* * * * *
Now all this is lost and thrown away (for one always serves oneself
badly,) like many better things:--for example, a wondrously beautiful
tree in some American wilderness, which every spring decks itself in
vain with the richest foliage and the most fragrant blossoms, where no
human being can gladden his senses and his spirit by its sweetness. Such
an existence we call useless. What amiable egotism!--and under its
unjust sentence I too must suffer, for those above-mentioned virtues of
mine are just as useless;--nay, my whole person would probably be so,
were I not of substantial use to the post-boys and waiters, who take my
money; and valuable to you, my kind friend, ('je m'en flatte au moins,')
on other grounds. So that I do not live in the world absolutely and
utterly for nothing; and, as on the other hand I hurt nobody, my account
stands tolerably fair after striking a balance.
This whole day I have been wandering about the town. I began with the
cathedral, which may be compared to that of Milan for the richness of
its ornaments, as well as for its size. The founder was Archbishop
Scrope, (one of Shakespeare's personages,) whom Henry the Fourth
beheaded as a rebel in 1405. He lies buried in the church; and in the
chapter-house is a table covered with a piece of tapestry belonging to
him, and embroidered with his arms. It is still in tolerable
preservation. The windows in the church are chiefly of old stained
glass, only here and there repaired with new. The carving in stone is
everywhere admirable, and has all the delicacy and elegance of carved
wood, representing all sorts of foliage, animals, angels, &c. One of the
great windows is not less than seventy-five feet high and thirty-two
broad. That at the other end represents, by its strange stone
ramifications, the veins of the human heart, and, with its blood-red
glass, produces a curious effect. One of the side windows is remarkable
for being painted in imitation of embroidery; it is like a gay carpet.
In the choir is an old chair in which several Kings of England were
crowned. I sat down in it, and found it, for stone, very comfortable; I
dare say I should have thought it still more so if it had been the
preparation for a throne.
Near the church is a very pretty Gothic library, the arrangements of
which appeared to me very well contrived. Every book has three numbers
on the back. At the top, that of the shelf, then that of the
compartment, and below, its own number; so that it can be found in a
moment. The numbers are on pretty little labels, and do not at all
deform the books. In one corner is a very light and convenient staircase
leading to the gallery, which runs about midway round the room.
The alphabetical catalogue is arranged as follows:
Page 20.
+-------+-----------+-------------+------+------------+---------+
| | | | | | |
| Form. | Letter C. | Edition. |Shelf.|Compartment.| Number. |
| | | | | | |
+-------+-----------+-------------+------+------------+---------+
| 8vo. |Cosmo, &c. |Verona 1519| II. | 7 | 189-192 |
| 4to. |Cavendish |London 1802| I. | 5 | 52-55 |
| Folio |Colley |London 1760| XI. | 3 |1080-1082|
| 12mo |Corneille |Paris 1820| X. | 6 | 920-930 |
+-------+-----------+-------------+------+------------+---------+
This will suffice to make it clear to you; and as I know by experience
what a difficult matter the arranging of a library is, and how many are
the ways of doing it, I send you this scheme, as very well suited to a
small collection of books.
I could not get a sight of any of the rare books or manuscripts kept
here, as the librarian was absent. In a corner I found a very curious
drawing of the procession at the great Marlborough's funeral. It is
almost incredible how totally the dresses and customs have altered even
since that time. The aged clerk who conducted me about, said he
remembered when a boy to have seen soldiers with long bag-wigs like
those in the picture.
About three-quarters of a mile from the Minster, on a hill near to the
town, are the romantic ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, overgrown with trees
and ivy. The people here have the not very praiseworthy project of
erecting a public building on the same hill: they have even begun to dig
the foundation; in doing which they have come upon some of the most
beautiful remains of the old abbey, as perfect as if executed yesterday.
I saw several exquisite capitals still in the earth, and in a
neighbouring house, admirable bas-reliefs which have been deposited
there while the work is going on. We crossed the river Ouse in a boat,
and continued our walk along the top of the old city wall,--a
picturesque but rather impracticable way. The surrounding country is
very fresh and green; and the numerous Gothic towers of the town give
great diversity and beauty to the prospect. After a quarter of an hour's
walk, we reached the Micklegate, from which the old barbican has been
pulled down, but which has otherwise retained its original form. The
gorgeous arms of York and England glittered upon it with knightly
splendour.
