I explored its interior, and was struck with awe on beholding innumerable tombs, bearing dates as far back as the eighteenth century.  Under the galleries of the cloister I observed an obscure monument, a bas-relief of the fourteenth century, and tried, in vain, to guess the enigma.  On one side are two men in chains, wildness in their looks, and despair in their attitudes; on the other, an emperor, accompanied by a bishop, and surrounded by a number of people, triumphing.  Is it Barbarossa?  Is it Louis of Bavaria?  Does it speak of the revolt of 1160, or of the war between Mayence and Frankfort in 1332?  I could not tell, and therefore passed by.

As I was leaving the galleries, I discovered in the shade a sculptured head, half protruding from the wall, surmounted by a crown of flower-work, similar to that worn by the kings of the eleventh century.  I looked at it; it had a mild countenance; yet it possest something of severity in it—­a face imprinted with that august beauty which the workings of a great mind give to the countenance of man.  The hand of some peasant had chalked the name “Frauenlob” above it, and I instantly remembered the Tasso of Mayence, so calumniated during his life, so venerated after his death.  When Henry Frauenlob died, which was in the year 1318, the females who had insulted him in life carried his coffin to the tomb, which procession is chiseled on the tombstone beneath.  I again looked at that noble head.  The sculptor had left the eyes open; and thus, in that church of sepulchers—­in that cloister of the dead—­the poet alone sees; he only is represented standing, and observing all.

The market-place, which is by the side of the cathedral, has rather an amusing and pleasing aspect.  In the middle is a pretty triangular fountain of the German Renaissance, which, besides having scepters, nymphs, angels, dolphins, and mermaids, serves as a pedestal to the Virgin Mary.  This fountain was erected by Albert de Brandenburg, who reigned in 1540, in commemoration of the capture of Francis the First by Charles the Fifth.

Mayence, white tho it be, retains its ancient aspect of a beautiful city.  The river here is not less crowded with sails, the town not less incumbered with bales, nor more free from bustle, than formerly.  People walk, squeak, push, sell, buy, sing, and cry; in fact in all the quarters of the town, in every house, life seems to predominate.  At night the buzz and noise cease, and nothing is heard at Mayence but the murmurings of the Rhine, and the everlasting noise of seventeen water mills, which are fixt to the piles of the bridge of Charlemagne.

[Footnote A:  From “The Rhine.”  Translated by D.M.  Aird.]

FRANKFORT-AM-MAIN[A]

BY BAYARD TAYLOR