Canova--the monument of the Grand Duchess Maria Christina of
Sachsen-Teschen. It is a pyramid of gray marble, twenty-eight feet high,
with an opening in the side representing the entrance to a sepulcher. A
female figure personating Virtue bears in an urn to the grave the ashes
of the departed, attended by two children with torches. The figure of
Compassion follows, leading an aged beggar to the tomb of his
benefactor, and a little child with its hands folded. On the lower step
rests a mourning genius beside a sleeping lion, and a bas-relief on the
pyramid above represents an angel carrying Christina's image, surrounded
with the emblem of eternity, to heaven. A spirit of deep sorrow, which
is touchingly portrayed in the countenance of the old man, pervades the
whole group.
While we looked at it the organ breathed out a slow, mournful strain
which harmonized so fully with the expression of the figures that we
seemed to be listening to the requiem of the one they mourned. The
combined effect of music and sculpture thus united in their deep pathos
was such that I could have sat down and wept. It was not from sadness at
the death of a benevolent tho unknown individual, but the feeling of
grief, of perfect, unmingled sorrow, so powerfully represented, came to
the heart like an echo of its own emotion and carried it away with
irresistible influence. Travelers have described the same feeling while
listening to the "Miserere" in the Sistine Chapel at Rome. Canova could
not have chiselled the monument without tears.
One of the most interesting objects in Vienna is the imperial armory. We
were admitted through tickets previously procured from the armory
direction; as there was already one large company within, we were told
to wait in the court till our turn came. Around the wall, on the inside,
is suspended the enormous chain which the Turks stretched across the
Danube at Buda in the year 1529 to obstruct the navigation. It has eight
thousand links and is nearly a mile in length. The court is filled with
cannon of all shapes and sizes, many of which were conquered from other
nations. I saw a great many which were cast during the French
Revolution, with the words "Liberté! Egalité!" upon them, and a number
of others bearing the simple letter "N."....
The first wing contains banners used in the French Revolution, and
liberty-trees with the red cap, the armor of Rudolph of Hapsburg,
Maximilian, I., the emperor Charles V., and the hat, sword and order of
Marshal Schwarzenberg. Some of the halls represent a fortification, with
walls, ditches and embankments, made of muskets and swords. A long room
in the second wing contains an encampment in which twelve or fifteen
large tents are formed in like manner. There was also exhibited the
armor of a dwarf king of Bohemia and Hungary who died a gray-headed old
man in his twentieth year, the sword of Marlborough, the coat of
Gustavus Adolphus, pierced in the breast and back with the bullet which
killed him at Lützen, the armor of the old Bohemian princess Libussa,
and that of the amazon Wlaska, with a steel vizor made to fit the
features of her face.
The last wing was the most remarkable. Here we saw the helm and
breastplate of Attila, king of the Huns, which once glanced at the head
of his myriads of wild hordes before the walls of Rome; the armor of
Count Stahremberg, who commanded Vienna during the Turkish siege in
1529, and the holy banner of Mohammed, taken at that time from the
grand vizier, together with the steel harness of John Sobieski of
Poland, who rescued Vienna from the Turkish troops under Kara Mustapha;
the hat, sword and breastplate of Godfrey of Bouillon, the crusader-king
of Jerusalem, with the banners of the cross the crusaders had borne to
Palestine and the standard they captured from the Turks on the walls of
the Holy City. I felt all my boyish enthusiasm for the romantic age of
the crusaders revive as I looked on the torn and moldering banners which
once waved on the hills of Judea, or perhaps followed the sword of the
Lion-Heart through the fight on the field of Ascalon. What tales could
they not tell, those old standards cut and shivered by spear and lance!
What brave hands have carried them through the storm of battle, what
dying eyes have looked upward to the cross on the folds as the last
prayer was breathed for the rescue of the holy sepulcher.
[Footnote A: From "Views Afoot." Published by G.P. Putnam's Sons.]
[Footnote B: The population of Vienna, according to the census of 1910,
was 2,085,888.]
ST. STEPHEN'S CATHEDRAL[A]
BY THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN
Of the chief objects of architecture which decorate street scenery in
Vienna, there are none, to my old-fashioned eyes, more attractive and
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 Strasburg 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 Strasburg 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 can not 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 is indeed an object deserving of particular admiration.
It is next to that of Strasburg 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 reconnoiter 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 VI. The colored
glazed tiles of the roof of the church are very disagreeable and
unharmonizing. These colors 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 southeast
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
favorable moment--which is from about three till five o'clock--is far
from prepossessing. Indeed, after what I had seen at Rouen, Paris,
Strassburg, 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 everywhere. You look up, and discern no
roof--not so much from its extreme height, as from the absolute want of
windows. Everything 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 ornaments 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 Bethstühle 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, while 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.
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.
So much for the living. A word or two now for the dead. Of course this
letter 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-armor, 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.
[Footnote A: From "A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour,"
published in 1821.]
THE BELVEDERE PALACE[A]
BY THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN
To the Belvedere Palace, therefore, let us go. I visited it with Mr.
