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PRINCE BISMARCK. 
 1877. 
 
EUROPEA 
 
 Days and Ways 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED E. LEE, 
 
 LATE CONSUL-GENERAL U.S.A. 
 
 . 
 
 
 : 
 
 ILLUSTEATED. 
 
 ^ C 0PY RIGHT *V\ 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 
 1890. 
 
Copyright, 1890, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 
 
 
 
 \*\ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. — From the New World to the Old ........ 7 
 
 II. — A Winsome German City . 13 
 
 III. — General Grant at Frankfort .......... 24 
 
 IV. — William I., King of Prussia 32 
 
 V. — William I., Emperor of Germany ........ 56 
 
 VI. — German Social and Family Life ......... 72 
 
 VII. — How the Germans Educate 88 
 
 VIII. — Some Glimpses of Holland 97 
 
 IX. — From Snow to Sun ................. 113 
 
 X. — Among the Austrian Alps. 1 131 
 
 XL — Among the Austrian Alps. II 147 
 
 XII. — From Sun to Snow 170 
 
 XIIL: — A Tramp through Tyrol ............. 192 
 
 XIV. — The Splugen, the Lakes, and St. Gothard .... 216 
 
 XV. — Over the Furca to Meiringen ........... 239 
 
 XVI. — The Hasli-Scheideck, the Faulhorn, and the 
 
 Schynige Platte . 247 
 
 XVII. — Through Sicily. I. ................ 253 
 
 XVIIL— Through Sicily. II 266 
 
 XIX. — Around the Sorrento Peninsula ......... 282 
 
 XX. — Pompeii and Vesuvius 300 
 
 XXI. — From Mayence to Madrid ............. 316 
 
 XXII. — Toledo and Cordova 334 
 
 XXIII. — Through Andalusia 342 
 
 XXIV. — Bartolome Esteban Murillo ........... 358 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prince Bismarck, 1877^ . Frontispiece. 
 
 Ariadne (Dcmnecker) .................... 13 
 
 The Departure (Relief on the Niederwald Monument) ..... 32 
 
 The Eeturn (Relief on the Niederwald Monument) ....... 56 
 
 The Palmengarten (Music and Refreshment Hall) ....... 72 
 
 The Palmengarten (Interior of the Great Conservator!/) .... 97 
 
 The Konigssee ....................... 131 
 
 The Ehone Glacier .................... 239 
 
 Amalfi ........................... 282 
 
 Seneca (Portrait Bust, Vffizi Gallery, Florence) ......... 334 
 
 Moorish Interior (Algiers) ................. 342 
 
 A Modern Moorish Type (Algiers) ............. 358 
 
EUROPEAN 
 
 DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FROM THE NEW WORLD TO THE OLD. 
 
 Our steamship, the City of Richmond, cast off her lines in 
 New York harbor one exquisite morning in May. As usual 
 on such occasions; many friends of the voyagers on board 
 had assembled to see the ship off, and had laden the cabin 
 tables with their parting floral gifts. With cheers and flutter- 
 ing handkerchiefs these friends gave us their final salute as the 
 shapely steamer swung into the stream, and with tremulous 
 thrill sprang away in quick response to the motion of her 
 engines. The waving adieux soon became indistinguishable, 
 and the great city, with its deep-voiced activities, rapidly dis- 
 appeared behind us. 
 
 We were favored with friendly winds and an exceptionally 
 quick and tranquil voyage. On Queen Victoria's birthday, 
 which found us in mid-ocean, the ship spread all her bunting, 
 bewildering in design and color, making her seem like a mam- 
 moth butterfly skimming over the liquid prairies of the deep. 
 In the evening, the passengers signalized their respect for the 
 occasion by holding a banquet, with addresses and music. 
 
 Probably all sea-voyagers are impressed with the loneliness 
 of the ocean. It is the world's great desert. An occasional 
 ship and a few acrobatic porpoises and sea-birds are almost the 
 
 7 
 
3 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 only objects which vary the monotony of the wrinkled waste. 
 To encounter, amidst this solitude, another vessel is quite an 
 event. One fine evening the Richmond had a striking adven- 
 ture of this kind, passing, at an apparent distance of but a few 
 hundred yards, a three-masted ship, with every inch of canvas 
 spread. Her crew cheered as the great steamer swept by, one 
 of the sailors exuberantly swinging his boots over his head. 
 Straightway the winged voyager passed out of hearing, and 
 in a little while her white sails were shimmering in the even- 
 ing sunlight, far away. So it is with wayfarers on the world's 
 highways, whether on sea or land. 
 
 Like pilgrims on the hills of life, 
 "We cross each other, and are gone. 
 
 Our approach to the coast of Ireland was made in the night- 
 time, amidst a thick fog, which enshrouded the land and 
 darkened the sea. At daylight nothing could be seen but 
 misty reaches of sea-water, close by the ship, but towards noon 
 the cumbrous folds of vapor parted, disclosing some fine 
 headlands, with intervening meadows. 
 
 During the afternoon the fog cleared away entirely, and the 
 billows, breaking in spray against the Irish cliffs, flashed in 
 the effulgence of an unclouded sun. Marvellous were the 
 shades and combinations of color disclosed by this sudden 
 revealment, as by drawn curtain, of the blended beauties of 
 sea, sky, and land. The waves which dashed against the bow 
 of the ship changed, in recoil, their light and deep greens 
 into shades of blue of surpassing delicacy, fringed with snow- 
 white foam. Equally pleasing to the eye were the verdurous 
 meadows of the Irish coast, sloping down until blended with 
 silvery volumes of rolling surf. 
 
 At four in the afternoon the Richmond put into Queens- 
 town harbor, in quitting which, an hour later, she passed the 
 Indiana corning in with General Grant on board. As the two 
 
FROM THE NEW WORLD TO THE OLD. 9 
 
 ships exchanged salutations, the passengers, gathered on their 
 decks, broke into cheers. Next day the Lord Mayor of Liver- 
 pool, as we landed there, came down to the docks with a 
 numerous retinue, all in state carriages and gorgeous livery, to 
 receive the illustrious American. The Indiana, following our 
 steamer, was then momently expected in the Mersey. 
 
 Our arrival in London happened to fall on the eve of Derby 
 Day, when all England, so to speak, had come up for its 
 annual holiday in the metropolis. Not one of the half-dozen 
 or more hotels to which we had been recommended could 
 receive us ; the pleasure-seeking country folk had taken 
 possession of London. We were glad to accept, at last, some 
 improvised apartments, on condition that they should be sur- 
 rendered next day. The condition was remitted, finally, for 
 an extortionate consideration, and the days of our sojourn in 
 the world's chief city were spared for something more agree- 
 able than a tour of its lodging-houses. 
 
 Quitting London by a late afternoon steamer, we reached 
 the open sea at nightfall, and early next morning were steam- 
 ing up the wide and waveless Scheldt, rimmed with low, 
 green dikes, along which groups of holiday-dressed peasants 
 were passing. Under a cloudless sky we glided on over the 
 placid waters until, rising on the distant edge of the far-reach- 
 ing lowlands, the spire of the Antwerp Cathedral disclosed its 
 pinnacle. The morning had not waned ere we quitted the 
 steamer at her moorings and viewed the cathedral in full pro- 
 file from the windows of our hotel apartments. 
 
 There is an old Antwerp and a new, — the one a maze of 
 crooked lanes, across which the projecting peaked gables 
 almost touch ; the other a city of palaces, parks, and boule- 
 vards. Over all, beautifying all, rises the majestic cathedral 
 spire, — an architectural poem, — a perpetual delight. Its pro- 
 portions with the rest of the structure are said to be out of 
 harmony, but the incongruity is not so serious as to mar our 
 
10 EUROPEAN DAIS AND WAYS. 
 
 enjoyment of an object in itself so superb. The tracery of 
 this spire was compared by Napoleon to Mechlin lace, but 
 without compare was the melody of its silver-toned carillon, 
 falling in rhythmic showers on that tranquil Sunday morning. 
 
 Low, and loud, and sweetly blended, 
 Low at times, and loud at times, 
 And changing like a poet's rhymes, 
 Bang the beautiful wild chimes. 
 
 A fortified city, famous in war and in statecraft, Antwerp 
 nevertheless bestows more conspicuous veneration upon its artists 
 than upon its soldiers or its statesmen. The finest memorials 
 which adorn its public places are not of warriors, or diplomatists, 
 but of the great master, Rubens, and his illustrious disciples, 
 "Vandyke and Teniers. Indeed, the name and works of Rubens, 
 it may almost be said, constitute the chief glory of Antwerp. 
 The Museum contains his Crucifixion, — consummate in terrible 
 sublimity, — his gorgeous Adoration of the Magi, and his dead 
 Christ, known as the Christ db la Paille. His chair, even, is 
 enshrined in a glass cabinet. His masterpiece, the Descent from 
 the Cross, is preserved with pious care in the cathedral, where 
 it is protected by a folding screen. His Elevation of the Cross, 
 guarded in like manner, hangs on the wall opposite. His 
 Scourging of Christ — a famous picture — is in the old Domin- 
 ican chapel now known as the Church of St. Paul. The 
 Church of St. Jacques contains one of his finest altar-pieces 
 and his tomb. 
 
 The railway from Antwerp to Cologne, via Liege, courses 
 through an exquisitely beautiful country, of great historical 
 interest. There is scarcely a town or a village on the route 
 which does not suggest some classic reminiscence. Meehelen, 
 still abounding in mediaeval architecture, traces its history back 
 to the time of King Pepin, in the eighth century, and has been 
 overrun again and again by the armies of Marlborough and 
 
FROM THE NEW WORLD TO THE OLD. \\ 
 
 the invading French. The annals of Louvain, which claims 
 Julius Caesar as its founder, are perspicuous as far back as the 
 ninth century. Between Louvain and Landen — the birthplace 
 of Pepin — lie the battle-fields of the Neerwinden plain, where 
 the French were defeated in 1693 by William III. of Eng- 
 land, and in 1793 by the Austrians. Near Tirleraont the 
 Belgic Lion and Prussian monument on the field of Waterloo 
 may be descried from the railway. Liege, founded in the 
 sixth century, at the confluence of the Ourthe and the 
 Meuse, amidst a circlet of beautiful hills, has acquired fame 
 alike from history and from Sir Walter Scott's fiction. Dol- 
 hain, the last Belgian station, was sacked at different times by 
 the Emperor Henry V., by Louis XIV., and by Marlborough. 
 Diiren was the Marcodurum of Tacitus. At Aix-la-Chapelle, 
 anciently renowned for its thermal springs, near which was 
 stationed the First Roman Legion, Charlemagne was born, 
 died, and was entombed. There also, in the course of subse- 
 quent centuries, thirty-seven successors of the great emperor 
 were crowned. When his tomb was opened, in the year 1000, 
 nearly two centuries after his interment, his body was found, 
 still seated on its marble throne, and arrayed in its imperial 
 robes. 
 
 At Herbesthal, the first Prussian station, the train halts while 
 the German customs officers inspect the baggage of passengers. 
 A change of currency and of language takes place at this 
 boundary town, after quitting which the eastward-going trav- 
 eller must accustom himself to reiehsmark instead of francs, 
 and to the German vocabulary in lieu of the French. 
 
 While our train scuds swiftly over the alluvial plains of the 
 Lower Rhine, about an hour after quitting Herbesthal, we 
 descry the twin spires of the Cologne Cathedral, the pinnacles 
 of which are yet blazing with the setting sun as we alight 
 beneath their evening shadows. 
 
 An ideal June day, radiant and gentle as could be, favored 
 
12 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 our voyage by Rhine steamer from Cologne to Mayence. 
 Byron must have had just such a day and season in mind 
 when, with not less truth than poetry of description, he wrote : 
 
 The castled crag of Drachenfels 
 
 Frowns o'er the wide and winding Khine, 
 Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
 
 Between the banks which bear the vine, — 
 And hills all rich with blossomed trees, 
 
 And fields which promise corn and wine, 
 And scattered cities crowning these, 
 
 Whose far white walls along them shine, 
 Have strewed a scene which I should see 
 With double joy, wert thou with me. 
 
 And peasant girls with deep-blue eyes, 
 
 And hands which offer yearly flowers, 
 Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
 
 Above, the frequent feudal towers 
 Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, 
 
 And many a rock which steeply lowers, 
 And noble arch in proud decay, 
 
 Look o'er this vale of vintage bowers. 
 
 The Rhine steamers are swift travellers, make short stop- 
 pages, and keep closely to their time schedules. Both deck 
 and cabin are admirably arranged for observation of the 
 scenery, than which there is none which affords a more pleas- 
 ing or interesting epitome of the historic and legendary past. 
 
 During the latter part of the afternoon our steamer — the 
 Kaiser Wilhelm — emerged from the gorge at Bingen and 
 passed Riidesheim, just above which the white-walled Schloss 
 Johannisberg, crowning a distant height, came into view. The 
 valley here widens out between lines of hills which gracefully 
 recede on both sides of the river, the broad surface of which is 
 clustered with small green islands. Through the Bingen gate- 
 way we have entered the Garden of the Rhine, strewing 
 which, along the river's margin, or back upon the hills, are 
 
ARIADNE. 
 Dannecker. 
 
A WINSOME GERMAN CITY. 13 
 
 numerous villages and castles whose vintages have made their 
 names known the world over. 
 
 As we passed Eltville and Biebrich, the evening light was 
 pouring in mellow splendors over the vine-clad hills, and 
 burnishing the massive towers of the old cathedral at May- 
 ence. The day and the river-voyage ended together as we 
 touched the Mayence landing. Next morning we looked out, 
 through a dripping atmosphere, on the quaint old Rossniarkt 
 Square in Frankfort. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A WINSOME GERMAN CITY. 
 
 There is no more fascinating old city in Europe than 
 Frankfort-on-the-Main. The foreigners, not excepting Ameri- 
 cans, who sojourn long within its precincts never fail to become 
 its enthusiastic adorers. The Frankforters themselves regard 
 it as such an excellent place to stay in that not many of them 
 can be persuaded to leave it. There are not a few of its 
 families whose perspicuous annals of residence extend back 
 through a long line of ancestry for. two or three centuries. 
 There are banks and other business houses whose present 
 name and location have been continuous for one hundred to 
 one hundred and fifty years. The city itself dates back to the 
 time of Charlemagne. One of its stone bridges, spanning the 
 river Main, is said to have been built five or six centuries ago. 
 A legend tells us it was placed there by His Satanic Majesty, 
 on a special contract with the city fathers that he should have 
 the soul of the first creature that should pass over it. When 
 it was finished, the shrewd Frankforters sent a rooster across 
 it, thereby showing themselves smarter than the sly party of 
 the second part. An image of the rooster, surmounting a pole 
 
14 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 set upon the bridge, commemorates the event and confirms 
 the truth of the story. 
 
 The foundation of the Frankfort Cathedral is traced to 
 Charlemagne by some authorities, and by others to King 
 Pepin. Within its walls many of the German emperors 
 were crowned, beginning as far back as 1711. A few hun- 
 dred yards from it stands the venerable Pomer, which is 
 historically one of the most interesting buildings in Germany. 
 The famous Golden Bull of Charles IV. is deposited among 
 its archives ; the electors of the empire assembled, when a 
 new emperor was to be chosen, within one of its chambers ; 
 from its balcony the emperor-elect exhibited himself to the 
 applauding multitudes, and in its grand saloon the coronation 
 banquet was held. The full-size portraits of forty-eight 
 German monarchs, painted in the costumes of their time, 
 adorn this curious chamber. 
 
 Around the walls of Frankfort swept the armies of Louis 
 XIV. and of the great Napoleon. Here Louis the Pious 
 lived and King Giinther died. Here, in one of the fantastic 
 rookeries of the Judengasse, the Rothschilds laid the founda- 
 tions of the most colossal fortune in the world. Here, in a 
 narrow and crowded street, stands a comely old house with 
 peaked gables and projecting stories, over whose portal we 
 read the inscription : 
 
 In diesem Hause 
 
 wurde 
 
 Johann Wolfgang Goethe, 
 
 am 2Sten August, 174-9, geboren. 
 
 In this building the great poet spent his infancy, and made 
 the home of his boyhood and early manhood. Here, later in 
 life, he was visited by Lavater, Basedow, and Klopstock, and 
 here, as we wander about the curious old chambers, we recall 
 the names of Marguerite and Maximiliane, of Bettina and 
 
A WINSOME GERMAN CITY. 15 
 
 Lili, of Sybilla Monch and Anna Schonernan, of — but the list 
 is too long for repetition. Most of all are we reminded here 
 of her whose Martha- Washington-like face appears in a por- 
 trait on the wall, — the doting mother of the great Goethe. 
 Of the spiritual presences within these old walls hers is the 
 most palpable. Her illustrious son seldom dwelt in this house 
 after the period of his early manhood, but here her faithful 
 heart continued to beat in maternal fondness, until it ceased to 
 beat, for her beloved Wolfgang. 
 
 In an obscure little park, beside a narrow and remote street, 
 in another part of the city, Goethe's mother lies buried. 
 There is no monument over the grave, — nothing to distinguish 
 it save a plain, weather-worn tablet, around which a few sprigs 
 of ivy scramble. The spot was once a suburban church-yard, 
 but the city swept over and far beyond it, and now only a few 
 of the graves remain undisturbed. Unnoted, Goethe's mother 
 sleeps there, while out in the grand area, around which the life 
 and energy of the city course and pulsate, stands Sch wan thaler's 
 splendid monument to her immortal son. 
 
 Frankfort has no military fame like Mayence, Metz, Stras- 
 bourg, or Antwerp. Though once a walled town, it was never 
 a celebrated fortress. It has had its military vicissitudes, but 
 they were not conspicuous. Goethe narrates in his autobiog- 
 raphy that, during his boyhood, he once heard the trumpets 
 sounding the alarm all day long from the watch-towers, as the 
 French army approached and invested the town ; that after the 
 city had yielded without resistance to the beleaguering army, 
 one of the enemy's generals of division quartered himself and 
 staff upon the poet's reluctant and indignant father ; and that 
 he (young Goethe) turned the annoyance to good account by 
 learning French from the unbidden guests. Other annals 
 narrate that, a century and a half before this time, the army 
 of Gustavus Adolphus appeared before the city, even then 
 " opulent and populous," and demanded its surrender ; that 
 
IQ EUROPEAN DATS AND WATS. 
 
 the wealthy burghers hesitated, but at last succumbed ; and 
 that the triumphant battalions of the great Swede marched 
 through the gates and unfurled the banners of Protestantism 
 from the city's walls and pinnacles. 
 
 Nearly two centuries later, Napoleon passed through Frank- 
 fort on his way to conquest, and also on his flight from disaster ; 
 and in one of the public gardens a tree is pointed out under 
 which, as tradition runs, the great emperor, when at the zenith 
 of his fame, once stood while his veteran legions passed in 
 review before him. 
 
 But Frankfort has always been a city of trade and finance, 
 rather than one of military tastes and renown. Its wealth has 
 been proverbial from its early history until now, and the 
 assertion is made that, in proportion to population, its riches 
 surpass those of any other city in the world. The Rothschilds, 
 besides their great banking house, standing within a stone's- 
 throw of the hovel where the family was founded, possess 
 vast estates here, and the singular story is told that their 
 first considerable gains were made with funds received and 
 deposited by the Hessian government as the wages of its 
 mercenaries in the attempted subjugation of the American 
 Colonies. 
 
 Many other families, both German and Jewish, possess 
 enormous fortunes, and own or control financial, commercial, 
 and industrial interests radiating to nearly every part of the 
 civilized world. Of banking houses, properly so called, there 
 is no unusual number, but the city abounds in dealers in all 
 manner of securities, and its stock exchange is one of the 
 most important in Europe. Its capitalists claim to have been 
 the first to take the bonds of the United States offered abroad 
 during our civil war, and there have been times when their 
 holdings of those bonds amounted to not less than a hundred 
 millions of dollars. They also deal enormously in the rail- 
 way, State, and local securities of this country, and there is no 
 
A WINSOME GERMAN CITY. 17 
 
 city in Europe where all that pertains to American invest- 
 ments is better understood than in Frankfort. Several of the 
 foremost financiers have branch houses in New York, with 
 which they are in daily communication by cable. American 
 investments are the favorites, particularly our national bonds, 
 which are preferred even to those of Germany or Great 
 Britain, but all the European loans are placed more or less 
 through Frankfort agencies. It is a notable fact that many 
 of the houses which have acquired great wealth in this busi- 
 ness are those of Hebrews, who now live in princely elegance, 
 although it is less than a century since all of that race dwell- 
 ing in Frankfort were obliged to inhabit the hovels of the 
 Judengasse, and were locked up at night in that narrow and 
 odious quarter. 
 
 The ancient portions of Frankfort are poetically quaint. 
 The narrow, meandering streets, overhung by projecting 
 stories and lofty, peaked gables, are bewildering to the 
 stranger. But all the thoroughfares, however irregular, are 
 kept scrupulously clean ; the sewerage system is superb ; and 
 the houses are painted in harmonious neutral colors, pleasant 
 to the eye, so that even the older structures, some of which 
 have existed without substantial change for seven or eight 
 centuries, look comparatively fresh and tidy. Around the 
 public square known as the Romerberg, fronting the Homer, 
 stands a cluster of these ancient buildings, such as Ruskin 
 might be supposed to describe when he says that " the glory 
 of a human structure is not in its stones nor its gold, but in 
 its age, and in that deep sense of voicefulness, of stern watch- 
 ing, of mysterious sympathy, nay, even of approval or con- 
 demnation which we feel in walls that have been long washed 
 by the passing waves of humanity." 
 
 But Frankfort is by no means all ancient. The West End, 
 as it is called, is mostly new, and is a town of palaces. Half 
 the rickety old hovels of the Judengasse have been torn away, 
 b 2* 
 
13 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 and many other primitive streets have been partly or wholly 
 obliterated. Two splendid new bridges have been thrown 
 across the Main, a grand opera-house rivalling that of Paris 
 in the beauty and completeness of its appointments has been 
 built, a system of sluice- ways by which the Main has been 
 made navigable by Rhine steamers from Mayence to Frank- 
 fort has been constructed, and a union railway-station build- 
 ing, not surpassed except in size by any other on the Continent, 
 has recently been completed. A large and elegant hotel, a 
 museum and academy of art, a new exchange, and several 
 large school buildings, all costly and beautiful structures, are 
 among the later improvements. 
 
 Much is done for the general comfort and recreation of the 
 people, and this is in nothing more conspicuous than in the 
 public gardens and promenades. Most all German cities have 
 such places of resort, but in few cities of any country are they 
 so attractive and convenient as in Frankfort. On the site of 
 the ancient walls, which have been torn away, and of the 
 moat, which has been filled up, a series of connecting parks 
 has been laid out encircling the old town, and lying nearly 
 equidistant from the city's present centre and circumference. 
 An American lady who well knows the Anlage, as this popular 
 pleasure-ground is called, thus describes for me some of its 
 attractions : 
 
 " One of its principal adornments is its trees. In the first 
 place, besides being luxuriantly grown and leaved, they are 
 all knotted and gnarled as fantastically as if they had grown 
 so of their own volition, and not of the landscapist's. Nearly 
 the whole tree is draped with light-green moss, which velvet 
 may resemble but cannot rival. Even in winter, when the 
 leaves are gone, it is delightful to look upon these venerable 
 stems, with their interlacement of brown and green branches 
 silhouetted against the sky. 
 
 " The Anlage abounds also in lakes, fountains, rustic bridges, 
 
A WINSOME GERMAN CITY. 19 
 
 and sequestered nooks, where one may while away the summer 
 hours watching the shadows creeping up and down the sand. 
 The lakes are stocked with goldfish, which the children feed, 
 and which everybody stops to admire. Then there are milk 
 and refreshment booths, wells of pure cold water,* and plenty 
 of comfortable benches for tired and loitering pedestrians. A 
 large proportion of the visitors are working people, who try 
 to pass through the Anlage while going to and from their labor, 
 or to enjoy an hour's stroll in it on Sunday afternoons. Here, 
 also, the children and their nurses come, and the little ones 
 make themselves happy, playing in the sand-heaps." 
 
 The Palmengarten is above all else the pride of Frankfort. 
 When the Duke of Nassau — an active sympathizer with the 
 beaten side in the Austro-Prussian war — lost his dominions, 
 and quitted his famous chateau at Biebrich, the Frankforters 
 availed themselves of the opportunity to buy his entire collec- 
 tion of rare and costly plants, comprising about thirty thou- 
 sand specimens. They then erected a mammoth conservatory 
 of glass, with an elegant and commodious music- and dining- 
 hall attached, and adorned the adjacent grounds with fountains, 
 lakes, parterres, promenades, and all things beautiful, making, 
 altogether, one of the loveliest spots in Europe. Scientific 
 gardeners are .regularly salaried and employed to keep the 
 place in order, whose assiduity and skill impart to it such in- 
 genuity of color and arrangement as a practised artist bestows 
 upon the labor of his heart. In truth their handiwork is, in 
 its way, artistic. In fine weather an orchestra plays in a 
 pavilion in the garden, and at other times in the spacious 
 concert-room. This apartment looks directly into the great 
 
 * In one of the parks of the Anlage, near its junction with the Main- 
 zerlandstrasse, is located one of these wells, containing a primitive pump 
 worked by a long iron handle, and surmounted by the bust of a laughing 
 Bacchus. 
 
20 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 conservatory, which presents a scene of tropical enchantment. 
 Five large palm-trees, imported by Humboldt, occupy con- 
 spicuous positions amidst skilfully-grouped dracsenas, ferns, 
 azaleas, rhododendrons, passifloras, and a myriad of other 
 rare tropical and semi-tropical growths. The ground is car- 
 peted with light-green moss, smooth and soft as velvet, and 
 moistened by the spray of falling waters. 
 
 Another popular place of resort, scarcely less attractive, is 
 the Zoological Garden, containing a splendid music-hall in 
 which daily concerts are given, an aquarium, and a large col- 
 lection of rare specimens of the animal kingdom. 
 
 To the enjoyment of parks, promenades, and general out- 
 door amusement the moderate and equable climate of Central 
 Germany is particularly gracious. The city of Frankfort, 
 though in about the same latitude as Montreal, lies upon a 
 very different isothermal line. Screened by the Taunus 
 Mountains from the cold winds of the North Sea, it is at the 
 same time sufficiently remote from the Alps to escape the vio- 
 lent atmospheric changes common to South Germany. Snow 
 generally falls at Dresden, and also in the Black Forest, two 
 or three weeks earlier than at Frankfort. In summer the 
 heat is seldom oppressive, or of long duration, and the nights 
 are always sufficiently cool to insure comfortable sleep. The 
 winters are usually mild and open. In all seasons a great deal 
 of rain falls, and unclouded skies are exceptional. An atmos- 
 phere perfectly pellucid and crystalline, with that resulting 
 " divine splendor of the fields" which Virgil speaks of, is not 
 known in Germany as it is upon our Western Continent. It 
 came within the observation of the writer that the month of 
 July, at Frankfort, contained, one year, but seven days with- 
 out rain, and none at all that were cloudless. 
 
 In the Main Valley the soil is light and sandy, and evapo- 
 ration is rapid. The local physicians say that moist weather 
 is healthier than dry, because, by saturating the porous earth, 
 
A WINSOME GERMAN CITY. 21 
 
 it prevents the exhalation of injurious vapors and secures a 
 purer atmosphere. At any rate, the people do not seem to 
 mind the rain, but rather to enjoy all the more on account of 
 it their habits of out-door life. It is believed that the hu- 
 midity of the atmosphere is favorable to corpulency, and no 
 doubt to this cause, rather than, as commonly supposed, to the 
 practice of beer-drinking, are due the full habit and tranquil 
 temperament of the Germans. 
 
 The Frankforters possess, in its fullest degree, the German 
 passion for art and music. They have among them several 
 artists of wide celebrity, and also an art society of long 
 standing, which maintains a permanent exhibition and weekly 
 sale of contemporary paintings. The new Art Academy, 
 known from its founder as the Stadel'sche Institute, and occu- 
 pying a commanding site on the left bank of the Main, is 
 richly endowed, and possesses many rare and celebrated works. 
 A collection of sculptures and casts, privately belonging to the 
 Baron von Bethmann, but easily accessible to visitors, derives 
 its name — the Ariadneum — from Dannecker's Ariadne and 
 the Lioness, an exquisite work, worthy to rank with the 
 finest antiques. The figures — representing Ariadne reclining 
 upon the lioness's back— are wrought, life-size, from a single 
 block of Carrara marble, and cost the artist seven years of 
 continuous study and labor. Had he expended upon them his 
 whole lifetime, he might still have died content with the 
 product of his genius. 
 
 Not famous, like Dresden or Stuttgart, for its musical 
 advantages, Frankfort nevertheless enjoys the best music of 
 the period. Its conservatorium, in whose calendar of instruc- 
 tors we find such names as those of Stockhausen, Raff, 
 and Clara Schumann (widow of the great composer), has 
 achieved wide reputation. The opera, subsidized by the 
 government, is of the highest order of merit. The museum 
 concerts, given bi-weekly during the winter, attract the co- 
 
22 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 operation of the best vocalists and instrumentalists in Eu- 
 rope, and are scarcely surpassed in any German city. The 
 orchestra, containing about seventy performers, is extraordi- 
 nary in its thoroughness of training and nicety of execution. 
 Its interpretations of Beethoven, Mozart, and other great 
 composers would be famous in any country less musical than 
 Germany. 
 
 Scarcely less interesting than the music are the people who 
 attend these concerts. The museum, as the concert-hall is 
 called, is a model of comfort, convenience, and acoustic excel- 
 lence, and not one of its fifteen hundred seats ever remains 
 untaken. Hither come the wealthy, the refined, and those of 
 all conditions who have a taste for the higher order of musical 
 art, and among them all there is perceptibly no rude, ill- 
 behaved, or obtrusive person. The entire audience gives its 
 undivided attention to the music, and neither entertainers nor 
 entertained will tolerate interruption. If the leader of the 
 orchestra overhears conversation, he will immediately face the 
 disturbers and throw up his baton. 
 
 The new Opera-House bears upon its front the inscription, 
 Dem Wahren, Sehonen, Guten, and it is an offering nobly 
 conceived as well as nobly dedicated. It was built by joint 
 funds of the municipality and of wealthy citizens, and contains 
 seats for two thousand persons. As a precaution against fire, 
 its Coulissenhause, or magazine for stage scenery, is built sepa- 
 rately, at a considerable distance from the main building, with 
 which it communicates by a surface tramway, and also by 
 underground passages. The apparatus for heating, cooling, 
 ventilating, and illuminating the building centres in the three- 
 story basement — where its motive power is located — and per- 
 forms its functions with marvellous perfection. Pure air, 
 drawn from the neighboring Anlage, is heated in winter, or 
 cooled in summer, and circulated with the most careful ad- 
 justment of temperature to every nook and corner of the 
 
A WINSOME GERMAN CITY. 23 
 
 building. From his position in the basement, the engineer 
 advises himself by an electric contrivance of the exact state of 
 the atmosphere, both as to purity and temperature, in every 
 corridor, lodge, and chamber, and is able, by the apparatus 
 at his command, to correct immediately any improper at- 
 mospheric condition in any part of the building. It has 
 been said that the Frankforters go to the opera for hygienic 
 benefit as well as for amusement, and that they find there 
 a refuge alike from the asperities of winter and the heat of 
 summer. 
 
 The precautions for the safety of the audience are equally 
 complete. During a performance, a corps of trained and 
 vigilant firemen is constantly on the watch, prepared to flood 
 instantaneously any part of the building where fire may 
 appear, and such are the means of exit that the entire audi- 
 torium may be vacated in five minutes. Meanwhile, by the 
 drop of an iron screen, the stage may, in an instant, be com- 
 pletely isolated from the remaining interior. 
 
 So perfect is the system of electric signals, that the actors 
 are summoned by it to their places in the play, and the leader 
 of the orchestra duplicates, by some electric magic, the strokes 
 of his baton to the chorus behind the scenes. 
 
 The leading actors are of the first professional merit, 
 and, being engaged for a term of years, become locally ac- 
 quainted and enjoy, like the military, the highest social privi- 
 leges. 
 
 The subvention to the opera is paid from the municipal 
 treasury, and may reach, but not exceed, the sum of twenty- 
 five thousand dollars per annum. An equal expenditure of 
 money could scarcely be better made for the wholesome recrea- 
 tion of the people. 
 
 The people of Frankfort enjoy their opera and are proud 
 of its splendid temple, as they have good reason to be. In its 
 interior and exterior elegance, and in the excellence of its 
 
24 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 appointments, from its subterranean mechanism to the winged 
 hippogriff upon the crown of its pediment, it is a princely 
 testimonial to their good taste, and emblem of their refinement. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GENERAL GRANT AT FRANKFORT. 
 
 The extraordinary honors paid to General Grant in Eng- 
 land created a profound impression all over Europe. No 
 other American, and indeed few Europeans, had ever received 
 such honors abroad, and the case was made still more ex- 
 ceptional by the fact that this great distinction was paid to no 
 potentate or representative of political power, but to a plain 
 private citizen, holding no rank or official position. 
 
 As soon as it was known that General Grant intended to 
 travel on the Continent, he was invited to visit Frankfort-on- 
 the-Main. The invitation was extended by the American 
 residents of that city, and was accepted. A joint meeting of 
 these Americans, and of prominent burghers of the city, was 
 then held, and a committee was appointed, half Germans and 
 half Americans, to make arrangements for the reception and 
 entertainment of General Grant and his party. Mr. Henry 
 Seligman, an American banker of Frankfort, and the writer 
 were delegated to intercept the distinguished tourist on his 
 journey up the Rhine, and conduct him to the city. 
 
 It was upon a radiant summer morning that we quitted 
 Frankfort on this mission. General Grant was at Bingen, 
 where he had arrived the evening before from Cologne. He 
 was accompanied by Mrs. Grant, his son Jesse Grant, and 
 General Adam Badeau, Consul-General at London. Their 
 
GENERAL GRANT AT FRANKFORT. 25 
 
 arrival at Bingen had been so unostentatious that their presence 
 in the town was scarcely known outside of the hotel in which 
 they had taken rooms. Their departure was alike unnoticed. 
 
 Our train drew up at Bingen just as a special schnellzug, 
 with the Emperor of Germany on board, swept past the town 
 without stopping. Proceeding at once to the hotel, we learned 
 that General Grant had already left for Riklesheim, but had 
 possibly not yet crossed the river. We hastened to the land- 
 ing, and there found him and his party seated under some 
 linden-trees, waiting for the ferry. I had a package of letters 
 for the general which had come to my care, and which, after 
 mutual introductions, I delivered to him at once. Tearing 
 open and throwing away the envelopes until the ground 
 around him was littered with them, General Grant hastily 
 inspected the letters and passed them to General Badeau. By 
 this time the Riidesheim steamer had arrived, and we all went 
 on board. In a moment more the boat pushed off and turned 
 its course up the stately river. The rippling waters sparkled 
 in the sunshine, and all the vine-clad hills were dressed in the 
 emerald bravery of summer. On the right, dropping behind 
 us, was Bingen, famous in legend and in song, while on the left, 
 in the foreground, appeared the clustered, red-tiled gables of 
 Riidesheim. Upon the summit of a commanding bluff which 
 rises on the right bank of the river, and which was passed 
 by our steamer, now stands the great National Monument, 
 since erected as a war memorial of the completed political 
 unity of the German states. 
 
 From Riidesheim to Wiesbaden, where General Grant 
 desired to make his next halt, the railway follows the Rhine 
 as far as Castel, opposite Mayence. We had but a few 
 minutes to wait for our train, and were soon bowl ins; alons:, 
 with the bluffs and blossoming fields of the Rheingau on the 
 one hand, and the bright river on the other. While we were 
 discussing the various objects of interest, and the topics which 
 b 3 
 
26 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 they suggested, General Badeau discovered by accident among 
 the letters which General Grant had given him one which had 
 not been opened. 
 
 " The address is in the handwriting of General Sherman," 
 said Badeau. 
 
 " Yes," said Grant, glancing at the superscription, " that is 
 from Sherman. Read it." 
 
 Accordingly, General Badeau read the letter, which we all 
 listened to, deeply impressed with the cordiality of its expres- 
 sions. In heartiest terms the writer felicitated General Grant 
 upon the splendid reception which had been given him, and 
 the merited appreciation awarded him in the Old World. 
 The letter was that of an admiring and devoted friend rather 
 than that of a military colleague. 
 
 " General Sherman seems to have a strong personal regard 
 for you, general," remarked one of the party. 
 
 " Yes," responded General Grant, " there has always been 
 the best of feeling between Sherman and myself, although at- 
 tempts have not been wanting to make it appear otherwise." 
 
 " I have noticed such attempts," replied the person addressed, 
 " but for my part I have never needed any proof that they 
 were wholly uncalled for and impertinent. 
 
 " Possibly you have never heard, general," continued the 
 speaker, " how heartily General Sherman rejoiced over your 
 capture of Lee and his army. I happened to be a member 
 of Sherman's command at the time when the news reached 
 him at Goldsboro' that you had broken the Confederate lines 
 before Petersburg, and I can testify that he was particularly 
 gratified that he had not been obliged to make any move- 
 ment that would have given a pretext for saying that your 
 success was due in part to him. To those about him he ex- 
 claimed, in his energetic way, — 
 
 " ' I knew Grant would do it, for I know the man. And 
 I'm glad that he accomplished it without my help. Nobody 
 
GENERAL GRANT AT FRANKFORT. 27 
 
 can say now that I have divided with him the credit of this 
 success. He has deserved it all, he has gained it all, and I'm 
 glad that he will have it all.' " 
 
 About noon the party arrived at Wiesbaden, where nobody 
 seemed to expect them except the people at the hotel where 
 General Grant's courier had engaged rooms. After dinner 
 Mr. Seligmau desired to tender a drive to the general and 
 Mrs. Grant, but they had disappeared. After a short search 
 we found them sitting together alone in one of the arboreal 
 retreats of the Kurgarten. The general remarked that it was 
 his custom when he visited a city to explore it on foot, and 
 that in this way he had already made himself tolerably famil- 
 iar, he thought, with the general plan and topography of 
 Wiesbaden. Mr. Seligman's invitation was readily accepted, 
 however, and half an hour later the party set out, in a carriage, 
 for the Russian Chapel. 
 
 Wiesbaden is one of the most ancient watering-places on 
 the Continent. It was a Roman military station, bearing wit- 
 ness to which the Heidenberg — a neighboring eminence — still 
 shows the traces of a Roman fortress. The remains of Roman 
 baths and a temple have also been found in the vicinity, and 
 the waters are mentioned by Pliny. Under the name of Wisi- 
 bad the Carlovingian monarchs established at Wiesbaden an im- 
 perial residence. The city lies under the southern slope of the 
 Taunus Mountains, the rocky recesses of which conceal the 
 mysteries of its thermal springs. The hilly country for miles 
 around abounds in charming pleasure-grounds, drives, and 
 promenades. The gilded palaces which were formerly used as 
 fashionable gambling-houses are now devoted to the social and 
 musical recreation of visitors who come to take the waters. 
 
 The drive to the Russian Chapel ascends the Taunus Moun- 
 tain by a winding road, amidst stately, well-kept forests of 
 beech and chestnut. The chapel, whose gilded domes can be 
 seen from afar, stands upon one of the most salient mountain 
 
28 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 spurs, and overlooks the country as far as Mayence and the 
 Odenwald. It was erected by the Duke of Nassau as a me- 
 morial to his deceased first wife, who was a beautiful young 
 Russian princess. Upon her tomb, which adorns the interior, 
 her life-size effigy reclines in pure white marble. 
 
 General Grant lingered for some time at this place, and from 
 the promontory ou which the chapel stands contemplated with 
 deep interest the far-reaching, historic scenes of the Rhine 
 Valley. 
 
 Next morning the general and his party arrived at Frank- 
 fort, where they were met by the reception committee, and 
 conducted to the principal places of interest. Among the es- 
 tablishments visited were some of the large wine-cellars, and 
 also Henninger's great brewery, through the immense crypts 
 of which General Grant was conducted. As he was about to 
 leave Henninger's he was requested to write his name in the 
 visitor's register, which was ruled with spaces entitled re- 
 spectively " name," "residence," and "occupation." Grant 
 promptly put down his name and place of residence, but when 
 he came to the "occupation" column he hesitated. "What 
 shall I write here?" he inquired, — "loafer?" 
 
 This remark was made in jest, and yet not without a certain 
 sadness of tone and manner. Undoubtedly General Grant 
 felt keenly the irksomeness of having nothing particular to do. 
 After the immense strain which had been- put upon him for 
 twelve successive years, it was not easy for him to reconcile 
 himself, in the prime of his manhood and the full maturity of 
 his powers, to being a mere spectator of the affairs of men. 
 Activity had become a second nature to him, and idleness was 
 simply intolerable. With much leisure on his hands, he first 
 sought rest and recreation, and then occupation. However 
 unfortunately his business undertakings resulted, they were, 
 after all, but the outcome of a natural and laudable desire to 
 be usefully employed. 
 
GENERAL GRANT AT FRANKFORT. 29 
 
 To many people General Grant seemed to be a very taciturn 
 man, having little inclination or capacity for conversation. 
 But no judgment of him could be more erroneous, as many 
 persons who conversed with him during his sojourn at Frank- 
 fort can attest. He knew how to keep silent, and he also knew 
 how to make himself extremely entertaining whenever he 
 deemed it prudent to express his ideas freely. A very distin- 
 guished leader of the Democratic party whom I had the honor 
 to meet in Frankfort, subsequent to # General Grant's visit, in- 
 formed me that he had travelled with him in Russia, had con- 
 versed with him a great deal, and had been astonished, not 
 only at his conversational power, but at the extent and 
 accuracy of his information, particularly in regard to every- 
 thing pertaining to commerce between the United States and 
 the different countries of Europe. " The general seems to 
 have been an extremely careful student of these matters," said 
 my mformant, "and I was the more surprised at this because 
 I had formed an altogether different idea of his character. 
 Since I have met him and talked with him," added this 
 Democratic leader, " I regard him as one of the greatest men 
 of his age, — although I had before thought of him very differ- 
 ently, — and I now heartily wish that he might be President 
 again. I doubt whether we have another man, of either party, 
 capable of governing the country so wisely and so well." 
 
