was either the founder, or the patron, or endower, of almost every
monastery in Germany. Stengelius, however, gives a a very romantic
origin to the foundation of Chremsminster. "The eldest son of Tassilo,
a Duke or Elector of Bavaria, went out a hunting in the winter; when,
having been separated from his companions, in a large wood, he met a
wild boar of an enormous size, near a fountain and pool of water.
Notwithstanding the fearful odds between them, Tassilo gallantly
received the animal upon the point of his hunting spear, and
dispatched him with a tremendous wound: not however without a fatal
result to himself. Rage, agony, and over exertion... proved fatal to
the conqueror: and when, excited by the barking of the dogs, his
father and the troop of huntsmen came up to see what it might be, they
witnessed the spectacle of the boar and the young Tassilo lying DEAD
by the side of each other. The father built the MONASTERY of
CHREMSMINSTER upon the fatal spot--to the memory of his beloved but
unfortunate son. He endowed it with large possessions, and his
endowments were confirmed by Pope Adrian and the Emperor
Charlemagne--in the year 777. The history of the monastery is lost in
darkness, till the year 1046, when Engelbert, Bishop of Passau,
consecrated it anew; and in 1165, Diepold, another Bishop of Passau,
added greatly to its possessions; but he was, in other respects, as
well as Manegold in 1206, a very violent and mischievous character.
Bishop Ulric, in 1216, was a great benefactor to it; but I do not
perceive when the present building was erected: although it is
possible there may be portions of it as old as the thirteenth century.
See _Pez: Script. Rer. Austriac._, vol. i. col. 1305, &c.: _vol. ii._
col. 67, &c. At the time of publishing the _Monasteriologia of
Stengelius_, 1638, (where there is a bird's-eye view of the monastery,
as it now generally appears) Wolffradt (or Wolfardt) was the
Abbot--who, in the author's opinion, "had no superior among his
predecessors." I go a great way in thinking with Stengelius; for this
worthy Abbot built the Monks a "good supper-room, two dormitories, a
sort of hospital for the sick, and a LIBRARY, with an abundant stock
of new books. Also a sacristy, furnished with most costly robes, &c.
_Monasteriologia_; sign. A. It was doubtless the BIBLIOTHECA
WOLFRADTIANA in which I tarried--as above described--with equal
pleasure and profit.
[93] See vol. ii. p. 199.
[94] This I presume to be the "spurious" Birmingham edition, which is
noticed by Steevens in the _Edit. Shakspeare_, 1813. 8vo. vol.
ii. p. 151.
[95] They were both secured. One copy is now in the ALTHORP LIBRARY, and
the other in that of Mr. Heber.
[96] On the very night of my arrival at Lintz, late as it was, I wrote a
letter to the Abbot, or head of the monastery, addressed thus--as the
Professor had written it down: "_Ad Reverendissimum Dominum Anselmum
Mayerhoffer inclyti Monasterii Cremifanensis Abbatem vigilantissimum
Cremifanum_." This was enclosed in a letter to the Professor
himself with the following direction: "_Ad Rev. Dm. Udalricum
Hartenschneider Professum Monasterij Cremifanensis et Historiæ ibidem
Professorem publicum. Cremifanum_:" the Professor having put into
my hands the following written memorandum: "Pro commutandis--quos
designasti in Bibliotheca nostra, libris--primo Abbatem adire, aut
litteris saltem interrogare necesse est: quas, si tibi placuerit, ad
me dirigere poteris."
[Autograph]
This he wrote with extreme rapidity. In my letter, I repeated the
offer about the Monasticon; with the addition of about a dozen
napoleons for the early printed books above mentioned; requesting to
have an answer, poste restante, at Vienna. No answer has since reached
me. The Abbot should seem to have preferred Statius to Dugdale. [But
his Statius NOW has declined wofully in pecuniary worth: while the
Dugdale, in its newly edited form, has risen threefold.]
LETTER IX.
THE MONASTERIES OF ST. FLORIAN, MÖLK, AND GÖTTWIC.
_Vienna; Hotel of the Emperor of
Hungary, Aug. 31, 1818._
MY DEAR FRIEND;
Give me your heartiest congratulations; for I have reached, and am well
lodged at, the extreme limit of my "BIBLIOGRAPHICAL, ANTIQUARIAN, AND
PICTURESQUE TOUR." Behold me, therefore, at VIENNA, the capital of Austria:
once the abode of mighty monarchs and renowned chieftains: and the scene
probably of more political vicissitudes than any other capital in Europe.