Lewis--taking our valet with us, immediately after breakfast--on one of
the finest and clearest-skied September mornings that ever shone above
the head of man. We had resolved to take the Ambras, or the little
Belvedere, in our way; and to have a good, long, and uninterrupted view
of the wonders of art--in a variety of departments.
Both the little Belvedere and the large Belvedere rise gradually above
the suburbs; and the latter may be about a mile and a half from the
ramparts of the city. The Ambras contains a quantity of ancient horse-
and foot-armor, brought thither from a chateau of that name, near
Inssbruck, built by the Emperor Charles V. Such a collection of old
armor--which had once equally graced and protected the bodies of their
wearers, among whom the noblest names of which Germany can boast may be
enrolled--was infinitely gratifying to me. The sides of the first room
were quite embossed with suspended shields, cuirasses, and
breast-plates. The floor was almost filled by champions on
horseback--yet poising the spear, or holding it in the rest--yet almost
shaking their angry plumes, and pricking the fiery sides of their
coursers.
Here rode Maximilian--and there halted Charles his son. Different suits
of armor, belonging to the same character, are studiously shown you by
the guide; some of these are the foot-, and some the horse-, armor; some
were worn in fight--yet giving evidence of the mark of the bullet and
battle-ax; others were the holiday suits of armor, with which the
knights marched in procession, or tilted at the tournament. The
workmanship of the full-dress suits, in which a great deal of highly
wrought gold ornament appears, is sometimes really exquisite.
The second, or long room, is more particularly appropriated to the foot-
or infantry-armor. In this studied display of much that is interesting
from antiquity, and splendid from absolute beauty and costliness, I was
particularly gratified by the sight of the armor which the Emperor
Maximilian wore as a foot-captain. The lower part, to defend the thighs,
consists of a puckered or plated steel petticoat, sticking out at the
bottom of the folds, considerably beyond the upper part. It is very
simple, and of polished steel. A fine suit of armor--of black and
gold--worn by an Archbishop of Salzburg in the middle of the fifteenth
century, had particular claims upon my admiration. It was at once chaste
and effective. The mace was by the side of it.
This room is also ornamented by trophies taken from the Turks; such as
bows, spears, battle-axes, and scimitars. In short, the whole is full of
interest and splendor. I ought to have seen the arsenal--which I learn
is of uncommon magnificence; and, altho not so curious on the score of
antiquity, is yet not destitute of relics of the warriors of Germany.
Among these, those which belong to my old bibliomaniacal friend
Corvinus, King of Hungary, cut a conspicuous and very respectable
figure. I fear it will be now impracticable to see the arsenal as it
ought to be seen.
It is now approaching mid-day, and we are walking toward the terrace in
front of the Great Belvidere Palace, built by the immortal Eugene[B] in
the year 1724, as a summer residence. Probably no spot could have been
selected with better judgment for the residence of a Prince--who wished
to enjoy, almost at the same moment, the charms of the country with the
magnificence of a city view, unclouded by the dense fumes which forever
envelop our metropolis. It is in truth a glorious situation. Walking
along its wide and well-cultivated terraces, you obtain the finest view
imaginable of the city of Vienna.
Indeed it may be called a picturesque view. The spire of the cathedral
darts directly upward, as it were, to the very heavens. The ground
before you, and in the distance, is gently undulating; and the
intermediate portion of the suburbs does not present any very offensive
protrusions. More in the distance, the windings of the Danube are seen;
with its various little islands, studded with hamlets and fishing-huts,
lighted up by a sun of unusual radiance. Indeed the sky, above the
whole of this rich and civilized scene, was at the time of our viewing
it, almost of a dazzling hue; so deep and vivid a tint we had never
before beheld. Behind the palace, in the distance, you observe a chain
of mountains which extends into Hungary. As to the building itself, it
is perfectly palatial in its size, form, ornaments, and general effect.
Among the treasures, which it contains, it is now high time to enter and
to look about us. My account is necessarily a mere sketch. Rubens, if
any artist, seems here to "rule and reign without control!" Two large
rooms are filled with his productions; besides several other pictures,
by the same hand, which are placed in different apartments. Here it is
that you see verified the truth of Sir Joshua's remark upon that
wonderful artist: namely, that his genius seems to expand with the size
of his canvas.
His pencil absolutely riots here--in the most luxuriant manner--whether
in the majesty of an altarpiece, in the gaiety of a festive scene, or in
the sobriety of portrait-painting. His Ignatius Loyola and St. Francis
Xavier--of the former class--each seventeen feet high, by nearly
thirteen wide--are stupendous productions in more senses than one. The
latter is, indeed, in my humble judgment, the most marvelous specimen of
the powers of the painter which I have ever seen; and you must remember
that both England and France are not without some of his celebrated
productions, which I have frequently examined.
