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Chap. VI.
THE CATHEDRAL.
83
appears long before you reach the town, at the left
entrance of which lies the cemetery, commanding a
beautiful view, too, of this lovely horde. The Jews
enjoy a small one to themselves, on the opposite side of
the way. A nasty, dirty, pestiferous town is Aarhuus,
more beautifully situated though, perhaps, than any city
of Jutland; badly drained, or not drained at all; always
the first to be attacked by cholera or typhus, and never
learning wisdom, when the plague is stayed, from her
previous visitation. We are lodged in a dirty hotel on
the Grande Place, opposite the cathedral: from my
window, peeping above the town-house, now in course of
demolition, I can descry on a shield the anchor of her
patron St. Clement, slung, en pignon, to the rosace on
the tower’s side. St. Clement, Bishop of Rome, and
martyr, was tied to an anchor and cast into the sea in
the days of Trajan. The massive iron anchor floated,
but the Bishop himself sank and was drowned. He
was specially the patron saint of sailors. Aarhuus
cathedral in earlier days boasted a spire six hundred
feet in height, the loftiest far in all Denmark; blown
down by a storm many years since. At the entrance,
on the left, lies the chapel of the Marselis family,
with some fine white marble monuments of the
seventeenth century in the style of Roubilliac. The nave,
the choir, the whole church throughout, appears crowded
with epitaphia, and monuments of alabaster, stone, and
marble, from 1500 downwards—among them the figure
of a young lady, in blue lias, dressed Mary Tudor
fashion, lying upon her sepulchral slab, attracted my
notice. As the inscription was in the Latin language,
I did my best to decipher it. It was erected to the
memory of Mette Urne. She married young, a happy
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