 The banquet given to General Grant by the citizens and 
 resident Americans of Frankfort was a superb affair. It was 
 spread in the music-hall of the Palmengarten, where the illus- 
 trious guest was seated fronting the tropical enchantment of the 
 grand conservatory already described. The conservatory and 
 hall were brilliantly illuminated, the tables were resplendent 
 with silver and floral decorations, and upon the walls of the 
 banquet-chamber the national emblems of the Great Republic 
 and the Great Empire were suggestively displayed side by side. 
 Ladies were admitted to the galleries, but gentlemen only 
 
 3* 
 
30 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 were seated at the tables, around which were gathered some 
 hundreds of the most prominent bankers and merchants of 
 Germany, including capitalists who had been the first in Eu- 
 rope to invest in the war-loans offered by our government. 
 
 The dinner lasted three hours. Between the courses the 
 orchestra played our national airs, and various toasts were 
 drunk, a venerable burgher of Frankfort proposing the health 
 of General Grant, to which the general responded in a brief, 
 sensible, and somewhat humorous speech, which was exceed- 
 ingly well received. 
 
 Outside the building the scene was scarcely less animated or 
 interesting than within. By the aid of colored lights and other 
 pyrotechnic contrivances the garden was made brilliant and 
 gay as an Arabian Nights dream. The atmosphere was per- 
 fumed with the aroma of flowers and filmy with the mist of 
 fountains. Thousands of people, elegantly dressed, were seated 
 on the out-door terraces enjoying the fireworks and music, 
 while in the promenades other thousands were moving ob- 
 jects in a kaleidoscope combination of light and color. For 
 some time after the banquet General Grant sat upon the 
 veranda of the music-hall conversing with friends and enjoy- 
 ing this novel scene. His presence excited no rude curiosity 
 or boisterous enthusiasm, but was none the less honored by 
 more subdued and decorous demonstrations of respect. 
 
 The next day General Grant drove to Horn burg, fifteen 
 miles, and thence four miles farther to the Saalburg, which is 
 the name given to the site of an ancient Roman fortification 
 on the Taunus Mountains. The circumvallation laid out here 
 is supposed to have been the work of Drusus, and was one of 
 a series of defensive stations covering the frontier of the Roman 
 Empire from the Rhine to the Danube. The exhumations at 
 this fortified camp, first attempted within a recent period, have 
 disclosed the most complete Roman castrametation in Ger- 
 many. The castellum is a rectangle, four hundred and sixty- 
 
GENERAL GRANT AT FRANKFORT. 31 
 
 five by seven hundred and four feet^ and is surrounded by 
 two deep ditches and by high parapets. Within this enclosure 
 the praetorium, or residence of the commandant, one hundred 
 and thirty-two by one hundred and fifty-three feet, has been 
 distinctly traced by its stone foundations. Stones marked 
 with Roman characters yet remain where they were anciently 
 planted, designating the camps of the different legions. This 
 fort is mentioned by Tacitus, and was one of the principal 
 bulwarks of the Roman conquest in Germany against the wild 
 tribes which hovered along its northern frontier. 
 
 The excavations were still in progress at the time of Gen- 
 eral Grant's visit, and on that very occasion some interesting 
 relics were unearthed. Mrs. Grant was presented with a ring 
 and some pieces of ancient pottery, which were removed in 
 her presence from the places where they had lain embedded 
 in the earth during the last eighteen hundred years. 
 
 Near the fort was discovered, some years ago, the cemetery 
 where the ashes of the deceased Romans of the garrison were 
 interred. Some of the graves which had never before been 
 disturbed were opened in General Grant's presence, in order 
 that he might see with his own eyes what they contained, and 
 in what manner their contents were deposited. From each 
 grave a small urn was taken, containing the ashes of one cre- 
 mated human body, and upon the mouth of the urn was 
 found, in each instance, a Roman obolus, which had been 
 deposited there to pay the ferriage of the soul of the departed 
 over the Stygian river. General Grant was presented with 
 some of these coins as mementos of his visit. 
 
 On his return to Homburg the ensuing evening, the general 
 was banqueted by a party of Americans, and a splendid illu- 
 mination of the Kurgarten was given in his honor. The next 
 day he returned to Frankfort, and the next departed by rail for 
 Heidelberg and Switzerland. 
 
32 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 
 
 Evolution of the German State. ' 
 
 Ox a propitious clay in September, 1877, the autumn 
 manoeuvres of the German Cavalry Corps took place near 
 Griesheim, a village of Hesse-Darmstadt. At a preconcerted 
 signal about thirty thousand troops deployed under the eyes 
 of the emperor, the crown prince, and Count Von Moltke, 
 and executed with realistic zeal the evolutions of mimic war. 
 
 The emperor, then eighty-one years of age, viewed the move- 
 ments on horseback, and when the simulated conflict neared 
 its crisis, stationed himself, in advance of his attendants, on 
 the brow of a commanding hill. Thus elevated and isolated, 
 his stalwart figure, helmeted, uniformed, and mounted on a 
 noble steed, stood forth, motionless and majestic, like some 
 plastic ideal of an imperial military leader and ruler. 
 
 The apparition was prophetic. Such will be the character 
 and prominence of that figure in history. 
 
 The career of William I., Emperor of Germany, is unique 
 and unparalleled. Scarcely any other age than this age, or 
 any other country than Germany, could have produced it. 
 Carlyle speaks of Frederick the Great as a result achieved by 
 the Prussian people. " There are nations," he says, " in which a 
 Friedrich is or can be possible, and, again, there are nations in 
 which he is not, and cannot." So of William I. He was a 
 result which the German people achieved, and such as perhaps 
 they alone could achieve. But it was not by voluntary fiat 
 that they produced him. He came by long process of political 
 and social evolution. Germany had been preparing for him 
 
WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 33 
 
 — producing him, we might say — for ten centuries, and, as if 
 in requital of this, he spent more than sixty years of his life 
 in preparing for Germany. Not until he ascended the throne 
 of Prussia, at the age of sixty-four, may he be said to have 
 begun that part of his career which made him illustrious. 
 
 Although not a product of the French Revolution, he was 
 its immediate sequence, and the course of his life is closely 
 associated with its consequences and effects in Continental 
 Europe. By the events of which the Revolution was the 
 direct or efficient cause, he was schooled for the events. in 
 which he was to be a leading actor. The political and social 
 conditions upon which the revolutionary impulse took hold in 
 Germany were the conditions under which he was born, grew 
 up to manhood, and developed the principal aim of his life. 
 In order to form a just estimate of his character and achieve- 
 ments it is necessary to consider what those conditions were. 
 
 At the beginning of the revolutionary period, Germany, no 
 less than France, rested under the blighting incubus of the old 
 regime. Although partially uprooted in Prussia during the 
 volcanic career of Frederick the Great, that regime spread its 
 paralyzing influence like a corroding fungus over the entire 
 surface of German society. After the death of Frederick it 
 had become prevalent again even in Prussia. In Germany, 
 as in France, it was a regime of political imbecility and mis- 
 rule, rooted and nourished in the lingering decay of the Middle 
 Ages. In Germany it produced ultra particularism ; in France, 
 anarchy. Frande rid herself of it by revolution, Germany by 
 evolution. 
 
 The old regime of Germany was the offspring of dynastic 
 delusion. When, on Christmas day of the year 800, Pope 
 Leo III. placed a splendid crown on the head of Charlemagne, 
 and proclaimed him the successor of Coustantine, that delusion 
 began. It was the delusion of the so-called Holy Roman 
 Empire. For seven hundred years the resources of Germany 
 
34 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 were squandered by her rulers in profitless efforts to maintain 
 that imperial fiction. While they were pursuing its illusive 
 shadows of dominion abroad, they neglected to rule at home, 
 and were vexed by domestic dissension and revolt. The 
 abuses of local government became intolerable, and produced 
 an insurrection of the peasantry equalled in blind atrocity only 
 by the Reign of Terror. Then followed the prolonged and 
 unspeakable scourge of the Thirty Years' War, during which 
 the whole country was devastated, and two-thirds of the Ger- 
 man people perished by famine, pestilence, and the sword. 
 Meanwhile the imperial authority became utterly puerile, 
 and Germany was converted into a multitude of petty despot- 
 isms, whose rulers were practically absolute. The contentions 
 of these little sovereignties, diligently fomented from abroad, 
 kept the whole country in turmoil. While other nations were 
 crystallizing and consolidating, the German people were being 
 more and more distracted by disuniting forces. 
 
 Thus the German states were trained for centuries in a 
 school of discord. Their differences of custom, language, and 
 religion became strongly marked, and their provincial preju- 
 dices almost insurmountable. The boundaries of the empire 
 were immensely reduced, and North Germany, at least, would 
 probably have shared the fate of Poland but for the rise of 
 Prussia. The growth of that powerful kingdom is a striking 
 example of the political survival of the fittest. As the Os- 
 cans and Sabellians, descending from the Apennines and sub- 
 duing the weaker tribes of the plains, founded the nucleus of 
 the Roman state, so the Hohenzollern princes, descending 
 from their castle on the Alps, became masters of Branden- 
 burg, and by their superior valor and sagacity established the 
 nucleus of a German renascence. 
 
 But while Prussia gained predominance in the north, Aus- 
 tria became equally powerful in the south, and fresh discord 
 arose from the rivalry of these two leading states for the 
 
WILLIAM L, KING OF PRUSSIA. 35 
 
 palm of national leadership. Thus Germany became, during 
 the latter part of the last century, a hideous nest of conten- 
 tions, wherein two powerful sovereignties strove with each 
 other for the favor of a multitude of petty ones, and all were 
 played upon as pawns by foreign intrigue. At the same time 
 the " Holy Roman Empire" had become a political jest, and 
 the imperial authority but a shadowy appanage of the Aus- 
 trian crown. 
 
 Such was the condition of things in Germany when, from 
 the bloody travail of the French Revolution, a mighty force 
 was projected which, bursting like a tormented lion from its 
 confines, swept away a multitude of the political impostures 
 and dwarfish despotisms of the period. The impersonation 
 of that force was Napoleon Bonaparte, whose mission it was 
 to teach Europe the difference between practical realities and 
 traditional shams, between hereditary imbecility and robust, 
 self-reliant manhood. If Napoleon humiliated Germany and, 
 in a military sense, well-nigh destroyed her, he also revealed 
 to her the prodigious folly of her domestic dissensions, gave 
 her a new and better system of laws, and greatly mitigated 
 the abuse of her old regime. More important still, he began 
 the work of reintegrating the petty fractions into which her 
 political integers had been broken, and thereby, although not 
 by intention, revived the desire and hope of her people for 
 complete national union. 
 
 It was on the eve of the events which inspired this hope that 
 the great leader at whose hands it was destined to be realized 
 came into the world. That predestined leader, Prince William, 
 the future Emperor William I., was born at Berlin, March 22, 
 1797. His grandfather, King Frederick William II., was then 
 the reigning Prussian sovereign. Before the year of his birth 
 had ended, his father, the Crown Prince of Prussia, ascended the 
 throne as Frederick William III. His elder brother afterwards 
 succeeded his father as King Frederick William IV. His 
 
36 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 mother, the crown princess, was the beautiful Princess 
 Louisa, of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. 
 
 At the time of the birth of this young prince all Europe 
 was at war. The mailed hand was the hand that ruled, and 
 the statesman's craft was well-nigh lost amidst the clash of 
 arms. France, under the Directory, stood alone against a 
 vast coalition of European states, with Austria at its head. 
 To this coalition Prussia, under the weak and nerveless leader- 
 ship of Frederick William II., was giving a reluctant and 
 half-hearted yet most imprudent support. The revolutionary 
 army under Napoleon had completely vanquished the Aus- 
 trians in Italy, captured Trieste, and carried the war into 
 Austria itself. In the train of these successes, Venice capitu- 
 lated to the French, Genoa was revolutionized, and a republic 
 of the North Italian states was proclaimed. Austria, brought 
 to the feet of Napoleon, relinquished her possessions in the 
 Netherlands, and ceded the whole left bank of the Rhine to 
 France. Such were the preliminary results, in this century, 
 of Austria's aspirations to German leadership. 
 
 The young Prince William became thoroughly infused — 
 what mettlesome prince would not be ? — with the military 
 spirit of this stormy period. There is an old adage that a 
 Prussian prince " is born in a gorget and dies in a helmet;" 
 and the future Emperor of Germany received, almost from 
 babyhood, the strict military training which is traditional with 
 his family. Possibly this training had something to do with 
 his physical robustness in after-years, for he was born feeble 
 and delicate, and his growth was tardy. His elder brother 
 was much stronger, and apparently had a much firmer hold 
 on life than himself; but the military passion of William 
 was by far the more ardent. To become a master in the art 
 of war was the first and perhaps the strongest ambition of his 
 life. 
 
 Some charming illustrations of this are seen among the an- 
 
WILLIAM /., KING OF PRUSSIA. 37 
 
 cestral paintings belonging to the royal family of Prussia. 
 In one of them King Frederick William III. and his wife, 
 as Queen Louisa loved to call herself, are represented en 
 famille, surrounded by their children. The infant Princess 
 Charlotte — future Empress of Russia— is held in the arms of 
 the queen ; the boy crown prince, later King Frederick Wil- 
 liam IV., rests, picture-book in hand, upon his father's knee, 
 while the little Wilhelm, standing proudly erect on the sofa, 
 grasps his toy sabre, and bears aloft the ensign of Prussia. 
 
 In another of these pictures the veteran Bennstein, of the 
 Guards, booted, cockaded, and bewigged, is seen instructing 
 Prince William, with his brother and cousin, in the stiff- 
 legged, cadenced step of the Prussian infantry. With Benn- 
 stein striding backward before them, the three boys march 
 around a room in the Potsdam palace, where testy old Fred- 
 erick William's giant grenadiers look down, in full-length 
 portraiture, from the walls. 
 
 In a third picture the boy-prince William is presented to 
 us in the full bravery of a hussar's uniform, given him as a 
 Christmas present. The moment when he first donned this 
 uniform, we are told, was one of the proudest of his whole 
 life. 
 
 While the young prince was receiving his military training, 
 his moral and scientific education was diligently cared for by 
 the learned and pious Delbriick, of Magdeburg. But another 
 school now began to mould his mind and character more than 
 all, — the school of events. Like most other Prussians, he had 
 imbibed the idea that the army and kingdom created by Fred- 
 erick the Great were invincible. Both were on the eve of 
 overwhelming disaster. Coalition after coalition of European 
 powers had rushed upon France, and been repelled and dis- 
 comfited. As the first of these leagues had perished at Areola, 
 and the second at Marengo and Hohenlinden, so the third had 
 gone down at Ulm and Austerlitz. England, Austria, Russia, 
 
 4 
 
38 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 and Sweden combined had failed to withstand the all-conquer- 
 ing Corsican. By her overthrow at Austerlitz, Austria lost 
 the imperial sceptre, and the Holy Roman Empire, after an 
 existence of ten hundred and six years, was finally dissolved. 
 Thus deprived of all control or leadership, the minor German 
 sovereignties were wrought upon by the deft diplomacy of 
 Talleyrand, the Rhine Confederation was formed, and sixteen 
 million Germans gave their allegiance to France. 
 
 At this crisis Prussia committed the supreme folly of pre- 
 cipitating armed conclusions with Napoleon. Her armies had 
 for forty years experienced no serious war. Schooled in the 
 tactics and vain of the prestige of the great Frederick, they 
 had gained no practical knowledge of the changes which the 
 wars of the Revolution had wrought in the European military 
 system. In the autumn of 1806, Prussia's active force, one 
 hundred and eighty thousand strong, marched out to meet one 
 hundred and ninety thousand veterans of the campaigns in 
 Italy, Austria, and Egypt, and in less than one month that 
 force was annihilated. From the disastrous fields of Auerstadt 
 and Jena it fled routed and dismayed, only to be hunted down 
 in fragments by the swift squadrons of Murat and the fleet- 
 footed battalions of Ney and Lannes. Obliged to take flighty 
 from Berlin, Queen Louisa was rejoined by her two sons at 
 the castle of Schwedt. Embracing them with streaming eyes, 
 she exclaimed, — 
 
 " The Prussian army is destroyed, my children ! Your 
 fatherland is ruined, and its glory gone ! Live to avenge 
 it!" 
 
 Russia came to the rescue, but Eylau and Friedland suc- 
 ceeded Jena, and Prussia, with her weapons wrested out of her 
 hands, was left friendless and hopeless. Her king, alike 
 powerless and destitute, gave his child, the future Empress 
 of Russia, five thalers to buy herself a birthday dress, declar- 
 ing this was the last money he had. 
 
WILLIAM J., KING OF PRUSSIA. 39 
 
 The two beaten monarchs — Alexander and Frederick Wil- 
 liam — begged for an armistice, and met Napoleon at Tilsit, on 
 a raft moored at the middle of the Niemen. A series of con- 
 ferences followed, in which little more account was taken of the 
 King of Prussia than if he had not existed. His noble queen 
 had refrained from going to Tilsit because of the calumnious 
 reports to which Alexander's well-known admiration for her 
 had given rise, and which Napoleon had officially countenanced. 
 But inasmuch as nothing else availed to relax the harsh pur- 
 poses of the conqueror towards Prussia, it was resolved to see 
 what could be done with him by the queen's intercession. 
 Nobly disdaining her just resentment, she came to plead, as 
 best she might, for her family and people. " The Queen of 
 Prussia," says Thiers, " was then thirty-two years old. Her 
 beauty, formerly brilliant, appeared to be slightly aifected by 
 age,- but she was still one of the finest women of her time." 
 " Duroc," says the Duchess d'Abrantes, " considered her the 
 most beautiful woman he had ever seen." 
 
 An hour after her arrival, Napoleon anticipated her by pay- 
 ing her a visit, but by no persuasion could she move him from 
 his inexorable resolves. His first intention had been to efface 
 Prussia from the map of Europe ; but to placate Russia, and 
 obtain her alliance against England, he had already decided 
 not to proceed so far. " Your Majesty," he said to the queen 
 " knows my intentions. I have communicated them to the 
 Emperor Alexander, because, as mediator between us, he has 
 been pleased to undertake to impart them to the king, and they 
 are unalterable. I cannot conceal from you that what I have 
 done has been done for the sake of the Emperor of Russia." 
 
 The queen turned pale at these words. Her noble spirit 
 had received a poisoned thrust, and bowed beneath its weight 
 of grief and misfortune. 
 
 The treaty of Tilsit deprived the King of Prussia of four 
 and a half millions of his subjects, out of nine millions, and 
 
40 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 left him but the shadow of his royal authority. Modern his- 
 tory affords no example of national humiliation parallel to 
 this, except only that which, sixty years later, made its bloody 
 trail from Gravelotte and Sedan to Paris. 
 
 When, upon Christmas eve, 1809, Frederick William III. 
 returned to Berlin, deep dejection had fallen upon his people. 
 The queen, we. are told, wept bitterly, and a few months later 
 she found, in death, repose from her sorrows. "The world," 
 she remarked during her last hours, " may not name me among 
 its famous women, but will at least confess that I. have greatly 
 suffered. It will also, I trust, acknowledge that I have given 
 it children who have deserved and nobly achieved better things 
 than I have experienced." 
 
 To-day the world confesses all this, and more. It pro- 
 foundly venerates the memory of Prussia's most famous queen, 
 and sees realized, beyond her fondest hope, her last wish and 
 prophecy. 
 
 Queen Louisa died at the darkest hour in German history, 
 but the deep darkness was that which just precedes the dawn. 
 The star of Napoleon's destiny had already passed its meri- 
 dian. The time was already near when, at Moscow and 
 Torres Vedras, the flood-tide of his fortunes would reach its 
 farthest limit, and come rolling back again in disaster, vast 
 and irretrievable. Early in the year 1813 the Sixth Coalition 
 against him was formed, and all Prussia sprang to arms. 
 Not the princes only, but the people were now allied to over- 
 throw him, for to the great middle class, who had hitherto 
 deemed him the son of the Revolution, sent out to redeem 
 them from the thraldom of medieval absolutism, he had 
 become the champion of nothing but his own greed of power 
 and conquest. By his own fault the war became, to most 
 Germans, a necessary struggle for independence, and shouting 
 their old battle-cry, " With God for King and Fatherland," 
 they rallied once more to their ancient standards. What they 
 
WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 41 
 
 lacked in military organization and leadership they made up 
 in enthusiasm ; the battles of Liitzfm and Bautzen were fol- 
 lowed by those of Dresden, Leipsic, and Hanau ; the allied 
 forces marched on Paris, aud the throne of Napoleon was 
 overturned. 
 
 Victorious at last, the Prussian army made its grand entree 
 to the French capital, March 31, 1814. King Frederick 
 William and the Emperor Alexander led the column, and 
 behind them, in captain's uniform, rode a youth of seventeen, 
 the second son of the dead Queen Louisa. During the battle 
 of Leipsic, while his elder brother was allowed to accompany 
 the army, he had been left at home, fretting inconsolably. To 
 comfort him he was advanced from the rank of ensign to that 
 of first lieutenant. " But why should they promote me," he 
 cried with true Hohenzollern spirit, " when I have done noth- 
 ing but sit in the chimney-corner at home?" He was there- 
 fore ordered into service, and, under fire for the first time in 
 his life, crossed the Rhine at Mannheim with his father the 
 king. While the Russian troops were lighting in the vine- 
 yards at Bar-sur-Aube, one of the regiments dashed ahead, 
 leading the rest, with great loss. " Go back and find out what 
 regiment that is," said the king. But Prince William did 
 not go back. He rode forward into the rain of bullets, ob- 
 tained the regiment's name, counted its dead and wounded, 
 and came back and reported to his father. The Russian 
 soldiers cheered the boy prince's gallant exploit, his father 
 promoted him to a captaincy, and the czar gave him the iron 
 cross of St. George. 
 
 Returning to Berlin with these honors upon him, the prince, 
 in the presence of the whole court, took his confirmation vows, 
 in which, written out with his own hand, he makes these 
 pledges : 
 
 " My princely position shall always remind me of the higher 
 duties it imposes. I shall never forget that a prince is also a 
 
 4* 
 
42 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 man, and that the laws which apply to other men apply also 
 to him. I shall be grateful to God for all the good He may 
 grant me, and submissive in all the afflictions He may lay 
 upon me, convinced that whatever He does is best. I shall 
 cherish kind feeling towards all men, even the humblest, for 
 they are my brothers. To the Christian faith which I this 
 day avow I shall remain always true, endeavoring to honor it 
 with increasing devotion in my heart. I shall do no injustice 
 or cruelty to any one, or, failing in this, shall do my best to 
 repair the injury. I esteem it much better to be loved than 
 to be feared." 
 
 After Napoleon's final overthrow at Waterloo, Prince Wil- 
 liam entered Paris for the second time with the allied army. 
 After that his life for more than forty years was wholly 
 devoted to military training and service, with very little 
 opportunity for achieving distinction. On the other hand, 
 the civil life of the German people during this period was of 
 very great interest. 
 
 The oppressive and despoiling rule of the princes in Ger- 
 many had made the conquests of Napoleon at first welcome to 
 a large proportion of the conquered. Under hereditary rule 
 government had been administered for the benefit of the few 
 at the expense of the many. Taxation was outrageously 
 exorbitant and unequal, trade was crippled by arbitrary bur- 
 dens and restrictions, the courts were corrupt, and freedom 
 of speech was denied. The multitude of petty despotisms 
 which had grown up under their foster-mother, the Holy 
 Roman Empire, were all the more despotic and oppressive by 
 reason of their pettiness, and the absence of any superior re- 
 straint. The people yearned immeasurably for freer govern- 
 ment, and for national consolidation. The secession of the 
 Rhine Confederation was an expression of this yearning, for it 
 was a revolt, not against Germany, but against the old regime. 
 To counteract that revolt, and, more than all, to unite the 
 
WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 43 
 
 people against Napoleon, their rulers promised them the re- 
 forms they wanted. But with the downfall of Napoleon 
 these promises were straightway forgotten, and the monarchs of 
 Prussia, Austria, and Russia united themselves in a so-called 
 Holy Alliance for the maintenance of existing dynasties. 
 
 That alliance, born of fear, was a league against the 
 principles which gave vitality and strength to the French 
 Revolution, and the history of the German people for the next 
 fifty years is the history of a prolonged though intermittent 
 agitation for national unity and constitutional government. 
 This agitation accomplished much, but its results came far 
 short of the popular desire. The concessions which it wrested 
 from the absolutist regime were grudging and unsatisfactory, 
 and the union of the German states was a shadow and a 
 mockery. Immediately upon the overthrow of Napoleon the 
 thirty-nine surviving German sovereignties had organized 
 themselves into a confederation with a permanent diet com- 
 posed of representatives of the princes. This so-called parlia- 
 ment was a nest of mischievous rivalries little less contemptible 
 than those of the pre-Napoleonic period. Without substantial 
 power to govern, it became the servile instrument of political 
 oppression, and lost no opportunity to lend its influence to the 
 schemes of absolute power. The only real bond of union 
 among German states was the Prussian league called the 
 Zollverein abolishing the commercial restrictions of the old 
 regime. This league, with Prussia at its head, was cemented 
 by mutual interest, and may be regarded as the beginning of 
 the present empire. 
 
 The Zollverein was established during the reign of King 
 Frederick William III., who died in 1840, and was succeeded 
 by his eldest son, Frederick William IV. With this change 
 of government the title of Prince William was changed to 
 that of Prince of Prussia. His life, devoted to his favorite 
 military studies and to the army, kept him aloof from the 
 
44 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 political agitations of the period. The time was approaching, 
 however, when his beaten course of military routine would 
 cross that of the popular movement. That movement had 
 received a strong impulse from the dethronement of Charles 
 X. in France, in 1830. Appeased for the time being by some 
 concessions, it was reawakened by the reactionary policy of 
 Frederick William IV. That monarch was, by conviction, 
 an absolutist pure and simple. Liberal-minded as crown 
 prince, he became despotic and arbitrary as king. Constitu- 
 tionalism seemed to him but a limitation of his usefulness, 
 and in the French Revolution he saw nothing but anarchy 
 and religious scepticism. But he was not a man of strong 
 character, and could easily have been brought to a different 
 way of thinking but for the powerful army which stood loyally 
 at his back. That army, with the Prince of Prussia at its 
 head, seemed to the common understanding to be the one 
 great obstacle to the consummation of the popular will. A 
 storm of revolutionary rage was, therefore, directed against 
 the prince, who, at the advice of his brother, the king, sought 
 refuge for a time in England. 
 
 The Liberal party now began to agitate measures designed, 
 to impair the stability and efficiency of the military organiza- 
 tion, and these measures the prince naturally opposed. To 
 his view the army was the very basis of Prussian power and 
 influence, while to the popular notion it was a mere instru- 
 ment in the hands of the oppressor. To make matters worse, 
 the downfall of the Orleans dynasty in France precipitated 
 insurrections in all the German states. Prince William was 
 charged with the suppression of these outbreaks, and soon 
 captured and dispersed all the armed forces arrayed against 
 the authority of the crown. He incurred very great odium 
 in doing this, but Americans should nevertheless be grateful 
 to him, for the collapse of the German Revolution of 1848 
 gave to this country a large number of useful citizens. 
 
WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 45 
 
 The main-spring of that revolution was the popular aspira- 
 tion after national union. Accordingly, with the acquiescence, 
 though not the consent, of the sovereigns, a national congress 
 of representatives of the people was convoked, and on the 
 18th of May, 1848, the first German Parliament, elected by 
 universal suffrage, convened in the old Church of St. Paul, 
 in Frankfort-on-the-Main. That parliament was a body of 
 well-meaning poets, philologists, visionaries and doctrinaires. 
 After prodigious discussion it evolved a constitution, and 
 offered the imperial crown of Germany, in hereditary right, 
 to King Frederick William IV. But the proposed gift was 
 one which neither giver nor receiver had the power to make 
 good, and the king refused it. Its acceptance would have 
 involved Prussia, unprepared, in a war with Austria. 
 
 The Frankfort Parliament and Constitution came to naught, 
 but the revolution gave constitutionalism to many of the 
 German states, including Prussia, and greatly stimulated the 
 national unity movement. Further efforts on- the part of 
 Prussia to carry forward this movement to practical results 
 were baffled by the intrigues of Austria. Nevertheless, a 
 second German Parliament was summoned by Frederick 
 William IV., and in March, 1850, assembled at Erfurt. It 
 prepared a constitution, adjourned, and never reconvened. 
 Austria and her following kept aloof from it, and resuscitated 
 the old German Diet, in which Prussia, though invited, re- 
 fused to take part. The Elector of Hesse having been de- 
 posed by his people, appealed to the Diet, and Austria sent an 
 army to reinstate him. Prussia, as chief of the Federal 
 Union, of which Hesse had become a part, also sent her forces 
 to the field. The two armies stood confronting each other 
 when a peace was negotiated at Olmutz, a town of Moravia, 
 by which Prussia abandoned her federation schemes and con- 
 sented to the restoration of the Diet under the presidency of 
 Austria. Thus Prussia surrendered the championship of 
 
46 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 German unity rather than fight. Her people felt immensely 
 humiliated, but Austria was backed by Russia, and the Prus- 
 sian army was in no condition to cope with those two powers, 
 either combined or separate. 
 
 Thus the national consolidation movement was balked, the 
 old Diet resumed its place as the repository of central power, 
 and Austria regained her political predominance. The sem- 
 blance of unity was restored, but only the semblance. The 
 German Confederation was a mere league of princes, — "a 
 bundle of conflicting states tied with red tape." The Diet, 
 composed of representatives of the sovereigns, — not the people, 
 — was a body of prodigious dignity and very little authority. 
 It had no power to legislate, and none to govern. Its delibera- 
 tions were, for the most part, a mere blind to the intrigues and 
 counter-intrigues between the Hohenzollerns and the Haps- 
 burgs and their satellites. Assuming an air of vastly superior 
 consequence, the Austrian representative presided at the sit- 
 tings in dressing-room attire, and, when giving audience, leis- 
 urely indulged in his cigar while his colleagues danced attend- 
 ance. When, on a certain occasion, Prussia, in the person of 
 Herr von Bismarck, took a cigar and asked Austria for a light, 
 a rupture was produced in the august tranquillity of the Diet, 
 which, for a time, looked truly abysmal. But directly Bavaria, 
 Hesse, and even the little Mecklenburgs ventured to smoke in 
 the presence of Austria. 
 
 The Zollverein having enabled Prussia to hold commercial 
 supremacy in Germany, Austria was naturally ambitious to 
 gain control of it, but her machinations were thwarted. Her 
 efforts to embroil Prussia in the Crimean war were equally 
 abortive. In both instances her failure was chiefly due to 
 Baron Bismarck, who had become a confidential adviser to 
 King Frederick William, and strongly counselled him against 
 taking part in Austrian disputes. " It is my conviction," 
 declared the future imperial chancellor, "that at no distant 
 
WILLIAM L, KING OF PRUSSIA. 47 
 
 time we shall have to fight with Austria for our very exist- 
 ence." 
 
 The Prince of Prussia shared this conviction profoundly, 
 and deemed a powerful army indispensable to the safety and 
 welfare of the kingdom. But the army was not powerful. 
 It was weak in numbers, and still crippled by obsolete methods 
 and traditions. The prince had spent his life with it, and 
 realized its imperfections perhaps more keenly than any one 
 else. He therefore labored with untiring zeal for its reorgan- 
 ization, and while so laboring was called to the head of the 
 government. In 1858, Frederick William IV. lost his reason, 
 and the Prince of Prussia became regent. That a firm hand 
 had taken the direction of affairs was soon seen. Austria 
 became involved in a war with France and Sardinia, which 
 resulted in her expulsion from Italy. The Prussian army 
 was mobilized to assist her, but she would accept its aid only 
 under her own supreme direction, and this the prince regent 
 refused to concede. The day of Prussia's subserviency to 
 Austria had gone by. 
 
 On the 2d of January, 1861, the childless King Frederick 
 William IV. died, and the prince regent ascended the throne 
 of Prussia as William I. The new king was crowned at 
 Konigsberg during the following October, and placed the 
 crown upon his head with his own hands. He had been 
 brought up in abhorrence of revolution, and divine right was 
 one of the traditions of the royal house of Prussia. He there- 
 fore wished to signify by the act of self-crowning that his 
 sovereignty was derived from heaven, as he sincerely believed 
 it was, and not from the people. Nothing could have been 
 more offensive than this to the Liberal Reform party in Prussia, 
 but it had at least the merit that everybody knew precisely 
 what it meant. Well-intentioned but weak, at heart an abso- 
 lutist yet willing to cater to liberal ideas, Frederick William 
 IV. had strewn his path with broken promises and wrecked 
 
48 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 hopes. One day he was for constitutional and representative 
 government ; the next, alarmed at the concessions he had made, 
 he would appeal to the strong arm of his loyal soldier-brother 
 to crush the very hopes he had awakened. Really honest, he 
 had played the part of a hypocrite, and while intending to be 
 straightforward, he had involved himself worse and worse in 
 a hopeless mesh of inconsistencies, until his troubles drove him 
 mad. 
 
 There were to be no such disappointments under the new 
 reign. King William I. would perform just what he promised, 
 and would promise no more than he intended to perform. He 
 was known to be a man of his word, and his people might 
 as well understand at the outset just what to expect. This 
 might be disrelished in the beginning, but it would be better 
 in the end. The late king had made himself detested by his 
 vacillation; the new king preferred to be detested, if at all, 
 for being unswerving in what he believed to be right. He 
 was determined that, whatever might come, there should be 
 no Reign of Terror in Berlin, and humanity has not con- 
 demned him for that. He was profoundly convinced that no 
 debating club could lead Prussia safely through her impending 
 perils, and the sequel has justified that conviction. He was 
 for national unity just as ardently as the Liberals were, but 
 his way of achieving it was not their way. He was, before 
 all, for the integrity and independence of the Prussian king- 
 dom, and he believed the first thing in order was the full 
 achievement of these objects. 
 
 In this achievement the army, he knew, would be the chief 
 reliance. The Liberal party regarded the military establish- 
 ment as the principal bulwark of absolutism, the king regarded 
 it as the chief muniment of national safety. The one strove 
 to enfeeble it, the other demanded that it be reorganized and 
 increased. Already, as regent, the king had brought forward 
 his scheme of military reform, and he now pressed it with 
 
WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 49 
 
 redoubled zeal. The Prussian Parliament stormed and pro- 
 tested, a bitter conflict was precipitated, and the king's un- 
 popularity rose to its highest pitch. But nothing could divert 
 the stern old monarch from his inflexible purpose. His Parlia- 
 ment being too obstinate to grant what he wanted, and his 
 ministry too timid to demand it, he dissolved the one and dis- 
 missed the other. At this juncture the king summoned Otto 
 von Bismarck to form a new ministry. Bismarck had repre- 
 sented Prussia in the Frankfort Diet and at the court of St. 
 Petersburg. He was at this time her ambassador to Paris, 
 and by his various diplomatic services had gained the king's 
 fullest confidence. They had first met, to become acquainted, 
 in 1861. "^ismarck's whole soul glowed with the passionate 
 resolve to expel Austria from Germany. ... To raise Prussia 
 to the political status which he thought his country ought to 
 hold was his religion. He entered the path of action with the 
 fervor of a Mahomet enforcing a novel faith." * 
 
 The king seems to have known by instinct what a powerful 
 auxiliary he had obtained. A Russian countess having com- 
 plimented him upon his improved appearance, he replied, point- 
 ing to his new minister president, " Voila mon m&decinr But 
 while the crown was thus strongly reinforced, the Parliament 
 relaxed none of its opposition. Its doctrinaires insisted that, 
 in order to consolidate the German nation with Prussia at its 
 head, it was only necessary for the Prussian kingdom to adopt 
 their theories of liberal government. To this Bismarck made 
 answer, " Not by speechifying and majorities can the great 
 questions of the time be decided, — that was the mistake of 
 1848-9, — but by blood and iron." The king, equally deter- 
 mined, said, " Though all should be against me, I would 
 rather- put myself at the head of the army and perish with it, 
 than yield in this contest." 
 
 * Sir Alexander Malet. 
 c d 5 
 
50 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 In the midst of this controversy the soldier king per- 
 fected that splendid military machine by which he afterwards 
 accomplished such vast results for Prussia and for Germany. 
 Aided by his faithful lieutenant, General Von Roon, he re- 
 laxed not for a moment the prosecution of his plans for reor- 
 ganizing the army. The infantry force was doubled, ten new 
 cavalry regiments were organized, and the whole was disciplined 
 and equipped upon an entirely new system. But not one cent 
 would Parliament vote for the support of this force, and for 
 four years Bismarck ruled without a budget. 
 
 The time was not long; in coming; which should vindicate 
 the persistency of the king and his prime-minister. The 
 Schleswig-Holstein quarrel precipitated the l<*ng-impending 
 conflict between Prussia and Austria. On the northern con- 
 fines of Hanover, forming the peninsula between the German 
 Ocean and the Baltic, lay the two little duchies of Schleswig 
 and Holstein. Within these territories dwelt the ancient 
 Angles, — the original English. Schleswig, which lay nearest 
 to Denmark, was mainly German, Holstein entirely so. For 
 five centuries the suzerainty of these provinces had been 
 involved in a criss-cross of hereditary claims, revolutionary 
 contentions, and diplomatic disputes. Prince Metternich de- 
 scribed the Schleswig-Holstein question as " the bone on which 
 the Germans were whetting their teeth ;" Lord Palmerston 
 said it was " a match that would set Europe on fire ;" Bis- 
 marck's view of it was that of " a play representing the in- 
 trigues of diplomacy." All three were right. 
 
 In the course of dynastic evolution the duchy of Holstein 
 came into political union with Germany while attached, like 
 Schleswig, in a personal way to the crown of Denmark. The 
 King of Denmark was duke in Schleswig-Holstein, and, as 
 Duke of Holstein-Lauenburg, was represented in the Ger- 
 manic Diet. As a device for producing international contention 
 this arrangement was ideally perfect. The duchies lay between 
 
WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 51 
 
 two powers both ambitious to possess them, and both having a 
 colorable claim to their possession. In 1852 a conference of 
 the great powers was held at London to fix the Danish suc- 
 cession in default of male heirs to Frederick VII. This con- 
 ference, to which the Germanic Diet was not a party, declared 
 that Prince Christian, of Schleswig-Holstein, should be the 
 next king of Denmark, without affecting stipulations pre- 
 viously made that Schleswig should not be incorporated into 
 the Danish monarchy. In defiance of this arrangement, King 
 Frederick proceeded to take advantage, as he supposed, of the 
 parliamentary conflict in Prussia, by decreeing, in effect, the 
 annexation of Schleswig to Denmark. This act was im- 
 mediately confirmed by Prince Christian, upon ascending the 
 throne a few months later, upon the death of Frederick. The 
 Germanic Diet now declared the London treaty broken by 
 Denmark, and Prussia and Austria, for once united, precipi- 
 tated their forces into Holstein. The Germanic Diet was then 
 solicited to sanction the invasion of Schleswig also, but re- 
 fused. In defiance of this refusal the Austro-Prussian army 
 pushed into Schleswig, swept the Danes from one fortified 
 point after another, and even occupied Jutland. 
 
 All this time the Prussian Parliament had persisted in its 
 refusal to grant supplies to the reorganized army, but now that 
 victory had been achieved even without the supplies, all 
 Prussia enthusiastically hailed King William as the liberator of 
 Schleswig. The king had not accompanied his forces to the 
 field, but the Prussian leaders, Prince Frederick Carl and 
 General Von Raven, had borne away the chief military 
 honors. 
 
 The King of Denmark, now quite ready to come to terms 
 with the victorious powers, renounced by treaty, at Vienna in 
 1864, all claims to Schleswig-Holstein, and also to Lauenburg. 
 This ended the Schleswig-Holstein question so far as Denmark 
 was concerned, but between Prussia and Austria it had just 
 
52 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 begun. With some writers it is a favorite theory that, for a 
 deep-laid purpose, Austria had been beguiled by Bismarck into 
 the invasion of Schleswig. That invasion was made in defi- 
 ance of the Germanic Diet, over which Austria presided, and 
 in which Bismarck desired to destroy her influence. The final 
 result of the matter was the extinction of the Diet itself, the 
 annexation of the duchies to Prussia, and the formation of the 
 North German Confederation. Whether or not, as is assumed, 
 King William and his great minister aimed at these results 
 from the beginning, their resolution and skill led to them by 
 the shortest possible route. 
 
 The duchies had no sooner been acquired than it became a 
 burning question between the rival powers what should be 
 done with them. After prolonged controversy Prussia pro- 
 posed to annex them, but Austria would consent to this only 
 upon terms which were scornfully rejected. The Diet under- 
 took to adjust matters between the disputants, but was disre- 
 garded. The quarrel had stretched the limitations of forbear- 
 ance when, in 1865, an arrangement was patched up at Gastein 
 which gave to Austria the exclusive occupation of Holstein, to 
 Prussia that of Schleswig, and annexed Lauenburg to Prussia. 
 King William was deeply gratified by this apparent termina- 
 tion of an ugly quarrel, and, as a sign of his appreciation, 
 bestowed upon Bismarck the title of Count. 
 
 But the Gastein Convention settled nothing. While the 
 Prussian Parliament continued to quarrel violently with the 
 king and his prime-minister about their requirements for the 
 army and the fleet, and the popular rage against the minister 
 grew so intense that an assassin undertook to murder him in 
 the streets of Berlin, the relations between Prussia and 
 Austria became more strained than ever. An anti-Prussian 
 meeting held at Altona, in January, 1866, by permission of 
 the Austrian governor, precipitated a crisis. Prussia remon- 
 strated angrily, and virtually resolved to expel her rival from 
 
WILLIAM /., KING OF PRUSSIA. 53 
 
 Holstein. Austria having gained the support of the minor 
 German states, Prnssia formed an alliance with Italy, and 
 obtained promises of neutrality from Napoleon III. England, 
 France, and Russia attempted to mediate, and King William 
 was still averse to war, but nothing could now divert from its 
 course the resistless current of events. Insisting upon unac- 
 ceptable conditions of mediation, Austria appealed to the 
 Germanic Diet. Prussia declared this an abandonment of 
 the Gastein Convention, and General Manteuffel led her 
 helmeted warri'ors into Holstein. The Austrians fled precipi- 
 tately from the duchy, while their government denounced its 
 invasion as a violation of the Federal Constitution. The Diet 
 sustaining Austria, Prussia declared this action a usurpation, 
 and withdrew from the Confederation. Hanover, Saxony, and 
 Hesse-Cassel having declared for Austria in the Diet, their 
 territories were immediately occupied by Prussian troops. 
 