In an adjoining field a Roman tomb was discovered fifteen years ago, and
the owner who found it, now exhibits it in his cellar. The arch, of
Roman brick, is perfectly fresh: the skeleton, lying in a stone coffin
beneath, is pronounced by anatomists to be that of a young woman; and,
(which is saying a good deal at the end of two thousand years,) she has
still 'des beaux restes,'--splendid teeth, and a beautifully formed
skull. I examined the organs carefully, and found all the most desirable
qualities; to such a degree, indeed, that I could not help regretting
making her acquaintance two thousand years too late, or I should
certainly have married her. A better organized cranium I shall never
find--that's certain. She does not seem to have been rich, for nothing
was found in her coffin but two glass bottles,--very curious things in
themselves, more perfect and more like our glass than any I ever saw,
except at Pompeii. It is distinguishable from ours only by its silvery
shine, and exhibits no mark of having been blown, though no means have
been discovered of concealing such marks in any of our uncut glass. The
British Museum has offered the possessor a large sum for these glasses.
He finds it, however, more advantageous to show the curiosities himself,
at a 'thaler' of our money a-head.
We returned to the Micklegate, and proceeded with still more difficulty
along the crumbling wall, till, after half an hour's scrambling, we came
to a beautiful ruin called Clifford's Tower. This ancient fortress plays
a part in English history. On one occasion a thousand Jews were burnt
alive in it,--having no Rothschild then to save them. At last, about a
century ago, being used as a magazine for gunpowder, it was blown up,
and has ever since been abandoned to the eating tooth of Time. But time
not only destroys, but builds up: and thus as the ruins decayed, ivy, in
which thousands of sparrows nestle, curled itself around them like thick
tresses; and in the centre of the tower is a large nut-tree, which
overtops the roofless walls. The hill or mound on which the ruin stands,
was constructed by the Romans; and a man who lately dug to a
considerable depth in search of treasure, found almost the whole
foundation of it composed of bones of men and horses. Such is the
earth--the universal grave and cradle.
From ruins and death I proceeded to the living dead, who pine at the
foot of the hill--the poor prisoners in the county jail. Externally
their dwelling appears a palace. The interior has a very different
aspect; and my heart ached for the poor devils who were to sit the whole
winter through till March, in cells, which are clean, it is true, but
chill and damp, only _on suspicion_; with the pleasant prospect,
perhaps, of being hanged at the end. If they are acquitted, they have no
indemnification to expect. In the court in which the debtors were
allowed to walk, were two horses, a she-goat, and an ass. In all the
rooms and cells I visited, I observed the greatest cleanliness and
order. But the strangest peculiarity of this prison, was a sort of
thieves' wardrobe, arranged with real elegance, like the wardrobe of a
theatre. A jailor, whose head was considerably overloaded with drink,
stammered out the following explanation:
"Here you see the wigs of the famous Granby, which disguised him so,
that for ten years he could never be caught. He was hanged here in
1786.--Here is the stake with which George Nayler was knocked down two
years ago on the road to Doncaster. He was hanged here last
spring.--Here is Stephen's 'knock-down,' with which he killed six people
at once. He was hanged here likewise two years ago.--Here are the
enormous iron leg-bolts, the only things that would hold Fitzpatrick. He
escaped seven times out of the strongest prisons: but these leg-bolts,
which I fastened on him myself, were a little too heavy for him. (They
were complete beams of iron, which a horse could hardly have dragged
along.) He did not wear them long, for two months afterwards, on the
first of May,--a beautiful morning 'twas,--he was sent to another
world.--Here are the machines with which Cook coined false money. He was
quite the gentleman--hanged in 1810."
"Pray," interrupted I, "what sort of a weapon is this immense wooden
mallet?"
"Oh!" grinned the old fellow, "that's innocent enough; that's only what
I break sugar with when I make negus, He, he, he!--only I put it here
ready."
The wardrobe was immediately adjoining his room, and seemed an amateur
collection, which owed its rise entirely to his own taste and zeal. How
various are the hobby-horses of men!
