ET. 43.] 117 "I met with some faint and shadowy reminiscences of Campbell at Frankfort, where I resided in 1821. These were afforded by Father Ingram, a Scotch Carthusian monk, who, with divers of his compatriots, had been driven by Napoleon out of their once rich and stately monastery at Würtzburg. Mr. Ingram gave lessons in German, when opportunity offered; and on such occasions, he boasted, with great complacency, that he had officiated as daily German preceptor to the far-famed Thomas Campbell. According to his account, the Poet was out of sight the most attentive, zealous and intelligent pupil he had ever met with; having, moreover, a strange plan of trying to overcome the difficulties of the German language by dint of Greek; and finding out points of correspondence betwixt the two. However, he owned that, after all, Campbell had by no means penetrated into the mysterious depths' of the language; as, in the professor's opinion, he might have done, had he remained longer at Frankfort. 'In truth,' said Mr. Ingram, he turned at last rather fidgetty, and wanted a change of scene. But, luckily, he staid long enough to become a perfect convert to the truth of the Rodenstein Ghosts! It happened that these poltergeister made a tremendous sortie during his sojourn here; and the distance from hence to the Odenwald being so short, he regretted excessively not having been at the proper time on the spot, to judge by the evidence of his own senses. However, I got him a copy of the Protocol, which, as usual on such occasions, was issued at Darmstadt; and then he asked, whether I really thought that all the names attached were signatures of "living men and true,"-men who were supposed to carry rational heads on their shoulders? Now, felt rather nettled that a Scotch poet, a believer, too, in the second sight, should be so skeptical; and I offered to join him next morning in a calèche, and that we should make our way to the Odenwald, with the protocol in hand, and have a communing with the witnesses. And I brought him to Mr. Vaarentrapp's, to get a copy of the book, containing all the bygone protocols about Rodenstein. So, at last, the Poet declared that he would be satisfied, without going thither, as there was no withstanding such reiterated and solemn testimonials.' 66 This worthy monk did really believe in ghosts, as firmly as he believed the mysteries of animal magnetism, and other wonders; and the Poet, whether convinced or not I cannot say, was, of course, far too good-natured to contradict him." * * SOJOURN AT FRANKFORT. * His journey to Vienna is thus continued: 66 * RATISBON, Tuesday, August 2, 1820. "On Saturday morning I set out from Darmstadt, and reached this, yesterday evening, after three days and two nights' travelling, during which I was not in bed, and slept very little in the carriage. . . . The only place with which I was struck, though I had seen it before, was Nuremberg. I entered it at dead of night; but there was moonlight enough to give its old Gothic streets a solemn effect. At the last stage I had, for a wonder, an agreeable postilion-though you may laugh at the expression-who could answer my questions and abstain from smoking, and played very prettily on his little trumpet, or postbugle. "Though much exhausted, my spirits rallied at sight of the Danube-first visible from the high road, about four miles from Ratisbon. At that moment, as you may guess, I felt a flood of associations rushing upon my mind, that seemed as wide as the river I was contemplating. The sensation was less melancholy than I expected; I felt myself tranquil, and even cheerful; though the scene reminded me how much of life was gone by, and how much there was to regret in the retrospect! But the evening was fine, the prospect grand; and, as I stood up in the carriage, I could reckon twenty places fraught with lively interest to my memory. There were the heights, to which the Austrians retreated in 1800: there was the spire of the church, from which I had watched their movements; there was the wood, from which the last shot was fired, before the armistice. Alas! that campaign was but a trifle; ten years afterwards, thirty thousand fell in the great battle with Napoleon, before Ratisbon. This morning, since five o'clock, I have been looking at the scene of action. แ "My first visit was to the Scotch College,*—a dismal visit! Of all the monastery, there are only two survivors out of a dozen, whom I knew. I first inquired for the worthy prelate, who had shown a fatherly kindness to me, when I was here. He died, they told me, last April, between eighty and ninety years of age-I scarcely imagined that the news of an old man's death could have touched me so much; but I could not help weeping heartily, when I recalled his benevolent looks and venerable figure, and found myself in the same Hall where I had often sat and conversed with him-admiring, what seemed so strange to me, the most liberal and tolerant religious sentiments from a Roman Catholic Abbot.f Poor old Arbuthnot! it was impossible not to love him. All Bavaria, they told me, lamented his death. He was, when I knew him, the most commanding human figure I ever beheld. His head was then quite white; but his complexion was fresh, and his features were regular and handsome. In manners, he had a perpetual suavity and benevolence. I think I still see him in the Cathedral, with the golden cross on his fine chest, and hear his full, deep voice chanting the service. "The present prelate is one of the monks I had known; he received me with the little English, or rather Scotch, which he * See his Letters from Ratisbon, Vol. I., pp. 237 to 258. ET. 43.] RATISBON-SCOTCH COLLEGE-REMINISCENCES. 119 can still speak. He was as glad to see me, as a man could be in his situation; for he is dying of schirrhous liver. I found the Brothers at supper; I inquired for Father Maurus? Dead. Father Albert? Dead. Father this Father that?-but was only answered by a mute bow of the head. . . In the midst of this the evening bell began to toll; the monks took off their cowls; and, crossing themselves, continued in prayer for many minutes, during which I had time for serious reflections! . . . "T. C." 66 August 7th.