the _quoi vivre_ in this metropolis. There are few or no _restaurateurs_:
at least, at this moment, only two of especial note.[137] I have dined at
each--and very much prefer the vin du Pays, of the better sort [138]--which
is red, and called _vin d'Offner_ (or some such name) to that at Paris. But
the _meats_, are less choice and less curiously cooked; and I must say that
the sense of smelling is not very acute with the Germans. The mutton can
only be attacked by teeth of the firmest setting. The beef is always
preferable in a stewed or boiled state; although at our Ambassador's table,
the other day, I saw and partook of a roasted sirloin which would have done
honour to either tavern in Bishopsgate-street. The veal is the _safest_
article to attack. The pastry is upon the whole relishing and good. The
bread is in every respect the most nutritive and digestive which I have
ever partaken of. The _fruit_, at this moment, is perfectly delicious,
especially, the pears. Peaches and grapes are abundant in the streets, and
exceedingly reasonable in price. Last Sunday, we dined at the palace of
_Schönbrunn;_ or rather, in the suite of apartments, which were formerly
servant's offices,--but which are now fitted up in a very tasteful and gay
manner, for the reception of Sunday visitors: it being one of the principal
fashionable places of resort on the Sabbath. We had a half boiled and half
stewed fowl, beefsteak, and fritters, for dinner. The, beef was perfectly
uneatable, as being entirely _gone_--but the other dishes were good and
well served. The dessert made amends for all previous grievances. It
consisted of peaches and grapes--just gathered from the imperial garden:
the Emperor allowing his old servants (who are the owners of the taverns,
and who gain a livelihood from Sunday visitors) to partake of this
privilege. The choicest table at Paris or at London could not boast of
finer specimens of the fruit in question. I may here add, that the
_slaughter-houses_ are all in the suburbs--or, at any rate, without the
ramparts. This is a good regulation; but it is horribly disgusting, at
times, to observe carts going along, with the dead bodies of animals,
hanging down the sides, with their heads cut off.
Of all cities in Europe, Vienna is probably the most distinguished for the
excellence of its CARRIAGES of every description--and especially for its
_Hackney Coaches._ I grant you, that there is nothing here comparable with
our London carriages, made on the nicest principles of art: whether for
springs, shape, interior accommodations, or luxury; but I am certain that,
for almost every species of carriage to be obtained at London, you may
purchase them _here_ at half the price. Satin linings of yellow, pink, and
blue, are very prevalent ... even in their hackney coaches. These latter,
are, in truth, most admirable, and of all shapes: landau, barouche,
phaeton, chariot, or roomy family coach. Glass of every description, at
Vienna--from the lustre that illuminates the Imperial Palace to that which
is used in the theatre--is excellent; so that you are sure to have plate
glass in your fiacre. The coachmen drive swiftly, and delight in
rectangular turns. They often come thundering down upon you unawares, and
as the streets are generally very narrow, it is difficult to secure a
retreat in good time. At the corners of the streets are large stone posts,
to protect the houses from the otherwise constant attrition from the
wheels. The streets are paved with large stones, and the noise of the
wheels, arising from the rapidity of their motion,--re-echoed by the height
of the houses, is no trifling trial to nervous strangers.
Of the chief objects of architecture which decorate street scenery, there
are none, to my old-fashioned eyes, more attractive and more thoroughly
beautiful and interesting--from a thousand associations of ideas--than
PLACES OF WORSHIP--and of course, among these, none stands so eminently
conspicuous as the Mother-Church, or the CATHEDRAL, which, in this place,
is dedicated to _St. Stephen_. The spire has been long distinguished for
its elegance and height. Probably these are the most appropriate, if not
the only, epithets of commendation which can be applied to it. After
Strasbourg and Ulm, it appears a second-rate edifice. Not but what the
spire may even vie with that of the former, and the nave may be yet larger
than that of the latter: but, as a _whole_, it is much inferior to
either--even allowing for the palpable falling off in the nave of
Strasbourg cathedral. The spire, or tower--for it partakes of both
characters--is indeed worthy of general admiration. It is oddly situated,
being almost detached--and on the _south_ side of the building. Indeed the
whole structure has a very strange, and I may add capricious, if not
repulsive, appearance, as to its exterior. The western and eastern ends
have nothing deserving of distinct notice or commendation. The former has a
porch, which is called "_the Giant's porch_:" it should rather be
designated as that of the _Dwarf_. It has no pretensions to size or
striking character of any description. Some of the oldest parts of the
cathedral appear to belong to the porch of the eastern end. As you walk
round the church, you cannot fail to be struck with the great variety of
ancient, and to an Englishman, whimsical looking mural monuments, in basso
and alto relievos. Some of these are doubtless both interesting and
curious.