 All this time Austria, under various pretexts, had been 
 stealthily pushing masses of troops northward in Bohemia 
 and Moravia. But now, at last, the labor of a lifetime was 
 about to bear its fruits. In a moment, as by pressure of a 
 finger, Chief of Staff "Von Moltke, sitting in his office at 
 Berlin, put into motion the splendid military machinery 
 which, through decades of censorious opposition, the far-seeing, 
 Prussia-loving genius of King William had provided. The 
 Austrian army, led by General Benedek, had assembled about 
 Koniggratz, in Eastern Bohemia. It intended to sweep north- 
 ward through the states of Saxony and Hanover — in alliance 
 with Austria — and cut the Prussian monarchy in twain. It 
 never reached Prussian soil. 
 
 On the 22d of June, 1866, the main army of Prussia, in 
 three divisions, moved towards the Bohemian frontier. The 
 First, or Centre, Division, about one hundred thousand strong, 
 advanced from Saxony under Prince Friedrich Carl, the 
 king's nephew. The Second, or Left, Division, numbering 
 
 5* 
 
54 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 about one hundred and sixteen thousand men, started from 
 Silesia. It was led by the Crown Prince Friedricb, since 
 Emperor of Germany. The Third Division, about forty 
 thousand strong, held the right under General Herwarth 
 von Bittenfeld. Crossing the Giant Mountains, these three 
 armies were to meet at Gitschin, in Bohemia. The Austrians 
 made stubborn resistance at the mountain passes, but in vain. 
 Triumphant at every encounter, the Prussian columns pushed 
 steadily forward, and on the 29th the First and Third Divis- 
 ions arrived at Gitschin. On their left was the crown prince 
 at Koniginhof, a day's march distant. These preliminary 
 victories set all Prussia ablaze with enthusiasm, and her 
 venerable ruler found himself, for the first time in his life, the 
 idol of his people. At the age of sixty-nine he had won the 
 applause which he had long coveted, but never before could 
 acquire except by violence to his convictions of duty. 
 
 On the 30th of June the king left Berlin for the seat of 
 war, accompanied by Counts Roon, Moltke, and Bismarck. 
 He reached the front July 2, and found that the outlying 
 Austrian columns had all been driven back, with heavy loss, 
 towards Koniggratz. The king determined to give his army a 
 day of rest to prepare for the supreme struggle, but near mid- 
 night he was aroused from his camp-bed with the message that 
 the main Austrian army lay immediately in front of Prince 
 Friedrich Carl. This news, doubted at first, was confirmed 
 by a reconnoissance, and away darted Count Finkenstein alone 
 in the night with a message to the crown prince to sweep down 
 with all speed upon the Austrian right. To the centre and 
 right divisions the command was despatched to assault at dawn 
 General Benedek's centre and left. 
 
 After a rainy night came a rainy morning, but at seven 
 o'clock the thunder of artillery broke forth, and the battle 
 opened. The king, accompanied by his great strategist Von 
 Moltke, was early in the saddle, and was received with great 
 
WILLIAM I., KING OF PRUSSIA. 55 
 
 enthusiasm by his troops. All day long he was exposed to 
 danger. " The attention of the king was wholly fixed on the 
 progress of the battle," said Bismarck, " and he paid not the 
 slightest heed to the shells that were whizzing thickly around 
 him. To my repeated request that His Majesty might not so 
 carelessly expose himself to so murderous a fire, he only 
 answered, ' The commander-in-chief must be where he ought 
 to be.' " 
 
 Hour after hour the battle raged, the fiercest of it around 
 the wood of Sadowa. At noon, after numerous assaults, the 
 Prussians paused to recuperate, and at head-quarters all eyes 
 were turned in anxious search for the expected columns of the 
 crown prince. At four o'clock in the morning the prince had 
 received the king's orders from the gallant Finkenstein, but 
 he had twenty miles to march over a boggy country, and there 
 was yet no sign of his appearing. The Prussians thundered 
 with their cannon to keep Benedek amused while their infantry 
 waited. At length, far to the left, long lines were seen 
 stretched across the fields, resembling in the distance the fur- 
 rows of the plough. They were the lines of the crown prince's 
 army. Suddenly a terrific crash fell upon the Austrian right, 
 and in an instant the armies of Prince Friedrich Carl and 
 Von Bittenfeld rushed again to the attack. Assailed on front, 
 flank, and rear, General Benedek's army wavered, broke, and 
 left the field in precipitate flight. The century-old conflict 
 was over ; the mastership in Germany was transferred from 
 Austria to Prussia. 
 
 Sometimes it is said that the Prussian school-master triumphed 
 at Sadowa, and sometimes the needle-gun. These did much, 
 to make the victory possible, but before all was half a century 
 of patient, sagacious preparation, and above all were the 
 strategy of Von Moltke, the diplomacy of Bismarck, and the 
 leadership of William I. 
 
 The war was virtually over in ten days from its beginning. 
 
56 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Among struggles of such magnitude history shows scarcely 
 one other so brief and decisive. " I have lost all/' exclaimed 
 Benedek, " except, alas ! my life." 
 
 Moving southward without further resistance, the victori- 
 ous Prussian army arrived within sight of the spire of St. 
 Stephen's. A truce was called, and preliminary negotiations 
 for peace, begun July 26, resulted in a definite treaty which 
 was signed at Prague on the 23d of August. This treaty put 
 an end to the old Confederation, excluded Austria from Ger- 
 many, and effectuated a new crystallization of German states 
 around the leadership of Prussia. Austria, although she had 
 been victorious over the Italian army, was obliged to surrender 
 "Venice to Italy. Prussia annexed Schleswig-Holstein, Han- 
 over, Hesse-Cassel, Nassau, and Frankfort-on-the-Main. The 
 South German states were left to their own course, but even 
 before the Treaty of Prague had been signed they secretly 
 entered into an offensive and defensive alliance with Prussia. 
 Thus, within the space of seven weeks, the map of Germany 
 was entirely reconstructed, and the new era dawned for which 
 the German people had been vainly hoping for centuries. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OP GERMANY. 
 
 Formation of the New German Empire. 
 
 The North German Confederation, organized directly after 
 the battle of Sadowa, comprised the twenty-two states north 
 of the river Main. These states, at first united by treaty, 
 afterwards adopted a constitution declaring the Confederation 
 to be a perpetual league. This constitution went into effect 
 
1 H 
 
 S m 
 5 H 
 
 w^^'S? 
 
 U 
 
 #<>!* 
 
 ft 
 
WILLIAM /., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 57 
 
 July 1, 1867. It vested the legislative power in the Reich- 
 stag, chosen by the people, and the Bundesrath, representing 
 the allied governments, — the two forming the North German 
 Parliament. The chief executive power was vested in the 
 King of Prussia as President, who appointed Count Bismarck 
 as Federal Chancellor. Most of the states adopted the Prus- 
 sian military system, in whole or in part. 
 
 The extension of the Zollverein treaty so as to include the 
 South German states was the next important step towards 
 complete national union. This was effected in the autumn of 
 1867, and in April, 1868, a Customs Parliament representing 
 the whole nation met at Berlin. But while a commercial 
 union of all the states was thus accomplished, those of the 
 south still remained outside the Confederation. Baden sought 
 admission on her own account, but it was deemed best to 
 decline her overtures until all the southern states should 
 come in together. To bring this about became the next lead- 
 ing object of Prussian statesmanship. But among the popu- 
 lation of the south there was still much bitter feeling against 
 Prussia, and all efforts to bring about closer political relations 
 between the south and the north failegl. Complete national 
 union seemed to lie far in the future, when the action of a 
 foreign power, which had sought to prevent it, precipitated its 
 consummation. 
 
 The smoke had scarcely cleared from the field of Sadowa 
 before Napoleon III. began to intermeddle in the affairs of 
 Germany. Under pretext of mediation, his envoy, Benedetti, 
 appeared at Prussian head-quarters, and undertook to dictate 
 terms of peace. Failing in this, he demanded the restoration 
 of the Rhine frontier of 1814 as compensation to France for 
 the territorial aggrandizement of Prussia. This demand, 
 though fortified by menace of war, was brusquely repelled. 
 The French emperor was greatly chagrined, but for the time 
 being smothered his wrath. Discretion impelled him to look 
 
58 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 around for some better pretext for a quarrel, and he soon 
 found one, as he thought. 
 
 The Grand Duchy of Luxemburg, which was German in 
 population, and had formed a part of the old Confederation, 
 was a personal fief to the King of Holland, as Schleswig had 
 been to the King of Denmark. Although garrisoned from 
 the Prussian army, the duchy refused to enter the North 
 German Confederation, and Napoleon, aiming especially to 
 humiliate Prussia, endeavored to obtain possession of it by 
 secret negotiations with the King of Holland. The king, 
 tempted by proffers of a money indemnity, coupled with pro- 
 posed protection by France against the displeasure of Ger- 
 many, was inclined to yield, but hesitated. At this juncture, 
 Bismarck, replying to an interpellation, declared that the 
 cession of Luxemburg would be considered a casus belli, and 
 published the secret military conventions entered into before 
 the Treaty of Prague between Prussia and the South German 
 states. The Emperor of the French was dumfounded to 
 find that Germany had, without his knowledge, practically 
 become a military unit, and the King of Holland, still worse 
 dismayed, broke off all negotiations with him. 
 
 With his army still crippled by the miscarriage of his 
 Mexican expedition, Napoleon III. was in no condition to 
 grapple with united Germany. He, therefore, resorted to 
 the expedient of demanding withdrawal of the Prussian gar- 
 rison from Luxemburg, and the reference of this question to 
 a conference of the powers. Bismarck at first rejected this, 
 but the king, willing to make any honorable concession for 
 the sake of peace, consented, on condition that the Grand 
 Duchy should be neutralized and its fortress razed. Prussia 
 quitted Luxemburg, France was forbidden to enter it, and the 
 German states made another long stride towards national 
 union. 
 
 A stipulation in the Treaty of Prague that the people of 
 
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 59 
 
 North Schleswig should be allowed to choose by a plebiscite 
 between Germany and Denmark was made a pretext by 
 Napoleon for still further interference with German recon- 
 struction. Assuming to be charged with the fulfilment of 
 that stipulation, he received a severe rebuff from Bismarck, 
 who refused to recognize the right of France to demand the 
 execution of a treaty to which she had not been a party, 
 
 By this time the ambitious and jealous temper of the 
 French emperor had reached a degree of irritation which 
 needed but an opportunity to precipitate a crisis. The oppor- 
 tunity soon came. On the 4th of July, 1870, announcement 
 was made that the crown of Spain had been offered to Prince 
 Leopold, of Hohenzollern, and on the same day the French 
 government demanded, through its legation in Berlin, to 
 know whether the announcement was true. The Prussian 
 Foreign Office immediately disclaimed all knowledge of the 
 affair. Historical evidence supports the belief that this reply 
 was perfectly frank and honest. Prince Leopold stood in 
 nearer blood relationship to the French dynasty than he did 
 to the royal family of Prussia, and the negotiations with him 
 on the part of Spain had been conducted directly by Marshal 
 Prim. The Prussian government had kept aloof from them. 
 But all this would not satisfy the French demand. The King 
 of Prussia must require Prince Leopold to revoke his accept- 
 ance of the Spanish crown. Either this or war. 
 
 To present this ultimatum the French ambassador, Bene- 
 detti, was despatched with all speed to Ems, whither the king 
 had gone to meet his nephew, the czar. " I know what you 
 have come for," said the venerable monarch as soon as the 
 envoy presented himself, " but we shall not quarrel about the 
 Hohenzollern candidature." To this benevolent greeting 
 Benedstti responded with the demand and threat dictated 
 by his government. Prince Leopold must be required to 
 renounce the crown of Spain, otherwise there would be war. 
 
60 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Surprised but not daunted, the king declined to constrain his 
 kinsman one way or the other. He had allowed him perfect 
 freedom in his acceptance, and he would not compel him to 
 recall it. Spurred by telegrams from Napoleon's foreign 
 minister, the Due de Gramont, Benedetti presented his de- 
 mand- a second and third time, but without avail. Mean- 
 while Prince Leopold himself telegraphed his renunciation to 
 Madrid. The French government was advised of this by 
 the Spanish ambassador at Paris, but was still not satisfied. 
 " Go to the King of Prussia, and demand his public approval 
 of Prince Leopold's retirement, and his guaranty that the 
 prince shall never again be a candidate for the crown of 
 Spain." 
 
 Such was the next command to Benedetti, received at mid- 
 night on the 12th of July. Early next morning he sought 
 the king at his lodgings, but finding he had gone out for a 
 walk, started in pursuit. Seeing Benedetti hurrying after him 
 the king stopped, and, as he approached, handed him a news- 
 paper containing the news of Prince Leopold's withdrawal. 
 Benedetti said he had received the same information from Paris. 
 
 " Then all is settled," remarked His Majesty. 
 
 Benedetti replied that his government was not satisfied, but 
 demanded the king's public approval and pledge. " I neither 
 can nor will make a pledge of that kind," replied the sturdy 
 old monarch, and in a kindly tone he wished Monsieur 
 Benedetti good-morning. 
 
 The spot where this interview took place on the public 
 promenade at Ems is now marked by a tablet. It bears the 
 inscription : " July 13, 1870, 9 o'clock and 10 minutes in the 
 forenoon." "Precisely on this spot, and at this moment," 
 says a candid French writer, " the new German empire was 
 born. This modest stone, which the gay promenaders tread 
 upon as they pass by, is one of the most superb memorials 
 in Europe." 
 
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 61 
 
 King "William at once set out for Berlin. The bullying 
 arrogance with which he had been pursued by Napoleon, and 
 his patient and dignified firmness in repelling it, had aroused 
 the national spirit of the whole German people, and at every 
 station on his homeward journey he was overwhelmed with 
 demonstrations of their loyalty and regard. " It is just as it 
 was in 1813," he said. Berlin was in a frenzy of patriotic 
 fervor, and gave a magnificent welcome to its brave old 
 sovereign. As he neared the city he was apprised of the 
 virtual declaration of war by France, and before he slept that 
 night he had given orders to mobilize the army of the North 
 German Confederation. 
 
 And now again was seen with what marvellous genius and 
 foresight, through all the tumults of the past, that splendid 
 military system had been prepared and perfected. At a touch 
 all its mighty forces moved to their appointed work in perfect 
 harmony. From the instantaneous beginning to the trium- 
 phant end there was scarcely ajar in the gigantic mechanism, 
 scarcely a single mistake or miscarriage. Such perfection of 
 scientific warfare — such complete military adaptation of means 
 to ends — the world had never before witnessed. 
 
 Nor had the genius of preparation confined itself to the 
 sphere of military art. Diplomacy and statesmanship had 
 performed a work equally skilful and beneficent. While 
 France had been adroitly isolated in the councils of Europe, 
 and precluded from forming any powerful alliance, equal 
 dexterity had been shown in directing events so as to unite 
 all the German states against her. The moment Napoleon 
 declared war, Germany was one. When he proposed to the 
 Southern states — once the allies of France — the choice be- 
 tween observing neutrality or suffering invasion, the scornful 
 reply was, " We are not born idiots." There was no longer 
 any south or any north in the fatherland, but one country and 
 one cause. Even state lines were for once forgotten, and 
 
62 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 political estrangements centuries old were effaced. In ad 
 history there has been no popular uprising so sublime as that 
 of the German people in 1870, except ouly that of the Ameri- 
 can people in 1861. From the Baltic to the Alps rose in 
 fervid chorus the grand national anthem : 
 
 Zum Ehein, zum Ehein, zum deutschen Ehein ! 
 
 "Wir alle wollen Hiiter sein ! 
 
 Lieb Vaterland magst ruhig sein, 
 
 Fest steht, und treu, die Wacht am Ehein ! 
 
 Thus inspired, with single purpose, and with one heart 
 beating with the gathered impulses of a thousand years, the 
 helmeted hosts rushed to meet the invader by the borders of 
 the majestic river, whose classic current, stately and mystical 
 as the stream of time, reflects in its depths the legendary life 
 and grandeur of ages on ages past. 
 
 When the formal declaration of war by France was an- 
 nounced in the Reichstag, the whole House and the spectators 
 in the galleries rose and united in shouts of " Long live the 
 king !" The grim old strategist, Von Moltke, is said to have 
 looked ten years younger when war became certain. Bis- 
 marck, too, buckled on his sword, and " brightened," we are 
 told, " at the prospect of a life full of hardships and dangers." 
 But in the midst of all the excitement the venerable king, 
 admonishing the whole nation to do likewise, neglected not to 
 spend a day in humble invocation to the God of battles. 
 Bent in filial and pious reverence beside the mausoleum where 
 repose the ashes of his patriot mother, and where deathless 
 Art has carved her beauteous effigy, he fitly sought the promise 
 of divine help for the struggle wherein, full soon, he would 
 gloriously avenge her sufferings. 
 
 Within a fortnight after the declaration of war, the com- 
 bined armies of Germany, numbering one million men, had 
 been mobilized, and had reached their appointed stations on 
 
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 63 
 
 the French frontier. All stood ready for the signal to strike, 
 when, on the 31st of July, the king quitted Berlin for the 
 seat of war. " I know the French from experience," he said 
 to General Von Falkenstein at Hanover, " and I am prepared 
 for a long struggle." Prepared ? Yes ! It had been his life- 
 work to prepare to meet just such a crisis as this to the people 
 and the land he loved. Foreseeing, patient, and strong, he 
 was ready. 
 
 At Mayence the king announced that he had personally 
 assumed command of the united armies, and now we see him, 
 as we saw him at Griesheim, the warrior-king on horseback, 
 helmeted, stalwart, and majestic. There is something touch- 
 ing as well as inspiring in the sight of this venerable monarch 
 at the age of seventy-three leading his armies afield and 
 throwing down the gage of battle to the enemies of the 
 fatherland. 
 
 Intending to invade Germany and strike the first blow, 
 Napoleon assembled one hundred and fifty thousand men at 
 Metz, one hundred thousand at Strasburg, and a reserve of 
 fifty thousand at Chalons. The Metz and Strasburg armies, 
 united, were to cross the Rhine, sever North from South Ger- 
 many, and by prestige of rapid movement and success win 
 the alliance of Austria and the South German states. 
 
 The German force comprised three armies : the first, under 
 General Von Steinmetz, holding the right ; the second, under 
 Prince Friedrich Carl, known as "The Red Prince," the 
 centre; and the third, under the crown prince, — afterwards 
 emperor, — the left. These armies numbered together four 
 hundred and forty-seven thousand men. Behind them were 
 reserves amounting to five hundred and seventy-four thousand 
 more. On the 1st of August the first army, which was 
 farthest advanced, held the line of the Saar, with the second 
 army coming in on its left. The third army having crossed 
 the Rhine at Mannheim, deployed with its outposts well to the 
 
64 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 front. It was confronted by Douay's division of McMahon's 
 corps at Weissenburg. 
 
 Anticipated in their schemes of invasion, the French com- 
 manders greatly misconceived the positions, plans, and strength 
 of their antagonists. Hoping to gain information, Napoleon, 
 accompanied by the little prince imperial, personally directed 
 an assault upon the Prussian outpost at Saarbriicken. The 
 Prussians, after a three hours' battle on the heights of Speich- 
 eren, withdrew to their second line, and Napoleon telegraphed 
 emotionally to the Empress Eugenie : 
 
 " Louis has received his baptism of fire. . . . The Prus- 
 sians made brief resistance. Louis and I were in front, where 
 the bullets fell about us. Louis keeps a ball he picked up. 
 The soldiers wept at his tranquillity." 
 
 That was on the 2d of August. Just a month later Napo- 
 leon was a captive, the empress and prince imperial were fugi- 
 tives, and France, without a government or an army, lay pros- 
 trate at the feet of King William. " Verily," wrote Carlyle, 
 "in all history there is no instance of an insolent, unjust 
 neighbor that ever got so complete, instantaneous, and igno- 
 minious a smashing down as France now got from Germany." 
 
 While the French were still rejoicing over their victory at 
 Speicheren, the three German armies received the signal to 
 advance. With beautiful precision they moved, all led by 
 veteran chieftains, and all guided by one master-hand. The 
 crown prince led off with a force of one hundred and thirty 
 thousand men and a splendid park of artillery. On the 
 4th of August he surprised and routed Douay's division at 
 Weissenburg, and on the 6th overthrew and nearly destroyed 
 McMahon's army at Worth. While this was being done, grim 
 old Von Steinmetz, " the Lion of Skalitz," assaulted and 
 retook the heights of Speicheren, and nearly annihilated the 
 French corps of Frossard. 
 
 " God be praised ! A great victory has been won by our 
 
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 65 
 
 Fritz/' King William telegraphed to Queen Augusta. Directly 
 he sent a second despatch telling of Worth. " Another victory 
 by Fritz ! God be praised for his mercy !" it ran ; and all 
 Berlin rushed into the streets and sang with one accord 
 Luther's noble hymn : Einefeste Burg ist unser Gott. 
 
 With the shreds of his command McMahon withdrew pre- 
 cipitately towards Chalons, while the remnants of Frossard's 
 corps fell back on Metz, where Bazaine had collected an army 
 of two hundred and fifty thousand men. 
 
 And now began to be developed that consummate strategy 
 almost matchless in the history of war, — the strategy' of Von 
 Moltke. 
 
 From Metz westward to Verdun and Chalons there runs an 
 old Roman road, and by this and the parallel highways 
 Bazaine was directed by Napoleon to fall back on Chalons 
 and there unite with McMahon. To prevent this retreat, and 
 proposed junction of forces, was the problem to which Von 
 Moltke, by the direction of the king, now addressed himself. 
 Bazaine began his retreat on the morning of the 14th, but 
 while his leading divisions were crossing the Moselle, those 
 holding the rear w r ere violently assailed by Von Steinmetz, 
 and forced back, after a seven hours' battle, under the walls 
 of the Metz fortress. Meanwhile the army of the Red 
 Prince, sweeping around to the southward, was hastening to 
 throw itself directly across Bazaine's line of retreat by the 
 Verdun road. On the 16th this was accomplished under the 
 personal direction of Von Moltke. Desperate fighting ensued 
 at Vionville and Mars-la-Tour, but when the sun went down 
 the Germans still held their positions, and Bazaine's whole 
 army was brought to a halt. All the following night and day 
 Von Moltke hurried up the troops which had not reached him 
 on the 16th, so that by the morning of the 18th he had 
 collected a force of over two hundred thousand men and six 
 hundred pieces of artillery. The king now took command, 
 
QQ EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 the battle of Gravelotte was fought, and the army of Bazaine 
 was thrown back, with tremendous loss, on Metz. The 
 king was under fire all day, and at evening, while seated upon 
 the carcass of a horse slain in the battle, wrote a despatch 
 to the queen, announcing his victory. 
 
 While the Red Prince, with his army, remained for the in- 
 vestment of Metz, the first and third armies, together with a 
 fourth, which had been organized, directed their march on 
 Chalons. Their columns had passed Bar-le-Duc when, on the 
 29th of August, the cavalry ascertained that McMahon, with 
 an army which he had improvised at Chalons, was sweeping 
 around to the north-east with the evident purpose of reliev- 
 ing Bazaine. Instantly the German armies changed direction 
 to the right, and moved swiftly to thwart this new adven- 
 ture. Intercepted, and bewildered by confused instructions, 
 McMahon undertook to turn back towards Paris, but too late. 
 The third and fourth armies, under " Our Fritz" and the 
 Crown Prince of Saxony, closed in upon him, routed his right 
 wing at Beaumont, and drove him back upon the fortress of 
 Sedan, on the Belgian frontier. McMahon had with him 
 one hundred thousand men, and with these he was resolved 
 to show how a marshal of France could fight, and could 
 perish, if need be, rather than yield. 
 
 But his heroism was the heroism of despair. At nightfall 
 of the 31st of August he was confronted by two hundred and 
 forty thousand Germans, with over six hundred pieces of artil- 
 lery posted and ready to open fire. Directed by King William 
 from the heights of Frenois, the assault upon the French 
 positions began at daybreak on the morning of September 1. 
 In the lovely valley of the Meuse, sweeping in a vast semicircle 
 round the turreted citadel which Vauban built, and the quaint 
 old town where Turenne was born, through that bright autumn 
 day the conflict raged. After a desperate struggle the Crown 
 Prince of Prussia, holding the German left, carried the key- 
 
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 67 
 
 point of the French position, while on the right the fourth array 
 likewise stormed and carried the outer lines of McMahon's 
 intrenchments. Gallantly the brave old Duke of Magenta en- 
 deavored to retake his lost positions, but in vain. He fell des- 
 perately wounded, the circle of flame grew steadily narrower, and 
 by 4 o'clock P.M. the French army was crowded about the old 
 citadel, a disordered, helpless mass. Then the German artil- 
 lery began to play upon the fortress, when suddenly a white 
 flag was flung out from the battlements, the mighty clangor 
 of battle slowly quieted down, and an officer riding out from 
 Sedan brought to King William this message from the 
 Emperor Napoleon : 
 
 " Not having been able to die among my troops, there re- 
 mains to me nothing but to deliver to Your Majesty my sword." 
 
 By the capitulation, signed a few hours later, eighty-three 
 thousand men surrendered as prisoners of war, and six hundred 
 cannon, twelve thousand horses, and enormous quantities of 
 military stores passed into the possession of the victorious 
 Germans. 
 
 The war should have ended then and there. France should 
 have sued for peace, and taken the best terms she could get, 
 which would surely have been better than she afterwards 
 obtained. But the cup of her misfortune was not yet full. 
 Bruised, bleeding, and distracted, she became the victim first 
 of Demagogy, and then of its twin-sister Anarchy. For 
 Napoleon III., ambitious of conquest, was substituted Gam- 
 betta, ambitious of personal aggrandizement, and reckless as 
 the fallen emperor of consequences to his instruments and 
 dupes. The triumphant armies of Germany were again defied, 
 and the war went on. Within a fortnight the fairest city of 
 the world — the queenly patroness of art, music, and all that 
 embellishes human existence — was enclasped in a crushing, 
 consuming embrace of flame and iron. Army after army was 
 levied for her relief, only to be chased down and destroyed. 
 
6$ EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Strasburg, Metz, and Belfort successively fell, and Paris was 
 just reeling to her fall when an event took place which was 
 far more important to Germany than all the victories of the 
 campaign. That event was the proclamation of the German 
 Empire. 
 
 The long-wished-for consummation of German national 
 union had at last come of itself, — come, not by direct con- 
 trivance, but in the majestic march of events. The states of 
 Bavaria, Wurtemberg, Baden, and Hesse no longer needed 
 coaxing to enter the German Confederation ; of their own 
 accord they demanded it. They were admitted, and by unani- 
 mous acclaim of the whole nation the imperial crown and title 
 were bestowed upon the King of Prussia. 
 
 On the 18th of January, 1871, — precisely one hundred and 
 seventy years after the crowning of the first Prussian king,— 
 the proffered dignity and trust were formally accepted. While 
 the united German armies were thundering at the gates of 
 Paris, the ceremony which, after the dissensions of so many 
 centuries, made Germany indeed and in truth one nation, took 
 place at Versailles, in the famed palace of Louis the Grand. 
 History never presented a more dramatic scene, a more mar- 
 vellous episode. To the most gorgeous saloon in the palace — 
 the Galerie des Glaces — the flags of the German armies were 
 brought, and ranged in the order of their positions before 
 Paris. In that saloon Louis XIV. had walked in his pride, 
 and from its walls his portrait now looked down upon the 
 coalescence of a nation whose people, divided, he had scourged 
 with fire and sword. 
 
 In that splendid chamber King William stood surrounded 
 by representatives of all the German states and armies, and 
 by the standards which those armies had borne through smoke 
 and flame at Worth and Weissenburg, at Mars-la-Tour and 
 Gravelotte, at Beaumont and Sedan. With his head bowed 
 and his arms crossed he reverently listened while, in that place 
 
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. (39 
 
 so unused to devotional sounds, a hymn was sung, and prayers 
 were offered. On the wall above was emblazoned the legend, 
 Le Roi gouverne par lui me'me ; but the kings of Prussia, said 
 the chaplain of the occasion, had achieved their greatness in 
 the sign, " The kings of the earth reign under me, saith the 
 Lord." The devotional ceremonies concluded, the king, mount- 
 ing the dais, announced the re-establishment of the empire, and 
 directed Chancellor Bismarck to read his proclamation accepting, 
 by unanimous request of the German states, the imperial dignity. 
 
 As the chancellor concluded, the Grand Duke of Baden 
 stepped forth and cried, " Es lebe seine Majestat, der deutsche 
 Kaiser Wilhelm hoch /" Then the great hall rang with cheer 
 after cheer, the band broke in with the thrilling melody, Heil 
 Dir im SiegerJcranz, and the Crown Prince Fritz, bending, first 
 of all, in homage, was caught up in the arms of his imperial 
 father. 
 
 Thus the new German Empire was born, and a new epoch 
 in European civilization — yea, in human progress — was begun. 
 
 The achievement of the national union of the German states 
 culminated and crowned the life-work of William I. The 
 perfection of that union — and it is still far from perfect — 
 must be the work of his successors, and of time. Its strongest 
 bond must ever be the benefits which it confers, and these have 
 already been immense. When William I. ascended the throne 
 of Prussia, the German name was scarcely spoken with respect ; 
 now it is profoundly honored throughout the world. Then 
 the German states, divided among themselves, were the pup- 
 pets of foreign intrigue ; now they constitute a nation which is 
 the mistress of the European continent. 
 
 Whether German unity could have been accomplished by 
 methods radically different from those which William I. em- 
 ployed may well be doubted. Had Prussia been converted into 
 a republic in 1848, she could neither have acquired nor held 
 leadership in the work of consolidating the German nation. 
 
70 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Austria alone might have crushed her, and other powers would 
 have readily united with Austria, if necessary, in stauiping 
 her out. ..Her first business was to achieve her continental 
 independence, and for this purpose a strong military monarchy 
 was best suited. 
 
 It redounds infinitely to the honor of William I. that, as 
 creator and head of such a monarchy, he wielded his great 
 powers only for the benefit of his people. Firmly as he held 
 to the prerogatives of the crown, he was no oppressor, and 
 indeed could not be. With law-breaking and anarchy he had 
 no patience, and he dealt with them with a strong hand, but 
 tyrannical rule was something wholly foreign to his nature. 
 Firm and resolute, he had also the gentleness of true man- 
 hood, and there was scarcely a German child that did not love 
 the little corn-flower because it was the kaiser's favorite. To 
 his latest day his eyes would fill with tears when he witnessed 
 or heard of human suffering, and when his honest face could 
 no longer be seen at his accustomed window, it seemed as if 
 darkness had fallen upon all the windows of the land. The 
 humblest of his people trusted and honored him as a father, 
 and, when he died, mourned him as a friend. They knew full 
 well that, whatever he did, he meant it for their good, and 
 that whatever faults he might have, or mistakes he might 
 make, he was, above all thiugs, honest and true. 
 
 It is said that he was an absolutist, and so he was. But 
 let us not mistake the quality of his absolutism. It was not 
 of the Roman sort. The Roman emperor's will was law, 
 but with the Emperor William duty was law. To his con- 
 victions of duty, and his pledges, he was absolutely loyal, and 
 in this sense he was an absolutist. Conscientious and firm, his 
 was the rare privilege and the rare ability to show that abso- 
 lute power is no curse when wielded for the common good, 
 and that the beneficence of human government depends less 
 upon its form than upon the manner of its administration. 
 
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY. 71 
 
 It has been the purpose of this sketch to present William I. 
 in the framework of history rather than in that of portraiture. 
 Yet his personality constitutes one of the most interesting 
 figures of modern times. Much might be said of his noble 
 and unaffected majesty of appearance and manner, his fervent 
 and steadfast piety, his unswerving integrity, his immovable 
 firmness, his physical and moral courage, his untiring industry 
 and his extreme simplicity of life. All these attractions and 
 virtues he had, and more. He loved popularity as much as 
 any man, but he knew how to get along without it, and 
 would never seek it at the expense of self-respect or duty. 
 With marvellous sagacity in selecting his advisers and helpers 
 he united the necessary strength of will to retain them through 
 all vicissitudes. No clamor, no compulsion could constrain 
 him to dismiss a faithful and able public servant. When 
 somebody advised him on a certain occasion that he had better 
 get rid of Bismarck, he replied that it wouldn't be fair; Bis- 
 marck had not tried to get rid of him. It is true that he 
 owed much of his personal success to such helpers, but it is 
 equally true, as a French writer admiringly declares, that " it 
 is the Williams who make the Bismarcks." We might add 
 that no ruler was ever readier to recognize or more gen- 
 erous to reward the deservings of his co-workers than was 
 William I. 
 
 The world was slow to acknowledge his greatness, and there 
 are still those who estimate his intellect at a mediocre grade. 
 But what his mind lacked in brilliancy it made up in solidity 
 and strength. His was the homely genius of common sense. 
 It is a truth, as old as-the Book of Job, that "great men are 
 not always wise." Perhaps it may even be said that they are 
 seldom wise. But William I. was great because of his 
 wisdom. Among the most violent and persistent of his 
 antagonists during his long contention with the Prussian Par- 
 liament were some of the profoundest scholars and philoso- 
 
72 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 pliers of the period, but the sequel does not commend their 
 judgment as superior to his. " If I wanted to ruin one of my 
 provinces/' said Frederick the Great, " I would make over its 
 government to the philosophers/' Frederick's great successor, 
 William L, was of the same mind. 
 
 That he was a great soldier will hardly be. disputed. He 
 gave abundant proof that he had the ability both to organize 
 and to lead mighty armies. But he exhibited no less aptitude 
 to administer civil government than to command in the field. 
 All things considered, no European country was so well 
 governed as Germany was while he occupied the imperial 
 throne. Her industries were diversified and enlarged, the 
 condition of her industrial population was ameliorated, her 
 railway, postal, and coinage systems were immensely improved, 
 new avenues were opened to her continental and trans-oeeanic 
 trade, and her merchant marine was developed until it became 
 second in extent and prosperity only to that of England. 
 
 " Cromwell, Washington, and Napoleon," wrote Mr. Buckle, 
 " are perhaps the only first-rate modern warriors of whom it 
 can fairly be said that they were equally competent to govern 
 a kingdom and command an army." 
 
 We may now add to these one other : William I., founder 
 and first ruler of the new German Empire. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 
 
 The origin of the Germanic race lies far back in the twi- 
 light of history. No authentic records of the earlier inhabi- 
 tants of Germany exist. Before the time of Julius Caesar the 
 Romans knew very little of the people who dwelt east of the 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 73 
 
 Rhine and north of the Danube. The European continent 
 north of the Alps was for the most part one vast, mysterious 
 forest. But the invasion of Gaul by the Roman armies 
 developed the fact that the country beyond the Rhine was 
 inhabited by a numerous people, given to agriculture, — a race, 
 say the Roman writers, " free from any foreign intermixture, 
 as proved by their physiognomy ;. with fierce blue eyes, deep- 
 yellow hair, a robust frame, and gigantic height ; inured to 
 cold and hunger, but not to thirst and heat ; warlike, honest, 
 faithful, friendly and unsuspicious toward friends, but toward 
 enemies cunning and dissembling; scorning every restraint, 
 considering independence as the most precious of all things, 
 and therefore ready to give up life rather than liberty. . . . 
 Valor was the grace of man, chastity the virtue of woman." 
 
 Such were the aboriginal Germans. They had no towns or 
 cities, but dwelt mostly in small communities, holding prop- 
 erty in common. They were divided into over fifty tribes, of 
 which the Alemanni, Suevi, Burgundians, Goths, Vandals, and 
 others figure conspicuously in ancient history. 
 
 After CaBsar's victory over Ariovistus and his conquest of 
 Gaul, the Roman armies overran much of the country and 
 established a line of fortified outposts from the Rhine to the 
 Danube. The present city of Mayence on the Rhine was the 
 head-quarters of the army of Drusus, and to this day relics of 
 the Drusus colony and garrison continue to be found there 
 whenever a fresh excavation is made, insomuch that the city 
 possesses a remarkably interesting musuein of such antiquities, 
 reflecting alike the customs, superstitions, and vices of the 
 ancient Romans. The old city of Treves, in the valley of the 
 Moselle, possesses an immense Roman amphitheatre, and a 
 great three-storied Roman gate-way (Porta Nigra), rivalling 
 in its stately dimensions any of the triumphal arches which 
 survive imperial Rome. 
 
 Within a few years past the remains of a Roman soldier in 
 d 7 
 
74 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 full armor were exhumed near Frankfort-on-the-Main, and 
 in that, as in other parts of the Rhine Valley, Roman antiqui- 
 ties are still from time to time coming to light. Evidently 
 the Romans came to Germany intending to stay there, and yet 
 they were never more than temporary occupants of the coun- 
 try, for no sooner did they undertake to assert by force of 
 arms the rights of conquest than they were overwhelmingly 
 defeated. 
 
 The political and social life of modern Germany bears the 
 stamp of these ancient experiences and characteristics of the 
 German people. The tribes into which the inhabitants of the 
 country were originally divided perpetuated their distinctions 
 through a long course of feudalities and petty despotisms until 
 they crystallized into the existing German states. The tribal 
 divisions are still traceable in differences of dialect, tempera- 
 ment, physiognomy, and social and political customs. The 
 German social estate is therefore a curious conglomerate, a 
 multiform, many-hued, ever-changing mosaic, puzzling and 
 misleading to the superficial student, and comprehensible only 
 through close observation and prolonged and patient study. 
 The sectional and local diversities of the people are endless, 
 and nearly every important town or district has social customs 
 and a form of language peculiar to itself. The province, dis- 
 trict, and even city or town from which strangers come can be 
 guessed with precision from their dialect, dress, and manners. 
 
 Hence it is that travellers and transient writers give such 
 various and conflicting accounts of the German people. Flit- 
 ting by rail from town to town, and sojourning mostly in 
 hotels, ordinary tourists see nothing at all of the real social 
 life of the Germans, and yet sometimes presume to tell us all 
 about it. Out of their fragmentary knowledge and superficial 
 impressions newspapers are supplied with flippant correspond- 
 ence, and whole volumes of misinformation are written. 
 
 Generally, too, writers of this class know very little, if any- 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 75 
 
 thing, of the German language, without a fair knowledge of 
 which it is very difficult to obtain anything like a correct 
 understanding of the intellectual and social life of the people. 
 Most educated Germans, it is true, speak English more or 
 less fluently, and French is much spoken in social and diplo- 
 matic intercourse. But no language brings the strauger into 
 such intimate relations with the people, and so reveals to him 
 their modes of thought, action, and feeling, as their native 
 tongue. 
 
 To most adult Americans the German is a difficult language 
 to learn, and not especially attractive. Macaulay is said to 
 have mastered it in three months, which probably means that 
 he acquired in that length of time a fair book-knowledge of 
 its grammatical principles. Charles V. called it " the lan- 
 guage of horses," but in his day its euphonious and literary 
 possibilities were but dimly realized. Wielaud had not then 
 written his " Oberon," nearly every stanza of which is music 
 itself; and Lessing, Schiller, and Goethe had not given to the 
 world their immortal verse. 
 
 The drolleries of the language, its oddities of grammatical 
 construction, its curious compounding and dividing asunder 
 of words, its arbitrary distinctions of gender, — all these, to- 
 gether with the difficulties which American travellers and so- 
 journers in Germany experience in assimilating the vernacular 
 of the country, have been duly set forth by one of our famous 
 American humorists, who has made out of them a very 
 amusing chapter of his "Tramp Abroad." The Germans 
 heartily enjoy this mirth at their expense, and are otherwise 
 well repaid for it in the amusement which is furnished them 
 by the linguistic exploits of German-learning Englishmen 
 and Americans. At the same time, our Teutonic friends are 
 extremely patient with us, and seldom appear to notice our 
 mistakes. Out of the debris of our wrecked sentences and 
 confused misplacements and misconceptions of words and 
 
76 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 idioms they will quietly gather our meaning, and when our 
 vocabulary and its capacity for grammatical mischief are ex- 
 hausted, they will soothingly remark in good, plain English, 
 « Why, how well you speak German ! What excellent prog- 
 ress you have made !" 
 
 This considerate treatment of tyros in their language is not 
 only something which we ought to be grateful for and recipro- 
 cate; it is also an illustration of what has been called the 
 politesse de cceur of the Germans. Their friendly interest in 
 everybody about them, even to strangers and aliens, is a note- 
 worthy trait, amounting, almost, to a national characteristic. 
 A stranger may travel all day with Englishmen, even in the 
 same carriage or coupe, and never receive, in word or act, the 
 slightest recognition of his existence. Quite otherwise in 
 Germany. Both on joining and leaving us our German fel- 
 low-travellers will not fail to salute us with their cheery guten 
 Tag, and, if not repelled, they will not be apt to omit still 
 further evidences of their friendly attention. At an English 
 dinner party, a guest may find himself in a state of solemn 
 isolation amidst strangers, to whom he has not been introduced, 
 whom he dare not approach, and by whom he is industriously 
 ignored. The German usage is in pleasant contrast with this. 
 No sooner does the unacquainted guest cross the threshold 
 than the host or hostess takes pains to introduce him to the 
 principal people present, who, in turn, exert themselves to 
 make him feel thoroughly at home in their company. 
 
