baffle all our attempts to _near_ it--and yet it appeared as if we were
scarcely a quarter of a mile from it. This will give you some notion of its
size and height. At length, the scenery of the lake began to change--into a
more quiet and sober character.... We had now passed the rocky mountain,
and on looking upon its summit, we observed that the golden glow of
sunshine had subsided into a colour of pale pink, terminating in alternate
tints of purple and slate. Almost the whole landscape had faded from the
eye, when we reached the end of our voyage; having been more than two hours
upon the lake. On disembarking, we made directly for the inn--where we
found every thing even exceeding what we had been led to expect--and
affording a very striking and comfortable contrast to the quarters of the
preceding evening at St. Gilgen. Sofas, carpets, lustres, and two good
bed-rooms--a set of china which might have pleased a German baron--all
glittered before our eyes, and shewed us that, if we were not well
satisfied, the fault would be our own. The front windows of the hotel
commanded a direct and nearly uninterrupted length-view of the lake; and if
the full moon had risen ... but one cannot have every thing one wants--even
at the hotel of Gmunden.
We ordered a good fire, and wax candles to be lighted; a chafing dish,
filled with live charcoal caused a little cloud of steam to be emitted from
a copper kettle--of which the exterior might have been _cleaned_ ... during
the _last_ century. But we travelled with our own tea; and enjoyed a
succession of cups which seemed to make us "young and lusty as eagles:" and
which verified all the pleasing things said in behalf of this philosophical
beverage by the incomparable Cowper. Mr. Lewis spent two hours in _penning
in_ his drawings; and I brushed up my journal---opened my map--and
catechised the landlord about the MONASTERY of CHREMSMINSTER, which it was
resolved to visit on the following (Sunday) morning. Excellent beds (not
"sloping in an angle of 45 degrees"--) procured us a comfortable night's
rest. In the morning, we surveyed the lake, the village, and its immediate
vicinity. We inspected two churches, and saw a group of women devoutly
occupied in prayer by the side of a large tombstone--in a cemetery at a
distance from any church. The tombstones in Germany are whimsical enough.
Some look like iron cross-bows, others like crosses; some nearly resemble a
gibbet; and others a star. They are usually very slender in their
structure, and of a height scarcely exceeding four or five feet.
By eleven in the morning, the postboy's bugle sounded for our departure.
The carriage and horses were at the door: the postboy, arrayed in an
entirely new scarlet jacket, with a black velvet collar edged with silver
lace, the livery of Austria, was mounted upon a strong and lofty steed; and
the travellers being comfortably seated, the whip sounded, and off we went,
up hill, at a good round cantering pace. A large congregation, which was
quitting a church in the vicinity of the inn, gazed at us, as we passed,
with looks and gestures as if they had never seen two English travellers
before.
The stage from Gmunden to Chremsminster is very long and tedious; but by no
means devoid of interest. We halted an hour to rest the horses, about
half-way on the route; which I should think was full eight English miles
from the place of starting. On leaving Gmunden, and gaining the height of
the neighbouring hills, we looked behind, or rather to the right, upon the
_back_ part of that chain of hills and rocks which encircle the lake over
which we had passed the preceding evening. The sky was charged with large
and heavy clouds; and a broad, deep, and as it were stormy, tint of dark
purple ... mantled every mountain which we saw--with the exception of our
old gigantic friend, of which the summit was buried in the clouds. At a
given distance, you form a tolerably good notion of the altitude of
mountains; and from this latter view of those in question, I should think
that the highest may be about 3000 feet above the level of the lake. It was
somewhere upon two o'clock when we caught the first glimpse of the spire
and lofty walls of the MONASTERY OF CHREMSMINSTER. This monastery is hid by
high ground,--till you get within a mile of the town of _Chrems_; so
called, from a river, of the same name, which washes almost the walls of
the monastery.
