of souls and 
skeletons, this impenetrable tower, without door and windows, is 
a singular and gloomy place. Meanwhile, just as the sun sank 
behind the mountains, something suddenly rustled by my side ; 
and on looking down, I saw an enormous lizard, of extraordinary 
shape, about nine inches long, with a swollen body, short tail, and 


flat triangular head, like that of a serpent, black as ink, and 
marked from head to tail with two golden stripes : it was gliding 
upon its four elbowed legs, on the wet grass, towards a crevice of 
the old wall. Such was the mysterious and solitary inhabitant 
of the ruins — ^the genius — ^the real and fabulous animal — a sala- 
mander — which seemed to regard me kindly, as it slowly retreated 
to its hole. 


By the Wayside. 

St. Ooax, Jlw£utL 

I COULD with difficulty tear m3rself from the ruins. Several times 
I quitted them, always to return. Nature, like a kind and smil- 
ing mother, lends herself to our dreams and cherishes our fisincies. 
As I was about finally to quit die Mouse, I conceived the idea, 
quickly executed, of applying my ear to the sub-basement of the 
great tower ; that I might conscientiously say to myself, if I did 
not enter, I at least listened at the wall. I certainly hoped to 
hear something ; not supposing, however, that the bell of St. 
Winifred's well would wake up for me from its silence of centu- 
ries. When, lo ! — Oh ! prodigy ! — at that very moment I heard 
with my ears what might be termed a metallic echo, the feeble 
but distinct sound of a bell, which rose up to me as if through 
the twilight, and seemed to proceed out of the bowels of the earth. 

I confess that, upon hearing this strange noise, the lines of 
Hamlet to Horatio occurred to my mind's eye, as if written in 
characters of fire, and they seemed to illumine my mind. But I 
soon returned to the material world, and admitted that it was only 
the Angelus of some village church borne along the wind. Never- 
theless, I have a right to assert, and believe (if I choose), that I 
heard from the depths of the mountain the tinkling of the mys- 
terious silver bell of Velmich ! 

As I was leaving the northern ditch, now a ravine full of 
thorns, the neighboring hill, the giant's tomb, suddenly appeared 
before me. From the point where I stood, the rock at the base 
of the hill adjoining the Rhine assumed the appearance of the 
colossal profile of a head thrown backwards, with the mouth 
wide open. One might fancy that the giant, according to the 
legend, lying crushed by the weight of the mountain, had suc- 
ceeded in partially raising the mass above him, and that his head 


had been forced through the rocks ; and that some Apollo or St. 
Michael had set his foot on the hill, so that the monster expured in 
that posture while uttering a howl of agony. The howl has been 
lost in the night of forty centuries ; the mouth remains open. 
Neither the giant, nor the silver bell, nor the spectre of Falken- 
stein, by the way, have hindered the vines from cliraWng from 
terrace to terrace, up to the fortress of the Mouse. 

Phantoms who choose to haunt a country propitious to vine- 
yards must put up with such insults ; for wine will always be 
made under their noses, and the vine enlace its tendrils round 
their retreats ; unless the sprites should take to cultivating the 
hill of Velmich themselves ; when one might apply to these gob- 
lin vinedressers a phrase I read in some guide-bookof the Rhine : 
" Behind the hill of Johannisberg is the village of the same name, 
with seven hundred souls who make excellent wine." 

Let the most thirsty traveller take heed how he touch a bunch 
of the said grapes bewitched or not. Velmich lies in the Duchy 
of Nassau, where the laws are right rigid against such transgres- 
sions. A delinquent so convicted is answerable for all anterior 
misdemeanors which have gone unpunished. An Bnglishman 
lately gathered a plum by the way-side which cost him fifty 

I was desirous to reach St. Goar, on the lefl bank, half a league 
higher than Velmich : a village boatman took me over and politely 
deposited me in the states of Prussia. At parting, my companion 
gave me directions concerning the road, in a dialect half-German, 
half-French, which it seems I did not understand, for instead of 
following the course of the river, thinking to save distance, I cut 
across the mountain, and lost my way. As I was trudging over 
the freshly cut stubble, upon the elevated plains where the even- 
ing winds blow boisterously, a ravine suddenly presented itself to 
my left ; which I eqtered, and after a rapid descent along a path 
which every now and then seemed like stairs cut out of slate, I 
once more caught sight of the Rhine. Being very tired I sat 
down 1o rest. 

Though it was still daylight, the ravine where I sat was in- 
volved in darkness, as well as the valleys of the left bank, backed 
by the black declivities of the hills. A roseate light, however,. 


the reiectioii of the settiDg sun, fluctuated along the mounrtains 
on the opposite aide of the Rhine, where the Tague outlines of 
ruins were apparent in all directions. In an abyss below me 
flowed the Rhine, whose murmura reached me where I sat, van- 
ishing into a sheet of white log, from which arose the pointed 
shaft of a Steele, half submerged in mist ; the town to which it 
doubtless belonged being concealed in the vapor. To my right, 
at some furlongs' distance, I descried the grass-grown roof of a 
grey-looking tower, standing fiercely on the brow of the hill, but 
without embattlements. Above me, I heard the voices and steps 
of people whose shadows I saw, moving through the dusk, reflect- 
ed on the opposite side of the ravine. The rosy hue had now 

I rested myself lor some time upon a stone, absorbed in reflec- 
tion, and silently watching the gradual evanescence of the land- 
scape in the mist, and the various objects around me assuming a 
mournful and fantastic form. A few stars seemed to nail to the 
zenith the black winding-sheet of night, envel<^ing one half the 
firmament, while the white sheet of twilight was mysteriously 
stretched across the other. 

By degrees, the noise of steps and voices had ceased in the 
ravine. The wind fell, and with it subsided the soft rustling of 
the grass. No noise came from the invisible town. The Rhine 
itself seemed reposing ; a livid and ill-boding cloud had spread 
over the space from west to east. The stars vanishing one by 
one, I had now over my head one of those leaden skies where, 
visible only to the eye of the poet, soars the enormous bat on 
whose flowing body is inscribed the word mekmchoUa, 

A gust of wind suddenly dispersed the log. The church de- 
tached itself from the mist. A dark mass of houses, pierced by 
thousands of windows, brightened by the evening lights within, 
appeared at the bottom of the abyss, which ^he fog had hitherto 

A cheerful town lay before me, which I gladly recognized a» 
St. Goar ! 

ST. GOAR. 131 


St. Goak, JiMgutL 
A W£EK can be well employed at St. Goar ; taking care to put 
up at the Lily, a most comfortable inn, and to secure a room 
overlooking the Rhine. At St. Goar, you are midway between 
the Cat and the Mouse. To the left, you have the Mouse, half- 
lost, at the verge of the horizon, in the mists of the Rhine ; to 
the right, and before 3rou, the Oat, a stem-looking donjon, flanked 
with turrets, which form on the summit of the hill the apex of a 
triangle, of which the picturesque village of St. Goarhausen forms 
the base towards the Rhine ; marking the angles with two towers, 
one round, the other square. 

The two castles frown defiance at each other across the land- 
scape : for though a donjon be in ruins, its shattered window still 
stares out with the unmeaning gaze of an eyeless socket. 

In front, upon the right bank, as if to part the two antagonists, 
stands the colossal spectre of the castle of Rheinfels, belonging to 
the Landgraves of Hesse. If you remain at home, you command 
a fine view of the Rhine, crowded with sailing bcmts, and eight 
or ten steam omnibuses, with their streamers, going up and down 
the river, lapping 'the water like a huge dog swimming in the 

Farther on, upon the opposite bank, you discover the Nassau 
soldiers at drill, in their green jackets and white trowsers, and 
hear the pompous drums and fifes of a little insignificant sove- 
reign duke. Under the window you see the women of St. Goar 
passing to and fro, with their light blue caps, and hear the voices 
of children sporting with the shallow waters of the Rhine. Why 
not ? Those bom in a seaport town presume to sport with the 
ocean. The little Germans are charming. None of them exhi- 
bit the forbidding and surly look of English children ! their faces 
have a good and indulgent expression^ like those of aged village 


On leaving the house, you may cross the Rhine for three pence, 
the price of a Parisian omnibus, and progress as far as the Cat. 

It was in this same castle of the Barons of Katznellenbogen that 
occurred the sad adventure of the chaplain, John of Barnich. It 
is now a ruin, rented by a Prussian officer of the Duke of Nassau, 
for five florins per annum. Three or four tourists suffice to pay 
his rent. I turned over the pages of the visitors' book, and found 
there for the course of a year scarcely a single French name, 
several English, hut numerous Grermans, and a few Italians. 
The interior of the Katz is completely gutted ; the lower apart- 
ment, where the chaplain prepared the poison for the Countess, is 
now a cellar, and some meagre vines entwine themselves upon a 
trellis, in what used to be the picture-gallery. In a small room, 
the only one having door or window, they have stuck up an en- 
graving representing Bohdan Chmielnicki, under which you read, 
** BdU serviUs autor (sic) rebeUhtm^[ue Cosaccorum et plehis Vkray- 
nen" The formidable Zaporavian chief, mufHed up in a costume 
partaking of the Muskovite and Turk, appears to squint at two or 
three reigning princes hanging near him ; perhaps through the 
want oSr^kill o^the artist. 

From the heights of the Katz the eye looks down upon the cele. 
brated whirlpool called the Bank, between which and the square 
tower of St. Goarhausen there is only a narrow channel. On 
one side the whirlpool, on the other a shoal ; another Scylla and 
Charybdis. To secure themselves across this dangerous passage, 
the rafls throw out on the lefl side the trunk of a tree, which is 
called a hund or dog ; and at the pass betwixt the bank and the 
tower they cast the tree towards the whirlpool, which sucking it 
in, maintains the raft aloof from the tower. When the danger is 
past the cord is cut, and the whirlpool swallows the tree — ^a sop 
for Cerberus. 

When you desire the guide on the platform of the Katz to show 
you the Bank, he points out a little. ripple in the Rhine, which 
literally is^he whirlpool. Things are not to be judged from ap- 
pearances. A little farther than the bank is the Rock of Lurley, 
rising perpendicularly from the Rhine, with its thousand blocks 
of granite, somewhat resembling a broken-down stone staircase. 


It is said that an echo here repeats, all you sing or say, seven 

If I were not apprehensive of passing for a man desirous of dis^ 
paraging the &me of £cho> I would observe that I could not catch 
more than five repetitions* It is possible that the Oread of Lur- 
ley, once so courted by princes and mythological counts, begins 
to get husky and tired of her vocation. This forlorn nymph has 
now only one admirer, who has hollowed out two cavities in the 
opposite rock, and devotes his time to blowing his horn and firing 
his rifle at her. This individual, who gains his livelihood by 
^' worshipping the echo," is a veteran French hussar. 

Nevertheless, to the tourist unprepared for the exhibition, the 
echo of Lurley is very extraordinary. The little boat which 
takes you over makes a most formidable noise. Shut your eyes, 
and you might fancy yourself in a Maltese galley of fifty oars, 
each pulled by foar criminals in his galley-chains. 

On quitting the Katz, before leaving St. Goarhausen, you must 
go visit an old house in a street parallel with the Rhine ; a charm- 
ing specimen of the German renaissance, and of course despised 
by the natives. Then passing to the right, you follow a bridge 
over a stream, and penetrate, aipid the noise of water-mills, to the 
" Swiss Valley,'' a superb ravine, almost Alpine, formed by the 
high hill of Petersburg, one of the hindmost summits of the Lurley. 
The Swiss Valley is a delightful walk. You first visit the 
highest villages, and then penetrate into the gloomy and solitary 
glens, in one of which I saw the earth freshly furrowed up by the 
snout of a wild boar. Or you may follow a deep ravine, between 
Cyclopean walls, among thickets of alder and willow trees ; wan- 
dering the whole day long, absorbed in thought, in a wilderness 
of wild flowers, and enjoying the sweet converse of the torrent 
and the mountain path. By re-approaching the beaten track, 
you find everything pre-arranged and grouped, as if to sit for its 
portrait to Poussin : a half-naked shepherd watching his flock, 
blowing wild melodies from an antique pipe ; a car drawn by 
oxen, such as I used to admire in my youth in the cuts of Her- 
han's Virgil, having between the yoke and forehead of the ani- 
mal a small cushion brilliantly embroidered with scarlet ; and 
young maidens with naked feet, like the nymphs seen in the sculp- 


tures of the Lower Empire. Some of them were really beautiful ; 
one especially, seated beside a smoking oven, drying fruit, who 
raised towards heaven a pair of large blue melancholy eyes, 
shaped like almonds, upon her bronzed face, her neck beii^ 
adorned with beaded ornaments, the better to conceal an incipient 
goitre. With this deformityjimpairing her beauty, she looked 
like an Indian idol crouched near her altar. 

After crossing a meadow, the jaws of the ravine suddenly un- 
close, and you discern a beautiful ruin on the summit of a hill. 
This is the Reichenberg, where dwelt during the feuds of the 
middle ages one of the most ibrmidable of those baronial depreda- 
tors self-styled " plagues of the country " (Landschdden). 

Under his exactions the neighboring town uttered its groans in 
vain ; in vain did the emperor cite the escutcheoned brigand be- 
fore the diet. The man of iron, shutting himself up in his granite 
den, persevered in the work of blood and rapine, living out of the 
pale of the church, condemned by the diet, and hemmed in by 
the emperor, till his grey beard fell down his knees from age. 

I visited the Reichenberg, where nothing now exists but the 
wild scabious, the shadows cast by the broken windows waving 
among the ruins, and the remains of a mutilated escutcheon over 
the principal entrance, where, among heaps of stones through which 
reptiles have worn a way, two or three cows browse upon the 
intrusive verdure. 

I likewise visited, behind the hill of Reichenbei^, some remains 
of a decayed village, formerly known by the name of the village 
of the Barbers, of which the following is the legend ; — 

His Satanic Majesty, disapproving the numerous crusades of 
Frederick Barbarossa, determined to cut off his beard ; a shrewd 
idea, worthy the vengeance of the devil upon 9iX emperor. With 
the connivance of some Dalilah of the place, he devised means by 
which Barbarossa, on visiting Bacharach, might be put to sleep, 
and in this condition shaved by one of the numerous barbers of 
the place. But Barbarossa, then only Duke of Suabia, had at 
the period of his intimacy with the beautiful Gela conferred an 
obligation on the fairy of the Wisper, who was resolved upon de- 
feating the project of the devil. 

This fairy, about the size of a grasshopper, went in search of a 


giant, her friend, of mean capacity, and begged him to lend her a 
sack. This giant readily complied, and even offered to accom. 
pany her, a proposal at which she was enchanted. The little 
fairy managed, I conclude, to assume vaster proportions ; and, 
proceeding to Bacharach on the night of the emperor's journey, 
seized every barber in the town, one by one, and put them into ' 
her sack ; which she desired the giuit to throw over his shoul- 
ders, and go wherever he wished. The giant, who, owing to the 
darkness and his own stupidity, had not observed the fairy's pro- 
ceedings, set off across the country with immense strides, the sack 
full of barbers swinging at his back. 

Meanwhile the barbers of Bacharach, knocking against each 
other in the sack, began to awake ; and the giant, alarmed by . 
their noise, to double his strides. As he was passing the castle 
of Reichenberg, on raising his leg to avoid the great tower, one 
of the barbers, having a razor in his pocket, drew it forth, and cut 
a hole in the sack, through which the barbers slipped out, and, 
falling amongst the briars, shrieked aloud. The giant, thinking 
he had ten thousand devils on his shoulders, made off as fast as 
his seven leagued boots would carry him. Next day the emperor 
passed through Bacharach, and not a barber was to be found in 
the place. The devil also made his appearance — ^when a face- 
tious crpw, perched upon the gate of the town, addressed him 
thus : — " My worthy friend, you have something attached to your 
head longer than the beard of the Emperor Barbarossa: even a 
pair of ass's ears !" 

From that time till now^ not a barber can ever be found 
at Bacharach. As to those who slipped out of the sack, they 
established themselves where they fell, and from that period the 
village was called " the village of the barbers." Such are the 
means by which Frederick Barbarossa preserved his beard and 
his empire. 

In addition to the Katz, the Maus, and the Lurley, the Swiss 
Valley, and the Reichenberg, there is still the Rheinfels near St. 
Groar, to which I have alluded. This interesting spot exhibits a 
mountain excavated in all directions, crested with ruins, having 
prodigious internal galleries, vast halls with arched openings 
fifly foet wide, dungeons plunged below the stream, animated by 


the rattle of the water-mills in the valley behind the castle. 
Through fissures in the wall the steamers on the Rhine appear no 
bigger than large fishes trained to carry people on their backs. 
The feudal palace of the Landgraves of Hesse has become a 
heap of ruins, with embrasures for catapults and cannon, which 
resemble the dens of wild beasts seen in the Roman circus ; the 
weeds sprouting from every crevice, the rough-cut slates and 
basalts assigning to the groinings the profiles of saws and open 
jaws : and all this to be seen for the price of two sols. 

There seems to have been an earthquake in this scene of ruin 
and desolation. But the earthquake was produced by Napoleon, 
who blew up the Rheinfels in 1807, when, strange to say, the 
. whole structure fell, with the exception of the four walls of the 
chapel. It is difiicult to stand in this holy place, preserved as it 
were miraculously amid universal destruction, without profound 

In the embrasures of the windows are placed devout inscrip- 
tions, two in each window : — " Sanctus Fraficiscus vixU 1626 — 
Sandus Dominicus vixfi (erased) — Sanctus Albertus vixit 1292 — 
Sanctus Narhertus, 1150 — Sanctus Bemardus, 1189 — Sanctus 
BrunOy lll^— Sanctus Benedictus, 1140." There is another 
name effiiced: then, recurring back several centuries, these 
three majestic lines present themselves : " Sanctus Basi&us mag- 
nuSy Ejdsc. Casarea Cappadoci, magister monackorum orienta- 
Hum, vixU anno 372." By the side of Basil the Great, under the 
door of the chapel, these two names are inscribed : " Sanctus Anto- 
nius magnus ; Sanctus Patdus Eremita,'' This is all that escaped 
- from the shells and mine of the Imperial army. 

The castle of Rheinfels, demolished by Napoleon, was likewise 
threatened by Louis XIV. The old " Gazette of France," which 
was printed in the Louvre, announces, under the date of January 
23, 1693, " The Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel takes possession of 
the town of St. Goar and of the Rheinfels, ceded to him by the 
Landgrave, Frederick of Hesse, who has determined to end his 
days at Cologne." 
M In a following number; the same journal announces, "Five 
hundred peasants are working with the soldiers at the fortifica- 
tions of the Rheinfels." 

' OBERWESEL. • 137 

A fortnight afterwards we read, ** The Count of Thingen is 
suspending chains and constructing redoubts upon the Rhine.'' 

And it^hat is the meaning of this flight of the Landgrave ? 
Why these five hundred peasants addedtfto the troops 1 Why 
those redoubts and chains so hastily thrown up ? Simply because 
Louis XI V^ was pleased to knit his brow, and that the campaign 
was about Vopen in Grermany. 

The Rheinfels, over the door of which the ducal coronet of the 
Landgraves still remainfiT, is now the mere outhouse of a farm ! 
A few vines climb about the walls, and gnats browse. on the 
ground-floor. At dusk, the whole mass defined against the even- 
ing sky produces a superb effect. 

Returning up the Rhine, about a mile from St. Groar (the 
Prussian mile, like the league of Spain, and the hour's march of 
the Turk, comprehends two French leagues), you suddenly dis- 
cern, in the space between two mountains, a beautiful Gothic town, 
situated on the declivity of a hill, and sloping to the brink of the 
Rhine; with antiquated streets, such as we only see in the 
scenery of the Opera, fourteen embattled towers ovei^rown with 
ivy, and two vast churches of the purest Gothic. 

This is the warlike Oberwesel, whose old walls are riddled 
with the havoc of shot and shells. Upon them you easily recog- 
nize the trace of the huge cannon-balls of the bishops of Treves, 
the Biscayans of Louis XIV., and the revolutionary grape-shot of 
France. At the present day, Oberwesel resembles an old veteran 
turned vine-dresser ; and excellent wine he produces. 

Like the other Rhenish towns, Oberwesel has its castle in 
ruins, called the Schonberg ; one of the most remarkable ruins in 

It was in this castle dwelt, in the tenth century, the seven cruel 
and scoffing young ladies, who may now be admired through the 
fissures of their castle, transformed into seven rocks in the Rhine ! 

An excursion from St.' Goar to Oberwesel is amply repaid. 
The road runs parallel with the river, here narrow and confined 
between high hills. Neither house nor traveller is visible ; and 
all is wild and lonely. Piles of slate arise out of the river, cover- 
ing the bank like heaps of gigantic scales. Every now and then 
you perceive among the bushes a kind of immense spider, formed 
by two transversal rods, crossed and confined in their centre by a 

136 . THE RHINE. 

stout knot, suspended from a lever, while the four extreaiitiai 
remain in the water ; and amid the silent solitude of the place, 
you every now and then perceive the lever shake, and the rods 
suddenly spring up, li|lding in the net they sustain a lively sal- 
mon, twisting and leaping in his prison. 

In the evening, afler one of these exhilaratin^excursions, 
which serve to open every cavity of the stomach, ym return to 
St. Goar, and find two or three silent smokers seated at a table, at 
the end of which is laid one of those excellent and siqiple German 
suppers which exhibit the partridges the size of fowls. With such 
fare you may recruit your strength, especially if you know how 
to conform to local customs, like the wise Ulysses, and have the 
good sense to take in good part certain fantastic incongruities, 
such as a roast duck dressed with apple marmalade, . or a boar's 
head with apricot sauce. 

Towards the end of the supper, the sound of horns and firing is 
heard ; and on looking out, you find this to be the work o£ the 
veteran hussar, waking up the echo .of St. Goar; scarcely less 
marvellous than that of Lurley. A pistol-shot becomes as load 
as the discharge of a cannon ; and every note of the trumpet is 
repeated with the most perfect exactness in all the depths of the 
valleys. These delicate symphonies, remote and faint, appear to 
become ironical, at once deriding and delighting the attention. 
As it is difficult to suppose the huge and heavy mountain endued 
with so delicate a vein of irony, at the end of a few minutes you 
become the dupe of your illusions, and, however matter-of-&ct in 
your nature, are ready to swear that in those dark recesses, in 
some fantastic retreat, there must exist supernatural beings — some 
fairy, some Titania, who diverts herself by parodying human 
music, and throwing down a mountain every time she is insulted 
by the report of a pistol. All this is as charming as it is startling. 
The effect would be still more perfect, if we could forget that we 
were standing at an inn- window ; and that the extraordinary phe- 
nomenon is served up like an extra dish for the dessert of a table 
d'h6te. The enchantment ends of course in the most natural 
manner. The operation over, a waiter, holding a tin plate, pre- 
sents it to all present, while the veteran hussar stands with stem 
dignity in a corner, watching the operation ; afler which all retire 
from the field, every man having paid his shot ! 



LoRCH, JSugutt 83. 

I AM living just now in the most charming old town in the 
world ; as well as the most unknown, and the civilest. My 
chamber has a truly Rembrandt-like air, with windows full of 
bird-ca^es, its curious lanterns suspended from the ceilings ; and 
in a comer of the apartment, a winding flight of stairs with a ray 
of sun silently creeping up the steps. An old woman and her 
spinning-wheel murmur harmoniously together in a corner. I 
know not which be the most musical. 

I passed three days at Bacharach, a kind of Cour des Miracles 
that lies on the banks of the Rhine, overlooked by the Voltairian 
era, by the Trench revolution, by the battles of Louis XIV., by 
the cannon of '97 and 1805 ; and by the architects who delight 
in buildiag houses after the pattern of bureaux and cabinets. 

Bacharach is the most antiquated specimen of human habita- 
tions I ever beheld. Compared with Bacharach, Oberwesel, St. 
Goar, and Andernach resemble the most modem street in Paris. 
Bacharach is the ancient BaccM Ara. One might fancy that a 
gigantic curiosity-shop had been established there ; and that the 
mountain-side, from top to bottom, was arranged for the display 
of its wares. It begins at the very brink of the river, where lies 
a volcanic stone, which some assert to be a Celtic, others a Roman 
altar, called Ara BaccM. There are also close to the river two 
or three old hulls of boats, cut in two, which, placed perpendicu- 
larly, serve as hovels for the fishermen. Behind these is an embat- 
tled walled enclosure, flanked by four square towers, in the highest 
perfection of ruin. Abutting on this walled enclosure, through 
which the modern houses have pierced their windows and balco. 
nies, and farther on at the foot of the mountain, is an indescribable 
confusion of edifices : delicbus dilapidations — ^fantastic turrets-^ 
bowed faqades — ^impossible gables, every step of whose double 

140 THE RifIN& 

flight of stairs has a knobbed staff shooting up like a head of 
asparagus — ^massive beams carved to imitate the most delicate 
arabesques— -corniced lofls — open balconies— chimneys shaped 
like tiaras and crown% philosophically full of smoke — &nciful 
weathercocks, sometimes in capital letters cut out of iron, which 
squeak with the wind (above my head there was aj| R, which 
kept me awake the whole night). ^ • 

In the midst of this admirable medley is an irregular open space 
or place, formed by houses which seem to have been pitched 
accidentally from the sky ; and having more bays, islets, reefe, 
and promontories than a Norwegian gulf. On one side of this 
place are two polyhedrons of Grothic structures, bulging out, 
sloping, and all awry, — yet standing firm, in defiance of every 
law of geometry and equilibrium ! 

On the other side is a church of fine Gothic architecture, with 
a lozenge-embellished portal surmounted by a high military tower, 
the choir having a groined gallery with black marble columns 
running round it, and a multitude of beautiftil tombs in all 
directions. Above the Byzantine church, half way up the hill, 
is another church in ruins, of the fifleenth century, without either 
roof, doors, or windows ; but a magnificent specimen, when seen 
with its profile well-defined upon the sky. To crown the whole, 
there stands upon the summit of the mountain the ivy-covered 
wall of the castle of Stahleck, belonging to the Counts Palatine 
of the twelfth century. 

Such is Bacharach. This old town, teeming with traditions 
and legends, is inhabited by picturesque-looking people, who, old 
and young, children and grandfathers, the goitrous and the beauty, 
retain in their features a something of quaintness, that speaks 
of the thirteenth century, without the least prejudice to the beauty 
of the women. 

From the old castle there is an extensive view, in which you 
discover five more ruined castles on the brows of the mountains. 
Upon the left bank, Farstemberg, Sonneck, and Heimberg. On 
the other side, to the west, you perceive the stately Gutenfels, 
radiant with the memory of Gustavus Adolphus ; and towards 
the east, over a valley which is the fabulous Wisperthal, upon a 
projection on the ridge of a hill, a cluster of black towers : 


bllng the Bastille of Paris, being the inhospitable manor-houae of 
Sibo of Lorch, who refused to open his doors to the &iries br 
shelter on a stormy night. 

The landscape about Baoharach is wild and savage. Its cloud- 
capped ruins, precipitous rocks, and impetuous torrents harmonize 
well with tl^e severe features of the town, which has been succes- 
sively Roman, Seltic, and Gothic ; and does npt choose to become 
modern. It is singular that a belt of shoals on all sides prevents 
the steam-boats fW>m approaching near the curious spot, which 
thus holds civilisation at bay. No discordant blotch or color dis- 
turbs the harmony •f its perfect whole. All is antique, even to 
the name of Bacharach, which you might imagine to be the cry 
of the Bacchanals of old. 

As an authentic historian, however, I am bound to record that 
I saw a display of millinery, with ribbons, pink, yellow, and green, 
under a stern and blackened arch of the twelfth century ! 

The Rhine roars magnificently around Bacharach, as if it 
watched and guarded with pride its beloved old city. You feel 
inclined to exclaim, " Well roared, lion !" A gunshot fjrc»n the 
town, the river doubles upon itself, foaming round a circle of 
rocks with the foam and torrent of the ocean. These rooks are 
named the Wildes GefcehH, and are more alarming, though less 
dangerous, than the whirlpool of St. Goar. When the sun, dis- 
placing a cloud, smiles through a plug-hole in the sky, Bacharach 
is divine. Its quaint and wrinkled fronts unknit their brows ; the 
shadows of the towers and fantastic vanes form the most whimffl- 
cal angles ; flowers (for everywhere there are flowers) unite at 
all the windows with female faces; and at the door-sills are 
stationed old men and blooming children enjoying peace and 
happiness, basking in the beneficent rays of the sun. \tk the pale 
faces of the aged men is inscribed, " 'Tis over /" On the bloom- 
ing cheeks of the children, '* 'Tis to came /" In the midst of this 
patriarchal simplicity, a Prussian corporal in full uniform prowls 
about, with an air something between the dog and the wolf. 

Whether it proceed from the jealousy of their Prussian master, 
or from the innate feeling of the country, I know not, but certain 
it is that I saw no other heroic portrait in the clumsy frames c^ 


these old houi<es than the worn-out profile of that combination of 
Louis XV. and Napoleon, Frederick II. 

A stranger is a phenomenon at Bacharach ; and, being not only 
a stranger, but most strange, is stared at with wondering eyes. 
None but pedestrian artists consider the antique city of the Counts 
Palatine worthy of a visit ; eschewed as it is by all steam-boats, 
and described by all Grerman guide-books as a melancholy spot. 

I must not, however, forget to mention that there was a litho- 
graph in the room adjoining mine, purporting to represent 
"Eurofb" by means of two smart ladies, and a smart-looking 
dandy assembled round a piano, and singing the following 
verses: — 

*< Delightful Europe— whom Tictorious France 
Teaches in graceful guise to dress and dance. 
The arts of peace, the joys of luxury, 
Form the sole study of thy sons and thee." 

The milliner with her ribbons and garlands, and the trio at the 
piano, afford some slight hint and indication of the dawning of 
the nineteenth century at Bacharach. 

Under my window there was a charming little world in 
miniature ; a kind of yard belonging to the ruined church, from 
which a flight of steps ascended towards the Gothic church. In 
this were playing, all day long, up to their chins in grass, a group 
of five lovely children, whose united years might reach fifteen. 
The turf, gently undulating, was of the finest texture ; on which 
stood two arbors, covered with magnificent-looking grapes. Among 
the vines were two scarecrows, dressed like figurantes of the opera, 
set up to terrify the birds. But all in vain, for the chaffinches 
and wagtails were constantly perched upon the half-ripe bunches. 
Roses and China-asters abounded in every nook, round which 
myriads of butterflies and feathers from the neighboring dovecot 
perpetually hovered ; to say nothing of swarms of flies glitter- 
ing like jewels in the sun. Added to the buzzing of the flies, the 
gabbling of the children, and singing and twittering of the birds, 
there was the eternal cooing of the neighboring pigeon-houses, a 
Babel of the gentlest discords. 

On the evening of my arrival, having enjoyed till night the 


contemplation of this delightful garden, my fancy prompted me 
to ascend by starlight the steps which lead to the Gothic church, 
dedicated to St. Werner, . martyrized at Oberwesel. Having 
mounted seventy steps without any aid for the hand, I reached 
the platform, from which springs the basement of the dismantled 
nave. There, while the town beneath was profoundly calm, I 
contemplated the skies above ; and below, the rugged ruins of 
the castle of the Palatine, visible through the shattered window. 
A gentle wind scarcely served to wave the rye-grass on the ruins ; 
when suddenly the earth gave way under my feet, and, by the 
help of the starlight, I found I had sunk into a new-made grave ! 
I looked around, and, beholding black crosses with the insignia of 
death thick about me, I remembered the undulations of the ground 
below, and shuddered to think that my beautiful garden, with its 
birds^ music, butterflies, doves, light, life, and joy, was neither 
more nor less than a burying-ground I 



Fire! Fire! 

LomcH, August, 

At Bacharmch, when the clock strikes twelve, you go to bed, 
close your eyes, dismiss the ideas that have assailed you during 
the day, and attain the happy moment of reverie betwixt sleeping 
and waking, when sleep begins to wake, and life sinks gently into 

On a sudden a vague, unearthly, incongruous, and horrible 
kind of savage growl, both menacing and plaintive, mingling with 
the murmur of the night, and seeming to proceed from the ceme- 
tery above, where in the morning you saw the eleven dog-headed 
spouts of St. Werner, with their open jowls prepared for howling, 
disturbs your rest. Starting up in your bed, you inquire what is 
the matter ; and are told that it is the town- watch, announcing 
with his horn that all may sleep in peace. Valuable information, 
certainly ; but which could scarcely be imparted in a more 
alarming manner. 

At Lorch they wake you up in a still more dramatic way. But 
I have a great deal to tell you first about Lorch. 

Lorch is a considerable town, of eighteen hundred inha\>itants, 
situated on the right bank of the Rhine, and following in an angle 
the Wisper, of which it marks the embouchure. The Wisper is 
the valley of legends and fables, the country of the fairy grass- 

Lorch is situated at the foot of the Bchelle du Diable, a high 
rock which the valiant Gilgen scaled on horseback to win his 
bride, who was concealed by the fairies on the summit. It was 
at Lorch, say the legends, that the fairy Av6 invented the art of 
making cloth, to protect her lover, the Roman knight Hippius, 
fiom the cold, whence the name of the town of Heppenheim. 

It is somewhat remarkable, that amongst all people, and in all 

FIRE ! 145 

mythologies, the invention of the art of weaving is assigned to a 
woman. Among the Egyptians, to Isis; hy the Lydians, to 
Arachne ; by the Greeks, to Minerva ; by the Peruvians, to - 
Menacella, wife of Manco Capac ; on the banks of the Rhine, to 
Ave the fairy. The Chinese alone attribute this invention to a 
man — ^the emperor Ya ; but our emperor of China is an ima- 
ginary being, whose reality is annihilated under the absurd titles 
he is compelled to assume. Ignorant of his nature, the people 
call him "The Dragon;" ignorant of his age, they call him 
" Ten Thousand Years ;" ignorant of his very sex, they call him 
" Mather :" but whether or not his Celestial Majesty invented the 
art of weaving, let us return to Lorch. 

The first red wine made on the Rhine was at Lorch. This 
town existed as far back as the time of Charlemagne, and left 
traces in charters of the date of 732. Henry III., Archbishop 
of Mayerice, resided there' in 1348; At present, though stripped 
of its fairies and Roman knights, it is a happy little town, and 
contains the most hospitable inhabitants. 

A beautiful Gothic house on the borders of the Rhine has a 
faqade comparable with that of our famous manor-house of 
Meillan. The. romantic fortress of old Sivo of Lorch protects the 
town, which is frowned upon frorp the opposite side by the his- 
torical castle of Fiirstenberg, with its vast tower, round without 
and hexagonal within. Nothing can be more charniing than this 
happy little colony of peasants, prospering under the threatening 
brows of these two citadels. 

I was strangely disturbed in my rest at Lorch* Last week, at 
about one in the morning, the whole town being asleep, I was 
writing in my room, when, suddenly, my paper became red under 
my pen, and looking up, I found my room brightened by a vivid 
light from the windows, which had become two great sheets of 
opal, through which a mysterious light was diffusing a fearful 
radiance ; on opening them, I beheld an immense vault of smoke 
and flame bending over my head with an alarming roar. The 
neighboring inn, the " Gasthaus P.," was enveloped in flames ! 

In an instant the whole house was up, shrieking out Feuer ! 
Feuer ! The quay was soon crowded, and the alarm-bell rung. 
Having closed my windows, and opened my door, another scene 


presented itself. The great staircase in wood of my hotel, all but 
oonnected with the burning house, and having large windows, 
seemed likewise on fire, while a crowd ran up and down carrying 
all sorts of objects. The whole house was trying to escape, many 
in their shirts ; the travellers with their portmanteaus, the ser- 
vants with the furniture. The flames were frightful! As for 
myself (for every one thinks fpr himself on such occasions), hav- 
ing no baggage, and being lodged on the first story, my only fear 
was being compelled to escape from the window. 

A storm luckily came on, and torrents of rain fell. As is 
always the case in such hurries, people got out with difficulty, 
and a terrible confusion ensued ; some chose to rush out, others 
to rush in. The furniture was let down from the windows by 
ropeis ; and mattresses, carpet-bags, chairs, tables, and dirty linen 
were showered from tb6 windows above. Children were scream- 
ing with fright ; and on all sides, sumn^ned by the fire-bell, tie 
peasants flocked into the town, fire-buckets in hand. The fire, 
which had already gained the attics, was said not to be accidental, 
a circumstance which always imparts a gloomy interest to such 
a catastrophe. The engines arrived, water-parties were formed, 
and I mounted to the lofl, in which was a super^pomplication of 
frame- work, such as is usual under the high slated roofs of the 
houses on the Rhine. The whole timber- work of the adjoining 
house was in a blaze, which, waving over our roofing, let fall 
burning flakes, and ignited it in several places. The thing be- 
came serious, for if our house caught fire, others must certainly 
share its fate ; .and the wind, being favorable, endangered the 
whole town. 

No time was to be lost ; and under a shower of burning embers 
they set to work, tore ofl* the slating, atd cut away the projecting 
timbers of the gables. The engines worked well. From the 
windows of the lofl I looked in^ the furnaoe. A conflagration, 
closely viewed, is a noble spectacle. Having never seen auch a 
scene, and the opportunity presenting itself, I profited to the ut- 
most by the occasion. 

At first, on finding oneself enveloped in an immense cavern of 
fire, amid the blazing and sparkling, the cracking, splitting, 
screaming, and shouting, it is impossible to avoid a feeling of anz- 

PIRE! Ijfir 

fi^ — : 

iety. Everything seems lost ; for it appears in vaiji to coAteo^ 
against the irresistible force of the terrible element called fire ! 

It is cuiious to observe with what impetuosity water seems t«> 
attack its enemy. Scarcely has the snake-lika hose passed il3 
neck above the wall, and shown the glittering copper tube in the 
flames, than it is sei^n to spout its stream of liquid steel full at the 
frame of the thousand-headed Chimera. The furnace, roused by 
the attack, roars amain, springs up more fiercely, and from ita 
ardeint goi^es spouts up fiames and showers of ruby sparks in all 
directions, while endless tongues of fiame dart simultaneously 
.upon the doors and windows. Steam now blends with the smoke, 
and clouds, black and white and grey, eddied by the wind, writhe 
and struggle In the dark. The hissing of the water responds to 
the roar of the fire. Nothing can be more terrible than this re- 
|iewal of the ancient and eternal combat betwixt the hydra and 
the dragon. The force of the column of water sent forth by the 
engine is prodigious. It shatters the slate like glass. The fall 
of the timbers is a magnificent moment. ' The fiames vanishing 
for a moment in the ^idst of a startling crash, a rush of sparks 
. succeeds. A chimney, left standing alone, is next suddenly knock- 
ed down hy the force of the spout of the engine. As I stood con- 
templating the scene, the Rhine, with all its villages, ruins, and 
churches, becieime visible in the midst of the horrid glare, and, 
combined with the crash of the falling walls^ the strokes of the 
axe, and all the storm and tumult of t^town, produoed a truly 
fine and appalling spectacle. 

Nothing can be more curious, than to watch the details of such 
a scene. In the interval betwixt a, cloud of smoke and a sheet 
of fire, you see men's heads on the tops of ladders, who bravely 
attack the advancing flame witfi the tube they hold in their hands. 
In thfe midst of the general confusion, there are always unnoticed 
comers where the fire silently' rages, and where the window, 
frames are opened and banged to by the wind. Small blue fiamesi 
flicker at the extremities of the rafters. Heavy beams give way 
iu)d remain half-suspended in the air, shaking with the tempest 
and enveloped in flame. Otliers &lling across the street, establish 
a bridge of fire. In the interior rooms, the smart Parisian hangu 
ings appear and disappear amidst the clouds of smoke* On the 


tiiird story I saw an unfortunate panel in the style of Louis XV., 
with its rockwork, trees, and gentle shepherds of gentil Bernard, 
offering a prolonged resistance. I gazed at it with admiration. 
Never did I see an eclc^ue put on so brave a face. At length, 
a devouring flame penetrated the room, seized the unfortunate pea^ 
green landscape, the shepherd kissing his shepherdess, and Tyrcis, 
while soflly cajoling Glycera, disappeared in the smoke. 
^ A tiny garden covered with burning cinders lay close to the house, 
in which an acacia, confined to a trellis, would not take fire, and 
remained untouched for four hours, showing its pretty green head 
amid the shower of sparks, as though it found them refreshing. 
In addition to all this, there was a group of &ir and pale English-, 
women, who stood half-naked by the side of their boxes, a few 
paces from the river, with all the children of the town laughing 
and clapping their hands every time the water fell upon them. 
This is a true and particular account of the fire at Lorch ! The 
most afHicting part of the story is that a man was killed on the 

At four in the morning the fire was what is called " got under ;" 
the Gasthaus P. was still burning in the interior ; but we had 
succeeded in saving our inn. 

Water now succeeded to fire. A host of girls, wiping, scour- 
ing, and dusting, invaded all the rooms, to set them in their accus- 
tomed trim : x^othing had been stolen ; everjrthing hastily taken 
away was leligiously brought back by the poor peasants of Lorch. 

Such accidents ^re (requent on the Rhine, the houses being 
mostly of wood. At St. Gk>ar I saw several indications of recent 

Next morning I was suirprised to see two or three chambers on 
the ground-floor closed, and ki a perfect state, though the fire had 
raged about them, but without effecting the least dam^e. I must 
tell you a story current in the ^country on this subject, for the 
truth of which I by no means vouch. 

Some years ago an Englishman arrived late at the innof Brau- 
bach, where he supped and slept. In the course of the night the 
inn caught fire ; and they burst into the Englishman's room, who 
was fast asleep. They woke him hastily, informing him that he 
must riseand fly— 

FIRE ! 140 

" Go to the devil !" cried he. " Why disturb me for such 
nonsense ? Leave the room ; I am tired, and will not get up. 
Do you suppose I am going to run about the country in my night- 
shirt ? Not I ! I must have my nine hours' rest. Put out the 
fire, if you choose, but leave me to my rest — good night, my good 
friends : come again to-morrow." 

He then lay down, antj the fire advancing, the people made 
their escape, having closed the door upon the snoring Englishman. 
With great difficulty the fire was extinguished. Next morning, 
in cleaicing away the rubbish, upon reaching the Englishman's 
room they found him half awake and rubbing his eyes. On per- 
ceiving them, he quietly inquired for the boot-jack, then rose and 
breakfasted, to the great disappointment of the waiters, who had 
reckoned upon having an English mummy of the kind called in 
the Rhine country " a smoked Burgomaster," to show for a few 
sols to future travellers. With such a curiosity in hand, they 
felt sure of procuring from every new comer " something to 



BmaxM, Anguat ?7. 

From Lorch to Bingen is about two German miles. You know 
my habit of making my journeys on foot, as far as possible. 
Nothing more delightful than such a mode of travelling. On foot, 
you are free and light-hearted, and have all the incidents of the 
road to yourself. You may seek your breakfast at a farm, enjoy 
the shade of the trees, or the solitudes of a church ; you go or 
stay, free from interruption or restraint. Exercise fosters reflection, 
and reflection softens fatigue ; the beauty of the country beguiles 
the length of the journey, which is no longer travelling, but wan- 
dering, yielding at every step some new idea, as if a swarm of 
thoughts were hovering, gnat-like, round one's head. Sometimes 
seated in the shade, on the side of a high road, near some bubbling 
spring emitting life and strength, an elm full of birds for my 
canopy, a hay-field hard by, quiet, serene, dreaming dreams of 
joy, I have viewed with compassion the travelling carriage roll- 
ing past — that sparkling and rapid afiair which contains stupid, 
heavy, and wearied beings — ^like a flash of lightning impelling a 

Oh ! how quickly would those travellers, people oflen possess- 
ing mind and heart, escape from their splendid prison, where the 
harmony of the landscape is lost in the stifling dust of the road, 
could they know what myriads of flowers lie hidden in the bushes, 
what gems are concealed in the flint, what houris among the rural 
nymphs they pass without a glance. Oh ! rich and endless joy of 
the pedestrian. Musa pedestris. 

To the man on foot, moreover, not only ideas, but adventures, 
occur in throngs. Some men delight in inventing such things : 
I own I prefer the reality. 

This reminds me that, about eight years ago, I went to Claye, 
a few leagues from Paris ; I forget for what purpose. . All I re- 


member is derived from the following few lines in my note-book, 
which I transcribe, as pertinent to what I am about to narrate : — 

" A canal on the ground-floor, a burying-ground on the first 
story, a few houses on the fccond, constitute Claye. Thd ceme- 
tery has a terrace with a balcony upon the canal, from which the 
manes of the peasants of Claye may hear the music in the passage- 
boats from Meaux. In that country, you are not interred, but in- 
terraced — ^as good a mode of interment as any other." 

I wasL returning to Paris on foot, having started early, when, 
about noon, the shade of the Forest of Bondy tempted me, near & 
sudden turn of the road. I sat down at the foot of an oak, and 
began to scribble the note you have just been perusing. 

As I finished the fiflh line, which I perceived to be written at 
an unusual distance from the fourth, I raised my eyes, and beheld 
upon the other side of the ditch, not far from me^ a bear, sternly 
contemplating me : it was no night-mare. But one is oAen de-^ 
ceived by the shape of a tree, or some rock of uausual form. 
" Lo que pttede un sastre'^ is fearful in the darkness of the night ; 
but at mid-day, in the month of May, with a beautiful sun, one is 
not apt to have hallucinations. 

