rled along in an
unfamiliar darkness, through a strange country, black with coal mines,
through dark pine woods, where a wild peasantry dwelt in little mining
towns. Here and there, a few men and women passed us on the road, in
their Sunday finery; then a long space of silence, and we were in the
open country, galloping between broad fields; and always in a haze of
lovely hills, which I saw more distinctly as we drove back next morning.

The return to Dux was like a triumphal entry, as we dashed through the
market-place filled with people come for the Monday market, pots and pans
and vegetables strewn in heaps all over the ground, on the rough paving
stones, up to the great gateway of the castle, leaving but just room for
us to drive through their midst. I had the sensation of an enormous
building: all Bohemian castles are big, but this one was like a royal
palace. Set there in the midst of the town, after the Bohemian fashion,
it opens at the back upon great gardens, as if it were in the midst of
the country. I walked through room after room, along corridor after
corridor; everywhere there were pictures, everywhere portraits of
Wallenstein, and battle-scenes in which he led on his troops. The
library, which was formed, or at least arranged, by Casanova, and which
remains as he left it, contains some 25,000 volumes, some of them of
considerable value; one of the most famous books in Bohemian literature,
Skala's History of the Church, exists in manuscript at Dux, and it is
from this manuscript that the two published volumes of it were printed.
The library forms part of the Museum, which occupies a ground-floor wing
of the castle. The first room is an armoury, in which all kinds of arms
are arranged, in a decorative way, covering the ceiling and the walls
with strange patterns. The second room contains pottery, collected by
Casanova's Waldstein on his Eastern travels. The third room is full of
curious mechanical toys, and cabinets, and carvings in ivory. Finally, we
come to the library, contained in the two innermost rooms. The
book-shelves are painted white, and reach to the low-vaulted ceilings,
which are whitewashed. At the end of a bookcase, in the corner of one of
the windows, hangs a fine engraved portrait of Casanova.

After I had been all over the castle, so long Casanova's home, I was
taken to Count Waldstein's study, and left there with the manuscripts. I
found six huge cardboard cases, large enough to contain f