Heilbronn, or Hailbrunn, is a large consequential town; and parts of it are spacious, as well as curious from appearances of antiquity. The large square, where we changed horses, was sufficiently striking; and the Hotel de ville in particular was worthy of being copied by the pencil of my companion. But we were only passing travellers, anxious to reach Manheim and to cross the Rhine. The country about Heilbronn is picturesque and fertile, and I saw enough to convince me that two days residence there would not be considered as time thrown away. It is one of the principal towns in the kingdom of Wirtemberg, and situated not many leagues from the Black Forest, or Schwartz Wald, where wild boars and other wild animals abound, and where St. Hubert (for aught I know to the contrary) keeps his nocturnal revels in some hitherto unfrequented glen ... beneath the radiance of an unclouded moon.
But if Heilbronn be attractive, from the imposing appearance of the houses, Heidelberg is infinitely more so; containing a population of nine thousand inhabitants. We reached this latter place at dinner time, on Sunday--but as it rained heavily for,the last hour previous to our entrance, we could not take that survey of the adjacent country which we so much desired to do. Yet we saw sufficient to delight us infinitely: having travelled along the banks of the river Neckhar for the last three or four miles, observing the beautifully wood-crowned hills on the opposite side. But it is the CASTLE, or OLD PALACE of HEIDELBERG--where the Grand Dukes of Baden, or old Electors Palatine, used to reside--and where the celebrated TUN, replenished with many a score hogshead of choice Rhenish wine--form the grand objects of attraction to the curious traveller. The palace is a striking edifice more extensive than any thing I had previously seen; but in the general form of its structure, so like Holland House at Kensington, that I hesitated not one moment to assign the commencement of the sixteenth century, as the period of the building in question. The date of 1607,[180] cut in stone, over one of the principal doors, confirmed my conjecture.
I now looked eagerly on all sides--observing what portions were more or less dilapidated, and wondering at the extent and magnificence of the building. Room after room, corridor succeeding corridor--saloons, galleries, banquetting apartments, each and all denuded of its once princely furniture--did not fail to strike my imagination most forcibly. Here was the Hall of Chivalry, which had been rent asunder by lightning: yonder, a range of statues of the old Electors Counts Palatine:--a tier of granite columns stood in another direction, which had equally defied the assaults of the foe and the ravages of time. In one part, looking down, I observed an old square tower, which had been precipitated in consequence (as I learnt) of an explosion of gunpowder. It was doubtless about a century older than the building from which I observed it. On an eminence, almost smothered with larch and lime, and nearly as much above ourselves as we were from the town, stand the ruins of another old castle ... the residence of the older Counts Palatine. The whole scene was full of enchantment to an antiquarian traveller; and I scarcely knew how to quit one portion of it for another.
The terrace, at the back of the castle, forms a noble and commanding walk. Here, in former days, the counts and dukes of the empire, with all their trains of duchesses and damoiselles, used to parade in full pomp and magnificence, receiving the homage of their dependants, and the applause of the townsmen. From hence, indeed, they might have looked down, in the proud spirit of disdain, upon their vassal subjects:--or, in case of rebellion, have planted their cannon and pulverised their habitations in a little hour. It is hardly possible to conceive a more magnificent situation ... but now, all is silence and solitude. The wild boar intrudes with impunity into the gardens--and the fowls of heaven roost within those spacious chambers, which were once hung with rich arras, or covered with gorgeous tapestry. Scarcely three human beings ... who seem to sleep out their existence ... are now the tenants of THAT MANSION, where once scarcely fewer than one hundred noblemen with their attendants, found comfortable accommodations. A powerful, and yet not unpleasing melancholy, touches the heart ... as one moves leisurely along these speaking proofs of the mutability of earthly grandeur.