I cannot dissemble the joy I felt on the first view of this striking and
venerable edifice. It is situated on a considerable eminence--and seems to
be built upon a foundation of rock. Its mosque-fashioned towers, the long
range of its windows, and height of its walls, cannot fail to arrest the
attention very forcibly. Just on the spot where we caught the first view of
it, the road was not only very precipitous, but was under repair; which
made it absolutely perilous. The skill of our postilion, however extricated
us from all danger; and on making the descent, I opened my portmanteau in
front of me--which was strapped to the back-seat of the carriage--pulled
out the green silk purse which I had purchased at Dieppe, within a few
hours of my landing in France--and introducing my hand into it, took from
thence some dozen or twenty napoleons--observing at the same time, to Mr.
Lewis, and pointing to the monastery--that "these pieces would probably be
devoted to the purchasing of a few book-treasures from the library of the
edifice in view." In five minutes we drove up to the principal, or rather
only inn, which the town seemed to afford. The first thing I did, was, to
bespeak an immediate dinner, and to send a messenger, with a note (written
in Latin) to the Vice Principal or Librarian of the monastery--"requesting
permission to inspect the library, being English travellers bound for
Vienna." No answer was returned ... even on the conclusion of our dinner;
when,--on calling a council, it was resolved that we should take the valet
and a guide with us, and immediately assail the gates of the Monastery.
I marched up the steep path which leads to these gates, with the most
perfect confidence in the success of my visit. Vespers were just concluded;
and three or four hundred at least of the population of Chrems were pouring
forth from the church doors, down the path towards the town. On entering
the quadrangle in which the church is situated, we were surprised at its
extent, and the respectability of its architecture. We then made for the
church--along the cloisters--and found it nearly deserted. A few straggling
supplicants were however left behind--ardent in prayer, upon their knees:
but the florid style of the architecture of the interior of this church
immediately caught my attention and admiration. The sides are covered with
large oil paintings, which look like copies of better performances; while,
at each lower corner of these pictures, stands a large figure of a saint,
boldly sculptured, as if to support the painting. Throwing your eye along
this series of paintings and sculpture, on each side of the church, the
whole has a grand and imposing effect--while the _subjects_ of some of the
paintings, describing the tortures of the damned, or the occupations of the
good, cannot fail, in the mind of an enthusiastic devotee, to produce a
very powerful sensation. The altars here, as usual in Germany, and even at
Lauffen and Koppf--are profusely ornamented.
We had hardly retreated from the church--lost in the variety of reflections
excited by the novelty of every surrounding object--when I perceived a
Benedictin, with his black cap upon his head, walking with a hurried step
towards us ... along the cloisters. As he approached, he pulled off his
cap, and saluted us very graciously: pouring forth a number of sentences,
in the Latin language, (for he could not speak a word of French) with a
fluency and rapidity of utterance, of which, I could have no conception;
and of which, necessarily, I could not comprehend one half. Assuming a more
leisurely method of address, he asked me, what kind of books I was more
particularly anxious to see: and on replying "those more especially which
were printed in the fifteenth century--the "_Incunabula_"--he answered,
"come with me; and, although the librarian be absent, I will do my utmost
to assist you." So saying, we followed him into his cell, a mere cabin of a
room: where I observed some respectably-looking vellum-clad folios, and
where his bed occupied the farther part. He then retired for the key:
returned in five seconds, and requested that we would follow him up stairs.
We mounted two flights of a noble staircase; the landing-place of the
_first_ of which communicated with a lofty and magnificent, arched
corridor:--running along the whole side of the quadrangle. The library is
situated at the very top of the building, and occupies (as I should
apprehend) one half of the side of the quadrangle. It is a remarkably
handsome and cheerful room, divided into three slightly indicated
compartments; and the colour, both of the wainscot and of the backs of the
books, is chiefly white.