 This " politeness of the heart" finds expression on the most 
 ordinary occasions, and from people in all conditions of life. 
 The servant who presents a glass of beer or a plate of food 
 will accompany it with his good-natured Gesundheit, or guten 
 Appetit, or lass 7 es gut Schmecken ; and even the maid who 
 prepares one's bath will not omit her wohl bekomm's when all 
 is ready. If you go out to a party or a concert, the Diener 
 who helps you on with your overcoat or into your carriage 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 77 
 
 will be sure to wish you viel Vergnilgen, and when you go away 
 on a journey, full many a gluckliche Meise will follow you. The 
 stranger who sits down at a public table salutes those near 
 him, and when he rises to go away does the same, adding his 
 gesegnete Mahlzeit to those with whom he has held conversa- 
 tion. If a gentleman helps a lady to wine at table, he takes 
 care to pour a little first into his own glass, so that if any 
 particles of cork or dust should adhere to the mouth of the 
 bottle he will get them, and not she. 
 
 Men seldom wear their hats in their places of business, and 
 customers coming into a business office remove theirs. On 
 leaving such a place it is usual to salute the proprietors and 
 their assistants, particularly when either or both happen to be 
 ladies, as a large majority of the sales-people are. If a cus- 
 tomer asks for his Rechnung, it is sure to be endorsed auf 
 Wunsch, and when it comes back receipted after payment it 
 will as surely be superscribed Eine schone Empfehhmg, or 
 Herr lasst schon danken. 
 
 How much these little phrases and attentions, which cost 
 nothing, soften the jolts and smooth down the asperities of 
 human experience need not be stated. They embellish life, 
 make it seem worth living, and help us immensely to feel that 
 we are, after all, of some account in the world. 
 
 Handshaking is not so common in Germany as with us, 
 and is seldom indiscriminately practised. The universal 
 mode of salutation on the part of men is that of lifting the 
 hat. Ladies receive the first recognition instead of giving it, 
 and strangers must make first calls instead of being first 
 called upon. The uses of the card in calling and exchanging 
 compliments are considered with much nicety, and are so 
 regulated as to express plainly and yet with delicacy the un- 
 written laws of social intercourse. Both desire and disin- 
 clination for nearer acquaintance are carefully indicated by 
 cards ; compliments are conveyed by them and congratulations 
 
 7* 
 
78 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 exchanged. When death occurs, card messengers remind the 
 bereaved of the sympathetic remembrances of their acquaint- 
 ances. Visits of condolence are not made unless by near 
 relatives and friends, nor are the bereaved obliged to make 
 public exposure of their grief. The remains of the deceased 
 are often followed to the tomb by empty carriages only, not 
 even the afflicted family accompanying them should the 
 weather be inclement. 
 
 The customs and ceremonies attending betrothal and mar- 
 riage differ widely from ours. Prior to the Verlobung, or 
 betrothal, the intercourse of young unmarried people can, as a 
 rule, only take place in the presence or by the express consent 
 of their parents, and German ladies have often expressed to 
 me their astonishment that in America, as they had heard, 
 young ladies not betrothed were permitted to receive and ac- 
 company young gentlemen without parental attendance. Be- 
 trothal, indeed, is often the first stage of real acquaintance, the 
 intercourse of the contracting parties before that being of a 
 comparatively formal character. The Verlobung is generally 
 considered a more important act than the Trauung, or marriage, 
 and the breaking off of an engagement causes more scandal 
 than a divorce. After engagement, the parties engaged are 
 Bread and Brautigam, but cease to be such after marriage. 
 Once engaged, they may accompany each other when and where 
 they like, and on social occasions are treated much the same 
 as husband and wife. 
 
 By imperial law, a man becomes qualified to contract mar- 
 riage when twenty, and a girl when sixteen years of age, but a 
 man may not marry without the consent of his father, or other 
 guardian, until he is twenty-five, nor a girl until she is twenty- 
 four. Whether a marriage contracted without the consent of 
 guardians is valid or not is a matter regulated by the legisla- 
 tion of the different states. 
 
 It is a sort of unwritten law — a sequence of actual statutes 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 79 
 
 now abolished — that a man should not marry until he has 
 some visible and reliable means of supporting a family. 
 Parents are careful to have their children mated with those of 
 equal social station, and it is worthy of remark that rank and 
 position are more highly considered in a matrimonial way than 
 wealth, although that is a matter by no means despised. Some 
 years ago a distinguished Heidelberg professor wrote a book 
 which aimed to prove that the daughters of wealthy men of 
 business are destined, in the order of uature, to marry lawyers 
 and civil service officials, and that the daughters born of such 
 marriages are destined to marry business men, with a view to 
 acquiring wealth wherewith to endow their daughters, in turn, 
 for marriage into the civil service. Thus the business, or 
 middle, class would provide wealth, and the official class social 
 distinction, and the balance would be preserved. 
 
 The arrangement of the dot, or marriage portion, prior to 
 betrothal, is something that must not be neglected, and its 
 amount for each of the contracting parties is settled in advance 
 by their parents. 
 
 The marriage ceremony is usually performed twice, — once 
 after the civil and once after the religious form, — but only the 
 civil contract is valid in law. . By imperial statute of February 
 6, 1875, " marriage is to be concluded in the presence of two 
 witnesses, by the betrothed persons severally declaring their 
 agreement, when asked by the proper officer whether they 
 announce their intention of uniting; in marriage with each 
 other, and by his thereupon proclaiming that they are both 
 legally married." The same law forbids any clergyman, or 
 other minister of religion, to execute these functions, or to act 
 as a substitute for the civil officer. The civil ceremony there- 
 fore takes precedence in the order of time, as in that of legal 
 importance. First, however, there must be a publication of 
 the banns at least two weeks before the contract is signed, and 
 this precaution, together with the parental restraints, has a 
 
80 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 wholesome effect in preventing hasty and ill-considered mar- 
 riages. 
 
 Many of the traditional usages attending the marriage cere- 
 mony, particularly among the peasantry, are very curious, but 
 the etiquette of weddings is not eccentric. German etiquette, 
 in general, is a system of social customs which has grown up 
 with the people, and which is adapted to promote as well as 
 protect social intercourse. It may be added that, in the best 
 German society, people are not received very much on trust. 
 They must prove their quality before obtaining favor. Vulgar 
 wealth is not admitted to the circle of the intellectual and re- 
 fined, and civil or military position carries with it infinitely 
 more social privilege than money, simply because the process 
 by which alone such position can be reached in Germany is 
 itself a guarantee of merit. Artists, actors, musicians, and 
 scientific and literary people of distinction, or of passably good 
 professional standing, are constantly invited to the tables of 
 noblemen and millionaires. 
 
 It has been said that behavior at the table is the best test of 
 manners, and that a fine dinner is the crowning exponent of 
 civilized life. However this may be, a dinner-party in the 
 refined circles of Germany is certainly one of the most char- 
 acteristic and charming illustrations of the social life of the 
 people. Formal invitations to dinner are generally given 
 upon an engraved card, with date and hour in writing, and 
 must be accepted or declined without delay. They may be 
 sent through the post, or, as is more customary, delivered by 
 special messenger. The hour fixed is intended to be exact, 
 and guests are expected to be punctual to the minute. I shall 
 not forget the first invitation of this kind which I received, 
 for I happened to be about ten minutes late, and my worthy 
 host greeted me with a good-natured reprimand by saying that 
 he had begun to grow anxious lest something had happened 
 to me. 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. %\ 
 
 At the precise hour appointed the company proceeds to the 
 table, the host escorting the most distinguished lady guest. 
 The seating is managed diplomatically so as to bring congenial 
 people together, and much attention is given to table decora- 
 tion, for which purpose, in every season, flowers are liberally 
 used. The dinner is served a la Russe, but the finest meats 
 are sometimes brought in and shown to the guests before being 
 carved. 
 
 When the dinner is concluded the ladies are escorted to the 
 salon, and the gentlemen withdraw to the smoking-room. 
 Thus an opportunity is given to the former to discuss the latest 
 fashions, and to the latter to exchange opinions concerning 
 affairs on the bourse. In the smoking-room cafe noir is served, 
 and also cognac and other cordials. After the gentlemen have 
 finished their cigars and coffee, they return to the salon, and 
 spend the remainder of the evening with the ladies. 
 
 The recipient of dinner courtesies is expected to acknowl- 
 edge them within a reasonable time by a return call, which 
 may be made by card, but there is no strict debit and credit 
 system of reciprocation of social favors. People are often in- 
 vited again and again without any return of the compliment 
 being asked or thought of. 
 
 The Germans are a music-loving people, and this fact has 
 much to do with their social customs and enjoyments. Musical 
 composition almost amounts to a national industry, and of 
 musical clubs and societies there is no end. Nearly every 
 large city has at least one orchestra of sixty or seventy per- 
 formers, which in any country where musicians of such train- 
 ing and skill are less common would be famous. Many plain 
 business men — merchants, bankers, and others — are really 
 excellent vocalists, pianists, or violinists. 
 
 The people are passionately fond of the opera and the 
 drama, both of which are supported, in part, by public sub- 
 sidies. The usual hour for beginning theatrical performances 
 / 
 
82 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 is 6 o'clock p.m., and they seldom continue later than nine, 
 or half-past. Ladies, as well as gentlemen, leave their wraps 
 and head-wear in the Garderobe before entering the audi- 
 torium, — an arrangement which enables the masculine part of 
 the audience to see the stage, whatever fashion may prevail in 
 ladies' bonnets. 
 
 German theatrical audiences are models of decorum. This 
 is due, in part, to strict regulations and police surveillance, but 
 in larger degree it is the result of popular habit and training. 
 
 During a fine concert or opera no one may be admitted until 
 an interval occurs, and while the music is in progress all other 
 sound is absolutely hushed. There is not a cough, not a 
 movement, not a discordant noise. The applause, when de- 
 served, is hearty and prolonged, but is always timely and 
 decorous. 
 
 Nor is the pleasure derived from music by any means ex- 
 clusive with those who can pay for fine operas and concerts. 
 It is the fireside recreation of the people, and humble is the 
 home where it is not enjoyed. For the public recreation ex- 
 cellent concerts are provided at the parks and gardens, and 
 are accessible to all. In the public gardens of Frankfort one 
 afternoon concert per week is given especially for ladies and 
 children, and on such occasions the elegant music-halls are 
 always crowded. The ladies bring their crochet-work, and 
 gossip over their coffee, and the little folks enjoy the games 
 provided for them, or stroll amidst the fountains and flowers. 
 
 The Germans delight in open-air life. Every house of any 
 pretensions has its garden, if only a few square feet of sodded 
 space, where the family may sit and enjoy the fresh air and the 
 sunlight and shade. They abhor anything like a draught in- 
 doors, and keep their houses shut tight, but think nothing of 
 sitting for hours in the family garden, and taking their meals 
 there whenever the weather will at all permit. Gardens, parks 
 and promenades for general recreation are provided in every 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 83 
 
 considerable town, while, by low fares and frequent trains, the 
 railways afford on Sundays and holidays the most ample 
 facilities possible for excursions to the country. 
 
 The fashionable hour for promenading is from 1 1 a.m. to 1 
 P.M. At one everybody sits down to dinner. The banks close 
 at that hour, and remain closed until 4 p.m. The bourse is 
 open for business from twelve o'clock noon until 1 p.m., and a 
 second time later in the afternoon. 
 
 Dinner and supper are the principal meals. A German 
 breakfast consists of Zwiebacken or Brodschens and coffee, 
 with perhaps boiled eggs. Supper is taken at seven or eight 
 o'clock, or postponed until after the theatre. Laborers have 
 four or five Essens a day, and most business men luuch be- 
 tween meals. 
 
 Wine and beer drinking is universal, but no more temperate 
 people exists than the Germans. During a sojourn of several 
 years among them, I do not remember to have seen half a 
 dozen persons intoxicated. During a festal occasion lasting 
 three or four days, which brought thirty thousand strangers to 
 Frankfort, not over seven or eight persons, it was stated, were 
 arrested for disorderly conduct. 
 
 Drunkenness is more disgraceful than it is in this country. 
 Men do not go into a " saloon" and stand up before a " bar" 
 and drink themselves drunk. What Americans call " treat- 
 ing" is unknown. Each one pays for what he gets, as an 
 honest man should, and expects his friends and companions to 
 do the same. People who take refreshments at a restaurant or 
 beer-garden sit down by the tables and eat and drink leisurely. 
 The popular beverages, as a rule, are mild, pure, and whole- 
 gome, and a dinner, however humble, is not a dinner in Ger- 
 many without beer or wine. Yet the people are not given to 
 nervousness or inebriety, and have comparatively little stomach- 
 ache, so far as I have been able to notice. 
 
 At the same time it should be stated that the traffic in all 
 
84 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 kinds of alcoholic beverages is strictly regulated by law. The 
 license system, or its equivalent, is the prevailing one, though 
 different laws as to the traffic prevail in the different states 
 and provinces. A broad distinction is drawn between the 
 establishments which traffic only in beer and wine, and those 
 which also sell spirituous liquors. New establishments of 
 either kind can only be opened by police permission, and then 
 only upon a showing of reasonable public demand for the 
 business. Disorderly and immoral places may be suppressed 
 by police fiat, and it should be noted that the tenure of office 
 by the police authorities does not depend, directly or in- 
 directly, upon what Americans would call the " saloon vote." 
 Indeed, we may almost say that the saloon does not exist in 
 Germany, — at least, not in our sense of the word. 
 
 German housekeeping methods differ materially from the 
 American. In the first place, the houses are differently con- 
 structed and furnished from ours. An American visiting 
 Germany once remarked to me that it seemed very odd to him 
 to see dwellings " with the front door in the rear." The 
 French system of etages, or flats, is common in cities, and the 
 choice part of the house is not the rez-de-chaussee, or first 
 floor, but that we call the second. This is in Germany the 
 erster Stoch, or first story, and between it and the lower floor, 
 or parterre, there sometimes intervenes a narrow story called 
 the entresol. Each floor is complete in itself for all the pur- 
 poses of housekeeping, with a permanent kitchen range built 
 to stay. Cellar space and garden privileges are apportioned 
 to the different families occupying the Mages, and their servants 
 colonize in the attic. In point of convenience and comfort, 
 New York and Philadelphia have greatly improved upon the 
 German flat system. 
 
 In the more expensive dwellings parquetry floors are laid, 
 and these are waxed and burnished until smooth as glass. In 
 more unpretentious homes the floors are painted and varnished. 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 85 
 
 Carpets covering" the entire floor are seldom seen; artistic 
 squares, or Vorlage, being used instead. Living-rooms are 
 heated by Kachelofen, or porcelain stoves, and wood is the pre- 
 vailing fuel. The coal is inferior to ours, and is drenched 
 with water before being laid upon the fire. 
 
 Madame, whatever her social station, carries the keys and 
 personally supervises the servants. Ladies of the highest 
 birth and education understand all the details of housekeeping, 
 and are not above taking a practical interest in what is going 
 on in the kitchen. They are trained to this in the cooking-, 
 sewing-, and boarding-schools, — a kind of education which 
 vastly contributes both to the comfort and the economy of 
 German home-life. 
 
 Children are trained to obey. Insubordination in the family 
 or the school is treated much the same as insubordination in 
 the army. The little German maid no sooner learns to talk 
 than she begins to knit, sew, and embroider, and make herself 
 otherwise useful in the house. If her parents have any means 
 at all, a thoroughly ornamental as well as practical education 
 is within her reach. In short, she grows up to be an accom- 
 plished and contented mistress of a house, — a real helpmeet, — 
 knowing how to cook, sew, sing, dance, embroider, take care 
 of children, and write and speak in two or three languages. 
 
 Her little brother, as soon as he is six years old, starts for 
 school, and education is a serious matter with him from that 
 time on until he finishes the gymnasium. He has little time 
 for play except on stated holidays, and woe betide him if he 
 does not give diligent attention to the tasks set for him out- 
 side of school-hours. Besides the " three It's," he must learn 
 Latin, Greek, French, English, German, higher mathematics, 
 natural science, geography, and history. The course of the 
 gymnasium is equivalent to that of an American college, and 
 when he is through with that he may go to the University. 
 Then, if he passes the Examen, he must serve one year in the 
 
86 EUROPEAN DAYS AND' WAYS. 
 
 army, and, if he does not pass it, three years. After that he 
 goes into the public service or a profession, or learns and finally 
 inherits the business of his father. 
 
 The ideal German home is a model of order, cleanliness, 
 comfort, and loving domestic harmony. The women, as a 
 rule, are quite contented with home and its duties, and leave 
 the cares of state and the rugged work of reform to the men. 
 Yet the sphere of woman is by no means exclusively domestic. 
 The pursuits of literature, the fine arts, and business are all 
 freely opened to her. 
 
 The Germans believe in recreation for the family and by the 
 family. Parents and children sit together in the public gardens 
 listening to the concerts, visit together the theatre and the opera, 
 and unite in family excursions and tours. What one enjoys 
 they all enjoy, so far as their means go, except that, by the cus- 
 tom of the country, the head of the family is allowed to spend 
 a certain part of his time with his Verein, or club. I once 
 asked a German married lady whether or not she liked to have 
 her husband visit nearly every evening, as he did, a club to which 
 I belonged, and she assured me that she preferred to have him 
 do so, " for," said she, " this brightens him up, and makes him 
 a better companion for me than he would be were I to insist 
 upon his spending all his leisure at home. Then, too," she 
 added, reflectively, " I might get a little tired of him if he 
 were about the house too much." 
 
 One of the most attractive features of German home-life is 
 its faithful observance of family anniversaries. Few things 
 contribute more to make the home circle delightful than this. 
 The little child — and the full-grown one as well — counts the 
 days, the hours almost, until its Geburtstag comes round. 
 And when the day arrives it is sure to be observed in a way to 
 make the honored one feel that it is a good thing to be born 
 into the world, a good thing to have a home and loving 
 parents, friends, brothers, and sisters. The house is dressed 
 
GERMAN SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE. 87 
 
 en /Me, cards of congratulation with flowers and other gifts 
 come in from all round the circle of acquaintance, tapers are 
 lighted denoting the number of years the happy one has fin- 
 ished, and a family dinner and reunion crown the festivities. 
 
 I once had the happiness to be invited to spend a few days 
 with a friend at his summer villa on the Rhine, and when we 
 went down the first time to dinner we found the table gar- 
 nished with flowers, and the chairs upon which my good 
 friend and his wife were to sit wreathed with roses and lilies. 
 It was their wedding anniversary, and the^children had done 
 this to signify their loving remembrance of the day. How 
 beautiful it was, and how happy we all were, albeit the place 
 of him who was chief in that delightful circle was soon after- 
 wards forever vacant ! 
 
 But the noblest of all family anniversaries is the German 
 Christmas. It is not a single holiday, as with us, but a cluster 
 of two or three together, and the quaint old legends and tradi- 
 tional observances — domestic, social, and religious — connected 
 with it are many and beautiful. What visions of happy faces 
 and what echoes of sweet cathedral chimes haunt my recollec- 
 tion as I think of them ! In many parts of Germany, Christ- 
 mas is called " The Children's Festival," and such it is ; but 
 it is a festival at which all are children, whether old or young. 
 
 Should German habits and customs be adopted by Ameri- 
 cans ? To some extent they should be. After ten centuries of 
 experience, the Germans have arrived at certain fixed conclu- 
 sions as to what is best for them in the conditions under 
 which they live, and so far as the conditions of our life are 
 the same, those conclusions are equally wise for us. 
 
 It is the misfortune of our people that they have not yet 
 learned how to enjoy life in the present as it is their privilege 
 to do. The Germans are adepts at this. They act upon the 
 Horatian admonition, carpe diem. They have a proverb, Be- 
 quemlichkeit geht dem Deutschen uber Alles, — with the German, 
 
88 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 comfort goes before everything, — and this is a key to their 
 domestic and social life. They believe, with Kenan, that 
 "sunshine is a fine thing, life an excellent gift, and the land 
 of the living a very pleasant place to sojourn in," and they 
 do not see why they should not enjoy these things as much 
 as they innocently can. 
 
 Too much of our social life is mere pretension ; it glitters, 
 but it is not gold. The real contact of noble and congenial 
 minds is not there. The social life of Germany, on the other 
 hand, is realistic, and repels shams. It seeks out and holds 
 fast the genuine good, true, and beautiful. It shows us, 
 moreover, as in a mirror, that real happiness is not at a distance, 
 but near at hand, waiting for and inviting us to reach out and 
 grasp it. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HOW THE GERMANS EDUCATE. 
 
 It has been said of the Germans that they are the most 
 learned people in the world. If this is not an exaggerated 
 compliment, the fact is mainly due to the operations of a 
 system of education which, for the circumstances and purposes 
 to which it is applied, is the best in existence. 
 
 This system should be judged, not exclusively by its apti- 
 tude to the social and political conditions under which we live 
 on this continent, but with special reference to the circum- 
 stances under which it has been created, and for which it is 
 intended. As shoes made on American lasts have been found 
 unsuited to German feet, so a scheme of education which has 
 been fashioned according to the German mind and character 
 would need some modifications to adapt it to American con- 
 
HOW THE GERMANS EDUCATE. 89 
 
 ditions. Yet the fundamental principles of education are the 
 same, whether in one country or another. 
 
 The criticism has been made on American schools that boys 
 and girls on leaving them " rarely know how to continue their 
 education by themselves. They have not learned to study, and 
 if they read at all, they confine themselves to the daily news- 
 paper and the weekly novel." To such results the German 
 system does not tend. Its primary aim is to develop the 
 faculty of independent thinking and reasoning. It does not 
 cram. It assumes, as has been properly said, that " a man's 
 success in life depends immeasurably more upon his capacities 
 for useful action than upon his acquirements in knowledge." 
 It prefers to strengthen the memory rather than to cumber it 
 with facts. It develops the power of fixing the attention. 
 The abecedarian and the university student are alike, in the 
 true sense of the word educate, induced or drawn out to think 
 for themselves. 
 
 The means by which these results are accomplished have 
 been perfected by centuries of experience and study. Teach- 
 ing is, in Germany, not a makeshift, but a profession. It is 
 studied as a science, under the supervision of the government, 
 represented by learned and capable men. The teacher must be 
 a thorough scholar, but not a mere routinist. The forms and 
 methods given him are not to be followed mechanically; he 
 must have the ability to so apply them as to accomplish their 
 intended purpose, fie is expected to be no less diligent in 
 private study — for which he has ample leisure — than in his 
 school-room duties. 
 
 The teacher is almost invariably a person of high social 
 station, and deservedly so. The position he holds is one which 
 cannot be reached except by scholarly and personal merit. 
 His profession is therefore respected not more because of its 
 importance than because of the qualifications of those who fol- 
 low it. Teaching is also well paid. Teachers who show them- 
 
90 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 selves qualified and diligent are not only sure of permanent 
 employment, regardless of personal or political favoritism, but 
 have good salaries, as compared with other professions, and in 
 case of disability from age or sickness are pensioned. 
 
 The institutions in which teachers are specially trained for 
 their profession are called seminaries. Their course of study 
 varies in duration from one to three years. 
 
 The proportion of female to male teachers is small. In 
 1861 it was but five per cent. ; in 1879 it was nine and one- 
 half per cent. Down to 1873 female teachers had no fixed 
 position in Prussia, their employment being resorted to only 
 when male teachers could not be had. This discrimination was 
 due not entirely to sex, but chiefly to difference in training. 
 Until 1877 there were but seven seminaries in Prussia for the 
 education of female teachers, and two of these were schools for 
 governesses. Of late the Ministry of Public Instruction has 
 made considerable effort both to improve the quality and to 
 enlarge the opportunities of female teachers. 
 
 All the schools, private as well as public, are under the 
 direct inspection and supervision of the government. The 
 chief of each managing board, from the highest to the lowest, 
 is appointed by the crown, and vested with power to veto any 
 act of the body over which he presides. No teacher can be 
 appointed, even in the private schools, whose qualifications, 
 moral and professional, have not successfully passed the gov- 
 ernment test. The schools are free except that a small tuition 
 fee is charged, but remitted when the parents are unable to pay 
 it. The individual parishes are expected to maintain their 
 own schools, but when necessary receive assistance from the 
 state. The sexes are taught together in the primary course, 
 but in all the higher classes separately. Attendance is com- 
 pulsory for all children from six to fourteen years of age. The 
 usual school-hours are from 8 to 12 a.m. and 2 to 4 p.m., but 
 the lessons must be studied chiefly at home. 
 
HOW THE GERMANS EDUCATE. 91 
 
 The duration of the primary training is three years, after 
 which choice may be made between the three different classes 
 of higher schools known respectively as the gymnasia, the 
 Realschulen, and the Gewerbeschulen. The gymnasium is, as its 
 name implies, a training-school chiefly, — a palsestra for the 
 intellectual faculties. The classics being deemed of the first 
 importance for mental training, they hold a leading place in 
 its curriculum, which comprises eight different grades, denomi- 
 nated — from lowest to highest — as sexta, quinta, quarta, tertia, 
 lower secunda, upper secunda, lower prima, and upper prima. 
 The time required to complete this course is from eight to 
 nine years. The four lower grades are adapted to general 
 training, the four upper to preparation for the University. 
 The number of recitations required per week varies in dif- 
 ferent years from twenty-five to thirty-two, not including 
 gymnastics or instruction in music. Boys may be admitted 
 to the gymnasium at nine or ten years of age, provided they 
 understand the ordinary rules of arithmetic, and can write 
 with reasonable correctness in German and Latin characters. 
 
 The majority of the pupils in the lower grades of the 
 gymnasium come from the middle, or business and producing, 
 class of society. Not aspiring to a political, scientific, or 
 literary career, such pupils seldom advance beyond the grade 
 of lower secunda ; which is to say, they quit school in their 
 sixteenth or seventeenth year, after having remained just long 
 enough to reduce their period of military service from three 
 years to one. 
 
 The studies in the upper grades of the gymnasium are lim- 
 ited chiefly to the classics, physics, and higher mathematics. 
 The pupils in these grades are therefore mainly such as wish to 
 prepare themselves for a literary, professional, or higher busi- 
 ness career, or who expect to enter the civil or military ser- 
 vice. Most of those who wish to be educated for mercantile 
 or industrial pursuits attend the Realschulen. 
 
92 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 The penalties for breaches of discipline in the gymnasium 
 are reproof, confinement in the class-room or the school career, 
 and expulsion. 
 
 The Realschulen having been established to satisfy the demand 
 for a more utilitarian course of study than that of the gymnasia, 
 are chiefly distinguished from the latter in being less classical. 
 Originally the classics were entirely excluded from the Real- 
 schulen, but with such palpable disadvantage to their efficiency 
 as compared with the gymnasia that the study of Latin was 
 required, by popular demand, in their higher grades. The 
 course of study in the Realsehule is divided into six grades, 
 comprising German, English, French, Latin, geography, his- 
 tory, natural science, mathematics, mechanics, vocal music, and 
 gymnastics. This course requires from thirty to thirty-two 
 hours of school attendance per week. Pupils are admitted at 
 the age of seven, and complete the course in about seven years. 
 The further extension of classical study in the Realschulen has 
 many advocates, as has also the proposition to merge these 
 schools with the first five grades of the gymnasium. 
 
 Both in the Realsclmlen and the gymnasia all special training 
 for any particular profession or business is strictly forbidden. 
 Any attempt to warp the child's tastes in this respect, in defi- 
 ance or disregard of its natural bent, is deemed a grievous 
 wrong. The course of instruction is therefore applied exclu- 
 sively to the development of the faculties in a general way, 
 without any attempt to dictate their application. Education 
 is made subservient to the preparation of the neophyte for 
 whatever sphere of usefulness he may in maturer years choose 
 to enter ; upon the choice of the sphere Nature is permitted to 
 exercise her influence unrestrained. 
 
 There are, however, numerous schools for special purposes, 
 such, for example, as the Handelschulen, or trade schools, in 
 which the various branches of commercial education are taught. 
 These schools are not only held in high estimation at home, 
 
HOW THE GERMANS EDUCATE. 93 
 
 but have a reputation outside of Germany which brings them 
 considerable foreign patronage. 
 
 Another class of special schools are the Gewerbeschulen, of 
 which there are two grades, — upper and lower, — the upper being 
 identical with the Realschulen except that the study of Latin is 
 omitted. In these schools boys are prepared for a career in 
 business, or in the mechanic arts, and also for admission to the 
 polytechnic schools, to which the Real- and Gewerbeschulen stand 
 in the same relation as do the gymnasia to the universities. 
 The duration of the course in the lower Gewerbe or industrial 
 school is four years, in the upper two. Its curriculum embraces 
 modern languages, sacred and profane history, chemistry, 
 mathematics, architecture, mechanics, drawing, vocal music, 
 and practical employment in workshops. Competitive exam- 
 inations are forbidden in these schools, on the ground that they 
 engender feverish and spasmodic effort. In truth, such ex- 
 aminations are not known to any of the German schools in the 
 sense in which they are commonly understood. The purpose 
 of the examination is not to provoke intellectual combat be- 
 tween the pupils, but to test their power to think and reason. 
 
 The Gewerbeschulen are patronized by the patrician, middle, 
 and lower classes alike, and are accessible to all boys having 
 the ambition to study and be useful. 
 
 The theory and practice of agriculture are taught in thirty 
 different institutions in Prussia. Thirteen of these are special 
 schools, in which a practical training in particular branches of 
 agriculture and horticulture is given. Twelve are primary 
 schools the pupils in which work as wage-earners on model 
 farms. Itinerant teachers — Wanderlehrer — are employed by 
 the government to travel from village to village and give in- 
 struction in these schools. An agricultural college at Darm- 
 stadt receives young farmers from November 1 to March 31. 
 The Wiirtemberg government has established an institution 
 similar to this at Hohenheim, besides maintaining a depart- 
 
94 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 merit of agriculture in connection with the University at 
 Tiibingen. Other valuable agencies for the spread of agri- 
 cultural knowledge are found in numerous voluntary associa- 
 tions of farmers, who meet at stated times to profit by lectures 
 and experiments pertaining to their industry. 
 
 The schools for girls — Tochterschulen — are many and ad- 
 mirable. Their system of instruction is not merely ornamen- 
 tal ; it is practical as well. Instruction in needlework and 
 housekeeping is made as essential as that in French or music. 
 
 Complaints of excessive tasking in the schools have led to 
 much animated discussion. A great deal of juvenile head- 
 ache and some insanity have been attributed to this cause, but 
 with what justice it would be difficult to say. Another sub- 
 ject which has awakened much earnest inquiry is the preva- 
 lence of myopia among school-children. In Bavaria, more 
 than twelve per cent, of the children are short-sighted. There 
 may be cases in which this affection is due to excessive study, 
 as is sometimes supposed, but a more obvious cause of it would 
 seem to be the peculiar construction of the German alphabet, 
 both the written and printed characters of which are certainly 
 very trying to the eyes. A Russian lady who had correspond- 
 ence in the German language with Longfellow once told me 
 that the poet begged her to use Latin characters, saying, " The 
 German schrift tears my eyes out like a hawk." 
 
 The universities are not only controlled and mainly sup- 
 ported by the government, but form part of its machinery. 
 They are the gate-ways through which alone not only the 
 learned professions, but the higher civil service can be reached. 
 They " exist for imperial purposes," says Bismarck. Their 
 officers and professors are appointed by the Minister of Public 
 Instruction, who exercises control of all their administrative 
 affairs. Excepting the universities at Heidelberg, Greifswald, 
 and Leipsic, which are partly supported by independent en- 
 dowment, these institutions all derive their maintenance from 
 
HOW THE GERMANS EDUCATE. 95 
 
 state appropriations. The government further manifests its 
 interest and pride in these great disseminators of learning by 
 generous contributions for their improvement. Of this the 
 University at Strasbourg furnishes a striking illustration. 
 Within the past ten years the buildings and equipment of that 
 splendid institution have been renovated and enlarged at an 
 expense of about three million dollars, most of which was paid 
 from public funds. 
 
 The universities have each four ordinary faculties, — those of 
 law, medicine, theology, and philosophy. To these there is 
 sometimes added a faculty for political economy, and some- 
 times one for natural science. Admission to the University 
 course can be obtained only through the test of examination 
 after the studies of the gymnasium or the preparatory school 
 have been completed, but an exception to this is made in favor 
 of foreigners, who are admitted without examination. The 
 duration of the course is from four to five years, its purpose 
 being to prepare the student for professional or public life. 
 
 When the abiturient, or graduate of the gymnasium, comes 
 to the University, his mental training is supposed to be sub- 
 stantially completed. His next step is to acquire the knowl- 
 edge necessary to the practical use of his faculties. Released 
 from the dominion of taskmasters, he is now cast upon his own 
 intellectual resources, and must think and investigate for him- 
 self. His studies, hitherto enforced, are henceforth voluntary, 
 but, if he expects to win a diploma, he must apply himself 
 diligently for at least two or three years. The first year is 
 usually his free-and-easy period. In crossing the University 
 threshold, the young abiturient has reached the most indepen- 
 dent epoch of his life, and the happiest. He enjoys a brief 
 season of relaxation from the severe tasks which have gone 
 before, antecedent to the still sterner duties and anxieties which 
 are sure to come after. Admired and indulged, he revels for 
 a time in the wild ecstasy of his romantic, unchained thoughts. 
 
96 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Few would begrudge him this happy interval, and, least of all, 
 those who can say, as many do, Ich war ja auch einmal 
 Student ! 
 
 I would reproach myself were I to dismiss this subject 
 without mention of another germane to it, which many valued 
 courtesies have fixed in my grateful recollection, — the Anglo- 
 American Club of Heidelberg. Composed of English and 
 American students attending the University, and worthily repre- 
 senting the manhood of the two greatest nations of the world, 
 that club is accustomed to celebrate with appropriate festivities 
 the principal national anniversaries appropriate to its name 
 and membership. The predominating spirit on such occasions 
 is that of cordial good will, personal and international. The 
 English members participate no less heartily than the Ameri- 
 cans in celebrating Washington's Birthday and the Fourth of 
 Julv, nor are the Americans at all cmido-ing; in returning these 
 compliments on the birthday of the British sovereign. 
 
 At one of these banquets which I had the honor to attend, 
 the club entertained, as its principal guest, the late Professor 
 Bluntschli, of the Heidelberg University, whose fame as a 
 writer on international law is world-wide. Responding to a 
 toast, this illustrious scholar and publicist pronounced a most 
 fervid and graceful eulogy upon our great republic and its 
 founders. One of the facts in our political history which had 
 most deeply impressed him, he said, was the singular sim- 
 plicity of life and character of our revolutionary statesmen. 
 They wore no uniforms, paraded no titles, and made no osten- 
 tatious pretensions. They had the dress and manner of plain, 
 unaspiring citizens, said Bluntschli, and yet, in their quiet way, 
 as if unconscious of the greatness of their achievements, they 
 worked out with marvellous success the greatest problems and 
 grandest results in human history. 
 
 And the English members of the club applauded these 
 sentiments no less heartily than the Americans ! 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 
 
 Since Athens and Sparta contended for the supremacy of the 
 world, no state of such territorial insignificance has performed 
 such a phenomenal part in human affairs as Holland. In 
 point of influence upon the progress of civilization — in 
 achievements in commerce, agriculture, science, art, and litera- 
 ture — few states have won a prouder name than this little 
 patch of redeemed swamp and sand-barren wrested from the 
 dominion of the sea. The planting of such a commonwealth, 
 in defiance of such prodigious natural difficulties as were to 
 be overcome, is itself one of the most unique and beneficent 
 triumphs of the will, energy, and genius of man. The ex- 
 ploits of the old Greek heroes may have been more poetic 
 than this, but they were less useful, and in results far less 
 enduring. 
 
 The term " Dutchman" is sometimes applied in an oppro- 
 brious sense, as significant of stupidity, but no people are 
 more prudent and self-respecting, or have among them fewer 
 mendicants, or a larger proportion of well-informed, enter- 
 prising men and refined and beautiful women, than the Dutch 
 of to-day. Their uniformly tidy and well-ordered homes 
 contrast most suggestively with the squalor and profligacy 
 seen in many other communities oh the European continent, 
 while their robust appearance is eloquent of health and con- 
 tentment, and their faces, as a rule, bear the stamp, not of 
 stolidity, but of intelligence, stability, and personal indepen- 
 dence. 
 
 The general surface of Holland lies much below sea-level, 
 and is also lower than the levels of its intersecting rivers. In- 
 undation from the watercourses, as well as the encroachment 
 e g 9 
 
98 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 of the sea, is prevented only by an elaborate system of en- 
 ormous dikes, built at an aggregate cost of one billion five 
 hundred million dollars. The largest of these dikes are about 
 thirty feet in height, seventy feet broad at the base, and wide 
 enough on top for a public thoroughfare. To give them firm- 
 ness the underlying earth is stamped or compressed, and their 
 escarpments, when completed, are covered with turf and thickly 
 planted with willows. As soon as they are sufficiently grown 
 the willows are plaited together and plastered with mud. Some 
 of the dikes are protected against the violence of the waves by 
 revetments of masonry or palisades of stakes. To keep these 
 vast embankments in repair requires an annual expenditure of 
 about three million dollars, and the constant vigilance and ac- 
 tivity of a large corps of workmen. A perpetual struggle with 
 the ocean is the price of existence in Holland, as any one may. 
 realize who stands at the foot of one of the coastwise dikes at 
 high tide and listens to the breaking of the waves on the 
 other side, fifteen or twenty feet above him. 
 
 The surface of the country is criss-crossed by canals, of 
 countless number, which serve the threefold purpose of drains, 
 highways for traffic, and enclosures for fields, gardens; and 
 houses. The ordinary arterial canals are about sixty feet 
 wide and six deep, but the great North Holland canal, con- 
 necting Amsterdam with the Helder, is one hundred and 
 twenty feet wide and twenty deep. Another immense work 
 of this kind is that known as the North Sea canal, which 
 extends from Amsterdam to the North Sea direct, and is 
 practicable for the largest sea-going vessels. Its width is 
 nearly two hundred feet, and its depth over twenty-two feet. 
 This immense ditch, begun in 1865, and not fully completed 
 until 1877, cost, together with its huge sea-gates and piers, 
 the sum of seventeen millions of dollars. It was rendered 
 necessary by the increasing shallowness of the Zuyder Zee, 
 seriously threatening the commerce of Amsterdam. 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 99 
 
 Next in magnitude to the work of barring out the sea has 
 been that of draining the great ponds and marshes of which 
 the territories of Holland were, for the most part, originally 
 composed. The first step taken in this process is the excava- 
 tion of a deep ditch around the land to be drained, so as to 
 prevent the influx of water from the outside. The marsh or 
 lake from which the water is to be removed may lie at a con- 
 siderably lower level than this ditch, in which case a series of 
 trenches is dug, one below another, sloping inward, and into 
 these successively, from the lowest to the highest, the marsh 
 water is pumped by windmills or by steam. The lands thus 
 reclaimed are of great fertility and value, and can be readily 
 irrigated from the circumjacent ditches. In winter they 
 usually lie under water, by which treatment their power of 
 production is supposed to be preserved and promoted. 
 
 From 1840 to 1853 the Haarlemmer Meer, a fresh-water 
 lake eighteen miles long, nine miles wide, and fourteen feet 
 deep, was emptied in the manner just described, at a cost of 
 five million two hundred thousand dollars. The water was 
 lifted by three enormous steam-engines, each capable, with 
 the pumps attached, of raising sixty-six tons of water at a 
 single stroke. The lands once at the bottom of the lake are 
 now worth three hundred and fifty dollars per acre, and 
 support a population of ten thousand souls. The polder land 
 of the great Beemster marsh, reclaimed in 1608-12, is now 
 valued at five hundred dollars per acre. A scheme is dis- 
 cussed for draining the entire Zuyder Zee, — once an inland 
 lake, — and, if executed, will add to the land surface of Hol- 
 land a new province, six hundred and eighty-seven square 
 miles in extent, and create another great reservoir of agricul- 
 tural wealth. 
 
 The public enemy, water, is kept in subjection by the aid 
 of its twin element, wind. The motive power by which the 
 drainage is performed is chiefly furnished by windmills, which 
 
100 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 strew the country in battalions and armies, imparting to the 
 scenery its most striking feature. Sometimes they are ranked 
 upon the dikes, and sometimes they stand on the ramparts of 
 towns, which they seem to be defending by the energetic sway 
 of their gigantic vanes. Many of these mills are of monstrous 
 size, having single sails over sixty feet in length. Their 
 numbers are also enormous. Along the banks of the Zaan, 
 between Zaandam and Krommenie, a distance of four miles, 
 there are about' four hundred. Besides driving the pumps 
 which lift the marsh water into the canals, the windmills 
 furnish power for milling, and for a great variety of agricul- 
 tural and manufacturing purposes. Along the Zaan many of 
 them are employed in grinding a volcanic substance called 
 "trass," found at Andernach-on-the-Rhine, which is used in 
 the manufacture of cement. 
 
 Along the coast, sand-hills are thrown up by the action of 
 the wind and waves to the height of from thirty to one hun- 
 dred and sixty feet. Nearest the sea these hills are arid and 
 transitory, but farther inland they are annually sown with 
 reed grass and other hardy plants, by the growth and decay 
 of which the sandy surface is eventually covered with vege- 
 table mould, and changed from a condition of barrenness to 
 one of extreme fertility. Between the central downs, which 
 are highest and broadest, and those still farther remote from 
 the sea-coast, lie some of the finest potato lands and pastures. 
 The sand-hills, being honeycombed with rabbit-warrens, and a 
 favorite haunt for some kinds of feathered game, furnish an 
 attractive field to the sportsman. 
 
 The dwellings of the Dutch peasantry and villagers are 
 usually built with large double windows in the first story, and 
 high, peaked gables fronting the street. The majority of them 
 have walls of red brick and white cement, and are roofed with 
 bright red tiles. Many are painted green and, with their red 
 tilings, polished windows, and environing trees, make a very 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 101 
 
 attractive appearance. A farm-house on the lowlands is visible 
 for miles, with its huge, red-tiled, pyramidal roof rising from 
 the meadows and descending nearly to the ground. The 
 country dwellings of the wealthy are often gaudily stuccoed 
 and painted, and are usually lettered above the portal with 
 some sententious phrase expressive of peace, contentment, or 
 hospitality. Every dwelling of any pretensions is fronted 
 with an ample garden, wherein flowers are cultivated of every 
 hue and kind, and where the favorite tulip, hyacinth, and 
 crocus flourish in riotous splendor. 
 