No man visits this proud palace without visiting also the equally celebrated TUN--of which Merian, in his well known views, has supplied us with a print or two. It is placed in the lower regions of the palace, in a room by itself--except that, by the side of it, there stands a small cask which may hold a hogshead, and which is considered to be the ne plus ultra of the art of cooperage. It is made in the neatest and closest-fitting manner imaginable, without either a nail, or piece of iron, or encircling hoop; and I believe it to be nearly as old as the great Tun. This latter monstrous animal, of his species, is supported by ribs--of rather a picturesque appearance--which run across the belly of the cask, at right angles with the staves. As a WINE CASK, it has long maintained its proud distinction of being the largest in the world. A stair-case is to the right of it, leading to a little square platform at the top; upon which frolicksome lads and lasses used, in former days, to dance, when the tub had been just filled with the produce of the passing year's vintage. The guide told us that one Elector or Grand Duke, I think it was CHARLES THEODORE, had immortalised himself, by having, during his regency, caused the great tun of Heidelberg to be fairly twice emptied;--"those (added he) were golden days, never to return. At present, and for a long time past, the cask is filled almost to the very top with mere lees." In an adjoining cellar, I was shewn a set of casks, standing perpendicularly, called the Twelve Apostles. The whole of this subterraneous abode had, I must confess, a great air of hospitality about it; but when I mentioned to the guide the enormous size of those casks used by our principal London brewers--compared with which, even the "GREAT TUN" was a mere TEA-CUP--he held up his hands, shook his head, and exclaimed with great self-satisfaction... "cela ne se peut pas être!"
After I had dined, I called upon M.Schlosser, one of the professors of the University--for which this town is rather celebrated.[181] Attached to this University, is a famous Library of MSS. and printed books--but more especially of the former. It has been long known under the name of the Palatine Library; and having been seized and transported to the Vatican, at the conclusion of the thirty years war, and from thence carried to Paris, was, in the year 1815, at the urgent intercession of the King of Prussia, restored to its ancient-resting-place. What "a day of joyance" was that when this restoration took place! M. Schlosser adverted to it with a satisfaction amounting... almost to rapture. That gentleman made me a present of the first part of his Universal Biography, published at Franckfort on the Main, the preceding year, in 8vo.--in the German language--with copious and erudite notes. He shewed me the earlier printed volumes of the Public Library; of which, having unluckily lost the few memoranda I had taken--but which I believe only included the notice of a first Caesar, first Suetonius, and first Tacitus--I am not able to give any particular details. M. Schlosser conversed a good deal, and very earnestly, about Lord Spencer's library--and its probable ultimate destination; seeming to dread its "dispersion" as a national calamity.
It was late in the afternoon, when darkness was rather prematurely coming on--and the rain descending almost in torrents--that I left Heidelberg for MANHEIM--the ultima Thule of my peregrinations on the German side of the Rhine. The road is nearly straight, in good order, and lined with poplar trees. People of all descriptions--on foot, in gigs, carriages, and upon horseback--were hastening home--as upon a Sunday evening with us:--anxious to escape the effects of a soaking rain. Unfavourable as the weather was, I could not help looking behind, occasionally, to catch glimpses of the magnificent palace of Heidelberg; which seemed to encrease, in size and elevation as we continued to leave it in the rear. The country, also, on the other side of the Neckhar, was mountainous, wooded, and picturesque: the commencement of that chain of hills, which, extending towards Mayence and Cologne, form the favourite and well known scenery which Englishmen delight to visit. As my eye ran along this magnificent range, I could not but feel something approaching to deep regret ... that other causes, besides those of the lateness of the season, operated in preventing me from pursuing my course in that direction. It was impossible ... however I might have wished to visit the cities where Fust and Schoeffher and Ulric Zel are supposed to lie entombed, and where the FIRST PRODUCTIONS OF THE PRESS were made public--it was impossible for me to do otherwise than to make Manheim the colophon of my bibliographical excursion. The glass had been turned for some time past, and the sand was fast running out.