I am afraid you are already tired of this long walk, dear Julia; but you
must follow me a little further; nay, you may even consent to climb from
the depth to the highest height. I wished to see the whole panorama of
my walk at a glance, and selected for that purpose a Gothic tower of the
finest proportions. It is of the most beautiful, elaborate architecture
from top to bottom; and behind the transparent tracery I had espied from
a distance, with the aid of my opera-glass, ladders which extremely
tempted me to mount.
After a stout walk,--in the course of which we came to another old gate,
called the Nobles' Gate, which was built up fifty years ago and is now
re-opened to serve as a passage to the new cattle-market,--we at length
reached the desired tower, a part of the oldest church in York. I had
some trouble in finding the clerk, a black man, more like a coal-heaver
than a servant of the church,--but full of goodwill. I asked him if one
could get up to the fine galleries at the top. "That I don't know,"
replied he, "for I never went up, though I have been clerk these ten
years. There are only old ladders, and some are broken at the top, so
that I don't think it possible." This was enough to fire my adventurous
soul; and I hastened up the worst, darkest, narrowest, and most decayed
winding staircase you can imagine. We soon reached the ladders; we
climbed them without halting, and came to the first landing-place. But
here the clerk and the 'laquais de place' hesitated to proceed. A high
and certainly very frail-looking ladder, wanting many staves, led to a
small square hole at the top (where, for a space of about six feet, the
staves were entirely gone;) through this you reached the roof. I was
determined not to go back 're infectâ,' so I scrambled up, reached the
edge of the opening with my hands, and swung myself up with some little
difficulty. The view was indeed magnificent, and I exactly attained my
chief end,--to see the noble Minster, (which is so miserably encumbered
by houses below,) perfectly free in all its colossal majesty, like a
line-of-battle ship among boats. The wind, however, blew so terribly
around my elevated post, and all seemed in such a decaying state, that I
could almost fancy the whole tower rocked in the blast. By degrees I
grew uncomfortable in this continued storm. I began my descent, but
found that far more difficult than the ascent, as is generally the case
in such places. But one must not stay to think, if one begins to feel
what the English call 'nervous.' Holding fast by my hands, therefore, I
let my feet drop like feelers in search of the highest stave, and very
glad was I when I found it. On my arrival at the bottom I was as black
as the clerk.
Meanwhile it was the time of evening service in the Minster, where a
fine organ and well-selected music in so noble a building, promised me a
delightful resting-place. I hastened thither, and dreamed away a
delicious half-hour under the influence of sweet sounds and melancholy;
while this vast organ,--the tyrant of music, as Heinze calls it,--rolled
pealing through the immense aisles, and the sweet voices of children,
like the breath of spring, lulled the awe-struck soul again to peace.
Almost in the twilight I visited the town-hall, where the Lord Mayor
(only London and York have _Lord_ Mayors) holds his court three times a
week, and where the sessions are held every three months. It is an old
and handsome Gothic building. Near it are two rooms for the barristers
and attorneys (_obern und untern Advocaten_.) In the upper room the Lord
Mayor's arms are emblazoned in modern painted glass,--for every
tradesman has arms here. One can generally discover from them what is
the calling of the possessor. The mottos, however, are less
business-like, and seem to me to affect too noble an air.
I have now established the proper balance, that is to say, my hands are
as tired of writing as my feet of walking. It is time to give the
stomach some work to do. If I were Walter Scott, I would give you the
bill of fare; but as it is, I don't venture. Instead of it I shall
subjoin a word upon my after-dinner reading, which will be furnished
again by Madame de Maintenon.
It really touched me to see how vividly the poor woman paints the
melancholy uniformity, the bitter 'gêne' of her life: and how often and
heartily she longs, with a force and a sincerity that cannot be
mistaken, for her dismissal from this stage, which, as she says, "worse
than all others, _lasts from morning till night_." Amidst all her power
and splendour, she still seems to regard death as the most desirable of
things: and indeed, after the long endless void,--after the sacrifice of
every personal feeling and inclination year after year, one can imagine
the mortal weariness of the spirit, longing for its release. This
explains the religious mania that took possession of her, which was also
characteristic of the childishness of the age. Had a woman of Madame de
Maintenon's talents lived at a later period, Molinistes and Jansenistes
would hardly have succeeded in extorting a smile of contempt from her;
but in her time it was otherwise. Still she is in her way a great woman,
as Louis the Fourteenth is, in his, a great king--in a little age. It
was precisely because it _was_ little that it formed little
things,--Court, society, &c.--to far greater perfection than ours; and
thence to the imaginative mind, which contemplates with pleasure the
Perfect in every thing, great or small, must ever present an attractive
picture.