But the spire[140] is indeed an object deserving of particular admiration.
It is next to that of Strasbourg in height; being 432 feet of Vienna
measurement. It may be said to begin to taper from the first stage or
floor; and is distinguished for its open and sometimes intricate fretwork.
About two-thirds of its height, just above the clock, and where the more
slender part of the spire commences, there is a gallery or platform, to
which the French quickly ascended, on their possession of Vienna, to
reconnoitre the surrounding country. The very summit of the spire is bent,
or inclined to the north; so much so, as to give the notion that the cap or
crown will fall in a short time. As to the period of the erection of this
spire, it is supposed to have been about the middle, or latter end, of the
fifteenth century. It has certainly much in common with the highly
ornamental gothic style of building in our own country, about the reign of
Henry the VIth. The coloured glazed tiles of the roof of the church are
very disagreeable and _unharmonising_. These colours are chiefly green,
red, and blue. Indeed the whole roof is exceedingly heavy and tasteless. I
will now conduct you to the interior. On entering, from the south-east
door, you observe, to the left, a small piece of white marble--which every
one touches, with the finger or thumb charged with holy water, on entering
or leaving the cathedral. Such have been the countless thousands of times
that this piece of marble has been so touched, that, purely, from such
friction, it has been worn nearly _half an inch_ below the general
surrounding surface. I have great doubts, however, if this mysterious piece
of masonry be as old as the walls of the church, (which may be of the
fourteenth century) which they pretend to say it is.
The first view of the interior of this cathedral, seen even at the most
favourable moment--which is from about three till five o'clock--is far from
prepossing. Indeed, after what I had seen at Rouen, Paris, Strasboug, Ulm,
and Munich, it was a palpable disappointment. In the first place, there
seems to be no grand leading feature of simplicity: add to which, darkness
reigns every where. You look up, and discern no roof--not so much from its
extreme height, as from the absolute want of windows. Every thing not only
looks dreary, but is dingy and black--from the mere dirt and dust which
seem to have covered the great pillars of the nave--and especially the
figures and ornament upon it--for the last four centuries. This is the more
to be regretted, as the larger pillars are highly ornamented; having human
figures, of the size of life, beneath sharply pointed canopies, running up
the shafts. The extreme length of the cathedral is 342 feet of Vienna
measurement. The extreme width, between the tower and its opposite
extremity--or the transepts--is _222_ feet.
There are comparatively few chapels; only four--but many _Bethstücke_ or
_Prie-Dieus_. Of the former, the chapels of _Savoy_ and _St. Eloy_ are the
chief: but the large sacristy is more extensive than either. On my first
entrance, whilst attentively examining the choir, I noticed--what was
really a very provoking, but probably not a very uncommon sight,--a maid
servant deliberately using a long broom in sweeping the pavement of the
high altar, at the moment when several very respectable people, of both
sexes, were kneeling upon the steps, occupied in prayer. But the devotion
of the people is incessant--all the day long,--and in all parts of the
cathedral. The little altars, or _Prie-Dieus,_ seem to be innumerable.
Yonder kneels an emaciated figure, before a yet more emaciated crucifix. It
is a female--bending down, as it were, to the very grave. She has hardly
strength to hold together her clasped hands, or to raise her downcast eye.
