Amongst the many relics preserved here, I well recollect with what pride the venerable sexton pointed out to me the skulls of Die Heilige drei Könige—by this meant the Magi, whom they call the Three Holy Kings, one of whom being an African, his skull had been most appropriately painted black.
In the middle of the great aisle stands a large misshapen block of marble, about two feet in height, and from three to four feet in length: this could never have formed any portion of the building, and stands, like our Irish Round Towers, a stumbling-block to the antiquarian.
The legend—I wish we could account for our Round Towers so reasonably—says that the devil had long endeavoured to terrify the workmen from the building, and had practised all the devices approved of on such occasions to prevent its completion; but being foiled in all, in a fit of spleen he hurled this rock through the roof of the Cathedral, and neither man nor the art of man can avail to remove it from its deep-rooted foundation. Be this as it may, there stands the rock, and OEhlenschlager, the Danish poet, has alluded to it in his spirited tale of “Peter Bolt” (translated into ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’ without acknowledgment).
We rose early on the following morning, and profiting by the advice of that wisest of travellers, Captain Dalgetty, victualled for an indefinite period. And here let me do justice to the character of that worthy woman whom I in my profligacy called vinegar-faced: as an artiste she was altogether unexceptionable.
Eaten bread is soon forgotten, saith the proverb. And if the passage is to be taken literally, so should it, say I. At the same time, I defy any man who has a heart to feel and a palate to taste ever to lose the recollection of a well-dressed maintenon cutlet or a chicken salad. No; it will recur to him post totidem annos, and bring once more “the soft tremulous dew” upon his lips.
At last we set out for the Festival, and although anticipating a crowd, yet we never expected to have found, as we did, every avenue blocked up by the people. Notwithstanding the immense number and the natural anxiety of all to press on and secure good places, nothing could exceed the good order and decorum: it was a perfect contradiction to Dean Swift’s adage that a crowd is a mob even if it is composed of bishops.
Into this dense mass we get gradually wedged, little regretting the delay which afforded so good an opportunity of looking about where there was so much to interest and amuse us.
The Cologne belles, with their tight-laced bodices of velvet, their black eyes, and still blacker hair, rarely covered by anything but a silk handkerchief drawn tightly over it, formed a strong contrast to the fair-complexioned, blue-eyed daughters of Holland, whose demure and almost minauderie demeanour was curiously contrasted with the air of coquetry which the others have borrowed from their French neighbours; while the fat happy-looking burgher from Antwerp stood in formidable relief to the tall gaunt Prussian, who was vainly endeavouring to mould his cast-iron features into an expression of softness to salute some fair acquaintance.
My attention to the various coteries around was drawn off by a slight motion in the crowd, indicating that those nearest the door had gained admittance, and the swell of music borne upon the wind, mingled with the din of the multitude, forcibly reminded me of the far-off roar of Niagara when first I heard it booming in the distance.
A change came o’er the spirit of my dream, and, deeply engrossed by the various associations thus unexpectedly conjured up, I found myself, without being aware of it, at the entrance of the Cathedral.