The ferocious Turk, the subtle Italian, and the impetuous Frenchman, have
each claimed Vienna as their place of residence by right of conquest; and
its ramparts have been probably battered by more bullets and balls than
were ever discharged at any other fortified metropolis.
At present, however, my theme must be entirely monastic. Prepare,
therefore, to receive an account of some MONASTIC VISITS, which have
perfectly won my heart over to the Institutions of ST. BENEDICT and ST.
AUGUSTIN. Indeed I seem to have been mingling with a new set of human
beings, and a new order of things; though there was much that put me in
mind of the general character of my ever-cherished University of Oxford.
Not that there is _any one_ college, whether at Oxford or at Cambridge,
which in point of architectural magnificence, can vie with some of those
which I am about to describe. My last letter, as you may remember, left us
upon the point of starting from Lintz, for the monastery of ST. FLORIAN.
That monastery is situated within about three miles of _Ens_, the next post
town from Lintz. The road thither was lined, on each side, with the plum
and the pear tree--in their alternate tints of saffron and purple--but far
from being ripe. The sight, altogether, was as pleasing as it was novel:
and especially were my spirits gladdened, on thinking of the fortunate
escape from the perils that had seemed to have awaited us in our route from
Chremsminster the preceding evening.
On turning out of the main road, about a dozen miles from Lintz, we began
to be sensible of a gentle ascent,--along a pleasant, undulating road,
skirted by meadows, copses, and corn-fields. In ten minutes, the valet
shouted out--"_Voilà le Monastère de St. Florian!_" It was situated upon an
eminence, of scarcely half the height of Chremsminster; but, from the
abruptness of the ascent, as you enter the village, and make towards the
monastery, it appears, on an immediate approach, to be of a very
considerable elevation. It looked nobly, as we neared it. The walls were
massive, and seemed to be embedded in a foundation of granite. Some
pleasing little cultivated spots, like private gardens, were between the
outer walls and the main body of the building. It rained heavily as we
rolled under the archway; when an old man and an old woman demanded, rather
with astonishment than severity, what was the object of our visit? Having
received a satisfactory answer, the gates were opened, and we stopped
between two magnificent flights of steps, leading on each side to the
cloisters. Several young monks, excited by the noise of the carriage, came
trooping towards the top of the stairs, looking down upon us, and
retreating, with the nimbleness and apparent timidity of deer. Their white
streamers, or long lappets, suspended from the back of the black gown, (the
designation of the _Augustine_ order) had a very singular appearance.
Having received a letter of recommendation to the librarian, M. KLEIN, I
delivered it to the porter--and in a few seconds observed two short monks
uncovered, advancing towards me. M. Klein spoke French--after a certain
fashion--which however made us understand one another well enough; and on
walking along the cloisters, he took me by the arm to conduct me to the
Abbot. "But you have doubtless _dined_?" observed he,--turning sharply upon
me. It was only between one and two o'clock; and therefore I thought I
might be pardoned, even by the severest of their own order, for answering
in the _negative_. My guide then whispered to his attendant (who quickly
disappeared) and carried me directly to the Abbot. Such a visit was worth
paying. I entered with great solemnity; squeezing my travelling cap into a
variety of forms, as I made obeisance,--on observing a venerable man,
nearer fourscore than seventy, sitting, with a black cap quite at the back
part of his head, and surrounded by half a dozen young monks, who were
standing and waiting upon him with coffee (after dinner) which was placed
upon the table before him. He was the Principal. The old gentleman's
countenance was wan, and rather severely indented, but lighted up by a dark
and intelligent pair of eyes. His shoulders were shrouded in a large gray
fur tippet; and, on receiving me, he demonstrated every mark of
attention--by giving his unfinished cup of coffee to one of his attendants,
and, pulling off his cap, endeavouring to rise. I advanced and begged there
might be no further movement. As he spoke French, we quickly understood
each other. He bade me see every thing that was worth seeing; and, on his
renewing the _dinner_ question, and receiving an answer in the negative, he
commanded that a meal of some sort should be forthwith got ready. In this,
however, he had been anticipated by the librarian.