The first thing that struck me was, the almost unbounded and diversified
view from thence. I ran to the windows--but the afternoon had become black
and dismal, and the rain was descending fast on all sides; yet, in the haze
of distance, I thought I could discern the chain of huge mountains near the
lake of Gmunden. Their purple sides and craggy summits yet seemed to rise
above the clouds, which were resting upon the intermediate country, and
deluging it with rain. The Benedictin confirmed my suspicions as to the
identity of the country before us, and then bade me follow, him quickly. I
followed M. HARTENSCHNEIDER (for so the worthy Benedictin wrote his name)
to the further division, or compartment of the library; and turning to the
left, began an attack upon the _Fifteeners_--which were placed there, on
the two lowest shelves. My guide would not allow of my taking down the
books ... from sheer politeness. "They might prove burdensome"--as if _any
thing_, in the shape of a book, could be considered a BURDEN!
The first volume I opened, was one of the most beautiful copies
imaginable--utterly beyond all competition, for purity and primitiveness of
condition--of Schoiffher's edition of _St. Austin de Civitate Dei_, with
the Commentary of Trivetus, of the date of 1473. That work is
everywhere--in all forms, types, and conditions--upon the continent. The
worthy M. Hartenschneider seemed to be marvellously pleased with the
delight I expressed on the view of this magnificent volume. He then placed
before me the _Catholicon_ of 1469, by G. Zainer: a cropt, but clean and
desirable copy. Upon my telling him that I had not long ago seen a copy of
it UPON VELLUM, in the Public Library at Munich, he seemed to be mute and
pensive... and to sigh somewhat inwardly. Pausing awhile, he resumed, by
telling me that the ONLY treasure they had possessed, in the shape of a
VELLUM BOOK, was a copy of the same work of St. Austin, printed chiefly by
_John de Spira_ (but finished by his brother _Vindelin_) of the date of
1470; but with which, and many other book-curiosities, the French general
_Lecourbe_ chose to march away; in the year 1800. That cruel act of
spoliation was commemorated, or revenged, by an angry Latin distich.
I was also much gratified by a beautifully clean copy of the _Durandi
Rationale_ by I. Zeiner, of the date of 1474: as well as with the same
printer's _Aurea Biblia_, of the same date, which is indeed almost every
where upon the Continent. But nothing came perfectly up to the copy of
Schoiffher's edition of the _De Civ. Dei._ M. Hartenschneider added, that
the Imperial Library at Vienna had possessed itself of their chief rarities
in early typography: but he seemed to exult exceedingly on mentioning the
beautiful and perfect state of their DELPHIN CLASSICS.
"Do you by chance possess the _Statius_?--" observed I. "Come and see--"
replied my guide: and forthwith he took me into a recess, or closet, where
my eye was greeted with one of the most goodly book-sights imaginable.
There they all stood--those Delphin Classics--in fair array and comeliest
condition. I took down the Statius, and on returning it, exclaimed
"Exemplar pulcherrimum et optime conservatum." "Pretiosissimumque,"
rejoined my cicerone. "And the _Prudentius_--good M. Hartenschneider--do
you possess it?" "Etiam"--replied he. "And the _Catullus_, _Tibullus_, and
_Propertius_?" They were there also: but one of the volumes, containing the
Tibullus, was with a brother monk. That monk (thought I to myself) must
have something of a tender heart. "But tell me, worthy and learned Sir,
(continued I) why so particular about the _Statius_? Here are twenty golden
pieces:" (they were the napoleons, taken from the forementioned silken
purse[91])--"will these procure the copy in question?" "It is in vain you
offer any thing: (replied M. Hartenschneider) we have refused this very
copy even to Princes and Dukes." "Listen then to me:" resumed I: "It seems
you want that great work, such an ornament to our own country, and so
useful to every other--the _Monasticon Anglicanum of Sir William Dugdale_.
Will you allow me to propose a fair good copy of that admirable
performance, in exchange for your Statius?" "I can promise nothing--replied
M. Hartenschneider--as that matter rests entirely with the superiors of the
monastery; but what you say appears to be very reasonable; and, for myself,
I should not hesitate one moment, in agreeing to the proposed exchange." My
guide then gave me to understand that he was _Professor of History_; and
that there were not fewer than one hundred monks upon the establishment.