It was, in short, a h<md fde bear, as hideous as well could be. 
He was gravely seated, so as to exhibit his dusty hind- feet, his 
paws being voluptuously crossed upon his bosom. His jaws were 
half-open, jagged, and bleeding ; his lower lip being half torn off, 
showing his bared tusks. One of his eyes was wanting, and with 
the other he gave me a supplicating look. Not a creature was 
visible, not even a woodman in the forest. I confess I felt some- 
what nervous. Accosted by a strange dog, one gains courage by 
familiarly calling out Fox, Soliman, or Azor ; but how is one to 
address a bear ? above all, how came a bear in such a place, on 
the high road from Claye to Paris ? Strange and ridiculous as 
you may think it, I was considerably perplexed. I did not stir, 
neither did the bear ; in fact he appeared disposed to be neigh- 
borly. His expression of face was as agreeable as could be ex- 
pected of a one-eyed bear. His jaws were certainly apart, but 
open as becomes a mouth. It was not a rictus, but a legitimate 
yawn ; not ferocious, but rather literary. There was an air of 
politeness, a beatitude about this bear, a look of sleepy resigna- 


doD, such as I have observed to be habitual to the faithful adher* 
ents to our classic drama. In short, his countenance was so pre* 
possessing, that I also resolved to put a good face upon the matter, 
I accepted the bear as an inoflfensive fpectator, and resumed my 
fifUi line, which, as I have said already, is wide apart from the 
fourth, from having at first kept my eye fixed upon the bear. 

While writing, I saw a large fly settle on the lacerated ear of 
my spectator, on which he raised his paw, and gently passed it 
over his ear, with an exquisitely feline grace. The fly flew off; 
he watched it for a moment ; then seizing his hind-feet with his 
two fore-paws, paused in that classical attitude, and began to 
contemplate me. 

By this time he had inspired me with the deepest interest ; and 
finding myself completely at my ease, I began to trace the sixth 
line of my note, when I was interrupted by a rush of hurried 
'steps ; and, behold ! a black bear made its appearance, the first 
being yellow ! The newly arrived bear came up at a brisk trot, 
and perceiving the yellow bear, rolled himself gracefully at his 
feet, but he was heedless of this familiarity, and the black bear 
equally so of me. 

I must confess that at the approach of this new apparition my 
hand trembled. I was about to write the line about the dead 
hearing the music, and my manuscript shows a wide interval 
between the words, which may be accounted for by the arrival of 
the second bear. 

Two Bears ! Two bears on thu high road to Paris ! I was 
petrified. The yellow bear at last acknowledged the acquaint- 
ance of the black, and both, rolling in the dust, became uniformly 
grey. I stood up, and hesitated whether I should go and pick up 
my cane, which lay a few feet from me, when another bear trotted 
up, red, diminutive, and ill-shaped, still more lacerated and bloody 
than the first ; then a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth ! — These last 
crossed the road like walking gentlemen at the back of the stage, 
without looking right or left, and as if pursued. I now heard 
howb and shouts at a distance, and seven or eight men, armed 
with iron-shod sticks, struck across the road, tracking the bears. 
One pf these men baited, and wj^ile the others ))ad seL^ed upon 


the animals and. were carrying them off muzzled, he explained 
the meaning of my curious adventure. 

The director of the circus at the Barridre du Combat having 
sent his dogs and beasts to exhibit in the town of Meaux, the 
animals travelled on foot. At their last halt the bears had been 
unmuzzled to feed, and in the absence of their keepers had es- 
caped and taken to the road. These bears were nothing but 
strolling players. I should have lost the diversion of this adven- 
ture, hojirever, but for travellipg on foot. 

Dante relates, at the beginning of his divine poem, that he met 
a panther one day in a wood, then a lion, afterwards a wolf. If 
tradition be true, the Seven Sages of Greece, in their travels in 
Phcenicia, Egypt, Chaldea, and India, met with many such ad- 
ventures. They each met a different animal, just as every sage 
possessed a difierent order of wisdom. Thales of Miletus was 
long pursued by a winged griffin : Bias of Priene journeyed side 
by side with a lynx : Periander of Corinth scowled back the 
advance of a leopard : Solon of Athens advanced boldly upon a 
fierce bull : Pittacus of Mitylene faced a rhincfceros : Cleobula 
of Rhodes was attacked by a lion ; and Chylon of LacedsBgBonia, 
by a lioness. Upon a closer examination of all these feats, we 
might, perhaps, discover that the animals were mere show-beasts, 
escaped from their van, while travelling for the purpose of ex- 

Had I related my own adventure, in a suitable manner, in two 
thousand years I should hvve beeti pronounced an Orpheus. 
^^Dictus oh hoc lenire tfgres,'' My friends the Circus bears fur- 
nish a key for many prodigies, and, with due respect to the poets 
and philosophers of Greece, I have little faith in 'the virtues of a 
strophe to repel a leopard, or in the power of a syllogism to subdue 
a hysena, though of opinion that man has possessed for ages the 
secret of subduing lions and tigers, of deteriorating the animal 
species, and brutalizing the beasts ! 

Man has always imagined that he achieves a prodigious feat 
when, by dint of skilful tuition, he substitutes stupidity for ferocity. 
Everything considered, it may be so ; for otherwise I, as well as 
the seven sages, might have been devoured. Since I am em- 


barked in the chapter of reminiscences, let me relate you one 
rapre adventure. 

You remember G , that erudite old poet, who proves that a 

poet may be patient, a sage amusing, and old age youthful ; who 
walks as if only twenty years of age. In April, 18&-, we made 
an excursion together in the Gatinais, and were rambling side by 
side one fine morning ; I, who lov9 the truth, but who delight in 

paradox, know no on^ more amusing than G , who4s versed 

in all established truths, yet capable of inventing all sorts of 

It was just then his pleasure to insist upon the existence of the 
basilisk. " Pliny mentions it," said he. " It is known in the 
country of Gyrene, in Africa ; it is twelve fingers long, has a 
white spot on its head, forming a sort of diadem ; and when it 
hisses, the serpents fly." Holy writ assigns wings to the basilisk. 
It is asserted, that in the time of St. Leo there existed at Rome, 
in the church of St. Lucius, a basilisk, which infected the city 
with its breath. The sainted pope approached its pestilential 
retreat, and Scaliger says, in rather grand style, " extinguished it 

with ^irayer." G was fbrther pleased to assert, on seeing 

my incredulity as to the basilisk, that particular spots possess 
peculiar influences upon certain animals : that at Zarifa, in the 
Archipelago, the frogs do not croak ; that at Reggio, in Calabria, 
the crickets do not sing ; that the boars are mute in Macedonia ; 
that the serpents of' the Euphrates do not sting the natives, even 
when asleep, but merely foreigners ; whereas the scorpions of 
Mount Latmos, innocuous for foreigners, give mortal stings to the 
inhabitants. In this way he kept putting a thousand questions to 
me, or rather to himself. " Why," said he, " are there such an 
abundance of rabbits at Majorca and none at Yvica ? Why do 
the hares die at Ithaca ? Why is it impossible to find a wolf at 
Mount Olympus ? a screech-owl on the island of Crete ? or an 
eagle in that of Rhodes ?" 

On seeing me smile, he interrupted himself: "Laugh, if you 
will," said he ; " but such are the opinions of Aristotle." 

To which I replifd, " My dear friend, such learning is obsolete. 
There is dead erudition, just as there are dead languages.** 

G replied, with his usual serene air, " You are right 

A POET. 155 

Science has its span of life ; art alone is immortal. One man of 
science casts his predecessor into the shade ; but as to the greet 
poets of old, they may be equalled, but never surpassed. Aristotle 
has met with his master ; but Homef remains unapproached.'' And 
having fallen into a reverie at the close of these observations, he 
began to look for flowers in the grass under his feet, or poetry in 
the clouds over his head. 

In this guise we arrived at Milly, wher^you still see the ves- 
tiges of a ruin, famous in tha^seventeenth century for a trial for 
witchcraft. A loup-cervier, or homed wolf, desolated the country. 
The noblemen belonging to the king's hunt, assisted by a vast 
retinue of varlfets, pursued the beast into these ruins, which were 
surrounded. They entered, and found a hideous old woman, 
under whose feet lay the wolf-skin, which the devil had not found 
out in time to carry off. The old lady was burnt upon green 
faggots, before the portal of the cathedral of Sens ! 

This took place in 1636, the year in which Corneille's " Cid" 
was fii%t represented. 

As I was relating the story to G , " Listen !" said he ; and 

lo ! we heard, at hand, the trumpet of some mountebank. O 
had always a taste for that sort of music. " The world," said 
he, " is full of strange imposing sounds, of which the tin trumpet 
is the parody. While legists plead upon the political stage, while 
rhetoricians personate upon the scholastic stage, I wander into the 
meadows, class the insects and the blades of grass, and adore the 
greatness of my Creator. It delights me, on the other hand, to 
listen to that emblem of tl^e insignificance of man, this mounte- 
bank and his ironical blast. The mountebank completes my 
study ; ' and I fix the human insect upon a card, pin him there 
like a scarab or a butterfly, and class him among the ephemera.'^ 

G • enticed me towards the spot from whence arose the 

noise — a mean hamlet called, I think. Petit Sou, reminding me of 
that burgh of Asculum, upon the road from Trivicum to Brun- 
disium, which was the cause of those lines by Horace : — 

" Quod versu dicere non est 
Signis perfacile est** 

Ascultm in faot cannot form part of an Alexandrine line. 


It ims the village festival. The place, the church, and the mayoiy 
nnere all in their holiday clothes. The heavens themselves ap- 
peared ooquettishly decked out with white and rosy clouds, to 
greet the auspicious day. Cfauhby children and young maidens 
were gazing calmly on the scene, or sporting upon the greensward 
beside their elders ; and farther on, a crowd was gathered round 
a kind of stage, constructed with two boards and a ladder. This 
was covered with the well*known blue and white check awning, 
in which originated the classical oostume of the clowns or pail- 
lasses all over the Continent. 

Near the stage was the entrance to the tent, a mere slit in the 
canvas ; and above was suspended a placard inscribed in capital 
letters with the word 


A multitude of unheard-of chimerical monsters, such as were 
neither seen by St. Antony nor dreamed of by Callot, fluttered 
around it. Two personages were already figuring up«n this 
stage : one, dirty as Job, bronzed like Ptha, his beard grown like 
that of Osiris, and bewailing himself like Memnon, having a 
wild Egyptian look, beating the big drum, and occasionally blow- 
ing a pipe ; the other looked on, being a sort of Sbrigani, with a j 
bearded and ferocious face, wearing the Hungarian costume. I 

Around the exhibition stood an assemblage of astonished and I 
bewildered peasants of both sexes, their mouths and eyes wide ' 
open. In the rear of the tent the children were cunningly per- I 
forating the blue and white canvas, so that they could easily ex- 
amine the interior. As we approached, the Egyptian's drum 

became hushed, and Sbrigani began to speak. Gr listened 


With the exception of the " Walk in, walk in, and you shall 
see," &;c., &c., I must declare that the Sbrigani lingo was incom- 
prehensible to us all, even to the Egyptian, who had assumed a 
posture of basso-relievo, and appeared to listen as religiously as 
though assisting at the dedication of the great columns in the hall 
of Karnac by Meneptha, father of Rhameses II. 

No sooner had the mountebank uttered his first words, than 
Gr began to tremble, and after a few minutes, inclining to- 


wards me, he obseriied in a low voice, " You, who have good 
eyes and a pencil, do me the favor to take down the words of that 

I was on the point of inquiring the reason of so strange a 
ivish, but his attention to the proceedings seemed more engrossed 
than ever. I therefore acquiesced ; and the mountebank deliver- 
ing himself slowly, I wrot* down as follows : — 

" The family of the Scyrii is divided into two classes : the first 
has no eyes ; the second has six, which distinguishes it from the 
species cunaxttf which has two, and from the species hdeUa, which 

has four." Here G , who was listejoing attentively, took off 

his hat, accosted the mountebank with a courteous voice, and said, 
** Pardon me, sir, you forgot to mention the grouipifi£ aracknoicUB.'* 
** Who is it that interrupts me ?" inquired the lecturer of his 
clown, without either surprise or hesitation. " Yonder old gentle- 
man." " Know, then, sir, that in the group of arachnaida, I only 
find one species, the dermanyssus, parasite of the whistling bat." 

" I thought," replied G , timidly, " that it was a glycipha- 

gu8 cursor.^' 

" Wrong," replied the mountebank. " There is a great gulf 
betwixt the glyciphagus and the dermanyssus. Since you devote 
yourself to such profound questions, study nature ; consult De- 
geer, Hering, and Herman. Observe the sar copies ouw, which 
has at least one of the two posterior feet complete, and caruncu- 
lated ; the sarcoptes rupicaprm, whose posterior feet are rudimental 
and setigerous, without vesicles ; the sarcoptes hippopodos, which 
is probably b. glyciphagus " 

" Are you sure of that ?" interrupted G , with deference. 

" Not absolutely," replied the mountebank with an air of author, 
ity ; " I owe it to the sacred cause of truth to admit that I am 
still uncertain ; but I am sure of having picked a glyciphagas 
from amid the plumage of a grand-duke, and I am also sure' that 
in visiting the galleries of comparative anatomy I have found 
glyciphagi in the cavities, between the cartilages and under the 
epiphyses of the skeletons." 

" Prodigious 1" exclaimed G— . 

" But," resumed the mountebank^ <' this leads me too far ; I 
will talk to you again upon the subject of the glyciphagus and 


pooioptes. The extraordinary and fermidable animal 1 am about 
to shdw you is the sarcoptaa. Wonderful and terrible to relate, 
the acaHates of the camel, instead of resembling that of the 
horse, is more like that of mankind. Hence a possible confusion, 
in which may originate terrible results. Let us consider these 
monsters, gentlemen. The shape of the one and th& other is 
much alike, but the saicoptes of the diromedary is longer than the 
human sarcoptes ; the intermediary pair of the posterior feelers, 
inikead of being smaller, is larger ; the ventral &cies has also 
its peculiaritiis. The ring is more detached in the SarcopUi 
hmunisy and has an aciculiform point which does not exist in the 
SarcQpte$ dramedarii. The latter is largest. There is also con- 
siderable difTevipce in the claws at the base of the posterior paws: 
in the former species they are simple ; in the second, bifid." 

Wearied of taking down all these profound and imposing words, 

I could no longer refrain from jerking the elbow of Gr 1, and 

asking what the deuce the man was talking about. 

" Of the itch and its parasites/' replied Gr , so gravely, 

that I shouted with laughter, till my notes fell from my hand. 
G picked them up, and, regardless of my gaiety, more atten- 
tive than ever to ^&e mountebank's lecture, took down his words, 
in the absorbed and Raphael-like attitude of a disciple of the 
School of Athens. 

The peasants, «ioi» and more bewfidered, shared the beatified 

admiration of G ; for the extremes of science and ignorance 

meet in the extreme of simplicity. 

I^e dialogue of the formidable mountebank had completely 
mystified the unsophisticated natives of Petit Sou. The , popu- 
lace, like children, admire what they do not understand ; they 
delight in the obscure, ludicrous, and declamatory style. The 
more ignorant a mahj the more he prefers the obscure ; the more 
barbarous his mind, the more he likes the complex. Nothing is 
less simple than a savage. The idicxns of the Hurons, Botocudus, 
and Chesapeaks, are so many forests of consonants; through 
which, half engulfed in the mud of ill-digested ideas, are strained 
huge and hideous words, just as the antediluvian monsters wal- 
lowed amid the inextricable vegetation of the primitive world. 


The Algonquins express the brief and pleasing word " France " 
'^ Mfiiigauchiouekendalakia/nk P' 

The moment the doors were open, the impatient crowd rushed 
in to behold the promised wonders. The miJUig(mcidouekendala~ 
kiank of mountebanks are usually merged in a shower of pencQ, 
or more exalted coin, accordihg to the order of the people they 
have addressed. 

An hour afterwards we resumed our walk, and reached the 
border of a small copse. G ■ had not yet addressed a single 
word to me, in spite of all my efforts at con»ersa<iDn. Suddenly 
waking from his absorption, and as iS replyiqg to liimself, he 
said : " And he spoke so well too !" 

**0a the itch?" said I, timidly. "On th^ itch!" jreplied 

G with philosophical firmness; gravely ^ding, "That 

man made some excellent microscopic observations — real discove* 



I ventured to observe, that he had perhaps studied the subject 
on the person of the Egyptian who officiated as his valet and 
musician. But Gr still pondering, exclaimed, "|How pro- 
digious ! What a melancholy subject of^'meditation ! A disease 
that follows man into the grave ! The human skeleton itself in- 
fected by the itch \" And he was again silent. 

" Such a man is wanted in the third class of the Institute," 
was his next observation. " There are mapy Academicians, who 
are mountebanks ; here we have a mountebank worthy to be an 
Academician J" 

Methinks, my dear friend, I see you laughing, and inquiring 
in your turn, " Is this all ? What a striking adventure ! Boast, 
if you will, of your pedestrian travelling, which brings you ac- 
quainted with a herd of bears, and a rogue of a juggler, who, in 
the interval of swallowing a sword, compares the vermin of the 
camel with that of mankind, infiictuig on country bumpkins a 
lecture upon comparative itch. A good travelling carriage is 
wretched work after such glorious diversions !" 

As you please. For my part I know not whether it be the 
emanations proceeding from the springtide and heyday of youth 
which render those reminiscences delightful ; but I own they still 
possess an inexpressible charm ! Laugh, if you will^ at the foot- 


traveller. I am always ready to start ; and if such adventure 
happened to me again this very day, should be more than satisfied. 

Such encouoters, however, are unfrequent, and when I set out 
on foot, provided the sky be clear, the villages cheerful, the grass 
pearled with dew, the laborer at work in the fields, the sun shin- 
ing in the heavens, and the birds singing on the boughs, I thank 
the mercy of God, and require no other recreation. 

The other day, at five in the morning, having given orders for 
foxwrarding my baggage to Bingen, I lefl Lorch and crossed to 
the opposite side of the Rhine. If ever you go that road, follow 
my e;jcample. The Roman, Gothic, and Gaulish remains possess 
&r more interest for the pedestrian than the slate of the right bank. 

At six o'clock I rested myself, after a fatiguing ascent, through 
vineyards and brush- wood, upon a volcanic ridge which overlooks 
the castle of FUrstenberg and the valley of the Diebach. I have 
already stated that the huge tower of Fiirstenberg is said to be round 
without and hexagonal within. From the spot where I stood, I 
saw deep into the tower, and can affirm, if the thing interest you, 
that it is sound bdth inside and out. Its elevation Is prodigious, 
and its outline singular. Having immense embattlements, and 
narrowing from the base to the summit, without apertures of any 
kind, except long loop-holes, it resembles the mysterious and mas- 
sive donjons of Samarcand, Calicut, or Canganor ; and you would 
sooner expect to behold on the summit of this all but Hindoo struc- 
ture the ]Vf aharadja of Lahore, or Zamorin of M alabar,,than Louis 
of Bavaria or Gustavus of Sweden. 

Nevertheless, this ancient citadel has played an important part 
in the history of European warfare. Just as I was reflecting 
upon, the variety of ladders successively appliq^ to the ribs of 
this stone giant, and upon the triple siege of the Bavarians in 
1321, the Swedes in 1632, and the French in 1689, a woodpecker 
was rapidly running op its walls ! What produced the mistake 
of the antiquarians is a turret which defends the citadel on the 
side of the mountain, which, round without, is crowned at its 
summit with embattlements divided into six compartments. They 
mistook the turret for the tower, and the outside for the in. 

At this early hour of the morning, thanks to the heavy fog, I 
only distinguished the summit of the donjon, the outline of the 


wall, and the high crest^ of the hills. Beneath me the landscape 
was hid under a white mist, illumined by the rays of the sun, as 
if a cloud had descended to the earth. As I heard seven strike 
by the clock of Rheindiebach, a hamlet at the foot of the Furs- 
tenberg, the woodpecker flew off, and I rose from my seat. 
During my descent the mist ascended, and I reached the village 
at the same time with the rays of the sun. Some minutes after, 
wards, I had left it behind, having forgotten to interrogate the 
famous echo of itd ravine ; and paced gaily along the Rhine, ex- 
changing nods with the young artists proceeding towards Bacha- 
rach, their baggage on their backs. Whenever I meet three 
young men, ill-accoutred, walking together on foot, their eyes 
sparkling as if reflecting the faery I'ealms of the future, I cannot 
refrain from praying for the realization of their dreams, and re- 
membering the three brothers, Cadenet, Luynes, and Brandos, 
who, two hundred years ago, set out one fine morning for the 
court of Henri IV., having biit one cloak for the three, each of 
them wearing it in turn ; and who, fift;een years later, under 
Louis XIII., were the Duke of Chaulnes, the Connetable de 
Lu3mes, and the Duke of Luxembourg ! — Dream on, young men, 
and push forward ! — ^Your time may come ! 

These travelling parties of three seem to be the fashion on the 
Rhine, for I had scarcely gone half a league, near Niederheim- 
bach, when I again met three young men journeying on foot. 
They .were evidently students from one of those noble universitieiJ 
which at once foster old Teutonia and civilize young Germany* 
These youths wear the classical cap, long hair, a waist-girdle, 
and close surtout ; have a staff in their hand and a porcelain pipe 
in their mouths/' and, like the artists, a knapsack on their shoul- 
ders. Upon the pipe of the youngest a coat of arms was painted. 
They seemed engaged in warm discussion, as were the artists 
near Bacharach. As they passed me, one of them cried out, 
taking off his Cap, " Die nobis, dondne, in qua parte corporis ani- 
mam veteres locant phUosophi ?'' I replied, saluting him, '' In corde 
PlcUo, in sanguine EmpedocleSf inter duo supercilia Lucretius" 
All three smiled, and the eldest exclaimed, " Vivat Gallia regi- 
na .'" To which I replied, " Vivat Gerfnania jnater !" and withf 
another bow we parted. 


I approve the custom of travelliog in parties of three : — a pair 
of lovers, if you will ; but always a trio of friends ! 

Above Niederheimbach are seen the tips of the trees of the 
gloomy forests of Sann or Sonn, among whose venerable oaks 
stand two ruined castles, Heimberg, which was Roman, and Son- 
nech, the stronghold of banditti. The Emperor Rodolph destroyed 
the latter, and time the former. A still more lonely ruin lies 
concealed among the mountains, called Falkenberg. 

I left, as I told you, the village behind me. The sun was 
ardent, while the reviving breeze from the Rhine was become 
heated in its turn. To my right was an outlet from a charming 
defile between two rocks, swarmipg with birds ; a brook of spring- 
water swollen by the rains, falling from rock to rock, assuming 
the airs of a torrent, sweeping away daisies and exterminating 
gnats, while forming noisy cascades among the stones. Beside 
the stream lay a path partly concealed by wild flowers, ama- 
xanthis, bindweed, wild pinks, and Solomou's-seal, welcome to the 
eyes of the poet. 

There are moments when I could almost believe in the intelli- 
gence of inanimate things ; and it seemed as if in this ravine a 
host of voices murmured to me, " Whither goest thou ? To seek 
a spot apart from mankind, and where traces of the divinity 
abound, that thou mayest establish the equilibrium of thy soul by 
that of solitude ? Thou wouldst fain have light and shade, peace 
#nd vitality, change yet serenity ; thou seekest the spot where the 
word reigneth in silence, where Ufb is on the surface of things and 
eternity in their depths ; thou lovest the desert, yet hatest not 
mankind ; thou seekest the grass and moss, moist leaves, sap- 
swollen branches, warbling birds, rippling waters, and fragrant 
perfumes. Behold, therefore, and enter; for lo! this path de- 
serves to be thy road." 

Thus urged I proceeded on my way. To describe what I felt 
in that lonely spot ; how the bees sang round the purple foxglove ; 
how the copper-hued necrophorse and the blue beetles took refuge 
in microscopic cells hollowed by the rains under the roots and 
briars; what wings fluttered against the leaves; what sprung 
with a dull sound in the moss ; what twittered in the nests ; the 
indistinct murmur of vegetation, mineralization, and mysterious 


leoundization ; the gaudiness of the beetles, the industry of the 
bee, the gaiety of the grasshoppers, the patience of the spiders ; 
the aroma, hues, blossoms, moans, distinct cries^ contests of in* 
sects, catastrophes of ant-hills, the dramas proceeding in the grass, 
the exhalations breathing from the rocks, the sun-rays smiling 
through the boughs, tears distilling from flowers, revelations issu- 
ing from all ; the calm harmonious working of all these beings 
and things, living nearer to the Almighty, to all appearance, than 
man himself: — ^to describe all this, my dear friend, would be to 
paint the inefiable, invisible, and infinite of the creation. As in 
the ravines of St. Goarhausen, I wandered with a soul full of 
worship and prayer. Ask me not of what I thought ! There 
are moments in which thought itself sinks oppressed by the con* 
fusion of the thousand new images and instincts. Amid these 
lonely mountains, everything flattered my fancy and harmonized 
with my imagination ; verdure, ruins, phantoms, landscapes, re- 
miniscences, the memories of those who have vanished in these 
solitudes, the history which once irradiated their solitude, the sun 
which brightens it still. 

^ Liike myself," thought I, <' Ceesar perhaps once reached this 
stream, followed by the soldier who bore his sword. Almost dll 
the voices which have swayed human intelligence, have invoked 
the echoes of the Rheingau and Taunus. These mountains are 
the same which rose to the sky when Prince Thomas Aquinas, so 
long surnamed has fnutw, first preached the doctrines in which hit 
roar re-echoed through the world. * Dedit in doctrina mugititm 
quod in ioto mundo sonamt,' Over these hills did John Huss, fere- 
seeing Luther, as if the rent of the veil of the Temple at the last 
hour disclosed the mysteries of futurity, breathe from his burning 
pile at Constance his prophetic warning. ' To-day, you only roast 
a goose."" But a hundred years hence, the swan shall rise from, 
its ashes !' And lo ! a hundred years afterwards, at the hour 
predicted, Luther sent forth his formidable fiat : ' Rather let the 
princes, bishops, monasteries, cloisters, churches, and palaces be 
destroyed, than that one soul should perish !' " 

It seemed to me, that in this wilderness the ruins put forth their 

* Hum hat the significatigii of * gooMt* 

164. THE RHINE. 

voices to reply, " Oh. Luther ! the bishops, princes, monasteries, 
churches, palaces, have obeyed thy bidding." Compared with 
those inexhaustible and vital things which grow, bud, and flower, 
from age to age, and conceal her under their eternal vegetation — 
say ! is History great or insignificant ? Decide the questicn if 
you can ! 

For my part, I feel that contact with Nature, which approaches 
so nearly to the divinity, sometimes heightens, sometimes depresses 
the dignity of man. It is something for us to be proud of, that 
we possess an intellectual existence, apart from the rest, having 
its own laws, effects, and purposes, and taking its ground among 
the higher works of the creation. In presence of an ancient oak 
full of centuries but full of sap and vigor, thick with foliage and 
populous with birds, it is something to have the superior power of 
recalling to mind the shade that once was Luther, the spectre that 
was John Huss, the soul of departed Caesar. 

I must confess, however, that at one moment of my walk every 
reminiscence had vanished from my mind, where man had ceased 
to exist, for God reigned supreme in my heart. I had reached 
the summit of a high hill covered with brushwood, having some- 
what the appearance of the ilex of Provence, while at my feet 
was a wilderness, a beautiful wilderness : I saw nothing more 
beautiful throughout my excursion on the Rhine. 

I forget the name of the place, but as far as the eye could 
reach were intermingled mountains, meadows, soft mists of vari- 
ous hues, streams of gold subsiding into the distant blue of the 
horizon, enchanted forests waving their verdant plumes, remote 
distances diapered with light and shade. It was one of those fiu 
. vored spots where Nature exhibits her marvellous variety of hues, 
rivalling the vain-glorious gorgeousness of a peacock's tail. Be- 
hind the hill where I sat, upon an eminence covered with pines, 
chestnut-trees, and maples, I detected a solitary ruin, a colossal 
mass of brown basalt. One might have conceived it to be a mere 
mass of lava, shaped by a giant's hand into the form of a citadel. 
Curious to examine this mysterious structure, I hastened towards 
the ruins. An antiquary, who describes a ruin much as a lover 
draws the portrait of his mistress, while he delights himself^ is 
most likely to weary other people. To indifferent persons all 


women, as well as all ruins, are the same. I do not promise^ 
however, utterly to abstain from describing old edifices, for I know 
you are a passionate lover of both art and history, as becomes a 
man pertaining to the intellectual, not to the vulgar herd. On the 
present occasion, however, I will only refer you to my circum- 
stantial picture of the Maus, and you will readily conceive the 
same brambled walls, broken roofs, disfigured windows, and, above 
all, four or five grim, black, formidable old hags of towers. 

I was wandering among these ruins, seeking, routing, question** 
ing, and overthrowing, in the hope of finding some inscription 
tending to point out a fact, or some sculpture assigning a date, 
when, through an aperture, formerly a door, I noticed a passage 
under a vault, and a single ray of light penetrating through a 
crevice. I entered, and found myself in a loopholed chamber, the 
form of whose openings proved that it had been used iai the dis« 
charge of falconets and other ancient pieces of ordnance. 

On looking through a loophole, I discovered below a gloomy 
valley, or rather rent in the mountain, once traversed by a bridge, 
of which one arch remains. On one side, detached earth and 
rocks, on the other, water, apparently blackened by its basaltio 
bottom, seemed to precipitate themselves towards the ravine. A 
few stunted trees shaded a grass plot, rank as the verdure of a 
cemetery. I know not whether it was illusion or the effect of the 
shade and wind, but I thought I perceived upon the high grass 
enlarged circles, slightly defined, as if some mysterious nocturnal 
rounds had trampled it here and there. This valley is both soli- 
tary and gloomy ; one might fancy it destined for sinister pur- 
poses, and that in the darkness evil and supernatural deeds aro 
there perpetrated. Even in the noonday sunshine it seems stricken 
with sadness and horror. 

In such a valley one discerns, even in the day-time, that the 
chill atid gloomy hours of night have passed over its head, 
bequeathing to the very odor of the grass, to the color of the earth, 
and to the form of the rocks, their vague, dreary, and oppressive 

As I was about to leave the vaulted chamber, the angle of a 

^,^tumular stone protruding from the rubbish fixed my eyes; I 

stooped, of course, to examine it— with what anxiety, you may 


readily imagine. I was perhaps about to receive the explanatioD 
I desired concerning the origin and name of this mysterious 

Carefully removing the rubbishy I discovered a beautiful sepul- 
chral slab of the fourteenth century, in red Heilbron freestone ; 
upon which lay, in almost full relief, a knight armed cap-n-pie, 
with the head only deficient. Under the feet of this warrior were 
inscribed, in Roman capitals, these words, somewhat de&ced, but 
not entirely erased : 

voX TACvrr pebiit lyX noX ryxt et rvxt ymbba. 


After the perusal, I knew perhaps less than before ! The castle 
was an enigma, of which I wanted to find the solution ; and to 
which I had now obtained the key, in an inscription without date, 
an epitaph without a name, and a knight without a head : a con- 
fused and unpromising solution, you must allow. 

To whom could this doleful and somewhat barbarous distich 
refer ? If one must believe the second line upon the sepulchral 
slab, the skeleton beneath, like the figure above, was also head- 
less. What is the meaning of the three x's detached from the 
inscription in great letters ? On looking more closely, and wiping 
away the dust from the slab with a handful of grass, I discovered 
more strange characters ; three ciphers inscribed in Uiree different 
places : the one on the right, XXX ; another on the lefl,''00</ 

and the last, IG^^ These three ciphers are but three difierent 

combinati(»is of the same mcmogram. Each is composed of the 
three x's which the engraver has made prominent in the inscrip^ 
tion. Had this tomb been in Brittany, it might have alluded to the 
Combat of the Thirty ; had it been of the seventeenth century, 
the three x's might have referred to the Thirty Years' War ; but 
in Germany, and in the fourteenth century, what possible mean- 
ing could they have ? Or was the employment of this funeral 
cipher, rendering all problems insoluble, purely accidental. I 
confess I was thoroughly at fault. 

I remembered, however, that this mysterious mode of alluding 


to the memory of those who are decapitated, has been in use at 
all periods and with all people. At Venice, in the ducal gallery 
of the great council, a black frame fills the place of the fifty, 
seventh doge ; while above, the relentless republic has inscribed 
this sinister memento : 

" Locvs Mariai Falieri deeapitati." 

In Egypt, when the weary traveller arrives at Biban-el-Molouk, 
he finds in the sand, among the ruined palaces and templls, a 
mysterious sepulchre, that of Rhamses V., upon which is inscribed 
a hieroglyphic signifying to the people »of the desert, " who is 
without a head." 

But in Egypt, as at Venice — at the ducal palace, as at Biban- 
el-Molouk— one knows where one is ; and that the legend relates 
to Marino Faliero or Rhamses V. But here I knew neither the 
place nor the man ! My curiosity was at the highest pitch ; and 
this dumb, mysterious spot put me almost out of temper. One 
cannot concede to a ruin or A tomb the privilege of such profound 

When about to quit the vault, enchanted to have discovered so 
curious a monument, but disappointed in deriving so little advan- 
tage therefrom, a sound of loud and mirthful voices suddenly 
assailed my ears. In their dialogue I distinguished the words, 
"Fall of the mountain ;" " Subterranean passage ;" " Very ugly 
^tpath ;" JEind a moment afterwards, as I was quitting the tomb, 
three slim young ladies dressed in white, having lovely faces, with 
blue eyes and fair hair, stepped suddenly into the vault, and on 
seeing me halted in the sunbeam that struck across the sill. 
What more enchanting to the eyes of a man ruminating on a 
tomb, than such an apparition in such a light ! A poet had every 
right to behold in them angels and seraphs. I Own^ however, that 
I saw in them only English women* I must also confess that the 
very prosaic idea of inquiring of these angels the name of the 
castle suggested itself to my mind. I argued thus : " These 
English ladies — for so they must be, being fair and beautiful — 
are probably come on a party of pleasure from some part of the 
surrounding neighborhood ; Bingen, of Rudesheim. The castle 
is the object of their excursion, and they must have been pre* 


acquainted with the spot thus selected." This reasoning decided 
me ; there only remained to hazard the attempt at conversation, 
and I resorted to the most awkward pretext for the purpose. 
Having opened my sketch-book, in order to appear at my ease, I 
called to my aid the little English of which I am master, and 
looking through a loophole at the landscape, murmured, as if to 
myself, the following ejaculations : " Beautiful view ! Very fine ! 
Charming waterfall !" &c., &c. The young ladies, who had 
beeiT at first alarmed at finding me there, now began to whisper 
and laugh among themselves. They appeared to be charming 
girls, though I wa^ evidently the object of their quizzing. I 
therefore cut short all ceremony, and though pronouncing English 
like an Irishman, advanced towards the group, and addressing 
myself most courteously to the eldest of the three, " Miss," said I, 
correcting the laconism of the phrase by the prolongation of my 
obeisance, " What is, if you please, the name of this castle ?" 

The beautiful creature smiled. As I deserved and expected a 
shout of laughter, I was grateful for such mercy. Then looking 
at her two companions, and slightly blushing, she replied in legiti- 
mate French, " Sir, this castle is that of Falkenberg. So at least 
we have been informed by a goatherd, who is talking to my father 
in the great tower. If you like to go there, you will find them." 

The fair strangers were French, not English ! Her neat and 
well-expressed language had immediately so convinced me : but 
the beautiful girl added, " There is no need of our speaking 
English, for we are French, as well as yourself." 

" How did you find me out to be a Frenchman ?" was my next 

" By your English, sir," replied the youngest girl. But her 
eldest sister assumed a look of reproof, if beauty, grace, youth, 
innocence, and joy, can ever assume such looks. I was laughing, 
however, in my turn. 

" But you yourselves were speaking English just now, ladies," 
said I. 

" Only to amuse ourselves ; or rather, to improve ourselves,*' 
observed the elder. This authoritative rectification was lost upon 
the yojmger lady, who ran towards the tomb, and raising her 
gown to avoid the stones, exhibited the prettiest feet in the world. 


" Gome hither," she exclaimed ; *< here is a statue on the ground 
without a head. It is a man." " A knight," observed the eldest, 
who had joined her ; and again a kind of reproach modified the 
tone of voice in which it was uttered ; as if implying, " Sister, a 
young person ought never to say * a man.' It is more decent to 
say * a knight V " 

This is the way with all women. They recoil from images 
which, when properly clothed with words, they accept without 
scruple. The naked word, however, does not sufiice^-the raw 
word disgusts them. There must be paraphrases, and the phrases 
of polished life must be brought into requisition. Later, too Jate, 
they find out how much signification may e^ist in the aU buty 
which approaches the simple fact. Most women slide, and many 
fall, upon the dangerous ground of half-defined expressions. 

The slight distinction made by the two sisters, between " it is 
a man," — " it is a knight," expressed the state of their young 
hearts. The one was profoundly asleep ; the other wide awake. 
The eldest of the sisters was already a woman ; the younger a 
child. Yet there were but two years difference between them ! 
The youngest of the three alone had the character of girlhood. 
Since they came into the vault she had blushed a great deal, 
smiled a little, and said nothing. 

Meanwhile all three stooped over the tomb, and the fantastic 
reverberation of the sunbeams defined their beautiful profiles 
upon the granite. A moment before, I wanted to learn the name 
of the phantom below ; now all I wished for was that of these 
beautiful girls : and I can scarcely describe my feelings, per- 
plexed by these two mysteries ; the one fraught with terror, the 
other with delight. 

By dint of listening to their gentle whispers, I caught the 
name of one of them, that of the youngest and prettiest, a crea* 
tion resembling the princess of a fairy tale. Her long fair eye* 
lashes concealed deep blue eyes, without, however, veiling their 
lustre. There she stood, betwixt her elder and her younger sis- 
ter, lik0 modesty between grace and innocence— a sofl reflection 
of both. She looked at me twice, but without a word ; she was 
the only one of the three whose voice I had not heard, though the 
only one whose name I knew. For I had heard her younger 

110 THE RHm£. 

siEfter whisper to her, '< Look, dear Stella I" and never tiil then 
recognized the beauty and charm of that name of thcvfitars. The 
youngest made her observations aloud : <^ Poor man ! (the repri- 
mand was already forgotten) they seem to have cut off his h^d. 
In the olden time they had little scruple about cutting off heads.'' 
Then suddenly interrupting herself, " Oh ! here is the epitaph ; 
but it is Latin ! Vox — tacuU-—periU — lux. How difficult it is to 
read : I should so much like to know what it means !" 

" Let us go to my father," said the eldest, " who will exjdain 
it :" and away they flew like three wild roes. 

They did not deign so much as address themselres to me fi)r 
the interpretation : my English having, no doubt, given them but 
an unfavorable idea of my Latin ! There happened, however, to 
be some mortar left upon the tomb, levelled with a trowel ; and 
having taken up my pencil, upon that opportune page 1^ traced 
the following lines : — 

** Dans la nuit la yoiz s'est tu^, 
L' ombre 6teignit le flambeau ;' 
Ce que manque a la statue 
Manque a Thomme en son tombeau I" 

The young ladies had not been gone two minutes, when I 
heard exclamations of " This way, this way ! father." I there^ 
fore hastily finished my last line, and escaped. 

Whether they found my explanation, I know not. I wandered 
about the ruins, and saw them no more. 

Neither did I discover the name of the decapitated knight. A 
cruel destiny his ! What crime had he committed, that man 
should have doomed him to deaths and providence to oblivion ? 
Obscurity upon obscurity ! His statue was deprived of its head 
— his name erased from the legend — ^his history from the memory 
of man ! Doubtless the sepulchral stone itself will soon be re- 
duced to atoms. Some vine- dresser from Sonneck or Ruperts- 
berg will one day or other disperse in dust the bones which per^ 
haps it still covers, and, cutting the tomb in two, convert it into 
the doorway of a public-house ; — ^and the peasants will drink, 
the old women spin, and the children dance round the statue de- 
capitated by the headsman and sawn asunder by the mason. 

LEGEND. 171 

For ia these times, in Germany^ as in Franoe, ruins are turned 
to account ^ and out of old palaces they construct new hovels. 

Alas ! old laws and old communities are subject to nearly the 
same species of transformation ! Let us look on, meditate, and 
be content ! There is a providence over the fall of a sparrow ! 

Still, I sometii^es cannot choose but ask myself. Why is it that 
the poor wretch, not content with the superiority of being alive, 
always retains a sort of jealousy of the sovereign who lies dead 
and buried ? 

But I am rambling away from Falkenberg. Let us return to 
our castle. It was delightful to find myself in this nest of le- 
gends, and to be able to address myself boldly to these tottering 
towers, still standing on their feet, though dead, and letting fall 
their mouldering limbs upon the grass. But as you may not 
know the various adventures of which this famous ca^e was the 
scene, I will relate them. I thought especially of Guntram and 
Liba. It was upon that very bridge that Guntram met two men 
bearing a coffin ; it was on those very stairs that Liba threw her- 
self laughing into his arms. A cofHn ? No, that coffin was a 
nuptial couch ! 

It was near yonder chimney, still adhering to the wall without 
flooring or ceiling, that stood the couch she pointed out to him. 
It was in the court, now overgrown with hemlock, that Guntram, 
leading his bridb to the altar, saw before him, visible for Mm 
alone, a knight in black mail and a veiled lady. In that dilapi- 
dated chapel, where living lizards now creep over lizards carved 
in marble, at the very moment he was putting on her finger the 
consecrated ring, an icy hand seized his — the hand of the maiden 
of the castle, who used to comb her hair all night in the forest, 
singing beside an open grave. It was in that vault that Guntram 
expired, and that Liba died of witnessing his death. Ruins give 
rise to legends ; but legends confer on ruins immortality in re- 
turn. I remained many hours amid all this desolation, seated 
under impenetrable verdure, indulging in a vague current of 
ideas. Spiriius hci. My next letter will perhaps convey them 
to you. About three o'clock, I grew hungry, and thanks to the 
goatlierd of whom the fair travellers had spoken, reached a vil- 
lage on the Rhine ; I believe, Trechlingshausen, the ancient 


Trajani eastrum. I could find nothing but a beer-house, and, to 
appease my hunger, a tough leg of mutton, which a student who 
was there smoking assured me had been already abandoned as a 
hopeless case by a hungry Englishman. I did not answer, like 
Marshal Cr^quy before the Genoese fortress of Gavi, " That 
which Barbarossa (or red-beard) could not take, the Greybeard 
will !'' But I set to work and conquered the mutton. 

About sunset I set out again ; the landscape, though rugged, 
was beautiful. Having left behind me the Gothic chapel of St. 
Clement, to my right was the right bank of the Rhine, all slate 
and vineyards ; and the last rays of the sun cast their red re- 
flections upon the far-famed hills of Assmanshausen, at the foot 
of which a cloud of smoke pointed out to me Aulhausen, the 
village of the potteries. Above the road I was following, stood 
in echelon, from hill to hill, three castles: Reichenstein and 
Rheinstein, demolished by Rodolph of Hapsburg, and rebuilt by 
the Count Palatine; and Vaugtsberg, inhabited, in 1458, bv 
Kuno of Falkenstein, and lately restored by Prince Frederick 
of Prussia. 

The Vaugtsberg played a prominent part in the feudal wars. 
The Archbishop of Mayence mortgaged it to the Emperor of 
Germany, for forty thousand livres of Tours. This reminds me 
that Thibaut, Count of Champagne, not knowing how to acquit 
himself towards the Queen of Cyprus, sold to his beloved lord, 
Louis, King of France, the counties of Chartres, Blois, Sanceme, 
and the viscounty of Chiteaudun for the like sum — ^about the 
price a retired tradesman now pays for his retreat in the neigh- 
borhood of Paris. 

I paid but little attention, however, to the landscape; and 
since the approach of evening, entertained only a single idea— « 
that before arriving at Bingen I could see, at the confluence of 
Nahe, a curious edifice in ruins, standing solitarily among the 
rushes in the midst of the river, betwixt two high mountains. 
This ruin is the Matisethurm. 

In my childhood there was an old woodcut suspended near my 
bed, hung up there by an old German nurse, which represented 
an ancient, mouldering, isolated ruin, amidst fogs and moun- 
tains. The sky was charged with black and threatening clouds, 


and every evening, after offering up my prayers, and previous to 
closing my eyes, I used to gaze till the last moment upon the 
woodcut. In the night I saw it in my dreams, and connected it 
with terrible ideas. The tower seemed immense. Water poured, 
and lightning fell from the clouds, while the wind from the 
mountains seemed to groan heavily. One day I inquired of the 
nurse the name of the tower ; to which she answered, making 
the sign of the cross, << The Mauseihurm /" Then she related 
to me, how, in older times at Mayence, there was once a wicked 
archbishop named Hatto, also abbot of Fulda ; <' a covetous 
priest," said she, " opening the hand to bestow benedictions ra- 
ther than benefactions.'' In a year of scarcity he bought up all 
the com, in order to sell it dear to the people. Then- came 
famine, and the peasants alopg the Rhine were all dying of hunger, 
so that they crowded round the burgh of Mayence, crying aloud 
for bread, which the archbishop haughtily denied. The story 
now becomes dreadful. The starving people, refusing to dis- 
perse, thronged the archbishop's palace ; when, lo ! the enraged 
Hatto surrounded them with his archer guard, -who, seizing the 
men, women, and children, shut them up in a bam, and set fire 
to it ; a scene, said the old lady, " that would have melted rocks 
of stone." Hatto, however, only laughed, and on hearing the 
wretched beings scream in the flames, remarked, " 'Tis but the 
squeaking of rats !" The bam was now in ashes, and Mayence un- 
peopled and deserted ; when suddenly a multitude of rats swarmed 
forth from the bam, like worms from the sores of Ahasuerus, 
making their way through the fissures of the walls, defying the 
foot that spurned them, multiplying at every moment, inundating 
the streets, citadel, and palace, cellars blti& chambers ; in fact, a 
divine plague and visitation ! Hatto fled from Mayence, .pursued 
by the rats into the fields, and took refuge in Bingen, which was 
surrounded by lofly walls. It was there the archbishop had built 
a tower in the middle of the Rhine, to which he proceeded in a 
boat, round which his archers beat the water. But, lo ! the rats 
also took to the river, crossed the Rhine, clambered up the tower, 
gnawed the doors, windows^ roofs, ceilings, and floors, and find- 
ing their way to the lower aitch, in which the cruel bishop was 
hid, devoured him alive ! 


