I was next intreated, together with my travelling friend and our valet, to stop and pass the night there. We were told that it was getting late and dark; and that there was only a cross road between Chrems and Ens, in the route to Lintz--to which latter place we were going. "You cannot reach Lintz (said our hospitable attendant) before midnight; but rain and darkness are not for men with nice sensibilities to encounter. You and your friend, and eke your servant, shall not lack a hospitable entertainment. Command therefore your travelling equipage to be brought hither. You see (added he smiling) we have room enough for all your train. I beseech you to tarry with us." This is almost a literal version of what M. Hartenschneider said--and he said it fluently, and even in an impassioned manner. I thanked him again and again; but declared it to be impossible to comply with his kind wishes. "The hospitality of your order (observed I to the Professor) is equal to its learning." M. Hartenschneider bowed: and then taking me by the arm, exclaimed, "well, since you cannot be prevailed upon to stay, you must make the most of your time. Come and see one or two of our more ancient MSS."
He then placed before me an Evangelistarium of the eighth century, which he said had belonged to Charlemagne, the founder of the monastery.[92] It was one of the most perfect pieces of calligraphy which I had ever seen; perhaps superior to that in the Public Library at Landshut. But this MS. is yet more precious, as containing, what is considered to be, a compact between Charlemagne and the first Abbot of the Monastery, executed by both parties. I looked at it with a curious and sceptical eye, and had scarcely the courage to doubt its authenticity. The art which it exhibits, in the illuminations of the figures of the Evangelists, is sufficiently wretched--compared with the specimens of the same period in the celebrated MS. (also once belonging to Charlemagne) in the private library of the King at Paris.[93] I next saw a MS. of the Sonnets of Petrarch, in a small folio, or super royal octavo size, supposed to have been executed in the fifteenth century, about seventy years after the death of the poet. It is beautifully written in a neat roman letter, and evidently the performance of an Italian scribe; but it may as likely be a copy, made in the early part of the fifteenth century, of a MS. of the previous century. However, it is doubtless a precious MS. The ornaments are sparingly introduced, and feebly executed.
On quitting these highly interesting treasures, M. H. and myself walked up and down the library for a few minutes, (the rain descending in torrents the whole time) and discoursed upon the great men of my own country. He mentioned his acquaintance with the works of Bacon, Locke, Swift, and Newton--and pronounced the name of the last ... with an effervescence of feeling and solemnity of utterance amounting to a sort of adoration. "Next to Newton," said he, "is your Bacon: nor is the interval between them very great: but, in my estimation, Newton is more an angel than a mortal. He seemed to have been always communing with the Deity." "All this is excellent, Sir,--replied I: but you say not one word about our divine Shakspeare." "Follow me--rejoined he--and you shall see that I am not ignorant of that wonderful genius--and that I do not talk without book." Whereupon M.H. walked, or rather ran, rapidly to the other end of the library, and put into my hands Baskerville's Edition of that poet,[94] of the date of 1768--which I frankly told him I had never before seen. This amused him a good deal; but he added, that the greater part of Shakspeare was incomprehensible to him, although he thoroughly understood Swift, and read him frequently.