It was rather late when we drove to the Golden Fleece at Manheim, the best inn in the town--and situated in a square, which, when we visited it, was filled by booths: it being fair time. With difficulty we got comfortable lodgings, so extremely crowded was the inn. The court-yard was half choked up with huge casks of Rhenish wine, of different qualities; most of them destined for England--and all seemed to be agitation and bustle. The first night of my arrival was a night of mixed pleasure and pain, by the receipt of nearly a dozen letters from Vienna, Munich, Stuttgart, and London, collectively: the whole of which had been purposely directed to this place. The contents of the Stuttgart letter have been already detailed to the reader.[182] The first object of my visitation at Manheim, on the morrow, was the house of DOM. ARTARIA--known, throughout the whole of Germany, as the principal mercantile house for books, prints, and pictures.[183] With these objects of commerce, was united that of banking: forming altogether an establishment of equal prosperity and respectability. The house is situated in the principal square, at the corner of one of the streets running into it. It has a stone front, and the exterior is equally as attractive in appearance, as the interior is from substantial hospitality. The civility, the frankness, the open-heartedness of my reception here was, if possible, more warm and encouraging than in any previous place in Germany; and what rendered the whole perfectly delightful, was, the thorough English-like appearance of every thing about me. Books, prints, pictures--and household furniture of every description-- bespoke the judicious and liberal taste of the owner of the mansion; while the large and regular supplies of letters and despatches, every morning, gave indication of a brisk and opulent commerce. It so happened that, the very first morning of my visit to M. Artaria, there arrived trucks, filled with boxes and bales of goods purchased at the Frankfort fair--which had not been long over. In some of these ponderous cases, were pictures of the old masters; in others, prints.. chiefly from Paris and London,[184] and principally from the house of Messrs. Longman and Co. in Paternoster row. Among these latter, was a fine set of the Bibliotheca Topographica Britannica, in ten volumes, 4to. bound in russia--which had been bespoke of M. Artaria by some Bavarian Count: and which must have cost that Count very little short of 120 guineas. The shelves of the front repository were almost wholly filled with English books, in the choicest bindings; and dressed out to catch and captivate the susceptible bibliomaniac, in a manner the most adroit imaginable. To the left, on entrance, were two rooms filled with choice paintings; many of them just purchased at the Frankfort fair. Some delicious Flemish pictures, among which I particularly noticed a little Paul Potter--valued at five hundred guineas--and some equally attractive Italian performances, containing, among the rest, a most desirable and genuine portrait of Giovanni Bellini--valued at one hundred and fifty guineas--were some of the principal objects of my admiration.
But, more interesting than either, in my humble judgment, and yet not divested of a certain vexatious feeling, arising from an ignorance of the original--was a portrait, painted in oil, of the size of life, quite in the manner of Hans Holbein ... yet with infinitely more warmth and power of carnation-tint. It was alive--and looked you through, as you entered the room. Few galleries, of portraits contain a more perfect specimen of the painting of the times. For the original, I believe, M. Artaria asked three hundred guineas.[185]
The purse and table of M. Artaria were as open and as richly furnished as were his repositories of books and pictures; and I was scolded because I had not made his house my head quarters during my residence at Manheim. I dined with him, however, twice out of the four days of my stay; and was indifferent to plays and public places of resort, in the conversation and company which I found at his house. Yet it was during the circulation of his double-quart bottles of old Rhenish wine--distributed with a liberality not to be exceeded by the Benedictines at the monastery at Göttwic, and yet more exquisite and choice in its flavour--that the gallant host poured forth the liberal sentiments which animated a bosom... grateful to providence for the success that had crowned his steadily and well directed labours! I never saw a man upon whom good fortune sat more comfortably, or one whom it was so little likely to spoil. Half of my time was spent in the house of M. Artaria, because there I found the kind of society which I preferred--and which contained a mixture of the antiquary and collector, with the merchant and man of the world. After this, who shall say that a fac-simile of his Autograph (now that he is NO MORE!) can be unacceptable even to the most fastidious.