The malediction of heaven and indignation of man have laid 
the finger of scorn upon that &tal tower, now called the Matise- 
thurm. It stands deserted and decaying in the middle of the 
river, and a reddish vapor is sometimes seen at night issuing fiiom 
the walls, like the smoke of a furnace ; accoiding to the super- 
stition of the spot, the soul of Hatto returning to haunt its scene 
of condemnation. 

Did you ever remark, that history is often immoral, while tales 
and fictions are moral, virtuous, and decent ? In history, the law 
of the strongest is always good ; tyrants are victorious, and heads- 
men prosper ; the monstrous fintten ; the Syllas become honest 
burghers, and Louis XI. and Cromwell die quietly in their bed. 
Fictions always command a view of the infernal regions ; no 
delinquency but what has its chastisement; no crime but it 
ensures its penalty ; no sinner but eventually becomes penitent, 
or meets with his fitting doom. This arises from history moving 
in infinite space, and fiction being restricted to the finite. The 
author of a fiction does not assume the right of laying down the 
facts without emposing the consequences : for he works in the 
dark ; is sure of nothing ; must teach, advise, expound ; and 
would not dare invent incidents without an immediate conclusion. 
God, who creates history, divulges only what seemeth to Him 
good ! The consequences of historical events often lie at too 
wide a distance from their origin to be readily retraceable. 

M&usethurm is an appropriate name. One finds there all that 
it promises. But there are minds which consider themselves mat- 
ter of fact, and are simply barren ; which would fain extinguish 
all the poetry of life, and say to the imagination as the gardener 
did to the nightingale,*** Will you never be quiet, stupid beast?" 

Such people as these pretend that the name of M&usethurm 
comes from Mouse or Mauth, signifying toll ; and pretend that, in 
the tenth century, before the river was widened, the Rhine was 
only navigable on the left, side, and that the town of Bingen exact- 
ed, by means of this tower, a toll from all the craft upon the river. 
They back this assertion by the feet of there being two such tow- 
ers close to Strasbourg, devoted to*such a purpose ; and, in like 
manner, called <* Mausethurme." For such grave reasQnersy 


w • 

Btteriy inaccessible to legendary Idre, the town must remain a toU- 
bar, and Hatto a custom-house officer I 

For all well-thinking old women,* myself among the red, 
M&usethurm derives its name from mousey which is derived from 
muSy which means a rat ; and for t», the pretended toll and cua- 
tom-house c^cer are me^ vulgar fictions. 

After all, the two opinions may be reconciled ; f9r about the 
sixteenth or seventeenth century, after Luther and Erasmus, the 
municipal authorities may have utilized the tower of Hatto, and 
installed some toUage in the haunted tower. Why not ? Rome 
established her custom-house in the temple of Antoninus ; and the 
outrage she offered to history Bingen may have offered to tradi- 
tion ! By this rule, Mouth would be right, and Mouse wrong. 
However it may be, ever since my old nurse related to me the 
story of Hatto, it has remained one of the familiar visions of my 
mind. Every man has his favorite phantoms, just a^ all have 
their hobbies. Night is the realm of dreams. Sometimes a 
gleam, at others a flame, brightens our souls. The self-same 
dream may bring '^ airs from heaven," and '^ blasts from hell I" 
Imagination throws up her Bengal lights, coloring all things with 
their fantastic hue. 

I must observe that the M ause tower always appeared to me a 
tale of especial horror ; and that when my fancy urged me towards 
the Rhine, my first thought was neither the Cathedral of Cologne, 
the dome of Mayence, nor the Pfalz, but the Mause tower ! Ima- 
gine therefore the feelings of a poor credulous poet, as well as 
impassioned antiquary, when, twilight having succeeded the part- 
ing day, the hills became less defined, the trees black, with a few 
stars twinkling thereon, the Rhine murmiiring unseen, and the 
road fore-shortened as night approached, losing itself^ as it were, 
in mist a few steps before me. I walked slowly on, my eyes 
peering into the obscurity. I knew I was approaching the 
M&usethurm, that mysterious ruin till now an hallucination, which 
was about to become a reality. 

A Qhinese proverb says, " Strain the bow, and the arrow 
swerves !" Such is the case with tl|e mind. By degrees the 
vapor called reverie mounted into my brain. The rustle ci tha 
fiiiiage was hushed. The fiunt ring of the distant forge clinked 


in my ear firoiii afiir off; and, lost in the vague current of my 
ideas, I fi>i^ both rats and mice, the IcAX and the archbishop, and 
fiatened, as I walked along, to the remote clang of the anvO, 
which, among the Tarying voices of evening, of all others wakes 
in my mind the wildest range of ideas. Even when it had ceased, 
I seemed to hear it stiU, and at the expiration of a quarter of an 
hour, I had composed the following effusion, as a sort of accom- 
paniment to my measured march : — 

L'Amour forgeait Au bmit de son eiicliime» i 

Tons les oiseauz, troubles, rouyraient les yeax ; j 

Car c'etait Theure ou se r^pand la brame, 
Ou sur les monts, comme un feu qui s'allume, 
Brille Vinus, I'escarboucle des cieux. 

La griere au nid, la caille en son champ d'orge, 
S'interrogeaient, disant : Que fait-il Ik ? 
Que forge-t-il si tard ?— Un rouge-go]|;e 
Leurrepondit : Moi je sais ce qu*il forge ; 
C'est un regard qu'il a pris & Stella. 

Et les oiseauz, nant du jeune maitre, 
De s'ecrier : Amour, que ferez-vous 
De ce regard qu' aucun fiel ne pen^tre ? 
II est trop pur "pour voua servir, o traitre ! 
Pour Tous servir, mechant, il est trop doux ! 

Mais Cupidon, parmi les ^tincelles, 
Leur dit : Dormez, petits oiseaux des bois. 
Couvrez vos oeufs et repiiez vos ailes, 
Les purs regards sont mes filches mortelles ; 
Les plus doux yeux sont mes pires carquois. 

Just as I had strung my verses to an end, suddenly tummg, I 
halted, when lo ! at my feet lay the Rhine, crushing through the 
bushes, hoarse and impetuous ; to the right and left were moun- 
tains, or rather dense masses of darkness, their summits vanish- 
ing in the clouds, which here and there were transpierced by them 
— ^the horizon forming a vast curtain of shade. 

In the middle of the river, in the distance, rose from the still 
and dead waters a high black tower of hideous form ; fiom the 
summit of which proceeded, by fits and starts, a reddened nebu- 


losity. This gleam, resembling the reverberation of some red-hot 
pipe or furnace, threw out its glare upon the hills, setting forth 
on the right bank an isolated ruin, — ^the lengthening shadow of 
which was reflected in the water, even to my feet. Imagine, if pos- 
sible, this sinister landscape, defined by such singular effects of 
li^ and shade. Not a voice or cry of bird intruded upon the* 
chill and mournful silence, save the monotonous ripple of the 

The M&usethurm was before me ! I had coBceived it to be 
more imposing. All was there that I could require — ^the solemn 
night, the trembling reeds, the roar of the Rhine, as though hydras 
were hissing under its waters; the fitful moaning of the wind, 
the red glare from the tower, the soul of Hatto ! And yet I was 
disappointed I No matter ! I clung to the work of my fancy ; 
and a work of fancy it was fated to remain. 

I felt inclined, in spite of the lateness of the hour, and witb- 
out waiting for day-light, to visit the edifice. The apparition was 
before my eyes, the night dark, the pale phantom of the arch, 
bishop visible in the water. Surely this was the very moment to 
visit this formidable tower. 

But how was I to proceed ? where to find a boat ? At such an 
hour, and in such a place, to swim across the Rhine was too great 
an effort for the sake of a spectre. Besides, had I been a first- 
rate swimmer^ and rash enough for the attempt, within a few 
yards of the spot is the well known whirlpool of Bingerloch, 
which formerly swallowed up vessels with &» much ease as a 
shark a herring, and to which the best of swimmers would prove 
a mere gudgeon. I was consequently somewhat perplexed ! 

On my road towards the ruin, I recalled to mind that the vibra- 
tions of the silver bell, and the ghosts of the donjon of Velmich, 
do not prevent excellent vines from flourishing near the walls, and 
that it was to be presumed the river, even here, must contain fish. 
I might therefore probably find the hut of some salmon-fisher at 
hand. As the vinedressers defy Falkenstein and its M&use, the 
fishermen may well confront the Hatto and his rats ! 

I was not mistaken. Nevertheless I proceeded some distance 
without success, reached the nearest point to the ruin, and, on 
passing it, found myself atHhe confluence of the Nfthe. Already 


I had begun to despair of my purpose, when, on approaching the 
willows on the bank, I perceived one of those spider-like nets I 
have already mentioned. A few paces off a boat was moored^ in 
which lay a man enveloped in a blanket. I woke him up, and 
pointed to the tower, but he did not understand me. I then showed 
him a Saxon dollar, a sign which he understood in a moment ; 
and some minutes afterwards we were gliding along like two 
spectres, in the direction of the M&usethurm. 

As we approached the tower from the middle of the river, it 
appeared to diminish in consequence of the breadth of the Rhine* 
This effect was of short duration. As I got into the boat above 
the tower, the current soon carried us thither ; my eyes being 
fixed on the red glare still issuing from the summit of the tower, 
which I now saw increase in size at every stroke of the oar, so as 
to become really imposing. 

On a sudden I felt the boat bend beneath me, and the shock 
jerked my cane from out of my hands. I looked towards my 
companion ; who, steering coolly on by the sinister guidance of 
the glowing Mftusethurm, said aloud " Bitigerloch !" We were I 
passing the whirlpool ! | 

The boat swerved, the man rose, and seizing a pole with one 
hand, and a rope with the other, plunged the first into the water, 
and leaning on it with all his weight, ran along the plank on ' 
the side ; I felt the boat grate harshly against the rocks beneath ! ' 

This difficult manoeuvre was executed with marvellous dex- I 
terity, and without uttering a word. Suddenly withdrawing | 
his pole from the water, he held it up horizontally, and threw out I 
a rope into the water. The boat immediately stopped. We were 
arrived. ' 

There stood the lonely and formidable Mitusethurm, with its i 
base deeply furrowed, as if the rats of the legend had gnawed 
through the very stones ! I 

The glare had now become a fierce and brilliant flame, throw* i 
ing forth its rays far and wide, and bursting fiom the crevices 
and fissures of the tower, as if through the holes of a gigantic 
magic-lantern. I seemed to hear within a harsh and oontinuous 
noise as if from grinding. I now landed, and bade the *^ftff"rfi5» 
waxt for me» and approached the ruin* 


I had at last then attained the object of my wishes Thk wat 
the rat-swanning tower of Hatto, cloae to me, befeze my vevy 
eyes. I was literally on the threshold, able to touch, feel, pluek 
the grass from the very stones of the nightmare of my youth f 
Yes! an embodied nightmare, real and genuine, was before 
me. What extraordinary sensations must arise from so strange 
a contact ! 

The front before which I was standing had a glazed loop-hole, 
and four windows of unequal sizes ; two on the second, and two 
on the third story. At about the height of a man's head, und^ 
the lower windows, was a low wide door, open, and communicat* 
ing with the ground by means of a heavy ladder with only three 
steps. From this door issued more light than from the windows* 
As I proceeded towards it with caution, over the sharp and pointed 
rocks, something round and black passed rapidly by me, almost 
between my feet, and I could have fancied it to be an enormous 
rat flying towards the reeds. I still heard the hoarse grinding 
within, and, in a few more strides, found myself before the door* 

This door, which the architect of the wicked bishop had con* 
structed high above the soil, to render the access more difficult to 
the rats, had formed the entrance to the lower room of the toW&tf 
when it had upper and lower rooms. But new both floors and 
ceilings have fallen in, and the tower of M&usethurm has four 
high walls, rubbish for floor, and the sky for roof. I looked how. 
ever into the space from which I had heard the grinding, and seen 
so strange a light ; and there observed two men in an angle, their 
backs turned towards me ; the one bending, the other leaning upon 
a kind of rod, which by a slight exercise of the imagination might 
have been converted into an instrument of torture. Their arms 
and feet were naked, covered with rags, with a leather apron to 
the knees, and a hooded jacket on their back. One was old and 
grey, the other young, with light hair, reddened by the reflectbn 
from a vast furnace in the opposite angle of the building. The 
hood of the old man inclined to the right, like a Guelph ; that of 
the young man to the left, like a Ghibeline. But they were 
neither the one nor the other, nor even devils, but mitupty two 

Their furnace, in which was a red-hot bar of iron, filled the 

180 THfe RHINE. 

building with the glare and reddened smoke, constituting the soul 
of Hatto transformed by the powers of hell into fiery vapor. The 
grinding proceeded from a file. Near the door was an anvil with 
two huge hammers, the sound of which an hour before had 
prompted my poetical effusion. 

And thus the Mausethurm has progressed into a forge ! Why 
then might it not as well have been a custom-house ? Decidedly, 
my dear friend, MauUi was the true version ! 

Nothing can be more dilapidated than the tower, both within 
and without. The walls, from which once were suspended epis- 
copal hangings, and afterwards, according to the legend, gnawed 
by the rats with the name of Hatto, are now naked, worn by the 
rain, covered by the moisture without with a green coating, and 
by the furnace within with a black. 

The two smiths proved to be worthy people. Having ascended 
the ladder, they showed me into the building ; and near a chim- 
ney pointed out a narrow door leading into a turret without win- 
dows, and almost inaccessible, in which the archbishop is said to 
have sought refuge. They also lent me a lantern to visit every 
part of the diminutive island ; which is a long and narrow tongue 
of land, with a belt of reeds and rushes, and the Euphorbia qfi^ 
dfiaUs, At evei^ step in this island, the feet knock against 
hillocks, or sink into galleries ; for moles have succeeded V> the 

The Rhine has left uncovered the eastern point of the island, 
which seems to stem like a prow the current. On lowering with 
my lantern, I found the tower to be built on red marble, which has 
the appearance of being veined with blood. The M&use tower is 
square. The turret, of which the smiths showed me the interior, 
presents a picturesque feature, looking towards Bingen. The 
pentagonal form of this lofty turret is evidently of the eleventh 
century, and the rats seem to have particularly wreaked their 
vengeance upon its base. The apertures in the tower have so 
oompletely lost their form, that it would be impossible to infer a 
date. The stone facings are so time-worn as to resemble hideous 
leprosy. The stones which once constituted embattlements might 
pass for the teeth of the walrus or mastodon cemented into the 


Above the tower floats a black and white rag — ^fit emblem, 
Heaven knows, of the decaying structure ; but, upon nearer in- 
spection, I found it to be simply the Prussian flag. The duchy 
of Hesse terminates at Bingen, and Rhenish Prussia begins. 
Mind, I only speak thus disrespectfully of the effect produced, not 
of the flag itself. All national flags are glorious. Above all, the 
man who respects the flag of Napoleon must render due homage 
to that of Frederick IL ... 

Afler gathering a sprig of euphorbia, I quitted the M&use- 
thtirm. The boatman was fast asleep. As we rowed away from 
the island, and the two smiths returned to the anvil, I heard the 
heated iron hiss aloud, as it was plunged into the water. Half an 
hour afterwards I reached Bingen, and after supper, though I 
was much fatigued, and all the people were in bed, by means of 
a dollar I managed to ascend to a dilapidated old castle, called the 
Klopp. I was rewarded with a scene worthy of closing such a 
day, having seen so much, and indulged in so many fancies. It 
was dead of night. Beneath me lay a mass of black houses, like 
a vast lake of darkness, there being but seven lights visible in the 
town. By a strange chance, these seven lights, like seven stars, 
exactly represented Ursa major, which at that moment shone pure 
and bright in the heavens, so that the majestic constellation, nuU 
lions of miles above us, seemed reflected at my feet in an ocean 
of liquid jet. 



Legend of the handsome Pecopin and the be^tiful Bauldonr. 

BnoKK, JtmgmaL 

I FBOMisSD you some o{ the fftinous legends of the Falkenbei^ 
perhaps the most interesting, that of Guntram and Liba. But 
why relate a tale that you may find in any guide-book and 
probably better told than I oould narrate it ? Since you exact 
a wonderful story to amuse your children, here is one which 
you will find in no coUectitm extant. 

I send it in the state I wrote it down under the very wall 
of the old manor, with the fantastic forest of Sonn be£)re my 
eyes, and as it were under the magic influence of the birds, 
trees, and winds of the ruins. I had been conversing with 
the veteran, now turned goatherd on the mountain side, grown 
wild and almost witch-like, — a singular destiny for a drum- 
major of the thirty-seventh light infantry; and this brave 
soldier of the republic seemed to have acquired as much fiuth 
in the fairies, sprites, and hobgoblins, as formerly in the em- 
peror. Such is the influence of solitude upon the mind, de- 
veloping the poetry innate in the soul of man. Shepherds are 
usually an imaginative race. As I said before, I wrote this 
wonderful tale concealed in the very ravine, seated upon a 
fragment which was once a rock, though in the twelfth cen- 
tury a tower, and now a rock again ! — ^gathering from time to 
time some wild flower to refresh my spirit by inhaling its own — 
one of those ground-ivies that smell so sweet, and die so quickly 
•^gazing by turns at the wild flowers and the glorious heaven, 
while the sweeping clouds, sailing gloriously past, seemed to tear 
their skirts against the jagged ruins of Palkenberg. And now to 




The handsome Pecopin was enamored of the fair Baul clour, and 
the fair Bauldour was enamored of the handsome Pecopin. He 
was the son of the Burgrave of Sonne ck, and Banldonr daughter 
to the Lord of Falkeiiberg : one ruled the forest^ the other the 
moimtain, and what could be more natural than to unite the two 
dominions ? 

The fathers consequently agreed, and Bauldour and Pecopm 
were affianced : it was on an April day- The elders and haw- 
thorns opened their blossoms to the sun in the forest ; thousands 
of rippling cascades arose from the ynows and rain, converted into 
streams ; tlie asperities of winter became the graces of the spring, 
and bounded harn^oniously along the mountains ; and love, the 
April of life^ rejoieed the throbbing hearts of the belrothed. 

Peeoprn's father, an old and valiant knight, the pride of the 
N^hegau, died soon after the hetrothiufr, ^i^i'^ls ^^^^ blessing to his 
son, and commending Bauldour to his love. Pecopin wept a 
little, but by degrees he raised his eye from his father's tomb, and 
gadng upon the soft and radiant face of his bride, became con- 
soled. The moon once risen, who thinks of the sun that has set? 
Pecopin possessed all the essential qualities of a man and a 
nobleman. Bauldour was a queen in her castlcj a holy virgin in 
her chapel, in the forest a nymph, with her needle the adroitest 
of fairies, 

Pecopin loved the chase^ Bauldour her distaff, and there is affi- 
nity betwixt the spindle and the hunting horn* The hunter 
a -field, his lady- fair spins assiduously, the better to support his 
absence. The hounds cry, the spindle w^hirls* The distant 


blast of the horn, with the &x-off cry of the pack, faintly issuing 
from the thickets, breathe a gentle warning of " Think of thy 
lover !" The wheel, which compels the fair spinster to cast down 
her eyes, seems to murmur with its meek soft voice, " Think of 
thy husband !" and when the husband and lover are one, all is 
well ! Unite, therefore, the spinster with the hunter, and it will 
be union indeed ! 

I must admit, however, that Pecopin was somewhat over-fond 
of the chase. When he was once mounted, his falcon on his wrist, 
or followed his greyhound with his eye, or heard the cry of his 
crooked-legged beagles, all else on earth was forgotten. Avoid 
excess, oh ! man, £)r happiness consists in nxxleration I Weigh 
well your tastes, and restrain your appetites. He, who loves 
horse and dogs too well, afironts the gentler sex ; and he, who 
devotes himself too much to the gentler sex, provokes the jealousy 
of heaven. 

When Bauldour saw Pecopin about to mount his impatient steed, 
which stood snorting with pride, as if to bear the weight of Alex, 
ander the Great — when she beheld Pecopin caress its neck, and, 
sparing of his spur, indulge the animal with a handful of fresh 
grass — Bauldour became jealous of the horse. When this 
haughty and high-born damsel, this star of love, youth, and beauty, 
saw Pecopin caress his favorite hound and bring his fine bewitch- 
ing face in contact with the flap-eared, broad-nosed favorite, 
Bauldour was jealous. Shut up in her chamber, sad and deject- 
ed, she wept, scolding her waiting women, and her dwarf; for 
woman's anger is like the shower in the forest, which hath a 
double fall, UspJmt, 

In the evening Pecopin used to return dusty and waywore. 
Bauldour, still resentful, had a tear in the corner of her bright 
blue eye. But when Pecopin kissed her tiny hand, she was ap- 
peased ; when he kissed her ivory forehead, she smiled ; for lo ! 
the forehead of Bauldour was of ivory, glossy, and beautiful as 
that of Charlemagne's horn. 

Each of them retired to their respective towers. She did not 
permit the valiant knight to approach her waist. One evening 
indeed he happened to touch her elbow, and she was covered with 
blushes : for Bauldour was betrothed, not wedded ; and modesty 
in woman is essential, as chivalry in man. 

A LEGEND. 185 


The bird PhtEnbc, and the planet Venus, 

The happy couple so adored each other that it was a pleasure to 
see them. Pec^jpin had in his armory at Son neck a picture 
painted on a golden ground, representing the nine heavens, every 
planet with its peculiar color and name inscribed beside it in ver- 
milion ; Saturn in lead, white ; Jupiter, clear^ but inflamed and 
sanguine ; Venus oriental, radiant with fire y Mercury spark- 
ling ; the Moon, with her silver ice ; the Sun, with its dazzling 
rays. Pecopin effaced the name of Yen us, and substituted that 
of Bauldour, 

So also had Bauldour in her perfumed chamber, hangings of 
red tapestry, upon wbich was a bird the size of an eagle, with a 
golden neck, the body purple, tlie tail blucj interspersed with 
carnation plumes, and its head surmounted with a noble crest. 
Above this marvellous bird was inscribed the Greek word "Phce- 
ni.x," Bauldour erased that word and substituted ^* Pecopin !'' 

Meanwhile l]ie w^edding day approached. Peeopin rejoiced at 
the thought, and Bauldour^s heart was content. Amongst the 
huntsmen of Son neck, there was a pricker, free of tongue and 
evil counsel, named Erilangus, This man, once a renowned 
bowman, had been an object of ambition to several rural heir- 
esses of the country round Lorch. But be heeded them not, pre- 
ferring the joys of the chase. Pecopin one day asked him the 
reason, when Erilangus replied, " My good lord, hounds have 
seven kinds of madness, women have a thousand/' Another 
time, on learning the approaching wedding of his master, he came 
to him boldly, and said, " My lord, my lord, what tempts you to 
marry V Whereupon Pecopin dismissed him his service. 

This might have afforded cause of uneasiness to the knight, for 
Erilangua was of a subtle mind and good memory. Butj unknown 


to Pecopin, the pricker had already installed himself master of 
the hounds at the court of the Marquis of Luzace, and nothing 
more was heard of him at Sonneck. 

The week preceding the marriage, as Bauldour was spinning 
in the recess of the window, her dwarf came to announce to her 
the visit of Pecopin ; and she was about to fly to meet him, when, 
in rising from her chair, her foot became entangled in the thread 
of her spindle. She fell, but rose again unhurt. Remembering, 
however, that just such an accident had befallen the lady Liba, 
her heart sank within her. 

But lo ! when Pecopin entered and spake of their marriage and 
prospects, the clouds hovering over her soul dispersed, and all 
was joy. 

A LEGEND. 187 


The difference betwixt the Ear uf an old Man and the Ear of a yonng One. 

Kext day, Bauldour was again spinning in her chamber, and 
Pecopin hunting in the forest. He was alone, and accompanied 
by a single hound ; and in the course of the chase he accidentally 
found himself close by a farm, at the beginning of the forest of 
Sonn, which marks the limit of the domains of Sonneck and 

This farm was sheltered towards the east by four great trees, 
a beech, an elm, a pine, and an oak, known in the country as the 
four Evangelists. It appears that these trees were enchanted, for 
at the moment Pecopin passed four birds were perched upon their 
branches, a jay on the beech, a blackbird on the elm, a magpie 
on the larch, and a crow upon the oak. The chattering of these 
four birds seemed fancifully interminged, as if questioning and 
answering. But above them all, was audible a pigeon cooing in 
the thick of the wood, and a hen cackling unseen in the farmyard 
of the farm. 

Further on, an aged man was stacking roots against the coming 
winter. On seeing Pecopin approach, he rose and said, " Dost 
thou hear, sir knight, the discourse of yonder birds ?" 

" The discourse of birds V retorted Pecopin ; " What matters 
their noise to me ?" 

" Sir," resumed the old man, " to the ear of youth the black, 
bird whistles, the jay chatters, the magpie gabbles, the crow 
croaks, the pigeon coos, the hen cackles. But for the ear of age, 
birds have voices." 

The knight laughed aloud. 

" You are dreaming, old man !" 

" It is rather you who dream, Sir Pecopin !" replied the old 

" How come you to know my name !" cried the knight. 


'' The birds told it to met," quoth the old man. 

" You are a greater goose than them all !" cried the knight ; 
and, half jesting, half angry, he went his way. 

About an hour afterwards, as he was crossing a glade, he heard 
the sound of horns, and suddenly there appeared a troop of knights, 
being the chase of the count palatine, comprising the Burgraves 
who are lords of the castles, and the Landgraves who are lords 
of the forest, and the Rhinegraves who are lords of the Rhine, 
and the Raugraves who are lords by the right of the strong-arm. 

A knight-banneret of the Palsgrave, named Garfred, perceiving 
Pecopin, exclaimed — " Ho, there ! sir knight ! why hunt you not 
with us ?" 

" Whither are ye bound ?" inquired Pecopin. 

" We are going to attack a kite at Heimberg, which has com. 
mitted havoc among our pheasants ; a vulture at Vaugtsberg, which 
attacks our falcons ; an eagle at Rheinstein, which destroys our 
sparrow-hawks. Come with us, and be of our company." 

" When do you return ?" inquired Pecopin. 

" To-morrow." 

" Then I am of your party !" was his stout reply. 

Nevertheless the chase lasted three days. On the first, Pecopin 
killed the kite; on the second, the vulture; on the third, the 
eagle. The count palatine was amazed at his skill. 

" Sir knight," said he, " I present you with the fief of Rheineck, 
a dependence of my castle of Gutenfels. Follow me to Stahleck 
to receive the investiture, and to proffer the oath of allegiance, in 
public mall and in presence of the pursuivants — * in mallo publico 
et coram scahinis,' according to the forms of our holy Emperor 

There was no choice but to comply. Pecopin made known to 
Bauldour that the gracious will of the Palsgrave compelled him 
to proceed to Stahleck for a serious and important affair. — " Be 
not alarmed, my dear love," added he, " I shall return for sure 
next month." 

The messenger despatched, Pecopin followed the palatine, and 
went to repose, with the other knights in the suite of the prince, 
in the guard-rooms of the Castle of Bacharach. 

That night he dreamed a dream. He beheld anew the en- 

A LEGEND. 189 

trance to the forest of Sonnech, the farm, the four trees, and the 
four birds. But this time, the birds neither whistled, croaked, 
nor sung, but spoke. Their jabber, still accompanied by the 
cackle of the fewl, and the cooing of the pigeon, became a strange 
dialogue, which Pecopin heard distinctly in his sleep. The jay, 
after distinctly pronouncing the name of Pecopin, asserted him to 
be a captive at Fez, among the Moors ! The pigeon meanwhile 
repeated the name of " Bauldour — ^Bauldour !" 

Pecopin awoke in an indescribable panic. The first thing he 
thought of was the strange old man, and his soul quaked within 
him, though he knew not way. When trying to recall and inter- 
pret his dream, he fell asleep again ; and when again he woke, 
the sun was high in the heavens — ^the sun which drives away 
spectres, annihilates dreams, and gilds the mists of the sky. He 
thought no more, therefore, of the four trees ajid four birds, but 
prepared himself for the toils and pleasures of the day. 



Of tiie divera Qualities eawntial to divers Embassies. 

Pecopin was a gentleman of fiune, degree, wit, and accomplish- 
ments. Once installed at the court of the Palsgrave, and estab- 
lished in his new possessions, he pleased the palatine so well, that 
one day the worthy prince said to him, ^* Being about, my dear 
friend, to send a mission to my cousin of Burgundy, I have 
selected you on account of your prepossessing appearance, to be 
my messenger." 

Pecopin was forced to obey. Arrived at Dijon, he made so 
favorable an impression, that the duke said to him one evening, 
after swallowing three large goblets of Rhine wine, " Sir Pecopin, 
you are our friend ! I am at variance with our Lord the King 
of France, and the count palatine has granted me permissicm to 
send you to him. For know that I have selected you on account 
of your lofty lineage, to represent me.'' Pecopin accordingly 
proceeded to Paris. The king, who was also charmed with him, 
one morning took him aside, in a most condescending mood, <' By 
the Holy Rood, sir knight," said he, ^* since the count palatine 
lent you to the Burgundian, for the service of Burgundy, he can- 
not refuse to lend you to France, for the service of Christendom. 
I want some noble lord to remonstrate stoutly with the Moorish 
viceroy in Spain, and hereby name you my ambassadoif" 

Now a man may refuse his vote to the emperor, or his wife to 
the pope, but nothing is to be refused to the King of France. 

Away he sped therefore ; and at Granada he wis invited to 
the Alhambra, and courteously welcomed by the viceroy. Day 
after day, flltes were given in his honor ; tilts with the djereed, 
and hawking parties, in which Pecopin took a prominent part 
Like most of the Moors, the chief had most excellent ftilcons, and 
finer sport could scarcely be seen. 

Stj^l Pecopin was not unmindful of the affairs of the King of 

A LEGEND. 191 

France, and having terminated his business with the Miramoluiy 
the knight had his farewell audience. 

" I accept your adieus," said the Viceroy ; " for I find you 
must instantly set off for Bagdad." 
" For Bagdad ?" exclaimed Pecopin. 

" Even so, sir knight," replied the Moorish prince, " for I can- 
not sign the treaty of alliance with the King of France, without 
the assent of the Caliph, the Commander of the Faithful ; I require 
some person of consideration to send to that mighty sovereign, and 
cannot lay my hand on a more presentable man than yourself." 

Among the Moors, the Moorish will is law. Among the Moors, 
Christians are infidels and dogs. Pecopin accordingly proceeded 
to Bagdad. There he had a new adventure ! 

One day, as he was passing under the walls of the seraglio, 
the favorite sultana saw him, and being of a fierce and haughty 
disposition, became enamored of his noble deportment, and sent a 
black slave to him, who communicated with him in a garden of 
the town, under a fine linden tree, which exists to this very day ; 
making over to him a talisman, and saying, " ho, and behold, this 
amulet comes from a princess who adores you, but on whose face 
you will never look. Keep it as the apple of your eye ; for so 
long as you retain it, will you enjoy perpetual youth. When in 
peril of your life, touch it, and you have nothing to fear." 

Pecopin accepted the talisman, which was a beautiful turquoise, 
inscribed with hieroglyphics. He attached it at once to his neck- 

" And now, my lord," added the slave, on quitting him, "attend 
to my last words. So long as^ou wear this turquoise, time will 
have no power over your frame ; but if you lose it, in a single 
moment you will add to your life all the years you have left 
behind you. Farewell, beautiful giaour !" 
Thus having said, the negress went her way. 
The sultan, meanwhile, had seen the slave of his sultana 
address the knight ; and being jealous and a magician, he invited 
Pecopin to a feast, after which, night having set in, he conducted 
him to a high tower. 

Pecopin inadvertently advanced towards the parapet, which 
was low, when the caliph addressed him thus, "Sir knight! tl# 


oount palatine sent you to the Duke of Burgundy on account of 
your great fame ; the Duke of Burgundy sent you to the King 
of France on account of your high descent ; the King of France 
sent you to the Miramolin, on account of your unheard-of talents ; 
the Miramolin sent you to the Caliph of Bagdad, on account of 
your prepossessing appearance ; and I, on account of your looks, 
fame, race, and talents, will send you head-foremost to the devil !" 
As he pronounced the last word, the caliph pushed Pecopin 
over the hattlements, and he was precipitated to the earth. 




Fidelity rewarded. , 

When a man falls in an abyssj it isj as it were, a flash of light- 
ning, showing him at once the life he is leaving, and the death 
thai awaits him. In that critical momcntj Pecopin, bestowing his 
last thoughts on Bauldour, placed his hand upon his heart, and in 
so doing accidentally touched the talisman ! Scarcely had his 
fingers approached the precious jewel, when he felt as if borne 
upon wings. All night he ftew, and flew ; and, at the dawn of 
day, the invisible hand which supported him laid him soflly on a 
Kolitary spot upon the sea -shore. 



• The Devil himaelf may sin in being a Glutton. 

About that time a singular and disagreeable adventure had 
befallen the devil. The devil is in the habit of carrying off the 
souls belonging to him in a hod, as you may convince yourself by 
examining the portal of the cathedral at Fribourg ; where he is 
represented with a swine's head upon his shoulders, a crook in 
his hand, and a ragman's hod upon his back, as though the devil 
picked up the souls of the wicked in the heaps of dirt, wherewith 
the human race defile the comers of divine truth. 

Now the devil having a bad habit of neglecting to &sten 
his hod, thanks to the celestial aid of the angels, many souls 
escaped. But the devil, having found this out, secured the lid of 
the hod with numerous padlocks. Still the souls, little heeding 
such paltry precautions, found means to make their way by the 
interstices of the wicker-work ; seeing which, the devil slew a 
dromedary, and with the skin of the hump, assisted by the demon 
Hermes, managed to make it soul-tight. When his new hod was 
full to the brim, he was merrier than a school-boy with a bag of 
golden sequins. It is generally in Upper Egypt, upon the shores 
of the Red Sea, that the devil, after beating for game the country 
of the pagans and heathens, manages to fill his hod. 

The spot is* quite deserted, being a sandy shore near a palm- 
grove, situated between Coma, the birthplace of St. Antony, and 
Clisma, where St. Sisods gave up the ghost. 

One day the devil, having made a more successful hunt than 
usual, was joyously filling his hod, when, lo ! at a few paces dis* 
tance from him, stood an angel, smiling. The devil shrugged 
his shoulders, and went on packing his souls, taking them as they 
came, great and small ; all being fish that came to his net. 
Having finished his task, he was about to throw the hod over his 
shoulder, when, alas ! he finds it impossible to raise his souls with 

A LEGEND. 195 

a siogle pull ; so many there were, and so overcharged with 
crimes. Having seized the fatal wallet with both hands, his 
efibrts were still of no avail. He could no more move his 
burthen than if it had been a rock ! " A curse upon ye, oh souls 
of lead !" exclaimed Beelzebub ; and he began to swear like a 
trooper; when, on turning round, he saw the beautiful angel 
laughing in his face. 

"What are you at, pray ?" inquired the evil one, in an indig- 
nant tone. " Amusing myself at your expense, as you may 
perceive," replied the good angel. " I may make you laugh on 
the other side of your mouth," cried Beelzebub, in a passion. 
But the angel now assumed a severe countenance. " Listen, oh 
serpent ! and give ear !" said he, " in the name of Him who is 
above both thee and me. Never shah thou carry off the prey thou 
boldest in thy hand, until a saint fallen from Paradise, or a 
Christian fallen from the sky, aid thee to lift the burthen upon 
thy shoulders." And as he spoke, the angel spread forth his 
wings, and was no more seen. 

The devil was beside himself. " What the deuce is the mean- 
ing of all this ?" mumbled he between his teeth. " A saint fallen 
from Paradise, or a Christian from the skies ! I may wait long 
enough for such assistance ! What could tempt me so to overfill 
this wallet ?" 

During this monolc^ue, the inhabitants of Coma and Clisma 
began to hear the thunder groan frightfully towards the horizon, 
which was neither more nor less than the grumbling of the devil. 

For a carter, sticking in the mud, to swear, is natural enough, 
though to struggle his way out be a wiser measure. The devil 
was at his wits' end. All-cunning, as when he deluded the weak 
mind of Eve, penetrating everywhere, and gliding into love, or 
into Paradise, as the case may be, he retains an acquaintance 
with St. Cyprian the magician, and knows how to ingratiate him- 
self with other saints ; sometimes by rendering them little services, 
at others by saying agreeable things to them, knowing well how 
to suit his conversation to his company, and attacking every one 
oii his weak side. To St. Robert of York he conveys buttered 
oat cakes ; with St. Blias he discusses jewellery, and culinary 
affairs with St. Theodotus. He talks to the holy Bishop CrermaiD 


of his friend King Childebert ; to the holy Abbot Waadrille of his 
friend King Dagobert, and to St. Ustarade of King Sapor ; to St. 
Paul the Simple of St. Anthony, and to St. Anthony of his pig. 

He talks to St. Loup of his wife Pim^niole, and does not talk 
to St. Gromer of Ms wife Gwihmarie. For the devil, if the prince 
of darkness, is the prince of flatterers ; his heart all gall, but his 
lips, in good sooth, a very honeycomb. 

Meanwhile four saints, renowned for their reciprocal friend- 
ship, St. Nile the Solitary, St. Antremaine, St. John the Dwarf, 
and St. Medard, happened to be talking a walk that very day on 
the borders of the Red Sea. As they advanced towards the palm 
grove, the devil perceived them without being seen. Haying 
hastily assumed the appearance of a decrepit old roan, he began 
to utter moans of despair. " What is the matter ?" inquired St. 
Nile, approaching him. *< Alas ! alas I my good gentleman !" 
exclaimed the devil, " come, I pray you, to my aid. I am a poor 
slave, and my wicked master is a merchant of the country of 
Fez ; nor need I tell you that the men of Fez, the Moors, Nuini. 
dians, Garamantuans, and all the tribes of Barbary, Nubia, and 
Egypt, are worthless, perverse, corrupt, bold, and pitiless, from 
the influence of the planet Mars. Moreover my master is a victim 
to black bile, and the loose cough of Cicero ; hence, a deep 
melancholy, which renders him timid and reserved. Still his 
inventions are cruel towards his slaves, and " — " Will you be so 
obliging as to come to the point, my good friend," interrupted St. 

" Let me tell you, my good sir," replied the devil, " that my 
master is a great traveller, and has strong manias. He has a 
fancy for raising in his garden a hill composed of the sand of the 
sea-shore of all the countries he visits. In Zealand, he heaped 
. up a mound of filthy mud and sand ; Friesland afibrded him sand 
mixed with red shells, among which you find the striped cone ; 
and in the Cimbrian Chersonesus, now called Jutland, a heap of 
fine white sand, in which you find occasionally the beautiful 
shell of—" 

" The deuce take all this rigmarole," cried St. Nile, " to the 
pomt ! to the point ! For the last quarter of an hour, at least, you 
have been making fools of us. I counted the minutes." 


" The minutes, sir V replied the devil ; " you must be from the 
south, then. The southerners are apt to deal in horologery, being 
nearer than others to the equator :" and he now began sobbing 
and beating his breast, crying aloiid, "Alack, alack ! good princes. 
To complete his mountain of sand, my tyrannical master compels 
me, aged man as I am, to fill this sack on the sea-shore, and I 
must bear it on my shoulders from morning till night, and ever 
commencing and re-commencing. Though tired and exhausted, 
I dare not rest myself, or I should be severely flagellated. I am 
sinking under infirmities and ill usage ! Yesterday I made six 
trips, and in the evening was so exhausted that I could not raise 
the sack to my shoulder. I have tarried here all night in fear of 
the resentment of my master. Therefore, my good, good lords, 
in pity and for mercy's sake, help me to raise my burthen, that I 
may return home to my cruel master." 

Afler listening to this pathetic appeal, St. Nile, St. Antremaine, 
and St. John the Dwarf looked full of sympathy, and St. Medard 
virept, which caused it of course to rain for forty days. 

St. Nile, however, said to the demon, " I cannot help you, my 
friend ; it is against my articles of faith to touch a dead substance 
such as yonder skin. < Touch not the unclean thing,' said Moses, 
and St. Paul confirmed the interdiction." St. Antremaine, on the 
other hand, observed, " To assist you, friend, might be a good 
action. But good actions lead to vain-glory, and I therefore ab- 
stain, for the better security of my humility." 

St. John the Dwarf added, " It is out of my power to come to 
your aid. I reach only to your waist, and could not possibly lift 
the sack upon your shoulders." 

St. Medard, still in tears, exclaimed, " My feelings are too much 
unhinged, old gentleman, to be of the least assistance." And 
away went the four saints, to pursue their walk. Beelzebub* 
might as well have wished them at the devil, for he was now be- 
side himself. But this charitable wish, so frequent among Chris- 
ties, -was in his case out of the question ; and he had conse- 
quently only to chew the cud of his own ill-humor. As his 
fiendish eyes were glaring out malignantly towards the sky, he 
descried a small black speck in the heavens, increasing as it ap- 
proached, till at length he saw that it was a man — a knight armed 


and helmed — a Christian with the red cross on his breast, and 
literally falling from the clouds. 

" I am safe !" cries the demon exultingly. " Here is my Chris- 
tian, in the nick of time. I failed with the four saints, but the 
devil is in it if I cannot prevail over a man." ^ Pecopin now set 
foot on earth, and perceiving the old man reposing beside his 
burthen, went up to him, saying. " Who art thou, friend, and, 
pry thee, where am I ?" 

The devil, recommencing his piteous moan, replied, ^ Yoii are 
by the Red Sea, sir knight, and you behold the most wretched of 
beings !" He then implored him, as he had done the saints, to 
lift the burthen upon his back. 

Pecopin shook his head, saying, " Old man, this story of yours 
is I fear stranger than true." 

" My good sir," replied the devil, " who would believe yours, 
were you to tell them you had fallen from the sky ?" 

" This time you certainly say true," quoth Pecopin. 

" It is not my fault," quoth the devil, " if truth be strange, 
stranger than fiction. 1 am forced to tell my own story in its 
own way." 

" You may let it have its own way, if you will, but permit roe 
to go mine," replied Pecopin sharply. 

" And yet," remonstrated the demon, " it would do you no 
harm to give a lifl to a poor devil !" 

This was unanswerable, and Pecopin, quietly stooping, raised 
the sack without difHculty, and placed it upon the back of the old 
man, who was waiting for his burthen. 

Beelzebub is apt to indulge in his evil propensities, and play the 
devil ; one of his favorite vices being that of gluttony. At that 
moment, he hungered ravenously after the soul of Pecopin. The 
first s^ep towards obtaining it was to part it from his body, to 
achieve which, he summoned to his aid, by certain mutterings, an 
invisible spirit, to whom he issued his commands. 

Everybody knows that the language spoken by the devil in his 
private life is half-Spanish, half-Italian, intermixed with a little 
dog Latin ; a fact clearly established on the trial of Dr. Eugenio 
Torralva, begun at Yalladolid, Jan. lOth, 1528, and terminated 
the 6th of May by the aiUo da fe of the doctor. 


Now Pecopin was far from an ignoramus — on the contrary, he 
was a knight fully entitled to benefit of the clergy. Among 
other branches of polite letters, he was a proficient in diabolical 

As he was placing the camel-skin on the old man's shoulder^ he 
distinctly heard him utter the following words : — " Bamos, nan 
chierra aecM verheray frappa, y echa la piedra,^' A flash of 
lightning seemed to strike Pecopin ; and a luminous idea instantly 
suggested itself« On raising his eyes, he beheld an immense 
rock, suspended by some giant over his head. 

To throw himself back, touch his talisman with his left hand, 
and seize hold of his poniard with his right, so as to stab the 
camel-skin sack with impetuous violence, was the work of a 

The devil uttered a cry of despair. The imprisoned souls were 
escaping in all directions, leaving behind them in the sack their 
crimes and wickedness, a hideous heap, which, by natural sym- 
pathy and attraction, attached itself like a wart to the devil, 
struck root into his back, and remained there, fixed to all eternity, 
between his shoulders. It is to this singular incident we are to 
attribute the humpback of the evil one. 

At the moment Pecopin threw himself back, the invisible giant 
let &11 his rock upon the devil's cloven feet, and ever since he 
has gone lame. 

There b a thunder which emanates from the regions below, as 
well as a thunder from above ; but the former roots up trees, and 
reverses the order of nature. Pecopin trembled when a black 
smoke seemed to envelope him, and an astounding noise over- 
powered his senses ; a moment afterwards he seemed to be skim, 
ming the surface of the earth, like a dead leaf driven by the 
winds. He had fallen into a deep swoon ! 



A pleasing Proposition from an old Scholar living in a Hut of Leaves. 

On coming to himself, he heard a gentle voice exclaim "Phi sma,^' 
which means in the Arab tongue, " he is in heaven !" A hand 
was softly laid upon his bosom, and he now heard a graver voice 
reply : " Ldf Id ! machi mouthy" meaning " no, no, be is not dead !" 
and on opening his eyes, he beheld an old man and a young maiden 
kneeling by his side. 

The old man was black as night, with a long white beard plaited 
in small tresses, in the fasliion of the ancient magi, and was dressed 
in a tight-fitting wrapper of green silk. The young maiden was 
of a copper complexion, with large .eyes of porcelain, and lips of 
coral. She had also rings of gold at her nose and ears, and was 
exceeding fair to look on. 

Pecopin was no longer upon the borders of the sea. The breeze 
of hell had accidentally borne him into a valley of rocks and 
strange-looking trees. He rose : the old man and young maiden 
gazed calmly into his face. When he approached the trees, the 
leaves curled up, the branches withdrew, the flowers, which were 
of a delicate white, became red. The tree? seemed to retire as 
he advanced ! 

By this sign, Pecopin recognized the mimosa, or tree of shame, 
and knew that he had quitted India, and was in the famous country 
of Pudiferan. 

The old man now made him a sign, Pecopin followed him, and 
some minutes afterwards, all three were seated upon a mat in a 
cabin covered with palm-leaves, the interior of which glittered 
with precious stones. The old man, turning towards Pecopin, 
addressed him in German. 

