gratified with the result of my researches. I will begin with a very choice
article: which is nothing less than a copy of the _Complutensian
Polyglott_, purchased by Eckius, in 1521, of the celebrated Demetrius
Chalcondylas--as the following coeval ms. memorandum attests: "Rome empta
biblia ista P Eckium P xiiij ducatis largis a Demetrio Calcondyla anno
1521; mortuo iam Leone Papa in Decembri." The death of Leo is here
particularly mentioned, because, during his life, it is said that that
Pontiff prohibited the sale of the work in question. The copy is fair and
sound; but both this, and a duplicate copy, wants the sixth volume, being
the Dictionary or Vocabulary. The mention of Eckius leads me to notice a
little anecdote connected with him. He was, as you may have read, one of
the most learned, most eloquent, and most successful of Luther's
antagonists. He was also the principal theological Professor in the
University of Ingoldstadt. They preserve at Landshut, brought from the
former place, the chair and the doctor's cap of their famous Anti-Lutheran
champion. You see both of these in one of the principal apartments of the
Public Library. I was requested to sit in the chair of the renowned Eckius,
and to put his doctorial bonnet upon my head. I did both:--but, if I had
sat for a century to come, I should never have fancied myself Eckius ...
for more reasons than _one_.
The Sub Librarian, who is a Catholic, (Professor Siebenkees being a
Protestant) has shewn great good sense in preserving all the tracts, which
have fallen in his way, both _for_ and _against_ the Lutheran controversy.
You go between two small book-cases, or sets of shelves, and find _Luther_
in front, and _Eckius_ and his followers in the rear of you; or vice versa.
A considerable number of rare and curious little pieces of _Erasmus_ and
_Melancthon_, are mixed in this collection, which is far from being small
either in number or value. In this interesting collection, I saw a good
copy of Ross's work against Luther, of the date of 1523, which appeared to
me to be printed by Pynson.[82] It had the autograph of Sir Thomas
More--("_Thom^{9} mor^{9}"--_) who indeed is said to have been the author
of the work. This very copy belonged to Eckius, and was given to him by the
author, when Eckius came over to England in 1525: the fact being thus
attested in the hand-writing of the latter: "_Codex iste dono datus est
mihi Johanni Eckio ab illius autore in Anglia, dum visendi cupidus in
Insulam traiecissem, 1525, Augusto x_." The worthy Professor next put into
my hands what he considered to be an _absolutely unique_ copy of _Der Veis
Ritter_, in 1514, folio: adding, that no other copy of the adventures of
the _White Knight_, of the _same_ date, was known to bibliographers. I
assented to the observation--equally from courtesy and sheer ignorance. But
surely this is somewhat difficult to believe.
There was nothing further that demanded a distinct registry; and so, making
my bow, and shaking hands with the worthy Librarian very heartily, I
quitted this congenial spot;--not however before I had been introduced to a
Professor of botany (whose name has now escaped me) who was busily engaged
in making extracts in the reading room, with a short pipe by the side of
him, and a small red tasselled cap upon his head. He had an expressive
countenance; understood our language so as to read Shakespeare with
facility, and even with rapture: and to a question of mine, whether he was
not much gratified with Schlegel's critical remarks upon that dramatist, he
replied, that "he did not admire them so much, as, from the Edinburgh
Review, the English appeared to do." To another question--"which of
Shakspeare's plays pleased him most?" he replied, unhesitatingly, "_Romeo
and Juliet_." I own, I should have thought that the mystical, or
philosophy-loving, brain of a German would have preferred _Hamlet_.
On leaving the library, I surveyed the town with tolerably minute
attention. After Munich, it appeared sufficiently small. Its population
indeed scarcely exceeds 8000. The day turned out very beautiful, and my
first and principal attention was directed to _St. Martin's Church_; of
which the tower (as I think I before told you) is considered to be full 420
feet in height, and the loftiest in Bavaria. But its height is its
principal boast. Both in detail, and as a whole, the architecture is
miserably capricious and tasteless. It is built of red brick. Many of the
monuments in the church-yard, but more particularly some mural ones, struck
me as highly characteristic of the country. Among these rude specimens of
sculpture, the representation of _Our Saviour's Agony in the Garden_--the
favourite subject in Bavaria--was singularly curious to a fresh eye. It may
be between two and three hundred years old; but has suffered no injury.