 It is not strange that so many of the Dutch artists have 
 loved to paint the interiors of these homes, for they are the very 
 ideals of substantial and orderly domestic comfort. The rage 
 of Dutch housewives for cleanliness amounts almost to a 
 mania, and their dwellings are thoroughly scrubbed and pol- 
 ished, both internally and externally, once a week. Filth and 
 vermin are held in unspeakable aversion. The town of Broek, 
 situated in the so-called " Waterland," one of the lowest dis- 
 tricts in Holland, has been made the subject of ridicule on 
 account of its restrictions upon equestrians and smokers, its 
 mosaically-paved streets and courts, its gaudily-painted houses 
 with brilliant roofs of variegated tiles, its requirement that 
 pedestrians shall leave their shoes at the door, and, above all, 
 its immaculate cow-stables, in which the tails of the cows are 
 hooked aloft. The best parlor of a Broek dwelling is thrown 
 open only for weddings and funerals. Entrance to the house 
 is gained through the cow-stable, which is kept superlatively 
 clean, and serves as a reception-room. Broek has been called 
 the cleanest town in the world, but it is no more tidy than 
 Zaandam and other North Holland villages. 
 
 A birth in a Dutch family is announced by the display of 
 a silken placard, and births and betrothals are both celebrated 
 by setting out refreshments to congratulating friends and 
 neighbors. One of the indispensables of female comfort is the 
 
 9* 
 
102 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 stoqfje, a clumsy sort of foot-warmer, which is as pervasive as 
 the sex. Chimes of tinkling bells, hung in the towers of 
 nearly all churches and public buildings, announce the passing 
 hours and quarters with gentle and pleasing melody. 
 
 Both in town and country many buildings of every kind 
 are tilted out of their perpendicular by reason of the insta- 
 bility of their foundations, laid in the deep, soft alluvium. In 
 consequence of this, long lines of tall, ungainly buildings have 
 assumed attitudes strikingly suggestive of the uncertain equi- 
 poise and mock solemnity of a lot of tipsy revellers. 
 
 The peculiar costumes of the Dutch women, of which so 
 much has been written', have mostly disappeared from the 
 larger towns and cities, but in the rural districts are still in 
 vogue, especially in North Holland and Friesland. The 
 oddest part of this costume is the head-dress, the style of 
 which distinguishes the women of different provinces, and is 
 often costly as well as fantastic. In its most usual form its 
 chief part is a broad band of gold, or gilded metal, crossing 
 the forehead in horseshoe form, so as to hold back the hair, 
 and bearing large rosettes of the same metal at the sides. 
 Above this band a veil or cap of rich lace is worn, with ap- 
 pendages of the same metal dropping to the neck. The ears 
 are adorned with showy pendants of gold and gems. The 
 most grotesque form of this head-gear is that adopted by the 
 Texel Island women, consisting of a gold plate, with fripperies 
 of black lace, horns of black ribbon at the outer extremities 
 of the eyebrows, and, upon the back of the head, " a brown 
 edifice exactly like a small bronze coal-scuttle turned upside 
 down." Still another fancy is that of a skull-cap of gold or 
 silver, covering the upper and back part of the head, a gold 
 band across the temples, and glittering spiral ornaments sus- 
 pended from long pins projecting from the sides of the head. 
 
 The Frisian women, whose complexion is singularly fair, 
 and whose features are very lively and handsome, wear a close- 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 103 
 
 fitting metal cap divided in the middle, and garnished at the 
 sides with small disks elaborately chased. The skull-cap is 
 very often made of gold, and never of anything less precious 
 than silver. It has the effect of enhancing the beauty of the 
 complexion,- and with its lofty and elaborate crown of lace 
 imparts dignity to the wearer. Leeuwarden, the ancient capital 
 of the Frisians, is famous for its gold and silver work, and 
 is said to contain no less than twenty-five establishments which 
 either manufacture or trade in these peculiar coverings for the 
 head. 
 
 It is sometimes said that a Dutch peasant girl carries her 
 entire dowry upon her head and ears, the fact in many cases 
 being that the costly toggery referred to has come to its pos- 
 sessor as an heirloom from her mother, to whom, in turn, it 
 had been handed down from successive generations. Exhibi- 
 tions of such ornaments are frequently made by jewellers, 
 showing the difference between ancient workmanship and 
 modern, which latter seldom profits by the comparison. 
 
 The cultivation of flowers is a popular passion, and at the 
 same time a profitable industry. The country about Haarlem 
 furnishes the finest gardens in Europe with roots and bulbs, 
 and is brilliant, in the flowering season, with the myriad hues 
 of blooming plants, grown by the acre. As long ago as the 
 first half of the seventeenth century, floriculture became al- 
 most a craze in some of the Dutch provinces, and large for- 
 tunes were made by speculation in bulbs. Holland possesses 
 some of the finest botanical gardens and horticultural schools 
 in Europe, and claims to have done more to promote horti- 
 culture than any other country in the world. 
 
 There is scarcely any leading department of industry, com- 
 merce, art, or science in which the modern Batavians have not 
 achieved a marked success, and contributed materially to the 
 welfare of mankind, — scarcely any great historical movement 
 in behalf of general progress and the spread of civilization in 
 
104 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 which they have not borne a prominent part. Their naviga- 
 tors were among the earliest and boldest, and have been among 
 the most successful in enlarging the sphere of commercial 
 enterprise and geographical knowledge. Under the protection 
 of their naval power, which, at the beginning of the seven- 
 teenth century, was the most formidable on the seas, their com- 
 merce became the most widely extended in the world, and, in 
 spite of all rivalries, yet continues to be world-wide. In the 
 success and profit of colonial enterprise they have distanced 
 every other country except Great Britain, their present colonial 
 dependencies embracing territories inhabited by twenty-five 
 millions of people. By no means least among these enterprises 
 was the part they performed in the settlement of the American 
 colonies. Their feats of arms on land and sea have sustained 
 the reputation for valor of the original Batavians, the inflexi- 
 ble allies of Rome, who furnished the body-guard of the 
 Roman emperors, and were declared by Tacitus to be the 
 bravest of all the Germans. The extent of their contributions 
 to scientific progress is indicated by Niebuhr's remark that no 
 locality in Europe is so memorable in the history of science as 
 the Hall of the Senatus in the University of Leyden. In 
 many branches of productive industry they have not only 
 acquired great wealth, but have almost distanced competition. 
 To literature and statesmanship they have contributed a whole 
 galaxy of illustrious names, and, strangest of all, in nothing 
 have these steady-going, toiling, trading dwellers among the 
 dunes distinguished themselves more than in art. 
 
 While these things have been accomplished in the past, 
 things worthy of them are being done in the present. In 
 education and thoroughness of information the Dutch are quite 
 abreast with the foremost of their contemporaries, and their 
 societies for the promotion of art, science, music, literature, and 
 philanthropy, and for the discussion of all manner of useful 
 subjects, have no end. These societies have invaluable auxil- 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 105 
 
 iaries in great public libraries, and museums of art, science, 
 and history, enriched "with the accumulations of centuries 
 drawn from all parts of the world. A society for promotion 
 of the public welfare, having its head-quarters in Amsterdam, 
 and extending its operations throughout the kingdom, aims to 
 establish schools, libraries, lecture bureaus, and reading-rooms, 
 and to encourage various works of charity and mercy. This 
 society now has three hundred and thirty departments, and 
 numbers seventeen thousand members. 
 
 Historically, commercially, socially, and in almost every 
 other respect, Holland is epitomized in its chief metropolis. 
 Amsterdam is in various respects a phenomenal city. Said to 
 be, for its population, the wealthiest in the world, there are 
 certainly few other cities more interesting. Yet, but for the 
 great dikes which hold back the waters of the sea, the ground 
 upon which this richly-stored working hive of three hundred 
 thousand people stands would be submerged to the depth of 
 several feet. The whole city has been built upon wooden 
 piles driven as deeply as possible into the yielding mould, yet 
 even this costly expedient has not prevented hundreds of 
 buildings from being thrown out of their proper level. The 
 piles have been attacked by wood worms, and have often 
 yielded to the superincumbent weight. A large grain ware- 
 house, built . some years ago, immediately upon being filled, 
 literally sank down into the mud. 
 
 The city is built in the form of a half-moon, with its recti- 
 lineal side fronting on the muddy estuary of the Zuyder Zee 
 known as the Ij. It is crossed by six principal canals, which 
 a multitude of smaller ones connect transversely, like the 
 threads of a spider's web. The principal thoroughfares are 
 water-ways, as in Venice, but the city is in no other respect 
 Venetian. Venice, like Amsterdam, was once the commercial 
 mistress of the world ; but Amsterdam has retained her com- 
 mercial prosperity, while that of Venice has departed. In 
 
106 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 architecture, and in the quality of their art, the two cities are 
 as wide apart as the poles. 
 
 For six centuries the herring fisheries of Holland have been 
 known as " Dutch gold mines," and among the Dutch them- 
 selves it has long been a proverb that " the foundations of 
 Amsterdam are laid on herring bones." So much did this trade 
 formerly contribute to the general prosperity that the arrival 
 of fresh boat-loads of herrings became a matter of popular 
 rejoicing, and was celebrated by the display of flags and flowers. 
 
 The sombre appearance given to the streets by the monoto- 
 nous black lines of tall, peaked buildings is much relieved by 
 long rows of trees which grow luxuriantly on the banks of the 
 canals. The multitudes of little islands, into which the land 
 surface of the city is partitioned by its water-ways, are connected 
 with one another by drawbridges. Being the central point in 
 the national system of fortification, Amsterdam is covered on 
 the land side by a ditch eighty feet wide, and a brick parapet 
 with thirty bastions. In case of military necessity, the entire 
 suburban territory lying outside of these lines may be laid 
 under water. 
 
 The best general view of Amsterdam and its environs is ob- 
 tained from the tower of the old City Hall, now known as the 
 Royal Palace. From this elevation the eye takes in at a glance 
 the entire web of streets, canals, and lines of peaked houses with 
 their forked chimneys. Fronting all is the Ij, with its great 
 docks and forests of masts extending to the broad bay of the 
 Zuyder Zee, the plane of whose waters is higher by several 
 feet than that of the streets below. Outside the fortifications 
 the city is encircled by a garden patchwork of green, gold, red, 
 and scarlet, beyond which lies an indefinite extent of verdant 
 meadow and polderland, crossed by the silvery threads of 
 numberless canals, and diversified with farm-houses and villages, 
 countless windmills, and grazing herds of dappled cattle. 
 Eastward are descried the spires of Utrecht ; westward, beyond 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 107 
 
 the great Haarlemmer polder, rises the huge tower of St. 
 Bavon, in Haarlem ; northward are seen the glittering red 
 roofs of Alkmaar and Zaandam ; and beyond these, skirting 
 the horizon, stretches the line of dome-shaped dunes thrown 
 up by the winds and waves of the North Sea. 
 
 The art of Holland centres chiefly at Amsterdam, but, like 
 her commerce, its range and influence are world-wide. There 
 is no important picture gallery in Europe of which it is not 
 an essential and conspicuous part. Rembrandt's marvels of 
 chiaroscuro ; Ruisdael's deep forest scenes and riotous Nor- 
 wegian cascades; Adrian van der Velde's Claude-like land- 
 scapes, with their astonishing perspectives; the serene and 
 poetic pastoral scenes of Hobbema, Both, Wynants, Berchem, 
 Cuyp, Van Goyen, and Everdingen ; the wonderful cattle- 
 pieces of Paul Potter; the exquisite battle- and hunting-scenes 
 of Wouverman ; the bold animal painting of Rubens's apt 
 scholar, Snyders ; the superb marines of Backhuysen, Koek- 
 koek, and Van der Velde the younger ; the unsurpassed 
 poultry and still life of Hondecoeter and Weenix ; the ex- 
 quisite flower-pieces of the " first of female painters," Rachael 
 Ruysch ; and the realistic genre of Jan Steen, Brauwer, Metsu, 
 Mieris, Dou, Breughel, Van Ostade, and Frans Hals, — all 
 these are known as well, and honored as highly, in London, 
 Paris, Dresden, Munich, Vienna, Madrid, and Rome as they 
 are in Amsterdam or the Hague. Even hyperborean St. 
 Petersburg has whole rooms full of Rembrandts, Wouvermans, 
 and Cuyps, and Paul Potter is greater there than in England, 
 or, if possible, even than in Holland. The Dresden gallery 
 has a large collection of the finest Van der Werffs, and a score 
 of Rembrandts, including the magnificent Ganymede. Before 
 relinquishing the Low Countries, the Spaniards took good care 
 to enrich their capital with the treasures of Dutch art, of 
 which the galleries of Florence and Rome have also managed 
 to obtain a liberal share. 
 
108 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 In its physical aspects no country would seem to offer less 
 incitement to thoughts or creations of the poetic and ideal 
 than the flat, sandy marshes of the Rhine delta. Yet, how 
 many of the common things of that commonplace region — 
 that ignominious death-bed of a noble river — have the wizards 
 of Dutch art transformed by their alchemies of color into 
 things of perpetual living beauty ! Seeing not, yet believing, 
 with what potential fancy they have evoked from their dull 
 polders the ideal truth of nature, and painted it fair as an 
 Arcadian dream ! An artist, said Delaroche, must compel 
 nature to pass through his intellect and his heart, and this the 
 Dutch artists have done. " A dead tree, by Ruisdael, may 
 touch the heart ; a cow, by Paul Potter, may speak eloquently ; 
 a kitchen, by Ivalf, may contain a poem." Cuyp, the Dutch 
 Claude, painted interiors so captivating that his native country 
 could not retain them ; Van der Neer reproduced nature with 
 simple truth, and yet with such ideal beauty that he was 
 called " the poet of the night ;" while Rembrandt, the " great- 
 est painter of the north," changed reality into a " supernatural 
 vision." 
 
 The rise of art in the Netherlands began with the achievement 
 of their national independence. The same revolution which 
 created a political Holland, says Qui net, created also Dutch 
 art. But while the art of Holland derived its opportunity 
 from her changed political life, its individuality sprang from 
 an entirely different source. That source, was the master mind 
 of Rembrandt van Ryn. Born in the beginning of the seven- 
 teenth century, — the century in which his country accom- 
 plished nearly all that has made her illustrious in art, — this 
 marvellous genius, like Claude Lorraine, was of lowly origin, 
 self-taught, and within the self-created sphere of his activity 
 without a rival. Tradition affirms that he was born and had 
 his first studio in his father's mill ; that his name derives its 
 suffix, Van Ryn, from this fact ; and that, from the effect of 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. 109 
 
 the single beam of light which streamed into the gloomy in- 
 terior of the mill through its ventilator at the top, he obtained 
 his first hints in the use of light and shadow. 
 
 Amsterdam and the Hague are the best places to study 
 Rembrandt. In Amsterdam, where he spent most of his life, 
 we find his crowning masterpiece, the Night Watch, in which 
 the magic possibilities of light and its contrasts are revealed 
 as no other canvas ever revealed them. The subject of this 
 picture is extremely simple, — almost commonplace, — but with 
 such dramatic power of color and chiaroscuro is its action dis- 
 played as to produce one of the sublimest creations in art. A 
 band of civilian musketeers is seen issuing from its guild- 
 house, led — as we learn from a list of names at the bottom of 
 the picture — by the Seignior of Purmerland, Captain Frans 
 Banning Cock. The moving musketeers are examining their 
 weapons preparatory to action, their drummer is beating a 
 call, and their ensign unfolds a standard displaying the es- 
 cutcheon of the city. Two blond-haired maidens, the fore- 
 most richly dressed and carrying in her hand a pistol, run 
 after the leaders, but the figures are all self-possessed, and we 
 observe no overwrought action or straining for effect. The 
 foremost members of the party have reached the exit of the 
 building, and so strong is the light which falls upon them 
 through the ceiling windows that the shadow of the captain's 
 hand is thrown darkly upon the jerkin of his lieutenant. 
 Behind this effulgence is a twilight interior, wherein the re- 
 maining figures are sharply individualized, even in the shadow. 
 These are simple details, but as portrayed by Rembrandt they 
 have more beauty and strength of expression than the wildest 
 battle-scene which Salvator Rosa ever drew. 
 
 In an adjoining room hangs another famous Rembrandt 
 known as The Syndics, which contains little else than the por- 
 traits of five directors of the clothmakers' guild and a servant. 
 The directors, dressed in black, wear high broad-brimmed hats 
 
 10 
 
HO EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 and broad linen collars, and are seated at a red-covered table, 
 except one, who stands in a listening attitude. The figures 
 all look towards the spectator, and so intense and vivid is their 
 realism that the effect is almost startling. There, is but little 
 color in the picture, and no very strong light, but its chiaros- 
 curo is managed with such consummate art that those sedate, 
 undemonstrative figures produce a stronger impression than 
 the most violent action. 
 
 Van der Heist's Banquet of the Civic Guard hangs in the 
 same room with the Night Watch, with which it has been said 
 to compare like the Meyer Madonna with the Madonna di San 
 Sisto. The strength, dignity, and calmness of Dutch character 
 are admirably portrayed in this masterpiece of Van der Heist's, 
 but its effect might have been improved if the artist had con- 
 tracted his focus, and limited his action to fewer figures. 
 Rembrandt, it is plainly noticeable, is careful not to disperse 
 his light over so large a surface or among so many objects. 
 
 A striking example of the effect of concentration is seen in 
 Hondecoeter's picture in this collection known as The Float- 
 ing Feather. Beside a pond, which is surrounded by rich vege- 
 tation, are grouped various fowls, including several kinds of 
 geese and ducks, a crane, a pelican, and a flamingo,— all superb 
 in drawing and color. But the central object of the picture — 
 the one which instantly fixes the attention — is a curled feather 
 which swims on the smooth surface of the water, so buoyant, 
 so salient, so natural, that we expect to see it move before some 
 passing breeze. The fabled grapes of Zeuxis could hardly 
 have been more perfect. 
 
 Amsterdam possesses three public galleries of painting, the 
 Hague two, and Rotterdam one. The Rotterdam gallery con- 
 tains few works of conspicuous merit, and may be passed by 
 without regret, but the Hague vies with Amsterdam in the 
 extent and merit of its accumulation of Dutch masterpieces. 
 The bright particular gem of the Hague collection is Rem- 
 
SOME GLIMPSES OF HOLLAND. HI 
 
 brandt's School of Anatomy, which a French critic has char- 
 acterized as one of the few creations of men which are fault- 
 less and perfectly beautiful. We might further say of it that 
 it is one of the few pictures in which we seem to see men 
 think, — which betrays the very process of their thoughts. It is 
 thus described in Burger's " M usees de la Hollande" : 
 
 " This picture represents the celebrated anatomist, Nicolaus 
 Tulp, a friend and patron of Rembrandt, in a vaulted saloon, 
 engaged in explaining the anatomy of the arm of a corpse. 
 He wears a black cloak with a lace collar, and a broad- 
 brimmed soft hat. "With his half-raised left hand he makes a 
 gesture of explanation, while with his right he is dissecting a 
 sinew of the arm of his subject. The corpse lies on a table 
 before him. To the right of Tulp is a group of five figures, 
 and two other men are sitting at the table in front. These 
 listeners are not students, but members of the guild of surgeons 
 of Amsterdam [the picture was painted for that guild], as 
 shown by a paper held by one of them. They are attending 
 to the lecture with very various expressions. They are all 
 bareheaded, dressed in black, and with turned-over collars, ex- 
 cept one, who still wears the old-fashioned upright ruff. 
 There are, perhaps, other persons present in the hall, as Tulp 
 appears to be looking beyond the picture, as if about to address 
 an audience not visible to the spectator y and it is here worthy 
 of remark that Rembrandt's compositions are never imprisoned 
 in their frames, but convey an idea of a wide space beyond 
 them. It is somewhat singular that the spectator seems hardly 
 to notice the corpse lying before him at full length, the feet of 
 which he can almost touch, although it is strongly lighted in 
 contrast to the surrounding black garments, and most faithfully 
 represents the peculiar hue of a dead body, leaving no doubt 
 that it was painted from nature as well as the living heads. 
 The admirable art of the composition consists in its power of 
 riveting the attention to the living in the presence of death." 
 
1]2 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Two other Rembrandts in this collection— the Presentation in 
 the Temple and Susanna Entering the Bath — have also acquired 
 celebrity, although they are quite eclipsed in the presence of 
 the Anatomy. These pictures are small in comparison with 
 their celebrated companion piece, but the breadth of Rem- 
 brandt's canvas is never great, and, as compared with that 
 of Rubens, is very moderate. The so-called Pearls of Rem- 
 brandt, at Munich, are quite small, and the Rembrandts in the 
 Florence, Vienna, Dresden, and Louvre galleries are none of 
 them of more than ordinary dimensions. The Night Watch, 
 which is largest of all, is of much less size than many of 
 Rubens's pictures. 
 
 The madonnas, saints, and martyrs which crowd the Italian 
 museums of painting, are conspicuous in those of Holland by 
 their absence. Per contra, a crowd of Dutch painters have 
 rushed to another — in some respects an opposite — extreme in 
 their passion for genre art. Jan Steen, the ablest of these, is 
 liberally represented in the Amsterdam and Hague collections ; 
 as are also Frans Hals, Metsu, Mieris, Dou, Brauwer, Van 
 Ostade, and many others of that class. But while much genius 
 has been exhibited in this kind of art, it fails to satisfy the 
 higher love of the beautiful, and we turn from it with a sense 
 of relief to the Rembrandts, Van der Werffs, and Wouver- 
 mans, and to such landscape gems as those of Ruisdael, Wy- 
 nants, and Adrian Van der Velde. 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 113 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FROM SNOW TO SUN. 
 
 " Were you ever in Italy ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Then I would advise you to go there now, for at this season 
 you can visit Rome without danger of the fever, of which I 
 would by no means take any risks." 
 
 Such was the advice given me by a friend one wintry day 
 in Vienna. Snow had been falling all the night before, and 
 lay six inches deep on the ground. I had intended going 
 northward from Vienna to Prague and Berlin, but the state 
 of the weather and my friend's counsel persuaded me to re- 
 verse my plan and turn southward. Accordingly I embarked 
 next morning upon the early express train bound over the 
 Semmering to Trieste. The skies were clear, and the spotless 
 ermine with which the earth had been freshly robed sparkled 
 in the sun's rays. Emerging from the suburbs of the Austrian 
 metropolis, we entered an undulating plain sprinkled with 
 villages, and in half an hour reached Baden, famous for the 
 beauty of its environs, its castle-crowned heights, and its 
 thermal springs, of ancient as well as modern repute. Half an 
 hour more brought us to the old town of Neustadt, which is 
 the birth- and burial-place of the great Maximilian, and 
 possesses still the ancient ducal castle of the Babenbergs, — the 
 earlier rulers of Austria. On the right, beyond Neustadt, the 
 solitary cone of the Schneeberg, white, smooth, and radiant, 
 comes into view from summit to base, while on the left the 
 deepening outlines of the Leitha Mountains admonish us of our 
 approach to the Styrian Alps. Henceforth the plains rapidly 
 give place to lofty pine-clad hills, and at the end of two hours 
 from Vienna, we reach Gloggnitz, at the foot of the Semmering. 
 h 10* 
 
114 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 The ancient trail to which this name has been given sug- 
 gested as a practicable route the present course of the railway 
 over the Noric chain of Alps, forming the boundary between 
 Lower Austria and Styria. Beginning its ascent at Gloggnitz, 
 the line is carried in a serpentine course along the face of the 
 range, and up its precipitous slopes, affording a series of 
 magnificent views, as one promontory after another is turned, 
 and height after height is reached. Gloggnitz, far below, 
 shrinks to the proportions of a pygmy village, and the green 
 current of the Schwarzau, meandering in the deep and distant 
 valley, seems but a curling ribbon. The three peaks of the 
 Sonnenwendstein, rising on the left, and the huge buttress of 
 the Raxalp in the right background, disappear as we swing by 
 a long circuit around the north slope of the mountain, cross 
 the valley of the Reichenau by a lofty viaduct of nine arches, 
 and perceive on a distant rocky pinnacle the ruined Lichten- 
 stein castle, once the key of Styria. The scenery now begins 
 to assume the aspect of isolation and loneliness peculiar to the 
 Upper Alps, and we pass through long galleries, built to pro- 
 tect the railway from avalanches precipitated from the over- 
 hanging cliffs rising thousands of feet above it. The loftiest 
 station is Semmering, two thousand eight hundred and eighty 
 feet above sea-level, where a monument in honor of Carl von 
 Ghega, the builder of the railway, has been erected. 
 
 Directly after quitting Semmering the line' pierces the top- 
 most section of the range by a mile-long tunnel, — at the centre 
 of which the highest point is reached, — then descends rapidly 
 along the northern declivity of the Froschnitz gorge to the 
 clumsily-named but attractively-situated village of Miirz- 
 zuschlag, beside which foams the torrent of the Miirz. In 
 carrying the line over the range from Gloggnitz to this point, 
 twenty-five miles, enormous difficulties have had to be over- 
 come, requiring the construction of fifteen tunnels and as 
 many lofty bridges, besides immense snow-galleries and via- 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 115 
 
 ducts. The engineering triumphs of the Semmering, though 
 surpassed in extent and grandeur by those of the Arlberg and 
 St. Gothard, have the distinction of having been first in 
 the subjugation of great mountain barriers, and of having 
 pointed the way to similar achievements more difficult and 
 costly, though not more important. 
 
 We have now entered Styria,— the Steiermark of the Ger- 
 mans — the Pannonia-Noricum of the Romans, — -a rock-bound, 
 heavily-forested country, belted by fertile valleys, and in- 
 habited by a population part German and part Slav. From 
 the Semmering the railway descends the pine-clad defile of the 
 Miirz, passing numerous iron forges, and rounding cragged 
 heights crowned with ruined castles. At Bruck, an attractive 
 mountain town, which possesses an old castle with Romanesque 
 arcades, the line turns into the narrow valley of the Mur, en- 
 closed between steep timber-covered slopes, upon the rocky 
 buttresses of which stand numerous castles, some in ruins and 
 some inhabited. Lead and copper are mined in this valley, 
 which contracts, in some portions, into a deep gorge' within 
 which the river and railway crowd each other, the latter some- 
 times taking refuge in galleries cut in the walls of natural 
 rock. Emerging from these confines we come into a broad 
 open valley, which continues until we reach Gratz, the Styrian 
 capital. 
 
 This most enjoyable old city of ninety thousand people 
 clusters around the Schlossberg, an isolated height bearing 
 still the remnants of a fortification erected four centuries ago 
 to repel the Turks, and commanding a far-reaching, capti- 
 vating view over the broad, mountain-girdled basin of the 
 Mur. Gratz has many attractions, and is the favorite resi- 
 dence of retired officers of the Austrian army. Healthy, 
 inexpensive, charming in its situation and environs, it pos- 
 sesses many new and elegant streets and a very fine park and 
 boulevard occupying the grounds cleared of its mediaeval fortifi- 
 
116 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 cations. Architecturally it makes boast of its cathedral, a 
 splendid Gothic structure built in 1456, and of its new uni- 
 versity building, which is one of the finest in Austria. The 
 Johanneum, a technical college founded by the Archduke 
 John for the promotion of science, art, and agriculture, has 
 extensive buildings and gardens. The University, founded 
 in 1586, comprises among its institutions an archaeological 
 museum and an extensive library. The city possesses a 
 museum of art and one of natural history, a rare collection of 
 coins and antiquities, a botanical garden, and a library of 
 about eighty thousand volumes, all accessible to the public. 
 Of pleasant drives in the environs of Gratz, and interesting 
 excursions to the neighboring Alps, there is no end. 
 
 The next important town as we go south is Marburg, 
 washed by the river Drave, and environed by vine-clad hills. 
 Beyond Marburg the railway crosses a broad undulating plain 
 and penetrates the mountainous country of the Winds, a 
 Slavic race so called to distinguish them from the North Ger- 
 man Slavs known as Wends. This district abounds in 
 mineral springs, some of which are surrounded by superb 
 mountain scenery, and have a reputation which reaches back 
 to antiquity. The territories now inhabited by the Winds, 
 having been among the few east of the Adriatic which were 
 thoroughly Romanized, still bear many traces of the Roman 
 dominion. The old town of Cilli, which is the next important 
 railway station beyond Marburg, was founded by the Emperor 
 Claudius ; tradition locates a Roman temple on a conical 
 mountain near the Baths of Rohitsch, east of Cilli ; while at 
 Teplitza, some miles farther south, inscriptions have been 
 found which prove that the thermal springs there were visited 
 in ancient Roman times, as they are now, by pleasure-seekers 
 and invalids. 
 
 After quitting Cilli the railway meanders along the rocky 
 ravine of the San, on either side of which rise precipitous 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUK 117 
 
 limestone cliffs containing vast deposits of coal seventy to 
 eighty feet in thickness. After passing Sagor and Sava, the 
 first stations in Carniola, we emerge from these shadowy con- 
 fines into a broad valley, from which the lofty range of the 
 Julian Alps can be seen towards the north-west. An hour 
 later the train arrives at Laibach, the capital of Carniola, 
 anciently a Roman province, but now an Austrian duchy, with 
 a Slavic population, and a world-wide fame for lofty, snow- 
 capped mountains, subterranean rivers, wonderful caverns, and 
 mines of quicksilver which, next to those of Almaden, in Spain, 
 are the richest in Europe. Chief among these quicksilver 
 mines is that of Idria, twenty-one miles from the railway, 
 where the ore is brought up from a depth of two thousand six 
 hundred feet. The annual yield of the Idria mines is about 
 three hundred tons of pure metal. 
 
 Five miles south-east of the railway from Rakek, a station 
 beyond Laibach, lies the Lacus Lugens of Strabo, a body of 
 water six miles long and two broad, which is surrounded by 
 mountains of great height, and drained by funnel-shaped 
 apertures in the rocks. This lake abounds in fish, and is 
 visited by water-fowl in great numbers. Its waters, after find- 
 ing vent in the fissures of the underlying strata, reappear in 
 the Laibach Valley below, forming two brooks known as the 
 Bistriza and Boruniza. 
 
 Another curious phenomenon of this kind is seen in the 
 celebrated stalactite caverns at Adelsberg, which is the next 
 important station, and lies about midway between Laibach and 
 Trieste. Through one of these caverns flows the river Poik, 
 which, after disappearing in this subterranean passage, emerges 
 from the mountains some miles distant as a river of another 
 name, under which alias it makes but a brief daylight career 
 before it again disappears and is finally lost. 
 
 The Adelsberg caverns are under the supervision of a com- 
 mittee, which issues tickets to visitors. Entrance is made at 
 
118 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 an altitude of two thousand three hundred feet above tide- 
 water, and sixty feet above the point where the waters of the 
 Poik find admission. The first of the large grottos has a 
 height of seventy-one feet, and has been named the " Cathedral" 
 from the likeness of its incrusted walls and roof, and its ranges 
 of crystal columns, to Gothic forms. Far down in its nether 
 recesses the torrent of the Poik is heard plunging and hissing 
 amidst mysterious chasms, as if wrestling with subterranean 
 dragons. Another grotto, bearing the name of Kaiser Ferdi- 
 nand, comprises a series of halls, one of which, over one 
 hundred feet in height and nearly four hundred feet long, is 
 popularly called the ball-room. In this immense chamber, 
 brilliantly illuminated for the purpose, a grand annual dance 
 is held, on Whitmonday, by festive young peasants, of many 
 costumes and languages, from all the country round. 
 
 The next gallery, largest of all, is six hundred and sixty- 
 nine feet in length, and has a height of one hundred and eleven 
 feet. The remotest point to which the explorations have yet 
 penetrated is one mile and a quarter from the entrance. 
 
 The stalactites and stalagmites in these caverns are among 
 the finest yet discovered, and have assumed a multitude of 
 fantastic forms, resembling pillars, trees, fountains, water-falls, 
 draperies, beasts, birds, and human beings. Although it re- 
 quires at least a decade for the water-drip which causes these 
 formations to produce a palpable deposit, some of the columnar 
 forms have attained a diameter of twelve feet. A very rare 
 little animal, of pale red color, resembling a salamander, is 
 found in the waters of these caverns. 
 
 The railroad follows the valley of the Poik from Adelsberg 
 to St. Peter, where it enters a treeless, rock-strewn plain, 
 seamed and spotted with clefts and holes, blotched with 
 patches of beggarly brushwood, and swept by violent winds. 
 The river Timavo — the Timavus of the Romans — courses 
 underground for twenty-three miles through this dismal 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 119 
 
 district, and, having avoided its dreary scenes, emerges from 
 the rocks and falls into 'the Adriatic. The railway, mean- 
 dering among the ravines and pitfalls of this region, finally 
 escapes from it by darting through several tunnels. It then 
 courses briefly amidst the olive-bearing hills of the Littorale, 
 and descends by sweeping curves, overlooking the blue Adri- 
 atic, to Trieste. 
 
 At Vienna I had been led to hope that upon reaching the 
 Adriatic I would have left winter behind me, but such did 
 not prove to be the case. We approached Trieste amidst a 
 violent snow-storm, and the entire coast had a wintry aspect. 
 
 " But when you get over to Venice you will find bright 
 skies and a vernal atmosphere," I was told. 
 
 Accordingly, I hastened to get over to Venice. A comfort- 
 able steamer leaves Trieste late in the evening and arrives at 
 Venice the following morning. To bid farewell to winter 
 with the going down of the sun and say good-morning to 
 summer at the very next dawn of day was a programme so 
 fascinating as to make all time seem wasted which postponed 
 its fulfilment. Making a single day suffice for Trieste, I slept 
 the following night on the Adriatic, taking good care that I 
 should not miss the famous sunrise views of Venice approached 
 from the sea. Alas for the famous views ! I was on deck 
 betimes, and, while shuddering in the cold wind which swept 
 the lagoon, saw, under cheerless wintry skies, the nearing 
 city's roofs and domes, — 
 
 Saw from out the wave her structures rise 
 
 As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand, — 
 
 but there was no enchantment in the chilling fact that those 
 structures were all covered with snow ! Agreeably to tradi- 
 tion, the city indeed seemed to be afloat, — to have drifted into 
 an Arctic sea. 
 
 " This is very extraordinary weather for Venice," an Eng- 
 
120 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 lish lady assured me at the Hotel Victoria. "I am for the 
 fourteenth time making my sojourn here for the winter, but I 
 have never before seen anything like this." 
 
 There was comfort in these words, — -just about as much as 
 I got from the bundles of burning twigs which made mockery 
 of heat in the little fireplace of my big apartment. 
 
 But the worst had not yet come. After some delusive 
 gleams of sunshine, the cloud argosies which floated above 
 " the dogeless city" jettisoned upon it their cargoes of con- 
 gealed vapor, which descended in massive, thickly-flying flakes, 
 darkening the air. For the time being the cheer and poetry 
 of Venice were gone ; the voices of its gondoliers resounded 
 cavernously between dismal walls, and the " fairy city of the 
 heart" became a city of snow-shovellers chiefly. After this 
 state of things had lasted for some days, clearing weather re- 
 turned, and in a qualified sense Venice became herself again, 
 but the Istrian Alps and the plains between them and the 
 lagoon, as seen from the Campanile tower, looked about as 
 hyperborean as a December scene in Kamtchatka. 
 
 " One sun, one Venice, one Piazzo San Marco" is the tra- 
 ditional boast of the Venetians, and they keep it up even 
 when the sun refuses to countenance such flatteries, and so 
 obscures himself with cloud as to make it seem doubtful 
 whether there is even one sun, to say nothing of many suns. 
 Yet the boast deserves respect. There is indeed but one 
 Venice, just as there is but one Shakespeare's "Othello," or 
 one Homer's " Iliad." Phenomenal alike in her situation, 
 history, art, and architecture, and in her political, industrial, 
 and commercial achievements, is this sceptreless, yet ever 
 adorable, sea-queen. Nature and Art have conspired to beautify 
 her; Genius pays homage, as a proud privilege, to her unique 
 fascination ; illustrious names crowd the category of her eulo- 
 gists. All who behold her rave, all who write about her 
 rhapsodize, — it seems to be expected of them. There are 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 121 
 
 blemishes, faults, and dark sides, but no one cares to dwell 
 on them while there is so much that interests and captivates, — 
 so much to enjoy and admire. I did not find in the basilica 
 of St. Mark's, or the Doges' Palace, the ideal which Ruskin's 
 eccentric pen had prefigured in my mind ; my wintry, matter- 
 of-fact views were sadly out of tune with Canaletto's pictures, 
 De Musset's poetry, and Taine's florid descriptions ; yet I was 
 not disappointed. Had the truth and the poetry been much 
 farther apart than they were, I could still — who could not? — 
 have shared the glowing enthusiasm of Taine in contemplating 
 this Venice, which, beginning as " a borough of fishmongers 
 planted on mud, without earth, water, stone, or wood, con- 
 quered the coasts of its own gulf, Constantinople, the Archi- 
 pelago, the Peloponnesus and Cyprus ; which suppressed seven 
 rebellions in Zara and sixteen in Crete; which defeated the 
 Dalmatians, the Byzantines, the sultans of Cairo, and the 
 kings of Hungary; which launched on the Bosphorus flotillas 
 of five hundred sail ; which armed squadrons of two hundred 
 galleys, and kept afloat at one time three thousand vessels ; 
 which maintained communication by its fleets of galleys 
 between London, Lisbon, Alexandria, Tunis, Tangiers, and 
 Trebizond ; and which, having created manufactures, an archi- 
 tecture, a school of painting, and an original society, trans- 
 formed itself into a magnificent jewel of art, whilst its vessels 
 and soldiers in Crete and in the Morea defended Europe 
 against the last barbarian invasions." 
 
 Judging by what remains to us we may readily conceive 
 that such was Venice, at the climax of her material prosperity, 
 "with her street pavement of liquid chrysoprase, with her 
 palaces of porphyry and marble, her frescoed facades, her 
 quays and squares aglow with the brilliant costumes of the 
 Levant, her lagoons afloat with the galleys of all nations, her 
 churches floored with mosaics, her silvery domes and ceilings 
 glittering with sculptures bathed in molten gold." 
 f 11 
 
122 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 These splendors have faded, but they have an incomparable 
 fascination, even in their decay. They have, besides, a beauty 
 not their own, which is imperishable, and by which they are 
 etherealized and glorified beyond the possibilities of all human 
 art. Venice is an adoptive chile] of Nature, endowed with a 
 matchless loveliness of skies and waters, which never diminishes 
 and never grows old. " Around the architecture," writes 
 Taine, " the water, expanded into a lake, entwines its magical 
 frame with its green and blue tones and its flickering sea-green 
 crystal. . . . Reflections from the water flicker in the arched 
 concave of the bridge, like figured silk drapery, rose, white, 
 and green. . » . One contemplates the sea at his feet, rolling 
 up in long, thin waves on the ruddy sand ; exquisite, melting, 
 silken tints, veined roses and pale violets, like the draperies of 
 Veronese, golden orange, yellows, vinous and intense, like 
 Titian's simarres, tender greens drowned in dark blue, sea- 
 green shades striped with silver, or flashing with sparks, 
 undulate, conflict, and lose themselves under the innumerable 
 flaming darts descending from above at every discharge of the 
 sun's rays." 
 
 Not less provocative of poetic rhapsody are the phenomena 
 of the skies. Let an Italian describe them. Narrating his 
 experiences as a looker-on in Venice, that brilliant literary 
 bandit, Pietro Aretino, wrote to Titian : 
 
 " From these animated scenes [on the Grand Canal] I turned 
 my eyes to heaven, which, from the moment that God made it, 
 has never been adorned with such painted loveliness of lights 
 and shadows. The whole region of the air was what they who 
 envy you because they are unable to be you would fain express. 
 To begin with, the buildings of Venice, though of solid stone, 
 seemed made of some ethereal substance. Then the sky was 
 full of variety, here clear and ardent, there dulled and over- 
 clouded. What marvellous clouds there were ! Masses of 
 them in the centre of the picture hung above the house-roofs, 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 123 
 
 while the immediate part was formed of a gray tint inclining 
 to dark. I marvelled at the various colors they displayed. 
 The nearer masses burned with flames of sunlight ; the more 
 remote blushed with a blaze of crimson less afire. How 
 splendidly did Nature's pencil treat and dispose that airy land- 
 scape, keeping the sky apart from the palaces, just as Titian 
 does ! On one side the sky showed a greenish blue, on another 
 a bluish green, invented verily by the 'caprice of Nature, who 
 is mistress of the greatest masters. With her lights and her 
 darks there she was harmonizing, toning, and bringing out into 
 relief, just as she wished." 
 
 In terms still more chromatic Shelley describes a Venetian 
 
 sunset : 
 
 Half the sky 
 Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry, 
 Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew 
 Down the steep west into a wondrous hue 
 Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent 
 Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent 
 Among the many folded hills. . . . 
 And then, as if the earth and sea had been 
 Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen 
 Those mountains towering, as from waves of flame, 
 Around the vaporous sun, from which there came 
 The inmost purple spirit of light, and made 
 The very peaks transparent. 
 
 Such are the atmospheric splendors, the incomparable 
 braveries of sea and sky, the gorgeous enchantments of light 
 and color diffused through immensity of space, from which 
 Venetian art has drawn its lessons and its inspiration. The 
 Dutch and Flemish painters were instructed in the mysteries of 
 color by the flowers which bloom so luxuriantly in their alluvial 
 polders, and worthily did they profit by their gentle teachers ; 
 but it was by flaming signs burning amidst the prismatic 
 glories of ideal sunset skies that the painters of Venice were 
 led to conquest. They had no flowers except the tinted shells 
 
124 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 called " flowers of the sea ;" they had no forests or meadows, 
 and no sublimity of landscape save the shadowy outlines of 
 the distant Alps ; but for all this lack they had ample com- 
 pensation in their freedom — like that of the Dutch artists — 
 from the bondage of aesthetic and ecclesiastical tradition, and 
 in the brilliant grandeur of their " most excellent canopy, the 
 air," — the " brave o'erhanging firmament," — the " majestical 
 roof fretted with golden fire," which alone gave limits to their 
 fancy. 
 