" My son," said he, "I am the man of universal knowledge, 
the great Ethiopian lapidary, the Taleb of the Arabs. Mankind 
call me Zin Eddin ; the genii know me by the name of Evilme- 


rodach. I am the first man who ever penetrated into this valley, 
you the second. I have devoted my life to the study of nature, 
the science of things, to the endowment of things with the science 
of the soul. Thanks to me, thanks to my lessons, to the rays 
which have fallen from my eyes during a century, here the stones 
live, and the plants think, and the animals are endowed with in- 
tellect. It is I who have taught a system of true medicine to the 
animals, such as is still unknown to man. I taught the pelican 
to bleed itself, and cure its young of the bite of the viper ; the 
blind worm to eat fennel for the recovery of its sight ; the beaf 
suffering from cataract to incite the bees to sting his eyes ; I fur- 
nished the eagle with the bezoar stone, which facilitates the lay- 
ing of their eggs. If the jay purge himself with the laurel leaf, 
the tortoise with hemlock, the stag with dittany, the wolf with 
mandragora, the boar with ivy, the dove with helxine ; if the 
horses, too full of blood, open the vein of their thigh ; if the lizard, 
at the period of changing its skin, swallow it to cure its epilepsy ; 
if the swallow cure the ophthalmia of its young with the calidoine, 
which it seeks beyend the seas ; if the weasel make a weapon of 
rue in its struggles with the snake — it is I, my son, I who taught 
them these lessons of wisdom. 

<< Till now, my instructions have been turned to animals. 
Long have I waited for a human scholar ; you are come, and I 
am content. I am old, and will bequeath you my hut, my jewels, 
my valley, and my learning. You shall also marry my daughter 
Aissab, who is passing beautiful ; I will teach you to distinguish 
the ruby from the chrysolampis ; to steep the mother-of-pearl in the 
salt-pot ; and revive the fire of the ruby by steeping it in vinegar. 
Every day in vinegar adds a twelvemonth to their beauty. We 
will pass our lives together in picking up diamonds, and digging 
for roots. Be my son, arid I will be to thee as a father." 
** Thanks, venerable man, I accept your offer," said Pecopin. 
But when darkness came over the land, he fled from the dwelling 
of Zin Eddin. 



The wandering Christian* 

p£COPiN wandered long in various countries; to relate his travels 
in detail, would be too much. He joutneyed sometimes with 
naked feet, sometimes in sandals, sometimes upon an ass, a zebra, 
mule, camel, or elephant. He sailed everywhere, in all kinds of 
ships ; the round vessels of the ocean, and the long ones of the 
Mediterranean ; aneraria et remigia ; galley, frigate, felucca, 
polacca and canoe, bark and yacht. He ventured into the 
Indian galleys of Bantam, and the hide covered crafl of the 
Ehiphrates, mentioned by Herodotus. He was rocked by every 
wind — ^the Levant, sirocco, and the sirocco mezzogiomo, the tra- 
montane, and the monsoon. He journeyed through Persia, Peru, 
Bramaz, Tagatai, Transiana, Sagistan, and the Hasubi. He saw 
Monomotapa, like Vincent le Blanc ; Sofala, like Pedro Ordonez ; 
Ormus, like Fines ; the savages, like Acosta ; and the giants, 
like Malherbe de Vitre. He lost four of his toes in the desert, 
like Jerome Costilla. Like Mendez Pinto, he was sold seventeen 
times ; was a galley-slave like Texeus, and had nearly shared 
the fate of Parisol. He suffered the plague of the scurvy, so fittal 
to the negroes ; and sea-sickness, to which Cicero declared death 
was preferable. He clambered mountains so high, that upon 
reaching their summits he vomited blood. He made the island, 
which, when sought, is never found, and pronounced its inhabit- 
ants to be good Christians. In Midelpalia, which is northward, 
he remarked an isolated castle in a place where there could be 
none ; still the illusions of the northern regions are so miraculous, 
that travellers should never be astonished. He dwelt several 
months with the King of Mogor Ekebas, made much of that prince, 
of whose court he related all which has since been written by the 
Dutch, English, and the holy Jesuits. He became learned, thanks 
to the great agents, adversity and travel. He studied the butter- 

A LEGEND. 203 

flies, and flowers of all climated, observed the winds by the migra- 
tions of birds, and the currents by the migrations of the cephalo- 
podes. In the submarine regions, he saw the passage of the 
ommastrephes sagittatus, going towards the north pole, and the 
ommastrephes giganteus going towards the south. He saw mon- 
strous men and monstrous monsters, like Ulysses of old. He 
made acquaintance with all the wonderful brutes, the sea-cow, 
the royl, the solan goose, the sea-vulture, the adjutant, the emu, 
the albatross, the capercailzie of Scotland, the fish manares which 
has the head of an ox, the bird chaki, which grows out of decaye(f 
wood ; and the boranet, or animal plant of T&tary, which has a 
root in the earth, and browses on the grass round its own feet. 

He killed a sea triton of the yapiara sort, and inspired with a 
tender passion a triton of the genus Ba^papina. One day, being 
in the island of Manar, about two hundred leagues from 6oa, he 
was hailed by fishermen, who showed him seven men-bishops, 
and nine sirens taken in their nets. He heard the anvil of the 
sea forge, and partook of the hundred and fif^y-two kinds of fish 
which are in the sea, and which were seen in the miraculous 
draught of the apostles. 

In Scythia, he killed a grifiin, against whom the Arimaspes 
waged war to lay hold of the gold he guarded. This tribe would 
fain have made him their king, but he fled in disgust. Lastly, 
he was all but wrecked near Cape GardaflU, called by the ancients 
Pramantorium aromatorum ; and amidst so many adventures, 
dangers, fatigues, feats, and miseries, our knight Pecopin had but 
a single object, to make his way to Germany— one hope, to return 
to Falkenberg — one desire, that of once more beholding his be- 
loved Bauldour. 

Thanks to his talisman, he could neither grow old nor die ; 
which was a great comfort. Yet he counted the years, for, at the 
time he reached the frontier of France, five years had elapsed 
since he had seen Bauldour. Sometimes, towards evening, his 
spirits would fail ; when, having journeyed since morning, he 
used to sit down by the wayside and melt into tears. 

After all this, however, he cheered up again, saying, " What 


are five years ? I shall soon see her agaia ! She was then fifteen, 
and is now only twenty." 

I Though in tatters, and his naked feet bleeding and wayworn, 
he gaily summoned up his strength, and journeyed on till he 
reached the mountains of the Vosges — ^the threshold of his native 

A LEGEND, 205 


How a Dwarf manage to amu§€ himself in a Fdh&L 

One evening, having journeyed all day among the rocks, seektng 
a path that might lead him towards the Rhine, Peuopin approached 
a forest of fir, heet.^h, and maple, which he did not hesitate to enter, 
lie had proceeded more than an hour, w^hen he struck into a 
thicket of holly , juniper, and wild raspberry^ close beside which 
was a marsh. Exhausted by thirst, and attenuated by hunger, 
lie looked out eagerly for a cotlage, a charcoal furnace, or shep- 
herd's cabin f when suddenly a flock of sheldrakes passed near 
liim, flapping their wings» Pecopin trembled upon seeing these 
sirange birds, who build thf?ir nests under ground, and which are 
called b}^ the peasant? of live Vosges the rabbit^ducks. 

Putting aside the hollies, he discovered stooecroft, angelica, 
hellel>orej and the larger gentian. As he was stooping to gather 
some J a mussel shell, falling at bia feetj arrested his atteation. 
He picked it up, and found it to be ooe of those mussels of the 
Valogne Tfvhich contain pearls. 

Pecopin began to be ill at ease } on raising his eyes, a bustard 
was hovering over his head. 

These hollies, raspberry bushes, sheldrakes^ magical herbs, the 
mussels, — ^11 these produced some emotion in his mind, and he 
w*as beginning to marvel where he was, when a distant strain 
struck his ear. He listened : it was a hoarse, gruff, angry voice, 
at once subdued and shrill. The followiog was the purport of 
the song : 

Mon petit lac engendre, ezi Tombre qui Tabrite, 
Ltt riante Ampbitrite et le noir Neptunus^ 
Mon humble etang tiourritj sur dea monts inconnus, 
L*E[nperetir Ntptunua ei h. reitie Aniphitrite* 

Je suis le nain» graml-p^re des geatitSi 

Mn foutte d'eau prodviit deuE oceaiu. 



Je yene de mes rocs, que n*effieure aacune aile, 
Un fleuve bleu pour elle, un fleuve vert pour lui ; 
J'epanche de ma grotte, oik jamais feu n'a lui, 
Le fleuve vert pour lui, le fleuve bleu pour elle. 

Je suis le nain, grand-pire des grants. 

Ma goutte d'eau produit deux oceans. 

Une fine emeraude est dans mon sable jaune, 
Un pur saphir se cache en mon humide ^rin ; 
Mon emeraude fond et devient le beau Rhin, 
Mon saphir se dissout, ruisselle et fait le Rhone. 

Je suis le nain, grand-pire des geants. 

Ma goutte d'eau produit deux oceans. 

Pecopin could no longer doubt, poor exhausted traveller as he 
was, that he had attained the fatal forest of the lost footsteps, full 
of labyrinths and mazes, and inhabited by the dwarf Rollo, a 
native of a lake of the Vosges country, situated on the summit 
of a mountain ; and because he thence despatches one brook to 
the Rhone, and another to the Rhine, this boastful dwarf conceives 
himself to be father of the Mediterranean sea, nay of the ocean 
itself ! His delight is to wander in the forest, and mislead travel- 
lers. The man who enters the wood of the lost footsteps is rarely 
known to escape. 

The voice and song were clearly those of the mischievous 
dwarf; and Pecopin, sorely distressed, threw himself upon the 

" Wo is me !" exclaimed he ; " never again shall I behold my 
beloved Bauldour." 

" Nil desperandum /" said a mysterious voice beside him. 
" Such true lovers will meet again." 

A LEGEND. 207 


Equia CaDibu»que. A. 

Up he started, and saw an old gentleman in a superb hunting 
liress, standing a few steps off, completely equipped for the chas^?* 
A gold-handled cutlass hung upon his thigh, while at hh waist- 
belt was slung a horn composed of buffalo horn inlaid with pewter. 

There was something strange and vague, though luminous, in 
his pale countenance, something resembling the last gleam of 
Iwilitrht This old hunter^ appearing alone in the forest at such 
an hour, must, under any circumstancesj have excited surprise ; 
but in the Wood of the Lost Footsteps he inspired awe. But thi» 
old man not being a dwarf, Pecopin felt satisfied that, for the pre* 
isentj he waa safe from the acquaintance of Rollov 

Tbe old hunter possessed a courteous and prepossessing coun- 
tenance, and, though evidently an inveterate lover of the chase» 
and well accoutred, his hands were so wrinkled, and his legs so 
tihrunk, that it would have been absurd to entertain alarm. His 
sniilPj when closely scrutiutzed, appeared like the superficial and 
official smile of a foolish old king, 

*' What do you want with rne ?" inquired Pecopin, 

** To restore you to Bauldour," replied the old gentleman, 

" WbeOj oh when !" was the instant rejoinder of the young 

^* Pass a single night hunting with me in the forest, and on the 
morrow you shall be at her feet. Our chase finished, I will leave 
you iu the tnoming at the gates of Falkenberg,'* 

" Hunt at night ?" retorted Pecopin, 

" And why not, pray ?" 

" Because it is too absurd, and too fatiguing." 

*' How you do know, ^t>«, who have never tried ? '* 

** Why, do ifou try, — you, who are too old for such exploits V* 



" Make yourself easy — ^you will find me young enough !" re- 
plied the old sportsman. 

'< At all events, heing tired, hungry, and thirsty, after a long 
day's work, it is out of my power to mount my horse." 

The old lord unbuckled> from his side a silver mounted gourd, 
and presented it to Pecopin. . " Drink this !" said he. Pecopin 
raised the gourd to his lips, and scarcely had he tasted a few 
drops, when he felt quite revived. He was strong and alert, as if 
he had slept, eaten, and drank. He was almost of opinion that 
he had drunk a drop too much. 

" Come," cried he, " let us start and hunt the livelong night. 
I desire no better. But I am sure, you say, of seeing Bauldour in 
the morning ?" 

" After spending the night with me, you shall see her at dawn 
of day." 

" But what guarantee do you give me for the fulfilment of your 
promise ?" 

" My presence, and the succor I have given you. I might 
have left you to die of hunger, exhaustion, and wretchedness, in 
the power of the dwarf Rollo ; but I took pity on your case.*' 

" Let us away, then !" replied Pecopin. " And at sunrise, I 
am to find myself at Falkenberg." 

" Ho ! there ! Come on there !" cried the old Nimrod loudly to 
his suite. And having turned round while he was thus spouting, 
Pecopin discovered that he had a hump on his back ; and no 
sooner did he attempt to move, than he proved to be lame as Vulcan. 

At the summons of the old man, a troop of splendidly attired 
knights and princes rushed from the thick of the wood, and sta- 
tioned themselves at a respectful distance round the aged hunter, 
ail armed with boar knives, he alone having a horn. Night was 
set in, but two hundred attendants with flaming torches were in 

" Ebbene .'" said the master of the hunt, " uU sunt los perros ,?" 

This ominous admixture of Latin and Italian was displeasing 
to Pecopin. 

But the old man called out impatiently, '< The hounds ! the 
hounds !" 

Immediately a diabolical barking re-echoed through the wood, 

A LEGEND. 209 

and a pack of bounds appeared, such as was fit for an emperor ; 
the prickers in yellow liveries and red hose, the kennelmen with 
ferocious faces, and aided by naked negroes, holding the hounds 
in leash. Such a marvellous pack perhaps was never before as- 
sembled, comprehending every known breed, divided into sets, 
according to their race and instinct. The first was from Eng. 
land, together , with one hundred brace of greyhounds, twelve 
couple of striped mastiffs, and the same number of stag hcMrndts-. 
The second set were Barbary mastiffs, white and red, of undaunt- 
ed courage, and fit for the chase of beasts of prey. The thii-d 
group was of Norwegian blood, yellow and wire-haijed, verging 
upon red, with a white spot upon the neck and head — ^staunch of 
scent, bold and forward for the stag — grey dogs, with spotted 
backs, and legs furred like the feet of a hare, or streaked with 
red and black, being all of the most undeniable breed. 

Pecopin, well versed in such matters, could not detect a blemish 
among them. The fourth pack was formidable indeed, consisting 
of the large black powerful dog of the Abbey of St. Hubert, in 
the Ardennes, short-legged and slow, but which produces such 
excellent hounds for the chase of the wild boar, fox, and game 
of evil scent. Like those of Norway, they were all well-bom 
gentlemen, and had evidently been nurtured near the heart. 
Their head was of a moderate size, rather long than flat, the 
mouth black, the ears wide, the loins curved, the shoulders broad ,^ 
the legs thick, the thighs well set, the tail well hung, and taper 
towards the end, the coat rough under the belly, the feet hard 
and sure as those of a fox. 

The fifth pack was of oriental origin, and must have been of 
exceeding value, being derived from Palimbotra — a race trained 
to attack wild bulls, as the dogs of Cintiqui to hunt Ihe lions ; be- 
sides the dogs of Monomotapa, which figure in the royal guard of 
the Emperors of the East. All these dogs, whether Indian, Eng- 
lish, or Norwegian, howled together in accordant discordance, 
like certain parliamentary assemblages of the present time. Pe- 
copin, enraptured by this display of venery, could scarce suppress 
his ardor for the field. 

He could scarcely, however, account for their sudden presence, 
as he certainly ought to have heard their cry previous U> their . 


appearance. The head pricker stood with his back turned a few 
steps from Pecopin, who went up to him, and put his hand upon 
his shoulder : when lo ! as he turned rounds his face was masked ! 
Pecopin was struck dumb ! He hesitated whether to join a chase 
so mysterious ; when the old man came up and accosted him. 

" Well, sir knight," said he, " what think you of our hounds ?" 

" That it requires good steeds, sir, to follow such dogs !" was 
the reply. 

Without answering, the old man applied a silver whistle, fixed 
upon his little finger, to his mouth ; on blowing which, a rush was 
heard among the trees, the attendants drew up, and four grooms 
in scarlet came forth, leading two magnificent steeds. One was 
a beautiful Spanish jennet, jet Uaek, and of exquisite carriage 
and shape ; the other, a Tartar barb, with a slightly arched neck, 
from which streamed down a thick and frizzled mane. The tail, 
also, swept the ground ; his eyes were large and fiery, his mouth 
wide, his ears restless, his forehead starred ; in the full force and 
vigor of seven years old. The first had a head and breast piece, 
and was equipped for feats of arms. The second was less formi- 
dably, but more splendidly caparisoned, with a silver bit, a gold 
embroidered bridle, with royal saddle, and brocaded housings. 
The one snorted, plunged, champed, and pawed, as if impatient 
for the fight. The other gazed around, as if eager only for ad- 
miration, slightly neighing, scarcely deigning to touch the earth, 
and assuming all the airs of royalty. Both were black as ebony, 
and Pecopin fixed his eyes with admiration of two such wondrous 

" And which do you choose, pray ?" inquired the old gentleman, 
still smiling. Pecopin instantly vaulted intorthe saddle of the jennet. 

" Are you ^ell in your saddle ?" inquired the old man ; and 
Pecopin having answered in the affirmative, his aged companion, 
laughing heartily, began to tear away the trappings and housings 
of the Tartar, and seizing his mane, sprang up like a tiger, and 
bestrode the magnificent animal, which trembled under him in 
every limb ; then, grasping his horn, he sounded such a blast, that 
Pecopin, almost stunned, could have fancied that his decrepit chest 
contained claps of thunder ! 



What one may risk by mounting a Strange Horse. 

At the sound of the horn, tlinusands of strange lights flickered 
through the forests, shadows daneed among the Inislies, and shouts 
(echoed in the dbtancc. When tlie horses neighed, the trees shook 
as with a storm. At t^mt moment a cracked bell strtick twelve, 
and lo f at tlie twelfth stroke, the old jnan gave another blast from 
his ivory honij and away went the do<rs like shot, the yells rc- 
tloubling, and the whole troopj ineluding Pecopin and his patron, 
were olf at a gallop ! 

The rapid, start! tug, and supernatviral paec whieb Ixire off Pe- 
CD|iin so fiercely that every stroke of the horde's hoof told ii|X)n 
his brain as if it were upon the pavement^ inehriated him as if 
with wine, and exoited him as if on the field of battle. It was a 
^^allop which began like the wind, but ended in a whirhvind ! 

The forest was immense, the hunters iuminierable. Ghide 
succeeded glade. The wind was Jiowhng, tlie hounds were in 
full cry, wheu the colossal black outline of a huge sixleen-liorned 
stag was seen bounding here and there. The knight's horse was 
terribly blown. The trees bent down to witness the mysterious 
chase, and bent back again after having seen it. Supernatural 
i^lasts of horns were heard at intervals, aud louder llian alL the 
elarion of the old hunter. Peeopin knew not where he wasj but 
on galloping near some ruins standing annidst a clump of firs, he 
perceived a cascade tumhling from a wall of ix)rphyry, whicli 
induced hini to suppose that he was near the eastle of Nideck. 
To his left he saw mountains resembling the lower Vosges, and at 
last recognized the four summits of the Ban de la RocbCj tbo 
Champ du Feu, the Climont, and Ungensberg. A moment after- 
wards he was in the higher Yosges. In less than aquarter of an 
hourj his horse had traversed Giromagny, the Rotobac, the Bulfz, 
tiic Barenkopf, the Graisson, the Bressoij-, the Uaut de lloncCj tho 


Mont de Lure, the T6te de TOurs, Donon, and the great Ven- 
tron ; these high peaks appeared confusedly and without order, as 
they might to some giant overlooking at a glance the great chain 
of Alsace. 

At times he fancied he could discern the lakes these mountains 
bear on their summits, as if his horse were above them ; and in 
this guise he saw himself reflected in the Pagan's Bath, the 
White and the Black Lakes. But he beheld himself as tran- 
siently as a swallow skimming over a stream. Still, strange and 
hopeless as this chase appeared, he felt secure on touching his 
talisman, and knowing he could not be far from the Rhine. Sud- 
denly he was enveloped in a mist, the darkness became darker, 
and his Spanish jennet set off more furiously than before. Barely 
could he distinguish the ears of his horse. At such a moment, 
great must be the efibrt and great the merit to turn your thoughts 
towards Heaven and your heart towards its liege lady. Our va- 
liant knight, however, thought of both, but most of Bauldour per- 
haps, for he almost fancied that the moving winds murmured the 
name of " Heimburg." 

Just then a pricker bearing a torch flew through the mist, 
and by its light, Pecopin beheld a hawk flying above his head, 
transpierced by an arrow, yet still it flew on. As he paused 
to look at this bird, his horse plunged violently, the bird disap- 
peared, and the torch vanished in the wood ; Pecopin was again 
in darkness ! 

Presently the wind moaned anew, pronouncing " Vaughtsberg," 
and another light appearing in the mist showed a vulture, whose 
wing was pierced by a javelin, but which still flew on. 

Pecopin would fain have opened his eyes to see, and his 
mouth to cry aloud, but in ti glimpse both torch, vulture, and 
javelin vanished from his sight. His steed had not slackened 
its pace for all these phantoms, more than though it were the 
blind horse of the demon Paphos, or the deaf steed of King Sisy- 

The wind moaned a third time, and Pecopin clearly distin. 
guished in its murmurs the name of " Rheinstein," while a third 
light illumioed the trees in the mist, and another bird flew past; 

A LEGEND. 213 

this was an eagle, with a shaft through its heart, hut still firm, 
upon the wing. 

Pecopin now recalled to mind the chase of the Palsgrave, in 
which he had performed such prodigies : hut the pace of the jen- 
net now hecame so rapid, the trees and other objects in the noc- 
turnal landscape flew past him so rapidly, that, amid the awful 
velocity, he could scarcely fix his thoughts. The furious clamor 
of the horns was undiminished, and now and then the monstrous 
stag brushed past through the wilderness of thickets. By de- 
grees, the fog cleared away ; the air became warm, the ilexes, 
cork trees, Aleppo pines, and pistachio trees re-appeared among 
the rocks. A broad moon, with a splendid halo, lit up the trees. 
But the calendar marked no moonlight for that night of mystery. 
While rushing through a hollow, Pecopin stooped to snatch up 
a handfuU of herbs ; and on looking at them, found with despair 
that they were the vulnerary anthylla of the C6vennes, the filiC 
form veronica and common ferula, of which the hideous leaves 
terminate with claws. Half an hour afterwards, the wind be- 
came warmer, marine mirages glimmered through the openings 
of the forest ; and lo ! he stooped again and plucked more herbs. 
This time it was the silver cytisus of Cette, the starred anemony 
of Nice, the marine lavatera of Toulon, the blood red geranium 
of the Pyrenees, with its cinq-palmed leaf; and the aslranHa ma* 
jory the flower of which shines sunlike through a ring, like the 
planet of Saturn. 

Pecopin now perceived that he was leaving the Rhine behind 
him ; having progressed two hundred leagues betwixt the gather- 
ings of the flowers. Having traversed the Vosges and C^vennes, 
he was now on the Pyrenees ! 

" Rather let me die !" thought he ; and he was about to fling 
himself from his horse, when he felt his legs confined as if by a 
grasp of iron ; and found that his stirrups held him prisoner. 
They were a pair of gaolers endowed with instinct of life ! 

Still did the distant cries, neighing, and yells continuer as loud 
as ever ! The old man's horn preceded the chase afar off, sound- 
ing mournful blasts ; and in the openings of the forest, Pecopin 
beheld the hounds swimming through lakes abounding in magical 


The knight cloeed his eyes and proceeded, resigned to his fate. 
Once, indeed, he opened them, when a heat almost tropical flushed 
his face, and on looking up, he beheld ruins of pagodas, upon the 
summits of which were seated rows of vultures, philosophers, and 
storks. The trees were of the strangest forms. He recognized 
the banyan and baobab, and saw that he was in an Indian forest. 
And once more, he closed his eyes in despair. A quarter of an 
hour afterwards, to the scorching breath of the equator had suc- 
ceeded an icy chill. The cold was intense. The horse's hoofs 
crushed the rime, and bears «nd satyrs passed like shadows 
through the fog. The aspect of the scenery was forlorn and 
savage ; and towards the horizon were stupendous rocks, round 
which hovered flocks of penguins and sea-gulls ; and through the 
black vegetation, white waves spouted up their clouds of foam to 
heaven, which showered down flakes of snow in return. They 
had roached the eternal pine-forest of Biarmia, adjoining the icy 
region of Cape North. 

Darkness came over the land, and Pecopin saw no further ; but 
a fearful roar convinced him he was near the Maelstrom, the 
Tartarus of the ancients, the navel of Oceanus the immortal ! 
What could be the meaning of this never-ending forest, which 
seemed to encircle the globe ? The huge stag appeared now and 
then, ever flying — ever pursued ; while the horn of the old man 
prevailed over all, even over the uproar of the Maelstrom ! 

Suddenly the jennet halted. The noise ceased. Pecopin 
opened his eyes once more, and beheld a gloomy and colossal edi- 
flee, whose windows seemed to contemplate him, like living eyes. 
The facade was black as a mask, but animated as a human face. 

A LEGEND. ai5 


Descriptinn of an unpleasant Lodg'ing, 

The nature of tliia edifice it would be difficult to define. It was 
a house strong as a ciiadel, splendid as a palacCj yet having tlie 
sinister look of a cavern, and the silence of the grave. 

Not a voice was heard, nor a shadow seen aond its precincts. 
This mysterious castle wais surrounded by a boundless forest* 
The moon haiJ vanished, and in the sky there were only a few 
stars, as red as blood. 

The horse stopped short befL>re a fliglit of steps leading to a 
wide but closed door, Pocopin looked to the nglil and lefl, and 
seemed to distinguish along the whole range of this immense edi- 
fice other kniglits standing silent and motionless as himself, at the 
foot of oilier llights of step;; leadini^lo other doors. He now drew 
his dagger^ and struck the marble balustrade ; when instantly he 
heard the blast of the old man's horn, powerful and astounding, 
like the stormy trumpet of an angel of darkness. This horn, the 
blast of which heut the treesj re-echoed like an infernal howl 
amid the universal darkness. 

On the sounds ceasing, the double doors of the castle flew open 
as if forced by an internal gust of wind, and a flood of light burst 
forth. The jeimet dashed up the flight of steps, carrying the 
knight into a splendidly illuminated hall, of which the tapestry 
represented subjects tiiken from the Roman historyj the interven- 
ing frame-work being of cypress- wood and ivory. Above was a 
gallery full of flowers and shrubs, and in an angle, a rotunda 
paved with agate, devoted to the women, Tlic remaining parts 
of the pavement represented in mosaic the siege of Troy, The 
hall, however, was deserted. Nothing could be more depressing 
than all this blaze of nmgnlficcnco combined with such profound 

The Jennet proceeded unurgedj his hoofs reaounding solemnly 


on the pavement, till he entered another hall, as splendid as the 
first, but equally lonely. Immense pannels of cedar, richly 
carved, covered the walls ; in which an ingenious artist had in- 
serted some marvellous pictures, glittering with mother-of-pearl 
and gold. The subjects were battles, hunts, castles, and fdtes, 
representing castles full of fireworks, besieged by fauns and wild 
men ; tourneys and marine fights, with all kinds of vessels sail- 
ing upon a. sea of turquoise, emeralds and sapphire, which imi- 
tated the swell and color of the ocean. 

Above these pictures was an admirably executed frieze, repre- 
senting the three species of terrestrial beings endowed with 
intelligence, viz., giants, men, and dwarfs ; in which the giants 
and dwarfs were made to humiliate man, who is inferior in size 
to the giants, and in intellect to the dwarfs. 

The fresco on the ceilings seemed to afiect a malicious homage 
to human genius. It was composed entirely of medallions, in 
which, by the lustre of a gloomy light, and crowned with infernal 
crowns, were represented the portraits of all the authors of useful 
discoveries, for that reason called " benefactors of humanity." 
Every man figured there in virtue of his particular invention ; 
Arabus for the science of medicine, Dsedalus for labyrinths, Pi- 
sistratus for books, Aristotle for libraries, Tubal-cain for the 
forge, Architas for engines of war, Noah for navigation, Abraham 
for geometry, Moses for the trumpet, Amphictyon for the expound- 
ing of dreams, Frederick Barbarossa for falconry, and one Bachou 
of Lyons for the squaring of the circle. In the angles and en- 
coignures figured, like the principal constellations of heaven, 
many illustrious faces ; Flavins, who invented the sea-compass ; 
Christopher Columbus, who discovered America ; Botargus, who 
iuvented sauces; Mars, who invented war ; Faustus, who invented 
printing ; Schwartz, who invented gunpowder ; and Pope Pontian, 
who invented cardinals. Many of these illustrious personages 
were unknown to Pecopin, owing perhaps to the startling fact of 
their non-existence till afler the date of this history ! 

Following the guidance of his steed, the knight passed on 
through successive galleries ; in one of which he remarked, or 
the eastern side, an inscription in letters of gold : — << The caoue 
of the Arabs, sometimes called < cav6,' is a herb which abounds 

A LEGEND. 217 

in Turkey, and in India is called miraculous. It should be pre- 
pared in the following manner : — Take an punce of this herb, 
pulverize it, and steep it for four hours in spring water. Then 
boil it until reduced to a third. Drink it leisurely, by degrees. 
Those who can afford it, add sugar or ambergris." 

Opposite to this, on the western side, anotlier iDscription bore as 
follows 1 — " The Greek fire is made of charcoal of willow, salt, 
spirilj sulphur^ pilch, incense, and camphor. It burns even in 
water, and consumes all it touches/' 

In another hall there was nothing but a portrait of the lackey 
who, at the feast of TrimalcioHj went round the table singing the 
praises of sauce made with gum benjamin. 

In all directions lustres, candelabra, and girandoles reflected by 
enormous mirrors of steel and copper, lit up these rich apartments y 
in which Pecopin could not discern one living soul, though he 
wandered with haggard eyes and troubled mind, overcome by 
those depressing ideas which agitate our reveries in the sombre 
recesses of the woods. 

At length lie found himself in face of a door of metal, in which 
was set, encircled by a wreath of jewels, a huge apple. On this 
was written — 

'* Adam roui*ri> the meae.; , 

Eve met with the DEHSEftT*'* 





Such as the Inn it, so it the Dinner. 

As he was attempting to decipher the ironically hidden sense of 
this inscription, the door gently flew open, and the horse entered. 

Pecopin felt like one who passes from the mid-day sun into a 
cellar ! On his first entrance he thought himself suddenly gone 
blind ; but still he perceived at a distance a faint bluish light. 
By degrees, as his eyes, dazzled by the surpassing light of the 
splendid halls he had quitted, modified their powers to this obscur- 
ity, he began to distinguish, as if through a vapor, thousands of 
monstrous columns in a Babylonian hall. A blue light in the 
centre served to define the outlines ; and the knight soon perceived, 
amid a multitude of twisted columns, a long table lit by a seven- 
branched candlestick, in the holders of which glimmered seven 
blue trembling flames. 

At the head of this table sat a brazen giant, Nimrod the Great. 
At his right and left sat upon iron stools, pale and silent, guests, 
some wearing the Moorish turban, and others headgear, more 
covered with pearls than the King of Bisnagar. 

Pecopin here recognized all the famous hunters who have lefl 
a name in history : — The King Mitlirobuzane ; the tyrant Macha- 
nidas ; the Roman consul, ^milius Barbula II. ; Rollo, king of 
the sea ; Zuentibold, the unworthy son of the great Amulphus, 
King of Lorraine ; Haganon, the favorite of Charles of France ; 
Herbert, Count of Vermandois ; William the Flaxen Headed, 
Count of Poictiers, founder of the illustrious house of Rechigpe- 
voisin ; the Pope Vitalianus ; Pandulphus, Abbot of St. Denis ; 
Athelstan, King of England ; and Aigrold, King of Denmark. 

By the side of Nimrod sat Cyrus the Great, who founded the 
great Persian empire, two thousand years before the Christian en, 
bearing his escutcheon upon his bosom, which, as every one knows, 

A LEGEND. 3i9 

represents a silver lion, crowned with a laurel, ovy on a ground 
of or and g^lesy surmounted by eight trefoils with the stem argent. 

This table was served according to the rules of imperial 
etiquette ; and at the four angles sat four distinguished hostesses : 
Queen Emma, Queen Ogive, mother of Louis d'Outremer, Queen 
Gerberga, and Diana, who, in her quality of a goddess, had a 
canopy and a saltcellar of gold, like the three queens. 

Neither of the guests ate, spoke, or even looked at each other. 
A large space in the middle of the cloth seemed to await the 
repast ; but there were numerous bottles on the table, sparkling 
with the of India, the rice-wine of Bengal, the distilled 
water of Sumatra, the arrack of Japan, the pamplis of the Chinese, 
and the pechmez of the Turks. 

Here and there, in richly enamelled pitchers, foamed the 
beverage called by the Norwegians tocZ, by the Goths Jmska, by 
the Corinthians 5o, by the Esclavonians oil, by the Dalmatians 
hieu, by the Hungarians ser, by the Bohemians 'piva, by the Poles 
jpioo, by the French Here, and by the Great British heer. 

Negroes resembling devils, or devils resembling negroes, it is 
all one, served at table, with napkins on their arm, and a ewer in 
their hand. Every guest had a dwarf by his side, except Diana, 
who had her greyhound. The eye of Pecopin, gradually pene- 
trating the mysterious and vaporous atmosphere of this hall, dis- 
covered among the forest of columns a multitude of spectators, 
all, like himself, mounted and equipped for the chase. Shadows, 
from their mistiness ; statues, from their immobility ; spectres, 
from their silence. Among the nearest, he thought he recognized 
some of the knights who had accompanied the old man in the 
forest of lost footsteps. As 1 have already stated, the most awful 
silence prevailed ; you might as well have expected a voice from 
the very stones of which it was composed, as from the grisly 

It was icy cold in this utter darkness. Pecopin was frozen to 
the marrow, yet a cold dew started from all his pores. Suddenly 
the yells of the chase were renewed, distant, but violent as ever ; 
amid which the horn of the old man sounded in triumphal splendor 
a call or hallali, which, some centuries afterwards, was recovered 
by Roland de Lattre, in a nocturnal insoiration; and which pro- 


cured to that great musician the 6th of April, 1564, the honor of 
being created by Gregory XIII. knight of the golden spur, de nu- 
mero participatUium ! 

At the sound the mighty Nimrod rose from table ; the Abbot 
Pandulphus half turned round ; and Cyrus, who was leaning upon 
his right arm, suddenly transferred his attitude to the left. 

A LEGEND. 221 

A new mode of falliiig from a Horse. 

The eiy of the houndg and hom approached. A double door, 
opposite to that by which Pecopin had entered, was thrown open ; 
and he saw two hundred varlets bearicg upon an immense gold 
frencher the sixteen ^horned stag, smoking in a sea of gravy. 

In front of the varlets, bearing their flaming torches, came tlie 
old man, born in hand, mounted upon his Tartar steed j white with 
foam. He no longer blow his horn, but smiled courteously in the 
midst of the bellowing hounds, still led on by the pricker in the 
black mask. 

The moment the procession entered the hall j the torches turned 
blue J and the dogs became mute. These hideous animals, with 
their lion jowls and tiger roar, followed at the heels of their mas* 
I er, their heads depressed, and tails betwixt their legs, their bodies 
shivering, and eyes supplicating, tow^ards the table, at which, in 
statue-like immobility, presided the silent and mysterious guests. 

On approaching the table, and surveying his joyless com- 
panions, the old man shouted with laughter. 

*^ Hombrcs y miig^res^^^ said he, " or f:d, vosotroa helle sigmrcj 
dommi et domiinB^ amigos mio,% comment va la besc^nc ?'^ 

" You are late," said the brazen guest, in a brazen voice, 

" 1 had a friend w i!h men, to ^vhom I wanted to show something 
of hunting,'' replied the old man* 

"It is time, however J that you came ?" replied Nimrod ; and at 
the same moment he pointed with his thumb over his brazen 
shoulder, towards the further extremity gf the ball. 

Pecopin's eye followed the indication of the giant \ and he saw, 
vaguely defined upon the black ivalls, luminous arches, like win- 
dows, wliich seemed to receive the first light of the dawning day- 

" Well, well !" resumed the hunter, " we must fall to in better 
earnest." And lo ! the varlets bearing the stag, assisted by the 


negroes, prepared to set the dish upon the table, at the fix>t of the 
seven-branched candlestick. 

Pecopin now put spurs to his jennet, which, strange to say, 
obeyed the hint : no doubt on account of the approach of day, 
which is not &vorable to the interests of magic. Passing betwixt 
the varlets and the table, he stood up, sword in hand, in the stir- 
rups, looking sternly and straight into the sinister faces of the 
guests and the aged hunter, exclaiming, with a voice of thunder: 
** Whoever you be, — demons, ghosts, spectres, or emperors,— >I 
chai^ ye, move not a step ; or, by the saints ! I will teach you 
all, even you, oh ! man of bronze, the weight of the iron heel 
of a living knight, upon the pale visage of a phantom. I am per- 
haps in a cavern of shadows ; but I will do real and terrible 
deeds ! As for you, old man, you can doubtless draw your wea- 
pon who so bravely wind a horn. Defend yourself, then ! for 
were you Pluto, the lord of hell, I would cleave you from head 
to heel." 

^ Softly, softly, my noisy friend !" replied the old man. ** We 
will talk over business after supper." 

This insolence exasperated the knight. " Defend yourself, old 
man," cried he. '' Promise-breaker, I say, defend yourself!" 

*< Hijo ! a little patience, if you please," retorted the old gen. 

" Draw, I say !" persisted Pecopin. 

" Pho, pho ! my excellent friend, you are over-hasty." I 

<< Give me back Bauldour, then !" said the knight, << give me 
back Bauldour, as you promiaed." ' 

<< How know you that I mean to disappoint you ? But what will 
you do with her, pray, when you see her again ?" 

<< She is my betrothed, and must become my bride !" answered 

<< A fine couple you would make, truly," said the old man, 
shaking his head. << After all, what matters it to me ? All is 
decreed. A bad examp^ is offered to man and womankind by 
the sun and moon above, who live separate, and are a most dis- 
united couple !" 

*< A truce to jesting, I say, or I exterminate both devils and 

A LEGEND. 229 

goddesses !" cried Pecopin. '^ Another moment, and your cavern 
shall be unpeopled." 

The old man chuckled in reply ; and the infuriated Pecopin 
rushed upon him, sword in hand. But suddenly his horse trem- 
bled and crouched : the cold rays of daylight had penetrated the 
cavern, and, excepting the old man, all began to vanish. The 
lights and torches became gradually extinguished. The pupils 
of the spectres' eyes, for a moment vivified by the threats of Pe- 
copin, became dim as ever ; and he began to see through the 
brazen mass of the giant, as through a veil, the columns at the 
extremity of the hall. 

His horse became impalpable under him, and sinking to the 
earth, the feet of Pecopin nearly touched the ground. And lo ! a 
cock crew, with a shrill metallic sound, which penetrated the ear 
of Pecopin like a blade of steel. 

At the same iiistant a chilling gust blew through the hall, and 
his horse fell under him. He tottered and fell. When he rose 
up again, the whole scene was changed ! All had disappeared. 
He found himself alone, with a drawn sword in his hand, in a 
ravine overgrown with briars, close beside a bubbling spring. 
The door of an old castle was close at hand. Day was dawning 
around him ; and, on raising his eyes, he shouted for joy. 

That castle was the Castle of Falkenberg ! 



The figure of rhetoric most in favor among the powers that be. 

The cock crowed again, and this time the sound proceeded from 
the barnyard of the castle. The bird, whose voice had dissolved 
the enchanted palace, with its nocturnal hunters, had perhaps 
pecked crumbs from the blessed hands of the beautiful Bauldour. 

Oh ! power of love ! generous energy of the heart ! glorious 
expansion of sentiment and passion ! Scarcely had Pecopin beheld 
his beloved home, when the fresh and dazzling image of his bride 
seemed to shine out before him. The woes of the past, the illu- 
sions, the mysterious and diabolical abyss of visions through 
which he had passed, vanished in a moment from his remem- 

Of a surety it was not thus, with a haughty mien and flashing 
eye, that the crowned priest, alluded to by the speculum Mstoriale, 
emerged from among the phantoms, after having visited the splen- 
did interior of the brazen dragon. And since this redoubtable 
spectre has just appeared to the writer of this story, he must 
needs vent his imprecations on, as well as stigmatise, this double- 
faced impostor, whose eyes were directed at once toward light and 
darkness; and who divided his allegiance between God and Sylvan 
II., and the devil, in combination with Gerbert the magician. 
Towards traitors and hypocrites, hatred becomes a virtue. Every 
well-thinking Parisian owes a stone to Perinet Leclerq, a Span- 
iard to Count Julian, a Christian to Judas, all men living to Luci- 
fer. Let us not forget that God places day by the side of night, 
good near evil, the angels of light confronting the power of darkness. 
The austere teaching of providence results from this sublime and 
eternal antithesis. The Eternal Voice cries aloud eternally, 

In the eleventh century, he opposed to the cabalistic priest 
Gerbert tbe pure and erudite Emuldu. The magician' became 


Pope, the holy sage a physician, so that men were enabled to 
examine, by the self-same light, the fair science attired in robes 
of black, the black art in robes of honor. Meanwhile, Pecopin 
had sheathed his sword, and was proceeding towards the castle, 
the windows of which, glittering in the sunshine, seemed to 
exchange smiles with the dawning day. 

As he neared the bridge, a voice behind him whispered, <' Sir 
luiight of Sonneck ! say, have I kept my promise ?" 



Debating whether a Man can recognize a Man he hath never seen. 

Pecopin turned round, and saw two men among the bushes ; one 
being the, masked pricker, Pecopin trembled. He carried under 
his arm a large red portfolio. The other was a little old man, 
humped, lame, and hideous. It was he who was so familiar to 
Pecopin. But Pecopin vainly attempted to recall his face. 

'' Sir knight !" inquired the humpback, << have you forgotten 

" You are surely the slave from the Red Sea ?" said Peoopin. 

" Say rather the hunter of the wood of Lost Footsteps," replied 
the man. He seemed reluctant to announce himself as the devil ! 

" Be what you will, since you have kept your word, and I am 
at Falkenberg) and about to see Bauldour again," replied the 
knight, " 1 am your humble servant, and thank you in all sin- 

<^ What did I answer last night, when you took me to task ?" 

" You bade me take patience." 

" So say I again ! You were too hasty in reproving me ; perhaps 
you are as much in thanking me." 

So speaking, the devil assumed an inexpressibly cunning look. 
Irony is the favorite cast of countenance of the devil ! 

'' What means all this ?" said Pecopin, beginning to quake. 

The devil pointed to the masked pricker. " Dost thou remem- 
ber that man ?" 

" I do !" said he. 

" Dost know him ?" 

« I do not !" 

The pricker unmasked, and discovered the face of Brilangus. 
Pecopin stood confounded ! 

" Pecopin !" resumed the devil, " You were my creditor ; I 
owed you two things — ^this hump and this club foot. I am fond 
of paying my debts like a gentleman, and sought out Brilangus 
in order to ascertain your tastes. He told me you were passion- 

A LEGEND. 221 

ately fond of hunting. On learning this, Tsaid that it were a pity 
but you should see the famous Black Hunt. At sunset I met you 
in the thicket, and in the wood of Lost Footsteps. I arrived in 
the nick of time. The dwarf Rollo was about to take you for 
himself; and I therefore made free with you." 

Pecopin was now trembling in every limb. 

" Had you not possessed your talisman," added the devil, " I 
should have kept you for my own. But I am well satisfied that 
things should be as they are. To be palatable^ vengeance ought 
to be dressed with a variety of sauces." 

" To the point, demon !" cried Pecopin, scarcely able to speak. 

" To reward Erilangus for his revelations," resumed the fiend, 
<< I have made him my secretary of state. The place is worth 

" Trifles !" exclaimed Pecopin, in utter despair. 

" I promised you," gravely resumed the devil, " that afler this 
night's chase, at sunrise I would take you back to Falkenberg. 
Here you are !" 

" One word more ! Is Bauldour still among the living ?" 

The devil nodded affirmatively. 

" Is she married ?" • 

" No !" 

" Has she taken the veil ?" 

« Np !" 

" Does she still love me ?" 

"As much as ever !" 

" In that case," cried Pecopin, " whoever you be, and whatever 
happens, I repeat my thanks !" 

" So much the better !" exclaimed the devil. " We are both 
satisfied with our bargains." 

So saying, he seized Erilangus in his arms, though bigger than 
himself, and twisting his deformed leg round the other, raised 
himself on the point of his toes, spun rapidly round, and pene- 
trated the earth with the action of a screw. 

As the ground closed over the devil, a little bluish flame issued 
forth, mingled with green sparks, which flew gaily off towards 
the forest ; flickering about the trees, and sending forth thousands 
of luminous hues, much like a rainbow, gradually losing itself 
among the thick foliage. 



Pecopin shrugged his shoulders. 

<< Bauldour is alive, Bauldour is free," thought he, '^ Bauldour 
adores me ! What have I to fear ? It was exactly five years 
last night since I saw her last ; and it is now five years and one 
day more. I shall find her lovelier than ever. 

" Twenty is the crowning age of female beauty ! In those days 
of universal good faith, five years were a trifle, scarcely worth 
speaking of, in the separation of lovers." 

Thus soliloquising, he approached the castle, and joyfully 
recognized every ornament of sculpture, every spike of the port- 
cullis, every nail of the drawbridge. He felt elated in knowing 
himself to be welcome. The threshold of the door on which we 
played as children, seems to welcome us as men, with the loving 
smile of a mother ! 

As he crossed the bridge, he noticed near the third arch, a 
superb oak, who*se summit towered above the parapet. 

'^ It is odd enough," thought he. " No oak used to stand there 
of old!" 