I was next intreated, together with my travelling friend and our valet, to
stop and pass the night there. We were told that it was getting late and
dark; and that there was only a cross road between Chrems and _Ens_, in the
route to _Lintz_--to which latter place we were going. "You cannot reach
Lintz (said our hospitable attendant) before midnight; but rain and
darkness are not for men with nice sensibilities to encounter. You and your
friend, and eke your servant, shall not lack a hospitable entertainment.
Command therefore your travelling equipage to be brought hither. You see
(added he smiling) we have room enough for all your train. I beseech you to
tarry with us." This is almost a literal version of what M. Hartenschneider
said--and he said it fluently, and even in an impassioned manner. I thanked
him again and again; but declared it to be impossible to comply with his
kind wishes. "The hospitality of your order (observed I to the Professor)
is equal to its learning." M. Hartenschneider bowed: and then taking me by
the arm, exclaimed, "well, since you cannot be prevailed upon to stay, you
must make the most of your time. Come and see one or two of our more
ancient MSS."
He then placed before me an _Evangelistarium_ of the eighth century, which
he said had belonged to Charlemagne, the founder of the monastery.[92] It
was one of the most perfect pieces of calligraphy which I had ever seen;
perhaps superior to that in the Public Library at Landshut. But this MS. is
yet more precious, as containing, what is considered to be, a compact
between Charlemagne and the first Abbot of the Monastery, executed by both
parties. I looked at it with a curious and sceptical eye, and had scarcely
the courage to _doubt_ its authenticity. The art which it exhibits, in the
illuminations of the figures of the Evangelists, is sufficiently
wretched--compared with the specimens of the same period in the celebrated
MS. (also once belonging to Charlemagne) in the private library of the King
at Paris.[93] I next saw a MS. of the _Sonnets of Petrarch_, in a small
folio, or super royal octavo size, supposed to have been executed in the
fifteenth century, about seventy years after the death of the poet. It is
beautifully written in a neat roman letter, and evidently the performance
of an Italian scribe; but it may as likely be a copy, made in the early
part of the fifteenth century, of a MS. of the previous century. However,
it is doubtless a precious MS. The ornaments are sparingly introduced, and
feebly executed.
On quitting these highly interesting treasures, M. H. and myself walked up
and down the library for a few minutes, (the rain descending in torrents
the whole time) and discoursed upon the great men of my own country. He
mentioned his acquaintance with the works of Bacon, Locke, Swift, and
Newton--and pronounced the name of the last ... with an effervescence of
feeling and solemnity of utterance amounting to a sort of adoration. "Next
to Newton," said he, "is your Bacon: nor is the interval between them
_very_ great: but, in my estimation, Newton is more an angel than a mortal.
He seemed to have been always communing with the Deity." "All this is
excellent, Sir,--replied I: but you say not one word about our divine
_Shakspeare_." "Follow me--rejoined he--and you shall see that I am not
ignorant of that wonderful genius--and that I do not talk without book."
Whereupon M.H. walked, or rather ran, rapidly to the other end of the
library, and put into my hands _Baskerville's Edition_ of that poet,[94] of
the date of 1768--which I frankly told him I had never before seen. This
amused him a good deal; but he added, that the greater part of Shakspeare
was incomprehensible to him, although he thoroughly understood _Swift_, and
read him frequently.
It was now high time to break off the conversation, interesting as it might
be, and to think of our departure: for the afternoon was fast wearing away,
and a starless, if not a tempestuous, night threatened to succeed. Charles
Rohfritsch was despatched to the inn below--to order the horses, settle the
reckoning, and to bring the carriage as near to the monastery as possible.
Meanwhile Mr. L. and myself descended with M. Hartenschneider to his own
room--where I saw, for the first time, the long-sought after work of the
_Annales Hirsaugienses_ of _Trithemius_, _printed in the Monastery of St.
Gall_ in 1690, 2 vols., folio, lying upon the Professor's table. M.H. told
me that the copy belonged to the library we had just quitted. I had indeed
written to Kransfelder, a bookseller at Augsbourg, just before leaving
Munich, for _two_ copies of that rare and estimable work--which were
inserted in his sale catalogue; and I hope to be lucky enough to secure
both--for scarcely ten shillings of our money.[95] It now only remained to
bid farewell to the most kind, active, and well-informed M.
