CONSTANCE AND ZURICH.
A decaying Town--the Kaufhaus--Famous Council--Dungeon of Huss--Scene of
Martyrdom--House of Huss--Lake Constance--the Ride to
Zurich--Villages--the Valley--Hotel Baur--a Swiss Cottage--the
Furnishing--Miles Coverdale--Zwingle--Lavater's Grave--the
Library--Sunset View from the Botanical Garden.
Forty thousand people once lived together within the walls of Constance.
Now less than seven thousand are here. But the old and curious houses
still stand, many of them without inhabitants, and the whole city
apparently asleep at noonday as we entered. The historic interest
hanging about Constance is very great, and will always render it
attractive to the traveller. On the borders of the lake of Constance,
and but a very few feet from the landing, we saw the _Kaufhaus_, built
in 1338, and memorable as the place in which the great "Council of
Constance" sat in 1414-18, whose decision for good and for evil were so
momentous in the Church of Rome. We walked up the solid steps into the
second story, one wide low room supported by heavy wooden pillars, and
with a rough plank floor like that of a barn. Here, in this room, more
than four hundred years ago were assembled from all parts of the
Christian world, no less than thirty cardinals, four patriarchs, twenty
archbishops, one hundred and fifty bishops, two hundred professors of
theology, besides princes, ambassadors, civil and ecclesiastical,
abbots, priors, and inferior churchmen. The chair in which the Emperor
Sigismund sat, and the chair in which the Pope presided, stand as they
stood then, and various relics of those times, historically associated
with the Council, are gathered, forming a Museum of unusual interest.
Before this council John Huss and Jerome of Prague were brought from
their dungeons, and though the Council was assembled professedly to
reform the church, it condemned these holy men to the flames.
The old Cathedral is here, where those martyrs stood when the sentence
of death was passed upon them, and the model of the dungeon not three
feet wide and ten feet long, with the identical door and window in it,
where Huss was confined for many weary months. Here too is the hurdle on
which he was dragged to the place of execution, and when we had examined
these and many interesting objects which a Catholic claiming to be the
friend of Huss showed us, we walked out of the old chamber, and
following the long street to the Huss Gate, found beyond the walls of
the town, in the midst of a garden, the spot where these blessed men
were caught up by chariots of fire into heaven. An old Capuchin convent,
deserted now, is standing near it, and so peaceful and fertile seemed
these fields as we stood in the midst of the fruits and flowers, it was
hard to believe an infuriated mob had once rioted here, and religious
persecution kindled the fires of martyrdom on the flesh of men of whom
the world was not worthy.
In the Council Chamber are wax figures of these martyrs, bearing the
records which I copied. "Jerome of Prague, called Faulfisch, a learned
man of great celebrity, the friend and defender of John Huss, born at
Prague, March 14, 1362; burned alive in consequence of the order of the
Council of Constance, May 30, 1417, in the 55th year of his age. Jerome
walked to the place of punishment, as though he went to a place of
rejoicing. When the executioner was going to set fire to the pile behind
him, Jerome said to him, 'Come here, light it before me, for if I had
feared the fire, I would not have been here.'"
"John Huss, of Housenitts in Bohemia, born July 6, 1373, rector of the
University and lecturer at Prague, burned alive at Constance in
consequence of the order of the Council, July 6, 1415, in the 42d year
of his age. His last words were, 'I resign my soul to the hands of my
God and my Redeemer.'"
Returning from the place of execution, we paused in front of the house
in which John Huss lodged before he was imprisoned. A rude image in
stone of the Reformer, but a strongly marked likeness, was on the
outside. Every one we met could tell us which way to go to find the Huss
house, and though there are but a few hundred Protestants in the whole
city, the idea seemed to be general that a good man was wrongfully and
cruelly murdered when Huss was burned.
In the after part of the day, as the shades of evening were drawing
around us, we had a boat and went out on the Lake, and skirted along its
shores, passing a large monastery where a few brothers of the Augustine
order are still maintained, and a few miles beyond is a long and
beautifully planted nunnery which was suppressed in 1838, and converted
into a hospital, though the sisters are permitted to live and die there,
without adding to their number. This is the largest of all the Swiss
lakes, and lies 1255 feet above the level of the sea. We floated around
until the evening became so cool that we were glad to go ashore. Passing
an ancient-looking church of which the door was standing open, we walked
in: a solitary lamp was burning near the altar, and the sound of voices
led us down the aisle to a door opening into one of the cloisters where
a group of boys were on their knees, repeating prayers in concert, and
vieing with each other in the loudness and sing-song tone with which
they performed the service. We returned to our hotel by the light of
lamps hung in the middle of a chain stretched across the street, and
went early to bed as we were early to rise.
_Aug. 17._--We went by diligence to Zurich to-day. The ride was
pleasant. Some of the Swiss towns we passed through were very pretty,
showing so much taste in the grounds about the houses, that one was sure
there was a pleasant home. Part of the way was called the Roman road,
and the remains of the ancient presence of that people are still
visible. The river _Thur_ flows along in the valley of the road, and its
banks are lined with frequent mansions. Chateaus of elegance are on the
hill-sides, and just after leaving Constance we passed one in which the
present Emperor of France once resided, and which still belongs to him.