They have, in the principal street, covered walks, for foot-passengers, in
a piazza-fashion, a little resembling those at Chester: but neither so old
nor so picturesque. The intermixture of rural objects, such as trees and
grass plats--in the high street of Landshut--renders a stroll in the town
exceedingly agreeable to the lover of picturesque scenery. The booths and
stalls were all getting ready for the fair--which I learnt was to last
nearly a fortnight: and which I was too thankful to have escaped.
We left Landshut on a fine sun-shining afternoon, purposing to sleep at the
second stage--_Neümarkt_--(Angl. "Newmarket") in the route to Salzburg.
_Neümarkt_ is little better than a small village, but we fared well in
every respect at the principal, if not the only, inn in the place. Our beds
were even luxurious. Neümarkt will be quickly forgotten: but the following
stage--or _Altöting_--will not be so easily banished from our recollection.
We reached it to a late breakfast--after passing through the most fertile
and beautifully varied country which I had yet seen--and keeping almost
constantly in view the magnificent chain of the Tyrolese mountains, into
the very heart of which we seemed to be directing our course. ALTÖTING is
situated upon an eminence. We drove into the Place, or Square, and alighted
at what seemed to be a large and respectable inn. Two ladies and two
gentlemen had just arrived before us, from Munich, by a different route:
and while I was surveying them, almost mistaking them for English, and had
just exchanged salutations, my valet came and whispered in my ear that
"these good folks were come on a pilgrimage to the shrine of the _Black
Virgin_." While I was wondering at this intelligence, the valet continued:
"you see that small church in the centre of the square--it is _there_ where
the richest shrine in Bavaria is deposited; and to-day is a 'high day' with
the devotees who come to worship." On receiving this information, we all
three prepared to visit this mean-looking little church. I can hardly
describe to you with sufficient accuracy, the very singular, and to me
altogether new, scene which presented itself on reaching the church. There
is a small covered way--in imitation of cloisters--which goes entirely
round it. The whole of the interior of these cloisters is covered with
little pictures, images, supposed relics--and, in short votive offerings of
every description, to the Holy Virgin, to whom the church is dedicated. The
worshippers believe that the mother of Christ was an _African_ by birth,
and therefore you see little black images of the virgin stuck up in every
direction. At first, I mistook the whole for a parcel of pawnbrokers shops
near each other: and eyed the several articles with a disposition, more or
less, to become a purchaser of a few.
But the sound of the chant, and the smell of the frankincense, broke in
upon my speculations, and called my attention to the interior. I entered
with a sort of rush of the congregation. This interior struck me as being
scarcely thirty feet by twenty; but the eye is a deceitful rule in these
cases. However, I continued to advance towards the altar; the heat, at the
same time, being almost suffocating. An iron grating separated the little
chapel and shrine of our _Black Lady_ from the other portion of the
building; and so numerous, so constant, and apparently so close, had been
the pressure and friction of each succeeding congregation, for probably
more than two centuries, that some of these rails, or bars, originally at
least one inch square, had been worn to _half_ the size of their pristine
dimensions. It was with difficulty, on passing them, that I could obtain a
peep at the altar; which, however, I saw sufficiently distinctly to
perceive that it was entirely covered with silver vases, cups, dishes, and
other _solid_ proofs of devotional ardour--which in short seemed to reach
to the very roof. Having thus far gratified my curiosity, I retreated as
quickly as possible; for not a window was open, and the little light which
these windows emitted, together with the heat of the place, produced so
disagreeable an effect as to make me apprehensive of sudden illness. On
reaching the outward door, and enjoying the freedom of respiration, I made
a sort of secret, but natural vow, that I would never again visit the
shrine of _Our Black Lady_ on a festival day.