Yet she prays--earnestly, loudly, and from the heart. Near her, kneels a
group of her own sex: young, active, and ardent--as she _once_ was; and
even comely and beautiful ... as she _might_ have been. They evidently
belong to the more respectable classes of society--and are kneeling before
a framed and glazed picture of the Virgin and Child, of which the lower
part is absolutely smothered with flowers. There is a natural, and as it
were well-regulated, expression of piety among them, which bespeaks a
genuineness of feeling and of devotion.
Meanwhile, service is going on in all parts of the cathedral. They are
singing here: they are praying there: and they are preaching in a third
place. But during the whole time, I never heard one single note of the
organ. I remember only the other Sunday morning--walking out beneath one of
the brightest blue skies that ever shone upon man--and entering the
cathedral about nine o'clock. A preacher was in the principal pulpit; while
a tolerably numerous congregation was gathered around him. He preached, of
course, in the German language, and used much action. As he became more and
more animated, he necessarily became warmer, and pulled off a black
cap--which, till then, he had kept upon his head: the zeal and piety of the
congregation at the same time seeming to increase with the accelerated
motions of the preacher. In other more retired parts, solitary devotees
were seen--silent, and absorbed in prayer. Among these, I shall not easily
forget the head and the physiognomical expression of one old man--who,
having been supported by crutches, which lay by the side of him--appeared
to have come for the last time to offer his orisons to heaven. The light
shone full upon his bald head and elevated countenance; which latter
indicated a genuineness of piety, and benevolence, of disposition, not to
be soured... even by the most-bitter of worldly disappointments! It seemed
as if the old man were taking leave of this life, in full confidence of the
rewards which await the righteous beyond the grave. Not a creature was near
him but myself;--when, on the completion of his devotions, finding that
those who had attended him thither were not at hand to lead him away--he
seemed to cast an asking eye of assistance upon me: nor did he look twice
before that assistance was granted. I helped to raise him up; but, ere he
could bring my hand in contact with his lips, to express his
thankfulness--his friends ... apparently his daughter, and two
grandchildren ... arrived--and receiving his benediction, quietly,
steadily, and securely, led him forth from the cathedral. No pencil ... no
pen ... can do justice to the entire effect of this touching picture.
So much for the living. A word or two now for the dead. Of course this
latter alludes to the MONUMENTS of the more distinguished characters once
resident in and near the metropolis. Among these, doubtless the most
elaborate is that of the _Emperor Frederick III_.--in the florid gothic
style, surmounted by a tablet, filled with coat-armour, or heraldic
shields. Some of the mural monuments are very curious, and among them are
several of the early part of the sixteenth century--which represent the
chins and even mouths of females, entirely covered by drapery: such as is
even now to be seen ...and such as we saw on descending from the Vosges;
But among these monuments--both for absolute and relative antiquity--none
will appear to the curious eye of an antiquary so precious as that of the
head of the ARCHITECT of THE CATHEDRAL, whose name was _Pilgram._ This head
is twice seen--first, on the wall of the south side aisle, a good deal
above the spectator's eye, and therefore in a foreshortened manner--as the
following representation of it testifies;[141]
[Illustration: S. Fresman.]
The second representation of it is in one of the heads in the hexagonal
pulpit--in the nave, and in which the preacher was holding forth as before
mentioned. Some say that these heads represent one and the same person; but
I was told that they were designated for those of the _master_ and
_apprentice:_ the former being the apprentice, and the latter the master.