 Fortunate as it was in its habitat, "Venetian art was no less 
 fortunate in the epoch of its maturity. Ripening after the 
 Milanese and Florentine schools had passed their meridian, and 
 the great cinquecentists had given their best work to the world, 
 it came at the right time to glorify in color what they had 
 achieved in form, and to clothe with its chromatic blazonry all 
 the material splendors of the renaissance. In the order of 
 artistic sequence, no less than of time, a natural corollary and 
 necessary complement to the art of Da Vinci, Michael Angelo, 
 and Raphael was that of Tintoretto, Veronese, and Titian. 
 To these great Venetians and their school it remained to ac- 
 complish results which had not been accomplished before them, 
 and thereby to give completeness and a crowning glory to 
 Italian art. Masters in color as much as the Florentines or 
 Romans were in drawing, they were by no means colorists 
 only, nor were the attractions peculiar to their work wholly 
 due to local inspiration. They were favored with adventitious 
 opportunities and resources, but in composition and conception 
 of form, no less than in color, their power was creative and 
 thoroughly original. 
 
 The soul of Venetian art, the central sun around which its 
 planetary system revolves, is the magnificent genius of Titian. 
 Altogether considered, with respect to its duration, the ampli- 
 tude and uniform excellence of its work, and the influence, 
 position, and emoluments with which it was rewarded, this 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 125 
 
 great man's life of ninety-seven years is without a parallel in 
 the history of painting. Like William I. of Germany, his 
 greatest achievements were accomplished after he had passed 
 the age of sixty years, and even after he had passed his 
 eightieth year we find him engaged upon splendid compositions 
 which no other hand has rivalled. His creations have the 
 beauty which is indeed u a joy forever," because while it always 
 endures it never satiates. I grew weary of Veronese, and felt that 
 he might have painted better if he had painted less, but we never 
 tire of Titian. We never quit him without feeling that he has 
 further resources for pleasing which we have not exhausted, 
 indeed cannot exhaust. He inscribed his pictures, not Tiziano 
 fecit, but Tiziano faciebat, thus modestly confessing that, not- 
 withstanding the excellence he had reached, there was still 
 higher excellence to reach, — that while the achievements of 
 his art were limited, its possibilities were infinite. 
 
 Titian has been called the Sophocles of Painting, but he may 
 be compared more aptly to Beethoven than to the Greek poet. 
 The sublime and perfect harmony which pervades his works is 
 suggestive rather of " the concord of sweet sounds" — of soar- 
 ing flights of melody — than of the inspirations of the tragic 
 muse. His Assumption of the Virgin, says a discriminating 
 writer, " may best be described as a symphony, — a symphony 
 of color in which every hue is brought into melodious play; a 
 symphony of movement in which every line communicates 
 ' celestial sense of rhythm ; a symphony of light in which there 
 is no cloud ; a symphony of joy in which saints, angels, and 
 God himself sing hallelujah." 
 
 Mrs. Jameson remarks that the effect of the Assumption 
 is like that of music. Her record of the details of the picture 
 is succinct and accurate : 
 
 " The noble figure of the Virgin in a flood of golden light 
 is borne, or rather impelled, upwards with such rapidity that 
 her veil and drapery are disturbed by the motion. Her feet 
 
 11* 
 
126 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 are uncovered, a circumstance inadmissible in ancient art, and 
 her drapery, instead of being white, is of the usual blue and 
 crimson, her appropriate colors in life. Her attitude, with 
 outstretched arms; her face, not, indeed, a young or lovely 
 face, but something far better, sublime and powerful in the 
 expression of rapture ; the divinely beautiful and childish, yet 
 devout, unearthly little augels around her ; the grand apostles 
 below ; and the splendor of color over all, render this picture 
 an enchantment at once to the imagination and the senses." 
 
 To me its enchantment can never be lost, but will remain a 
 continuing apocalypse of sublime and heavenly adoration. 
 
 In the Assumption Titian reached his climax ; it is the 
 crowning production of his art. No other treatment of the 
 subject may be compared with it except Murillo's in the 
 Louvre. 
 
 Analogies have been drawn between Titian and Rubens, 
 but their differences are more essential than their resemblances. 
 Mr. Hillard states the case well: "The pictures of Rubens 
 remind one of a flower-garden glittering with dew, in a June 
 morning; those of Titian are like one of our own golden 
 sunsets in autumn, seen through a thick screen of scarlet 
 maples. In Rubens, coloring is more of an external charm ; 
 . in Titian, more of an essential quality."* We might add that, 
 in contrast with Rubens, Titian is never gross or extrava- 
 gant; that his form and color are not copied, but idealized 
 from nature ; and that his art, truthful without being coarsely 
 realistic, glorifies and exalts the material qualities of our 
 existence. 
 
 It may be from insufficient study or defective judgment that 
 I am unable to speak of Tintoretto "with the admiration 
 which others have expressed. Impulsive, dramatic, original, 
 he had, it must be confessed, extraordinary power of imagina- 
 
 * " Six Months in Italy," by George S. Hillard. 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 127 
 
 tion, coupled with great energy of production and expression. 
 The Italians called him the Thunderbolt of Painting, His 
 competitors, we are told, were dismayed at the fertility of his 
 invention and the furious rapidity of his execution. But 
 with less impetuosity and more concentration he would prob- 
 ably have achieved results more uniformly creditable to his 
 genius. Great pictures, like great actions, are simple, says 
 Emerson. "The Greek battle-pieces are calm • the heroes, in 
 whatever violent actions engaged, retain a serene aspect; as 
 we say of Niagara, that it falls without speed." But sim- 
 plicity and " repose in energy" are not among Tintoretto's 
 virtues. He had a passion for vastness of canvas and for 
 multiplicity of details, — an ambition to paint, as it were, by 
 the acre, — which is notably illustrated by his famous Para- 
 dise in the Grand Council Chamber of the Ducal Palace. 
 The end wall of the chamber, which this immense fresco 
 mostly covers, measures seventy-eight feet in length and forty- 
 seven feet from floor to ceiling. The number of figures in 
 the picture and the variety of their action are so great as to be- 
 wilder rather than please. Rembrandt's Night Watch and 
 Raphael's Transfiguration are together less than one-fif- 
 teenth the size of this prodigious work, yet either of them 
 surpasses it by more than fifteen times in the amount of pleas- 
 ure it confers and the admiration it inspires. 
 
 Veronese also shows a proneness to large canvas, but not 
 beyond the extent which seems appropriate to his decorative 
 splendors. Less apology can be made for his glaring offences 
 against historical truth, however palliated by his richness of 
 color and grace of execution. This artist is Venetian or 
 nothing. Whether he presents to us the family of Darius 
 before Alexander, the marriage at Cana, or a mythological 
 allegory, his architecture and costumes are of the sixteenth 
 century, and his men and women all Venetians. 
 
 Veronese can be studied almost as well at Paris, Dresden, or 
 
128 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Vienna as he can at Venice. His productive energy was 
 great, and his works are widely distributed. His Darius 
 before Alexander is at London, his Adoration of the Magi 
 at Milan, his Rescue of Moses at Madrid, his Judith at 
 Genoa, his Queen of Sheba at Turin, his Gods of Olympus 
 at Treviso, his St. Anthony at Rome. The best of his 
 portraits are at Florence. His masterpiece, the Marriage 
 at Cana, twenty by thirty feet in size, is in the Louvre 
 gallery, which also possesses his Christ at the House of 
 Simon, fourteen by twenty-seven feet. His chief allegorical 
 work, Venice Enthroned as Queen, adorns one of the great 
 ceilings in the Ducal Palace at Venice, and though much 
 damaged, retains charms enough to electrify the pen of Taine, 
 who thus describes its "Amid grand architectural forms of 
 balconies and spiral columns sits Venice, the blonde, on a 
 throne radiant with beauty, with that fresh and rosy carnation 
 peculiar to the daughters of humid climates. . . . Her white 
 silk robe embroidered with golden lilies undulates over a 
 mantle of ermine and scarlet ; her arm, delicate hand, and 
 bending dimpled fingers rest their satiny purity and soft ser- 
 pentine contours on the lustrous material. The face is in 
 shadow,- — a half-shadow roseate with a cool, palpable atmos- 
 phere enlivening still more the carmine of the lips; the lips, 
 are cherries, while all the shadow is intensified by the lights on 
 the hair, the soft gleams of pearls on the neck and in the ears, 
 and the scintillations of the diadem whose jewels seem to be 
 magical eyes. She smiles with an air of royal and beaming 
 benignity, like a flower happy in its expanded and blooming 
 petals." 
 
 The passion of Veronese for elegant display is further 
 illustrated in his Christ at the House of Levi, in the Venice 
 Academy. This picture is about equal in size to the Cana, 
 and of much the same style of treatment. A festival scene is 
 displayed amidst a great open palace court which is crowded 
 
FROM SNOW TO SUN. 129 
 
 with guests and servants all in splendid attire, and all Vene- 
 tian. Such is the captivating beauty of the work — its grace 
 of form and its charms of light and color — that we readily 
 forgive its anachronism. 
 
 The architecture of Venice, like its art, embodies and per- 
 petuates the splendors of the renaissance. It does more ; it 
 exhibits an inventive faculty, such as has been manifested 
 nowhere else, in the creation of new and harmonious styles by 
 the combination of classic, Gothic, and Byzantine forms. The 
 palaces which rise along the curvatures of the Grand Canal 
 have, with symmetry of proportions and congruity of style, 
 each an individuality distinguishing it from the rest. Supreme 
 in this array of original architectural graces is the Ducal 
 Palace, — a unique growth of centuries, so inimitably beautiful 
 in its fantastic garnishment of pointed arches and mottled 
 marquetry of rose and white that its like has never been 
 produced or attempted. 
 
 Of the churches of Venice — excepting St. Mark's — I can 
 only speak with a sense of chill which time does not assuage. 
 Something more is required than the glow of Venetian color 
 to countervail their December dreariness, and make the damp 
 and gloom of their midwinter grandeur lovable. Even the 
 splendors of St. Mark's, — its bewitching conglomerate of 
 Romanesque, Gothic, Saracenic, and Byzantine, its dazzling 
 confusion of barbaric sorceries in bronze and stone, its wealth 
 of delicate interior workmanship and precious adornment,— 
 even these gain immensely from the favor of the sun. Let 
 those who would see Venice in the fulness of its charms go 
 there at any other season than winter. 
 
 My departure for Rome took place on a sombre December 
 afternoon. The gondola which conveyed me from the hotel 
 to the railway station passed through the Grand Canal, — the 
 Venetian Champs filysees, whose novel scenes are always 
 lively enough to prevent any melancholy last impressions. 
 
130 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 But no sooner had our train rolled over the causeway to the 
 main-land than we came into a less friendly atmosphere than 
 that of the lagoon. Winter in Northern Italy is very much 
 like winter north of the Alps, except that the cold, though less 
 severe, is more keenly felt. Snow fell thick and fast, bending 
 and breaking the mulberry-trees of Venetia and Lombardy 
 with its clinging weight. " Man instinctively flees from 
 winter," says Mr. Hillard, but something more than instinct 
 impelled me to wish that our southward flight might be more 
 rapid than it was. Yet the more I wished, and the greater grew 
 my impatience, the slower the train moved. Ploughing its way 
 through the deep snow, the locomotive -wheezed and groaned 
 more and more feebly until some time after nightfall, when it 
 came to a dead halt. A few more spasmodic forms of effort, 
 and it stood motionless and silent. For five hours there were 
 no further signs of going ahead. The cold increased as the 
 night wore on, and the hot-water cylinders by which the 
 coaches were warmed lost their last vestiges of heat. As well 
 as could be made out in the darkness and storm, we had 
 halted in the open country, with no house or village anywhere 
 near. A gang of frowzy men, rough-looking enough for 
 veritable bandits, crowded into the coupe which I occupied 
 alone, and took possession of the vacant space. They might 
 have been bent on " stratagems and spoils" for aught I knew, 
 — they looked it ; but M r hen the presumptive chief cutpurse 
 of the party politely asked me whether I would be offended 
 if he should light his pipe, my suspicions were allayed. Re- 
 plying, I pointed to the Italian legend on the door, — " It is 
 forbidden to smoke," — and the man put away his pipe im- 
 mediately. Per contra, a few days later a well-dressed English 
 tourist entered the non-smoking coupe in which I happened to 
 be travelling, stretched himself at full length upon the bench 
 opposite me, and deliberately began smoking, without saying 
 " By your leave." In that particular instance I did not point 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 131 
 
 to the Italian inhibition, but made effectual use of plain Anglo- 
 Saxon. 
 
 About midnight a shrill locomotive scream was heard afar, 
 — help was coming. Later, more and nearer screams, then 
 some petulant jerks, and the train actually moved. My polite 
 bandit companions quitted me at the next station, and smoked, 
 no doubt, for the rest of the night, as villanous tobacco as 
 bandit ever piped. An hour or two later the cry of " Bologna !" 
 was heard, and when daylight broke we were circling among 
 the bald, brown summits of the Apennines. Descending the 
 southern slopes of the mountains, we emerged from cloud 
 into sunshine, — from a region of snow to one of green vegeta- 
 tion, — and by 10 o'clock a.m. were at Florence. A few days 
 later I plucked roses at a wayside station between Rome and 
 Naples. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS, 
 
 I. 
 
 Geliebtes Berchtesgaden, 
 
 Sei tausendmal gegriisst, 
 Du Thai von Gottesgnaden, 
 
 Von Gottes Mund gekusst. 
 Im Lenz, im Herbstgewande 
 
 Bewahrst du deinen Eeiz, 
 Du Perle deutscher Lande, 
 
 Du Bayern's traute Schweiz ! 
 
 Berchtesgaden, September 3. — There is no railway at 
 Berchtesgaden.* The giddy swirl of human currents and 
 eddies but faintly ruffles the placid life of this sequestered 
 
 * Since the date here referred to a narrow-gauge line has been opened 
 for travel between Berchtesgaden and Reichenhall. It crosses the range 
 by the Hallthurm Pass, between the Lattengehirge and the Untersberg. 
 
132 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 valley. The blare and clamorous rush of the great world's 
 feverish activities are here almost unperceived. The village, 
 with its white cottages shining amidst its setting of green 
 meadows, which slope gently to the torrent of the Aim, is a 
 picture of perfect peace. All around it, or nearly so, great 
 mountains lift their summits to the sky, and seem to defy and 
 shut out the beating ocean of human turmoil. 
 
 The nearest town of importance is Salzburg, from whence a 
 carriage-road ascends to this place along the narrow defile of 
 the Aim, whose waters, poured from the glaciers, rush im- 
 petuously in their rocky channel. Beside the Aim, on its left 
 bank, rise the triple peaks of the Untersberg, in whose vertical 
 cliffs, far above, a curious opening known as the Dragon's Den 
 may be perceived. Beneath this mountain, according to an 
 old tradition, the soul of Charlemagne reposes, awaiting the 
 call of the reunited German nations. 
 
 Passing under the shadows of other cliffs which frown along 
 the torrent, and emerging from the upper defile of the Aim, 
 we behold the village of Berchtesgaden, nestled in its mountain 
 cradle. Beyond it appears the forked crag of the Watzman, 
 with its glacier hung in mid-air, and its fissured crown streaked 
 with perpetual snow. Opposite to the Watzman, on the right 
 bank of the Aim, rise the Schwarzkopf and the Goll, the first 
 covered with vegetation from base to summit, the latter lifting 
 far higher than its neighbor its gray, weather-beaten, snow- 
 patched walls of rock. Beyond these, on either hand, are 
 seen the colossal forms of various peaks, ragged or pointed, 
 whose lines, approaching as they stretch away, close in far 
 perspective. Amidst this sublime scene we hear naught but 
 the rush of descending waters, the tinkling of pasturage bells, 
 and, accordant with these, the sounds of village life. 
 
 Berchtesgaden was formerly the seat of a spiritual princi- 
 pality, the territories of which, very small and very mountain- 
 ous, were said to measure nearly as much up and down as they 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 133 
 
 did crosswise. Not over one-sixth of the surface was culti- 
 vable, all the rest consisting of lake, forest, and barren rock. 
 The village now subsists by means of its neighboring salt- 
 mines and pastures, and its wood-carvings, which have some 
 reputation. With these few resources its fifteen hundred people 
 seem to make themselves comfortable, and, what is better, con- 
 tented. They hold tenaciously to the customs of their ances- 
 tors, little troubling themselves as to what changes may take 
 place in the ways of the world outside their mountain barriers. 
 Last night, while writing late, I heard the village watchman 
 in the street, calling the' hours in the quaint old rhymes, — 
 
 Ihr lieben Leute ! Lasst Eucli sagen I 
 Die Glocke hat nun Zehn gesehlagen ! 
 Bewahrt das Feuer und das Licht 
 Dass Niemanden Schaden gesehicht ; 
 etc., etc., etc. 
 
 The rock-salt deposits of Berchtesgaden have been known, 
 and • more or less worked, for centuries. The entrance to the 
 old shaft bears the date 1628. The deposit is found in the 
 breast of the mountain, about a mile below the village, and is 
 supposed to be continuous with that which is worked at Hal- 
 lein, on the Salzach. The works at Hallstadt, and at Ischl on 
 the Traun, doubtless pierce the same general formation, but 
 the veins there have a greater intermixture of clay than those 
 of Berchtesgaden, whose mine is the most interesting and 
 accessible of the entire salt-bearing region of Tyrol. I chose 
 a rainy afternoon for visiting this mine, and found its subter- 
 ranean darkness and mystery no unpleasant exchange for the 
 drizzle and fog which prevailed outside. Before entering the 
 galleries, visitors of both sexes are required to dress them- 
 selves in a bifurcate miner's costume, not graceful, but useful, 
 and are each provided with a small lantern. Our party was 
 an accidental group, — mostly Austrians and Bavarians, — in- 
 
 12 
 
134 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 eluding some modest-mannered, rosy-faced country maidens, 
 who were very much abashed, at first, by their grotesque toilet, 
 but soon changed their diffidence to rippling merriment. 
 
 Following the guide, we entered the mine, single file. The 
 ingoing gallery is about five feet wide by seven high in the 
 clear, admirably walled and vaulted with stone, and perfectly 
 dry throughout. For some hundreds of yards we walked up 
 a rather steep incline, occasionally mounting from one plane to 
 another by stairs, and .passing numerous branch galleries radi- 
 ating right and left. Like a procession of cowled and shrouded 
 monks, we advanced in this way for an apparently long distance, 
 M 7 heu we arrived at the brink of a precipice, adowh which 
 sloped a wooden bench, polished on top as smooth as glass, 
 and ending in abysmal darkness. Placing himself astride of 
 this bench, the guide invited us all to take similar positions, 
 one after another, in his rear. The ladies hesitated a little, 
 but soon all were in line, my own person being so placed as to 
 serve as a buffer to one of Austria's fair daughters. Then, at 
 a signal, away the whole party darted, with the speed of au 
 arrow, down the incline. It seemed as though, once started, 
 we could never stop except by some violent concussion, but at 
 the bottom the bench extended far enough in a horizontal 
 direction to enable the guide, assisted by our own inertia, to 
 bring us to a halt as gently as a falling feather. So pleased 
 and exhilarated were the ladies by this adventure, that they 
 showed no hesitation when they came to the next slide, or to 
 any of the subsecp:ient ones. On the contrary, the more they 
 had of das Rutschen, as they called it in German, the better 
 they liked it. 
 
 We now found ourselves within an immense chamber, whose 
 walls and roof sparkled with salt crystals. The floor was a 
 lake, for crossing whose dark waters a boat lay ready moored. 
 To make the scene more impressive, numerous lights were 
 kindled, additional to those we carried, and were multiplied 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 135 
 
 many times by reflected repetition in the water. Our voyage 
 across the lake was not tedious or stormy, but was unique in 
 the extreme. The old Greek fable had become reality, or 
 nearly so ; we had entered the Plutonian dominions ; we be- 
 held around and above us the sparkling splendors of their 
 monarch's palace; we swam upon Acheron's bitter waters, 
 and it only remained to us to taste those waters — in accord- 
 ance with the customs of Hades — before yielding our souls to 
 animate other bodies than our own when we should return to 
 the blessed light of day. Not caring to surrender our spirits 
 just yet, — particularly not for other people's benefit, — we care- 
 fully abstained from tasting those waters. In other respects 
 the Plutonian programme was carried out to the letter. 
 
 Landing upon the farther shore, we pursued our way from 
 one maze of galleries and chambers to another, sometimes 
 ascending an inclined plane, or a stairway, and sometimes 
 plunging into tartarean depths on the wooden slides. The 
 whole interior of the mountain seemed to have been burrowed 
 in the course of centuries, yet without having sensibly im- 
 paired its resources in the sought-for mineral. Here and there 
 veins of almost pure salt were seen cropping out, its crystals, 
 white and yellow, glittering before the light with diamond- 
 like brilliancy. The mineral is not extracted in a solid state, 
 but is drawn off in the form of brine, which is obtained by 
 pumping fresh water into the chambers and allowing it to re- 
 main from four to six weeks, during which period it becomes 
 thoroughly saturated with salt. Owing to the scarcity of fuel 
 about Berchtesgaden, the brine is forced through pipes over 
 the mountains to Reichenhall, where it is reduced by boiling. 
 In crossing the range, the pipes by which the brine is thus 
 conducted are carried to a height of nearly two thousand feet. 
 
 When the last stage of our visit had been reached, the 
 party was conducted to a miniature tramway, and mounted a 
 train of pygmy carriages, so constructed that all were obliged 
 
136 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 to sit astride. When every one was ready, the brakes were 
 loosened, and the little train went, as Burns would say, — 
 
 Down hill scrievin', 
 *Wi' rattlin' glee. 
 
 Thus we descended a steep gallery, so narrow as to enclose the 
 train and its freight like a cartridge in a musket-barrel, and 
 were literally shot out of the mine, passing from darkness to 
 daylight with such suddenness as to be almost bewildering. 
 Such was the end of this strange underground experience. 
 
 I was now impatient for weather suitable for visiting that 
 gem of Alpine lakes, the Konigssee, an hour's walk' from 
 Berchtesgaden ; but although the rain ceased, the remorseless 
 fog still hung thick and low on the mountains, concealing 
 everything above a certain plane. The barometer indicated 
 favorably, but not until another day had passed, and another 
 night had fallen, did the vapory curtains begin to part and 
 reveal the sublime panorama behind them. At 9 p.m., after 
 this day of fog, the bald summit of the Goll once more dis- 
 closed its rounded outliue against the sky, and half an hour 
 later the light of the moon broke upon its colossal form in full 
 relief. At daybreak next morning I heard a voice under my 
 window saying, Jetzt sind die Berge wieder zu sehen, — a declara- 
 tion which my own eyes speedily confirmed. The sky had 
 completely cleared during the night, and the light of a most 
 auspicious day for the Konigssee had dawned. With two 
 German friends, — a lady and gentleman, — I was not slow to 
 improve it. The lake may easily be reached by carriage from 
 Berchtesgaden, but a much preferable route is had by foot-path, 
 leading through forests aromatic with the exhalations of pine- 
 and fir-trees, musical with the gurgle of crystal waters, and 
 disclosing, through parted foliage, ravishing glimpses of the 
 sunlit mountains. On the left, as we proceed along this path, 
 rises the rocky bastion of the Goll, flanked by the dark, pointed 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 137 
 
 Schwarzkopf, and on the right are seen, piercing the blue sky, 
 the sharp gray spikes which form the forked mitre of the 
 Watzman. An hour and a half of leisurely walking through 
 the valley which separated these giants brought us to the 
 margin of the lake, whose mountain-girdled disk of translucent 
 emerald lay smooth and brilliant in the caressing light of 
 morning. 
 
 Among Alpine waters nothing surpasses this lovely gem. 
 In some respects it is the fairest jewel of them all. Magnifi- 
 cent in its setting, it has, with all the transparency and change- 
 fulness of color of Lake Thun, or Lake Brienz, an exquisite 
 softness of tint and grace of outline peculiarly its own. In 
 size it is correspondingly dainty. Its length is but six miles, 
 its breadth but a mile and a half, its depth seven hundred feet. 
 Lake Thun is nearly twice as long and has a depth of over 
 eighteen hundred feet ; Lake Lucerne is four and a half times 
 as long, but has a depth of only five hundred and ten feet. 
 The Konigssee has but one village upon its banks, there 
 being scarcely room for more among its rocky environments. 
 The mountains which surround it rise perpendicularly from the 
 lake, or nearly so, and attain a height of seven thousand feet. 
 Where vegetation is possible, the mountain sides are dressed 
 with fir-trees, or slope in velvet meadow-green to the mirroring 
 waters. Alpine salmon, occasionally of enormous size, are 
 caught in the lake, and chamois upon the neighboring moun- 
 tains are sometimes driven into it, and shot from boats. St. 
 Bartholomew, whose name it sometimes takes, is honored with 
 a chapel upon one of its promontories, and with an annual 
 festival, during which the chapel is visited by many pilgrims, 
 and the heights around the lake are illuminated with bonfires. 
 Upon another promontory stands a villa of the late Baron 
 Beust, Premier of Austria-Hungary. 
 
 Boats, of which the rowers are usually stalwart peasant 
 girls, are always in waiting for visitors who wish to make the 
 
 12* 
 
138 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WATS. 
 
 tour of the lake. Two brawny-armed women, and a man less 
 athletic in appearance, propelled our boat containing four 
 persons. The water was disturbed by no ripple save those 
 made by our intrusion ; its emerald was mingled with the 
 cerulean of the sky ; and in its depths were reflected, as in a 
 mirror, all the surrounding grandeur of the mountains. There 
 was no cloud in the heavens, but had there been one, its image 
 
 7 7 O 
 
 would have floated as distinctly and radiantly in the waters 
 beneath as its reality in the air above. After one or two islets 
 were passed, the lake became visible in its entire extent, and a 
 glacier torrent was seen leaping from an overhanging crag 
 and descending in silvery spray until it merged itself with the 
 aerial, almost imperceptible, plane of crystal. 
 
 At the head of the lake we disembarked and ascended, on 
 foot, through a rocky pasture to the Obersee, a sort of natural 
 reservoir half a mile wide, environed by lofty, treeless preci- 
 pices of limestone. No human habitation breaks this solitude, 
 and no sound was heard in it save the subdued reverberations 
 of an unseen torrent falling from the Kaunerwand. 
 
 On the return voyage our sinewy oars women soon brought 
 us to the St. Bartholomew landing, at the foot of the Watz- 
 man, where, beneath the shade of some far-spreading castanian 
 trees, we dined on trout, and feasted our souls upon the un- 
 speakable beauty of the lake and the grandeur of its stern but 
 magnificent guardians, the mountains. 
 
 Saalfelden, September 8. — Tyrol may be travelled through 
 by rail, but not thus can it be seen. One-third of its entire 
 surface consists of glaciers, perpetual snow-fields, and barren 
 rocks ; half of all the rest is covered with forests, and but one- 
 third is arable land. Most of these regions lie beyond the 
 reach, as yet, of the locomotive. The supremest grandeur of 
 their solitudes, the rarest beauty of their sequestered meadows, 
 ice-fields, and silvery cascades, and the most bounteous hos- 
 pitality of their robust, honest-hearted inhabitants are reserved 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 139 
 
 for the pedestrian. All these, if seen and enjoyed to the full, 
 must be sought for and explored alpen-stock in hand. 
 
 Entirely convinced of this, I resolved to plunge into the 
 heart of the mountains and seek out their solitary places. My 
 first plan was, quitting Berchtesgaden, to climb over the Ross- 
 felcl to Golling, then visit the Lueg Pass, and proceed up the 
 valley of the Salzach. A German acquaintance, who knew 
 the country, persuaded me out of this. " You will find the 
 tramp over the Rossfeld quite interesting but very fatiguing," 
 said he. " I made it once, but wouldn't try it again. There 
 is no path, and the route is in some places very steep, — so 
 steep," — holding his arm at an angle of about fifty degrees. 
 " You will pass up that ravine there, between the Schwarzkopf 
 and the G511," he continued, pointing. " It will take you 
 about seven hours to get over the mountain, and when you 
 come to Golling you will find nothing very interesting." 
 
 " But the Lueg Pass ?" I suggested. 
 
 " It wouldn't repay you for such a tramp. I visited it once, 
 and was provoked with myself for doing so. It is a striking 
 ravine, but much inferior to others you will see in the Tyrol." 
 
 The speaker, a Frankfort rentier, was slightly corpulent, 
 and was neither an enthusiast nor an expert in mountain climb- 
 ing. He. readily agreed, however, that he and his niece, a 
 young lady from Mayence, would accompany me to the Hirsch- 
 biihl Pass next day, the journey to Hintersee, at the foot of the 
 pass, to be made by Einspdnner. Wishing to disencumber my- 
 self of my baggage, I was advised to forward it to some ad- 
 vance station on my route by post. Accordingly, I had it 
 taken to the post-office and registered for Innsbruck. The cost 
 was but a trifle, and the convenience of forwarding a heavy 
 portmanteau, like a letter or a newspaper, through the mails, 
 was something of a novelty to an American, yet a convenience 
 nevertheless, and a valuable one. The young clerk who 
 counted the charges on my packages made a mistake in his 
 
140 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 reckoning which his chief detected, and severely rebuked him 
 for then and there. 
 
 The Einspanner of Tyrol is a stout little fiacre adapted to 
 any road or path practicable for wheels. It will comfortably 
 seat two persons, and, in case of necessity, four. It is an 
 admirable convenience for ready transit over the allowable 
 gaps between pedestrian tours. I was now about to cover an 
 allowable gap ; that is to say, I was about to travel for some 
 hours by Einspanner to accommodate my companions, when, 
 but for their company, walking would have been much more 
 agreeable. The weather was perfect, — a fact always note- 
 worthy in the Alps. Quitting Berchtesgaden upon a cloudless 
 morning, we took our course along the valley of the Ramsauer 
 Ache, a noisy little torrent tributary to the Aim. This valley, 
 popularly known as the Ramsau, meanders among beautifully- 
 formed mountains, with whose strong gray color its light-green, 
 velvety meadows, and its luxuriant forests, with patches of 
 dark-green pine and fir, present some most pleasing contrasts. 
 We see in this a striking illustration of nature's skill in 
 harmonizing and intensifying color. The verdancy of the 
 valley gains perceptibly in beautifying power from the sober 
 hue of its rock-rimmed setting. Over all, accentuating all, 
 towers the Watzman, grim and grand, with the white glacier 
 hanging from its seamed crag like a mighty banner in the sky. 
 
 Many things are seen in the Ramsau illustrative of the 
 social and religious customs peculiar to the Tyrol. These 
 customs vary with the configuration of the country, giving to 
 each community a social individuality distinct from the others. 
 Sequestered from the rest of the world by huge mountain 
 ranges, the people of each valley naturally adopt ways of their 
 own. The circumambient peaks and glaciers, whose massive 
 barriers of ice and rock blend with the sky, bound the horizon 
 of their existence ; within this narrow sphere most of them 
 are born and marry, live and die. Their traditions, and 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 141 
 
 modes of dress, language, and social intercourse, fortified by 
 nature, as well as habit, from foreign taint, are as indig- 
 enous as the hardy flora of their mountains, and are passed 
 from generation to generation without material change. 
 
 But there is one respect in which all the Tyrolese, Austrian 
 and Bavarian, are alike, and wherein even lofty mountain 
 ranges can draw no strongly-marked distinctions among them ; 
 and that is in their ardent, implicit, unquestioning belief in 
 the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church. Their faith in 
 the church and their fidelity to its practices have become parts 
 of their moral — we might almost say physical — constitution, 
 ingrained in their very natures. Probably they would have 
 been just as ardently Protestant had they been first indoctri- 
 nated in that belief. There seems to be some influence in a 
 mountainous country which begets intensity of religious feel- 
 ing. We see it .in Swiss communities where Protestantism 
 prevails, just as we perceive it among the mountains of Tyrol 
 where Catholicism is paramount. But the Tyrolese communi- 
 ties are more segregated from the currents of travel and from 
 political and religious agitation than the Swiss, and they are 
 as unsophisticated as they are isolated. The Tyrolese are a 
 simple-hearted, confiding folk, and what they believe they 
 believe with all their might. If the primeval innocence of 
 man could have been preserved anywhere, it would have been 
 preserved in the sequestered, mountain-girdled valleys of 
 Tyrol. 
 
 We pass nobody, young or old, on these mountains, who 
 does not speak to us a friendly Grilss Gott as we go by. The 
 people seem to take delight in being hospitable to strangers, 
 and the more savage their natural surroundings, the more re- 
 mote they are from what is currently called civilization, the 
 more open-hearted are they. Nor are their expressions of 
 religious feeling any less effusive ; with them, human sympathy 
 and religious duty go together. No dwelling, however humble, 
 
142 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 lacks some emblem of the Virgin, and of the Infant and 
 Crucified Saviour. Along the public highways these emblems 
 are so frequent as to become tiresome. Wherever there is a 
 spring, or convenient stopping-place, a little painting of the 
 Madonna and Child is attached to a tree, fence, or rock, with 
 appropriate fixtures before it upon which the devout can kneel. 
 Some pious admonition, spelt by the unlettered muse, generally 
 accompanies these emblems. If an accident happened on the 
 road, or near it, by which somebody lost his life, the fact is 
 always commemorated by some form of devout symbolism, 
 accompanied by a textual account of the casualty, and a request 
 to passers-by to invoke for the deceased die eivige Ruhe. These 
 melancholy stories of misfortune and accompanying admoni- 
 tions to pray for the souls of the dead are strikingly appropri- 
 ate to the pokerish places where such tablets are usually seen. 
 Many of these way-side emblems, the penitential offerings, 
 no doubt, of burdened consciences, have been abandoned to the 
 6port of the elements, while others bear touching evidences of 
 reverent care. The images of the Virgin, seldom wholly 
 neglected, are often wreathed by adoring hands with flowers, 
 and inscribed with sentiments expressed in phrases homely, yet 
 appropriate and beautiful. A rude painting representing 
 Mary supporting the dead Christ in her arms, which, nailed to 
 a tree, I chanced upon in a wild solitude of the upper Alps, 
 bore these lines : 
 
 Tod liegt Jesus in deinen Armen, 
 
 Tod auf dienen Mutter-Sckoos : 
 Welches Herz fiihlt nieht mit Dir Erbarmen, 
 
 Mutter I O, wie ist dein Schmerz so gross ! 
 
 Sometimes the road-side shrine contains a life-size image of 
 the Virgin, or of some saint, but a more common token is the 
 crucifix, which is seen everywhere. The rude realism with 
 which the body of Christ, writhing upon the cross, is repre- 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 143 
 
 sented in this emblem, is often unpleasing, even shocking. 
 The imagination is taxed in simulating the tragedy of Calvary 
 in all its details, and in its most revolting aspect. The blood, 
 the nails, the hammer with which the nails were driven, the 
 spear-wound and the weapon which produced it, the crown of 
 thorns and the bloody laceration caused by it, the muscular 
 contortions and physical anguish of death, — all are there, and 
 the more horrifying the representation, the more powerfully it 
 appeals, perhaps, to the untutored mind. There is a certain 
 harmony, moreover, between this rude art and the savage 
 grandeur of the mountains. Although in the Tyrol we see the 
 crucifix so often, and in so many places wholly inappropriate 
 to such an emblem, that ordinarily it ceases to be impressive, 
 yet there are occasions when, as betokening the awful agony 
 of the crucifixion, it becomes the very key-note in the wild tu- 
 mult of nature. No inanimate thing can be more profoundly, 
 weirdly significant than one of these tragic symbols seen hang- 
 ing above the mist and fury of a resounding torrent, or in the 
 dim silence of a crag-bound ravine, or amidst the cloud-swept 
 solitudes of glacier, rock, and wind-beaten forest. This sign 
 of human hope lifted up amidst the world's moral desolation 
 seems to gather meaning amidst such scenes of elemental 
 anarchy. 
 
 Among the curious customs which prevail in the Ramsau is 
 that of nailing upon the house wherein an occupant has died 
 a coffin-shaped board inscribed with an epitaph of the deceased. 
 Sometimes these boards are nailed to trees, or to the cow-stable 
 instead of the dwelling, and when they happen to be numerous 
 give quite a funereal aspect to the premises. 
 
 The people of the Ramsau, or the Rarnsauers, as they are 
 called for short, unlike the inhabitants of some other valleys, 
 have no especial singularities of dress. Their costume is in 
 the regulation style of Tyrol. Both men and women wear 
 black felt hats, those of the women being most pointed at the 
 
144 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 top and broadest in the brim. A man's hat would be grossly 
 out of fashion without a feather or some other pert emblem 
 stuck up behind. The women wear a jaunty jacket, with 
 much bravery of buttons and beads and skirts, sometimes of 
 gay colors, short enough for easy walking. The men wear 
 short trousers, terminating above the knee-joints, which are left 
 bare both winter and summer. The lower limbs are dressed 
 in thick woollen stockings. In the Zillerthal a somewhat dif- 
 ferent costume is worn, that of the men comprising a brown 
 leathern jacket, a red waistcoat, an embroidered leathern girdle, 
 black leather knee-breeches, and white stockings. The women, 
 when in holiday attire, wear a velvet bodice, blue apron, vel- 
 vet skirts of not inconvenient length, and, like the men, 
 pointed, broad-brimmed hats with gold tassels. 
 
 Various dialects are spoken in Tyrol, some of which are 
 among the worst which ever tested the capacity of the German 
 language for distortion. Correctly-speaking Germans, not ac- 
 customed to this patois, find difficulty in comprehending it. 
 
 The clean and tidy country inns of the Ramsau are models 
 of their kind. In the garden of the establishment, where 
 tables are daintily spread under the trees, beside murmuring 
 waters, and within visual range of some bewitching panorama 
 of the mountains, refreshments are served by one or more of 
 the rosy-cheeked, jauntily-dressed daughters of Tyrol. We 
 could not forbear, of course, to stop, for a time, at one of these 
 attractive loitering-places, nor could we help noticing with 
 quite as much interest as we were noticed by some guests who 
 had preceded us. Among these was a very stalwart man, ac- 
 companied by a lady of medium stature, dressed, like himself, 
 in the ordinary attire of the Tyrolese peasantry. With them 
 were, two quarrelsome dogs, which their master soon had occa- 
 sion to castigate for fighting. When this canine fracas had 
 subsided, the maid who served us whispered to me in German, 
 with the air of one imparting prodigious information, " The 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 145 
 
 Grand Duke and Duchess of AViirtemberg. They are making 
 a hunting tour in the Rarnsau." 
 
 Our farther course up the valley brought us to the Wim- 
 bach Klamra, a tributary gorge so deep and narrow, and so 
 shadowed with brush and trees, that the sun can shine into it 
 only in the afternoon. Some lovely cascades are made by the 
 blue waters of the brook which courses through the Klamm, 
 at the upper extremity of which a magnificent view is ob- 
 tained of the wild Wimbachthal, enclosed by gigantic moun- 
 tains. 
 
 At the little green lake known as the Hintersee, from 
 whence the majestic Goll, by this time far off, was again seen 
 in full profile, we dismissed our Einspanner and proceeded on 
 foot up the valley, following a delightful path among the fir- 
 trees, between whose parted branches could be seen on the one 
 hand the Hochkalter, and on the other the Muhlsturzhorn, 
 with their grotesque rock forms, and their curiously-notched 
 and pointed summits tossed against the sky at the height of 
 seven to eight thousand feet. 
 
 An ascent of three hours brought us to the summit of the 
 Hirschbiihl Pass, now a point on the boundary between Austria 
 and Bavaria, and once the scene of a fierce combat between the 
 armies of those countries. After an hour's rest at the inn on 
 the pass, I bade adieu to my companions and pushed on alone 
 for Saalfelden. The road descends rapidly on the southern 
 side of the mountain, along the solitary defile of the Weiss- 
 bach, affording at every turn some new disclosure of far-sweep- 
 ing mountains, and of the giddy precipices and profound 
 chasms of the gorge. No glaciers were in sight, but upon 
 some of the loftiest summits patches of snow lingered in spots 
 not directly reached by the sun. Amidst the deep tranquillity 
 no sound was heard save that of whispering waters, and no 
 human creature was met upon the unfrequented path. About 
 half-way down the mountain a profounder solitude still was 
 g k 13 
 
146 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 reached, — that of the Seissenberg Klamm, a very deep and 
 narrow gorge, worn through the strata by the torrent of the 
 Weissbach, and overgrown with a matted mass of bushes and 
 vines, through which the sunlight filters, giving to the interior 
 a peculiar coloring. A mile and a half below the Klamm, 
 Oberweissbach — the first settlement — is reached, from 
 whence the route to Saalfelden lies through the grand defile 
 known as the Hohlwege (hollow way), extending for six 
 miles between lofty buttresses of rock. At the summit of 
 these buttresses, east of the Hohlwege, lies a desolate rocky 
 district known as the Steinerne Meer, — sea of stones. 
 
 Just before sundown a turn in the defile disclosed to me, 
 twenty miles ahead, the vast range of the Hohe Tauern, with 
 its mighty glaciers hanging in the sky. As night closed in 
 its huge mass became lost in the darkness, except its snow- 
 fields shimmering here and there in that unwonted brilliancy 
 of the stars which is sometimes observed in Alpine regions. 
 One star especially, which hung in a notch of the rocky wall 
 of the Hohlwege, flamed and coruscated with the splendor of a 
 monster diamond. 
 
 Late in the evening I was still groping along the solitary 
 road when the distant rumble of a railway train became per- 
 ceptible. An hour later I was refreshed from the wholesome 
 weariness of the day's jaunt by the homely but most agreeable 
 hospitalities of the Auerwirth, at Saalfelden. 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 
 II. 
 
 Innsbruck, September 10. — A quaint little old village is 
 Saalfelden. Strange that so newfangled, unquiet a thing as a 
 railway should have ever sought it out in its remote mountain 
 nest. In a pretty valley, surrounded by heights upon which 
 stand ruined castles centuries old, its single spire rises amidst its 
 clustered dwellings. On its northern side the valley is bounded 
 by a lofty sierra of bare limestone, above which lies the great 
 rocky plateau popularly known as the Steineme Meer. South- 
 ward are seen the cloudy peaks of the Hohe Tauern, and 
 among them the outlying ice-fields of the vast glacier region 
 known as the Gross Glockner. 
 
