Rittersaal at once, which was like stepping back three hundred years.
The stained windows of the lofty Gothic hall, let in a subdued light
which fell on the forms of kings and knights, clad in the armor they
wore during life. On the left as we entered, were mail-covered figures
of John and Cosmo do Medici; further on stood the Emperor Maximilian,
and by his side the celebrated dwarf who was served up in a pie at one
of the imperial feasts. His armor was most delicate and beautiful, but
small as it was, General Thumb would have had room in it. Gustavus
Adolphus and Wallenstein looked down from the neighboring pedestals,
while at the other end stood Goetz von Berlichingen and Albert of
Brunswick. Guarding the door were Hans, the robber-knight of Nuremberg,
and another from the Thüringian forest. The steward told me that the
iron hand of Goetz was in possession of the family, but not shown to
strangers; he pointed out, however, the buckles on the armor, by which
it was fastened. Adjoining the hall is an antique chapel, filled with
rude old tombs, and containing the sarcophagus of Count Eginhard of
Denmark, who lived about the tenth century. There were also monkish
garments five hundred years old hanging up in it.

The collection of antiquities is large and interesting; but it is said
that the old Count obtained some of them in rather a questionable
manner. Among other incidents, they say that when in Rome he visited the
Pope, taking with him an old servant who accompanied him in all his
travels, and was the accomplice in most of his antiquarian thefts. In
one of the outer halls, among the curiosities, was an antique shield of
great value. The servant was left in this hall while the Count had his
audience, and in a short time this shield was missed. The servant who
wore a long cloak, was missed also; orders were given to close the gates
and search every body, but it was too late--the thief was gone.