I made my retreating bow, and followed my guide who, by this time, had
assumed quite a pleasant air of familiarity with me. I accompanied him to
the Library. It is divided into three rooms; of which the largest, at the
further end, is the most characteristic. The central room is small, and
devoted to MSS. none as I learnt, either very old, very curious, or very
valuable. The view from this suite of apartments must, on a fine day, be
lovely. Bad as was the weather, when I looked from the windows, I observed,
to the left, some gently sloping and sweetly wooded pleasure grounds, with
the town of _Ens_, in the centre, at the distance of about three miles. To
the right, were more undulating hills, with rich meadows in the foreground;
while, immediately below, was the ornamented garden of the monastery.
The prospect _within_ doors was not quite of so gratifying a description.
It seemed to be the mere shadow of a library. Of old books, indeed, I saw
nothing worth noticing--except a white and crackling, but cropt, copy of
_Ratdolt's Appian_ of 1478, (always a beautiful book) and a _Latin Version
of Josephus_, printed at Venice in 1480 by _Maufer_, a citizen of Rouen.
This latter was really a very fine book. There was also _Ratdolt's Euclid_
of 1485--which indeed is every where abroad--but which generally has
variations in the marginal diagrams. Of _Bibles_, either Latin or German, I
saw nothing more ancient than the edition by Sorg, in the _German_ language
of the date of 1477. I paused an instant over the _Tyturell_ of 1477, (the
only really scarce book in the collection) and threw a gilded bait before
the librarian, respecting the acquisition of it;--but M. Klein quite
_screamed_ aloud at the proposition--protesting that "not a single leaf
from a single book should be parted with!" "You are quite right," added I.
"My guide eyed me as if he could have said, "How much at variance are your
thoughts and words!" And yet I spake very sincerely. Mr. Klein then placed
a clean, but cropt, copy of the _first Aldine Pindar_ before me; adding,
that he understood it to be rare. "It is most rare," rejoined I:--but it is
yet "rarer than most rare" when found UPON VELLUM!--as it is to be seen in
Lord Spencer's library." He seemed absolutely astonished at this piece of
intelligence--and talked about its pecuniary value. "No money can purchase
it. It is beyond all price"--rejoined I. Whereupon my guide was struck with
still deeper astonishment.
There were all the _Polyglott Bibles_, with the exception of the
_Complutensian_; which appears to be uncommon in the principal libraries
upon the continent. _Walton's Polyglott_ was the Royal copy; which led to a
slight discussion respecting the Royal and Republican copies. M. Klein
received most implicitly all my bibliographical doctrine upon the subject,
and expressed a great desire to read Dr. Adam Clarke's Essay upon the same.
When I spoke of the small number of copies upon LARGE PAPER, he appeared to
marvel more than ever--and declared "how happy the sight of such a copy
would make him, from his great respect for the Editor!" There was a poor
sprinkle of _English books_; among which however, I noticed Shakspeare,
Milton, Swift, and Thomson; I had declared myself sufficiently satisfied
with the inspection of the library, when dinner was announced; but could
not reconcile it to myself to depart, without asking "whether they had the
_Tewrdanckh_?" "Yes, and UPON VELLUM, too!" was the Librarian's reply. It
was a good sound copy.
The dinner was simple and nourishing. The wine was what they call the white
wine of Austria: rather thin and acid. It still continued to rain. Our
friends told us that, from the windows of the room in which we were eating,
they could, in fair weather; discern the snow-capt mountains of the
Tyrol:--that, from one side of their monastery they could look upon green
fields, pleasure gardens, and hanging woods, and from the other, upon
magnificent ranges of hills terminated by mountains covered with snow. They
seemed to be proud of their situation, as they had good reason to be. I
found them exceedingly chatty, pleasant, and even facetious. I broached the
subject of politics--but in a very guarded and general manner. The lively
Librarian, however, thought proper to observe--"that the English were doing
in _India_ what Bonaparte had been doing in _Europe_." I told him that such
a doctrine was a more frightful heresy than any which had ever crept into
his own church: at which he laughed heartily, and begged we would not spare
either the _bouillé_ or the wine.
We were scarcely twenty minutes at our meal, being desirous of seeing the
CHURCH, the PICTURE GALLERY, and the SALOON--belonging to the monastery. It
was not much after three o'clock, and yet it was unusually dark for the
hour of the day. However, we followed our guides along a magnificent
corridor--desirous of seeing the pictures first. If the number of
paintings, and of apartments alone, constitute a good collection of
pictures, this of Saint Florian is doubtless a very fair specimen of a
picture gallery. There are three rooms and a corridor (or entrance passage)
filled with paintings, of which three fourths at least are palpable copies.