_Sept. 20th._
This morning I devoted to the gleanings, and visited the ancient church
of All Saints, where I found some admirable painted glass, though in
very bad preservation. There was a Virgin and Child, of a beauty and
sweetness of expression of which Raphael would not have needed to be
ashamed. I then went to another old church, St. Mary's, where there is a
strange gateway on which a number of hieroglyphics and the signs of the
zodiac are beautifully carved in stone. As I had been introduced to the
Archbishop of York in London, I wrote him a note yesterday, and begged
to be allowed to pay my respects to him. He returned a most polite
answer, begging me to pass some days at his house. I however declined
his invitation to more than a dinner, and drove to his country-house at
five o'clock. I found a beautifully kept, luxuriant pleasure-ground, and
stately old Gothic structure in a peculiar style, which pleased me much.
It was not very large, but perfectly elegant; and at the four corners of
the flat roof stood four colossal eagles with out-stretched wings.
Instead of the heavy battlements, which have a good effect only in
enormous masses, a beautiful sort of open-work ornament in stone, at
once rich and light, ran round the roof as a parapet. That the interior
corresponded in magnificence with the exterior you may conclude from the
ecclesiastical rank and wealth of the possessor. The venerable
Archbishop, still a very hale active man, conducted me about, and showed
me his kitchen-gardens and hot-houses, which are remarkably fine. They
were as neat as the most elegant drawing-room,--a thing which it would
be impossible to make our gardeners understand. Not a trace of disorder
or dirt, of boards and tools lying about, dunghills near the paths, or
the like. On the walls were the choicest fruit-trees arranged in
symmetrical lines; among them currant-bushes which had attained to such
a growth by the removal of all the small under-branches, that they were
twelve feet high, and loaded to excess with bunches like small grapes.
In the hot houses, in which pines and grenadillas (a West-Indian fruit
in the form of a little melon, and with a flavour like that of a
pomegranate,) grew luxuriantly, was a different sort of vine in every
window: all were thick-hung with fruit. The fruit-trees on the walls
were covered with nets, and at a later season are matted, so that one
may pluck ripe fruit till January. One part of the garden was full of
ripe strawberries of a peculiar kind, and His Grace assured me he had
them in the open air till January. He pointed out to me the Norman cress
as a new vegetable of remarkably fine flavour, and told me it might be
cut in the snow.
The multitude of flowers still in blossom which edged the beds of the
kitchen-garden was striking. I know that this climate is favourable to
gardeners, nevertheless they must excel ours in the management of
flowers.
In the pleasure-ground I saw larches not only of enormous size, but as
thick in foliage as pines, and their pendent branches extending twenty
feet over the turf. I heard here, for the first time, that it is thought
very beneficial to trees of this tribe[69] to touch the moist earth with
their branches, for that they draw great nourishment in that way.
A dinner worthy of an Archbishop closed this agreeable evening. I have
told you that the wives of English Bishops do not share their husband's
titles. The wife of the Archbishop of York is however, a 'Lady in her
own right;' and what is more, a very agreeable woman. She has ten sons
and three daughters.
_Scarborough, Sept. 21st._
I forgot to tell you a droll story that was related yesterday; the
strongest instance of 'distraction' (except that of the
self-decapitating Irishman,) you ever heard. Lord Seaford said, that his
uncle, the old Earl of Warwick, who was famous for fits of absence,
travelled up to London one evening from Warwick Castle on important
business, which he settled to his satisfaction the following day, and
returned again in the night. He had hardly reached home, when he
fainted. All the family were alarmed, and asked his valet if his Lord
had been ill in London. "No," replied the man, "he has been very well:
but I really believe that he has forgotten to eat ever since he was
away." This was actually the case, and a plate of soup soon restored His
Lordship to his accustomed health.
I write to you from a sea bathing place that has the reputation of being
very beautiful. As yet I know nothing about it, for it was pitch dark
when I arrived. In the morning I hope to enjoy the best possible view,
for I am lodged in the fourth story, the house being choke-full.