He then remembered that previous to the day he had met the 
hunt of the Palatine, in playing with Bauldour, he had scattered 
some acorns on the spot. 

" Wonderful," thought he. " In ^ye years the acorn has be- 
come an oak. The ground must be excellent !" 

Four birds were chattering in this tree, a jay, a blackbird, a 
magpie, and a crow. Pecopin scarcely remarked them, any 
more than he did a pigeon and a fowl in the farmyard hard at 
hand. He only thought of Bauldour, and hastened on his way. 
The sun was on the horizon, and varlets had just lowered the 

As Pecopin passed over, he heard in his rear a shout of laugh- 

A LEGEND. 229 

ter, distant, but distinct. He could not^discover any one. It was 
the devil, laughing a chuckle in his caverns below. 

Under the arch was a reservoir of the most mirror-like smooth- 
ness : the knight leaned over it as over a glass. After the toils 
of such a journey he expected to find himself in rags ; and ailer 
the emotions of that supernatural night, feared to behold his own 
disturbed countenance. But either by virtue of the talisman, or 
through the effect of the elixir administered by the devil, he found 
himself looking handsomer and younger than ever ! 

What astonished him most, was the magnificence of his dress. 
In the confusion of his ideas he could not make out how he came 
to be so splendidly equipped ; he looked like a Prince or Genius. 
While thus contemplating himself, he heard a still louder and 
more joyous laugh than before, but still he saw no one. The 
devil was laughing in his sleeve. Pecopin traversed the court- 
yard of state, and the men-at-arms leaned over the walls to look 
at him, but he recognized none of them, nor they him. The 
maidens wringing out the linen also turned round to gaze, but 
there was not a familiar face in the group. He was so good-look- 
ing, however, that no one interrupted his progress ; good looks 
are the credentials of good birth and breeding. 

Knowing his way, he turned straight towards the winding stair- 
case leading to Bauldour's chamber. In passing through the 
court, the walls had struck him as unusually time-worn, and he 
fancied that the ivy growing upon the northern tower had thick- 
ened beyond all measure, as well as the vines on the southern 
side. But a true and loving heart does not pause at such a 
moment, to ruminate on trifles ! 

Arrived at the turret, he with difficulty recognized the door. 
The vaulting of these stairs was screw-cut, and geometrically 
suspended, and at the departure of Pecopin, Bauldour's father had 
reconstructed the entrance with the beautiful white stone of Hei- 
delberg. This entrance, though only built five years, was now 
dark and moss-grown, while under the archway several swallows 
had established their homes. But was it a time for a man in love 
to ponder upon the construction of swallows' nests ? 

Could flashes of lightning ascend a staircase, I should compare 
them to the movements of Pecopin. In the twinkling of an eye 


he was on the fifth story^ near the chamher of Bauldour, the door 
of which was still the same, neither hlack nor changed, but gay, 
neat, and spotless ; the brass work brilliant as silver ; and the 
knots of the wood sparkling as a maiden's eye. All was evi- 
dently carefully looked to by the waiting- women of Bauldour. 

The key was in the door, as if Pecopin had been expected. 
He had only to turn it and enter. Nevertheless, he paused, for 
he was breathless with joy and happiness, to say nothing of hav- 
ing mounted five stories ! Rosy flames flashed across his brow, 
while liis head throbbed violently, and his heart heaved high 
within him. All these emotions having gradually subsided^ and 
silence being restored in his soul, he listened. 

In what words are we to describe the condition of the poor 
heart so intoxicated with delight ? 

Nevertheless, all he heard within was the monotonous humming 
of a wheel ! 

A LEGEND. 831 

PART xviir. 

Where serioufl 5!inds may find out which ig the inwt rtnpertinent of 

The wheel was probably the wheel of Bauldour ; still it was pos- 
sibly that of one of her attendants ; for Bauldour's oratory was 
close to her chamber, and there she often passed the day, and 
though she span much, she prayed more. 

Thus cogitated Pecopiii, yet still he listened to the whirl of the 
wheel with delight. Such is the weakness of a njan in love ; 
above all, when possessed of an expansive heart and a great mind. 

The state of mind of Pecopin was composed of the ecstasy 
which dwelt upoo its joy, and the eagerness which would bring it 
to an issue. 

Pecopin, fioally summoniDg courage, placed his hand upon the 
key, the door yielded, he opened and entered the ch amber » 
" Alas f" he exclaimed, ** I was mistaken^ it was not Bauldour I 
heardj it was an old woman^ nay, an old fairy, for fairies alone 
attain such fabulous age and centenarian decrepitude/' 

The duenna appeared to be in her hundredth year, Imagine, 
if you can, a human being bent, broken, tanned^ freckled, wrin- 
kled, and withered ; with white hair and eyebrows, black lips 
and teeth, yellow, palsied, and hideous. Even such a venerable 
and horrible creature as this was seated crouched beside the 
window, her eyes fixed upon her wheel, and holding her spindle 
like one of the destinies. She was doubtless deaf, for, on Peco* 
pin's opening tlie door, she seemed not to heed him. Still, the 
knight made her an obeisance, as is due to such prodigious age< 
» Good mother," said hcj approaching her, " where, 1 pray you, 
is Bauldour ?" 

The centenarian raised her eyes, let fall her thread, trembled 
in all her members, uttered a feeble shriek, half raised herself 
upon her cIuuTj extended her skinny hand to the knight, and said 


with a weak and reedy voice, as if proceeding from a tomb, ^^ Sir 
Pecopin ! what are you in need of ? Masses for the repose of 
your poor soul ? Oh holy saints ! what has brought you up from 
the dead ?" 

" My good woman," replied Pecopin, laughing and talking loud 
in order that, if at hand, Bauldour might hear him, " I am not 
dead. It is not my ghost you see, but Pecopin himself, in his own 
flesh and blood. I want no masses, but a kiss from my beloved 
Bauldour, whom I love more tenderly than ever. Do you hear, 
old lady?" 

As he pronounced these words, she threw her withered arms 
round his neck. It was Bauldour herself! The devil's hunt 
had lasted one hundred years ! 

Bauldour was alive, thanks to God or the devil ; but, at the 
moment Pecopin saw her again, the poor girl had just attained 
one hundred and twenty years and a day ! 




pi vine Philosophy of Four Sagea on Two Legs* 

Horror-struck and afraidj PecopM fled do mi stairSj crossed the 
court and bridge, scaled the precipice, leaped the torrent, rushed 
through the bushesj and took refuge in the forest of Sonneck, 

He ran all day like a madman escaped from durance. He still 
adored Bauldour, but abliorred her spectral representative, and 
^ could not disentangle the perplexities of his mind, memory, and 

\ heart* Eveniag approached, and seeing before him the towers of 

his ancestral castle, he tore off the rich garments given him by 
the devilj and threw them mto the torrent of Sonneck. He then 
tore his hairj and found that he held a handful which was grey. 

Suddenly his knees gave way under him, and he was- forced to 
f^upport himself against a tree* But lo ! his hands were com- 
pletely wrinkled. In his impatience, he had unfortunately torn 
off his talisman, and thrown it into the torrent with his clothes f 
The menaces of the slave of the snltarja were instantly accom- 
plished. He had aged by a hundred years in the space of 
a moment ! And thus, in the morning he had lost his love, and 
in the evening his youth. Again the hideous laugh resounde<^in 
his ears ; yet he saw no one- The devil was enjoying his solitary 

How was he to act in this utter extremity ? Having picked 
up a slick to support himself, he proceeded to the eastle, which 
was happily not far off. As he arrived, he saw by the last glearn 
of twilight a jay, a blackbird, a magpie, and a crow, perched 
upon the roof among the weathercocks, as if w^aiting for him* 
The hen cried, ^^Pecopinl Pecopin !'^ the pigeon, ** Bauldour f 
Bauldour I" and instantly he recalled to mind his dream at Ba- 
ch arach, and the warning addressed to him by the old man, the 
other day, one hundred years ago, " For the young man, the 
blackbird whistleSj the jay chatters, the magpie yelps, the crow 


croaks, the pigeon coos, the hen chuckles. But for the old man, 
birds have a number of instructive things to say." 

He listened, and heard the four birds jesting merrily together, 
over the inconstancy of a certain young gentleman who goes 
out to enjoy a day's hunting, and cannot find his way back again 
till the close of a hundred years ! 

Lest he should entertain any doubt concerning the personality 
of their allusions, throughout the whole dialogue the hen kept 
cackling the name of " Pecopin !" while the pigeon replied, by 
gently cooing that of " Bauldour !" 

A legf:nd. 2^5 


Bingen — Ma yen ca. 

BixGKX k a charming and pretty town ; solemn, like a town of 
ancient date, and yet exhibiting the gaiety of a modern one; 
vvliich, frmii the time of the consul Drusus to that of the Emperor 
Charlemagne, from Charlemagne until Archbishop Willi rris, from 
the arclibishop till the merchant Montemagno, from MonTemagno 
to tlie visionary Holzhausen^ and from hirn to the notary Fabrc, 
now ruling and reigning in the oastle of Drusns— has increased 
and crept on, house by house, in the Y of the Rhine and the 
N^he, just as the dew accumulates in the corolla of a lily. Ex^ 
cuso the compari-son, but it has the merit of being true, and faiths 
fully describing, in all eases possible, the mode of formation of a 
town situated upon a confluence of rivers. 

Everything contnbutes to render Bingen a kind of antithesis, 
built in the midst of a landscape, which is another antithesis 
The town, hennned in to the left by the river, to the right by the 
stream, developcs itself in tlie forni of a triangle • in the midst of 
which is a Gothic clmrcli backed by a Roman citadeL This last 
is of the first century, and, after having served as a stronghold to 
marauding knights, now contains the garden of the curate. In 
the church, whicli k of the lotii century, stands the tomb of the 
reputed sorcerer Barthclemy of Ilolzhausen, whom the Elector 
of MaycDce would have burned as a magician, if he had not pre- 
ferred to hire him as an astrologer. In the direction of Mayence, 
commences the verdant and fertile country of tlie Rhejngau, and 
in that of Coblent^, the mountains of Ley den knit tlieir savage 
brows. Here nature laughs like a beautiful nymph frolicking 
upon the grass; while there, on the contrary, she scowls like a 
reclining giant. 

Numerous remembrances, represented in one instance by a 
forest, in another by a rock, in another by an edifice, present 


themselves in this corner of the Rheingau. Lower down, yonder 
green hill is the joyous Johannisberg, at the foot of which stands 
the formidable square fort flanking the angle of the strong town 
of Rudesheim, for some time the advance-post of the Romans. 
On the summit of the Niederwald, opposite Bingen, on the bor- 
ders of a fine forest, upon a hill commencing the stricture of the 
Rhine, and which in the olden time barred up its passage, stands 
a small temple with white columns, not unlike the rotunda of a 
Parisian cofiee-house, on the site of the superb and gloomy Ehren- 
fels, constructed in the twelflh century by Archbishop Siegfried, 
once a formidable citadel, now a superb ruin. The baby-house 
predominates, and humiliates the fortress. 

On the other side of the Rhine, upon the Rupertsberg, which 
looks towards Niederwald, among the ruins of the convent of 
Disibodenberg, is the holy well dug by St. Hildegarde, adjoining 
the infamous tower built by Hatto. The convent is buried in 
vines, the tower surrounded by gulphs. The latter is used as a 
forge, while the Prussian custom-house is established in the con- 
vent. The spectre of Hatto listens to the clang of the anvil, and 
the shade of Hildegarde is privy to the gauging of spirits. 

By a curious contrast, the insurrection of Civilis, which de- 
stroyed the bridge of Drusus ; the war of the Palatinate, which 
destroyed the bridge of Willigis ; the legions of Tutor, the quar- 
rels of the Burgraves, Adolph of Nassau and Didier of Isembourg, 
the Normans in 890, the townsmen of Creuznach in 1279, the 
Archbishop Baldwin of Treves in 1334, the plague in 1349, the 
inundation in 1458, the Palatine bailiff Goler de Ravensberg, in 
1496, the Landgrave William of Hesse in 1504, the Thirty Years' 
war, the revolutionary and imperial armies ; — all these devasta- 
tions have successively swept over this happy and serene plain ; 
while the most captivating personages of the liturgy and legend, 
Gela, Jutta, Liba, Guda ; Gisela, the lovely daughter of Broeniser ; 
Hildegarde, the companion of St. Bernard ; Hiltruda, the peni- 
tent of Pope Eugene ; have by turns abided among these gloomy 
rocks. The smell of blood is still on the plain ; the odor of sanc- 
tity and perfume of loveliness still linger among the mountains. 

The more you examine this beautiful spot, the clearer to look 
and thought becomes the antithesis. It assumes a thousand forms. 

BINGEN. 237 

z Just as the N4he clears the arches of the stone hridge, upon the 

jj parapet of which the Hessian Lion turns its back upon the Prus- 

.. sian Eagle, which the Hessians say is a sign of contempt, and the 

[. Prussians, on the contrary, of fear ; at the moment, I say, that 

2 the Nahe, which flows gently on from Mont Tonnerre, passes under 

this frontier bridge, the bronze-green arm of the Rhine seizes 
- upon the languid river, and carries it straight off into the Binger- 

^ loch. That passes in the gulf into which it is there plunged, 

is known only to the gods ; but certain it is, that never did Jupi- 
.. ter of old bestow a more sleepy nymph upon a more impetuous 

|; monster. 

The church of Blngen is plastered without and within with a 
J grey color ; this is absurd enough. But the abominable restora- 

[^ tions now going on in France will end by reconciling me with 

/ plaster and whitewashing. The most deplorable instance I know 

of this kind is the reparation of the abbey of St. Denis, now,, 
alas ! complete ; and that of Ndtre Dame de Paris, at this time 
in progress. I shall return some day to these two acts of Van- 
' dalism, feeling a personal shame in thinking that the first was< 

accomplished in the heart of our metropolis, and the second in 
the eyes of all Paris. By our silence, our enduriuice, our in- 
difference, we are all guilty of this double architectural crime,, 
and we shall all justly merit the condemnation of posterity, when, 
in the presence of these defaced, mutilated, and degraded edi- 
fices, they call our century to account for these two admirable 
monuments, beautiful among the beautiful, illustrious among the 
illustrious of temples ; the one, the metropolitan church of roy. 
• alty, the other of France ! 

Let us hide our faces ! Such restorations are tantamount to 

^ To wash or plaster is only an act of stupidity ; it does not de- 

stroy, but merely soils, smears, tattoes, disfigures, and renders 
buildings ridiculous and frightful. It travesties the bright idea 
of Caesar Csesariano, or Herwyn de Stein back, into the mask of 
^ Crautier Garguille ; beflowering the face of a fine building like 

^ that of a clown — ^nothing more. Scrape off the offending plaster, 

^ end you will find the aspect of the venerable church pure and 

dignified as ever. 


To repose upon the summit of the Klopp, about the approach 
of sunset, and gaze upon the city beneath, and the immense 
horizon around you, watch the hilLtops darken, the curlmg 
smoke, the extending shadows, the verses of Virgil yivified in 
the landscape ; inhaling the united breezes of the river and the 
mountains, when the air is genial, the season mild, and the day 
fine, is an exquisite and inexpressible sensation, replete with a 
mysterious charm, derived at once from the grandeur of the 
scenery, and the depth of contemplation it engenders. Beside 
the open attic windows, young girls are sitting, with their eyes 
fixed upon their work ; the birds chirp gaily in the ivy on the 
walls ; the streets re-echo with industry and happiness ; you hear 
the splash of the oars from the boats upon the Rhine, and watch 
the fluctuations of the sails. The pigeons hover round the stee- 
ples, the river subsides into a mirror, the sky grows clear and 
pale, a horizontal sunbeam in the distance penetrates the clouds 
of dust afar off upon the ducal road from RUdesheim to Biberich, 
showing the brilliant equipages, which seem to glitter in its light, 
as if drawn by four flying stars. The washerwomen on the 
banks are drying their linen on the bushes ; those on the Nahe 
beating it with their naked feet, upon rafts of fir, moored at the 
river's edge, and laughing heartily as they work at the tpunst, 
who stands near them, sketching the Ehrenfels. The Maiise- 
thurm, amidst this general joy and sunshine, smokes on in silence, 
under the sombre shade of the mountains. 

The sun sets, and night usurps its place ; the roofs of the city 
appear to form but one. The mountains become confounded 
into one gloomy mass, amid which vanishes the white lustre of 
the Rhine. Crape-like mists rise slowly from the horizon to the 
zenith. The diminutive steamer from Mayence to Bingen takes 
up its station for the night before the Victoria Hotel. The wash- 
erwomen return home with bundles on their heads. All noise 
ceases. A last rosy gleam, like the reflection of a better sphere 
upon the face of a dying person, still colors, on the summit of 
the rocks, the pale visage of Ehrenfels, marked with haggard 
traces of decay. Even this disappears, and the tower of Hatto, 
almost imperceptible two hours before, now becomes a prominent 
feature in the landscape. Its smoke, black during the day, be- 

BIN6EN. 239 

comes luminous at night with the fire of the forge ; and like the 
revengeful soul of the wicked, seems to rejoice in the general 

Some days ago I was on the towers of the Klopp, and while 
indulging in these reveries, and my mind wandering I know not 
where, a window suddenly opened in a roof beneath me ; and I 
heard the pure fresh voice of a young girl singing the following 
plaintive and mournful words : — 

Plas mi cavalier Frances, 
E la dona Catalana, 
E I'ouraz del Ginoes, 
E la court de Castelana. 
Lou cantBZ Proven^ales 
E la danza Trevisana, 
E lou corps Aragones, 
La mans a Kara d* Angles, 
E lou donzel de Toscana. 

1 recognized the joyous verses of Frederick Barbarossa, and can- 
not describe to you the effect they produced upon me, in that 
Roman ruin transformed into a notary's villa, amid the darkness 
brightened only by the candle of my pretty songstress, two hun- 
dred yards from the Mattse tower, now a smithy ; close to the 
Victoria hotel, and with a steam omnibus moored before its door. 
This imperial song, accented by the lips of a German peasant, 
this outburst of the Provencal gaiety of times of yore, subsided 
into a melancholy ditty ; this ray of the ^me of the Crusades, 
piercing the darkness of ages, and awaking me, a poor wander- 
ing dreamer, from my reveries, was a curious and striking trait 
of the pertinacity of life of immortal verse. As I have alluded 
to the music 1 heard on the Rhine, why should I scruple to relate 
to you that at Braubach, as the steamer stopped to set some pas> 
sengers on shore, a band of students, seated upon the trunk of « 
tree detached from some raft of the Murg, were singing in chorus, 
with German words, that beautiful air of Quasimodo, which 
forms one of the remarkable beauties in Mademoiselle Berlin's 
opera of the " Esmeralda." Some day or other, justice will be 
done to that remarkable composition, which at its first appearance 
was so harshly and unjustly treated. The public, too often mis- 


led by cubals fatal to the efforts of genius, will eventually revise 
a oondemnation fomented by the malice of political party, pro- 
fessional envy, and the venom of literary coteries ; and admire, 
as it deserves, that truly beautiful music, so pathetic, so graceful, 
yet at moments so melancholy ; a creation combining all that is 
most tender and most grave in the heart of woman, and all that 
is earnest in the soul of man. Germany has done justice to this 
work : so will France, in time f 

Having little faith in guide-book curiosities, I confess that I 
did not go to see the horn, the nuptial bed, and iron chain of old 
Broemser. But I visited the square donjon ot Rodesheim, now 
belonging to an intelligent proprietor, who fully understands that, 
in order to remain a palace, it must remain a ruin. Mansions, 
like gentlemen, are the nobler for their antiquity. 

How perfect is this donjon! Roman crypts, Gothic walls; a 
banquet room, of which the table is lit by a chandelier formed 
like a fleural crown, similar to that of Charlemagne ; stained 
glass of the period of the revival of the arts ; watchdogs of Ho- 
meric size, which guard the court ; iron lanterns of the thirteenth 
century hooked to the wall ; winding staircases ; bottomless oub- 
liettes ; sepulchral urns ranged in a kind of ossuary ; thousands 
of fearful things, on the summit of which extends a beautiful 
terrace of flowers and verdure. 

The present proprietor of the ruin bestows his attention en- 
tirely upon its floral embellishments ; which consist of the natu- 
ral vegetations of the spot cultivated into richness. There are 
walks intersecting this monstrous bouquet ; which, on the spot, 
proves to be a garden ; and, at a distance, looks like a crown of 

The acclivities of Johannisberg shelter these venerable re- 
mains, which the genial air of the south reaches through windows 
opening on the Rhine. I know no breeze more grateful or lite- 
rary, than that self-same south wind. It inspires ideas which are 
profound, cheering, and ennobling. While warming the body, 
it seems to enlighten the mind. The Athenians, who knew 
everything, have expressed this idea in their ingenious sculp- 
tures. In the relievos of the Temple of the Winds, the north 
winds are hideous and hairy, have a look of stupidity, and are 


dressed like barbarians ; while the soft and genial winds are at* 
tired in the garb of the philosophers of Greece 

At Bingen, I saw, at the extremity of the public-room, two 
tables difierently served. At one sat a fat Bavarian major, 
speaking more or less French ; who every day saw set before 
him a regular German dinner of five courses, which he scarcely 
ever touched. At the other table sat a poor devil before his 
sblitary dish of sauerkraut, which having devoured, he passed 
the remainder of his time in feasting his hungry eyes upon the 
pantagruelic display of his neighbor. Till then I never under- 
stood the saying of d'Ablancourt : << Providence gives to one maoi 
meat, to the other appetite." 

The poor devil was a young scholar, pale, serious, nmch ad- 
dieted to entomology, and a little in love with the chambermaid ; 
a common characteristic of learned men ; though, by the way, a 
learned man in love is to me a problem. How is it possible to 
reconcile the crosses, jealousies, angers, and lost time of love, 
with the solicitudes and unceasing meditations essential to the life 
of a scholar ? How, for instance, could the learned Huxham, who, 
in his fine treatise, " De aer^ et miorhis epidemicis" has calculated, 
month by month, from 1724 to 1746, the quantity of rain fallen 
at Plymouth, during twenty-two years consecutively, find leisure 
for the exactions of a tender passion ? 

Imagine Romeo counting through a microscope the seventeen 
thousand facets of a fly's eye ; or Don Juan, with an apron, 
analysing the paratartrate of antimony, and the paratartrovinate 
of potash ; or Othello, leaning over a lentile, attempting to detect 
vegeUble mysteries, by means of decomposition, in the fossil 
ferina of the Chinese. 

Nevertheless, my young entomologist was decidedly in love ; 
spoke French better than the major ; and had an original system 
of the universe— but not a penny in his pocket. I love systems, 
though I have little faith in them. Descartes was a visionary ; 
Huygens modified the dreams of Descartes ; and Mariotte modi- 
fied the modifications of Huygens. Where Descartes saw stars, 
Huygens saw globules ; and Mariotte, needles. What has been 
proved by all these hypotheses 1 Nothing but the insignificancsi 
of man and the greatness of God. This, however,. isiaometfaiiig.' 


As I said before, I love a system. Systems are the ladders by 
which we ultimately scale the altitudes of truth. 

My young scholar sometimes came, about the hour of the table 
d'h6te, to drink a bottle of beer ; when I used to take up a news- 
paper and watch him, as I sat in the recess of the window. The 
table d'h6te of the Victoria was ill composed and inharmonious, 
as is the case with most things which chance brings into juxta- 
position. At the upper end, there sat an elderly Bnglishwoman, 
with three beautiful children ; a duenna rather than a nurse, aa 
aunt rather than a mother. I pitied these little creatures; for the 
bony fingers of the old woman were ever ready for reproof. The 
Bavan^ major occasionally sat by her side, in order to improve 
his appevite. He usually conversed with a Parisian* lawyer, who 
said he was going to Baden, because " everybody seemed to go 
there." Near the lawyer sat an old gentleman, more than octo- 
genarian, his hair white, and having that look of goodness which 
often precedes tH^ close of human existenoe. He was fond of 
quoting from Horace ; and, being toothless, the word " mors " 
became " mox ;" which, in the mouth of so aged a man, sounded 
melancholy enough. 

Opposite the old man, wes a gentleman who indulged in French 
versification ; and read us some verses upon Holland, in which he 
alluded to the " harangues '* which swarm in their seas ! — ^I con- 
fess I neVer heard of any other R^hy fry there than harengs. 

To complete the party, we hai.^two Alsatian tradesmen, en- 
riched by the smuggling of weasel s\^ins ; who have now votes, 
and are eligible for juries. They sat smoking their pipes, and 
relating their adventures — ^the same old stories, told over and over 
again, of which, having invariably forgotten the names of the 
dramatis persarus, one was sure to be called Mr. Whatdoyecall- 
him, and the other, Mr. Thingumee. 

The versemonger was one of those erudite, philosophical, con- 
stitutional, Voltairian fellows, who, as he was always boasting, 
delighted in the mining of prejudices ; indulging in copimonplace 
sneers upon all established usages, and disparaging those holy and 
grave institutions which are respected by decent minds. He 
liked, as he said, to thrust his lance into the focus of human 
erzors ; and though he seldom selected the real windmills of the 

BINGEN. 243 

century, chose to nickname himself, in his facetious moments, 
Don Quixote. 

Now and then the lawyer and the poet, though well suited to 
each other, chose to dispute. The poet, to complete his portrait, 
was a man of incomprehensible comprehension ; a man of chaotic 
undenstanding ; one of those men who stammer in conversation, 
and scribble when they write. The lawyer, on the other hand, was 
triumphantly fluent; and could triumphantly spout on, for two hours 
together, like a water-pipe opened by a turncock. 

" In one weak, washy, everlasting flood.** 

Upon this, the entomologist, who was really clever, used in his 
turn to annihilate the lawyer. He spoke admirably, and generally 
with applause; but ever and anon kept looking askance, to 
ascertain whether the " magd " were listening. 

One day, he was perorating upon the virtue of resignation and 
self-abnegation. But as he was fasting, and philosophy is a supper 
without dessert, I asked him to dinner. Though he could scarcely 
infer to what country I belonged from the words I uttered, he 
accepted my proposal ; and we entered into conversation, and made 

We made several excursions to the MaQsethurm and the right 
bank of theirive'r togetner, for which I hired the boat. 

Such were my adventures at Bingen. The town, though not 
large, is remarkable for its incessant demands upon your purse. 
A perpetual remembrance of the toords " something to drink," 
leaves the traveller, at the close of his sojourn, reduced almost to 

By the way, at Bacharach, I left the realm of dollars, mUfeV' 
grossen and ^enmngs, for that of kreutzers and florins. Darkness 
invisible ! 

Here is about the manner of proceeding in making a purchase. 

" How much is this ?" you inquire. 

The shopkeeper replies, " one florin, fifty-three kreutzers." 

" I do not understand." 

*^ Sir, it makes in Prussian money a dollar, two groschen, and 
eighteen pfennings." 

'< I beg your pardon, but I do not exactly understand." 


'^ Sir, a floiio is worth two francs, three sols, and a centime; a 
Prussian dollar is worth three francs and three quarters ; a sil- 
iNirgiosseny two sous and a half; a kreutzer three quarters of a 
soa; a pfenning three quarters of a liard." 

To all this I can only answer, like Don Caesar, << clear as day- 
light;" open roy purse, and trust to the proverbial honesty which 
is probably the Ubian altar alluded to by Tacitus; ^^Ara Ulnorum" 
Moreover, the Hessians pronounce kreutzer, '^ creiuw" the Ba- 
deners *' eriche," and the Swiss << crticAe,"— confusion worse oon- 
founded to a traveller. 



lfA,Tmoi, SeffUmAtr. 

Mayence and Frankfort, like Versailles and Paris, now form but 
a single town. During the middle ages, there were eight leagues 
between the two cities, or two days' journey ; now-a-days, it fa 
only an hour and a quarter. 

Between the imperial and electoral cities civilisation has estab- 
lished that auspicious means of junction, a railway, which now 
and then coasts the river Main, and crosses a vast and fertile 
plain, without viaducts or tunnels, without clearings or fillings up, 
but merely composed of rails placed upon sleepers, patriarchally 
shaded with fruit trees, like a village road. The whole is open 
and unprotected ; and an invisible hand seems to conduct you 
through gardens, orchards and fields, which vanish from your 
eyes like the rejected roll of a pattern-book. 

Frankfort and Mayence, like Li^ge, are beautiful cities, sacri- 
ficed by a pretension to taste. I know not what corrosive and 
destructive property is inherent in that flimsy architecture, with 
plaster colonnades, theatrical churches, and palace-like public 
houses ; but certain it is, that wherever this prevails, the ancient 
city disappears amidst piles of lath and plaster. I hoped to have 
found at Mayence the Martinsburg, a feudal residence of the 
archiepiscopal electors till the seventeenth century. But the 
French turned it into an hospital, and the Hessians demolished it 
to enlarge the free port. As to the Guildhall, built in 1847 by 
the famous League of the Hundred Towns, superbly embellished 
with statues of the seven electors, with their escutcheons, above 
which two colossal figures upheld the crown of empire, — it is now 
demolished, to form a public square. I meant to lodge opposite, 
in the Inn of the Three Crowns, established in 1360 by the Clee. 
mann family, the most ancient inn in Europe ; trusting to find 
one of those houses described by the gifled Grammont, with an 


immense chimDey, a spacious hall with heams and pillars, of 
which the wall is one continued leaden trellised window, at the gate 
a stepping stone to mount your mule. But on arriving, I turned 
from Uie door with disgust. The old inn is hecome a kind of 
Hotel Meurice, with pasteboard festoons and friezes ; while at the 
windows is perceptible the prodigality of draperies, and want of 
curtains, characterizing the German inns. 

Some day or other Mayence will do* with the houses Bma 
Monte and Zum Jungen, what Paris has done with the old House 
of Pillars at the Halles. They will demolish, to make way for 
some stupid edifice, surmounted by some stupider bust, the birth- 
place of John Gensfliesch, chamberlain of Adolph of Nassau, 
whom posterity knows under the name of Gutemburg ; just as it 
recognizes by that of Moli^re, Jean Baptiste Poquelin, valet-de- 
chambre of Louis XIV. 

The old churches, however, still stand their ground, and pro- 
tect all that surrounds them. It is adjacent to the cathedral of 
Mayence you must look for Mayence, in the same manner as you 
must seek Frankfort in its collegial precincts. 

Cologne is a Gothic city still loitering in the epoch of the 
Gauls. Frankfort and Mayence are also Gothic, but trenching 
on the revival of the arts, and in some respects corrupted by the 
rusticated and Chinese. There is consequently something Flem- 
ish about Mayence and Frankfort, which distinguishes them from 
the other Rhenish cities. One perceives at Cologne, that the 
austere projectors of the cathedral. Master Gerard, Master 
Arnold, and Master Jean, long controlled with their authority 
the taste of the city. These four great shadows have watched 
over Cologne for the lapse of four centuries ; protecting the 
churches of Plectrude and Hanno, the tomb of Theophania, and 
the gilt chamber of the Eleven Thousand Virgins ; intercepting 
the influx of spurious taste ; slow to tolerate the almost classical 
imagination of the revival of the arts ; maintaining the purity of 
Gothic architecture; weeding the endive work of Louis XV., 
wherever they made their appearance ; maintaining, in all the 
sharpness of their outline, the carved gables of the structures of 
the fourteenth century ; and overawed only (like the lion by the 


braying of the ass) by the monstrous innovations of the Parisian 
architects of the present century. 

At Mayence and Ffankfort the architecture of the Rubeus 
school prevails ; the vigorous and flowing outline, the rich fan- 
tasies of Flanders ; a superabundance of iron trellis- work, over- 
charged with flowers and animals ; an etidless variety of angles 
and turrets ; indications of a florid complexion and plethoric tem- 
perament, possessing more health than beauty ; a profusion of 
masks, tritons, naiads, fleshy exaggerations of pagan sculpture, 
overwrought embellishments, and hyperbolical designs,— all that 
is exorbitant and magnificent in bad taste, have invaded the city 
since the conimencement of the seventeenth century ; feathering and 
festooning, according to their poetic fancies, the ancient and solemn 
Grermanic architecture of the city. Seen as the birds fly, Mayence 
and Frankfort, the one on the Rhine, the bther on the Main, hav- 
ing the same position as Cologne, partake necessarily of the same 
plan. Upon the opposite bank, the bridge of boats of Mayence 
has cire'ated Castel, just as the stone bridge of Frankfort created 
Sachshausen, and the bridge of Cologne Deutz. 

The Cathedral of Mayence, like those of Worms and Treves, 
has no front, but terminates at the two extremities by two choirs. 
They consist of two Roman apses, each having its transept, op- 
posite each other, conheCled by a gi*eat nave, as if two churches 
were united by their facades. The two crosses touch at their 
lower extremity. From this geometrical formation, results six 
towers, viz., one large one between two lesser, like the priest be- 
tween the deacon and subdeacon ; a symbolism I have already 
mentioned as producing in our own cathedrals the structure of 
our Gothic windows. 

The two apses, whose conjunction forms the Cathedral of 
Mayence, are of different periods, and though identified in the 
6ame geometrical line, with resjpect to dimensions, present, as 
edifices, a striking contrast. The first and lesser of the two is of 
the tenth centuty ; b^gun in 978, and terminated in 1009 ; since 
which, every successive century has added its stone. 

A hundred years ago the prevailing taste of the day assailed 
the cathedral, and the Pompadour florid style, with its exuberant 
frippery, degraded the Lombard lozenge and Saxon arch ; and the 


ancient apsis is now disfigured by these fanciful and unmeaning 
embellishments. The great tower, with its ample cone, three 
diminishing diadems, rose and facet-cut ornaments, seems built 
rather with gems than stone. Upon the other tower, which is 
severe, simple, Byzantine and Gothic, modem architects have 
erected a sharp pointed cupola, probably from economy, resting 
at its basis upon a circle of sharp gables, not unlike the iroa 
crown of the Kings of Lombardy. It is in zinc, plain and unor- 
namented, reminding one of the pontifical mitre of the primitive 
times. One might fancy it the severe tiara of Gregory VII. look, 
ing at the splendid tiara of Boniface VIII. ; a grand idea placed 
there by time and chance — ^great architects in their way. 

The whole of this venerable edifice has been smeared over 
with pinkish plaster, from top to bottom. The act has been per- 
petrated with much taste and discernment ; the Byzantine tower 
being of a delicate pink, the Pompadour of a vivid red ! 

Like the Chapelle of Aix, the Cathedral of Mayence has its 
bronze gates, ornamented with lions' heads. Those of Aix are of 
Roman origin ; and when I visited the city, I vainly searched for 
the hole said to have been made by the devil's foot,* in his indig- 
nation at finding he had s>vallowed a wolf's soul instead of that 
of a citizen paying scot and lot. 

The doors of Mayence can boast of no legendary history. 
They are of the eleventh century, and were given by Archbishop 
Willigis to the church of N6tre Dame, now demolished ; from 
. whence they were taken to embellish the majestic portal of the 
cathedral. Upon these doors are inscribed, in Roman characters, 
the privileges granted to the city in 1135 by the Archbishop Adal- 
bert, second Elector of Cologne. Underneath is inscribed a still 
more ancient legend. 

If the interior of Mayence reminds one of the Flemish towns, 
the interior of the cathedral also reminds one of the Belgian 
churches : the nave, chapels, two transepts, and two apses, with- 
out stained glass, being whitewashed from top to bottom, though 

* The valets-de-place of Aix usually show the holes through the lions* 
noses, made to cpi^^in handles, the rings being defunct, as the work of the 


sumptuously furnished. On all sides abound frescoes, pictures, 
carved wood, gilt and twisted columns. 

But the real ornaments of the Cathedral of Mayence are the 
tombs of the archbishop electors ! The church is literally paved 
with them, altars are made of them, the pillars propped by them, 
the walls covered with them. They are of the most costly mar- 
ble, and more splendid from sculpture and carving than the plates 
of gold that covered the temple of Solomon ! I verified in the 
church, as well as in the capitulary hall of the cloister, a tomb 
of the eighth century, two of the thirteenth, six of the fourteenth, 
six of the fifteenth, eleven of the sixteenth, eight of the seven- 
teenth, and nine of the eighteenth ; in all, forty-three sepulchres, 
^mong these I do not include the altar-built tombs, difUcult of 
access, nor the flat tombs of the pavement ; a confused mosaic 
of chronicles of the dead, gradually obliterated by the footsteps 
of the living. I also omit a few insignificant tombs of the nine- 
teenth century. 

All these tombs, five excepted, are sepulchres of archbishops ! 
and of the thtrty-eight cenotaphs, dispersed without chronological 
order, and, as if by chance, amidst a forest of Byzantine columns 
with enigmatical capitals, the art of six centuries developes itself, 
with ramifying branches, from which falls a double fruit, the his- 
tory of romance,- and the history of reality. 

There Liebenstein, Homburg, Gemmingen, Heufenstein, Bran- 
debourg, Steinburg, Ingelheim, Dalberg, Eltz, Stadion, Weins- 
berg. Ostein, Leyen, Hennenberg, Tour-and-Taxis, almost all the 
great names of Rhenish Germany, appear, amid the shining light 
which tombs create in the solemn obscurity of a church. The 
prevailing fancies of the period, both of the artist and the dead, 
prevail in the epitaph. The mausoleums of the eighteenth cen- 
tury are half open, discovering a skeleton with its long fleshless 
fingers, carrying away archiepiscopal mitres and electoral hats. 

The archbishops, contemporaries of Richelieu and Louis XIV., 
recline upon their sarcophagi, leaning on their elbow. The Ara- 
besques of the revival throw out their tendrils, amongst the exqui- 
site foliage of the fifteenth century, displaying endless and charm- 
ing complications, escutcheons, statuelings, and Latin distiches, 
and heraldic emblazonments. Great n«^iqfies, such as Mathias 


Burhecg, and Conradus Rheingraf (Conrad, Count of the Rhine), 
figure between the tonsured monk, who represents the church, 
and the mailed warrior, representing the chivalry of the country, 
beneath the groined ceilings of the fourteenth century^ Upon 
the gilt and painted slab of the thirteenth, lie gigantic archbishops, 
with apocalyptical monsters under their feet, who used to crown 
with their two hands emperors and kings, their inferiors. In this 
haughty attitude, you behold Siegfried, who crowned two empe- 
rors; Henry of Thuringia, and Wilhelm of Holland ; and Peter 
Aspeld, who crowned two emperors and a king — Louis of Bava- 
ria, Henry VII., and John of Bohemia. 

Coats of arms, heraldic mantles, the mitre, crown, the electoral 
cap, and cardinal's hat, abound on all sides, serving to impress 
the spectator with the power of that great and formidable person- 
age who presided over the nine electors of the empire of Ger- 
many, and was styled Archbishop of Mayence : a chaos, already 
half hid in obscurity, of august and illustrious images^ of vene- 
rable and redoubtable emblems, by which these powerful princes 
labored to create an idea of their grandeur, but which produces 
an impression of the nothingness of the gr6at. 

It is a remarkable fact, proving to what extent the French Re- 
volution was a providential ftict, a necessary, and one might 
almost say, algebraical result of the old European system, that 
what it tended to destroy was destroyed for evermore. It came 
at the very hour, like a woodman in haste to finish his work, to 
fell all the old trees mysteriously marked out by the Lord. It 
had, as I have already stated, the quid dimnum. Nothing that it 
overthrew has started up ; nothing it condemned has survived ; 
nothing it disturbed has been recomposed. 

The existence of states is not suspended by the same thread as 
that of individuals. To destroy an empire, it does not suffice to 
strike. Cities and kingdoms perish only at their appointed time; 
With the French Revolution fell Venice, the German Ethpire, 
And the electorates. The same year, the awfiil year, saw swal- 
lowed up that demigod, the Kiiig of France, that demi-king, the 
Archbishop of Mayence. 

The Revolution did not desttt)y Rome, because Rome has not 
£>undalions, but roots ; which ramify under all nations, and pene- 


trate every quarter of the globe — even China and Japan, at the 
other extremity of the globe. • 

The Jean de Troyes of Cologne, Guillaume de Hagen, bailiff 
of the city in 1270, relates in his Chronicle (unfortunately torn 
during the French occupation, and of which there only remain a 
few leaves in the library of Darmstadt), that in 1247, under the 
reign of this said Archbishop Siegfried, whose tomb is such a re- 
naarkable object in the cathedral, an old astrologer named Mabu- 
zius was condemned, as a sorcerer, to die at the stone gibbet of 
Lorchhausen, which marked the frontier of the electorate j facing 
another gibbet belonging to the Elector Palatine. 

Arrived on the spot, as the astrologer refused the crucifix, and 
persisted in calling himself a prophet, the monk sneeringly asked 
him in what year would end the Archbishopric of Mayence. 

The old man begged in return that they would unlash his right 
arm, which was done ; and having picked up a nail, and thought 
for a moment, he engraved upon the gibbet facing Mayence a sin- 
gular polygram. After which he resigned himself to the execu- 
tioner, while the assistants laughed at his folly. By adding these 
three mysterious numbers together, they form the awful figure 
93 ! (four twenties and thirteen.) 

Observe that this gibbet, from the thirteenth century till the 
eighteenth, bore the sinister date of its fall, and the declension of 
monarchy. But the gibbet was part of the old system. The 
French Revolution no more respected the stability of gibbets, than 
that of the throne. The edifice of stone and the edifice of marble 
were overthrown together. 

In the nineteenth century both thrones and gibbets have lost 
something of their dignity, both being now of deal. 

Mayence, like Aix, has had but one bishop, named by Nape 
leon ; a worthy and respectable pastor, who sat there from 1802 
to 1818 ; and lies buried, like hfs predecessors, in the cathedral. 
It must be admitted, however, that by the side of the pompous 
tombs of the archiepiscopal electors, that of M. Louis Colmar, 
bishop of the department of Clermont-Tonnerre, makes but a 
poor figure. On ttie other hand, it would be an admirable model 
for a Gothic clock for a shop in the Rue St. Denis, if there were 
only a dial affixed instead of the medallion of a bishop. Thk 


unassuming prelate, though emanating from our revolutionary 
'system, was the last link in the chain of archiepiscopal sove- 
reignty. Since M. Louis Colmar there has been no bishop in 
Mayence, which is simply the capital of Rhenish Prussia. 

Here also I found an Arcadian couple of brothers, archbishops, 
buried opposite one another, after having reigned over and gov- 
erned the same souls, the one in 1390, the other in 1419. John 
and Adolph of Nassau stand opposite to each other in the Cathe- 
dral of Mayence, as do Adolph and Antony of Schauenberg in 
the choir of Cologne. 

I stated that one of the forty-three tombs was of the eighth 
century. This monument is not that of a church dignitary. I 
sought it eagerly, and examined it curiously, as being associated 
in my mind with the sepulchre of Aix-la-Chapelle. It is the 
tomb of Fastrada, wife of Charlemagne ; a plain white slab, fixed 
in the hall. I deciphered the following epitaph, written in Roman 
characters, with Byzantine abbreviations : — 


Christo Dei«kcta Jacet hoc sub marmore Tecta 
Anno Septengentesimo Nonaoesimo Quarto." 

Then follow these three mysterious verses : — 

'* QuiM NuMBRUM Metro claudere Muba Neoat 
Rex Pie Quem Gessit Virgo Licet hic Cinerebcit. 
Spiritub Hjbreb Sit Patrije Q,uje Tribtia Nebcit.'* 

And above, the date of the year, in Arabic : 

It was in 794, in fact, that Fastrada, first interred in the church 
of St. Alban, was deposited under this stone. One thousand 
years afterwards, for history sometimes imprints on great events 
a geometrical precision, almost awful — ^in 1794 — ^the partner of 
Charlemagne was disturbed from her rest. Her ancient city of 
Mayence was bombarded, her church of St. Alban reduced by 
fire to ruins, her tomb opened, and it is not known what became 
of her bones. The slab of her tomb was removed to the cathe- 


dral ; and an old beadle in a bob wig, in a sort of veteran's 
jacket, now gravely relates the event to the lovers of the mar* 

Besides the tombs, shrines with figures, gold-grounded oil paint- 
ings on wood, and altars adorned with basso-relievos, each of the 
two apses has its especial embellishments. The old apsis of 978, 
in addition to two beautiful Byzantine flights of steps, has in the 
centre a splendid baptismal urn in bronze, of the fourteenth cen- 
tury ; upon the exterior of which are represented the Twelve 
Apostles and St. Martin. The cover was smashed in the bom* 
bardment of the city. During the empire, an epoch of fine taste, 
they substituted for the cover of this Gothic gem a kind of sauce* 
pan lid ! 

The other apsis, the largest and least ancient, is all but choked 
with wood- work and stalls, in black oak, carved in the confused 
and complicated style of the eighteenth century, rebelling against 
the straight line, with such frenzy as almost to attain the beauti- 
ful. Never was a more delicate chisel, a more powerful fancy, 
or a more varied invention, degraded by the control of a taste so 
vile. Four statues, Crescentius, first Bishop of Mayence, a. d. 
70 ; Boniface, first Archbishop, in 755 ; Willigis, first Elector, 
in 1011 ; and Bardo, founder of the Cathedral in 1050, stand 
around the choir ; while above the Asiatic canopy of the arch- 
bishop presides the equestrian group of St. Martin and the beg- 
gar. At the entrance of the choir stands, in mysterious pomp, 
the Hebrew high-priest Aaron, who represents the spiritual bishop, 
and Melchisedech, who represents the temporal. The Archbishop 
of Mayence, like the Prince-bishops of Worms and Li^ge, the 
Archbishops of Cologne and Treves, and like the pope himself, 
united in his person the double pontiff. He was both Aaron and 

The capitulary hall, next to the choir, is grand and impressive, 
and with its Pompadour wood embellishments, repeats the antithe- 
sis of the two great towers. There is nothing but a high naked 
wall ; a pavement in which are interspersed tombs in relief; the 
leniains of a stained glass window ; a colored pediment repre- 
sentmg St. Martin, not as a Roman knight, but a Bishop of Tours; 
three sculptures of the sixteenth century, vix. : the Orucifixion^ 


Resurrection, and Ascension : stone seats round the hall for the 
monks, and at the further end a broader stone seat for the presi- 
dent archbishop ; reminding one of the marble chair of the early 
popes, kept at N6tre Dame des Doms, at Avignon. On leaving 
this hall, you enter a cloister of the fourteenth century ; which 
must have ever been, and is, an austere and lugubrious place. The 
bombardment of 94 is everywhere written upon its walls. Amid 
the rank verdure, lie stones silvered over by the slime of reptiles. 
The groining of the windows is destroyed, and the tombs are 
broken by shells, as if made of glass. Knights armed cap-a-pie 
have been smitten on the face by a petard, and the rags of old 
washer. women are drying upon lines across the cloister ; and 
planking is here and there substituted for the shivered granite. 
A solitude, only interrupted by the cawing of the rooks, now pre- 
vails in the cloister of Mayence ! The havoc of the bombs is seen 
in fact in all directions ; while two or three abandoned statues in 
a comer seemed to survey with dismay the scene of desolation. 