In the old German School, the series is almost countless; and of the
greatest possible degree of interest and curiosity. Here are to be seen
Wohlgemuths, Albert Dürers, both the Holbeins, Lucas Cranachs,
Ambergaus, and Burgmairs of all sizes and degrees of merit. Among these
ancient specimens--which are placed in curious order, in the very upper
suite of apartments, and of which the backgrounds of several, in one
solid coat of gilt, lighten up the room like a golden sunset--you must
not fail to pay particular attention to a singularly curious old
subject--representing the Life, Miracles, and Passion of our Savior, in
a series of one hundred and fifty-eight pictures--of which the largest
is nearly three feet square, and every other about fifteen inches by
ten. These subjects are painted upon eighty-six small pieces of wood; of
which seventy-two are contained in six folding cabinets, each holding
twelve subjects. In regard to Teniers, Gerard Dow, Mieris, Wouvermann,
and Cuyp, you must look at home for more exquisite specimens. This
collection contains, in the whole, not fewer than fifteen hundred
paintings, of which the greater portion consists of pictures of very
large dimensions. I could have lived here for a month; but could only
move along with the hurried step, and yet more hurrying eye, of an
ordinary visitor.
[Footnote A: From "A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour,"
published in 1821.]
[Footnote B: The celebrated Austrian general, who defeated the Turks in
1697, and shared with Marlborough in the victories of Blenheim and
Malplaquet.]
SCHÖNBRUNN AND THE PRATER[A]
BY THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN
About three English miles from the Great Belvedere--or rather about the
same number of miles from Vienna, to the right, as you approach the
capital--is the famous palace of Schönbrunn. This is a sort of
summer-residence of the Emperor; and it is here that his daughter, the
ex-Empress of France, and the young Bonaparte usually reside.[B] The
latter never goes into Italy, when his mother, as Duchess of Parma, pays
her annual visit to her principality. At this moment her son is at
Baden, with the court. It was in the Schönbrunn palace that his father,
on the conquest of Vienna, used to take up his abode, rarely venturing
into the city. He was surely safe enough here; as every chamber and
every court yard was filled by the élite of his guard--whether as
officers or soldiers.
It is a most magnificent pile of building; a truly imperial
residence--but neither the furniture nor the objects of art, whether
connected with sculpture or painting, are deserving of anything in the
shape of a catalogue raisonné. I saw the chamber where young Bonaparte
frequently passes the day; and brandishes his flag staff, and beats upon
his drum. He is a soldier (as they tell me) every inch of him; and
rides out, through the streets of Vienna, in a carriage of state drawn
by four or six horses, receiving the homage of the passing multitude.
To return to the Schönbrunn Palace. I have already told you that it is
vast, and capable of accommodating the largest retinue of courtiers. It
is of the gardens belonging to it, that I would now only wish to say a
word. These gardens are really worthy of the residence to which they are
attached. For what is called ornamental, formal, gardening--enriched by
shrubs of rarity, and trees of magnificence--enlivened by
fountains--adorned by sculpture--and diversified by vistas, lawns, and
walks--interspersed with grottoes and artificial ruins--you can conceive
nothing upon a grander scale than these: while a menagerie in one place
(where I saw a large but miserably wasted elephant)--a flower-garden in
another--a labyrinth in a third, and a solitude in a fourth place--each,
in its turn, equally beguiles the hour and the walk. They are the most
spacious gardens I ever witnessed.
It was the other Sunday evening when I visited the Prater, and when--as
the weather happened to be very fine--it was considered to be full, but
the absence of the court, of the noblesse, necessarily gave a less
joyous and splendid aspect to the carriages and their attendant
liveries. In your way to this famous place of Sabbath evening promenade,
you pass a celebrated coffee-house, in the suburbs, called the
Leopoldstadt, which goes by the name of the Greek coffee-house--on
account of its being almost entirely frequented by Greeks--so numerous
at Vienna. Do not pass it, if you should ever come hither, without
entering it--at least once. You would fancy yourself to be in Greece, so
thoroughly characteristic are the countenances, dresses, and language of
everyone within.
But yonder commences the procession of horse and foot; of cabriolets,
family coaches, German wagons, cars, phaetons and landaulets, all moving
in a measured manner, within their prescribed ranks, toward the Prater.
We must accompany them without loss of time. You now reach the Prater.
It is an extensive flat, surrounded by branches of the Danube, and
planted on each side with double rows of horse-chestnut trees. The
drive, in one straight line, is probably a league in length. It is
divided by two roads, in one of which the company move onward, and in
the other they return. Consequently, if you happen to find a hillock
only a few feet high, you may, from thence, obtain a pretty good view of
the interminable procession of the carriages before mentioned: one
current of them, as it were, moving forward, and another rolling
backward.
But, hark! the notes of a harp are heard to the left, in a meadow, where
the foot passengers often digress from the more formal tree-lined
promenade. A press of ladies and gentlemen is quickly seen. You mingle
involuntarily with them; and, looking forward, you observe a small stage
erected, upon which a harper sits and two singers stand. The company
now lie down upon the grass, or break into standing groups, or sit upon
chairs hired for the occasion--to listen to the notes so boldly and so
feelingly executed. The clapping of hands, and exclamations of bravo
succeed, and the sounds of applause, however warmly bestowed, quickly
die away in the open air. The performers bow, receive a few kreutzers,
retire, and are well satisfied.