On my journey I visited Castle Howard, the seat of Lord Carlisle. It is
one of the English 'show places,' but does not please me in the least.
It was built by Vanbrugh, an architect of the time of Louis the
Fourteenth, who built Blenheim in the same bad French taste. That,
however, imposes by its mass, but Castle Howard neither imposes nor
pleases. The whole park, too, has something to the last degree
melancholy, stiff, and desolate. On a hill is a large temple, the
burial-place of the family. The coffins are placed around in cells, most
of which are still empty; so that the whole looks like a bee-hive, only
indeed more silent and tranquil. In the castle are some fine pictures
and antiques. Among the former, the celebrated Three Marys of Annibal
Carracci is particularly remarkable. This picture represents the dead
Christ, behind whom his mother has sunk fainting; the elder Mary hastens
to her with a gesture of lamentation, while Mary Magdalene throws
herself despairingly on the body. The gradation from actual death to
fainting, thence to the subdued grief of age, and lastly, to the living
despair of youth, is given with inimitable truth. Every limb in the body
of Christ appears truly dead: you see that the vital spirit has utterly
quitted this form, so motionless, cold, and stiff. On the contrary, all
is life and motion in the beautiful Magdalene, even to the very hair;
all is the vigour and fulness of life, excited by the bitterest
grief.--Opposite hangs Annibal's portrait by himself. It has very
striking features, but looks more like a 'highwayman' than an artist.
You, dear Julia, would have been most attracted by a collection of
drawings of the Lords and Ladies of the Court of Francis the
First,--fifty or sixty portraits: they were painted memoirs. Among the
antiques I was amused by a Goose of the Capitol in bronze, which you
fancy you hear cackling with its outstretched wings and open bill. A
picture of Henry the Eighth, by Holbein, in admirable preservation, is
worth mention;--otherwise nothing particularly struck me. The well-known
St. John by Domenichino is here, and given out to be an original. If I
mistake not, the real one is in Germany.
The park, planted in large stiff masses, is remarkably rich in archways:
I passed through about seven before I reached the house. Over a muddy
pond, not far from the Castle, is a stone bridge of five or six arches,
and over this bridge--no passage. It is only an 'object;' and that it
may answer this description thoroughly, there is not a tree or a bush
near it or before it. It seems that the whole grounds are just as they
were laid out a hundred and twenty years ago. Obelisks and pyramids are
as thick as hops, and every view ends with one, as a staring
termination. One pyramid is, however, of use, for it is an inn.
_Sept. 22nd._
If colds and consumptions are frequent in England, it is more to be
attributed to the habits of the people than the climate. They have a
peculiar predilection for walks on the wet grass; and in every public
room there are open windows, so that it is hardly possible to bear the
drafts. Even when they are shut the wind whistles through them; for they
are seldom substantial, and never double. The climate too, however
favourable to vegetation, is dreadful for men. This morning at nine
o'clock, I rode out on a hired horse, in beautiful weather and a
cloudless sky, and before I had been out an hour the most soaking rain
wetted me through and through. At last I reached the village, where, in
despair at not finding even a gate-way under which to take shelter, I
sprang from my horse, and seeing a cottage door open, went in, and found
two old women cooking something over a fire. In England, everything
domestic is held so sacred and inviolable, that a man who enters a room
without having cautiously announced himself and begged pardon, instantly
excites alarm and displeasure. Although the cause of my intrusion ran in
pretty obvious streams from my hat and clothes, I was not very cordially
received by the old ladies. But what was the rage and horror of my
hostesses 'malgré elles,' when my steed, whose sagacity would have done
honour to Nestor himself, walked in at the door, and before anything
could be done to stop him, took his station in the most quiet and
decorous manner before the chimney-piece, and with a look of sly,
affected stupidity, began to dry his dripping ears at the fire. I
thought the women would have died of rage, and I of laughing. I had such
compassion for my poor comrade in misfortune, that I did not like to
turn him out by force; and so,--they scolding and storming, I trying to
appease them with gentle words, and the more approved eloquence of other
silver sounds,--we staid, half by force, half by entreaty, till the
storm was a little over, and we were a little dried. The drying,
however, was of small avail; for, at the entrance to the romantic Forge
Valley, storm and rain began afresh. I surrendered myself to my fate,
though wholly without defence, and consoled myself with the beauties of
the surrounding spot,--a deep, narrow valley, clothed with rich wood,
through which a rapid, foaming streamlet took its way. By the side of
the brook was a good road. I remarked a pretty and simple way of
enclosing a spring between two large blocks of stones set upright, and a
third laid across. Through this rude portal the water gushed forth, and
bounded on its course.