Under the galleries of the cloisters, there is a basso-relievo of 
the fourteenth century, of which I vainly tried to discover the 
origin. On one side are men bound in chains, in every attitude 
of despair ; on the other, a bishop surrounded by a triumphal 
group. Does it represent Barbarossa ? — Louis of Bavaria ? — ^the 
revolt of 1160 ?— or the war of Mayence against Frankfort in 
1982 ? What it may be I know not, so I passed and went my 
way. As I was leaving the galleries, I perceived in the shade a 
stone head, half protruding from the wall, with a crown, dfieurons, of 
the eleventh century. It was one of those mild yet severe faces, on 
which is portrayed the august beauty conferred on the face of 
man by the sublimity of thought. Above it was inscribed by 
some visitor, " Frauenlob !" a name recalling to my mind that 
Tasso of Mayence, so calumniated in his lifetime, so venerated 
after death. When Henr^ Frauenlob died in 1318, the women 
of Mayence, who had insulted and sneered at him while alive, 
chose to bear his coffin to the grave. The women and coffin, 
loaded with flowers and crowns, are chiselled in the stone a little 
below the head. The head is superb, and the sculptor has 
represented him with his eyes open. Amid the multitude of 


bishops and princes reposing in this church, the poet alone appears 
to keep watch with untiring intelligence. 

The market-place, which surrounds two sides of the cathedral, 
is fanciful and pretty. In the centre stands a fountain, of the 
date of the German revival of the arts, a charming composition of 
arms, mitres, naiads, croziers, cornucopiaB, angels, dolphins, 
syrens, the whole forming a pede&jtal for the statue of the Holy 

Upon one of the fronts is this pentameter — 

" Albertus princeps civibus ipse suis," 

remindipg one of the dedication inscribed by the last Elector of 
Treves upon the fountain near his palace, in the new town of 
Coblentz : " Clemens Vinceslaus, Elector, Vicinis suis." 
" To his fellow-citizens " is constitutional ; to his " neighbors " is 

The fountain at Mayence was built by Alfred of Brandenburg, 
who reigned towards 1540, and whose epitaph I had just read in 
the cathedral. " Albert, Cardinal-priest of St. Pierre-aux-Liens, 
Archchancellor of the holy Empire, Marquis of Brandenburg. 
Duke of Stettin and Pomerania, Elector." He erected, or 
rather re-erected, the fountain in remembrance of the prosperity 
of Charles V. and of the captivity of Francis I., as is confirmed 
by the following inscription in letters of gold, lately restored : — 

**Divo EARoiiO V. ^JESARE Sbmp. Avg. Post Victoria Gallicam 
Regs Ipso Ad Ticnici Svperato Ae Capto Trivphante FATALiq. 


Et Archiep. Mag. Sante Hvnc vetvstate Dilap'sV Ad Civiv 


Viewed from the citadel, Mayence presents sixteen redoubts, 
from which are graciously pointed the cannon of the Germanic 
Confederation ; the six steeples of the cathedral, two fine belfries, 
and the dome of the Carmelites in the Rue de Cassette, thrice 
repeated, which is more than enough. 

Upon the declivity of the hill, crowned by the fortress, one of 
these ignoble domes crowns an ancient Saxon church, beside 
which is a charming cloister of florid Gothic, where the Imperial 
horse drinks out of the Roman sarcophagi. 


The beauty of the Rhenish women maintains its reputation at 
Mayence, only, like the Flemings and Alsatians, they exhibit 
the sad defect of curiosity. 

Mayence is the point of junction between the spy-glass of the 
windows of Antwerp and the watch-turrets of Strasburg. 

The city, whitewashed as she is in some parts, still retains her 
ancient physiognomy, of the commercial marts of the Upper 
Rhine. On one of the gates you still read — 

' Pro celerx Mkbcatitre kzpeditioitk.* 

In two or three years you will read, ' " Goods forwarded on the 
shortest notice." Thanks to the Rhine, a degree of activity, 
issuing from its waters, prevails in this city. She is not less 
crowded with ships and merchandize, nor is there less bustle of 
trade, than at Cologne. They walk, talk, push, drag, buy, ^11, 
cry, and sing in every house and every street. At night all is 
silent, and nothing heard but the murmur of the Rhine, and the 
eternal strokes of the seventeen mills moored to the sunken piles 
of the bridge of Charlemagne. 

Thanks to the diflerent congresses, the void lefl by the triple 
domination of the Romans, archbishops, and French, is not yet 
filled Up. There is no country for Mayence, and no one feels at 
home there. The Grand Duke of Hesse reigns but iti name. 
On the fortress of Castel he reads, ^'Cura ConfcedSrationis 
coNDiTtTM," and there he may also see a blue soldier and a white 
soldier, belonging to Prussia and Austria, pacing to and fro before 
the gates of his fortress of Mayence. Nor are Austria and Prussia 
at their ease. They elbow one another, and form a mutual 
obstacle. This can be but a temporary state of things. 

In the wall of the citadel there is a ruin included in the lines 
of the new rampart— a kind of truncated pedestal, still called the 
« Stone of the Eagle," — Adlerstein. This is the tomb of Drusus ! 
An eagle, an Imperial and all-powerful eagle, perched there for 
the space of sixteen hundred years, and then vanished. In 1804 
it re-appeared, and 1814 flew away for the second time. 

At this very hour, however, a^black spot is discernible on the 
horizon, towards the French frontier. What can it be but the 
eagle hovering in the air, on lier way back to her ancient realm! 






FraQkrort-oa-tb€ 'Main. 

I WAS at Frankfort on a Saturday. Long had I been seeking mv 
old Frank r^rt in a labyrinlh of ugly new houses and fine gardens ; 
when suddenly I found myself at the entrance of a singular-look- 
ing street — two parallel rows of houses, black, gloomy, lofty, 
and sinister, possessing however those trifling distinctions which 
characterize the better periods of architecture. Between these 
contiguous and compact lines of houses, huddled together as if in 
a panic, runs an obscure narrow street j every door of which, sur- 
mounted by a curious iron grating, is scrupulously closed. The 
ivindows on the ground-floor are protected with shuttersj stoutly 
Uned with iron, and invariably shut. 

In the upper stories the same precautions are visible ^ t^e win- 
dow's being barred like a prison. A deep silence prevailed ; 
neither voice, song, nor breath was audible ; but now and then 
the sound of some muffled step in the interior of the houses. By 
the side of the door a judae- wicket, half open, leading into a 
gloomy alley ; everywhere dust, cinders, cobwebs, mould, and 
misery, more affected than real ; an air of despair and fear im- 
printed upon the fronts of the houses; one or two passers-by 
w^atching me with a look of suspicion, while, in the windows of 
the first floor, sit beautiful and richly attired girls, with dark 
complexion^?, furtively exhibiting themselves j or else old ladies, 
with owl-like noses, in marvellous caps, pale and motionless 
behind the clouded glass. In the passages of the ground -floors I 
noticed heaps of bales of merchandize. The street contained, in 
short, fortresses rather than houses, caverns rather than fortresses, 
spectres rather than human beings : for it came to pass that I had 
wandered into the Jews' quarter of the town> and on their Saibath^ 
day I 

256 THE RillNE. 

At Frankfort, there are still genuine Jews and Christians, 
mutually hating and despising each other. On either side there 
is detestation and avoidance ; civilisation, which tends to hold all 
ideas in equilibrium, and suspend all prejudices, cannot compre- 
hend looks of execration, interchanged betwixt strangers. The 
Jews of Frankfort live in retired and gloomy houses, to avoid the 
contagious breath of Christians. Twelve years ago, this street of 
the Jews, rebuilt in 1662, had two iron gates at its extremities, 
well secured. . At night, the Jews were locked up, like people 
infected with the plague, while they also took the precautions, 
against the citizens, of a besieged town. 

The Jewish quarter is a city within a city. On emerging from 
the Judengasse, I discovered the ancient town. It was there I 
made my entry into Frankfort. Frankfort is the city of carya- 
tides. Never did I behold such a multitude of robust porters. 
Impossible to have tortured or twisted wood, marble, and bronze, 
with more copious invention, or more diversified cruelty. Which- 
ever way you turn, figures of all periods, styles and sexes, ages, 
and phantasmagories, writhe under the weight of enormous 
masses. Homed satyrs, nymphs with Flemish busts, dwarfs, 
giants, sphinxes, dragons, angels, devils, supernatural beings, 
selected by some magician who fearlessly dived into every my- 
thology at once, are imprisoned under entablatures, imposts and 
architraves, half sealed into the wall. Some support balconies, 
others towers, while some, less puissant, have horses on their 

A few are fated to bear aloft some audacious negro of bronze, 
with a gilt tin toga ; or some Roman Emperor in stone, with all 
the pomp of costume of Louis XIY., including his wig, armchair, 
estrade, the table with the crown, the canopy with sumptuous 
draperies, a colossal embodification of an engraving by Audran, 
carved in relief upon a monolithe, twenty feet high. 

These immense monuments are signs for inns ; and under such 
Titanic burthens, the caryatides groan in all possible postures of 
rage, grief, and fatigue. Some bend their heads, others half turn 
round, others rest their hands upon their hips, or compress their 
chests about to burst. Here some disdainful Hercules supports a 
six-storied house upon one shoulder, while with the arm that is 


free he dares the gaping public. There a hump-backed Vulcan 
aiding himself with his knee ; or wretched syrens, whose scaly 
tails lie crushed by the remorseless stone ; exasperated chimeras, 
furiously devouring each other; some crying, some laughing 
bitterly, others making grimaces at the passers-by. I remarked 
that the wine-houses, re-echoing With the ring of glasses, rested 
upon caryatides. It seems to be the custom of the old free- 
burghers of Frankfort to pile their goods and chattels upon the 
shoulders of agonized statues. 

The most horrible nightmare one could have at Frankfort is 
neither the invasion of the Russians, the irruption of the French, 
•nor European war crossing and ravaging the country ; nor the 
. old civil wars pillaging the sixteen quarters of the town ; nor the 
typhus, nor the cholera ; but the sudden revolt and liberation of 
the caryatides. 

One of the greatest curiosities of Frankfort will shortly disap- 
pear, I mean the public slaughter-houses. They occupy two 
antiquated streets. It is impossible to see older or blacker houses 
lean over a more abundant supply of meat. An air of jovial 
gluttony is impressed upon these curiously carved and slated 
fronts, while the ground offices seem like a profound and ever- 
yawning gullet, ready to swallow up herds of oxen and flocks of 
sheep. The sanguinary slaughterers and their rosy help-mates 
chat peacefully and agreeably under garlands of legs of mutton. 
A blood-red stream, unaltered by two unceasing fountains, flows 
in the middle of the street. 

Just as I passed, there was a shout of horror. The butcher- 
boys, with their Herod-like faces, were slaughtering a litter of 
sucking pigs, with which the market-girls standing by seemed 
highly diverted. There are certain absurd emotions one had better 
suppress ; but I must confess that had I known before the poor 
little pig, which the butcher's boy was carrying before me by the 
legs, was on the verge of martyrdom, I would have bought and 
saved him. A pretty little girl close by me, who likewise betrayed 
some compassion, seemed to encourage the idea. I did not 
obey the imploring eye of childhood, and I deeply repent it. 

A superb and gilded sign, suspended frOm an iron holder, com- 
posed of all the implements of the trade, and surmounted by the 


Imperial crown, presides over this splendid establishment of blood 
and slaughter, worthy of Paris in the olden time. 

On leaving this quarter, you enter into a moderate sized Place, 
worthy of Flanders, which may be admired even after seeing the 
old Market-place of Brussels. 

It is one of those trapezia-formed Places, round which all the 
styles and fancies of the domestic architecture of the middle ages 
are richly displayed ; and in which, according to the different 
periods, every kind of embellishment has been resorted to, 
whether in slate, wood, or stone. Every front has its peculiarity, 
yet contributes to the general harmony of the whole. At Frank- 
fort, as in Brussels, two or three newly-constructed houses, which 
look like so many fools intruding in a meeting of wits, impair the 
general effect ; while they serve to enhance the beauty of the 
adjoining old edifices. A decayed building of the fifteenth cen- 
tury, devoted now to I know not what purpose, but composed of 
the nave of a church and an old belfry, fills up, with its graceful 
and elegant outline, one side of the trapezium. 

In the midst of the Place, having risen as if by accident, are 
two fountains ; one of the revival of the arts, another of the 
eighteenth century. Upon the summit of these two fountains are 
statues of Minerva and Judith ; the Homeric virago, and the 
Biblical virago ; the one with the head of the Medusa, the other 
with the head of Holophernes. Judith, haughty and beautiful, 
standing in the midst of four syrens, who blow trumpets at her 
feet, is an heroic maiden of the revival of the arts ; she has lost 
the heai of Holophernes, which she used to carry in her left hand, 
but still holds the sword with her right, and her robe, yielding to 
the wind, exhibits her marble knee, and the most beautiful and 
finished leg that can well be seen. 

Some assert that this statue represents Justice, and that she 
held in her hand the scales, and not the head of Holophernes. I 
do not believe it ! A figure of Justice holding the scales in the 
left and the sword in the right hand, would be injustice. Besides, 
— ^Justice is not so pretty, and wears longer petticoats. 

Opposite to this figure, stand the three gables of the Rosmer, 
with their black dial and five grave windows. It was there that 
the emperors were electa, and proclaimed in former centuries. 


In this Place are held the two fitr-famed fiurs of FrankfiMty 
one in September, instituted in 1240, by letters patent of Frede- 
rick II.; the other at Easter, established, in 1330, by Louis of Bava- 
ria. The fairs have survived both the emperors and their empire ! 
I now entered the Rcemer, and wandered about without meet- 
ing a soul, in a hall with an arched roof^ in which stalls for the 
fair were already erected. It had a spacious staircase, with a 
balustrade of the style of Louis XIIL, decorated with mean paint- 
ings. By gropiog along the dark passages, and knocking at all the 
doors, I at last found a woman, who, upon my pronouncing the 
word ^< Kaisersaal," took a key off a nail in the kitchen, and led 
me to the hall of the emperors ! 

First, however, I went into the hall of electors, which is now 
used, I believe, by the high senate of the city of Frankfort. It 
was there that the electors, or their delegates, decided the election 
of the Emperor of the Romans. The Archbishop of Mayence 
presided in an armchair betwixt the windows. Then came every 
elector in his order, seated round an immense table, covered with 
yellow leather, each under his escutcheon, painted upon the ceil- 
ing. To the right of the Archbishop of Mayence, Trdves, 
Bohemia, and Saxony. To the left, Cologne, the Palatinate, and 
Brandenburg. In front, Brunswick and Bavaria. The looker- 
on receives the^mpression ever conveyed by trifles which in them- 
selves contain great things, when he touches the worn and dusty 
leather of this table, upon which was signed the election to the 
Imperial crown. With the exception of the table, removed to an 
adjoining room, the council room of the electors is the same now 
as during the seventeenth century. The nine escutcheons on the 
ceiling, surrounding ill-executed fresco ; red damask hangings ; 
old plated candelabra, representing figures of Fame ; a huge old- 
fashioned mirror, opposite which is suspended a portrait of Joseph 
11. ; above the door a portrait of the last of the grandsons of Char- 
lemagne, who died in 910, on the point of ascending the throne, 
and whom the Grermans name << The Child." Such are its 
adornments. The general effect is austere, grave, and calm ; 
inducing you to dream rather than contemplate. 

After the hall of the electors, I visited that of the emperors. 
About the fourteenth century, the Lombards, who left their 


names in the Ronner, and who had their counters in the hall, 
thought proper to surround it with recesses, in order to exhibit 
their merchandize. An architect, whose name is lost, constructed 
Ibrty-five. In 1564, Maximilian 11. was elected at Frankfort, and 
showed himself to the people from the balcony of that room ; 
which from that period was called the Kaisersacd, and served for 
the proclamation of the emperors. 

It was then thought necessary to embellish it, and the idea sug- 
gested itself of installing, in the niches constructed round the 
halls, the portraits of all the German Geesars crowned and elected 
since the extinction of the race of Charlemagne ; reserving to 
future emperors the vacant niches. From Conrad I., in 911, to 
Ferdinand I., in 1556, thirty-six emperors had been crowned at 
Aix-la-Chapelle. Adding the new King of the Romans, there 
only remained eight niches empty for future emperors. Few 
enough certainly, nevertheless the thing was executed, and the 
hall was to be enlarged if wanted. The vacant places were filled 
at the rate of four emperors in the century ; and in 1764, when 
Joseph II. ascended the Imperial and Cesarean throne, there re- 
mained but one niche empty ! They then seriously thought of 
prolonging the Kaisersaaly as well as adding to the niches con- 
structed by the Lombard merchants five centuries befi>re. In 
1794, Francis II., forty.fiflh King of the Romaas, filled up the 
forty-fiflh niche, which was the last. But it was fated to be the 
last in request ! The hall complete, the German Empire fell to 
pieces ! 

The unknown architect must have been destiny. 

The mysterious hall, with its forty-five niches, forms an ab- 
stract of the history of Germany. The race of Charlemagne 
extinct, it was fated to contain exactly forty-five emperors. 

In that oblong hall, vast, cold, and gloomy, with one of the 
angles occupied by lumber (among which I was shown the 
leather-cov^red table of the electors) ; scarcely admitting light at 
its eastern extremity from the five unequal windows, built pyra- 
midally to suit the external gables ; between four high walls 
covered with half ef&ced frescoes, under an arched roof, with 
groinings formerly gilt ; alone, in a kind of penumbra resembling 
the beginning of oblivion \ coarsely painted and represented in 


basts of brass, of which the pedestal bears the dates which begin 
and close their reign^ some crowned with laurels like the Roman 
Csesars, others wearing the Germanic diadem ; there gaze upon 
each other in silence, each in his gloomy niche, the three Con. 
rads, the seven Henrys, four Othos, one Lothaire, four Fredericks, 
one Philip, two Rodolphs, one Adolph, two Alberts, one Louis, 
four Charleses, one Wenceslas, one Robert, one Sigismond, two 
Maximilians, throe Ferdinands, one Mathias, two Leopolds, two 
Josephs, two Francises ; constituting the forty-five phantoms, who, 
during nine centuries, fpom 911 till 1806, traversed the history 
of the world, the sword of St. Peter in one hand, and the orb of 
Charlemagne in the other. 

At the extremity, opposite the five windows, near the roof, is a 
decaying but indifferent painting of the judgment of Solomon. 

When the electors had decided upon their emperor, the senate 
of Frankfort used to assemble in that hall ; which the burghers 
divided into fourteen sections, according to the fourteen districts 
of the city, assembled without. The five windows of the Kaiser- 
saal were then thrown open ; the centre one was surmounted with 
a canopy, and remained unoccupied. At the lesser window on 
the right, before which was a black iron balcony, upon which I 
perceived the wheel of Mayence, the emperor appeared, alone, in 
his Imperial crown and robes. To his right, was assembled in 
the same window the three electors. Archbishops of Mayence, 
Treves, and Cologne. At two other windows, to the left of the 
principal one, were, in that of the centre, Bohemia, Bavaria, and 
the Palatine of the Rhine ; in the other and lesiser. Saxony, 
Brunswick, and Brandenburg. In the space before the front of 
the Roemer, in the midst of a square, surrounded with guards, 
was placed in a heap of oats, an urn filled with gold and silver 
coin, a table upon which stood a silver-gilt ewer and bottle, and 
another table, upon which was an ox roasted whole. On the 
emperor appearing, the trumpets and cymbals clashed, and the 
archmarshal of the Holy £(npire, the archtreasurer and arch- 
cupbearer and archcarver entered the square with pomp. Amid 
the roar of trumpets and acclamations, the archmarshal pushed 
his steed into the heap of oats up to the saddle-girth, and filled a 
silver vessel ; the archchancellor took the ewer on the table, the 


archcupbearer filled up the gilt bottle with wine and water ; the 
archtreasurer took money from the urn and flung it to the peo- 
ple, and the archcarver cut off a slice of beef. 

Next, the high referendary of the empire rose up, proclaiming 
the new Csesar, and read aloud the formula of the oath. When 
he had finished, the senate in the hall and the people on the Place 
cried aloud, '' Yes !" During the tendering of the oath the new 
emperor took off his crown, and held his sword in his hand. 

From 1564 to 1704, this Place, now oYerlooked, and the now 
deserted hall, witnessed nine times this imposing ceremony of 

The great offices of the empire, belonging hereditarily to the 
electors, were dischai^ed by their deputies. In the middle ages 
the secondary monarchies held to the honor of filling the offices 
of the two empires succeeding the Roman period. Every prince 
gravitated towards the Imperial centre nearest to him. The King 
of Bohemia was chief cupbearer of the Empire of German}' ; 
while the Doge of Venice was protospatary of the Empire of the 

To the proclamation at the Roemer succeeded the coronation at 
the church ; and, observing with due deference the order of the 
ceremony, I proceeded there at once. 

The collegiate church of Frankfort, dedicated to St. Bartholo- 
mew, is composed of a double crossed nave of the fourteenth cen- 
tury, surmounted by a fine tower of the fifteenth, unfortunately 
incomplete. The church and tower are of a red gritstone, dark- 
ened and impaired by time. The interior only is stuccoed. 

Another Belgian specimen! White walls, no stained glass, 
but an ample collection of sculptured altars, colored tombs, paint- 
ings, and basso-relievos. In the aisles are frowning knights and 
mustachioed bishops of the time of Gustavus Adolphus, looking 
like lansquenets ; sculptured niches of the most fairy-like ele- 
gance ; magnificent copper lamps, recalling that of the alchymist 
of Miens ; a Christ at the tomb, painted in. the fourteenth cen- 
tury, and a virgin on her death-bed, sculptured in the fifteenth. 

In the choir are some frescoes ; horrible with St. Bartholo- 
mew, but charming with the Magdalen ; a rude and unskilful 
wood-carving, given about 1400, by the knight of Ingelheim, who 


is himself represented kneeling in a comer, and whose arms 
wore chevrons of guJes on or. On the walls figures a complete 
collection of those frightful helms and crests so common in the 
German chivalry, hanging to the walls on nails, like so many 
saucepans. Near the door is an enormous clock, like a two- 
storied house, a book in three volumes, or a poem in twenty can- 
tos, a world in itself. At the top, in a wide Flemish fronton, is 
the diurnal dial ; underneath mysteriously revolves that of the 
year. The hours revolve above, the seasons below. The sun, 
with his golden rays, the pale moon, and stars upon a blue 
ground, effect the most complicated evolutions, which act upon a 
succession of little pictures at the other extremity of the clock, 
in which little boys slide, and old men warm themselves ; the 
reapers cut the corn, and the lasses gather flowers. Maxims and 
sentences, not the brightest in the world, shine out in the sky, 
illumined by the stars, which are wretchedly in want of gflding. 
Every time the hands point to the hour, doors open, and figures 
issue forth armed with hammers, which strike the hours on a bell, 
and instantly disappear. All this mechanism palpitates in the 
wall of the church ; making a noise such as might proceed from 
a whale floundering in the tun of Heidelberg. 

The collegiate church has an admirable picture of the Cruci- 
fixion by Van Dyck, and Holy Virgins by Albert Durer and 
Rubens. Rubens has placed upon the knees of the divine mother 
an infant Jesus, Albert Durer a Christ crucified. Nothing can 
surpass the grace of the first painting, except perliapsthe anguish 
of the secondJ Rubens has triumphed in life, Albert Durer in 

Another picture, painted on leather, in which grace and an- 
guish are displayed, represents the interior of the sepulchre of 
St. Cecilia. The frame is composed of the principal events of 
the life of the saint. In the midst of a gloomy vault, the saint 
lies upon her face, in robes of gold, with a gash of the axe upon 
her neck, which resembles a beautiful mouth, to which you could 
wish to press your lips. You imagine that you are about to hear 
her holy voice sing ^^por la boea de su herida.'' Above the open 
coffin is written, in letters of gold, " En Ubi sanctissima Virginia 
Cecilia in eepulcro jaceniis imaginem, prorsus eodem corporis situ 


expresaam" In the sixteenth century a Pope, Leo X., I believe, 
had the tomb of St. Cecilia opened ; and this exquisite picture is 
said to be a faithful portrait of her lifeless remains. 

It was in the centre of the collegiate church, at the entrance of 
the choir, at the point of intersection of the transept and the nave, 
that, from the time of Maximilian II., the emperors used to be 
crowned. I saw in the comer of the transept, wrapped up in 
brown paper, the immense gilt crown which was suspended over 
their heads during the ceremony. I remember to have seen, two 
years ago, the lilied carpet of Charles X. tied up and forgotten in 
a hand barrow, in the lumber room of the Cathedral at Rheims. 

To the right of the gate of the choir, exactly on the spot where 
the emperor was crowned, the Gothic carving in wood compla- 
cently displays this antithesis of St. Bartholomew flayed alive, 
carrying his skin upon his arm, and looking with disdain over his 
left shoulder at the devil, perched upon a magnificent pyramid of 
crowns, sceptres, diadems, tiaras, swords, and helmets ! 

Further on, the new Caesar could discern, under the tapestries 
with which they doubtless covered it, upright against the wall, 
like an ominous apparition, the stone spectre of that unfbnunate 
pseudo-emperor Gunther of Schwarzberg, his eyes scowling with 
hatred, holding in one hand his shield emblazoned with the lion 
rampant, and in the other his imperial morion ; a proud and aw- 
ful tomb, which, for two hundred years, witnessed the Imperial 
enthronizations ; and whose stern granite figure has survived the 
flimsy materials used in the ceremony. I wished to ascend to the 
steeple. The verger who conducted me through the church, and 
knew not a word of French, left me at the foot of the stairs, and 
I went up alone. Having made my way high up, I was inter- 
cepted by a barrier with iron spikes. I called, but no one an- 
swered, so I decided upon climbing over, which having accom- 
plished, I found myself upon the platform of the Pfarrthurm. 

A splendid spectacle presented itself. Under a brilliant sun- 
shine, beneath me lay the city ; to my left, the square of the 
Roemer ; to my right, the long street of the Jews, and here and 
there, gables of antique churches in decent preservation ; two or 
three tower-flanked belfries, embellished with the eagle-of Frank- 
fort, and repeated by the three or four watch towers formerly 


marking the limits of the little free states. The Main was in my 
rear, a silver sheet, streaked with gold, by the ploughing of the 
boats, the old bridge with the roofs of Sachshausen, and the red 
walls of the ancient Teutonic hall. The city is belted by beauti- 
ful and well planted gardens ; and the adjacent country, richly 
cultivated, terminates with tlie blue ridges of the Taunus. As I 
stood, lost in thought, leaning against a fragment of the mutilated 
steeple of 1509, the heavens became overcast, and the clouds, 
driven by the wind, covered and uncovered every moment large 
patches of azure, shedding upon the earth corresponding allot- 
ments of light and shade. 

Both city and horizon were beautiful in this guise. Nature is 
never fairer than when arrayed in her striped tiger-skin. I 
thought myself alone upon the tower, and would fain have stayed 
there the rest of the day ; when suddenly, hearing a slight move- 
ment, I turned about, and found a young girl close to me, half 
protruding from a trap, and smiling at me. 

Turning an angle of the Pfarrthurm, I found myself surround. 
ed by the inhabitants of the steeple, a small but happy world. 
The young girl, who occupies herself with knitting ; an old 
woman, with her spinning-wheel ; doves cooing upon the water- 
spouts of the church ; a facetious monkey, who from his hutch 
courteously extends his hand ; the clock weight rising and falling 
with a deadened noise, to give life to a set of puppets in the 
church, where the Emperors of the Holy Roman Empire were 
crowned ; the whole enveloped in the profound calm peculiar to 
such lofty places, composed as they are of the whispers of the 
breeze, the rays of the sun, and the splendor of nature. What 
can be more pure or charming ? The old bell-room has been 
converted into the sleeping-room of the young girl ; there she has 
placed her bed in the shade, and sings her life away, like the 
chimes before her, but with a softer voice, for she sings only for 
herself and God. Beside one of the unfinished buttresses, the 
poor widow makes the thrifty fire by which she prepares her fru- 
gal fare. 

Such is the steeple of Frankfort. Why these people live there, 
I know not. What may be their occupation, I cannot guess ; but 
still the little household pleased me. This old Imperial city, 


which has figured in so many wars, received so many shots, and 
enthroned so many Caesars — ^wbose walls were once like a coat 
of mail, whose eagle held in its talons the diadems which the Aus. 
trian eagle placed upon her double head — ^is now dominated by 
the humble hearth of an old woman, which puts forth its meagre 
smoke, high above all — whenever she can a^rd to have a fire. 


The Rhine. 

A BBOOK issues from the lake of Toma, upon the eastern declivity 
of St. Gothard, another from a lake at the foot of Lukmanierberg ; 
a third distils from a glacier, and descends among the rocks from 
a height of a thousand toises ; and at fifteen leagues from their 
several sources, the three intermingle in a ravine near Reichenau. 
By what simple though powerful means does Providence bring 
about the grandest results ! Three shepherds meet and form a 
nation ; three torrents meet and create a river. The nation was 
born the 17th Nov., 1307, at night, on the border of a lake, where 
three shepherds met and embraced each other. It rose from the 
earth, calling upon that God who is the creator of emperors and 
ser&, to protect its infancy, and then seized upon flails and forks 
for self-defence. A rustic giant, it grappled, arm to arm, with 
the giant emperor ! 

At Kussnacht it crushed the tyrant Gesler, who would fain 
have had it worship the empty cap of his empty head ; at Sar- 
nen, the bailiff Landenberg, who put out the eyes of aged men ; 
at Thaleweyl, the bailiff Wolfenschiess, who hewed down women 
with his axe ; at Mongarten Duke Leopold, at Morat, Charles the 
Bold. Under the hill of Buttisholz it buried the three thousand 
English of Enguerrand de Coucy ; keeping in check the four 
formidable enemies advancing from the four cardinal points. At 
Sempach, it beat the Duke of Austria ; at Grandson, the Duke of 
Burgundy ; at Chillon, the Duke of Savoy ; at Novarre, the 
Duke of Milan ! Remark also, that at Novarre, in 1513, the 
Duke of Milan was duke by right of the sword, and called him- 
self Louis XII., King of France. The Swiss nation has appended 
to a nail in its arsenals, over his peasant attire, and by the side 
of the fetters destined for him, the splendid paparisons of the oon- 


quered duke ! Its archives boast the names of great citizens : 
first, William Tell ; three champions of liberty, Pierre, Colin and 
Gundoldingen, who shed their blood upon the banner of their na^ 
tive town. Conrad Baumgarten, Scharnacthal, and Winkelried, 
who threw themselves upon the pikes of the enemy, like Quintus 
Curtius into the gulph. These men fought at Bellinzona for the 
inviolability of the soil ; at Cappel, for the inviolability of their 
conscience. They lost Zwingli in 1534, but delivered Bonnivard 
in 1536, and have ever since maintained their ground, amidst the 
four great ^colossi of the continent, firm, solid, impenetrable — a 
focus of civilisation, affording an asylum to science, a refuge to 
thought, a barrier against unjust aggression, a prop to legitimate 
resistance. For six hundred years, in the centre of Europe, in 
an austere climate, but under the eye of a divine Providence, 
these mountaineers, the worthy produce of such mountains — ^like 
them, grave, cold, serene, submitted to necessity, jealous of their 
independence — ^have asserted, in the teeth of absolute monarchies, 
lazy aristocracies, and envious democracies, the first of rights, 
liberty, and fulfilled the first of duties, labor. 

The river 'springs from between two walls of granite ; and at 
Andeer, a Gaulic village, soon connects itself with the name of 
Charlemagne ; at Coire, the ancient Curia, with that of Drusus ; 
at Feldkirch, with that of Massena. Then, as if consecrated for 
the destinies awaiting it by this triple baptism, German, Roman, 
and French, leaving the mind hesitating between its Greek 
etymology Fuiv, and its German etymology Rinnery both which 
signify to " flow," it clears both the forest and the mountain, 
attains the Lake of Constance, leaps down at Schaffhausen, 
and, touching the hindmost declivitiesT of the Jura, coasts the 
Vosges, pierces the volcanic formation of the Taunus, traverses 
the plains of Friesland, bathes the low countries of Holland ; and, 
having worked its toilsome way through rocks, highlands, low. 
lands, lavas, sands, and reeds, to the extent of two hundred and 
seventy-seven leagues, — having murmured its way through the 
great European ant-hill, cementing, as it were, the eternal quarrel 
between north and south, — having received twelve thousand 
estuaries, watered one hundred and fourteen towns, separated or 
divided eleven nations ; with the history of thirty centuries min- 


gled in its foam and murmuring in its waters; it discharges 
itself finally into the sea ; a Protean river, the belt of empires, 
the limit of ambitions, the curb of conquerors, the serpent entwin- 
ing a gigantic caduceus ; suspended over Europe by the god of 
commerce ; the grace and ornament of the globe ; a long and 
verdant tress, trailing from the Alps even to the shores of the 
great deep. 

Thus, then, by the ministry of these three herdsmen and three 
streams, Switzerland and the Rhine have their beginning and 
origin in the same manner, and the same glorious mountains. 

The Rhine iassumes every aspect in turn; it is sometimes 
broad, sometimes narrow, sometimes muddy, sometimes transpa- 
rent ; rapid, and joyous with that boisterous joy which becomes 
all that is powerful. At Schaffhauseh, it is a torrent ; at Lanfen, 
a gulf; at Sickengen, a river ; at St. Goar, a lake ; at Leyden, 
^ marsh. 

Towards evening, as if about to rest for the night, it composes 
itself: a phenomenon rather apparent than real, and noticeable in 
all great bodies of water. 

I have already stated that unity in variety is the principle of 
all perfect art. In this respect nature is the most accomplished 
of artists. Never does she abandon a form without having worked 
it through all its logarithms. No two things can be less similar 
than a tree and a river, but still they originate in the same gene- 
rative principle. Examine in winter a tree deprived of leaves, 
and think you lay it flat on the ground. You will have the out- 
line of a river, as seen by a bird's-eye view. The trunk will be 
the river, the main branches the estuaries, the lesser the rivulets, 
the lateral the torrents, brooks, and springs, the extension of the 
root the embouchure. All rivers, seen upon a geographical map, 
are trees which sometimes bear their fruits or cities at the extre- 
mity of their branches ; sometimes in their forks, as nests ; while 
their confluents and afl[luents imitate, according to the inclination 
of their currents, or nature of the ground, the diflerent branchings 
of various vegetable species, which have their shoots more or lesd 
wide from their stem, accordidg to the special form of their sap, 
or thickness of their wood. 

It is remarkable that, considering the Rhine in this manner, 


the idea of royalty attached to that magnificent river is perfectly 

The Y of almost all the tributaries of the Rhine, the Murg, the 
Neckar, the Main, the Lahn, the Moselle, and the Aar, have an 
angle of ninety degrees : Bingen, Niederlahnstein, Coblentz, are 
in right angles. If in your mind you raise up on the soil the im- 
mense geometrical outline of the Rhine, with all its rivulets and 
estuaries, it describes the configuration of the oak ; the innumera- 
ble rivulets into which it breaks, as it reaches the sea, being so 
many roots or fibres. 

The portion presenting the greatest cause for admiration of this 
far-famed river, for the geologist, the historian, and the poet, is 
between Bingen and Konigswinter, where it traverses from east 
to west the black mass of volcanic formations, which the Romans 
designated as the Alps of the Gatti. 

This is the famous journey from Mayence to Cologne, which 
most tourists '' get through " in fourteen hours in long summer 
days. In this manner, the eye scarcely dwells upon the Rhine. 
To see river scenery to perfection, you should go against the 
stream. I was exactly one month going from Cologne to Mayence. 

From Mayence to Bingen, as from Konigswinter to Cologne, 
there are seven or eight leagues of beautifully cultivated plains, 
with happy villages on the banks of the river. But as I told you 
before the great enthralment of the Rhine begins at Bingen, by 
the Rupertsberg and Niederwald, two mountains of schist and 
slate, ending at Konigswinter, at the foot of the seven mountains. 

There all is beautiful. The perpendicular ridges of the two 
banks are reflected in the deep mirrors beneath. The vine is 
cultivated on every spot of available ground, like the olive in 
Provence. Wherever the most trifling prominence can catch the 
rays of the sun, thither does the peasant carry up baskets of 
earth, which he secures by uncemented stones, to retain the soil, 
and allow the water to ooze away. By way of precaution, that 
the rains may not wash away the soil, the vinedresser covers it 
with broken slate, so that the vine on these cliffe, like the olive in 
the Mediterranean, grows suspended in projecting consoles, above 
the head of the traveller, like flowerpots out of an attic window. 
Every declivity is clothed with vines. 


On the whole it is an ungrateful culture. For ten years pavt 
the vintage has been spare. In many places, inore particularljr 
at St. Goarhausen, in Nassau, the cultivation of the vine is 

The projecting rocks which follow the varying undulations of 
its banks, generally of a crescent form, and fringed with the vines 
stretching from rock to rock, seem so many garlands suspended 
along the iron-bound walls of the Rhine. 

In winter, when the vines and the soil assume the same black 
hue, these small terraces, of a dirty grey color, seem like large 
spiders'- webs, suspended one above the other, across the angles of 
deserted buildings, a species of unseemly hammock for the collect 
lion of dust. 

At every turn of the river, you find a group of houses or vil- 
lages, and above them some decaying donjon or citadel. The 
cities and villages, with their sharp gables, turrets, and steeples, 
resemble at a distance a barbed arrow, the point towards the base 
of the mountain. 

Sometimes the villages lengthen out along the shore like a tail, 
with groups of laughing washerwomen, and children gambolling 
on the banks ; and here and there the goats browse upon the wil- 
low shoots. The houses on the Rhine appear like slated helmets, 
placed on the edge of the stream : the frame- work picked out in 
red and blue upon the white stucco, is the prevailing ornament. 
Several of these villages, such as those of Bergheim and M ondorf, 
near Cologne, are inhabited by salmon-Ushers and basket-makers ; 
and on fine summer days present an animated spectacle. The 
basket-maker sits weaving his willows before his door, the fisher^ 
man mending his nets in his boat, and the purple grapes cluster 
over their heads upon the vines. Everything in the universe 
accomplishes the task allotted for it by the Creator : the stars 
above — mankind below. The towns have a more stirring and 
complete aspect ; among them are Bingen, Oberwesel, St. Goax, 
Neuwied, Andemach, Linz, with its square towers, besieged by 
Charles the Bold in 1476, having, opposite, Zinzig, built by Sen- 
tins to defend the embouchure of the Aar. Then Boppart, the 
ancient Bodobriga, a fort of Drusus, a royal fief of the Frank 
kings, an Imperial burgh, proclaimed at the same time as Ober* 

fl74 THE RHINE. 

wesel, of the bailiwick of Treves, a charming old city, possessing 
an idol in its church, above which two Roman steeples, connected 
by a bridge, resemble two huge oxen yoked together. 

I remarked at the gate of the town, as you go up the river, an 
mteresting ruined apsis. This is Caub, the city of the Palatines. 
Then comes Braubach, named in a charter of 933, fief of the 
Ck>unts Amstein qf Lahngau ; an Imperial city under Rodolph in 
1270, a domain of the Counts of Katznellenbogen in 1283 ; accru- 
ing to Hesse in 1473 ; to Darmstadt, in 1632, and in 1802 to 

Braubach, communicating with the baths of the Taunus, is 
charmingly situated at the foot of a high rock, crested by Marks- 
burg, the castle of which is now a state prison. No marquis but 
must have his page : and the Duke of Nassau has the imperti- 
nence to pretend to prisoners of state ! A royal luxury ! 

Twelve thousand six hundred habitants, in eleven hundred 
houses; a bridge of thirty-six boats, built in 1819, across the 
Rhine ; a stone bridge of fourteen arches upon the Moselle, upon 
the very foundations raised about 1311, by the Archbishop Bald- 
win, by means of an ample sale of indulgences; the celebrated 
fort of Ehrenbreitstein, surrendered to the French the 27th Janu- 
ary, 1799, afler a blockade during which the besieged paid three 
francs for a cat, and thirty sous per pound for horseflesh ; a well 
one hundred and eighty feet deep, dug by the Margrave John of 
Baden ; the square of the arsenal, where formerly stood the 
fiimous culverine the Griffin, which carried one hundred and 
sixty pounds, and weighed twenty thousand ; an old Franciscan 
convent, converted into an hospital in 1804 ; a Roman Ndtre 
Dame, restored in the Pompadour style, and painted pink ; the 
church of St. Florin, converted into a magazine for forage by the 
French, and now a Protestant church, which is likewise painted 
pink ; St. Castor, a collegiate church, embellished with a portal 
in 1805 ; and with all this no public library ; such is the town 
which the French writers call Cohknti, out of politeness to the 
Germans, and the Germans Cohlence, out of courtesy to the 

In the first instance a Roman camp ; a royal court under the 
Pmnks ; an Imperial residence until Louis of Bavaria ; a city be- 


longing to the Counts of Arnstein until 1250, and dating from 
Arnold II. to the Archbishops of Treves ; vainly besieged in 1688 
by Vauban and Louis XIV. in person ; Coblentz was taken by 
the French in 1794, and surrendered to the Prussians in 1815. 
For my part I did not enter the town. I was dismayed by so 
many pink churches. As a military point, Coblentz is important ; 
its three fortresses showing fronts in all directions. The Char- 
treuse sweeps the road to Mayence ; the Petersberg protects the 
Toad of Treves and Cologne ; while the fort of Ehrenbreitstein 
watches over tne Rhine and the road to Nassau. 

As a landscape, Coblentz has been too much extolled, especially 
if compared with other cities on the Rhine, which few either visit 
or speak of. Ehrenbreitstein, once a splendid ruin, is now a 
gloomy citadel, forming a sorry crown to a magnificent rock. 
The real crowns of the mountains were the ancient strongholds, 
of which every tower represented a fleuron. Some of these 
Rhenish cities possess inestimable treasures of art and archeolc^. 
The most ancient. and greatest masters abound in their galleries. 
Domenichinos, Carracci, Guercinos, Jordaens, Snyders, Laiirente 
Sciarpellonis are to be seen at Mayence. 

The works of Augustin Braun, William de Cologne, Rubens, 
Albert Durer, Mesquida, are at Cologne. Holbein, Lucas of 
Leyden, Lucas Cranach, Scorel, Raphael, and the sleeping Venus 
of Titian, are at Darmstadt. Coblentz possesses the complete 
works of Albert Durer, four pages excepted. Mayence has the 
psalter of 1439 ; Cologne had formerly the famous missal of the 
castle of Drachenfels, illuminated in the twelfth century, but it is 
now lost. She has, however, preserved the precious letters of 
Leibnitz addressed to the Jesuit de Brosse. 

These beautiful cities and charming villages, are mingled with 
the wildest features of nature. Mists hover in the valleys, while 
the clouds, suspended on the hills, seem to be waiting for the 
choice of a breeze. Gloomy Druidlical forests recede into the 
mountains, aipid3t the distant haze, and huge birds of prey soar 
tinder a fantastic sky, pertaining to the two climates separated by 
the Rhine ; now dazzling with sunshine like an Italian sky, then 
fi^ggy, and overcast like that of Greenland. The bank nigged, 
the lava blue, the basalt black, the dust of mica and quartz prfr* 


Tftils everywhere. Violent and sudden fissures abound, while 
the rocks inspire one with the idea of flat-nosed giants. Ridges 
of slate, in leaves as thin as silk, glitter in the sun, or resemble 
the huge backs of wild boars. The aspect of the whole river is 
striking and extraordinary. It is evident that nature, in forming 
the Rhine, had premeditated a desert, which man has converted 
into a street. In the time of the Romans and the barbarous ages, 
it was the street of soldiers. In the middle ages, as the river was 
hemmed in by ecclesiastical states, from its source to its embou- 
chure, by the Abbot of St. Gall, the Prince-bbhop of Constance, 
the Prince-bishop of Basle, the Prince-bishq) of Strasburg, the 
Prince-bishop of Spire, the Prince-bishop of Worms, the Arch- 
bishop-elector of Mayence, the Archbishop-electors of Treves and 
of Cologne, Rhine was called the street of the priests. In the 
present day, it has become the street of the merchants. The 
traveller who ascends the river sees all as it were advancing 
towards him, and the spectacle is much finer. Every moment 
some new object passes you, sometimes a barge so crowded with 
peasants that it is frightful to behold ; especially if on a Sunday, 
when these right good Catholics, governed by Hugonot rulers, 
must travel far in search of mass. Then the steam-boat, with its 
streamers, or one of the two-masted craft, with its cargo piled in 
the centre, descending the Rhine ; the pilot with his vigilant eye, 
the active sailors, a woman chattering at the cabin-door ; and in 
the midst of the merchandize the sailors' chest, blue, green, or 
red. Or you see strings of horscji on the bank, towing heavily- 
laden barges, or a little high-arched boat, bravely dragged by a 
single horse, just as an ant carries off a defunct beetle. 