An excellent breakfast--together with the neatness and civility of the
female attendants--soon counter-acted the bad effects of the hydrogen
contained within the walls of the place of worship we had just quitted.
Every thing around us wore a cheerful and pleasing aspect; inasmuch as
every thing reminded us of our own country. The servants were numerous, and
all females; with their hair braided in a style of elegance which would not
have disgraced the first drawing-room in London. We quaffed coffee out of
cups which were perfectly of the Brobdignagian calibre; and the bread had
the lightness and sweetness of cake. Between eleven and twelve, Charles
Rohfritsch (alias our valet) announced that the carriage and horses were at
the door; and on springing into it, we bade adieu to the worthy landlady
and her surrounding attendants, in a manner quite natural to travellers who
have seen something very unusual and interesting, and who have in other
respects been well satisfied with good fare, and civil treatment. Not one
of the circle could speak a word of French; so I told Charles to announce
to them that we would not fail to spread the fame of their coffee, eggs,
and bread, all over England! They laughed heartily--and then gave us a
farewell salutation ... by dropping very-formal curtesies--their
countenances instantly relapsing into a corresponding gravity of
expression.
In three minutes the inn, the square, and the church of the _Black Virgin_,
were out of sight. The postilion put his bugle to his mouth, and played a
lively air--in which the valet immediately joined. The musical infatuation,
for an instant, extended to ourselves; for it was a tune which we had often
heard in England, and which reminded me, in particular, of days of past
happiness--never to return! But the sky was bright, the breeze soft, the
road excellent, and the view perfectly magnificent. It was evident that we
were now nearing the Tyrolese mountains. "At the foot of yonder second,
sharp-pointed hill, lies SALZBURG"--said the valet: on receiving his
intelligence from the post-boy. We seemed to be yet some twenty miles
distant. To the right of the hill pointed out, the mountains rose with a
loftier swell, and, covered by snow, the edges or terminations of their
summits seemed to melt into the sky.
Our road now became more hilly, and the time flew away quickly, without our
making an apparently proportionate progress towards Salzburg. At length we
reached _Burckhausen_; which is flanked by the river _Salz_ on one side,
and defended by a lofty citadel on the other. It struck us, upon the whole,
as rather a romantic spot: but the road, on entering the town, is in some
places fearfully precipitous. The stratum was little better than rock. We
were not long in changing horses, and made off instantly for _Tittmaning_;
the last stage but one on that side of Salzburg. The country wore a more
pleasing aspect. Stately trees spread their dark foliage on each side of
the road; between the stems, and through the branches of which, we caught
many a "spirit-stirring" view of the mountains in the neighbourhood of
Salzburg--which, on our nearer approach, seemed to have attained double
their first grandeur. After having changed horses at _Tittmaning_, and
enjoyed a delightfully picturesque ride from Burckhausen thither, we dined
at the following stage, _Lauffen_; a poor, yet picturesque and
wildly-situated, large village. While the dinner was preparing, I walked to
the extremity of the street where the inn is situated, and examined a small
church, built there upon high ground. The cloisters were very striking;
narrow and low, but filled with mural monuments, of a singular variety of
character. It was quite evident, from numberless exhibitions of
art--connected with religious worship--along the road-side, or attached to
churches--that we had now entered a territory quite different from that of
Baden, Wirtemberg, and even the northern part of Bavaria. Small crucifixes,
and a representation of the _Agony in the Garden_, &c, presented themselves
frequently to our view; and it seemed as if Austria were a land of even
greater superstition than Bavaria.
On concluding our dinner, and quitting Lauffen, it grew dusk, and the rain
began to fall in a continued drizzling shower. "It always rains at
Salzburg, sir," said the valet--repeating the information of the post boy.