 Going towards Salzburg, the railway here turns southward 
 to Zell-am-See, beyond which, after skirting the lake, it takes 
 an eastward course down the valley of the Salzach. Among 
 the numerous summer resorts of the Austrian Tyrol, Zell 
 stands high in popular esteem. Though not so fashionable as 
 Gmiinden, and not favored by royalty like Ischl or Gastein, it 
 abounds in substantial comforts and attractions for the visitor. 
 Its situation is upon the margin of a lovely lake, about three 
 and one-half miles long, whose cerulean waters are five degrees 
 warmer than the atmosphere, owing to the warm springs 
 which rise within its basin. From a boat in the middle of the 
 lake the grandeur of its surrounding scenery may be enjoyed 
 at one panoramic view. Another view, still wider and sub- 
 limer, taking in the whole of the Tauern range, and including 
 both the Gross Glockner and the Gross Venediger glacier 
 regions, may be had by climbing a height near Zell known as 
 
148 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 the Schmittener Hohe. The panorama of mountain magni- 
 ficence surveyed from this point is one of the finest in the 
 Austrian Alps. 
 
 Hiring an Einspanner, I set out from Zell-am-See for 
 Ivrimml, at the head of the Salzach Valley. Opposite Zell, 
 that valley lies broad and marshy, bounded on its south side 
 by the snow-crowned giants of the Tauern range. Amidst 
 these giants, almost vis-a-vis to Zell, opens the wild and 
 beautiful valley known as the Kaprunerthal, about eighteen 
 miles in length, extending back to the very heart of the great 
 Glockner glacier, of which it is the principal outlet. As we 
 proceeded up the left bank of the Salzach we obtained some 
 fine views of the scenery of this valley, from the village and 
 ruined castle of Kaprun, at its entrance, to the glittering ice- 
 fields of the Hohe Tenn, partially disclosing themselves in the 
 morning mists ten thousand feet above the plain. 
 
 The region of the Salzach, from the source of that stream 
 down to St. Johann, where its course changes from east to 
 north, is known as the Pinzgau, of which there are two local 
 sections, the upper and lower. The Pinzgauers are not so 
 highly esteemed for intelligence, 'cleanliness, and thrift as the 
 Ramsauers, or the Zillerthalers, — a fact comporting with their 
 dialect, which is one of the worst corruptions of the German 
 heard in Tyrol. The chief industries of the valley are wool- 
 growing, the manufacture of coarse cloth, and small farming. 
 While gypsies and other vagabonds are frequently met upon 
 the highways, a large part, apparently most, of the farm-work 
 is done by women, who are seen in the fields mowing, pitching 
 hay, ploughing, and performing other ordinary muscular labor. 
 But this out-door service of women is not peculiar to the Pinz- 
 gau ; it is seen everywhere in Tyrol. As might be expected 
 where such customs prevail, the women are brawny-limbed 
 and stalwart, like the men, and the lovely roses of the Alps, of 
 whose fascinations we read in fiction, have few living prototypes. 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 149 
 
 Throughout the eutire Pinzgau the valley of the Salzach is 
 bounded by fir-clad mountains, the lower slopes of which are 
 cultivated by the peasantry where cultivation is possible. The 
 bottom lands are extensive, but are in large part marshy or 
 stony, and inferior to the upland. The current of the Salzach, 
 composed of gray glacier water, descends rapidly in its rocky 
 bed, replenished all along its course by torrents falling from 
 the mountains. Everywhere is heard the swash and gurgle of 
 descending waters. 
 
 About two hours' travel by Einspanner — all distances are 
 measured by hours in this country — brings us to Uttendorf, 
 near which an avalanche of mud slid into the valley in 1868, 
 doing great damage. Opposite lies the Stubachthal, opening 
 to the south, through which is disclosed a splendid view of the 
 great Glockner ice-fields. An hour later we reach Muttersill, 
 which is the principal village of the valley, and the seat of a 
 district court established in an old castle upon an eminence 
 five hundred feet above the river. In the neighborhood of 
 Muttersill are some extensive swamps, and also a group of 
 stony islands formed by the Salzach. The next notable point 
 is Bramberg, near which rises to the height of nearly ten 
 thousand feet the snow-crowned Kratzenberg, commanding an 
 extensive view of the valley, up and down. A little farther 
 is Neukirchen, opposite which yawns the deep, wild gorge of 
 the Untersulzbachthal, out of whose dark fir forests a roaring 
 cascade precipitates itself into the Salzach. Through the two 
 Sulzbach ravines, — Unter and Ober, successively, — and that 
 of the Habach, which just precedes them, some very fine views 
 are disclosed of the immense ice-fields of the Gross Venediger, 
 lying at a height of over twelve thousand feet. 
 
 The road up the valley now shrinks to a mere bridle-path, 
 crossed here and there by herdsmen's gates, which we are 
 obliged to open ; the mountains close more and more darkly 
 together, the horizon narrows, human habitations are seldom 
 
 13* 
 
150 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 to be seen, and the echoing torrents roar wildly in their first 
 unchecked tumult, as they pour down from unseen glaciers far 
 above. As we round an abutting precipice, near which, at a 
 crossing of the paths, a solitary weather-beaten crucifix lends 
 its touch of sublime sorrow to the savage grandeur of the 
 scene, the slender, green church-spire of Krimml comes into 
 view, and far up the mountain behind it the upper cascade of 
 the Krimmlerbach discloses itself, white as silver amidst its 
 sable entourage of fir-trees. I say the upper cascade, for below 
 the one in view are two more which cannot yet be perceived. 
 
 Sitting in my room in the rustic Bachmaier inn, two hours 
 later, I could see through my open window the same sheet of 
 water, softly resplendent in the moonlight, and could hear its 
 thunders echoing grandly among the silent mountains. It is 
 truly a magnificent fall, — this of the Krimmlerbach, — one of 
 the loftiest and most beautiful in the world. No more inter- 
 esting study can be found in the Alps of the wild tumult of 
 plunging waters. The torrent forming the fall has its source 
 in the Krimmler Tauern glacier, which lies on the confines of 
 the Gross Venediger, far back in the mountains, and is not 
 visible from this valley. At all seasons a huge volume of 
 water, it issues from a rocky gully known as the Krimmlerthal, 
 and vaults into the valley of the Salzach over precipices of an 
 agro-rebate height of one thousand feet. 
 
 From Krimml a path meandering through the forests of the 
 valley leads to the first cataract, from whence pedestrians may 
 ascend to the top of the upper fall by a route made practicable 
 for good climbers by the Alpine Club. After ascending about 
 fifty feet by this route we obtain a complete view of the first 
 fall, though not without a liberal douche from its great vol- 
 umes of spray, through which the sunlight falls in brilliant 
 prismatic colors upon the dark masses of fir-trees below. The 
 descending sheet of water is by no means unbroken ; it does 
 not fall smoothly and " without speed" like Niagara, but fumes 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 151 
 
 and rushes as if possessed with the very demon of haste, and, 
 striking upon projecting rocks, breaks into milk-white masses, 
 veiling the lower torrent in mist. For some hundreds of yards 
 above the lower fall the stream takes the form of a rapid, 
 pouring through a narrow chasm. At the second cascade, 
 which comes immediately above this rapid, the water glides 
 about one hundred and fifty feet down a smooth and very steep 
 inclined plane of rock. Another rapid of several hundred 
 yards in length separates the intermediate cascade from the 
 tipper one, which is a continuous fall of six hundred feet. In 
 making this magnificent leap the water descends more smoothly 
 than at the lower fall, but where it strikes its basin the draught 
 and spray are such as permit no near approach. 
 
 The three cataracts cannot be seen simultaneously except 
 from the mountains opposite. In the early morning hours I 
 clambered to the top of the upper fall, and loitered for some time 
 under the cool shadows of the precipices beside its splendid 
 torrent. The atmosphere was fresh, pellucid, and aromatic ; 
 the light was favorable to clear and far perspective ; the for- 
 ests were vocal with the song of birds ; the fleecy, throbbing 
 volumes of spray shone in the sunlight with the brightness of 
 silver ; and, in harmony with the scenic grandeur, the thun- 
 derous voice of the cataract resounded like a deep-voiced 
 morning orison. 
 
 Quitting reluctantly, and with many pauses, a scene so in- 
 spiring, I descended to Krimml, and, employing a guide, set 
 out for Zell-am-Ziller. Mounting the steep pastures of the 
 Plattenkogl, which slope down close to the village, we soon 
 reached an altitude from which all the cataracts of the Krimm- 
 lerbach could be seen, and the eye ranged down the Salzach 
 Valley as far as Taxenbach. The view was magnificent, and 
 grew steadily more so as we ascended. An hour's work 
 brought us to a solitary hut occupied by a couple of Senners, 
 barefoot, ragged, and unspeakably dirty. They tried to be 
 
152 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 hospitable, and offered us milk, but their filthy appearance 
 made it impossible for me to partake. To conceal my scruples, 
 I inquired as to the contents of a large kettle smoking in the 
 fireplace, when one of the men, by way of explanation, raised 
 a lever and, removing some coarse cloths, disclosed a large 
 cheese, whose whiteness and apparent purity were in striking 
 contrast with its grimy surroundings. " Das id Schweitzer- 
 kcise" remarked the Senner in the broad brogue of Tyrol. He 
 was evidently proud of his exhibit, and added : " Vielleicht 
 haben Sie solchen im Bachmaier gegessen f I replied evasively. 
 The thought that the cheese I had eaten at the Bachmaier 
 and in various other country inns might have been the 
 product of such unclean hands was not a pleasant one. What 
 a contrast, I reflected, between this rude hut, with its un- 
 washen inmates, and a Western Reserve dairy, with its shin- 
 ing milk-pans, its pure spring water, and its trim, bright-eyed 
 milkmaids ! 
 
 We passed on, and in half an hour came to another hut, — 
 the frontier one on this wild mountain. The sole occupant 
 was a cow-herd, — a fearfully dirty fellow, who squatted motion- 
 less in his den, and seemed ashamed to show himself to a 
 stranger. We observed him dimly through the door of his 
 domicile, my guide, who was evidently an old acquaintance, 
 chatting with him familiarly. Milk was again offered me, but 
 declined with thanks. 
 
 Our course was now solitary and pathless. Very few way- 
 farers go over . the Plattenkogl by this route, as may be in- 
 ferred from Baedeker's references to such landmarks as " a 
 dilapidated wooden pyramid," a crucifix, " two conspicuous 
 firs," and " a withered pine stump." I spent much time try- 
 ing to identify these objects, but without success except as to 
 the pyramid, which was crowned with a wooden image of some 
 saintly person, rudely carved. Without a guide I would have 
 had serious difficulty in finding my way. 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 153 
 
 From the summit, the valley of the Salzach, as seen in the 
 foreground, with its velvety pastures, its variegated forests, the 
 tiny village of Krimml, with its red spire, and the silvery 
 cascades of the Krimmlerbach, forms a picture which it is 
 worth travelling a long distance to see. Facing southward, 
 and sweeping around the horizon from left to right, we behold, 
 first, the long glacier-chain of the Krimmler Tauern, then, in 
 the foreground, the white cone of the Reichenspitze, then the 
 glaciers of the Wilde Gerlos, and finally, looking northward, 
 the green mountains of the Zillerthal. 
 
 Upon quitting the summit we descended towards the Gerlos- 
 thal, a long, narrow, serpentine valley affording an outlet to 
 the Wilde Gerlos glacier. The sloping meadows adown which 
 our course lay seemed to be considerably higher than the 
 glacier and its nev6 } both now in full view on the opposite side 
 of the valley. At the timber-line, which we reached after an 
 hour's sidelong descent, we struck an embryo trail, relying 
 upon which, and upon my maps, I dismissed the guide, and 
 pursued my way unattended down the solitudes of the chasm. 
 In my note-book I find the following scrawl : 
 
 " 2 p.m. — Opposite the Wilde Gerlos glacier. There is not 
 a human being or habitation in sight. All is savage and soli- 
 tary, and not a sound can be heard save the swash and roar of 
 the glacier torrent." 
 
 The beauty and majesty of the mountains were a continual 
 feast to the eye and soul, but their silence and loneliness were 
 oppressive. Nor do we find much in any part of this valley to 
 soften its primitive wildness. From the Gerlos glacier down to 
 Zell-am-Ziller is a walk of four hours amidst changeful scenes 
 of Alpine grandeur as superbly wild as the most romantic 
 nature could desire. The exudation of sulphur, or some kin- 
 dred substance, from the rocks, has caused them to be streaked 
 here and there with curious yellow bands, as if marked with 
 some gnomic symbolism. As the valley descends, the path 
 
154 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 creeps up the steepening sides of the mountains, and the pro- 
 found echoes of the brawling Gerlosbach are faintly heard 
 amidst its dusky ambush of fir-trees at least two thousand feet 
 below. Salvator Rosa would have delighted to paint land- 
 scapes so abounding in fantastic savagery of crag and chasm, 
 of giddy precipice, of sky-clambering forest, and of deep-voiced 
 portentous torrent. 
 
 The shades of evening were gathering when I looked down 
 from a height at the lower end of this valley into that of the 
 Ziller. An hour's descent from this eminence, by a villanous 
 path, brought me to the hospitable Welschwirth, in Zell, whose 
 plain but substantial comforts, enhanced by the gentle assiduities 
 of a pretty young Wirthin, were most agreeable consolation 
 for the day's fatigues. 
 
 Of the journey down the Zillerthal not much is to be said. 
 The valley is fertile, and presents some striking views, but 
 with the scenery of the Gerlosthal fresh in my mind, that of 
 the Ziller seemed rather tame. The people are more intelli- 
 gent and vivacious than the Pinzgauers, and speak rather 
 better German. They are intensely Roman Catholic, the em- 
 blems of their faith being conspicuous in every public place, 
 as well as in the privacy of their homes. The day being de- 
 voted to some religious fUe, crowds of people in holiday attire 
 were passed on their way to church, although the day before — 
 Sunday — peasants of both sexes had been diligently harvesting 
 in their meadows about Zell. 
 
 The view up and down the valley of the Inn, as we emerge 
 from the Zillerthal, is extensive and inspiring. The Brenner 
 railway here follows the course of the Inn, its station nearest 
 the mouth of the Ziller being Jenbach, a pretty village two 
 hours by rail from Innsbruck. The iron and copper mines of 
 the valley have caused extensive smelting-works and forges to 
 be established at Jenbach. A silver mine was formerly 
 worked at Schwaz, the next important station south, but, like 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 155 
 
 the gold mine of the Gerlosthal, has been exhausted. Hall, 
 the next considerable town as we go up the valley, derives 
 prosperity from its salt-works, to which the brine is conveyed 
 from extensive mines in the mountains, nine miles distant. 
 Hall has historical fame as having been the scene of some of 
 the must brilliant exploits of Andreas Hofer, the Tyrolese 
 patriot and martyr. 
 
 Innsbruck, the capital and chief city of Tyrol, lies in one 
 of the widest and best portions of the valley, girdled by 
 majestic mountain peaks rising to a height of ten thousand 
 feet. This morning (September 10) the summits and upper 
 sections of these mountains were dressed in a covering of 
 freshly-fallen snow, making them appear as masses of brilliant 
 white clouds against the sky. Upon sallying out, and seeing, 
 as I turned a corner of the street, the vast silvery forms hang- 
 ing over the city, I was, at first, completely deceived ; the 
 cloud illusion was perfect. 
 
 Travellers over the Brenner, from Munich to Milan, or 
 vice versa, do well to break journey at Innsbruck, although 
 the place is not to be recommended for a prolonged sojourn. 
 It is exposed to violent winds, locally termed siroccos, which 
 sweep down the gulches of the mountains and fill the streets 
 with flying dust. According to the official barometrical 
 tables, these winds prevail seventy-one days, upon the average, 
 in the course of the year. The yearly average of rainy days 
 is one hundred and twenty, of quite cloudy days sixty-seven, 
 and of quite clear days only thirty-six. 
 
 The curious old Franciscan church known as the Hof kirche, 
 of Innsbruck, built in 1553-63, is an historical as well as re- 
 ligious memorial of surpassing interest. Within its walls 
 Queen Christina of Sweden, daughter of Gustavus Adolphus, 
 renounced Protestantism and embraced the Roman Catholic 
 faith while on her way to visit the Pope at Rome after her 
 abdication. The centre and greater part of the nave of the 
 
156 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 church is taken up by the splendid monument to the Emperor 
 Maximilian, executed by the emperor's own direction, in pur- 
 suance of whose will the church itself was built. A kneeling 
 figure of the emperor, in bronze, is supported by the massive 
 marble sarcophagus, upon the four sides of which are carved 
 twenty-four exquisite bass-reliefs, mostly by Colin, representing 
 the principal events in Maximilian's life. These reliefs were 
 declared by Thorwaldsen to be the most perfect of their kind. 
 Around the sarcophagus, at an appropriate distance, stand 
 twenty-eight colossal bronze figures in ruediseval armor and 
 costume, representing members of the emperor's family, his 
 contemporaries, and other historical characters, among whom 
 are seen, enveloped in prodigious coats of mail, King Clovis of 
 France; Philip I. of Spain; Theodoric, King of the Ostro- 
 goths ; Godfrey de Bouillon, and, finest of all, King Arthur 
 of England.* One of these mailed giants, intended to rep- 
 resent Theodobert, Duke of Burgundy, has its face entirely 
 concealed by a perforated pointed morion, giving it a most 
 grotesque appearance. Among the statues of females are those 
 of Joanna, Queen of Spain ; Bianca, Maximilian's wife ; 
 Margaret, their daughter ; and Cunigunde, the emperor's 
 sister. A quaint and curious group is this of kings, queens, 
 and heroes, and though not of the highest artistic merit, yet, 
 in its severe and majestic symbolism, profoundly impressive. 
 The work is a memorial only, the remains of the emperor 
 being interred at Wiener-Neustadt, on the Semmering Rail- 
 way. 
 
 On the left side of the church a relief in Tyrolese mar- 
 ble designates the tomb of Andreas Hofer, the peasant hero of 
 Tyrol, under whose brave and skilful leadership his country- 
 
 * u The noblest," says Dr. Wilhelra Liibke, "are the statues of Arthur 
 and Theodoric, executed in 1513. Their superb bearing, delicate propor- 
 tions, and perfect execution (the last applying especially to the Arthur) 
 prove them the work of Peter Vischer's hand." 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 157 
 
 men so energetically, and for a time successfully, resisted the 
 invasion of the French, Bavarians, and their allies in 1808-10. 
 So able were Hofer's efforts, and in such esteem was he held 
 by his people, that they finally recognized him as their civil 
 and military governor, with his residence at the Schloss Tyrol, 
 near Meran, where for a brief period he administered pub- 
 lic affairs wjth great simplicity and tact. After the peace 
 of Vienna he was betrayed into the hands of Napoleon, by 
 whose order he was shot at Mantua. The remains of Has- 
 pinger, a Capuchin monk, and of Speckbacher, a chamois- 
 hunter, two faithful coadjutors of Hofer, lie beside his in this 
 church. 
 
 Meran, September 12. — At Innsbriick the Brenner Railway 
 quits the valley of the Inn and ascends the mountains. Its 
 ascent is continuous for'twenty-one miles, and culminates at a 
 point four thousand four hundred and eighty-five feet above 
 sea-level. The Brenner is the lowest of the celebrated Alpine 
 passes, yet disappoints not the lover of mountain grandeur. 
 Affording the most direct line of communication between 
 Germany and Italy, it was known and used as a travelled high- 
 way in the time of the Romans. The railway was constructed 
 with less expense than that over the Semmering, chiefly because 
 of the greater ingenuity employed by its builders in over- 
 coming difficulties. There are twenty-three tunnels on the 
 pass, two of which describe a curve. The scenery, as the train 
 ascends the northern slope, grows wilder and grander as each 
 successive point is rounded, developing splendid views of 
 precipice, abyss, glacier and cascade, lofty peak and far-reach- 
 ing valley. 
 
 The most interesting part of the line is that on the southern 
 slope of the mountain descending from the little station of 
 Brenner, at the summit of the pass, to Gossensass at the bot- 
 tom. The ingenuity with which the railway has been carried 
 up the mountain on that side is not less striking than the 
 
 14 
 
158 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 majestic scenery amidst which it meanders. After moving up 
 the valley several miles from Gossensass, the train enters a 
 curved tunnel eight hundred yards long, from which it emerges 
 at a far higher altitude, on the same side of the valley, in 
 the reverse direction from that in which it entered. Shortly 
 afterwards the station Gossensass, quitted forty minutes before, 
 reappears nearly six hundred feet below, and a magnificent 
 display of Alpine grandeur bursts upon the vision. 
 
 From Gossensass to Botzen, — going southward, — the line, 
 descending rapidly, follows the course of the Adige, in whose 
 narrow, sunlit valley the vegetation soon assumes a more 
 southern character. Indian corn is extensively cultivated in 
 this region, and the grape flourishes luxuriantly. The ex- 
 tent of arable land is not great until Botzen is reached, when 
 the valley expands into a wide, fertile •basin, encircled by por- 
 phyry and dolomite mountains. In mediaeval times Botzeu 
 was the principal commercial depot between Venice and the 
 north • it is said to be still the most prosperous commercial 
 town in Tyrol. Its climate is gentle, its summer skies dreamy 
 and delightful, its neighborhood fertile, abounding in fruits 
 and flowers, its population mixed, with a marked proclivity to 
 the south. 
 
 At Botzen I quitted the railway and set out by diligence 
 for Meran, four hours distant. The road ascends the valley 
 of the western branch of the Adige amidst vineyards, groves 
 of chestnut- and mulberry-trees, fields of Indian corn, and ex- 
 tensive pastures. The mountain scenery is not so bold and 
 rugged as that of the Salzach, but the valley is highly pro- 
 ductive, and abounds in fascinations for the eye. The retro- 
 spect towards Botzen, with the conspicuous white peaks of the 
 Rosengarten rising in the distance, is especially fine. A salient 
 crag, or promontory, here and there along the course of the 
 valley is crowned with a ruined castle, giving a touch of 
 romance to the picture. Wine-growing being the leading 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. ] 59 
 
 industry of the district, the lower slopes of the mountains 
 are covered with vineyards, among and far above which the 
 chalets of vine-dressers and herdsmen look down upon the 
 more pretentious cottages of the peasant farmers in the valley. 
 In the meadows, harvesters — mostly women — are at work 
 gathering the third cutting of the season. 
 
 When our diligence, carrying the regular mail as well as 
 passengers, approached Meran, the shades of evening were 
 gathering upon the mountains. The driver of the diligence 
 carried a postman's bugle slung upon his shoulder, and as we 
 nearecl the town he blew it vigorously. His was no random 
 blowing either, but a kind of musical pot-pourri, — presumably 
 selections from leading composers. Spurring his team — 
 three horses abreast— into a vigorous trot, he skilfully manip- 
 ulated the reins with one hand and his bugle with the other. 
 Passing vehicles, of which there were many, caused him no 
 trouble ; they deferentially gave him the road. Entering the 
 old town at a reckless gait, we enjoyed a kind of ovation, as, 
 with accompaniment of echoing bugle-notes and clattering 
 hoofs and wheels, we deftly rounded one street corner after 
 another, and finally drew up in front of the post-office amidst 
 a throng of admiring loiterers and expectant hotel servants. 
 
 Meran is the ancient capital of Tyrol. On a spur of the 
 neighboring mountains stands the Schloss Tyrol, once the 
 residence of the reigning princes, but now a scarcely habitable 
 ruin. The views from the windows of its dilapidated chapel 
 overlook the falls of the Adige, and extend for a distance of 
 twenty miles up and down the luxuriant valley of Meran, 
 bounded on the one side by a chain of porphyry mountains, in 
 billowy forms, and on the other by precipitous dolomite cliffs. 
 The name Tyrol is derived by the countries bearing it from 
 this historic castle. 
 
 From the heights surrounding it no less than twenty other 
 castles of the olden time look down upon Meran. One of 
 
160 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 these, known as the Zenoburg, stands on the summit of a per- 
 pendicular* crag, along the base of which brawls the tumultu- 
 ous Passer. Nothing remains of the ruin but the chapel and 
 a huge four-cornered tower, said to have been built by Drusus, 
 in the year 16 B.C., as a means of protection to the Roman 
 colony in the valley. Another curious old ruin is that known 
 as the Schloss Planta, the shattered and decaying towers of 
 which are completely overgrown with ivy from base to sum- 
 mit. Some of the other castles, as, for instance, the Schloss 
 Rametz, give names to the excellent and widely-known wines 
 of the neighborhood. The dry, equable climate of this valley, 
 and its sheltered position, are very friendly to the vine, which 
 flourishes in great luxuriance on the sunny slopes of the beau- 
 tiful mountains round about Meran. The same conditions 
 have made this a favorite resort for pleasure-seekers and 
 invalids. The prosperity which Meran lost when it ceased to 
 be the capital of Tyrol has been fully regained since it became 
 popular as a Kurort. The combined attractions of its "grape- 
 cure," its cheerful atmosphere, and its splendid scenery now 
 bring hither from nine to twelve thousand visitors annually. 
 The town is a queer old place, with some fine parks and 
 promenades, and one long, narrow street, with low arcades, 
 which protect pedestrians from sun and rain. 
 
 The robust peasants of this and the Passeyer valleys wear a 
 very striking costume, comprising a short, brown jerkin, with 
 scarlet trimmings, worn over a green vest ; a handsomely-em- 
 broidered belt, and a broad-brimmed pointed hat. The color 
 of the hat-band, if the wearer is unmarried, is red, and if 
 married, green. The men wear the usual short trousers, leav- 
 ing the knees bare. 
 
 St. Moritz, Engadine, September 14. — At Meran I 
 hired an Einspanner, and set out for the Stelvio. Within a mile 
 or two after quitting the town, the Austrian military road 
 passes an old castle, then ascends by a winding course to a 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. \Q\ 
 
 commanding elevation, which affords a very fine retrospect of 
 Meran, with its lowland and mountain environments. The 
 Adige, forming near this point of observation a series of cas- 
 cades descending among huge masses of detached rock, reap- 
 pears in the distant valley below, meandering amidst luxuriant 
 fields and groves of walnut and chestnut. The skies, on that 
 fine September morning, had a delicate Italian tint, the at- 
 mosphere was clear and refreshing, and the vineyards were 
 empurpled with heavy, ripening clusters. 
 
 Continuing westward, the road ascends steadily, — making 
 progress, in fact, up the general slope of the Rhsetian Alpine 
 range, the loftiest in Austria. The valley, of variable width, 
 and locally known as the Vintschgau, lies between chains of 
 mountains of great height, whose summits, at this season, are 
 covered with snow. Hundreds of brooks and rills, the waters 
 of which are cold as ice and bright as sunshine, rush down 
 from the heights, feeding the ear continually with their babble. 
 Occasionally the road crosses the dry and rocky bed of a 
 mountain torrent which, though temporarily extinct, has 
 marked its course with impressive evidences of its force and 
 fury. The Austrian government, which built this highway 
 for military purposes, and maintains it as a post-road, keeps it 
 in excellent condition. It is broad, smooth, well-macadam- 
 ized, and of easy grade. Trees planted on either side serve 
 an excellent purpose, both for ornament and for shade. 
 
 There are numerous villages in this valley, but they do not 
 look attractive. The houses are huddled together with desper- 
 ate economy of space, leaving barely street-room enough for 
 vehicles to pass by. The stable garbage, carefully saved for 
 fertilizing purposes, is usually banked up against the dwell- 
 ings, or near them, to await decomposition. Cows, swine, and 
 poultry apparently enjoy about the same social privileges as 
 other inhabitants of the village. If pestilence never prevails 
 in such communities, the light, invigorating atmosphere and 
 I 14* 
 
162 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 the pure water, gushing from the mountains, must be its 
 preventives. 
 
 Between Meran and Eyrs we find ourselves in the current of 
 English summer travel. The route from St. Moritz over the 
 Bernina and Stelvio to Botzen, and thence to Innsbruck, or 
 from the Stelvio to Nauders and thence back, up the Inn Val- 
 ley, to St. Moritz, is a favorite one with the English. The 
 entire circuit can be made in four or five days, taking in much 
 of the finest scenery in Tyrol. The season being now pro- 
 pitious, — the best of the year for this kind of travel, — a great 
 many English birds of passage are on the wing, looking very 
 aristocratic in their two- and four-horse vehicles, — they disdain 
 the comfortable little Einspdnner, — piled with prodigious heaps 
 of luggage. 
 
 Another class of wanderers we meet are of the opposite ex- 
 treme. They are gypsies and other vagrants, whose effects are 
 carried in dog-carts drawn mostly by women. Vagrants are 
 vagrants the world over, but it is a very shocking novelty to 
 an American to see the sex he is accustomed to revere harnessed 
 to a heavily-laden vehicle, and tugging like a mule in the 
 traces. In a country where the image of woman deified in the 
 person of the Virgin invites adoring homage at every turn of 
 the road, there is special incongruity in the spectacle of woman 
 actual and mortal, bare-legged, bare-armed, scantily clothed, 
 with a strap around her shoulders and another about her waist, 
 hitched sometimes beside a man and sometimes beside a dog, 
 pulling and sweating along the dusty highway. We Americans 
 do not worship woman's effigy quite so much as they do here, 
 but we honor and respect woman herself a great deal more. 
 
 From Meran to Eyrs the distance by Einspdnner is about 
 eight hours. Visible from Eyrs, but about one hour farther 
 on, lies the village of Brad, at the foot of the Stelvio Pass. 
 On a steep mountain slope beyond and far above Brad, a row 
 of cottages perched on the steep mountain slope like swallows 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 163 
 
 on the roof of a barn, is known as Stilfs, or Stelvio, the village 
 from which the famous pass takes its name. At Eyrs the road 
 turns squarely to the left, and after crossing the Adige and a 
 series of wide marshes, enters at Brad the narrow gorge of the 
 Trafoibach, which here forms several fine cascades as it pre- 
 cipitates itself into the valley. Rising from Brad, the road 
 mounts by bold, graceful windings the left side of the gorge, 
 disclosing at every turn the enormous difficulties which its 
 construction encountered and overcame. The Stelvio wagon- 
 route, reputed to be the loftiest in Europe, doubtless deserves 
 its reputation as the most wonderful in the world. The mag- 
 nificent scenery which it displays and the skilfulness of its 
 construction alike command our admiration every foot of the 
 way from Brad on the one side to Bormio on the other. The 
 road, built by the Austrian government, chiefly for military 
 reasons, in 1820-25, is wide, smooth, substantial, and, even in 
 its most difficult parts, of easy grade. The bewildering zig- 
 zags and graceful curves by which it mounts from the depths 
 of tremendous abysses, and rounds the giddy verge of mighty 
 precipices, strike the beholder with admiring wonder. From 
 one point I could count no less than twenty-four vast, stair-like 
 flexures in the road, above and below me. 
 
 The height of the Stelvio may be appreciated by comparing 
 it with the altitude of some of the other principal Alpine 
 passes. The highest point on the St. Gothard, practicable for 
 wheels, is 6936 feet above sea-level ; on the Simplon, 6595 
 feet ; on the Spliigen, 6946 ; on the Bernina, 7658 ; on the 
 Furca, 7992 ; on the Stelvio, 9045. The snow never entirely 
 melts away on the summit of this pass, and at the present time 
 (September 20) it lies six to eight feet deep by the roadside. 
 At the top are the vast glaciers and snow-fields of the Ortler 
 group, at the bottom the luxuriant vineyards and mulberry 
 groves of the Val Tellina. At many places, particularly on 
 the southern slope, it has been necessary to protect the road by 
 
1(34 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 covered galleries from avalanches, some of which, started 
 thousands of feet above it, now lie in huge heaps of dirty, 
 melting snow a thousand feet or more below. At other places 
 rocky barriers otherwise impassable are tunnelled, and appal- 
 ling chasms are spanned by lofty and graceful arches of masonry. 
 Miles on miles of heavy stone revetments have been built to 
 protect the road from descending debris, or to prevent the 
 road-bed itself from sliding down the mountain. Yet constant 
 labor and watchfulness are necessary to prevent obstructions. 
 The upper part of the mountain, on the north side, consists of 
 slaty rockiof loose texture, from which particles are constantly 
 falling whenever their frosty anchorage is relaxed by the heat 
 of the sun. 
 
 After about an hour's ascent from Brad, we pass, on the 
 opposite side of an abysm, the mouth of the Suldenthal, a nar- 
 row and profound cleft in the range, from which the Sulden- 
 bach, the efflux of the Sulden glacier, dashes forth. This valley, 
 very wild and seldom visited, extends back into the heart of 
 the Ortler district, containing the highest mountains in Aus- 
 tria, and rivalling the grandest scenery of the Swiss Alps. 
 Half an hour beyond the Suldenthal we reach Trafoi, a moun- 
 tain hamlet, from whence upward the scenery is of the 
 subliinest description. Taking a backward look some hun- 
 dreds of yards above Trafoi, I beheld, far — yet seemingly not 
 far — across the Adige Valley, the vast snowy pyramid of the 
 Weisskugel, one of the highest of the Oetzthal Alps, rising 
 amidst the most extensive glacier-field in Tyrol. A few 
 paces farther on, as I resumed the ascent, Monte Livrio, over 
 ten thousand feet high, disclosed itself, more dazzling white 
 than the milk-white clouds which lingered about its shapely 
 cone. Directly an additional turn of the road brought into 
 view a whole panorama of splendid mountains, from the great 
 Ortler plateau on the left to Monte Cristallo on the right, all 
 enveloped in eternal snow. In the foreground rose to the 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 165 
 
 height of over eleven thousand feet the black wall of the 
 Madatsch, a huge mass of bare and almost perpendicular rock 
 which protrudes from the Ortler ice-field, bearing an immense 
 glacier upon either flank. Looking down upon these glaciers 
 from the windings of the road, we hear far in the gorge below 
 the deep, fiercely-solemn roar of the waters which come out 
 of them. 
 
 The sun was just setting from a cloudless sky as this mag- 
 nificent scene burst upon my vision. For some minutes the 
 silvery peaks in the foreground were flushed with delicate 
 rose-color, which disappearing with the sun's rays, they 
 changed to lily whiteness. Far to the northward the bare 
 gray summits of the Oetzthal Mountains were immersed in 
 delicately-tinted floods of fading light, which changed all their 
 savagery to gentleness and likened them to the hills of Para- 
 dise. So serene were they, and so lovely, that the imagina- 
 tion instinctively invested them with the attributes of a 
 heavenly revelation, — a realm of purity peopled with happy 
 spirits. 
 
 Night was closing in when I reached Franzenshohe, a soli- 
 tary post-station about an hour and a half from the summit. 
 The beautifully-rounded peak of the Ortler, the highest moun- 
 tain of the Eastern Alps, here first came into view, displaying 
 its spotless white form, smooth as polished alabaster, con- 
 spicuous even in the starlight. The atmosphere was nipping 
 cold ; frost sparkled on the ground, and snow lay upon the 
 roof of the inn, a few yards from which a large bank of last 
 year's snow-fall yet remained unmelted. 
 
 Early next morning I set forward again, mounting some- 
 times by short-cut paths, and sometimes by the marvellous 
 zigzags by which the road makes its way up the precipitous 
 side of the range. A two hours' walk of this kind brought 
 me to the summit, where, on the very crest, lies the boundary 
 between Austria and Italy. Here all was solitary, savage, and 
 
166 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 sublime. A few stray chamois skipping over the ice-fields to 
 the southward were the only signs of animal life to be seen. 
 Heaps of last year's snow, packed until almost as hard as ice, 
 lay near the road. A cold, searching wind swept over the 
 pass, making vigorous exercise necessary for comfort. Partly 
 as a means of relief from the cold, and partly to obtain a 
 wider view than that from the road, I climbed some hundreds 
 of feet to the summit of a rocky height, from whence a 
 stupendous panorama of the Swiss, Austrian, and Italian Alps 
 was disclosed. The vast, tumultuous expanse of cloud-swept 
 snow-fields, wrinkled glaciers, rocky sierras, snow-enshrouded, 
 peaks and dark abysses, all wrapped in the silence of primeval 
 solitude, was unspeakably grand. 
 
 The descent from this wintry scene to Bormio, a sheltered, 
 sunny watering-place on the Italian side, abounds no less in 
 sublime scenes and surprises than the ascent on the Austrian. 
 From Bormio, reached at mid-day, I continued the descent by 
 the Val Tellina, arriving by nightfall at Tirano, from 
 whence — after dark — I pushed on by Einspanner to Poschiavo, 
 a delightful Swiss village at the foot of the Bernina. Taking 
 a guide, I began, early next morning, the ascent of the pass by 
 a foot-path from which the whole scope of the valley could be 
 seen, embracing the pretty village and lake of Le Prese, a 
 favorite summer resort of the Milanese. Beyond Tirano the 
 view was bounded by an imposing range of Italian snow- 
 mountains. An ascent of two hours brought us to an ex- 
 cellent point for observing the magnificent Palii glacier, lying 
 fully exposed on the opposite side of the deep, narrow valley 
 into which it descends. This glacier, discharged from the 
 enormous ice-fields above and beyond it, falls by successive 
 gradations resembling gigantic stairs, its dark, beautifully- 
 curved moraine lying upon its crest, and outlining its course, 
 like the knotted spine of an immense crocodile. While we 
 were observing its ice-fall, heavy thunderous sounds issued 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 167 
 
 from it, as though great masses of ice were tumbling and 
 crashing somewhere within its cavernous interior, though no 
 external movement could be seen. 
 
 An ascent of two hours from this point brought me to the 
 hospice at the summit of the pass, where some parties of Eng- 
 lish tourists were nooning. The hospice stands opposite the 
 Cambrena glacier, and is used as a summer hotel, said to be the 
 highest — not in prices but in altitude — in the Alps. A young 
 lady who sat next to me at the table d'hote impatiently re- 
 marked, while waiting for her dinner, that if the people of 
 the house didn't serve their guests more promptly, they would 
 have an opposition hotel in their neighborhood pretty soon ! 
 
 Between the hospice and the glacier lie two beautiful little 
 lakes, one of them of a delicate light-green color, and the other 
 a very dark blue. The difference in color is accounted for by 
 the fact that the light-colored lake is formed from glacier water 
 and the dark one from springs. Both are solidly frozen over 
 from the first of November till the middle of June. The 
 narrow strip of rocky ground which separates these lakes 
 forms the water-shed between the Black Sea and the Adriatic. 
 
 Jaded from exposure to the heat of the sun on the southern 
 slope of the mountain, I took an Einspcinner at the hospice for 
 St. Moritz. The road, descending into the valley of the Inn, 
 was a most admirable one; the atmosphere was cloudless and 
 crystalline, the scenery superb. " How bright and how blue 
 is the sky !" I said to my Kutscher as we spun along at a rat- 
 tling trot down the beautiful grade. " Yes, and how near !" 
 he replied, in his Romansch accent. Verily, the heavens seem 
 to be not far away in this lofty, taintless altitude of the Enga- 
 dine. The frost-time, too, is never remote. " Nine months 
 winter and three months cold" is the phrase with which the 
 people characterize their climate. 
 
 As we approached the pretty village of Pontresina, at the 
 foot of the pass, the Morteratsch glacier, with its huge moraine 
 
163 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 and its roaring torrent pouring from a spacious archway of 
 ice, magnificently disclosed itself, lying in its vast mountain 
 saddle, environed by snow-covered peaks, glittering in the 
 evening sun. An hour later we reached St. Moritz. 
 
 The region known as the Engadine, or upper valley of the 
 Inn, lies from five to six thousand feet above sea-level. The 
 valley, seldom more than a mile in width, is bordered on both 
 sides by lofty mountains, upon the tops of which rest some of 
 the largest glaciers and perpetual snow-fields in Switzerland. 
 The atmosphere — so clear that objects can be distinctly seen at 
 a great distance — is singularly tonic and invigorating; the skies 
 are intensely blue, the seasons about the same as those of 
 Northern Sweden or Finland. So short and cool are the 
 summers that tillage is limited to small patches of oats and 
 rye and some wretched potato-fields. The temperature seldom 
 rises above 76° Fahrenheit in the shade, and snow and frost 
 frequently occur in August. Owing to the scarcity of straw 
 the cattle are littered in winter with dried pine cones, moss, and 
 long, coarse marsh grass. Only the hardiest varieties of 
 timber, such as the larch and Siberian pine, grow upon the 
 mountains, but the valley produces grass luxuriantly, and in 
 summer resembles a continuous meadow. So dry is the at- 
 mosphere that meat may be preserved from October to May 
 without salt, and the cold, often at 30° below zero in winter, 
 is borne without serious discomfort. 
 
 The inhabitants of the Engadine are enterprising, thrifty, 
 and intelligent. In the pursuit of certain trades for which 
 they have a special aptitude, they travel to all parts of Europe 
 and acquire wealth, to enjoy which they return to their native 
 valley. Their religion is Protestant almost exclusively, their 
 government a pure democracy, their language the Romansch 
 corruption of the Latin. They take great pride in their dwell- 
 ings, which look exceedingly tidy with their gilded lattices, 
 and windows — made small to keep out the cold — dressed with 
 
AMONG THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 1(59 
 
 snowy draperies and an abundance of flowers which, even at 
 this frosty season, bloom profusely in the dry, stimulating at- 
 mosphere. Coming thither from Italy, and even from the 
 fertile and beautiful Val Tellina, the stranger cannot fail to be 
 impressed with the superior evidences of popular taste, pros- 
 perity, and comfort. 
 
 St. Moritz, the highest village in the Engadine, lies over 
 six thousand feet above sea-level. There are several ways of 
 reaching it, but probably no favorite summer resort in Switzer- 
 land is so difficult of access. The nearest railway point is 
 Coire, from whence a journey of fifty miles must be made by 
 diligence or by carriage over the Julier Alp. Another line 
 of approach is that from Coire by way of Chiavenna and the 
 Splugen, or from Innsbruck via Nauders, — a four days' drive 
 up the valley of the Inn. These are routes from the north. 
 Travellers from Italy — that is to say, from Milan — may come 
 by way of Lake Como and the Val Bregaglia, or up the Val 
 Tellina to Tirano, and then over the Bernina Pass, which is, 
 perhaps, the easiest and pleasantest route of all. But whatever 
 may be the line chosen, a long ride by diligence or carriage, or 
 its less expensive and far more agreeable substitute, an invigo- 
 rating foot-tour up and down the mountains, is unavoidable. 
 