The _subjects_ of some of the paintings were not exactly accordant with
monastic gravity; among these I regret that I am compelled to include a
copy of a Magdalen from Rubens--and a Satyr and Sleeping Nymph, apparently
by Lucas Giordano. Nevertheless the collection is worth a second and a
third examination; which, if time and circumstances had allowed, we should
in all probability have given it. A series of subjects, fifteen in number,
illustrative of the LIFE OF ST. FLORIAN,[97] (the great fire-extinguishing
Saint,--to whom the Monastery is dedicated, and who was born at _Ens_, in
the neighbourhood) cuts a most distinguished figure in this collection.
There is a good, and I think genuine, head of an old woman by Rubens, which
I seemed to stumble upon as if by accident, and which was viewed by my
guides with a sort of apathy. Mr. Lewis was half lost in extacies before a
pretty little sketch by Paolo Veronese; when, on my observing to him that
the time was running away fast, M. Klein spoke aloud in the English
language--"_Mister Louise_, (repeating my words) _teime fleis_." He laughed
heartily upon uttering it, and seemed to enjoy the joke full as much as my
companion, to whom the words were addressed. There were several specimens
of the old German masters, but I suspect most of them were copies.
The day seemed to be growing darker and darker, although it was only
somewhere between three and four o'clock. We descended quickly to see the
church, where I found Charles (the valet) and several other spectators. We
passed through a small sacristy or vestry, in the way to it. This room was
fitted up with several small confessionals, of the prettiest forms and
workmanship imaginable: having, in front, two twisted and slender columns,
of an ebony tint: the whole--exceedingly inviting to confession. Here the
Dean met us; a grave, sober, sensible man, with whom I conversed in Latin.
We entered the church, on the tip-toe of expectation: nor were we
disappointed. It is at once spacious and magnificent; but a little too
profuse in architectural ornament. It consists of a nave and transepts,
surmounted by a dome, with a choir of very limited dimensions. The choir is
adorned, on each side, just above the several stalls, by an exceedingly
rich architrave, running the whole length, in a mixed roman and gothic
style. The altar, as usual, is a falling off. The transepts are too short,
and the dome is too small. The nave is a sort of elongated parallelogram.
It is adorned on each side by pillars of the Corinthian order, and
terminated by an _Organ_ ... of the most gorgeous and imposing appearance.
The pipes have completely the appearance of polished silver, and the wood
work is painted white, richly relieved by gold. For size and splendor
united, I had never seen any thing like it. The whole was perfectly
magical.
On entering, the Dean, M. Klein, and three or four more Benedictins, made
slight prostrations on one knee, before the altar; and, just as they rose,
to our astonishment and admiration, the organ burst forth with a power of
intonation (every stop being opened) such as I had never heard exceeded. As
there were only a few present, the sounds were necessarily increased, by
being reverberated from every part of the building: and for a moment it
seemed as if the very dome would have been unroofed, and the sides burst
asunder. We looked up; then at each other: lost in surprise, delight, and
admiration. We could not hear a word that was spoken; when, in some few
succeeding seconds, the diapason stop only was opened ... and how sweet and
touching was the melody which it imparted! "Oh Dieu! (exclaimed our valet)
que cela est ravissant, et même pénétrant." This was true enough. A solemn
stave or two of a hymn (during which a few other pipes were opened) was
then performed by the organist ... and the effect was, as if these notes
had been chanted by an invisible choir of angels. The darkness of the
heavens added much to the solemnity of the whole. Silence ensuing, we were
asked how we liked the church, the organ, and the organist? Of course
there could be but one answer to make. The pulpit--situated at an angle
where the choir and transept meet, and opposite to the place where we
entered--was constructed of the black marble of Austria, ornamented with
gold: the whole in sober good taste, and admirably appropriate.
We left this beautiful interior, to snatch a hasty view of the dormitories
and saloon, and to pay our farewell respects to the Principal. The
architect of this church was a Florentine, and it was built something more
than a century ago. It is doubtless in too florid a style.
