596 LETTERS FROM A CONTINENTAL TOURIST. 



true ; on the other, the death-place of Mary of Medicis, the mother of 

 Louis XIII., which may or may not be false. Not far from this 

 house is the church of St. Peter, where they show the font in which 

 Rubens was baptized, and the altar-piece which he painted out of 

 affection for the spot of his nativity, representing the martyrdom of 

 the saint. The subject is horrible, and he has selected the most painful 

 moment. A man is driving- a large nail through one foot, and 

 another is straightening by force the left arm for the purpose of in- 

 flicting the same torment : the right arm and leg are already at- 

 tached to the cross in like manner. The other functionaries are 

 engaged in fixing the cross in the earth with the head downwards. 

 The convulsive action of the tortured limbs, the agonized countenance 

 of the sufferer, the demoniac expressions of the executioners, are all 

 depicted with a truth and force which cannot be surpassed, and the 

 colours are as brilliant arid vivid as though it had been painted in 

 this century. But the subject is revolting to the last degree, and I 

 would not again visit the picture were it even finer than it is and 

 many think it the masterpiece of Rubens. My blood curdled as I 

 looked on it. It was stolen by the French in Napoleon's time, and, 

 when restored, was not as before exposed to public view, but an exe- 

 crable copy made and attached to the back of the original, the whole 

 being made to turn on a pivot, so that the copy appears in general, 

 and the original only on the proper application of two shillings 

 English, prix fixe, for the gratification of individuals particular. 



We did not visit the bones of St. Ursula's 1 1,000 virgins, and we 

 did visit the magazine of the representative of the late Jean Marie 

 Farina, opposite the Julius platz, to purchase some of that perfume 

 for which this town has become so celebrated. 



For the rest, whatever Cologne may be in fine weather, in wet it 

 is a very uninteresting place, and as all the sweets have been ex- 

 tracted to scent its fragrant water, an extra quantity of filth is left 

 behind, the unsavoury steams of which almost scarify one's nostrils. 



In the evening we saw a troop of Prussian convicts pass. They 

 were dressed in parti-coloured garments black and yellow with 

 fetters on their ancles, connected by a short chain. One had a bell 

 attached to his cap, which ever and anon, as he walked forward, 

 tinkled : whether this was a mark of distinction or infamy I could 

 not discover. A few soldiers sufficed to guard a considerable body 

 of them, and they marched on, " walking wide with their gyves 

 on," as Falstaff describes it, cheerfully enough, and, to all appearance, 

 utterly unabashed at their disgraceful situation. 



One of the especial annoyances at Cologne arises from the vast 

 number of persons who hover round the gates of the hotels, and pester 

 you with offers of unrequired service as guides. And if at last their 

 importunity goads you into a submission to this infliction, you follow 

 like a tin kettle at the tail of a dog, a mark for astonishment and 

 observation to the passers-by ; differing, however, in one respect, 

 namely, that in the one case the animal is ashamed of the appendage ; 

 in the other, the appendage is ashamed .of the animal. 



It has now rained almost without intermission for the last fortnight, 

 and I have every expectation of finishing my journey not only by 