It was now high time to break off the conversation, interesting as it might be, and to think of our departure: for the afternoon was fast wearing away, and a starless, if not a tempestuous, night threatened to succeed. Charles Rohfritsch was despatched to the inn below--to order the horses, settle the reckoning, and to bring the carriage as near to the monastery as possible. Meanwhile Mr. L. and myself descended with M. Hartenschneider to his own room--where I saw, for the first time, the long-sought after work of the Annales Hirsaugienses of Trithemius, printed in the Monastery of St. Gall in 1690, 2 vols., folio, lying upon the Professor's table. M.H. told me that the copy belonged to the library we had just quitted. I had indeed written to Kransfelder, a bookseller at Augsbourg, just before leaving Munich, for two copies of that rare and estimable work--which were inserted in his sale catalogue; and I hope to be lucky enough to secure both--for scarcely ten shillings of our money.[95] It now only remained to bid farewell to the most kind, active, and well-informed M. Hartenschneider--and to quit (probably for ever) the MONASTERY OF CHREMSMINSTER. Like the worthy Professor Veesenmeyer at Ulm, he "committed me to God's especial good providence--" and insisted upon accompanying me, uncovered, to the very outer gates of the monastery: promising, all the way, that, on receiving my proposals in writing, respecting the Statius, he would promote that object with all the influence he might possess.[96] Just as he had reached the further limits of the quadrangle, he met the librarian himself--and introduced me to him: but there was now only time to say "Vale!" We shook hands--for the first ... and in all probability ... the last time.
Every thing was in readiness--on reaching the bottom of the hill. A pair of small, and apparently young and mettlesome horses, were put to the carriage: the postilion was mounted; and nothing remained but to take our seats, and bid adieu to Chrems and its Monastery. The horses evinced the fleetness of rein deer at starting; and on enquiring about their age and habits, I learnt that they were scarcely three years old--had been just taken from the field--and had been but once before in harness. This intelligence rather alarmed us. However, we continued to push vigorously forward, along a very hilly road, in which no difference whatever was made between ascents and descents. It was a good long sixteen mile stage; and darkness and a drizzling rain overtook us ere we had got over half of it. There were no lights to the carriage, and the road was the most devious I had ever travelled. The horses continued to fly like the wind, and the charioteer began to express his fatigue in holding them in. At length we saw the light of Ens, to the right--the first post town on the high road from Lintz to Vienna. This led us to expect to reach the main road quickly. We passed over a long wooden bridge--under which the river Ens, here broad and rapid, runs to empty itself into the Danube: and ... nearer the hour of eleven than ten, we drove to the principal inn in the Place.
It was fair time: and the town of LINTZ was glittering with lights, and animated by an unusual stir of population. The centre of the Place or Square, where the inn is situated, was entirely filled by booths; and it was with difficulty we could gain admission within the inn, or secure rooms when admitted. However, we had no reason to complain, for the chambermaid (an exceedingly mirthful and active old woman) assured us that Lord and Lady Castlereagh on their route to Vienna in 1815, had occupied the very beds which she had destined for us. These beds were upon the second floor, in a good large room, warmed by a central stove of earthenware tiles--the usual fireplace in Germany. The first floor of the inn was wholly occupied by travellers, merchants, dealers, and adventurers of every description-- the noise of whose vociferations, and the tramp of whose movements, were audible even till long after midnight.
I am tarrying in a very large, very populous, and excellently well built town. LINTZ, or LINZ, has a population of at least 20,000 souls: and boasts, with justice, not only of its beautiful public buildings, but of its manufactories of stuffs, silks, and printed calicoes. The Place, before this inn, affords evidence of the splendour of these wares; and the interiors of several booths are in a perfect blaze--from the highly ornamented gold gauze caps worn by the upper classes of the middling people, even more brilliant than what was observed at Augsbourg. I was asked equal to four guineas of our money for one of these caps, in my reconnoissance before breakfast this morning--nor, as I afterwards learnt, was the demand exorbitant.
I must bid you farewell in haste. I start for Vienna within twenty minutes from this time, and it is now nearly-mid-day. But ere I reach the capital of Austria, I hope to pay a string of MONASTIC VISITS:--beginning with that of St. Florian, about a dozen miles from this place, just before you reach Ens, the next post town; so that, ere I again address you (which cannot be until I reach Vienna,) I shall have made rather a rambling and romantic tour. "Omne ignotum pro magnifico"--yet, if I mistake not; (from all that I can collect here) experience will confirm what hope and ignorance suggest.
LETTER IX.
THE MONASTERIES OF ST. FLORIAN, MÖLK, AND GÖTTWIC.