Instead of calling the bed-chambers by the homely name of "dormitories,"
they should be designated (some at least), as state bed rooms. At each
corner of several of the beds was a carved figure, in gilt--serving as a
leg. The beds are generally capacious, without canopies; but their
covertures--in crimson, blue, or yellow silk--interspersed with spots of
gold or silver--gave indication, in their faded state, of their original
costliness and splendor. The rooms are generally large: but I hurried
through them, as every thing--from the gloomy state of the afternoon, and
more especially from the absence of almost every piece of furniture--had a
sombre and melancholy air. Nothing is more impressive than the traces of
departed grandeur. They had once (as I learnt) carousals and rejoicings in
this monastery;--and the banquet below made sweet and sound the slumbers
above. But matters have recently taken a different and less auspicious
turn. The building stands, and will long stand--unless assailed by the
musquet and cannon--a proud monument of wealth and of art: while the
revenues for its support ... are wasting every year! But I hope my
intelligence is incorrect.
The highest gratification was yet in store for me: in respect to an
architectural treat. In our way to the Saloon, I noticed, over the door of
a passage, a small whole length of a man, in a formal peruke and dress,
walking with a cane in his hand. A noble building or two appeared in the
background. "Who might this be?" "That, Sir, (replied the Dean) is the
portrait of the architect of THIS MONASTERY and of MÖLK. He was born, and
lived, in an obscure village in the neighbourhood; and rose to unrivalled
eminence from the pure strength of native genius and prudent conduct." I
looked at the portrait with increased admiration. "Might I have a copy of
it--for the purpose of getting it engraved?" "There can surely be no
objection,"--replied the Dean. But alas, my friend, I fear it will never be
my lot to possess this portrait--in _any_ form or condition.
If my admiration of this architect increased as I continued to gaze upon
his portrait, to what a pitch was it raised on entering the _Saloon_! I
believe that I may safely say I never before witnessed such a banquetting
room. It could not be less than sixty feet long, by forty feet wide and
forty high;--and almost entirely composed of Salzburg marble,[98] which is
of a deep red tint, but mellow and beautiful. The columns, in exceedingly
bold alto-relievo, spring from a dado about the height of a man's chest,
and which is surmounted by a bold and beautiful architrave. These columns,
of the Ionic and Corinthian orders, judiciously intermixed, rise to a fine
bold height: the whole being terminated by a vaulted ceiling of a beautiful
and light construction, and elaborately and richly ornamented. I never
witnessed a finer proportioned or a more appropriately ornamented room. It
is, of its kind, as perfect as the Town Hall at Augsbourg;[99] and suitable
for an imperial coronation.
To a question respecting the antiquity of the monastery,[100] J M. Klein
replied, that their _crypt_ was considered to be of the eleventh century. I
had not a moment's leisure to examine it, but have some doubts of the
accuracy of such a date. The Dean, M. Klein, and several monks followed us
down stairs, where the carriage was drawn up to receive us--and helping us
into it, they wished us a hearty farewell. Assuredly I am not likely to
forget THE MONASTERY OF ST. FLORIAN.
We were not long in reaching _Ens_, the first post town on the high road
from Lintz to Vienna. On approaching it, our valet bade us notice the
various signs of _reparation_ of which the outer walls and the fronts of
many houses gave evidence. Nearly half of the town, in short, (as he
informed us) had been destroyed by fire in Bonaparte's advance upon Vienna.
The cannon balls had done much, but the flames had done more. We slept at
the next post town, _Strengberg_, but could not help continuing to express
our surprise and admiration of the fruit trees (the pear and plum) which
lined each side of the road. We had determined upon dining at Mölk the next
day. The early morning was somewhat inauspicious; but as the day advanced,
it grew bright and cheerful. Some delightful glimpses of the Danube, to the
left, from the more elevated parts of the road, accompanied us the whole
way; till we caught the first view, beneath a bright blue sky, of the
towering church and MONASTERY OF MÖLK.[101] Conceive what you please, and
yet you shall not conceive the situation of this monastery. Less elevated
above the road than Chremsminster, but of a more commanding style of
architecture, and of considerably greater extent, it strikes you--as the
Danube winds round and washes its rocky base--as one of the noblest
edifices in the world. The wooded heights of the opposite side of the
Danube crown the view of this magnificent edifice, in a manner hardly to be
surpassed. There is also a beautiful play of architectural lines and
ornament in the front of the building, indicative of a pure Italian taste,
and giving to the edifice, if not the air of towering grandeur, at least of
dignified splendour. I send you a small bird's-eye view of it--necessarily
furnishing a very inadequate representation--for which I am indebted to
Professor Pallas, the Sub-Principal.
[Illustration]