-When I wrote you last, I expected immediately to have embarked in the Danube for Vienna; but on examining my trunk, found that I had left my Lectures at Frankfort! Luckily they are come to me at the end of a week. Matilda and Thomas are quite well at Frankfort; our boy is under the care of a clergyman, with whom he is a day scholar. "During the week I have been here, I have gone occasionally and taken my supper with the poor monks, who are very liberal of their beer; and it is by no means contemptible. I was present last evening, when they received two Irish monks on their way to Italy. The Irishmen requited their hospitality by getting drunk, and behaving in a manner that scandalized my sober countrymen. . . I have had my solitude, however, relieved by a total stranger-the Secretary of Prince ***, who calls upon me daily, and shows me every civility in his power. He is a well informed man, was tutor to the Princess, who is a bas-bleu. He showed me through her library, and that of the Prince, who is another Lord Spencer, in his taste for fine books and black letter. . . . Alas! all our schemes of happiness in this world are but mockeries of the imagination. . VIENNA, August 11, 1820. "I have been talking Latin so long, that I have hardly sufficient English left to tell you of my arrival in Vienna. On Tuesday I embarked at Ratisbon, hard packed with six other passengers; a Jew, a very plain lady, a Hessian tutor and his pupil, with whom he was travelling, and two enormous monks, with blue coats down to their heels, and silver buckles adapted to the Patagonian size of their shoes. . . But mark how little we should trust to appearances: the youth, though extremely beautiful, turned out stupid and uninteresting; the Jew, on the other hand, won my affections, and became a valuable friend, The Hessian had no by calculating florins and kreuzers for me. fault but loquacity; he found that the monks and I could converse in Latin; and, rejoicing in an occasion to exert his Latinity, applied fifty words where one would have sufficed. The monks, whose guttural pronunciation, broad buckles, and uncouth air, had at first inspired me with terror, turned out conversible and amusing men. . . A thousand little incidents that discover the temper in travelling, showed them to be essentially polite. Our suppers were, really, as sociable as that of the Canterbury Pilgrims. By day, we fed on the stores we had laid in at Ratisbon; but at night we slept on shore... We ate our cold meat on wooden platters, which they jocularly call the boat's porcelain. The plain lady, whoever she was, proved a sensible woman, and a charming musician-so thoroughly musical, that she was not to be deterred from singing to herself by the consciousness of being in strange company. She was called sister to one of the monks. When observed, she would stop, and then go on again at our request, in many a winding route, of linked sweetness, long drawn out.' Her singing was peculiarly delightful where the scenery through which we passed was calculated to inspire romantic sensations." 99* * * "Most of what I now saw of the Danube was new to me. I used to repose on the roof of the cabin, enjoying, with the sensation of gliding along, an ever-moving picture-monasteries and castles on the tops of mountains-glens, that intersect the shores with tributary waters rushing into the Danube-woods, stretching up to an enormous height, with oceans of foliage of all colors, from the lightest poplar to the darkest pine; and between these, again, and the water's edge, sloping pastures and vineyards, with romantic cottages in the midst of them. . . It is impossible, indeed, to look at what Nature has made out of rocks, water, and verdure, without confessing that she is a very beautiful artist. There is no longer any danger in passing the whirlpools of the Danube-the Wirbel and Strudel -though the roar of the waters is considerable; and the boatmen are obliged to make a strong effort, and employ a skilful pilot. An ancient castle, called the Devil's Tower, stands on "As to Horner's Monody," he adds in this letter, "if only a few lines are to be found, what is the use of transcribing it? I do not wish a copy unless the whole Monody can be found." On this point the reader is referred to page 83 of this volume. ÆT. 43.] 121 one of the rocks; and as the whole character of the scene is wild and frightful, it is not deficient in superstitious legends.* * * * VIENNA SEVEN BULLS-LODGINGS. * "At last, at five o'clock in the evening, we caught sight of the spire of St. Stephen's, and, by degrees, the other buildings of Vienna. Safe on shore, I put up at the first good hotel I could find, which is the sign of the "White Cow." This puts me in mind of an Irish friend, who offered to bet that there were seven signs of bulls in Dublin-the black bull, the red bull, the golden bull, and so forth: he counted six; but, being at a loss for another, he remembered the White Cow. 'Oh, but that is a bull!' 6 Very well,' said he, 'does not that make seven bulls in all? With this very instructive anecdote, I must conclude for to night." * * * * · · "August 13th.— ... Yesterday the heat was so intense, that I could go no farther than St. Stephen's, where I forgot all my worldly sorrows in listening to its beautiful organ. All Saturday was employed in searching for lodgings; and, as the noise of the streets is dreadful, the difficulty was to find any place within a tolerable distance of the library. In spite of all I had heard of the cheapness of lodgings here, all the quiet and decent places were very dear. After I had climbed a thousand stairs, and undergone all possible horrors, from listening to the chopping of wood, that sounds incessantly in Vienna, and the crashing of wheels, I resorted in the last stage to the suburbs. But there also I was for hours inquiring in vain. At length, just as I was returning home to the 'White Cow' in despair, I found most excellent, and, for their appearance, most reasonable apartments at four pounds a month, but furnished in such a manner that if the Ambassador called upon me, I should not wish better to receive him in. All the furniture is mounted with gilding, mirrors, cupids in bronze, girandoles, or jeering dolls, as the man called them, suspended from the roof. But, as pride always comes before a fall, I have no doubt I shall be humbled for all this prosperity! Each of my rooms is twenty feet square, and my bed-room looks over gardens. Was ever poet so lodged? For this good fortune I * Here the MS. presents some specimens of these legends, viz.: Bishop Bruno, Dürrenstein, Richard Cœur de Lion, and Blondel, which, since Campbell made this descent, have been rendered familiar in various tours and periodicals. See "The Danube Illustrated," 1844. VOL. II.-6 |