Hartenschneider--and to quit (probably for ever) the MONASTERY OF
CHREMSMINSTER. Like the worthy Professor Veesenmeyer at Ulm, he "committed
me to God's especial good providence--" and insisted upon accompanying me,
uncovered, to the very outer gates of the monastery: promising, all the
way, that, on receiving my proposals in writing, respecting the Statius, he
would promote that object with all the influence he might possess.[96] Just
as he had reached the further limits of the quadrangle, he met the
librarian himself--and introduced me to him: but there was now only time to
say "Vale!" We shook hands--for the first ... and in all probability ...
the last time.
Every thing was in readiness--on reaching the bottom of the hill. A pair of
small, and apparently young and mettlesome horses, were put to the
carriage: the postilion was mounted; and nothing remained but to take our
seats, and bid adieu to _Chrems_ and its Monastery. The horses evinced the
fleetness of rein deer at starting; and on enquiring about their age and
habits, I learnt that they were scarcely _three_ years old--had been just
taken from the field--and had been but _once_ before in harness. This
intelligence rather alarmed us. However, we continued to push vigorously
forward, along a very hilly road, in which no difference whatever was made
between ascents and descents. It was a good long sixteen mile stage; and
darkness and a drizzling rain overtook us ere we had got over half of it.
There were no lights to the carriage, and the road was the most devious I
had ever travelled. The horses continued to fly like the wind, and the
charioteer began to express his fatigue in holding them in. At length we
saw the light of _Ens_, to the right--the first post town on the high road
from Lintz to Vienna. This led us to expect to reach the main road quickly.
We passed over a long wooden bridge--under which the river Ens, here broad
and rapid, runs to empty itself into the Danube: and... nearer the hour of
eleven than ten, we drove to the principal inn in the Place.
It was fair time: and the town of LINTZ was glittering with lights, and
animated by an unusual stir of population. The centre of the _Place_ or
Square, where the inn is situated, was entirely filled by booths; and it
was with difficulty we could gain admission within the inn, or secure rooms
when admitted. However, we had no reason to complain, for the chambermaid
(an exceedingly mirthful and active old woman) assured us that Lord and
Lady Castlereagh on their route to Vienna in 1815, had occupied the very
beds which she had destined for us. These beds were upon the second floor,
in a good large room, warmed by a central stove of earthenware tiles--the
usual fireplace in Germany. The first floor of the inn was wholly occupied
by travellers, merchants, dealers, and adventurers of every
description--the noise of whose vociferations, and the tramp of whose
movements, were audible even till long after midnight.
I am tarrying in a very large, very populous, and excellently well built
town. LINTZ, or LINZ, has a population of at least 20,000 souls: and
boasts, with justice, not only of its beautiful public buildings, but of
its manufactories of stuffs, silks, and printed calicoes. The _Place_,
before this inn, affords evidence of the splendour of these wares; and the
interiors of several booths are in a perfect blaze--from the highly
ornamented gold gauze caps worn by the upper classes of the middling
people, even more brilliant than what was observed at Augsbourg. I was
asked equal to four guineas of our money for one of these caps, in my
reconnoissance before breakfast this morning--nor, as I afterwards learnt,
was the demand exorbitant.
I must bid you farewell in haste. I start for Vienna within twenty minutes
from this time, and it is now nearly-mid-day. But ere I reach the capital
of Austria, I hope to pay a string of MONASTIC VISITS:--beginning with that
of _St. Florian_, about a dozen miles from this place, just before you
reach Ens, the next post town; so that, ere I again address you (which
cannot be until I reach Vienna,) I shall have made rather a rambling and
romantic tour. "Omne ignotum pro magnifico"--yet, if I mistake not; (from
all that I can collect here) _experience_ will confirm what hope and
ignorance suggest.
[90] Vol. ii. p. 352-3.
[91] See p. 217 ante.