To avoid catching cold, if possible, I took a warm salt bath as soon as
I arrived, and then proceeded to the 'Sands,'--that is, the part of the
beach left by the tide; a very singular promenade. Saddle-horses, and
carriages of all kinds, stand in numbers for hire; and you may ride for
miles on the very brink of the waves, over ground like velvet. The old
Castle of Scarborough on the one side, and a fine iron bridge connecting
two hills on the other, increase the picturesque character of the scene.
I rode by the light of the evening sun up to the Castle, from which the
view is magnificent, and which is itself an imposing object.
On the highest point of the ruin is an iron machine like a kibble, which
serves as a beacon. A large tar-barrel is placed in it and set on fire.
It burns like a flaming torch the night through. The Castle stands on a
projecting rock, which rises to the height of a hundred and fifty or two
hundred feet perpendicular from the sea. Around the Castle its summit is
like a bowling-green.
_Sept. 23rd._
To-day I rode along the sea-coast to Filey, where there is a celebrated
bridge of rocks built into the sea by the hand of Nature. The sea was
blue, and covered with sails. At Filey I took a guide. We passed along
many strangely-shaped rocks, and came at length to this bridge, which is
in fact only a broad reef, running out about three-quarters of a mile
into the sea. The detached blocks were thrown about in fantastic groups,
and it was necessary to take some care not to slip over their
smooth-washed sides. The tide was coming in, and already covered a part
of the reefs. After satisfying my curiosity I scrambled back, and took
my way through a pleasant field to the nearest inn.
_Flamborough Head, Sept. 24th:--Evening._
Distances are calculated quite otherwise here than with us. My
respectable old mare, a hired one, brought me here very well, five
German miles in two hours. As soon as I arrived, I hired another horse
to ride a mile and a half (German) further, to see the light-house and
cavern which render Flamborough Head remarkable. The weather was most
brilliant, with a good deal of wind, so that I hoped this time to escape
a wetting; but I was deceived; for I had scarcely reached the cliffs
when I was regaled not only with the 'obligato' drenching rain, but also
with the accompaniment of a violent tempest. This, however, was an
agreeable variety; for thunder and lightning beheld from beetling cliffs
overhanging a foaming sea are worth encountering some inconvenience for.
The custom-house officer who accompanied me, very civilly brought me an
umbrella, seeing the lightness of my dress; but the storm, and the
slippery and perilous path at the edge of the precipice rendered it
useless. The sea has washed away the rocks in such a manner that many
stand like solitary towers or columns in the waves. They looked like
huge sea-spirits,--their whiteness rendered more glaring by the inky
sky. There are many caverns, to which there is access at low water. It
was now high-tide, however, and I was obliged to hire a fishing-boat to
take me to the largest of them. Inspired by the fresh breeze, I took an
oar for the first time in my life, and rowed heartily: I find the
exercise so pleasant that I shall certainly take it as often as
possible. The sea was so rough that I could not help thinking we were in
some danger, and expressed as much to my companion. He answered me very
poetically; "O Sir! do you think life is not as sweet to me as it is to
you, because I am only a poor fisherman? As far as the mouth of the
cavern there is no danger, but we can't go in to-day." I was therefore
obliged to content myself with casting a glance into the huge arch-way,
whence the foam flew up like smoke, amid the howling and bellowing of
the waves. As the fisherman assured me that sea-water never gave cold, I
mounted my horse, still dripping from the salt wave, and rode to the
light-house. This was the more interesting to me, as I had till now but
a very imperfect conception of the construction of these buildings.[70]
An opportunity, which has presented itself, of sending this letter
safely to the Embassy, enables me to share my travels with you thus far.
I therefore close it for the present,--always with Scheherezade's
condition of beginning again to-morrow.
'Sans adieu,' therefore,
Your L----.