An immense pyramidal-shaped gray marble forms the background.  Upon such a back-ground there might have been a group of a dozen figures at least.  However, there happen to be only four of the human species, and three of animals.  These human figures are, the Marshal; a woman weeping lustily—­I had almost said blubbering; (intended to represent France) Hercules; and a little child—­of some order or degree, not less affected than the female.  The animals are, a lion, a leopard, (which latter has a bear-like form) and an eagle.  I will now tell you what they are all doing.  Before the Marshal, is an opened grave; into which this illustrious hero, clad in complete armour, is about to march with a quiet, measured step—­as unconcernedly, as if he were descending a flight of steps which led to a conservatory.  The woman—­that is France—­is, in the meantime, weeping aloud; pointing to the grave, and very persuasively intreating the Marshal to enter—­as his mortal moments have expired.  I should add that death—­a large formidable-looking figure, veiled by a piece of drapery, is also at hand:  seeming to imply that hesitation and reluctance, on the part of the hero, are equally unavailing.  Next comes Hercules; who is represented as stationary, thoughtful, and sorrow-stricken, as France is agitated and in motion.  The lion and leopard (one representing Holland, and the other England—­ intending to convey the idea that the hero had beaten the armies of both countries) are between the Marshal and Hercules:  the leopard is lying upon his back—­in a very frolicksome attitude.  The lion is also not less abstracted from the general grief of the figures.  And this large, ugly, unmeaning composition—­they have the temerity to call the union of art by Phidias and Bouchardon—­with the inspiration of sublime poetry!  I will make no comments.[214] It is one of those felicitous efforts which have the enviable distinction of carrying its own text and commentary.  Below this vast mural monument, is a vault, containing the body of the Marshal.  I descended into it, and found it well ventilated and dry.  The coffin is immediately obvious:  it contains the body of the chieftain enclosed in two cases—­of which the first is silver, and the second copper.  The heart is, I believe, elsewhere.

Forming a strikingly happy contrast to this huge, unmeaning production—­are the modest and unassuming monuments of Schoepflin, Oberlin, and Koch:  men, of whom Strasbourg has good reason to be proud.  Nor let the monument of old Sebastian Schmidt escape the notice and commendation of the pensive observer.  These were all “fine fellows in their day:”  and died, including the illustrious Marshal, steady in the faith they had espoused—­ that is, in the belief and practice of the tenets of the reformed church.  I have no time for a particular description of these monuments.  Schoepflin’s consists of a bronze bust of himself placed in the front of