The preceding may suffice for a description of this cathedral; in which, as
I before observed, there is a palpable want of simplicity and of breadth of
construction. The eye wanders over a large mass of building, without being
able to rest upon any thing either striking from its magnificence, or
delighting by its beauty and elaborate detail. The pillars which divide the
nave from the side aisles, are however excluded from this censure. There is
one thing--and a most lamentable instance of depraved taste it undoubtedly
is--which I must not omit mentioning. It relates to the representation of
our Saviour. Whether as a painting, or as a piece of sculpture, this sacred
figure is generally made most repulsive--even, in the cathedral. It is
meagre in form, wretched in physiognomical expression, and marked by
disgusting appearances of blood about the forehead and throat. In the
church of _St. Mary_, supposed to be the oldest in Vienna, as you enter the
south door, to the left, there is a whole length standing figure of
Christ--placed in an obscure niche--of which the part, immediately under
the chin, is covered with red paint, in disgusting imitation of blood: as
if the throat had been recently cut,--and patches of paint, to represent
drops of blood, are also seen upon the feet!
In regard to other churches, that of _St. Mary_, supposed to be, in part,
as old as the XIIIth century, has one very great curiosity, decidedly
worthy of notice. It is a group on the outside, as you enter a door in a
passage or court--through which the whole population of Vienna should seem
to pass in the course of the day. This group, or subject, represents our
_Saviour's Agony in the garden of Gethsemane_: the favourite subject of
representation throughout Austria. In the foreground, the figure of Christ,
kneeling, is sufficiently conspicuous. Sometimes a handkerchief is placed
between the hands, and sometimes not. His disciples are asleep by the side
of him. In the middle ground, the soldiers, headed by Judas Iscariot, are
leaping over the fence, and entering the garden to seize him: in the back
ground, they are leading him away to Caiphas, and buffeting him in the
route. These latter groups are necessarily diminutive. The whole is cut in
stone--I should think about three centuries ago--and painted after the
life. As the people are constantly passing along, you observe, every now
and then, some devout citizen dropping upon his knee, and repeating a
hurried prayer before the figure of Christ.
The _Church of the Augustins_ is near at hand; and the contents of _that_
church are, to my taste and feelings, more precious than any of which
Vienna may boast. I allude to the famous monument erected to the memory of
the wife of the present venerable DUKE ALBERT OF SAXE TESCHEN. It is
considered to be the chef d'oeuvre of CANOVA; and with justice. The church
of the Augustins laying directly in my way to the Imperial Library, I think
I may safely say that I used, two mornings out of three, to enter it--on
purpose to renew my acquaintance with the monument in question. My
admiration increased upon every such renewal. Take it, all in all, I can
conceive nothing in art to go beyond it. It is alone worth a pilgrimage to
Vienna: nor will I from henceforth pine about what has perished from the
hand of Phidias or Praxiteles--it is sufficient that this monument
remains... from the chisel of CANOVA.
I will describe it briefly, and criticise it with the same freedom which I
used towards the _Madonna_ of the same sculptor, in the collection of the
Marquis de Sommariva at Paris.[142] At the time of my viewing it, a little
after ten o'clock, the organ was generally playing--and a very fine chant
was usually being performed: rather soft, tender, and impressive--than loud
and overwhelming. I own that, by a thousand associations of ideas, (which
it were difficult to describe) this coincidence helped to give a more
solemn effect to the object before me. You enter a door, immediately
opposite to it--and no man of taste can view it, unexpectedly, for the
first time, without standing still ... the very moment it meets his eyes!
This monument, which is raised about four feet above the pavement, and is
encircled by small iron palisades--at a distance just sufficient to afford
every opportunity of looking correctly at each part of it--consists of
several figures, in procession, which are about to enter an opened door, at
the base of a pyramid of gray marble. Over the door is a medallion, in
profile, of the deceased... supported by an angel. To the right of the door
is a huge lion couchant, asleep. You look into the entrance ... and see
nothing ... but darkness: neither boundary nor termination being visible.