Suddenly the river doubles upon itself, and you discover an 
immense raft from Namedy, majestically descending. Three 
hundred sailors man this monstrous crafl; long oars, fore and 
aft, simultaneously strike the waters; a slaughtered ox hangs 
hooked to the stern, while a living one turns round the post to 
which he is lashed, lowing to the herd he sees grazing on the 
shore. The padroon nimbly mounts and descends from his station, 
the tri-colored flag floats above, the smoke circles out of the sailors' 
huts, in &ct, a whole village floats upon this prodigious platft>rm 
of wood* Yet these immense rafts are, in comparison with the 


ancient craft of the Rhine, as a three-decker to a sloop. The 
drags or rafts of former times, — ^made up, like those of to-day, of 
ship-huilding timher, hound together at their extremities by joists 
called hunds-jHxrren, and secured together with osier twists and 
Iron cramps, — carried fifteen or eighteen habitations, ten or twelve 
boats laden with oars and rigging, were manned with a thousand 
rowers, drew eight feet of water, were seventy feet broad, and 
nine hundred long, viz. the length of ten first-rate pines of the 
Murg, that are tied end to end. 

Around the central raft, and moored to it by means of a trunk 
of a tree, serving at once as a bridge and cable, floated, in order 
to steady her course, as well as to diminish the chances of strand- 
ing, ten or twelve small sized rafls, about eighty feet long, called 
by some kniee, by others anhdnge. 

On one side of the great raft there was a clear way, leading 
from a spacious tent to the house of the padroon, a kind of wooden 
palace. The kitchen smoked incessantly, and a vast cauldron 
bubbled night and day. Morning and evening, the pilot hoisted 
up a basket suspended from a pole, which was the signal for meals, 
and the crew, to the number of one thousand, assembled with 
their wooden spoons. These drags or rafb consumed in one 
voyage eight tuns of wine, six hundred hogsheads of beer, forty 
sacks of pulse, twelve thousand pounds of cheese, fifteen hundred 
pounds of butter, ten thousand of smoked meat, twenty thousand 
fresh, and fifty thousand pounds of bread. They took with them 
a fk)ck of .sheep and a butcher. Each of these rafb was worth 
about eighty thousand pounds sterling. 

It is difficult to imagine how such an island can float from 
Namedy to Dordrecht, dragging its archipelago of islets through 
all the rapids, rocks, and gulfs abounding in the Rhine. The 
wrecks were frequent, and the proverb ran, that the speculator in 
rafts should have three capitals ; one on the Rhine, the second on 
shore, and the third in his pocket. The art of piloting these mon- 
sters was rarely possessed by more than one man in a generation ; 
and at the end of the last century, it was the secret of a master 
bargeman of Rudesheim, called the old " Jung." Jung having 
departed this lifej the secret seems to have died with its master. 
At the present day, twenty-five steamers navigate the Rhine ; 


nineteen boats of the Cologne Company, known by their black 
and white chimneys, sail betwixt Strasburg and Dusseldorf ; and 
six boats of this latter city, with tri-colored chimneys, between 
Mayence and Rotterdam. This immense navigation communi- 
cates wfth Switzerland by means of the steamers from Strasburg 
to Basle, and with England by those of Rotterdam. 

The old Rhenbh navigation, by means of sailing vessels, still 
remains in contrast with that of steam. ,The rapid and elegant 
steam-boats, bearing the colors of ten nations, England, Prussia, 
Nassau, Hesse, Baden and Holland, dash along under the names 
of Ludwigf Gross Herzog von Hessen, Kaidgin Victoria, Herzog 
von Nassau, Prinzessinn Marian, Gross Herzog von Baden, Stadt 
Manheim, and Stadt Cohlenz. The sailing vessels have less proud 
and assuming names ; i.e. Pius Columbus, Amor, Sancta Maria, 
Crratia Dei. The steamers are gilt and varnished ; the sailing 
vessels pitched. The former is a speculation, the latter an austere 
and Grod-fearing navigation. The one relies upon the proud in- 
vention of man, and demands the aid of the elements ; the other 
looks to Providence, and prays for their propitiation. This anti- 
thesis, in action, is constantly meeting and confronting on the 
Rhine. The contrast expresses, with a singular force of reality, 
the two- fold spirit of our times ; a Present, which is the daughter 
of a pious Past, and the mother of an operative Future. 

Forty-nine green islands, in which smoke issues from houses 
hid in tufts of flowers, affording delicious havens and charming 
retreats, are scattered along the Rhine from Cologne to Mayence. 
Each of these has some peculiar history, Graupenwerth, where 
the Dutch constructed a fort named the Priest's Cap : Pfafienmtith, 
a fort which the Spaniards retook and named Isabella. Gras- 
werth, the " Isle of Grass,'* where John Philip of Reichenbei^ 
wrote his " Antiquitates Saynenses.'* Niederwerth, once so rich 
with the dotations of the Margrave Archbishop John 11. Urmitzer 
Insel, known to CsBsar ; and Nonnenswerth, famous for the loves 
of Roland the Brave. 

The traditions of the banks correspond with those of the islands; 
permit me to touch upon a few, and we will return more circum- 
stantially to this interesting subject. Every shadow that falls 
from one side of the river produces a corresponding one on the 


Other. The coffia of St. Nizza, granddaughter of Louis le De- 
bonnaire^ is at Coblentz ; the tomb of St. Ida, cousin of Charles 
Martel, is at Colognoi St. Hildegarda leil at Eubingen the ring 
given td her by St. Bernard, with this device, " I love to sufier." 
Siegbert is the last King of Aiistrasia who inhabited Andemach. 

St. Genevieve lived at Frauenkirch, in the woods, close by a 
mineral spring, near which now stands a commemorative chapel ; 
her husbajtid resided at Altsimmern. 

Schinderhannes devastated the valley of the Nahe ; and it was 
there that he one day amused himself by forcing the Jews to take 
off all their shoes, then heaping them up indiscriminately, insisted 
upon their putting them on again. The Jews hobbled away, 
much to the amusement of " John the Flayer." Previous to 
SchinderhanneS) this beautiful valley belonged to Louis, the 
Black Duke of Deux Fonts. 

When the traveller has passed Goblentz, and leaves behind him 
the pretty islet of Oberwerth, where I know not what white build- 
ing has replaced the abbey of the Noble Ladies of St. Magdalen, 
the embouchure of the Lahn arrests the eye, a charming spot ! 
On the waterside, behind a multitude of craft moored to the shore, 
rise the two crumbling steeples of Johanniskirch, reminding one 
of Jumiegest To the right, above the Castle of Capellen, upon 
a ridge of roeks, is Stolzenfels, the vast and magnificent fortress 
where the Elector Werner studied his itlmuchabala ; and to the 
left, on the Lahn, at the verge of the horizon, the clouds and the 
sun intermingle with the gloomy ruins of Lahneck, fraught with 
mystery for the historian, and obscurity for the antiquary. 

On either side of the Lahn are two charming towns, Nieder- 
lahnstein and Oberlahnstein, connected with each other by an 
avenue of trees, which seem to exchange smiles and salutations. 

At a good stone's throw from the eastern gate of Oberlahnstein, 
which exhibits a black line of embattled walls, a chapel of the four- 
teenth cdntury peeps out from among the fruit-trees, sur- 
mounted by a small cupola. In this chapel were deposited the 
remains of the Emperor Wenceslas. It was in this village church, 
in. the year of Our Lord 1400, that the four Electors, John of 
Nassau, Archbishop of Mayence ; Frederick of Saarwerden, Arch- 
bi&hop of Cologne ; Werner of Koenigstein, Archbishop of Trdyes ; 


and Rupert III., Count Palatine, solemnly proclaimed the down- 
&11 of Wenzel, Emperor of Germany. Wenceslas was at the 
same time -weak and wicked, a drunkard, and ferocious ia his 
c^ps. He ordered all priests to be drowned who did not reveal 
to him the secrets of the confessional. Though doubting the 
fidelity of his wife, he confided in her advice, and was influenced 
by her opinions, which proved a source of anxiety to Rome : for 
his wife was Sophia of Bavaria, and John Huss was her confes- 
aor ; who, propagating the doctrines of Wicklifl*, sapped the Holy 
Seat of the sovereign pontiff, who struck down the emperor in 

It was at the instigation of His Holiness, that the three arch- 
bishops convoked the Ck>ilnt Palatine. The Rhine then governed 
Germany. These four alone were able to put down the emperor, 
and ailervi^rds name in his place the only one of them who was 
not a churchman, Count Rupert, who had no doubt long expected 
the event, but proved worthy of his destiny. 

You perceive that in her high tutelage of king and kingdoms, 
the power of Rome had sometimes a wholesome influence. 

The bull fulihinated against Wenceslas rested upon six points ; 
the four principal of which were— first, the dilapidation of the 
domain ; secondly, the schism in the church ; thirdly, the civil 
wars of the empire ; Iburthly, having allowed dogs to sleep \n his 

In spite of this warning, John Huss persisted, and so did Rome. 

" Rather than yield," said John Huss, " I would be cast into 
the sea, with a millstone round my neck." Having unsheathed 
the sword of the spirit, he fought body to body with the Pope. 
Then, when summoned by the council, he went alone and unpro- 
tected to meet his destiny. Venimus sine salvo amduciu. You 
know the sequel, which took place July 6th, 1415. i 

Time, which gnaws into all which is flesh or surface, reducing 
fiicts to the state of a corpse, exposes to view all the fibres of his- 
tory. To him who reflects, thanks to this laying bare, upon the 
providential construction of the events of those, dark times, the 
deposition of Wenceslas is but the prologue to4L tragedy of which 
the stake at Constance is the catastrophe. / 

Opposite this chapel, on the opposite bank, stood, till within 


die last half century, the seat of royalty, the Konigsttihl, which 
was seventeen German feet high, and twenty-four in diameter ; 
being an octagonal platform of stone, supported by seven stone 
pillars, and an eighth larger one in the centre ; symbolical of the 
emperor among the seven electors. 

Seven stone chairs corresponded with the seven pillars, above 
which they were placed, in a circle, and facing each other. The 
eighth front of this octagon looked toward the south, and was 
occupied by a flight of steps, in all fourteen, two for each elector. 
Everything was typical, and had a meaning, in this venerable 

Behind each chair, upon each of the octagonal fronts, were 
sculptured the arms of the seven electors. The Lion of Bohe- 
mia; the Crossed Swords of Brandenburg; Saxony, with an 
Eagle argent on gules ; the Palatinate, which bore a Lion argent ; 
Trdyes, which bore argent with a Cross ofgiUes ; Cologne, which 
bore argent with a Cross sable ; and Mayence bearing gtdes, with 
a Silver Wheel. These escutcheons, of which the gildings and 
emblazonments were impaired by the sun and rain, formed the 
sole pmament of the granite throne. 

There it was, that seated upon these stone chairs, (Simple yet 
augui^t, the ancient electors decided who should be the Emperor 
of Germany ! Later, this primitive custom was discontinued, 
and the electors, increased to nine by the accession of Bavaria 
and Brunswick, assembled round the leather-covered table of 

The seven princes who sat round this throne were powerful, 
and at the head of the Holy Roman Empire. They preceded, 
in the Imperial procession, the four dukes, the four archmarshals, 
the four landgraves, the four burgraves, the four great counts of 
war, the four abbots, the four boroughs, the four knights, the four 
cities, four villages, four hamlets, four marquises, four lords, four 
mountains, four barons, the four chief huntsmen, four oflices of 
Suabia, and the four men of the household. 

Before each of them was borne, by his particular marshal, a 
richly embellished sword. They called the other prinpes the 
" crowned heads," and themselves, the " crowned hands." The 
Golden Bull compared them with the seven gifts of the Holy 


Spirit — the seven hills of Rome-— the seven hranches of Solomon's 

Among them, the electoral quality took precedence of the royal ; 
the Archbishop of Mayence walked by the side of the emperor, 
the King of Bohemia to the right of the archbishop. Their fame 
stood so high, that the peasants of Weser, in Switzerland,, still 
call the seven summits of thei^ lake the *' Sieben Churfursten/' 
or Seven Electors. 

The Konigstuhl has disappeared as well as the electors^ Four 
stones mark the place of the throne, but nothing the place of those 
who sat thereon. 

In the sixteenth century, when it became the custom to name 
the emperor at Frankfort, sometimes in the hall of the Roemer^ 
sometimes in the chapel of the conclave of St. Bartholomew, the 
election became a more complicated ceremony. The etiquette 
of Spain prevailed, as the most formally severe. From the mom- 
ing of the day of election, the gates of the city were closed ; the 
drums beat to arms, the alarm-bell rang, the electors,^<5lothed in 
scarlet and gold, trimmed with ermine, the seculars wearing the 
electoral cap, the archbishops the scarlet mitre, — received the 
solemn oath of the magistrate of the city, that he was responsible 
for their mutual security — ^the one from being surprised by the 

This form observed, they tendered their oaths to the Archbishop 
of Mayence, who then performed mass ; they took their places 
upon chairs of black velvet ; the marshal closed the wicket, and 
forthwith they proceeded to the election. However secure the 
wickets, the notaries and chancellors found means of access. At 
last, the " very reverend " being agreed with the " very Ultistrima" 
the King of the Romans was named ; the princes arose from their 
chairs ; and while the presentation was made to the people at 
the window of the Rcemer, one of the suffragans of Mayence per- 
formed at the church of St. Bartholomew a Te Deum, with a 
triple choir, composed of the organ of the churchy the trumpets 
of the electors, and the trumpets of the emperor. 

All this was accomplished to the sound of the great bells of the 
towers, and the great guns of the bastions, which were mad for 


joy— 6ays the curious manuscript which details the coronation 
of Mathias IL 

Upon the Konigstahl, the thing was, in my idea, done more 
simply, and therefore with more grandeur. The electors ascended 
the platform by the fourteen steps, each of which was one foot 
high, and took their places in their chairs of stone ; the people of 
Rhens, kept back by the men at arms, surrounding the Imperial 
seat. Then the Arohbishop of Mayence, standing up, said : '' Most 
generous princes, the Holy Empire is masterless." Then sang 
he the Veni Sancte Spiritiis, and the Archbishops of Cologne and 
Treves the usual collects. The chaunt over, the seven electors 
tendered their oaths, the seculars with their hands upon the gospel, 
the ecclesiastics with their hands upon their hearts ; a beautiful 
and touching distinction, meaning thai the heart of every church- 
man should be a mirror of the Gospel. Alter the oath, they stood 
together in a circle, conversing in an under voice ; when suddenly 
the archbishop rose, stretched his arms forth to heaven, and cried 
aloud to the people the name of the temporal chief of Christendom; * 
Then the marshal of the Empire planted the Imperial standard 
on the banks of the Rhine, and the people shouted " Vwat rex !'* 

Before Dothaire II. , elected the 11th of September, 1125, the 
same eagle, the golden eagle^ figured upon the banner of the Em- 
pire of the East, and upon that of the Emperor of the West. But 
the rosy sky of the south was reflected in one, and the frozen sky 
of the north in the other. The banner of the East was red, the 
banner of the West blue. Lothaire substituted the colors of his 
house, or and sable ; and the golden eagle upon a blue field was 
replaced upon the Imperial banner by a black eagle upon a gold 
field. But at the end of the fifteenth century, upon the fall of 
the Greek Empire, the Germanic eagle remained master of the 
field : and, desiring to represent the two empires looking both east 
and west, assumed two heads. 

This, however, was npt the first apparition of the double-headed 
eagle. It is seen sculptured upon a soldier's shield on Trajan's 
column ; and if the monk Attaich, and the traditions of Urstitius 
can be believed, Rodolph of Hapsburg wore it embroidered upon 
his bosom, the 26th of August, 1278, at the battle of Marchefeld. 

When the banner was planted upon the banks of the Rhine, in 


honor of the new emperor, and blown about by the windy tke 
people cboee to infer presages of good or evil from its folds. In 
1346, when the electors, uiged by Pope Clement VI., proclaimed 
from the KdnigstUhl Charles, Margrave of Moravia, King of the 
Romans, though Louis still lived, at the cry of '< Vivat rex I" the 
Imperial banner fell into the Rhine, and was lost ! 

Fifly.four years later, in 1400, the fatal omen was justified. 
Wenceslas, son of Charles, was deposed. With the fall of this 
banner fell, too, the house of Luxemburg ; which, after Charles 
and Wenceslas, gave but one emperor to the throne, — Sigismund. 
From this time the house of Austria predominated. 

Leaving behind you the KonigstUhl, thrown down, as a relic of 
the feudal times, by the French Revolution, you ascend towanh 
Braubach, pass Boppart, Welmich, St« Goar, Oberwe^el ; when 
suddenly, to the left, appears, much like the roof of some giant's 
castle, a vast skte rock, surmounted by ^n enormous tower, which 
seems to disgorge, as from a huge chimney, the chi)l vapors of 
the cloud. At the foot of this rock, close by the river, is a pretty 
town grouped round a Roman church with a spire, its fronts all 
exposed to the south. |n the midst of the Rhine, before the town, 
often veiled by the fogs of the river, is an oblong edifice standing 
upon a rock level with the water ; both its extremities cutting the 
stream* like the prow pr poop of a ship, and the low windows imi. 
tating the portholes, while upon the lower basement is a quantity 
of iron work, resembling the grapples and anchors. Small pro? 
jections are suspended, as it were, from the sides of this strange 
building ; upon which, like the streamers from masts, numerous 
weathercocks revolve upon pointed pinnacles. 

The tower is Gutenfels ; the town, Caub ; and the stone<buiit 
ship, eternally floating upon the Rhine, is the Palatine palace 
called the Pfalz. 

I have already mentioned the Pfalz. The entrance to this 
palace, built upon a block of marble called the Rock of the Counts 
Palatine, was, by means of a ladder, connected with a drawbridge 
which still exists. There were dungeons for prisoners of state ; 
and a small chamber, in which the Countesses Palatine were 
compelled to await the hour of their confinement, without any 
other resource of amusement than that of visiting a well ip the 


ceUar, the water of which, though under the level of the river, 
was not that of the Rhine. 

The P&lz, which belongs to the Duke of Nassau, is now 
abandoned. No princely cradle rocks upon its flags ; no royal 
moan troubles its gloomy vaults. There remains nothing but the 
mysterious well. Alas ! a drop of water filtering through a rock 
is of greater duration than the blood of a royal race ! 

The Pfalz is the neighbor of the Eonigsttthl : so that the Rhine 
might at once behold the birth of a Count Palatine, and the creation 
of an Emperor. 

From the Taunus to the Seven Mountains, on the stupendous 
precipices henuning in the Rhine on either side, fourteen castles 
defended the right bank : Ehrenfels, Fursteneck, Gutenfels, Ri- 
neck, the Katz, the M&usethurm, Liebenstein and Sternberg 
(called the Brothers), Markusberg, Philipsberg, Lahneck, Sa3rB, 
Hammerstein, and Okenfels. On the left bank were fifteen: 
Yogtsbeig^ Reichenstein, Rheinstein, Falkenberg, Sonneck, Heim- 
berg, Furstember^, Stahleck, Schoenberg, Rheinfels, Rheinberg, 
Stolzenfels, Rheineck, and Rolandseck ; in all twenty-nine half- 
decayed fortresses, which oppose the memories of the Rhinegraves 
to that of the volcanos ; bastions of war to bastions of lava, and 
completing the formidable and severe outline of the hills. 

Four of these castles were built in the eleventh century, Eh- 
renfels by Archbishop Siegfried ; Stahleck by the Counts Pala- 
tine ; Sayn, by Frederick L, Count of Sayn, conqueror of the 
Moors of Spain ; and Hammerstein, by Otho, Count of Veteravia. 
Two were built in the twelfth century ; Gutenfels, by the Counts 
of Nuringen; Rolandseck, by Archbishq> Arnold II., in 1149. 
Two in the thirteenth century ; Furstemberg, by the Palatines ; 
and Rheinfels, in 1219, by Thierry XL, Count of Katznellenbogen. 
Four in the fourteenth century ; Vogtsberg, in 1340, by a Falk- 
enstein ; Fursteneck, in 1348, by the Archbishop Henri III. 
The Katz, in 1388, by the Count of Katznellenbogen ; and the 
M&usethurm, ten years after, by a Falkenstein. One only dates 
from the sixteenth century; Philipsbei^, built about 1568, or 
1571, by the Landgrave Philip the Young. 

Four of the citadels upon the left bank, Reichenstein, Rheinstein, 
Falkenberg, and Sonneck, were destroyed by Roddph of Hapsburg; 


another, the Rolandseck, by the Emperor Henri V. ; five by Louis 
XIV. in 1689 ; Fursteneck, Stahleck, Schoenberg, Stolzeafels, 
and Hammerstein ; one by Napoleon, the Rheinfels ; another by 
fire, Rheineck ; and another by the bande noire, Gutenfels. 

It is not known who built Reichenstein, Rheinstein, Falken- 
berg, Stolzenfels, Rheineck, and Markusberg, restored in 1644, 
by Jean, Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt. 

It is not known who demolished Vogtsberg (the ancient strong- 
hold of some devoted lord, as the name indicates), Ehrenfels, 
Fursteneck, Sayn, the Katz, or the Mausethurm. There is still 
a profound mystery concerning the manors of Heinberg, Rhein- 
berg, Liebenstein, Sternberg, Lahneck, and Okenfels; no one 
knows who built or who destroyed them. Nothing can be stronger 
in the full light of history, than the obscurity amid which, about 
the year 1400, one perceives the tumultuous confederation of the 
Rhenish Hanse against their lords ; or further still, through the 
obscurity of the twelfth century, the formidable phantom of Bar- 
barossa exterminating the burgraves. SeverSl of these ancient 
fortresses, of which the history is lost, aro half-Roman, half-Car^, 

There is less obscurity in the traditions of most of the other 
ruins, and their chronicles may be traced here and there in the 
old monastic registers. Stahleck, which is above Bacharach, and 
said to be founded by the Huns, was the death scene of Herman, 
in the twelfth c^itury. The Hohenstaufens, the Guelphs and the 
Wittelsbachs, resided there in turns ; and it was besieged and 
taken eight times, from 1620 to 1640. 

Schoenberg, from which issued the family of Belmont, and the 
legend of the " Seven Sisters," was the birthplace of that great 
general, Frederick of Schoenberg, whose singular destiny it was 
to establish the Braganzas, and precipitate the fall of the Stuarts. 

The Rheinfels assisted the towns of the Rhine in 1225, and 
Marshal Tallard in 1692 ; but surrendered to the French Repub- 
lie, in 1794. 

The Stolzenfels was the residence of the Archbishops of Trdves. 
At Rheineck died the last count of that name, in 1544, Canon- 
custodian of the Cathedral of Trdves. Hammerstein was the 
aoene of the differencea of the Counts of Veteravia and the Aroh. 


bishops of Mayence ; the check of the Emperor Henry IL, in 
1Q17 ; the flight of Henry IV., in 1105 ; of the Thirty Years* 
War ; the passage of the Swedes and Spaniards ; and the devas* 
tation of the French, in 1689. It was disgracefully sold for a 
hundred crowns, in 1823 1 

Gutenfels, the sentry-box of Gustavus Adolphus; the retreat 
of the beautiful Countess Guda, and the amorous Emperor 
Richard, was four times besieged, in 1504 and 1642, by the 
Imperialists. It was sold in 1289 by Garnier de Munzenberg, to 
the Elector Palatine, Louis the Severe, for two hundred thousand 
marks of silver ; and degraded in 1807, to the price of six hun- 
dred francs. 

This long and double series of edifices, at once poetical and 
historical, bearing inscribed on their brows all the epochs and 
legends of the Rhine, commences before Bingen with the castle 
pf Ehrenfels to the right, and the M&usethurm to the left, ending 
at Koenigswinter, by Rolands^ck to the left, and Drachenfels to 
the right. A striking symbolism merits observation, in the oppo- 
sition of the immense ivy-clothed arcade of Rolandseck, to the 
cavern of the dragon subdued by Sigfried le Comu, and the 
M&usethurm to Ehrenfels ; fable and history mutually contem- 
plating each other's features. 

I only mention here the castles reflected on the Rhine which 
meet the eye of every traveller. But penetrate the recesses of 
the mountains, and you will find ruins at every step. . In the 
valley of the Wisper, upon the right bank, in a walk of a few 
leagues, I found seven ; the Rheinberg, ^, castle of the counts of 
Rheingau, hereditary grand carvers of the Holy Empire, extinct in 
the seventeenth century ; a formidable fortress, a source of much 
terror formerly to the important town of Lorch. Among the 
briars, Waldeck ; on the mountain, at the summit of a rock of 
schist, close by a spring of mineral water, the Saurberg, built in 
1536, by Robert Count Palatine, and sold for one thousand florins, 
during the' war of Bavaria, by the Elector Philip, to Philip de 
Kronberg, his marshal; Heppenhefl*, destroyed no one knows 
how ; Kammerberg, belonging to the domain of Mayence ; NoUig, 
an ancient Qostrum^ of which there remains a tower ; Sareck, hid 
in the forest opposite the convent pf Wii^sbach, just like the knight 


placed q>podte the priest in the oommunities of yore. Now both 
castle and convent, priest and knight, have vanished, the forest 
and the communities being alone susceptible of annual renewal. 

Explore the Seven Mountains, and you will detect by their 
masonry, half hid under the weeds, six castles, and one abbey ; 
the Drachenfels, demolished by Henry V. ; the Lowenbei^, the 
refuge of Bucer and Melancthon, and the shelter, after their mar- 
riage, of Agnes de Mansfeld and the Archbishop Guebhard ; the 
Nonnenstromberg and the Oelberg, built by Valentinian in 366 ; 
and the Hemmerich, the manor of the bold knights of Heinsbei^, 
who waged war against the Electors of Cologne. 

In the plain near Mayence is Frauenstein, dating from the 
twelfth century ; Scharfenstein, an archiepiscopal fief; Greifen- 
klau, built in 1350. 

Towards Cologne stands the admirable Godesberg ! But whence 
its name of Godesberg ? Is it from Goding, or Woden, the ten- 
handed monster, once adored by the Ubians ? No etymologist 
has solved the question. Whatever it may be, nature made 
Godesberg a volcano ; the Emperor Julian, in 362, made it his 
camp ; and Archbishop Theodoric, in 1210, a castle ; the Elector 
Frederick, in 1375, a fortress ; the Elector of Bavaria in 1593, a 
ruin ; and the last Elector of Cologne, Maximilian Francis, turned 
it into a vineyard. 

The ancient castles on the Rhine, colossal landmarks left by 
the feudal sway on its banks, fertilize the landscape with food 
for the imagination. Mute witnesses of days of yore, they have 
been the scene of all sorts of events and histories. They stand 
there, eternal scenic embellishments of the mighty drama which, 
for ten centuries past, has been played upon the Rhine ; having 
witnessed (the most ancient at least) the entrances and exits, 
under the dispensation of Protidence, of these mighty and for- 
midable actors — ^Pepin, who ceded cities to the pope; Charle- 
magne, clad in a woollen shirt and doublet of otter skin, leaning 
upon the old deacon, Pierre de Pise, and caressing with his 
colossal hand the elephant Abulabaz ; Otho the Lion, shaking his 
&ir mane ; the Margrave of Italy, Azzo, bearing the banner of 
triumphant angels, at the battle of Merseberg ; Henri le Boiteux, 
Conrad the Old, and Conrad the Young ; Henry the Black, who 


imposed four German popes on Rome ; Rodolph of Saxony, bear- 
ing on his crown, the papal hexameter, ^^ Petra dedit Petro, 
Peirus diadema Rudolpho ;" Godfrey of Bouillon, who thrust the 
spear of the Imperial banner into the heart of the enemies of the 
empire ; and Henry V., who rode up the flight of steps before the 
church of St. Peter's at Rome. 

Not an historical personage figuring in the history of Grermany, 
but his profile has been defined upon those venerable walls. The 
old duke Welf ; Albert the Bear; St. Bernard ; Barbarossa, who 
mistook the hand in holding the stirrup for the pope ; the Arch- 
bishop of Cologne, Rainald, who tore away the fringe from the 
Carocium of Milan ; Richard Cceur de Lion ; William of Hol- 
land ; Frederick II., that gentle emperor with the Grecian face, 
the friend of poets like Augustus, and friend of caliphs like 
Charlemagne, studying in his tent, where a golden sun and a 
silver moon marked the hours and seasons. They beheld the 
monk Christian, who preached the gospel to the peasants of 
Prussia ; Herman Salza, first grand master of the Teutonic 
Order, a great builder of cities ; Ottocar, King of Bohemia ; Fre- 
derick of Baden ; and Conradin of Suabia, decapitated at six- 
teen years of age. Louis V., Landgrave of Thuringia, and hus- 
band of St. Elizabeth ; Frederick le Mordu, who bore upon his 
cheek the mark of his mother's despair ; Rodolph of Hapsburg, 
who mended his own grey jerkin. They echoed the device of 
Eberhard, Count of Wurtemberg ; " Glory to God ! war to the 
world !" and afforded shelter to Sigismund, whose justice weighed 
discreetly, but struck rashly ; Louis V., the last emperor excom- 
municated by the Holy See ; and Frederick III., the last emperor 
crowned at Rome. They heard Petrarch reproving Charles IV. 
for not having remained at Rome more than a day, exclaiming to 
him, " What would your ancestors, the CsBsars, say, if they met 
you on the Alps, your face downcast, and your back turned 
towards Italy ?" They beheld, furious and humiliated, the Ger- 
man Achilles, Albert of Brandenburg, after his reverse at Nurem- 
berg ; and the Burgundian Achilles, Charles the Bold, after the 
fifly-six assaults of Neuss ; and, on the other hand, they witnessed 
the passage, in litters drawn by mules, of the western bishops 



praoeediogi in 1415, to the council of Constance, to judge John 
Humi in 1431, to the council of Basle to depose Eugene IV. — 
aad, in 1519, to the diet of Worms, to interrogate Luther. 

They also saw, floating upon the Rhine between Oberwesel ajod 
Baoharach, the &ir hair and pale body of St. Werner, a poor 
child martyrized by the Jews, and thrown into the Rhine in 1287. 
They saw the velvet coffin of Mary of Burgundy brought from 
Vienna to Bruges, she dying of a &11 from her horse while at the 
diversion of hawking ; the hideous horde of Magyars ; the mur. 
murs of the Moguls imprisoned by Henry the Pious in the 13th 
century ; the cry of the Hussites, who would have reduced all 
the cities of the earth to five ; the threats of Procope le Gros, and 
Procope le Petit ; the alarum of the Turks, ascending the Danube 
after the taking of Constantinople ; the iron cage in which John 
of Leyden was chained up between his chancellor Krechting and 
his headsman Knipperdolling ; tha youthful Charles V., with the 
word " nondum" glittering in diamonds upon his shield ; Wal- 
lenstein, waited on by sixty noble pages ; Tilly, in his green satin 
coat, upon his little grey horse ; Gustavus Adolphus, threading 
the mazes of the Thuringian forest ; the fury of Louis XIV. ; the 
rage of Frederick II. ; the anger of Napoleon : — ^all the fearful 
things which successively have caused Europe to quake have 
fallen like lightning upon these old and crumbling walls. 

These glorious strongholds received the countershock of the 
Swiss destroying the ancient cavalry at Sempach, and of the 
great Cond6 destroying the antique infantry at Rocroy. They 
have heard the splintering of scaling-ladders, the bubbling of 
pitch, and the roaring of cannon. The lansquenets, those valets 
of the lance; the hedgehog line so fatal to squadrons; the sturdy 
blows of Sickingen the valiant knight ; the well-planned assaults 
of Burtenbach, the great captain ; they saw all these, braved all, 
underwent all. 

Now, melancholy at night, when the moon throws over their 
spectre its pale mantle; still more melancholy in the midday 
sun, redounding with glory, and &me yet oppressive with weari- 
ness and ennui ; worn down by time, sapped by man, casting their 
shadows upon the vines which diminish under them year by year; 


they let fall the past, stone by stone, into the Rhine, and date after 
ySi date, into oblivion ! 

i^: Oh noble towers ! Oh poor old paralytic giants ! Oh defeated 

?:Tr knights ! Behold ! a steamer, crowded with shopkeepers and 
rj;. their traffic, spouts out its fumes into your faces, and ye have 
rr neither an arm nor a voice to uplift in self-defence. 


JUL 2 mi 




No. L 


Journal of an African Cruiser. Edited by Nathaniel Hawthorne. 1 vol., 
beautifully printed, 50 cents. 

" This Journal is freshly and cleverly written, and touches on a scene 
little hackneyed by journalists or travellers. He vrritea unaffectedly on 
most subjects and often with great animation.' —^London Examiner. 

** This is an unpretending, lively, little volume. The Journal adds some* 
thing to our previous knowledge, and that, in an amusing manner."— Xion- 
don Atla$, 

'* The subject has the advantage of novelty; as, although an extensive 
commerce is carried on along the coast by British merchants, the captains 
they employ are not exactly of a literary turn ; neither do the officers of our 
royal navy appear anxious to give the public the result of their experience 
— ^weighed down, perhaps, by the pestiferous climate and the arduous char- 
acter of their labors ; whilst the dreaded pestilence effectually stops the 
tourist in search of the picturesque. To our recollection, the last dozen 
years have only produced three books touching upon Western Africa; that 
of Holman, the blind traveller, who called at Sierra Leone and Cape Coast 
Castle, but of course taw nothing ; Ranken's * White Man's Grave,* which 
was confined to Sierra Leone, and which preferred the attractions of literanr 
efifect to solid accuracy ; with* Dr. Madaen*s semi-official reports, which 
were obnoxious to the same remark with a bias superadded. Hence, the 
* Journal of an African Cruiser ' is not only fresh in its subject, but inform- 
ing in its matter, especially in relation to the experiment of Liberia. It 
has the further advantage of giving us an American view of the slave trade 
.and the Negro character, without tne prejudices of the southern planter, or 
the fanaticism of the abolitionist"— Zotu^ Spectator. 

*' As pleasant and intelligent a specimen of American Literature written 
in a candid, observant, and gentlemanly spirit, as has appeared since first 
the Literary Gazette welcomed Washington Irving to Uie British Shore." 
^London Lit. Gaz.July 19, 1845. 

** A very entertaining volume, a worthy leader of the series of American 
BoolaJ*-^ Smiths Weekly Volume. 


*' We pronounce it a work of uncommon interest and merit" — Rwer, 

" This is the title of a book just issued by Wiley & Putnam, as No. 1 of 
their proposed Library or American Books, a series intended to em- 
brace onginal works of merit and interest, from the pens of American 
authors. The desien can scarcely fail to be successfuL We have a firm 
faith that books well worth reading,— as well worth it as English books of 
the same class, — can be produced in this country ; and such books, and 
such only, we presume Messrs. Wiley & Putnam intend to publish in^ their 
series. This first number is well worthy of its place. It is the journal of 
an officer on board an American cruiser on the coast of Africa,-Hind relates 
to a field hitherto almost entirely unnoticed by trayelling authors. It is 
written in a plain, straightforward, unambitious style, and evinces a very 
keen talent for observation, and sound judgment and enlightened discrimi- 
nation. The book' is edited by Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of the most 
gifted ^nrriters in this country, whose works, we trust, will find a place in 
this series. The volume is very handsomely printed, and sold at fi£ly 
cents."— JVet© York Courier. 

** This is a pleasantly written Journal of a cruise to the western coast of 
Africa, and embodies a g:ood amount of valuable information. The author 
spent some time at Liberia, and gives quite a flattering account of the colo- 
ny. We like the spirit of the work, and especially admire tiie simplicity 
and grace of its style."— -A! F. EvangelUU 

No. 11. 

Tales. By Edoar A. Poe. 1 vol., beautifully printed in large clear type, 
on fine paper, 50 cents. 

This collection includes the most characteristic of the peculiar series 
of Tales written by Mr. Poe. Among others will be found •* The Murders 
of the Rue Morgue," " The Purlomed Letter," " Marie Roget," « The 
House of Usher," "The Black Cat," "The Gold Bug," "The Descent 
into the Maelstrom,** " The Premature Burial," " Mesmeric Revelations," 
&c., &c. 

" Most characteristic tales and stories."— ^osfim Courier, 

" These efi\ision» are well known, and have been well appreciated. Mr. 
Poo's singular and powerftd style of prose writing, has a charm which 
ought to be enjoyed more than once." — 27. 8, Gazette, 

" Mr. Poe*8 tales are written with much power, while all possess deep 
interest"— PAtVa. Inquirer, 

" There are many writers in this country whose articles only see the 
light iu the pages of a two or three dollar magazine, who are at least equal 
to some foreign authors whose works are reprinted here in the cheap and 
nasty style by the cart-load. The consequence is that our own authors are 
scarcely heard of, while Mrs. Gore and Mary Howitt, Lover, Lever, ftc*, 
ttc., are lauded and read the country over, lliis is all wrong, and we 


cordially wish the publishers success in the effort to make us better ac- 
quainted with American Literature. These Tales by Mr. Poe will be 
hailed as a rare treat by all lovers of the exciting and the marvellous. 
Full of more than Grerman mysticism, grotesque, strange, improbable, but 
intensely interesting, they will be read and remembered when better things 
are forgotten.^—JVWr Haven Courier, 

** Mr. Poe's tales need no aid of newspaper comment to give them popu- 
larity; they have secured it We are glad to see them given to the public 
in this neat form, so that thousands more may be entertained by them 
without injury to tiieir eye-sight" 

J ** Tales of absorbing interest, by a powerful and vigorous writer." — Rover. 

** These tales are among the most original and characteristic compositions 
in American letters. In their collected form, they cannot fail to make a 
forcible impression on the reading public The volume is a great stimu- 
late to reflection." — Graham's Magazine. 

" Mr. Poe is a capital artist with all Tennyson's spirituality." — Foreign 
Quarterly Review. 

** These tales are eminently distinguished b^ a wild, vigorous, and poeti- 
cal imagination, a rich style, a fertile invention, and varied and curious 
learning. • • • Of singular force and beauty." — Hon. J. P. Kennedy. 

*« Lionizing, by Ed^ar A. Poe, is the happiest travestie of the coxcomb- 
ical egotism of travelling scribblers I have ever seen. Mr. Poe is decidedly 
the brat of all our young writers ; I don't know but J may say of all our 
old ones."— J. K. Paulding. 

** Mr. Poe has distinguished himself in every walk of literature, and it 
may be doubted whether the country boasts a writer of greater fervor and 
more varied and finished accomplishments. In the field of romance, he has 
the rare merit of originality."— -Hon. R. T. Conrad. 

'* That powerful pen whose versatile and brilliant creations I have so 
often admired."— ^r.9. Sigoumey. 

** These tales have been admired wherever the^ have been perused by 
men of mind. Mr. Poe is no imitator in story-telling."— PAi/a. Saturday 

" The most remarkable American work of fiction that has been published 
within the last fifteen years."—PAi/. Museum. 

<* Mr. Poe is one of those original, philosophical writers of whom we 
have too few ; his tales produce a deep and thrilling interest."--JV*. F. 

** This author can throw a chain of enchantment around any scene which 
he attempts to describe."— Baltimore Visiter. 

** The reputation of this author is preeminent for originality, independ- 
ence, a perfect command of the English language, and a certain easy and 


•asured mastery of every subject which he handles. * The Murders in the 
Rue Morgue,' and * The Black Cat,* are stories in totally different styles, 
showing versatility of power, but affording only a glimpse of tiie rich re- 
sources of his invention.*'— X.od'^s Book. 

** In No. 2, which is composed of miscellaneous tales, by Poe, we are 
favored with some fine specimens of the genius of that author, who takes 
so high a stand among our American fiction writers and poets. A glance 
at some of the tales convinces us that Mr. Poe*s exuberance of fancy dis- 
plays itself in these, as in his previous writings. It is well for our pub- 
lishers that the fountains from which they can draw, like those of our 
author's mind, are inexhaustible.**— ^erManfs Mag, 

No. III. 

Letters from Italy. By J. T. Headlkt. 1 vol., beautifully printed, 50 cts. 

" Mr. Headley is essentially an artist. He does not copy but he paints. 
He professes to report to us not so much Italy as his views of it The 
scenes he sketches are vivified by the hues of his own emotions. The 
spirit of philosophy and of poetry is in him ; or rather, we should say, he 
is in the frame of his mind a poet, for the true poet and true philosopher 
are identical, and no man can be the one without being also the other. His 
letters breathe the air of the sweet South — the spell of the land of music 
and of painting is upon him ; he has caught its inspiration, and it has made 
him eloquent. But he loves wisely. The natural beauties of the clime, 
the wonders of art which almost live and breathe beneath that blue sky, 
the memories that hallow every footstep, do not throw him into convul- 
sions, nor do they blind him to the degradations and deformities, physical 
and moral, into which the people of that land have fallen. If we linger 
over these letters longer than is our wont, it is because it is a better book 
than it is our lot often to review.'* — London Critic, 

*< This is a pleasantly written volume, thrown off in a genial spirit, and 
abounding in brilliant sketches of manners, and picturesque descriptions of 
scenery."- GroAom'tf Mag, 

" We are strongly impressed with their merit."— JR<wtfr. 

" On the whole it is very amusing, and sufficiently creditable to stand in 
the Library of American Books." — Smith* 9 Weekly Vol, 

** If there be a more delightful series of Letters extant, we have never 
seen them. The style of the writer is easy, graceful and spirited. His 
power of description is of the highest order." — Cincin. Herald, 

*' The work before us is decidedly the best, in its line, that we have met 
with for a long while. True, some of the scenes which the author depicts 
have often been handled by tourists ; but never in a more graphic ana in- 
teresting style. There are no attempts at filling up— no description of 
trifling or unimportant features in the scenes, manners or customs of Italy, 
but faithful and spirited narrations of such things only as are calculated to 


arrest the eye and exercise the mind of an accomplished and intelligent 
writer. ■ We had marked a number of passages for extract, but are prevent- 
ed, by a press of other matter, from giving them to-day. We can safely 
recominend the work, as a whole, to the patronage of all classes." — Brook- 
lyn Eagle. 

** Mr. Headley's Letters are daguerreotypes of Italy and her people. We 
know of no more vivid or faithful portraitures of the common people of 
Italy, their character, modes of life, peculiarities, &c. Mr. Headley is a 
keen observer, a good describer, and possesses a joyous, hoping, loving 
spirit."— JV. F. Daily Tribune, 

•' Headley's Letters from Italy are racy, vivid, and poetical." — JVew Or- 
leans Bee. 

*' These letters must please generally, but to those who have enjoyed the 
privilege of passing over the same ground and moving amid similar occur- 
rences, they are very valuable. They are truly American, and although 
we hold to the most extended catholicity on the. book subject, a catholicity 
esteemed heterodox, we are glad to see foreign countries described in do- 
mestic phrase, and to enjoy the description the more by means of the com- 
parisons and illustrations of an intelligent countryman. If the selections 
of the publishers continue to be made with the same taste and discrimina- 
tion, they will do much towards forming an American Literature."— J5»«- 
ning Gazette. 

** These Letters are very graphic and interesting." — JV*. 0. Picayune. 

We defy the most stupid of readers to tarry by the way in the perusal of 
Mr. Headley's letters ; for he manages, some how or other, to be in a con- 
stant eddy of excitement, at the top wave of some stormy or tumultuous 
event In the description of these he is at home. His style is quick, 
glancing, apprehensive — admirably suited to sustain an interest in the de- 
scription of a wreck, a storm at sea, or mountain incidents ; and particu- 
larly energetic in a battle-scene."— JV. F. Courier. 

** Headley's Letters from Italy, are the production of an evidently highly 
cultivated young American, who has visited that * classic land,' and sympa- 
thized alike with the beautiful and grand, the lively and humorous objects, 
that passed before him. He seems to be an acute observer of men and 
things, as well as a faithful delineator. The work is full of lively interest ; 
and, considering the fact that so much has been written of that * land of art 
and song,' we think it worthy of the highest praise in that the writer has 
described so many new and interesting objects. The description of Rome 
is the best we have ever seen, not excepting those found in the most suc- 
cessful Journals of English travellers in Italy. The impression, on reading 
parts of it, is, that Italy has never before been described."— Hunf^ Mer. 







' A Conrte of English Reading, adapted to ereiy Taste and 
I Capacity, with Anecdotes of Men o( Genioa. By Rer. J. 
I Pyeioft. With coirectioDS and additiona, bj J. G. Cega- 
weH, Eaq. 1 toI. 12mo. Price 75 centa. 

••IttenietoMetwtfhamifkfo wiin llttedl to rM la tk» acq^UliaM of 

{ kmmiedge •» this; Imtoed, w hKW never M«a bst dallar diiMtory to tm 
\ Enf lish muler, that seenied to «i to emmjmn with U, either la respect to lis 
( ftirtuiiato amuigeineiit or geneial felldty orezeetttloa. We would 

every fomg penoa who totoads to five aay aitoatfoa to the enltaie of his : 
ind, to keep dite heok by him as a eonstoat gokle ; and peieonsof aay afe ei : 
aay pnifessioa, will Had it as a book of leferettce qnito iBvalaaUe.**— uflfiejqr 

**Thisbooktoemiaeatlyftaedtobebothpopalar aad vsefU. For want oC 

some sach euide as this, a lane part of the madiog, paitiailarly of yowig per> 

soas, Is to little mwpose ; aad many who desenreSy acquire the dianieter of 

great readers, really acquire very little as the fruit of their lea^ng. The pres- 

l enl work will net obIt relieve the mind that Is donbtfol whateonrse of reading 

\ to adopt, or that has been aaaUe to find any satlsfretory coiuse marked out, 

> but It wUl oontrlbato to ananae aad systematiae the mlnd*s acqoisitioBS, so 

> &«i they shall be at eonuBand whenever they are needed. It will be fiMUid 
\ an adni'ixable work of referenee, not only tor stadents in the comse of thefar 
( edacaUoa, bat fur prafessioaal men, and for aU who wlsli to know what the 
I greatest aad best minds have thooght on the aeost importsat salj^ccls.**-- 

>*Thto work is deslgaed to eaable the stodeat to select each woriEs as wUl 
\ Biost npldly advance his knowledge of any particalar branch or subject of 
( tttoratare, the arts, Itc. *' — -r 

It aiay be proftlabiy consaiied by all who 
* ezpeiieace.' 

j have their stadies directed by matora jodgnMnt and 


>* There Is a vast deal of ttaae spent to Utile paipose by ahaost every persea 
f who Is given mach to readiag, Horn aa taMbUity to amfce a saitoMeselecttoa of 
j books. The present work Is designed and admirably adapted to remedy this 
i evil, aad the coarse of reading which it auurks ont, seems to as altogether the ; 
\ aiost JodicioQs that we have ever aiet with. It not only gives the names of the 
Biost distinguished aathors la the lartoas departments of learning, bat fva- 
nishes hints by which the reader aiay jadge or their comparative merits. To 
\ the pvotossioaal maa, as well as to the student, the work will be invalaaUe.*' 
( --Dmip Auer. Ciihem. 

