The Rathhaus or Town Hall is a curious building, erected at different periods; the Hansa-Saal is a fine room on the first floor, in which the meetings of that once powerful mercantile confederation were held; and at one end of it are nine statues holding escutcheons emblazoned with the arms of the Hanse Towns.
The Musée, a comparatively new [pg 621] creation, erected partly by the government, and partly by private subscription, contains many works of art. In the lower story are numerous Roman antiquities, found in or near Cologne; amongst them are busts of Cæsar, Germanicus, Agrippina, a statuette of Cleopatra, and a very fine head of Medusa, said to be larger and more beautiful than the Medusa Rondinini in the Glyptotheca at Munich. One gallery is filled with exquisite specimens of stained glass; the upper rooms are devoted to statuary and paintings, many of which are of the Düsseldorf school.
We were particularly struck with one, the “Triumph of S. Michael over Lucifer.” S. Michael is radiant, his sword flaming; and Lucifer, who is sinking into darkness, is terrible. There he is—no horned demon, but the beautiful fallen archangel, majestic and powerful; profound despair and gloom on his noble features, as the darkness overshadows him, and hell opens to receive him.
The people of Cologne are gay and sociable; in the afternoons, the Zoological Gardens are filled with children and nurses admiring the giraffes, elephants, and every other kind of animal belonging to earth, air, or water. An immense lion was a particular object of interest, as he had distinguished himself the day before we had the pleasure of seeing him by devouring his keeper. The Flora or Winter Garden is charming—a crystal palace, filled with fragrant plants, green vines garlanding the sides and roof, fountains playing, beautiful music well rendered by a good orchestra, and hundreds of people drinking coffee and smoking, who don't bother themselves by receiving at home, but meet and gossip in the Flora, or the Opera House, to which they generally adjourn.
The Opera House is very pretty but miserably lighted, only two feeble gas-lights by the door. Prussian officers, however, abounded, and the glittering uniform shone in the clair-obscur like fire-flies in Florida on summer evenings. Perhaps it was to add to the effect of “La Dame Blanche,” which was the opera we chanced to hear, that we were kept in such gloomy darkness; but, as the music was well executed, the time passed pleasantly.
One extraordinary event must be chronicled—we did not buy one bottle of Cologne in Cologne; we left the city of Jean Maria Farina, and only saw the outside of his shop. What with Gothic churches and relics, Roman towers and antiquities, time flew, and we found ourselves also flying off from Cologne on an express train, without one drop of the veritable Eau-de-Cologne in our possession. Mirabile dictu!
John.
In beauty, not above criticism; in courage, undaunted; in love, most generous and most forgiving; in patience, rivalling Job; in constancy, unswerving; in humility, without an equal.
After the above enumeration of qualities, it should be superfluous to add that John is a dog. It would be ridiculous to expect so much of a man. He is, moreover, a Skye-terrier, well-born and well-bred.