To the right, a young man--resting his arm upon the lion's mane, is looking
upwards, with an intensity of sorrowful expression. This figure is naked;
and represents the protecting genius of the afflicted husband. To the left
of the door, is the moving procession. One tall majestic female figure,
with dishevelled hair, and a fillet of gold round her brow, is walking with
a slow, measured step, embracing the urn which contains the ashes of the
deceased. Her head is bending down, as if her tears were mingling with the
contents of the urn. The drapery of this figure is most elaborate and
profuse, and decorated with wreaths of flowers. Two children--symbolical, I
suppose, of innocence and purity--walk by her side ... looking upwards, and
scattering flowers. In the rear, appear three figures, which are intended
to represent the charitable character of the deceased. Of these, two are
eminently conspicuous ... namely, an old man leaning upon the arm of a
young woman ... illustrative of the bounty and benevolence of the
Duchess:--and intended to represent her liberality and kind-heartedness,
equally in the protection of the old and feeble, as in that of the orphan
and helpless young. The figures are united, as it were, by a youthful
female, with a wreath of flowers; with which, indeed the ground is somewhat
profusely strewn: so as, to an eye uninitiated in ancient costume, to give
the subject rather a festive character. The whole is of the size of
life.[143]
Such is the mere dry descriptive detail of this master-piece of the art of
CANOVA. I now come to a more close and critical survey of it; and will
first observe upon what appear to me to be the (perhaps venial) defects of
this magnificent monument. In the first place, I could have wished the
medallion of the duchess and the supporting angel--_elsewhere_. It is a
common-place, and indeed, here, an irrelevant ornament. The deceased has
passed into eternity. The apparently interminable excavation into which the
figures are about to move, helps to impress your mind with this idea. The
duchess is to be thought of ... or seen, in the mind's eye... as an
inhabitant of _another world_ ... and therefore not to be brought to your
recollection by a common-place representation of her countenance in
profile--as an inhabitant of _earth._ Besides, the chief female figure or
mourner, about to enter the vault, is carrying her ashes in an urn: and I
own it appears to me to be a little incongruous--or, at least, a little
defective in that pure classical taste which the sculptor unquestionably
possesses,--to put, what may be considered visible and invisible--or
tangible and intangible--representations of the _same_ person before you at
the _same_ time. If a representation of the figure of the duchess be
necessary, it should not be in the form of a medallion. The pyramidal
back-ground would doubtless have had a grander effect without it.
The lion is also, to me, an objectionable subject. If allegory be
necessary, it should be pure, and not mixed. If a _human figure_, at one
end of the group, be considered a fit representation of benevolence ... the
notion or idea meant to be conveyed by a _lion_, at the other end, should
not be conveyed by the introduction of an animal. Nor is it at all
obvious--supposing an animal to be necessary--to understand why a lion, who
may be considered as placed there to guard the entrance of the pyramid,
should be represented _asleep?_ If he be sympathising with the general
sorrow, he should not be sleeping; for acute affliction rarely allows of
slumber. If his mere object be to guard the entrance, by sleeping he shews
himself to be unworthy of trust. In a word, allegory, always bad in itself,
should not be _mixed_; and we naturally ask what business lions and human
beings have together? Or, we suppose that the females in view have well
strung nerves to walk thus leisurely with a huge lion--even sleeping--in
front of them!
The human figures are indeed delightful to contemplate. Perfect in form, in
attitude, and expression, they proclaim the powers of a consummate master.
A fastidious observer might indeed object to the bold, muscular strength of
the old man--as exhibited in his legs and arms--and as indicative of the
maturity, rather than of the approaching extinction, of life ... but what
sculptor, in the representation of such subjects, can resist the temptation
of displaying the biceps and gastrocnemian muscles? The countenances are
all exquisite: all full of nature and taste... with as little introduction,
as may be, of Grecian art. To my feelings, the figure of the young man--to
the right of the lion--is the most exquisitely perfect. His countenance is
indeed heavenly; and there is a play and harmony in the position and
demarcation of his limbs, infinitely beyond any thing which I can presume
to put in competition with it. In every point of view, in which I regarded
this figure, it gained upon my admiration; and on leaving the church, for
the last time, I said within myself--"if I have not seen the _Belvedere
Apollo_, I have again and again viewed the monument to the memory of the
_Duchess Albert of Saxe-Teschen_, by CANOVA... and I am satisfied to return
to England in consequence."