_Frauenfeld_ is a fine town where we paused to dine, and I there
celebrated the day as an anniversary that I am quite sure was not
forgotten elsewhere. _Winterthur_ is really a beautiful city. Its
streets intersect one another at right angles, and each intersection has
an arched gateway, surmounted by a tower with a clock. As we advance
into Switzerland, the scenery becomes more commanding: now and then a
sharp blue peak shoots up into the sky, and as the road descends we lose
sight of it again, to see the same and others as we rise. At last as the
day was closing, we came suddenly upon Zurich, the capital of the canton
of the same name, the most thriving city in Switzerland, and rejoicing
in the midst of one of the most beautiful valleys in the world. I should
be deemed extravagant were I to speak of it as it appeared to me when
descending through vineyards and gardens, and among elegant mansions, to
the shores of the lake on which this city stands. The Hotel _Baur_ is
the largest and best in the town, but it was crowded, and the
gentlemanly landlord said the best he could do for us was to give us
rooms in a private house adjoining his own. To this we assented with the
more readiness, as it would bring us at once into the residence of the
Swiss, and we could see more of their indoor life than the hotel would
furnish. There is no carpet on the floor, except a beautiful square on
which the centre-table with a pot of flowers is standing. A piano with
music and books is on one side, a sofa covered with white dimity on the
other. The chamber looks out on a square, and the windows fill the
entire front of the room, but rich lace curtains hang before them, and
some of the panes of glass are replaced with porcelain pictures of
exceeding loveliness. Before the mirror is suspended a vase, like a
pendant lamp, in which a plant is growing, with its leaves as on silver
threads falling gracefully on every side of it. Another flower-pot has a
plant trained upon a flat frame, in the centre of which is one of these
porcelain pictures through which the light is streaming. Around the
walls are many engravings in neat frames, and on the mantel and
side-tables are various ornaments, chiefly curiously carved figures in
wood, or beautiful glass-work, all displaying the taste of their
possessor, and telling us all the time that these are the domestic
precincts of some one who has let the lodgings for a season. These
delicate cushions of pink silk with white lace edging, assure me that a
lady is the rightful tenant; but I am tired, and shall slip into the
linen sheets. Good night.
_Aug. 18._--To-day we have been exploring Zurich, a city famous in the
history of the Reformation and dear to every Protestant heart. Here the
exiles of England, when Bloody Mary was on the throne, found a
hiding-place from her bitter persecutions. Here the first entire English
version of the Bible, by _Miles Coverdale_, was printed in 1535. From my
window I see the cathedral where Zwingle, the soldier of the Reformation
who resisted unto blood striving against sin, once thundered the wrath
of heaven upon the abominations of the Church of Rome. Here is the house
yet standing in which he passed the last six years of his noble life.
The clock of St. Peter is now striking. This church had for its pastor
for twenty-three years the celebrated _Lavater_, author of the work on
Physiognomy. He was born here, and in the door of the parsonage which I
visited to-day, he was shot by a brutal soldier, when the town was taken
by the French in 1799. He had given wine and money to his murderer but a
few minutes before: and though he lingered for three months, he refused
to give up the name of the assassin to the French commander, who desired
to punish the atrocious deed. I plucked a flower and a sprig of myrtle
from his grave in the humble churchyard of St. Anne, where a simple
tablet to his memory bears this inscription: "J. C. Lavater's Grave.
Born 15th Nov. 1741. Died 2d Jan. 1801." In the town library of 45,000
volumes, admirably arranged, is a fine marble bust of Lavater, and also
of Pestalozzi, with portraits of Zwingle and many other reformers. But I
was more interested in reading several manuscript letters in Latin, by
Lady Jane Grey, Joanna Graia, addressed to Bullinger. The beautiful
execution of the writing, the quotations in Greek and Hebrew, the spirit
they breathed, and the fate of their lovely author, gave them sacred
interest. Here, too, in his own Bible is the family record of Zwingle
and his wife Anna Bullinger; and many Greek and Arabic manuscripts which
Dr. Raffles or Dr. Sprague would give a heap of guineas to get.
It is said that the sunset view of the city, valley, lake, and mountains
is not surpassed by any scene in Switzerland. We had been so busy in
these old and interesting scenes, that the day was gone before we knew
it, and as we walked out to climb the hill, from which the view is to be
had, we feared the sun had already set. Part of the old rampart of the
town remains, an elevated mound which has been tastefully laid out with
walks and planted with shrubs and flowers, for a botanical garden. On
the summit fine shade-trees stand, and here is one of the most beautiful
promenades in the world. The sun was half an hour high, and just as we
reached the hill-top it began to come down from behind a dense cloud,
like a mass of molten gold distilled into a transparent globe. Its
liquid form appeared to tremble as it came forth; but the face of nature
smiled in his returning beams. The nearer summits first caught the
brightness, and then the more distant, invisible before, now stood forth
in their majesty, shining in the sunlight. Below me lay the lake like a
silver sea. And all along its shores and far up the hill-sides,
thousands of white cottages and villas, the abodes of wealth and peace
and love, sweet Swiss homes, rejoiced in the sunshine, as they sent up
their evening psalm of praise from ten thousand happy hearts to God. A
hundred years hence our valleys may be so peopled: but we have none now
like this. For a thousand years these hill-sides have been tilled, and
all these acres, wrested from the forest, and subdued by the hand of
industry and art, have been planted with corn and wine, neat and many
splendid mansions have been reared in every nook and on every sunny
slope, and now on all sides the panorama seems to present the very spot
where learning, religion, taste and peace would delight to find a refuge
and a home. It is now sunset in the valley. The lake is dark. The last
ray has played on the spire of St. Peter and the Minster. But the dome
of the Dodi still gleams in the sun, and the far-off Glarus and Uri are
reflecting his lingering beams.
They are gone. The rose-tints have faded from the loftiest summit of
snow, and the sun has gone down to rise on those dearer to me than his
light, in a distant land.