I ''A volame which we can consclentioasly recomaiend as marking oat aa 
i accorato coarse of historical aad general rewding, ftom which a vast aeqidsl- 
I tiOB of soand knowledge mast resalt. The anaagemeats and systom are aa 
\ lees adndrable thaa the seieeHoa of aathon peiated eat for stady.**— Ziftvary 

} ** We do not know of a better ladez thaa this welUoasldered little hoek to 

< a general coarse of reading. It might, as sach, be sa&iy and advaatafeoasly 

< pat into the hands of all young persons who have finished their edocattoa, aai 
( am aboos to take their place la society, or to begin the world.**— jMee. 

•* This coarse Is admirably adapted I) promote a really intellectaal stady ef 
\ hlstiiry, philosophy, and the belles-lettres, as distlngaished from that mere ac- 
I cauittlatioa of words aad dates la the awamry, whkh passes for edacatloa.-*— 

<* A most admirable and simply-anraaged work, At to be irilaeed la the haadi 
{ of every yoang man aboat to enter on a course of English Reading. It may be 
I prtiAtalile, in truth, to every one ; while the lively anecdotes intenntzed with 
the subject-matter, render it fail of interest and amusement.**— vfrtsttdMU. 

-y^^^^^^^s^^ '^^^v^^iAM^N'W^^^^w^^iv^^Fwv^^>vw< 


mm tt^mtmfmm 


Room; u tmea by a New-Torker in 1843-4. OaeToL lSa». 

with map, and Jtaj handaomely printed. Prioo 75 cantt. 

CoMTiim.— Saint Peter*!— the Fonon and Ceiieen m th e Cani. 
tol— Chorehee, imagee, ralii|iiei, and miraelee— A day amonff tne 
tombe of Rome— T£i Vati€an--Chrittmas at Rome— The paucea 
of Rome— Aneient bathe and modem fonnteini A Roman dininf - 
honee and ealil— The Velabnmi, Ghetto, and TkatteTere— Car- 
duiale, monks, beggan, and robber*— A promenade on the Pineian 
Hill— -Soulptora and painters— The modem Romano— Appendix i 
—How to see Rome— The Dnomo of Milan. 

** This Is one of the most admimble books of the kind we have ever leed. 
Its most marked 
part of It, 
▼aiioos ol^lects 
tniesqae and pleasing. 

mind ; lees, pefhan, by any stilfcingly new Infonnatfam which It contains, than 
by the chaste and nfiaed spiiit which pervades it.*'- *' - - 

r—Jf. Y.CmritrmndMm- 

** The pi ese nt work is so onUke any of its p w de ce sM W that we have aset 
vrith, tliat no one need hesitate to purchase It, on the gnmnd of ito belnf a 
repetition oi what Is aiieadv fiuniUar. Its style is simple and graeeiVii ; its 
. descrlpdons exceedingly grapbie and striking; and every thing Is bionght out 
: with snch Uft and fteshness, that the reader, hy a slight eflort of imsglnatlon, 
' becomes the author's companion, during his sq^oum amidst the desoto t ioes and 
gteriesofBome. It is altogether a deUghtftd book.**— wClteiif jffyiw. 

''This elenntly-prlnted volume cannot fldl to be nad by thousands, sad 
lead with delight Our authoi has vividly and succinctly portrayed whatever 
people usually go to Rome to see, or read travels thither to team. His kuters 
may be read with pleasure by the thoroogh scholar, as well as by the eagar 
devourer of all that is new.**— A*. Y. TWftMMw 

"Whoever wishes to obtahi a dose and fiuniUar view of Bosae, wUl get It 
nowhere better than In this work. Mr. Gillespie has looked upon the dty 
with the eye and heart of a scholar. He enjoys Borne, and this very ea|oy- 
■wnt of his communicates Itself to his writing and he Involuntwily pais Us 
readers hi a state of feeling to eqjoy it with hhn.**— Ds suc rs t i c Jtemsw. 

** We know so weU the mental qualities by which the beek hi guided— the 

elegance of taste, purity, and ' '~' ' ^ '- 

eriticlse it as a new booic 

scholar and lover of art, and 

Impressions rather than the first. His views, of course, are more reliahle, and, 

without forther comment on the qualjty of the 

admirable, we extract,' 

saiai qiuuauBS ay wuicu uiv wkk la puiovn— ui* 

dffood Judgment— that we are suuee prepared to 

Mr. Gillespie has gone to work like a tnuiqnil 

I has toned his book ftom the aeemtd stage of his 

I book, which Is In all respects 

"This Is a verv ameable book, written with an ease and fluency that make 
It quite detlghtAU. The author states what came under his observation and 
his impressions with an earnest fteedom, which assures the reader that what 
he Is perusing Is characterised by truth. Every salyect, apparently, ol' Interest 
has been touched upon, hi a manner suflklcntly Aill; and yet the dncripllon Is 
marked by a conciseness which gives the work an advantage over many others 
of a shnilar nature.**— JV. r. jtOwM. 

the coeventloeal 

he speaks ftaakty ; moreover, he Is a close observer, and Is evidently 
o^ taste and discrimination.**— Jf. F. JlmgU>Mm»riiMm. 

"The writer describes and rehttes with a vivadty which gives his sal^sst, 
trite though It be, an aspect of novelty.**— JT. r. Mwrnuag PmL 

this book, because the author Is above 

of thhiklng and describing. He tUaks for hfanself, and 
ver, helsa ' 


Vtstiges of thtNatonl History of CrtatioiL BjSirKielttzi 
Vyrymn, Bart., M. P., F. R. S., &e. Cm toI. 12mo. wtQ 
printed. Price 75 cents. 

Ceimirrs^ — L The bodies of speee^ their emuifomente sad 
temetioii— d. Constitneat materiels of the eerth end other bodite 
of speee— 3. The eerth formed ; enof the primery reeks — 4. Ceoi- 
niencement of oifeiiio life ; sea plants, eorak, iuu — 5; Era of the 
eld red sand-stone ; terrestrial loobgy commences with reptilee ; 
fint traces of birds—S. Era of the oolite ; commencement of mam- 
malia — 6. Era of the cretaceous formatione— 7. Era of the ter- 
tiary formation ; mammalia abundant — 8. Era of the superficial 
formations; commencement of the present species — ^9. General 
censlderations respectin|f the origin of the animated tribes — 10. 
Particular considerations respecting the origin of the animated 
' tribes-^ll. Hypothesis of the development of the Tegetable and 
animal kingdom — 12. Maclay system of animated nature; this 
system considered in connexion with the progress of organic crea- 
tion, and as indicating the nattiral status of man — 13. Eariy his- 
tory of mankind — 14. Mental constitution of animals — 15. Pur- . 
pose and general condition of the animated creation — 16. Note 

**Thls Is a remarkable Tolunie— small la compass— l>at embracing a wid» 
ranfe of Inquiry, from worlds beyond tke visible starry firmament, to the 
mlnntest structures of man and animals. The woric Is written with pecaliar 

and elMsleal terseness, reminding as very mach of the style of Celsus. 

We have dedicated a large space to this remarltable woric, that may indoce 
many of our readers to peruse the original. The autlior is, decidedly, a man 
of great Informatiott and reflectioa.*'~.tfsdie*-C!l«rKr£«M/ Asvietp. 

**Thi8 is a very beantiftil and a very Interesting booli. Its theme is one of 
\ the grandest that can occupy human thought— no less than the creation of the 
\ universe. It is AiU of interest and grandeur, and mast claim oar readefs' 
\ sfteclal notice, as possessing, in an eminent degree, matter for their contemSla- 
j tion, which cannot fkil at once to elevate, to gratUy, and enridh their minds." 
I ~~.r#r#fls A0VMW. 

! ^ A neat little volume of mneh interest Judging firom a brief glance at the 
5 contents of the volnme, the author has produced a work of great interest, and 

1^ one which, while it affords the reader useAil instmctlon, cannot ftil to tarn 
his mind to a very profitable channel of reflection.'* — Cmmaur, Jtiv, 
** A small bat remarkable work. It is a bold attempt to eonaeet the natnal 
sciences into a history of creation. It contains mach to interest and instniel, 
and the book Is ingenious, logical, and learned.**— JVeaoorA wf dv. 
**Th)s work discovers gnat ingenuity and 
of nature. It is a noble work, and one " ' 
without finding a firesh imimlse comm 
i some higher impressions of the Creator's power, wiidom, and g poda e w .**— 
] ALkany Jfrftu. 

j ** A novel and lemarkable work, which will speedily attract the attentloa «f 
I all inquisitive readers. There Is moch that Is new and ingenioos in the book. 
> The author, whoever he Is, Is a aiaa of varied phiioaoplueal and Uteiary at- 
j talnments, and master of a style In conveying his thoaghts, so uore, simple, 
< and modest, that his treatise wiU he everywhere widely read.**— JV*. F. Mmif 

and great reeearch into the myiteries 
wliieh no intelUgaat penmn can read 
lanicated to his thoaghts, and gaintBg 


Life and Eloquence of the Rev. Sylvester Larned, Tint Pas- 
tor of the First Presbyterian Church in New Orleans. By 
R. R. Gr^iey. 1 thick vol. 12mo., with a fine portrait. 
$1 35. 

CoNTKNTS. — ^Preface* Life of Larned, Prayer, Sermons, Christ . 
as Man, Paul before Felix, Saving Faith, Obligations for Spirit- ^ 
ual Mercies, On Objections against Christianity — the same, part I 
3 — Practical Admonitions, On the Inspiration of the Scriptures, i 
On Searching the Scriptures, Religious Education, Duty of Re- ? 
conciliation to God, Causes of Distaste for Religion, Sin Incon- \ 
sistent with Piety, On the Advent, Walking in Wisdom, Enmity \ 
of the Carnal Mind, Duty to Orphans, Excuses of the Impenitent, < 
Christian Self-Examination, The Character of Herod, Character I 
of Peter — the same, part 2--^haracter of Paul, On the Resurrec- \ 
tion. Against Profane Swearing, Love of Darkness rather than 
Light, Cause of Love to God, Divine Law inexorable, Report Of 
the Watchman, Hope of the Righteous, Moral Insanity of Man. 

" No ninistor of the saioe aij^ has ever, at least m this Gountiy, left behind 
Mm deeper impreasionB of his eloquence. This ▼olume is worthy of critical 
ezaminatioD and study ; and those who would combine in their sermons ease 
aod elevation, simplicity and enei^ ; who would leave to Uieir hearers no time ' 
to sleep, and no wish to be absent, but r^ret only at the brevity of the service, 
and delight at tlie retom of the Sabbath, will find .the penisal ibd re-perusal of 
Mr. Lamed*s discourses greatly to their advantage.**— JTnieJiEcr&ocAer. 

(« A beautiful and eloquent tribute to sanctified genius. The unky, force, ima- 
gination, harmony, and feeling apparent Ip these discounws, wiU commend the \ 
volume to all.** — Oiristian Observer. 

** A valuable treasure to all wlio cherish the memory of one of the most pur»- ! 
minded and eloquent cleigymen of our country ; or who icnow liow to aiiiire- i 
date tlie finest specimens of pulpit composition."— TVifrune. ^ 

** He wis one of the most eloquent orators In the United States. Mr. Oaney 
has made a most interesting volume, which will prove an acceptable present to 
the religious public**— JE»«mv P^*^ 

" A most dellghtnil volume. We l:.eartily commend it to the rellgioas oon- 
mnnity.**— JWis Terk Jimeriean. 

«(It is much to be wondered at, that no peimsnent memorial of this dlstia 
gnished divhie has ever before been given to the world. The volume cannot fttt 
to be soui^t for with great avidity.'*— I>at;y Ameriean dtitau 

" These discourses evidently bear the im|n«8B of a great mind— not only of an 
exuberant fliney, but of gigantic powers of comprehension. We indeed reiJotee 
that the woric has at length appeared. 

•* Lamed was beyond alt question the brightest star of the American pulpit, 
during the brief period in which he lived. We are graUfied to see a memoir 
of liim fao worthily constructed, and so rich In interesting material. The sennons 
are pervaded by the livhig, breathing spirit of true genius, as weU as of evan- 
gelical truth and fervent devoUon.*'— j}/ftany Argus. 


Lectures on the PUgrim** Progress, and on the Lifo and 

Times of John Bunyan. By the ReT. George B. Cheerer, 

D. D. 1 thick vol. 8to., printed in large type, with fine ; 

steel-plate engrarings. $3 50; or in 15 numbers at 35 

cents each. 

Contents. — 1. Banyan and bis Times; 5L Bnnyan'k Tempta- 
tions ; 3. Banyan's Examination ; 4. Banyan in Pnimn ; 5. Provi- 
dence, Grace, and Genius of Banyan ; 6. City of Destruction and 
Slough of DMpond ; 7. Christian in the honee Of the Interpreter ; 
8. ChrirtJan on the Hill of Difficulty; 9. Christian's fight with 
Apollyon ; 10. Christian in the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; 
11. Christian and Faithful in Vanity Fair; 13. Doubting Castle 
and Giant Despair; 13. The Delectable Mountains and En« 
chanted Ground ; 14 Land Beolah and the River of Death ; 15i. 
Christiana, Mercy, and the Children. 

«< We know of nothtnt Id American llteratute siore likCIf to be intmeting 
and useful than these toetuics. The beauty and force of their fanafery, tlie 
poeiie brilliancy of their deaci1]ilions, the coneetaeas of their senllmeBis, aad 
the ezceJlent spirit wltlch pervades than, mast make tlieir perusal a test to al 
of the religious community. '*~7VihiiM. 


Designs for Cottage Residences, adapted to North America, 
including Eleyations and Plans of the Buddings, and De- 
signs for Laying out Grounds. By A. J. Downing, Esq. 
1 vol. 8yo. with very neat illustrations. Second edition, 
rerised. $3 00. 

A second cdttinn of the " Cottage Residences** Is iuat published, as Part I.; 
and it is announced by the Aotlior that Part IL, which k in preparatloa, will 
contain hints and destans for the imUrwn and flunitare of cottages, as weB as 
additional designs for fiurm buildings. 

One of tlie leading reviews renoarked that " the publication of these woriDi 
fluay be considered an era hi the literature of this country.** it Is cenaialy ttaa 
that no works were erer issued ftom the Amerieaa press which at once ennsd 
a more dlntinct and extended influence on any sul^ect than havrthese upon the 
taste of our country. Since the publication of the flist edition of the •* Land- 

Gardening,** the taste for rural embellishments has increased to a surprta* 

. uid in atanost evenr instance this volume is the text booli of the 

inrproTer, and the exponent of the more refined style of arrangement and Iteeping 

ing extent, and 1 

I; introduced bitoour cooiitiy residences. 
I The *' Cottage Residences** seems to have been equally well-timed aad bap- 
} pily done. Country gentlemen, no longer limited to tlie meager dfislsns of an- 
/ educated carpenters, are eieeilng agreeable cottages la a variety of stylea suited 
I to the toeatlon or scenery. Sven in the West and South there are already 
many striking cottages and villas built wholly, or in part, fhtm Mr. Oowaiao 


A System of Minenibgy ; Comprising the most recent 'dis- 
coveries, with irameroos engravings. Second edition, 
enlarged and improyed. By James D. Dana, A. M. 
Very thick toL 8yo., pp. 633. $3 50. 
CoNTiKTS. — Introduction. Part I. Crystallogony, or the 
Science of the Structure of Minerals. II. Physical Properties 
of Minerals. III. Chemical Properties of Minerals. IV. Taxo- 
nomy. V. Determinative Mineralogy. VI. Descriptive Minera- 
! '^SJ* y^^' Chemical Classification. VIII. Rocks on Mineral 
Aggregates. IX. Mineralogical Bibliography. X. Copious Index. 

** It glvea me great pleasure to state that it requires but few works like tlie 
IResent, to give American Science a name which will merit, if it does not re- 
ceive, the respect of the scientific world.**— SUHman** Journal for JtfHl. 

**This work does great honor to America, and should make us blush for the 
neglect in England of an important and interesting science. It is a thick octavo, ; 
of about TOO pages, on Mineralogy, treated In a h^hly scientific and perspicuous 
manner. It Is no compilation, such as all works on this subject have been In 
this oouBUy since the wriangs of Jameson and Phillips, but an original survey 
of the mineral kingdom executed with the greatest care. This, too. Is the second 
edition, greatly enlai]^, showing that Mr. Dana's labors are appreciated ia 
America.**— Z^MifMi JStknumm. 

** This work bears marks on every page of great Industry and determination 
ia oolleetlnf the roost recent ' - 

and aeeiiracy, it Is beUeved 

on every page of great Industry and determination 
It Acts. In comiJetenesB, systematic arrangement. 
I to be exceeded by no other work extant.*'— A*, r. 

(•This Is a new edition of the best treatise ever published In this country on 
tlie Interesting and Important sul^ect of Mineralogy. It first appeanxl seven l 
years ago, since which time many new discoveries have boen made in the 
science, and sources have thus been opened for a vast amount of new and im- 
portant Blatter. All the investigations, both Foreign and American, that have * 
been made, have been caref^ll v eonsulted in the prMaratioa of this new edition, 
and a chapter on crystallography has been added The work is a nsost welcome 
addition to the series of American standard treatises on scientific sulyecta.'* — JV*. 
F. Courier and Enquirer. 

"This li a tmly valuable and learned work, and it Is surpristag, comddering : 
the correctness of this treatise on its first appearance, to find how numerous and : 
important are the changes which have been made in the present edition. We ; 
are sure the work mnet command soccess.**— Tribune. 

llie Hand-Book of Needle Work. By Miss Lambert. 1 
▼ol. Syo., beautifully printed, with numerous illustrations. 
Price $1 60 i or in extra binding, neat fancy style, $3 00 

rhis very elegant and useftal volume proves to be the most attractive werk 
< of the kind ever published ia this country. It contains practical instniCilons m 

I the various kinds of Ornamental Needlework and Embroldery% with a historical 
account of these accomplishments In all ages and nations. To ufw a common 
phrase, It certainly deserves a place on every lady's work table, besides being an 
, omamem to the drawing-room. 

*»^^^^^^^*^^^A^A^^^^^^^^W^*»^ » ^*MWWW«MWWtfWMMMMWMMMB 


Hie Chmnistry of Vegetable and Animal Physiologj. By 
Dr. G. T. Mulder, Professor of Chemistiy in the UniTer- 
•ity of Utrecht. Translated from the Dutch, by P. F. H. 
Fromberg ; with an Introduction, by Prof. J. F. W. John- 
ston. First authorized American Edition ; with notes and 
corrections, by B. Silliman, Jr. Part I., Tcry neatly 
printed. Price 96 cents. 

** In the tnw itndy of nature the piindpal aim eaght to be. not only to nato 
owielTes acquainted with the phenomena and laws whica dlstlnfuUh and 
legnlate livlnf and dead matter, Imt also Id ananfe those phenomena and 
laws, and exhibit them hi their seveml mlations. The mora oar knowledge 
of these two departments Is extended, and the nearer the several parts of the 
gnat sdenee of natora seem to approximate, the mora firmly mast we embrace 
the Idea, as necessarily conformable to truth, that the same teces govern alike 
the^anlmate and inanimate Ungdoms.**— vf atAer. 

The celebrity of the author of this }ong-expected work, has raised a hl^ 

tation among the readers in this depart — " --. — -. 

h of aignment and origi 

) |one beforo him. The work ii 

Ihl study of all. We look forward with interest to the ftitora numben of the 

I department of sdentifie liteia- 
nt and originality of views, he has surpassed aQ 

degree of exiMCtation among the readers in 

tuie. For oepth of aignment and origina , . _ 

who have gone beforo him. The work is a profound one, and mnlts the care- 

_ Velookfo ^ * '■ 

work.**— TVihmCi 

"For extent and value of research, in the calm spfarlt of phllesimhte 
tlon which marks its peculiar character, and the absence of wild theory— It 
stands pra-eminent among the nnmereos profound and brilliant works of a 
kindred character, which the last two or three years have produced.^' 


RcTolutionary Orders of General Washing:ton, issued during 
the years 1778, 'SO, '81, and '83 ; selected from the Manu^ 
scripts of John Whiting, Lieutenant and Adjutant of the 9d ' 
Regiment of the Massachusetts Line, and edited by his son, 
Henry Whiting, Lieut. Col. U. S. Army. 1 toI. Sto., 
weU printed $1 50. 

This Is a valuable publicatloiHHraluable Its well ftom the hlstorie intsnsti 
of the orders, as from the source whence they-emsnated. The collection was 
made ftom manuscrlpu that had safiered fkom inattentton, and the series may 
tberafore be incomplete. Yet the papers, now for the first time published le 
the world, are of an exceedingly Interesting character, particularly those dated 
firom the camp at Valley Forge, during a roost trying period of the Kevolutlon. 

many of the scenes that made the name of Washington iiwtnwtel, while they 
eontributed to establish the liberty of this great Republic 


A cwriouBly ehmrming hook. 

Oracles from the Poets ; a fanciful Diversion for the Draw- 1 

ing Room. By Caroline Gilman. 1 neat Tolume, beauti- \ 

fully printed, and elegantly bound in extra cloth, gilt. 


" A moet •ngaging and admirable worfc, compiled alter a venr singular idea, { 
by the tastefiil and talented Mrs. Gilman ofSontli Carolina. It is a playfally- \ 
eontrived series of chance answers to questions, saitable for amns^iment round ( 
an evening table. We close our long extracts with a renewed expression of } 
oar admiration at the taste of the compiler, and the ingenuity with which it \ 
was originally contrived. The getting up of the book should not be forgotten. > 
It is in the shape of an annual, and the best of gift books.*'— fF»{/i«*« Evening \ 
Mirror* J 

" The cifted Mrs. Gilman has hit upon an ingenious amusement, which she \ 
conveys m this volume with characteristic taste. It is made up of selections from { 
Sni^h and American poets, descriptive of person or character, and classified, I 
-so as to fonn answers to a leading question at the head of each division. As \ 
* diversloo for the drawing roam,' the plan cannot ftil to please the young, or l 
those who would feel young. The book is handsomely printed and bound, 5 
and is a suitable ornament for a centrB-table."-~JVo»i4 Ameriean, I 

"This Is a beautiftil volume, elegantly printed, bound, and embellished, and j 

t has been compiled by Mrs. Caroline Gilman. It was intended originany fijr • 

: the ftmily drcle of the author, being destined as well to amuse as to insmwi \ 

; It oonsists in a series of chance answers to questions, suitaUe for amusement i 

round an evening table. We predict fat the work^ an naexample^ success, \ 

which its pleasing merits eminently entitle it to."— JV*. Y. Post, ^ 

«« This very pretty and pleasant volume is designed to be used as a fortune- \ 

teller, or a round game for forfeits, or examined as a treasure-house for the > 

thoughts of poets on particular subjects, fh>m Chaucer down to the minor poets \ 

of our own time and country. Questions are propounded ; as, ' What is the > 

character of him who loves youl' * What is your destiny?* and a hundred > 

others, and answers given from the poets, wliich are numbered. The literature ) 

of the volume is of the highest order, and the most exquisite descriptions and | 

sentiments are contained in the answers. It is, altogether, an elegant book, \ 

suitable for a Christmas or New- Year's present to one's 'lady-love.' "— irviU's : 

Mogazine. \ 

"This book, though partaking in no wise of a religious character, may be \ 

regarded as an aereeable contribution, not only to the literature of the day but \ 

to the cause of human improvement. Some amusement is absolutely neces- \ 

sary ; and he who contrives one that is at once unexceptionable in its moral \ 

tendency, and at the same time fitted to quicken the intellect or refine the \ 

taste, is to be regarded as a public benefactor. Such we consider to be the ^ 

, character of this book. It consists of various exquisite selections from the \ 

I most popular of this poets, arranged as answers to certain quesUons, such as \ 

; a vouthftd &ncy might naturally enough suggest. The plan is new and Inge* \ 

; nioos and both the literary and mechanical execution beautlAil."— .itfttaiif \ 

Rdifiou* SpeettOer. i 

" Here are various questions supposed to be asksd by an individual concern* | 
Ing his own fcwtune, and all the gifted poets, not only mi the earth, but t« the } 
earth, including those who inhabit the 'Poets' Ccnmer' in Westminster Abbey, I 
are put In requisition to answer them. While the book ofiers a pleasant^ 
: amusement to the young, it is ftill of bright and beautiftil things, arranged with l 
! exquisite skill, which render it a welcome ofllering to a cultivated taste. It Is > 
withal decorated with every grace and charm that mechanical slcUl and labor I 
coidd bestow upon it"**— Dstfy Ammrieau | 



I A Treadae upon Arehiteeliue, Coniices, and Mouldings ;| 
Fmning, Doon, Windows, and Stain; together with the! 
most important Prineiples of Practical Geometry. By R. | 
O. Hatield, Architect. Slastrated by more than 300 e 
giSTings. 1 Tol. 870. $2 00. 

*w!^J.5fH"lP?*SH*!" •^*» to the mort mtperiicial MqwintaiiM with < 
dMfOl4M» or which thU book treats. It has never coma wuSid oar voeatkm > 
to be hewen of wood, any more than drawers of water. And yet, with aU oar 
iporance, we can see that this mast be a book of great valae to aU scientific '\ 
and naclical mechanics. And, fortonately, we are not obUced to trust oor: 
own J«d^nt in the case ; for we are assnied, on testimony that is worthy of - 
aU accentatioii, that it is reaUyaworfc of tae highest merit, ami adapted to 
Sf222f*^w/?*^ Jj^P**!^* P»«fl<«I impTOTOments in the department ofwhieh 
i !L?^ '* *■ evldenUy a book to be studied rather than read cursorUy, hi 
orier to secuto the benrft which it is designed to hBparL"—isi«««r. 

« We shooM like toeaU the attentioa of carpentois to this wdrk, becaose we 
^ ^*L*'^?!P"^''*^ "*y ■* faidaced to purchase a eeoy upon our rec- 
oauaendation, wUl thank ns for it If we take hito considamXe the great 
advantage that a book of this kind is lUcely to be to a workman, in advaddng 
122 *° fi«»*S?«y> W« «~>^ the price (fi) must be acknow^^ 
trifling.**— 2>M/|r jSwter. CUiten, 


2dS^£?5rS7S^?*" *" ^ ^*- ^^^ of this Kid hitherto aie 
SSl^SSSh^JS; • *^* ^ expensive to gafai a very wide circuUtton ; bat 
l»ih?h?f JSZJ5***? ^^^^ is sold at a modemto price, and ca^i be 
bougbt by everybody who has an hiterest hi leading iV*—Ma,wi AUaa 

wmS!^*^!^!^^^!?'''^^^^^ It to very 

■~«y let up,* and die price to eztreneiy modemte.**~JV. F. THw Sun. 

thri££S^tJj?te"*2GiS*Tt"^ tt« clear, i«.y, wo h^lalmost said 

iiTwiMfJk™: ui " ^™^ " ta written— eflording a ftee demonstration, that 

Mt hto tSdS^TiTiSi?*'^"* "?i^?^^i^ ^^y^ thJS^;Si^ii7to 

KSP^"^- ^^^ hrioge It 

waged.** Jjv?Stf!Lrtc2Sr* •*«•"«» «» ; ▼«? "ompwhensive, and lucidly ar 

biy the Kst^iSSSlS^^i* ^ ??■■** *»• of these books ; it to indtopator 
iwSatohed.**-!j5;£2S^y'^^g^<'° ^ «W» »«JUect that hlu hitherto been i 

ie^l2SiSte?S^.'g^ *•» P»««cal excellence. It needs no oth« 

mote intrinsic valoe SIS Si Simi£?? «» American pen, will be found of a 
in this opinion, ftom thiTfl^J^*^^** volume ; and we feel more oonfidenee 
diet.**-Jr. Y^MJSi^jSi^f ^ ^"^ itniversaily concwring iTSTw- 



Gardening for Ladies ; and Companion to the Flower-Garden. 
Being an Alphabetical anangement of all the ornamental 
Plants usually grown in gardens and shrubberies; with 
full directions for their culture. By Mrs. Loudon. First 
American, from the second London edition. Revised and 
edited by A. J. Downing. 1 thick vol. ISmo., with en- 
gravings representing the processes of grafting, budding, 
layering, &c., &c. $1 60. 

" A truly charming work, written with simplicity and cleamraB. ft ia deci- 
dedly the bent woric on the aobject, and we tvnmgHy recommend it to all our 
Mr cumitfyw<»iieni as a wotIk they ought not to be without.**— JV*. Y. Couritr, 

«lfr. Downing is entitled to the ihanlcs of the fair florists of our country for 
Intioducing to their acquaintance this comprehensive and excellent manual, 
which must become very popular. Besides an Instructive treatment on the best 
modes of culture, transplanting, bedding, uaining, destroying insects, dtc, and 
the management of plants u pnts and green-houses, illustrated with numerrtus 
platss ; the woric comprise* a Dictinoary of the English and Botanic names of 
the most popular flowera, with directkms for their culture. Altogether we 
should judge it to be the most valuable woric in the department to which it 
belongs.**— JVsworft JidvertUer. 

wThis is a full and complete manual of instruction upon the subject of which 
it treala. Being intended for those who have little or no previous knowledge of' 
gaidealng, It presents, in a very precise and detailed manner, all thai is neeaa- 
aaiy to be known upon it, and cannot fhil m awaken a more general taste (br 
these healthful and pleasant pursuits among the ladies of our country.**— A*. T, 

*• This truly delightful work cannot be too highly commended to our Air eoan* 
trywomen.**- A*. Y. JamnuU •f OMasMres. 

** We cordially welcome, and heartUy commend to tU our Mr IHends, whether 
Ihrfag in town or country, tliis very excellent woric**— ^. 71 Triim»». 


Containing a description of the habits, plnmage, &e., of all 

the qiecies now known to visit that section, comprising the 

larger number of birds found throughout the State of New 

York, and the neighboring States. By T. P. Giraud, Jr. 

1 vol 8vo. Price $2 00. 

This work, though designed chiefly for the use of the ganaers and sportsneD 
' S rni Long blatid. will still serve as a book of reference for amateurs and 

otners collecting orirttbological specimens in various sections of the United 
BtaieH, particularly for those persons residing on the sea-coasts of New Jersey 
and the Eastern States. 


\ TIm Botanical Text Book for Colleges, Schools, and priyata 
I Students. Comprising not only the outlines of Structural 
and Physiological Botany, but also a popular account of the 
principal Natural Orders, their geographical distribution, 
properties, and uses, with an enumeration of those plants 
which furnish products employed in medicine and the arts.. 
1 yery thick vol. with numerous fine engravings. $1 50. 

CoNTKNTS. — Preliminary Consideratious. Part I. Structural 
and Physiological Botany. Part II. Systematic Botany. Ap- 
pendix, Index, Glossary of Botanical Terms. Index of the Na- 
tural Orders, Useful Plants, and Products, dtc. 

"The most compendloua aud satisfactory view of the Vegetable Kingdom 
which has yet l)eeu offered in an elementary treatise. Remarkable for its cor- 
rectness and perspicuity." — Silliman^s Joumai. 

See also Loudon, Hooker, and other English Botanical Journals, &c. 



Conducted by B. B. Edwards and E. A. Park, Professors at 
Andover. With the special co-operation of Dr. Robiudon 
and Professor Stuart. Price $4 00 a year. 

« A noble contribution to Religious Literature, and fitly printed."— 7Vt»i«i«. 
ii.hi?*K^Jff***^ *"*® **^ *^® **'''^* "^ "«•* important Theological Reviews pub- 
lished in this country.**— G^ttrtw and Enquirer. 

odVcJi'i^thf S* *\®!**"**' Student, this is doubtless the most raliiabie per^- 
S^ldmitJSf. -'^^.'^^ language. The odier religious publicaUons in thlseoun- 
on thedeS2Lt^**'r»!;?"«* of subjects, cannot concentrate so much strength 
MDDly ItoSSl "i°f ®J**"*^' learning. None of Uiem theiefore can adequallly 

thi* ™rd j£ ?ISS?!l*'** "***' ambitious Joumai in the United States. We oee 
seems mora laSSSifSS " meaning that tiiere is no jounuU among us w . 
Its haXme tvi ^J^^^'Jf* "f^ ^« ^^ad in llteraiyand tbeologkal science. 

American pw>?re2X«If.'*l.*.^ ^ "^V" »•»«* *' »»" the advintegc of the be! 
»entsofhi5STM?irilv,^"f/r the depal^ 


Elements of Logic, together with an introdactory yiew of 
Philosophy in general, and a Preliminary View of the | 
Reason. One thick toI. 12mo. $1 00. 

CoNTKim: — 

Fart I.1 — Introdactory View of Philoaophy in General. 

<* 2. — Preliminary View of the Reason. 

« 3. — Logic Proper — Book I. Primordial Logic II» In- i 

ductive Logic. III. DeductiTO I^gic. IV. ; 

Doctrine of Evidence. 

*« This Is an able and learned— the most able and learned work which has | 
ever appeared on the subject in this country. It is written in a simple, lucid j 
■t]rl«, and with a great precisian of definttioir and distinction. We doubt not It 
will be a|K»reeiated by learned men and teachers, and become the standard work 
In its line." — Jfew Fork EvoMgelist. 

"The subject Is presented, on the whole, in a far more orieinal and attractive , 

fotm than any treatise with which we are acquainted. The writer's style is \ 

characterized by a peculiar freshness and vivacity, which, toy^hcr with his ; 
admirable arrangement, relieves the subject of that proverbial tedium under the 

imputation of which it has always labored. This work is finely adapted as a ; 

Manual for schools and colleges, supplying a desideratum which has long been , 

felt to exIsL The book we decidedly regard as an honor to the author, and an \ 
honor to the country."— JWw fVorld, 

u We have not been able to examine this excellent treatise with the attention ; 
it merits ; but we think we are safe in saying that it is not only the most original. ; 
but the best work on Logic, which has ever appear^jd in this country." — JouruoL ; 

*( On the whole we think this is the best work on Logic which we have • 
fkom the American press.** — £iMiitfl^ Po»i. 


Tappan on The Will. 3 vol& $3 00 ; or separately. 
Vol. 1. — Review of Edwards. 
'* 2. — Appeal to ConsciouWiess. 
** 3. — Moral Agency. 


American Antiquities, and Researches into the Origin and 

History of the Red Race. By Alexander W. Bradford. 

1 Tol. 8va, $1 00. 

%* A pblkMophical and elaborate investigation of a subject which has excited 
nueh attention. This able work is a very desirable companian 10 tboee of Bte- 
phena and othen 00 the Kulni of Central America. 




or tlie Doetrine of the Resmxeetioii ; in irbich it 
it iho wn that the Doetrine of the Resurrection of the Body 
ie not auctioned by Reaaon or RoTelation. By George 
Bushy Professor of Hebrew, N. T. University. Sscon' 
Editiom. 1 thick toI. ISmo., well printed. $1 00. 

CoRTSim^— IntrodnetioQ. — ^The knowledjM of rsrektion pro- 
gnvive. — Part 1. The imtlonal argumentp*-Ob)ectioiiB to the com- 
mon Tiew — ^Distinction of personal and bodily identity — The tnie 
body of the Resonectiim, as inferred br reason. — ^rart S. The 
Scnptoral arfpimeni — Preliminary remans— ^The Old Testament 
doctrine of the Resuirectkm — Onomatology ; definition of tonus — 
Examination of particular passages — New-Testament doctrine of 
the Resurrection-— Origin and intport of the word " Resurrection/' 
as used in the New Testament— The Resurrection of Christ-— Ex- 
amination of particular passages — ^The Resurrection viewed in 
connection widi the Judgment — ^The First Resurrection and the 
Judgment of the Dead—" The Times of the Restitution of all 
things" — Christ's ** delivering up the kingdom" — ^The conclusion. 

** The anthor oeeajHM an tmportaat ttatioii In the University of New York, 
mild !■ adveatafleonuy known at a learned oommentator im fome books of thi 
Old Teatament It wonld be wrong to depieclate either his attainments or his 
ssnerol orthodoxy ; and all that the most earnest and eareftil exertion of his 
powers coold enable him to do, he has evidently done, to recommend the 
sentimentB unfolded in this ▼olome. Much patient idbat and nacomnKm in- 

Snnitv have been brought to bear upon it There is also a spirit that cannot 
U to be attractive— a spirit of candor and modesty, c<mibined with Indepen- \ 
dence. Edncated ymmg men, fond of novel and critical disquisitions, and stn- ; 
dents of divinity who are anxions to prove all things, will wish to mske , 
Uiemselves acquainted with its eontents.**— i;.Mdoii BaptUt Magtuins, 

**The deep and universal interest exdtad by the aHwarance of this most able 
work, has already demanded the issue of a second edition. The promnlgatka 
of the theory maintained so learnedly and cogently by the aathor, has given 
Urth to a sharp and somewhat bitter controversy among theologians ; and we 
are sorry to see that the ill-will engendered has, in some Instances, led to the 
Impeachment of the motives of the writer. This can never be JosttflaUe, and 
Is, in this case, most unfounded end uqjust No one who knows Professor 
Bush, will doubt for an instant the perfect eonscientkiasness of all that he 
has written or said: and the very strong and well-considered argument bv 
which he supports his position, will require something more, by way of 
answer, than the aspersions to whkh we have alluded."— JV. T, Cnaritr. 

*^?nt Bush deserves the highest oommendation, for ^vlng publicity to his 
views of this Important Scriptural truth. These views dUbr widely ftom those 
conunonly received by the religious world ; and it is rare, Indeed, to meet with 
the faobbMsa which has been exh» t'ted on this occasion. We believe the au- 
thor must possess, in no common degree, that rare and predons quality^-:fM«f> 
tlvts mm's Mm MnvtettMM eftnOk, and we heartily commend the work to the 
^losophical and the pious/*— ^ Y, Mirror, 

** What vre have lead convinees us that Prof. Bush is a deepty-eetkmt be- 
liever In the Seriptwes. in the soul's ImmortaUty, and in ftitore eteraal rewards 
itti,andhis * — • - • . . .^. ^ 

theories, if adopted, are not catealated to 

any one's spiritaal interests.**— JVmCmi Reetrdtr. 

** As aUe sad learned wok.**- CftKslMn OAssresr. 


Glimpses of the Wonderfiil. A book of interest uid instrac- 

tion for the yonthfol mind. 1 neat toI. ISmo., with 34 en- 

grsTings Tery handsomely printed, and neatly bound. 75c. 

CoimMTi : — Ship-lniildinf — ^The Steam-ship — Eddystone Light- 
houM — Comparative size of Public Buildings — ^The Churches of 
St Peter and St. Paul— The Cave of ElephanU-^Alnwick Cas. 
tie— Ancient Punishment — ^Tbe Chinese— Tiger Hunting— The 
Sperm-whale Fishery — The Narwhal — Crocodile Huntings— Pearl 
Diying— The Eagle— The Bat— The Flying-fish— The Lion and 
the Giraffe— The Boa Constrictor— Skeletons of the Boa and Eie- 
phant— The Rhinoceros— The Whale atUcked by Fishes— The 
Greenland Whale— The Blood and Hair— The Porcupine— The 
Peter Botte Mountain — Icebergs — ^Astronomy — ^The Moon— Con- 

** The aatfier has numlded his wtvk into that pomlar ttitm which comUaes, 
in due pfoportloD, amiisement with lasimctioa. Tha aagraTiBfi ate original 
and 8plritad.*'->tf^taiiy Argus. 

" Thore is so nrach sonnd sense and good advice in this pretty Tolome that 
we cannot be too earnest in recommenauig it The engravings aie lemarkalily 
cleTer."— CSIHsfian RmMmbrancer, 

«>This is a most entertaining as well as inslmeltTe woric We strongiy re- 
commend it to parents and teachers as an eneellent book Sat their JnTenile 
fUends.'*~A*0» Hw«n Ctwimr. 

**An ezeellent little work, which imwf soon beoome a fkvorite with onr 
; yoang ftiends. It has been tastefhUy got np, and the engravings are excellent." , 

**The style of the anther Is remarkably Ibidble, chMte, and elegant."- 
Jf, T. TVasSan. 


Tales of the Kings of England : Stories of Camps and BaUle- 
Fields, Wars and Victories ; from the Old Historians. By 
Stephen Percy. 2 very neat volumes, 18mo., with engray- 
ings. Each, 50 cents. 

" These works are constmeted on a plan which is novel, and we think well 
chosen ; and we are i^ad to find that they are deservedly popular, for they 
cannot be too strongly recommended, as adapted for the pwnsal of yonth.**— > 

Jtmmal 9f BiMcUim. 

** The design of these pietty volnmes is excellent'*— uftfot. 

** We know of no other books which so charmingly Uend snrasement with 
instruction. No Juvenile books have been published in oor time more entitled 
to praise.*'— fxamnier. 

" These pleasing and simple stories are wen adapted to the capadty of chil- 
dren."-C!lr».«.JIll^r. . 

** As amosing as they are instnietive» *— JV. T P^tt. 


HoHUi Migaertim ;— If CUim to DispMsioiiile laipirx; 

biiiif IB ittempt to ohow tlio atility of Ho ApfiiealioB to 

iIm Rottef of Hamaa Sdroriof . By W. Nswimiic, E^. 

iToI. Mmo. tl. 

IncredoetiMi— MofMtimi aot Satanle Afeney-— Not 8ttpM>. 
Mtoral— >Bf ode of reuonuig adopted in tUMting the subject— den. 
end Remarko— On the opposition of medicai men generally to thft 
doetrines of MagnelisBi — On the applienbilit j of Magnetisai to the 
lelief of Medical and Soffical Disease — On the Qualificatiom of 
Manetiien— History of the eondnct of the Royal Aeadennr ^ 
Medicine towards Anhnal Magnetisin, and oenaideration of tbi 
qnestioD how far the power of ImaginatioB may be allowed to be 
a snfficieot caose of its phenomena— Sketch of Chardef s Views— 
Thott^tson ffmirgia On Somnambolism and Clairroyanee— Oa 
Ptavinon— On Phreno-MafnetiBm— On Eart a ss A ppendix. 

MaltlBf Aon deep tanrwtlt»lloa, bv one who hitegs toUM 
■affect > Mind weU dltdpUasd, and > fondnew for the jwuwdt; MdlnattaM 
When m maeh Isqalrf is goiiif on, and m> laaeh decepdon nractiaed with 
lelbraMe to homaB awtnetiiiii, Mich a woifc will be ftmiid VMnil and 

„^ . jmladwrti . 
When 10 maeh Isqalrf J 
mtaraMe to homaB bi^~ 
dve."— Cf. & Oauttc 


«* It to a TWf ▼alaabto wwh, and a 

•ad Uih BMiit**— A-MufaMy JmnA 
i^t to be panuod bfevwThodjr.**-^^'. T. 

"The learned aathareatwaapoaaw htveetliattoBofhtoioldectappaNBtlr 
after ftdl piepeiatioa. Wlthoat propooadlnf aay feneial theory of siB(ii6tta» 
he eoBteads that It deee not contravene any law of natnre, and that its pbd' 
BOBMBa ezhiidt bo dlfttaellTe charactarUtic whkh haa mot been shown to 
eilat 1b Baton, Is boom form or other. They aiay aot be all foond anocieted 
iaaay one patteat; bat they have been maifced aad 
Bwdical liteiatnre. 

iaaay one patlmit; bat they have been mailBed aad lecotded la the anaals of 
— Altetete,lttoameat valaableWQrfc.**-JV>tMri.d4Mr 

18 hte theme, 1 
some of the itroBfeet 

— jv. r. PoH, 

flw volame eoBVlBcea at that the avthor nodet^ 
. jted Bmneroos lemarkable focta, aad has gnppiejj 
oltlectloBs axfed by the oppooenta of the doctrine." 

** The tulitieet of aaimal magaetism has excited so maeh attoBtloa wtdda As 
last few years, that aay work in reiation to it, from an iBtelllgent souice, as 
hardly flul to gain an eitonsive circalation. The present woric Is evideny 
tnm a very competent hand, and is the resalt ctf^gieat rellectSoB and observa- 
tioB ; and we doubt not that it contains nearly every thing of importance ihst 
to Icnown on the snbiect to which it relates. We think it hardly possible that 
any candid person shoald weigh the statementa and reasonings which tbh 
book contains, without comiaf to the conelosiMi, that there Is at least thsthi 
animal magnetism which shoald save it ftom belBg east away witboat eS' 
amiaation.*^— wtfttoiqr ArgviM, 

**The well-attested foeto which have recently been made known both to 
England and America, in lelatioB to the performance of sanlcal operstl^i 
wim the aid of Mesmerism, will doubtless cause thto book to be eoaghtjiivrii 
Inasmuch as many c 
of iBvestlfatlng It 
mattor phlloeophleal] 

leemensm, win oouoness cause inis doob id oe songni «•»> 
ny consider the soblect Involved Ui mystery, aad are desirou 
It Mr. Newnham's work profosses to examine the whole 
ileally, aad it appeals to be qalto a deeldeiatBBi at the jveicnt