This news made us less cheerful on leaving Lauffen than we were on quitting
_Altöting_: but "hope travelled through"--even till we reached the banks of
the river Salz, within a mile or two of Salzburg--where the Austrian
dominions begin, and those of Bavaria terminate. Our carriage was here
stopped, and the trunks were examined, very slightly, on each side of the
river. The long, wooden, black and yellow-striped bar of Austria--reaching
quite across the road--forbade further progress, till such examination, and
a payment of four or five florins, as the barrier-tax,--had been complied
with. I had imagined that, if our trunks had been examined on _one_ side of
the water, there needed no examination of them on the _other_; unless we
had had intercourse with some water fiend in the interval. It seemed,
however, that I reasoned illogically. We were detained full twenty minutes,
by a great deal of pompous palaver--signifying nothing--on the part of the
Austrian commissioner; so that it was quite dark when we entered the
barriers of the town of Salzburg:--mountains, trees, meadows, and rivulets
having been long previously obliterated from our view.
The abrupt ascents and descents of the streets--and the quivering
reflection of the lights from the houses, upon the surface of the river
_Salz_--soon convinced us that we were entering a very extraordinary town.
But all was silent: neither the rattling of carriages, nor the tread of
foot-passengers, nor the voice of the labourer, saluted our ear on entering
Salzburg--when we drove briskly to the _Gölden-Schiff_, in the _Place de la
Cathedrale_, whence I am now addressing you. This inn is justly considered
to be the best in the town; but what a melancholy reception--on our
arrival! No rush of feet, no display of candles, nor elevation of voices,
nor ringing of the bell--- as at the inns on our great roads in
England--but ... every body and every, thing was invisible. Darkness and
dulness seemed equally to prevail. One feeble candle at length glimmered at
the extremity of a long covered arch-way, while afterwards, to the right,
came forward two men--with what seemed to be a farthing candle between
them, and desired to know the object of our halting? "Beds, and a two-day's
residence in your best suite of apartments," replied I quickly--for they
both spoke the French language. We were made welcome by one of them, who
proved to be the master, and who helped us to alight. A long, and latterly
a wet journey, had completely fatigued us--and after mounting up one high
stair-case, and rambling along several loosely-floored corridors--we
reached our apartments, which contained each a very excellent bed. Wax
candles were placed upon the tables: a fire was lighted: coffee brought up;
and a talkative, and civil landlord soon convinced us that we had no reason
to grumble at our quarters.[83]
On rising the next morning, we gazed upon almost every building with
surprise and delight; and on catching a view of the CITADEL--in the back
ground, above the Place de la Cathedrale--it seemed as if it were situated
upon an eminence as lofty as Quito. I quickly sought the _Monastery of St.
Peter_;--the oldest in the Austrian dominions. I had heard, and even read
about its library; and imagined that I was about to view books, of which no
bibliographer had ever yet--even in a vision--received intelligence. But
you must wait a little ere I take you with me to that monastic library.
There is a pleasing chime of bells, which are placed outside of a small
cupola in the _Place_, in which stands the cathedral. I had heard this
chime during the night--when I would rather have heard ... any thing else.
What struck me the first thing, on looking out of window, was, the quantity
of grass--such as Ossian describes within the walls of
_Belcluthah_--growing between the pavement in the square. "Wherefore was
this?" "Sir, (replied the master of the Gölden Schiff) this town is
undergoing a gradual and melancholy depopulation. Before the late war,
there were 27,000 inhabitants in Salzburg: at present, there are scarcely
15,000. This _Place_ was the constant resort of foreigners as well as
townsmen. They filled every portion of it. Now, you observe there is only a
narrow, worn walk, which gives indication of the route of a few straggling
pedestrians. Even the very chimes of yonder bells (which must have
_delighted_ you so much at every third hour of the night!) have lost their
pleasing tone;--and sound as if they foreboded still further desolation to
Salzburg." The man seemed to feel as he spoke; and I own that I was touched
by so animated and unexpected a reply.
I examined two or three old churches, of the Gothic order, of which I have
already forgotten the names--unless they be those of _Ste. Trinité_ and
_St. Sebastien_. In one of them--it being a festival--there was a very
crowded congregation; while the priest was addressing his flock from the
steps of the altar, in a strain of easy and impassioned eloquence. Wherever
I went--and upon almost whatever object I gazed--there appeared to be
traces of curious, if not of remote, antiquity. Indeed the whole town
abounds with such--among which are some Roman relics, which have been
recently (1816) described by Goldenstein, in a quarto volume published
here, and written in the German language.[84]
But you are impatient for the MONASTERY OF ST. PETER.[85] Your curiosity
shall be no longer thwarted; and herewith I proceed to give you an account
of my visit to that venerable and secluded spot--the abode of silence and
of sanctity. It was my first appearance in a fraternity of MONKS; and those
of the order of ST. BENEDICT. I had no letter of recommendation; but,
taking my valet with me, I knocked at the outer gate--and received
immediate admission within some ancient and low cloisters: of which the
pavement consisted entirely of monumental slabs. The valet sought the
librarian, to make known my wishes of examining the library; and I was left
alone to contemplate the novel and strange scene which presented itself on
all sides. There were two quadrangles, each of sufficiently limited
dimensions. In the first, there were several young Monks playing at
skittles in the centre of the lawn. Both the bowl and pins were of
unusually large dimensions, and the direction of the former was confined
within boards, fixed in the earth. These athletic young Benedictins (they
might be between twenty and thirty years of age) took little or no notice
of me; and while my eye was caught by a monumental tablet, which presented
precisely the same coat-armour as the device used by Fust and
Schoeffher,--and which belonged to a family that had been buried about two
hundred and fifty years--the valet returned, and announced that the
Principal of the College desired to see me immediately.
I obeyed the summons in an instant, and followed Rohfritsch up stairs.
There, on the first floor, a middle-aged monk received me, and accompanied
me to the chamber of the President. On rapping at the door with his
knuckles, a hollow but deep-toned voice commanded the visitor to enter. I
was introduced with some little ceremony, but was compelled, most
reluctantly, to have recourse to Latin, in conversing with the Principal.
He rose to receive me very graciously; and I think I never before witnessed
a countenance which seemed to _tell_ of so much hard fagging and
meditation. He must have read every _Father_, in the _editio princeps_ of
his works. His figure and physiognomical expression bespoke a rapid
approach to the grand climacteric of human life. The deeply-sunk, but large
and black, beaming eye--the wan and shrivelled cheek--the nose, somewhat
aquiline, with nostrils having all the severity of sculpture--sharp, thin
lips--an indented chin--and a highly raised forehead, surmounted by a
little black silk cap--(which was taken off on the first salutation) all,
added to the gloom of the place, and the novelty of the costume, impressed
me in a manner not easily to be forgotten. My visit was very short, as I
wished it to be; and it was concluded with an assurance, on the part of the
Principal, that the librarian would be at home on the following day, and
ready to attend me to the library:--but, added the Principal, on parting,
"we have nothing worthy of the inspection of a traveller who has visited
the libraries of Paris and Munich. At Mölk, you will see fine books, and a
fine apartment for their reception."
For the sake of _keeping_, in the order of my narrative, I proceed to give
you an account of the visit to the library, which took place on the morrow,
immediately after breakfast. It had rained the whole of the preceding
night, and every hill and mountain about Salzburg was obscured by a
continuation of the rain on the following day. I began to think the
postilion spoke but too true, when he said "it always rains at Salzburg."
Yet the air was oppressive; and huge volumes of steam, as from a cauldron,
rose up from the earth, and mingled with the descending rain. In five
minutes, I was within the cloisters of the monastery, and recognised some
of the _skittling_ young monks--whom I had seen the day before. One of them
addressed me very civilly, in the French language, and on telling him the
object of my visit, he said he would instantly conduct me to Mr. GAERTNER,
the librarian. On reaching the landing place, I observed a long
corridore--where a somewhat venerable Benedictin was walking, apparently to
and fro, with a bunch of keys in one hand, and a thick embossed-quarto
under his other arm. The very sight of him reminded me of good _Michael
Neander_, the abbot of the monastery of St. Ildefonso--the friend of
Budæus[86]--of whom (as you may remember) there is a print in the _Rerum
Germanicarum Scriptores_, published in 1707, folio.