 The hotels of St. Moritz are crowded with strangers, mostly 
 English. The British aristocracy is represented in all its 
 grades, from members of Parliament and the blue-blooded 
 nobility down to high-toned green grocers. " Lauter English" 
 said a solitary German to me in a mournful tone. The dining- 
 hall of the Hotel Kulm, which is large enough to seat several 
 hundred persons, is crowded at the table d'hote. This evening, 
 while we were at dinner, the electric lights failed, leaving the 
 entire company in total darkness. " II y a quelque chose de- 
 rangee" explained the waiters while they hurriedly brought 
 in lamps and candles. " Toujours quelque chose derangee" ob- 
 served a disgruntled Frenchman. 
 h 15 
 
170 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 About one hundred and fifty feet below, and directly oppo- 
 site the village, lies the pretty lake of St. Moritz formed by the 
 clear waters of the Inn, which courses through it. At the 
 head of the lake are the bath-houses and some large hotels. 
 The springs supplying the baths are strongly chalybeate, and 
 said to be very beneficial in certain classes of ailments. Per- 
 haps much of the healing effect attributed to the waters is really 
 due to the invigorating climate, particularly the bright, pure 
 atmosphere and low temperature which invite and enforce 
 physical exercise. Out-door life in this valley is a luxury, and 
 no one remains here long without acquiring a ruddy, or, as 
 an English lady expressed it to me, an " underdone/' appear- 
 ance. The mountain-climber has here a veritable paradise, 
 while the less ambitious sportsman finds equal delight among 
 the crystal lakes formed among the green meadows by the 
 meandering; current of the Inn. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FROM SUN TO SNOW. 
 
 September 15. — Left St. Moritz at 6 a.m. for Chiavenna 
 and Colico. An Englishman contested my right to the interieur 
 seat in the diligence which I had paid for. As he had nine 
 points of the law in his favor — that is to say, possession — and 
 I had nothing but a bit of pasteboard, I took my place in the 
 Beiwagen, or supplementary carriage. My complaisance was 
 rewarded, for the carriage was much more comfortable than the 
 crowded diligence ; besides, I had a gentleman for company. 
 
 The morning was clear and brilliant, but cold. We had an 
 exhilarating drive up the valley, coursing beside the Silvaplana 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 171 
 
 and Silser Lakes, with a deep-blue sky overhead and majestic 
 mountains on either hand. Passing by the sources of the 
 Inn, we ascended the Maloja, which forms the water-shed be- 
 tween the Inn and the Meva, and from the summit, while the 
 diligence halted for a few minutes, we enjoyed a fine view 
 down the valley into which we were about to descend. We 
 then mounted our vehicles again, and whirled away at a rapid 
 gait down the mountain, by a zigzag course. By this time I 
 had been assigned to another Beiicagen, and was so fortunate as 
 to have for my travelling companion an English gentleman 
 who was familiar with the country. Seeing that I was inter- 
 ested in the scenery, he kindly invited me to take his place, 
 which afforded a better view than the seat I occupied. 
 
 The descent from the frosty regions of the Engadine, with 
 their glaciers, perpetual snow-fields, and hardy vegetation, to 
 the sunny precincts of the Meva, where rhododendrons grow 
 side by side with the mulberry and the chestnut, was a most 
 interesting transition. Passing through a rocky gallery called 
 La Porta, the road leads, in the course of a few hundred 
 yards, from the one zone of vegetation to the other. At 
 Castasegna we reached the Swiss-Italian boundary, and were 
 obliged to show our baggage to the Italian douaniers. As 
 usual, the principal article searched for was tobacco, and upon 
 proffered demonstration that the forbidden weed did not exist 
 in my luggage, they turned from it with indifference. 
 
 We reached Chiavenna about noon. Here the stage road 
 comes down from the Spliigen, and we made a vehicular 
 change which brought me again into English company, — 
 that of a family occupying one of the Beiwagen. The passen- 
 gers arriving from the upper Alps by the two routes filled 
 eight or ten diligences and carriages, making quite a caravan. 
 The drive to Colico was tedious, dusty, and not at all inter- 
 esting. There were mountains and mountains, both near and 
 far, but they were scant of vegetation, and seemed tame and 
 
172 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 jejune in comparison with the Alpine scenes of Switzerland 
 and the Tyrol. In the lowlands we passed numerous fields of 
 Indian corn, which elicited from one of my stranger companions 
 the naive observation that the seed of this plant, as he had 
 been informed, was useful for food. 
 
 Arrived at Colico, on Lake Como, about the middle of the 
 afternoon, and there took a steamer, in waiting, for Como. 
 Reached Como at sundown, and Milan, by rail, two hours 
 later. 
 
 Milan, September 17. — In Milan I have been most im- 
 pressed, — 1, by Leonardo's painting of the Last Supper ; 2, 
 by the same master's head of Christ, in the Brera ; 3, the 
 cathedral; 4, the Cavour monument; 5, Raphael's Sposa- 
 lizio. I place the painting first because it is the most inter- 
 esting object in Milan. If any work is entitled to be called 
 the masterpiece of modern painting, it is this. Leonardo, 
 whose marvellous genius produced it, was born at the Vinci 
 palace, near Florence, in 1452, and died in 1519. His life 
 covers the period of the early renaissance, — a golden era in 
 Italian art. The close of his career was the beginning:; of 
 Michael Angelo's, Raphael's, and Titian's. Like Michael 
 Angelo, he was not a painter only, but a sculptor, an archi- 
 tect, and an engineer, as well. " Learned in mathematics, 
 physics, astronomy, anatomy, and natural history ; a good 
 musician, making verses with the facility of an improvisatoire, 
 writing well on every subject which interested him, expert also 
 in all the exercises of strength and skill, he was pronounced 
 an universal genius, ( all powerful in everything.' " (Viardot.) 
 Before this continent was discovered the great achievements 
 of his life were begun, yet they are as pre-eminent to-day as 
 they were four centuries ago. He was not profuse in his 
 painting, like Rubens or Titian, but what he lacked in 
 quantity he more than redeemed in concentrated power. He 
 painted as Macaulay wrote, and Parepa sang, apparently with- 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 173 
 
 out effort, but really with the most patient and painstaking 
 effort. He spent four years on his superb portrait of the wife 
 of his Florentine friend, Giocondo, — the Mona Lisa of the 
 Louvre, — yet still regarded that work as unfinished. 
 
 The Last Supper occupies an end wall in the refectory 
 of the suppressed monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie, until 
 recently used as a cavalry barrack. The apartment, bare and 
 dismal, is as inappropriate as possible to be the repository of 
 such a treasure. An unimportant fresco of the crucifixion on 
 the opposite wall is much better preserved than Leonardo's 
 work, which has suffered alike by neglect, abuse, and decay. 
 Although, in the sixteenth century, the Dominicans were re- 
 proached by Cardinal Borromeo for their gross neglect of this 
 precious picture, they cut a door through the wall beneath it, 
 taking away the legs of Christ and those of the disciples near- 
 est Him. The room is so badly lighted, and the entire work 
 is in such a dilapidated condition, that good eyesight and 
 much patience are necessary for anything like a just perception 
 of its merits. The picture retains comparatively little of its 
 original beauty of color, but its grouping and drawing are yet 
 distinct enough to be appreciated, and they are superb. The 
 individuality and appropriateness of the figures are wonderful ; 
 we accept them intuitively as correct ideals, — yea more, they 
 seem to us to be portraits of the actual apostles, taken from life. 
 So correct and real are these types of character — so completely 
 harmonious with the sacred narrative — that to the whole 
 Christian world they have become historical verities rather 
 than works of the imagination. 
 
 Two groups of three apostles each, drawn with surpassing 
 art, are placed on either side of the Divine Master, — a stroke 
 of genius which accentuates His as the dominant presence. 
 The antitheses of character displayed in these groups, says Dr. 
 Liibke, are innumerable. They are seen " iu the expression 
 of the heads, in the movement of the drapery, and, above all, 
 
 15* 
 
174 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 in the physiognomy of the hands." The emotions which agi- 
 tate the company have been produced by the Master's words, 
 just spoken, " One of you shall betray me." The apostles are 
 deeply moved, as each one shows by action suited to his tem- 
 perament ; the sinless One alone is calm and resigned. Sad- 
 ness, deep but tranquil, is seen in every lineament of His 
 countenance. The downcast eyes, the noble head slightly 
 bowed, the opened palms extended and resting on the table, all 
 denote unspeakable pain borne with heavenly submission. 
 There is no trace of weakness; His companions obviously are 
 but men, with the frailties of men, but the Master is humanity 
 perfected. The type of His manhood is that of neither Jew 
 nor Gentile; it is universal. The ideal is faultless. Mrs. 
 Jameson does not at all exaggerate when she says of it, — ■ 
 
 " The intellectual elevation, the fineness of nature, the benign, 
 Godlike dignity suffused with the profoundest sorrow in this 
 divine head surpassed all I could have conceived as possible 
 in art ; and, faded as it is, the character there, being stamped 
 on it by the soul, not by the hand of the artist, will remain 
 while a line or hue remains visible. It is a divine shadow, 
 and, until it fades into nothing and disappears utterly, will 
 have the lineaments of divinity." * 
 
 * Mrs. Jameson's description of the details of the picture leaves noth- 
 ing to be added. She says, " Next to Christ is St. John ; he has just 
 been addressed by St. Peter, who beckons to him that he should ask ' of 
 whom the Lord spake;' his disconsolate attitude as he raises himself to 
 reply and leans his clasped hands on the table, the almost feminine sweet- 
 ness of his countenance, express the character of this gentle and amiable 
 apostle. Peter, leaning from behind, is all fire and energy; Judas, who 
 knows full well of whom the Saviour spake, starts back amazed, overset- 
 ting the salt ; his fingers clutch the bag, of which he has the charge. His 
 face is seen in profile, and cast into shadow ; without being vulgar, or 
 even ugly, it is hateful. St. Andrew, with his long gray beard, lifts his 
 hands, expressing the wonder of a simple-hearted old man. St. James 
 Minor, resembling the Saviour in his mild features and the form of his 
 beard and hair, lays his hand on the shoulder of St. Peter, — the expression 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 175 
 
 A small crayon study for the head of Christ in the Last 
 Supper is seen in the Brera Gallery. Like the completed 
 masterpiece, it exhibits melancholy evidences of abuse and 
 neglect, yet its defaced condition is not wholly out of keeping 
 with its eloquence of unmerited sorrow. The features, radiantly 
 intellectual, and expressive of the most delicate sensibility and 
 elevated manhood, are wan with suffering. The Christ of the 
 Last Supper has passed the first shock of His foreseen be- 
 trayal, and has entered the comparative calm of controlled and 
 submissive sorrow ; but here we have rather the deep anguish 
 and heart-break of inconsolable grief, — the acute agony of a 
 guileless, patient, affectionate soul, which has received a remedi- 
 less wound. Of all the heads of Christ I have yet seen, not 
 excepting that of the Last Supper this is the most pathetic. 
 In Guido's heads the eyes are lifted in agonizing appeal, as if 
 
 is, ' Can it be possible ? have we heard aright ?' Bartholomew, at the 
 extreme end of the table, has risen from his seat ; he leans forward with a 
 look of eager attention, the lips parted; he is impatient to hear more. 
 On the left of our Saviour is St. James Major, who has also a family re- 
 semblance to Christ; his arms are outstretched, he shrinks back, he repels 
 the thought with horror. The vivacity of the action and expression are 
 wonderfully true and characteristic. St. Thomas is behind St. James, 
 rather young, with a short beard ; he holds up his hand, threatening, — ' If 
 there be indeed such a wretch, let him look to it.' Philip, young, and 
 with a beautiful head, lays his hand on his heart ; he protests his love, his 
 truth. Matthew, also beardless, has more elegance, as one who belongs to 
 a more educated class than the rest ; he turns to Jude and points to our 
 Saviour, as if about to repeat His words, ' Do you hear what He says ?' 
 Simon and Jude sit together (Leonardo has followed the tradition which 
 makes them old, and brothers) ; Jude expresses consternation ; Simon, 
 with his hands stretcned out, a painful anxiety. . . . Leonardo has con- 
 trived to break the formality of the line of heads without any apparent 
 artifice, and without disturbing the grand simplicity of the usual order; 
 and he has vanquished the difficulties in regard to the position of Judas 
 without making him too prominent. He has imparted to a solemn scene 
 sufficient movement and variety of action, without detracting from its 
 dignity and pathos; he has kept the expression of each head true to its 
 traditional character, without exaggeration, without effort." 
 
176 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 to a source of help and consolation ; but here they are down- 
 cast, as though the sufferer bore His burden alone. The face is 
 noble and soulful, winning the heart at first sight, and its ex- 
 pression is indescribably touching. The Master Himself, it 
 seems to me, were He to choose, would prefer this among all the 
 pictures of Him which men have painted. 
 
 A room adjoining that in which Leonardo's crayon is hung 
 contains Raphael's Sposalizio, or Marriage of the Virgin. It is 
 one of the master's earlier works, and is called the gem of the 
 Brera collection. 
 
 Among the marble statues of scholars and scientists in the 
 court of the Brera Palace is Canova's nude figure in bronze 
 of Napoleon I. as a Roman emperor. The adulation implied 
 in representing Napoleon in such a character may be par- 
 doned, but not so the emperor's complete destitution of cloth- 
 ing, or drapery, which imparts to the work, in spite of its 
 plastic merits, an air of weak, almost ridiculous, affectation. 
 
 Quite the reverse in this respect — a model of simplicity and 
 appropriateness, as well as a work of high artistic merit — is 
 the bronze statue of Count Cavour, by Tabacchi, erected in 
 the piazza at the entrance to the public gardens. The statue, 
 supported by a massive granite pedestal, represents Cavour as 
 we would imagine him to have appeared when addressing the 
 assembled diplomatists of Europe, or the first parliament of 
 united Italy. Sublime in its simple manliness, it stands 
 alone, — 'majestically alone, — except that below it the reclining 
 figure of Clio, goddess of history, inscribes with a stylus the 
 statesman's name upon the enduring granite. How much 
 better this simplicity than the wearisome ostentation of many 
 figures and emblems, requiring long explanations ! 
 
 Bologna, September 17, 18. — Raphael's St. Cecilia, more 
 than anything else, brought me here, and it alone has abun- 
 dantly rewarded me for coming. Few things in legendary 
 art approach, and still fewer transcend, the exquisite beauty 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 177 
 
 of the Cecilia. With upturned eyes the pure-hearted saint 
 listens, in a transport of adoring rapture, to the music of the 
 celestial choir. Her features, not inherently beautiful, are 
 transfigured with divine ecstasy. In her hands she holds the 
 Pandean pipes, significant of her function as the patroness of 
 music ; in like significance various musical instruments lie 
 strewn at her feet. On her right, supporting his left hand 
 and right elbow on a sword, and his chin in his open hand, 
 stands St. Paul, — a grand figure, — wrapped in sublime medita- 
 tion. His draperies are a red robe and green tunic. On the 
 left, her face turned towards the spectator, stands Mary Mag- 
 dalen, in blue and red. The nobly-born St. Cecilia is robed 
 in garments of orange-colored brocade. Nearer to her than 
 St. Paul, or Mary, with their eyes bent upon her luminous 
 face, stand St. John and St. Augustine, the one on the right, 
 the other on the left. The coloring and drawing of the pic- 
 ture are Raphael's, in his best style, — more need not be said. 
 But the superb art of the work is only adjunct, as it should 
 be, to its spiritual expression, which radiates from it like a 
 divine efflux, — a veritable apocalypse of the heavenly world. 
 
 Next to the Cecilta, the most important work in the Bo- 
 logna Gallery is Guido Reui's Crucifixion which is one of 
 that master's finest productions. The elements of horror so 
 conspicuous in Rubens' s treatment of the subject are wanting, 
 but there is nothing lost by the omission. Though destitute 
 of revolting extremes, the picture is profoundly truthful and 
 impressive. 
 
 The sculptures in the Campo Santo, at Bologna, are in high 
 repute, but I found them inferior, as a class, to those of like 
 character at Genoa, which are probably unsurpassed. 
 
 September 19. — By rail to Florence. The watercourses 
 crossed by the railway are almost dry, making their heavily- 
 arched bridges seem superfluous. 
 
 Florence, September 20. — Visited Giotto's frescos in the 
 
178 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Santa Croce, and Michael Angelo's sculptures in the new 
 sacristy of San Lorenzo ; then went to the Uffizi and refreshed 
 my recollection of its principal paintings and sculptures. Met 
 in the new sacristy a Brooklyn clergyman, whom I had en- 
 countered in Germany a fortnight before. He was on his way 
 to Palestine. Drove once more to the San Miniato for the 
 sake of the view it affords of Florence and its environs ; then 
 went to see the original— in marble — of Michael Angelo's 
 David. The statue was placed, temporarily, in a dark and 
 narrow shed, where it could not be viewed with much satis- 
 faction. 
 
 September 21. — Returned by rail to Milan. 
 September 22. — Revisited the cathedral and ascended to 
 its roof, from whence, in clear weather, Mont Blanc, the Great 
 St. Bernard, Monte Rosa, the Matterhorn, the Mischabel, and 
 the peak of the Ortler are all visible. The roof itself is well 
 worthy of a visit ; it is an architectural wonder. Over it rise 
 ninety-eight Gothic turrets, each surmounted by the statue of 
 some celebrated person. Over two thousand statues, in all, 
 adorn the exterior of the building. The upright finials on the 
 cresting and flying buttresses of the roof are cut at the ends to 
 resemble roses, and each one, it is claimed, although there are 
 thousands of them, represents a rose of a different species. 
 
 The interior of the cathedral has but one serious defect, — its 
 painted imitation of stone tracery on the ceiling. The de- 
 ception is skilfully executed, but the eye is impatient of any 
 sham in architecture which is otherwise so perfect and so 
 splendid. The more intense our delight in its truth and 
 reality the more intolerant we are of any attempt at dissimu- 
 lation. 
 
 The evening light was streaming grandly into the magnifi- 
 cent aisles when I last quitted them. Nothing so transfigures 
 one of these great cathedral interiors — so fires its fretted vaults 
 and hallowed emblazonry with sublime suggestions — as its 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 179 
 
 illumination by the sun's rays. Yet the architects seem to 
 have studied to exclude the sunbeams rather than to admit 
 them. The interior of the huge Duomo, at Florence, is so 
 sombre that even at mid-day its bass-reliefs are vague and its 
 statues spectral. 
 
 One of the most attractive places in Milan* is the Victor 
 Emmanuel Gallery, — a mammoth trading booth enclosing the 
 street space, in the form of a cross, between the cathedral square 
 and that of the Scala. It is three hundred and twenty yards 
 long, is roofed with glass, at a height of ninety-four feet, and 
 has, at its centre, a cupola rising to the height of one hundred 
 and eighty feet. The wall panels and niches of the gallery 
 are adorned with frescos and with statues of celebrated 
 Italians. The frescos on the cupola represent Europe, Asia, 
 Africa, and America ; those on the entrance arches are em- 
 blematic of Science, Industry, Art, and Agriculture. In the 
 evening the gallery is magnificently illuminated, and with its 
 gay bazaars, and throngs of promenaclers and shoppers, pre- 
 sents an animated picture of Milanese life. 
 
 September 23. — By rail from Milan to Arona, and thence 
 by boat to Baveno, on the Lago Maggiore. Dined in a garden 
 by the lakeside, and at 4 p.m. quitted Baveno by Einspanner 
 for Domo d'Ossola. A lovelier evening never was seen. The 
 weather was superb, the scenery poetic as an Arcadian dream. 
 Descending into the diffracting atmosphere of the hill-sides and 
 lowlands, the mellow light tinged cliff and valley — rock, 
 grove, and vineyard — with ethereal violet, and was dissolved in 
 the rippling lake into myriad tints of delicate, luminous color. 
 As we bent our course towards the mountains, the retrospect 
 of the lake, the circling, vine-clad hills which slope down to 
 its brink, and the Borromean Islands, was unspeakably beauti- 
 ful. I could not turn my eyes away from it as long as a 
 glimpse of it remained. 
 
 The luxuriant valley along which we pursued our way from 
 
180 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 the lake was planted with maize fields, olive groves, and vine- 
 yards, mingled with plantations of fig- and chestnut-trees. On 
 a mountain side was seen the granite quarry from which were 
 obtained the majestic columns, twenty-three feet in height, 
 which support the aisles and transept of the Basilica of St. 
 Paul (Fuori le Mura) near Rome. The granite of this locality 
 is noted for its beautiful felspar crystals. Farther on, near 
 the village of Ornavasso, the mountain-side quarries appear 
 from which was taken the marble used in building the Milan 
 Cathedral. At dark we reached the pretty town of Dorno 
 d'Ossola, the first important post and diligence station south 
 of the Simplon. 
 
 September 24. — Left Domo d'Ossola by diligence at 6 a.m. 
 Weather perfect. I was so fortunate as to obtain a banquette 
 seat, — outside the diligence, — the very best for enjoying the 
 scenery. 
 
 The road over the Simplon is one of the finest existing 
 monuments of the energy and genius of the first Napoleon. 
 Begun on the Italian side in 1800, and on the Swiss side in 
 1801, it was completed in six years, at a cost of about four 
 million dollars. Its construction was resolved upon by Napo- 
 leon after the battle of Marengo, in order that he might have 
 a great military road into Italy. He was very impatient for 
 its completion, and is said to have inquired constantly, " Quand 
 le canon pourra-t-il passer au Simplon f" Next to the Brenner, 
 the Simplon was the first great highway over the Alps. 
 
 Ascending the fertile and thoroughly Italian Val d'Ossola, 
 the road crosses the Diveria by a bridge one hundred feet in 
 height, penetrates by a gallery the sequestered ravine of Varso, 
 and mounts the Lepontine range by successive engineering 
 triumphs amidst scenes of transcendent grandeur. On no 
 other of the great passes have I been so profoundly impressed 
 with the beauty and sublimity of the Alps as on this one. As 
 we approach the ravine of Gondo, the mighty walls of rock, 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 181 
 
 rising on both sides to a height of two thousand feet, close to- 
 gether, and seem to terminate the road. Apparently we are 
 caught in a mountain cul-de-sac, — an illusion not dispelled until 
 we pass a projecting crag, where a roaring cataract, rushing 
 from the heights above, startles us like a wild beast in am- 
 bush, and plunges, in frantic escape, into the sombre depths 
 below. Crossing this torrent by a slender bridge, we enter the 
 gallery of Gondo, — a tunnel two hundred and forty-five yards 
 in length, — from which we emerge into the ravine of Gondo, 
 whose smooth, precipitous walls of mica slate completely over- 
 hang the road. This ravine — a gorge of the brawling Diveria 
 — is one of the wildest and grandest in the Alps, surpassing 
 even the famous Via Mala of the Spltigen. 
 
 We reached the Seventh Refuge, in the Engeloch, at 1.30 
 p.m., and passed the old hospice, a weather-beaten, lonely ruin 
 on the old trail, some hundreds of feet below the present road. 
 At 2.10 p.m. we arrived at the new hospice, on the summit. 
 It is a large, plain, prison-like building, with massive walls 
 and windows made small to keep out the cold. The entrance 
 is approached by a lofty flight of stone steps. The establish- 
 ment, founded by Napoleon for the accommodation of belated 
 wayfarers, is under the management of Augustinian monks 
 from the monastery of St. Bernard, to which it now belongs. 
 Strangers are entertained without charge, but are expected to 
 contribute to the poor-box at least as much as the usual com- 
 pensation for what they receive. 
 
 Near the hospice rises the magnificent peak of Monte Leone, 
 which attains a height of nearly twelve thousand feet. Various 
 other snow-covered peaks, with glaciers lying between, sur- 
 round a broad basin constituting the highest part of the pass. 
 Winter prevails here from eight to nine months of the year, 
 preventing the growth of any vegetation except the hardy 
 Alpine rose. 
 
 The descent on the northern side, unfolding a continuous 
 
 16 
 
182 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 panorama of stupendous Alpine glories, was an incomparable 
 experience. As we approached the Sixth Refuge, a magnificent 
 view of the Bernese Alps and the intervening Rhone Valley 
 was disclosed. The vast ice-field of the Oberland, with its wintry 
 desolation, its tremendous abysses, its sky-piercing, snow-covered 
 peaks, burst suddenly upon the vision. Directly opposite, and 
 seemingly near, although ten or fifteen miles distant, " that 
 noblest of ice-streams, the Great Aletsch Glacier," was seen de- 
 scending " from its birthplace in the mountains." As seen from 
 the Simplon, this glacier appears nearly as Professor Tyndall 
 describes it, as viewed from the Eggischhoru, on the opposite 
 side of the Rhone : " Its arms are thrown round the shoulders 
 of the Jungfrau, while from the Monk and the Trugberg, the 
 Gletscherhorn, the Breithorn, the Aletschhorn, and many an- 
 other noble pile, the snows descend and thicken into ice. The 
 mountains are well protected by their wintry coats, and hence 
 the quantity of debris upon the glacier is comparatively small ; 
 still, along it can be noticed dark longitudinal streaks, which are 
 incipient moraines. Right and left from these longitudinal 
 bands sweep finer curves, twisted here and there into complex 
 windings, which mark the lamination of the subjacent ice. The 
 glacier lies in a curved valley, the side towards which its con- 
 vex curvature is turned is thrown into a state of strain, the ice 
 breaks across the line of tension, a curious system of oblique 
 glacier ravines being thus produced." 
 
 Largest of the Alpine glaciers, the Aletsch displays nearly 
 the whole extent of its graceful curvatures — fifteen miles — as 
 we descend the Simplon. Around the huge cradle in which it 
 lies rise, like sentinels, scores of stern, cloud-defying peaks, 
 including many of the loftiest and most celebrated in Switzer- 
 land. Professor Tyndall's description of this panorama, as he 
 saw it from the Eggischhorn, affords an excellent idea of its 
 appearance from the Simplon : 
 
 " Jungfrau, Monk, Eiger, Trugberg, cliffy Stahlgrat, stately, 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 183 
 
 lady-like Aletschhorn, all grandly pierce the empyrean. Like 
 a Saul of mountains, the Finsteraarhorn overtops all his 
 neighbors ; then we have the Oberaarhorn, with the riven 
 glacier of Viesch rolling from his shoulders. Below is the 
 Marjelen See, with its crystal precipices and its floating ice- 
 bergs, snowy white, sailing on a blue-green -sea. Beyond is 
 the range which divides the Valais from Italy. Sweeping 
 round, the vision meets an aggregate of peaks which look, as 
 fledglings to their mother, towards the mighty Dom. Then 
 come the repellent crags of Mont Cervin, the idea of moral 
 savagery, of wild, untamable ferocity, mingling involuntarily 
 with our contemplation of the gloomy pile. Next comes an 
 object scarcely less grand, conveying, it may be, even a deeper 
 impression of majesty and might than the Matterhorn itself, — 
 the Weisshorn, perhaps the most splendid object in the Alps. 
 But beauty is associated with its force, and we think of it, not 
 as cruel, but as grand and strong. Farther to the right is the 
 Great Combin ; other peaks crowd around him ; while at the 
 extremity of the curve along which the gaze has swept rises 
 the sovran crown of Mont Blanc." 
 
 The road descends by a winding course, with precipices on 
 the left, to look over which makes the flesh creep. So great is 
 the danger on this part of the line during the period of ava- 
 lanches and storms, that six houses of refuge and a hospice have 
 been built within a distance of three miles, and the road is 
 covered in many places with galleries to protect it from de- 
 scending masses of snow. Passing through one of these 
 galleries we hear, the roar of a glacier torrent overhead, and 
 through an aperture in the side we perceive the cataract which 
 has rushed over us falling into the abyss below. 
 
 Looking back after a descent of ten miles, we perceive, once 
 more, the glacier near which the road reaches the summit of 
 the pass. We then continue our downward course by mazy 
 windings amidst green meadows, and at 4.15 p.m. arrive at 
 
134 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Brieg, the terminus of the Rhone Valley Railway, which it is 
 now proposed to carry under the Simplon range by a tunnel 
 nine or ten miles in length. 
 
 Realizing the importance of making the most of the good 
 weather while it lasted, I pushed on by the evening train to 
 Visp, and from thence, at sundown, set out with a horse and 
 guide for St. Niklaus. Night overtook us before we reached Stal- 
 den, in the Vispthal, and when we entered the narrow gorge of 
 the Nikolaithal the darkness became intense. The vast shadowy 
 forms of the mountains which rose on either hand concealed 
 the starry firmament all but a narrow strip, and were sepa- 
 rated from one another by huge belts of abysmal darkness, 
 which the eye could not pierce. We felt our way along, rather 
 than perceived it, ascending and descending by paths so steep 
 that it was sometimes necessary for me to dismount. All was 
 silent except the low moaning of the night wind among the 
 pines, and the roar and swash of torrents which we could not 
 see. After some hours of this kind of travel, a light twinkled 
 out of the pitchy gloom ahead of us, and my guide remarked, 
 " Dq, 1st St. Niklaus." Half an hour later we reached the vil- 
 lage, where I dismounted at the inn, a plain frame building 
 pretentiously named the Grand Hotel. 
 
 September 25. — Set out at 6 a.m. for Zermatt. From Visp 
 to St. Niklaus the only thoroughfare is a bridle-path, but from 
 St. Niklaus a rude wagon-road leads on up the valley. My 
 guide of yesterday insisted importunately that I should hire 
 his conveyance, — a small springless wagon, — but I was de- 
 termined not to forego the luxury of walking, on that radiant 
 morning, the twelve miles which lay between me and Zermatt. 
 The skies were cloudless, the atmosphere invigorating, the 
 scenery magnificently grand. The Nikolaithal lies between 
 the two segments of an enormous glacier field shaped like a 
 horseshoe, with its opening towards the north. The western 
 segment extends out from the Matterhorn, the eastern from 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 185 
 
 Monte Rosa. Between the two, at the head of the valley 
 where the segments close together in a prodigious range, 
 crowned with perpetual ice and snow, lies Zermatt. The 
 segmentary ranges, as well as the connecting one, — from the 
 Matterhoru to Monte Rosa, — include many of the loftiest 
 mountains and most gigantic glaciers in Switzerland. At 
 Zermatt, as nowhere else, we are at the very heart of the 
 Alpine world. 
 
 It was about 10 o'clock a.m. when, rounding a rocky eleva- 
 tion which the road passes below Zermatt, I saw for the first 
 time the stupendous wedge of the Matterhorn. On its left, 
 extending to the Breithorn, lay the vast snow-field of the 
 Theodule glacier, rising like a white wall against the sky. 
 In the foreground, comprising the lowlands which terminate 
 the valley, lay the village of Zermatt. Just beyond the 
 village a bridle-path, rising at first through meadows, and then 
 through a belt of beautiful larches and Alpine cedars, ascends 
 to the chalet seen on the ledge of the Riffelberg, three thousand 
 feet above the plane of the valley. Beyond the larches the 
 path mounts a steep and stony ridge, from which the huge 
 ice-fall of the Gorner Grat glacier is seen bursting through its 
 abysmal gate-way in the valley below, on the right. This 
 glacier, descending from the northern shoulder of Monte Rosa, 
 and carrying with it the tributary currents of ten other glaciers 
 all squeezed into one narrow defile, winds around the Riffel- 
 horn like an immense snake. Its length is nine miles, and its 
 movement twenty to thirty inches per annum. 
 
 At one o'clock I reached the chalet, having walked twelve 
 miles besides the ascent of the mountain. For a time my 
 strength seemed exhausted, but an hour's rest and an Alpine 
 dinner of bread and milk prepared me for the ascent of the 
 Gorner Grat, a rocky ridge which rises eighteen hundred feet 
 above the Riffelberg chalet, and nearly five thousand feet 
 above Zermatt. The summit of the Grat was gained about 
 
 16* 
 
186 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 three o'clock. I was entirely alone, — not a living soul could 
 be seen. There was no sound except a deep-toned, muffled 
 rumbling heard occasionally in the direction of the Schwarze 
 glacier, as if some huge ice-mass were grating on its bed. 
 Clear around the horizon extended the vast amphitheatre of 
 peaks, glaciers, and perpetual snow-fields, the grandest, perhaps, 
 in the world. Monte Rosa alone was disappointing ; snow- 
 white and gracefully formed, it is yet not so imposing as 
 when seen from the Italian side. To its right rises the huge, 
 craggy mass of the Lyskamm, from whose ledges wild ava- 
 lanches are often precipitated. Between Monte Rosa and the 
 Lyskamm lies a wide valley, into which both mountains pour 
 their accumulations of snow, forming the Grenz glacier, in 
 magnitude a rival to the Gorner. To the right of the 
 Lyskamm are seen two pointed peaks of spotless whiteness 
 and smooth as enamel. They are known as Castor and 
 Pollux, and form the farther boundary of an immense neve, 
 from which the Schwarze glacier descends along the eastern 
 wall of the huge, ungainly Breithorn. Continuing to the 
 right, the eye ranges over the snow-fields of the Theodule 
 glacier to the Matterhorn, against whose southern wall a mass 
 of cloud clings, caused by contact of the moist wind, blowing 
 up the valley, with the colder stone of the mountain. Around 
 the base and far up the sides of the Matterhorn lie enormous 
 deposits of snow, from which the Furggen and other glaciers 
 derive their ice-currents. Turning northward, on the western 
 segment of the range, we behold the peaks and glaciers of the 
 Gabelhorn, the Rothhorn, and last of all the Weisshorn, re- 
 garded by Professor Tyndall as " the noblest of all the Alps." 
 Along the range on the opposite side of the Nikolaithal the 
 eye strikes the majestic peaks of the Alphubel, the Allalein- 
 horn, and the Mischabel^ including the Dom, which is one of 
 the grandest of the Alps. 
 
 While I was absorbed in admiration of this glorious scene, 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 187 
 
 a couple of English pedestrians — a lady and gentleman — 
 joined me on the Grat. I had descried them with my glass 
 some time before, meandering, alpen-stock in hand, around the 
 base of the Riffelhorn. During the conversation which we 
 naturally fell into, madame informed me that she was now 
 making one of her usual annual tours afoot among the moun- 
 tains of that vicinity. All the peaks, glaciers, and passes of 
 the neighborhood seemed to be familiar to her. Referring to 
 some inquiry of mine about the St. Theodule Pass, which 
 crosses the snow-fields east of the Matterhorn, she remarked 
 that the day before she had come over that pass, from the 
 Italian side, on foot ! The summit of the pass, nearly eleven 
 thousand feet above sea-level, is covered with perpetual 
 snow. 
 
 In all the vast panorama seen from the Gorner Grat, the 
 Matterhorn is the most unique and interesting as well as the 
 most conspicuous object. Its isolation, altitude, form, and the 
 tragic event with which its name is associated, conspire to 
 make it the cynosure of all the Alps. Its height, variously 
 stated, is not much short of fifteen thousand feet. Seen from 
 the Eiffel, and from Zermatt, it appears to be a solid, smooth 
 pyramid of rock, yet there are horizontal surfaces on its sides, 
 which, upon near approach, extend away like plains. Corroded 
 by the frosts and storms of ages, it sheds nearly every day 
 tons of loosened rock which roll down its sides, yet so 
 enormous is its mass that even centuries of such loss would be 
 scarcely perceptible. Seen from the Val Tournanche, on the 
 Italian side, its entire face rises like a series of terraced walls. 
 
 Until 1865 no human foot had pressed its flinty, lightning- 
 seared summit. In August, 1860, Professor John Tyndall 
 and Mr. F. V. Hawkins attempted to scale its highest pinna- 
 cle, and,failed. In August, 1862, Tyndall, accompanied by 
 his favorite guide, Bennen, made another attempt, and gained 
 a point almost within a stone's throw of the summit, but was 
 
188 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 compelled by appalling risks and difficulties to turn back. 
 Other unsuccessful attempts to scale the mountain were made 
 by Edward Whymper, in 1864. On the 14th of July, 1865, 
 Mr. Whymper, starting from Zermatt, attempted for the ninth 
 time to gain the summit, and was, at last, successful. He was 
 accompanied by Lord Francis Douglas (aged nineteen), Rev. 
 Charles Hudson, Mr. Hadow, and three guides. During the 
 descent Hadow slipped, the connecting rope broke, and 
 Messrs. Douglas, Hudson, Hadow, and a guide named Croz 
 fell from precipice to precipice to the Matterhorn glacier, 
 nearly four thousand feet below. The body of Douglas was 
 never recovered; the others were found next morning, and 
 buried in the church-yard at Zermatt. Three days after this 
 calamity a party of four guides reached the summit from Le 
 Breuil. During the summer of 1868, Professor Tyndall, ac- 
 companied by two guides, — Joseph and Pierre Maquignaz, — 
 made a third and successful assault upon the mountain. " On 
 our attaining the summit," says Tyndall, " a fog from Italy 
 rolled over us, and for some minutes we were clasped by a 
 cold and clammy atmosphere. But this passed rapidly away, 
 leaving above us a blue heaven and far below us the sunny 
 meadows of Zermatt. The mountains were almost wholly un- 
 clouded, and such clouds as lingered among them only added 
 to their magnificence. The Dent d'Erin, the Dent Blanche, 
 the Gabelhorn, the Mischabel, the range of heights between it 
 and Monte Rosa, the Lyskamm, and the Breithorn, were all 
 at hand, and clear ; while the Weisshorn, noblest and most 
 beautiful of all, shook out a banner towards the north, formed 
 by the humid southern air as it grazed the crest of the moun- 
 tain." 
 
 Charmed by the solitude, — magnetized by the sublimity of 
 the scenes around me, — I lingered on the summit of the Grat 
 long after my chance companions had left it. As evening 
 approached, I began the descent, but a side path which seemed 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 189 
 
 to lead directly down to the glacier beguiled me into an at- 
 tempt to reach it. After following this path for half an hour, 
 I found myself no nearer the glacier than before, and again 
 set out for the RifFelberg chalet. Ou the summit of the 
 Kirfelhorn stood what appeared to be the figure of a man, as 
 if observing my movements. It was nothing, as I afterwards 
 learned, but a pile of stones, said to be magnetic. Both the 
 Grat and the Riffelhorn are huge magnets, — made so, it is 
 believed, by lightning. 
 
 By the time I had regained the main path, the sun was 
 setting, and the exhibition of commingled light, color, and 
 shadow upon the peaks, glaciers, and snow-fields was un- 
 speakably grand. Every few steps I was obliged to halt and 
 note some new and startling phenomenon in the magnificent 
 diorama. No other day that I have ever been permitted 
 to see died so gorgeously as that 25th of September on the 
 Gorner Grat. While the sunbeams lasted, the heavens were 
 violet at the zenith, gold, purple, and crimson around the 
 horizon. The more exposed peaks were glowing pyramids ; 
 glaciers and snow expanses upon which the strongest light fell 
 seemed to be fairly aflame ; huge masses of naked rock, color- 
 less and sombre at noontide, burned as if with inward fire. 
 Belts of shadow, green and dark, drawn along the illuminated 
 parts, made the light and color seem stronger by contrast. As 
 the sun relaxed its power the more brilliant hues were softened 
 to a delicate flush on the snow surfaces, which changed to 
 rayless, pearly white of intensest purity, as the last glowing 
 beam departed. 
 
 As I approached the chalet I was met by an American, — a 
 Philadelphia physician, — who said he had come up from Zer- 
 matt during the afternoon, and at first intended to push on up 
 the Grat, but had concluded to postpone the ascent until to- 
 morrow. I retired soon after the evening table d'hote, intend- 
 ing to make an early start for Visp, and was awakened at 
 
190 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 dawn by the dripping of water from the eaves of the chalet. 
 Looking out, I perceived that the atmosphere was thick with 
 fog and the ground white with freshly-fallen snow. Such is 
 the fickleness of Alpine weather ; glowing and gorgeous at 
 sunset, it had changed before sunrise to dismal winter. All 
 the glorious scenery was veiled in dripping cloud ; not a 
 mountain or a glacier could be seen. My American friend 
 was disconsolate. " What a fool I was ; why didn't I go up 
 yesterday !" he soliloquized. 
 
 Amidst a cold, cheerless drizzle, I walked down to Zermatt, 
 and there took an Einspdnner for St. Niklaus. The drizzle 
 changed to rain, which poured down steadily all the way. At 
 St. Niklaus I resumed the journey on foot, and after a three 
 hours' walk in the rain arrived at Visp, where I caught the 
 up- train for Brieg. Early next morning I set out by diligence 
 for the Rhone glacier and the Furca, intending to descend, 
 via Andermatt and Goschenen, to Fliielen and Lucerne. The 
 weather continued sunless and misty as we left Brieg. The 
 mountains were veiled far down by masses of cloud, under the 
 skirts of which, as we advanced up the valley, was seen a 
 virgin drapery of freshly-fallen snow. Our course, keeping 
 company with the brawling torrent of the Rhone, and ascend- 
 ing rapidly, brought us in the course of the forenoon into an 
 atmospheric zone where the rain and mist of the morning 
 changed to snow. The farther and higher we went the more 
 violently the storm raged. The damp snow-flakes, coalescing 
 in their descent, came down in chunks, and clung in masses to 
 every resisting object. The dark-green pine- and cedar-trees 
 on the mountain sides were changed by it to the color and 
 semblance of sheeted apparitions ; telegraph poles by the road- 
 side were overthrown by its weight upon the wires ; the dili- 
 gence rolled heavily through its accumulating depths. Some- 
 times the poles had to be removed before we could pass by, 
 our conductor not hesitating to cut the wires when necessary 
 
FROM SUN TO SNOW. 191 
 
 to ' facilitate a passage. The villages of this valley are never 
 very attractive ; in such weather they looked dismal indeed. 
 At one of these, during a brief halt, we encountered some Eng- 
 lish tourists turning back towards Brieg. The storm, they 
 said, had spoiled all their plans. 
 
 We arrived at the inn near the Rhone glacier — Wirtshaus 
 im Gletsch — about 2 p.m. The storm had by that time be- 
 come terrific, and the air was filled with driving snow, flying 
 almost horizontally before the wind. The conductor, as he 
 opened the door of the diligence for us to alight, announced, 
 " Messieurs, la diligence ne va plus loin. Elle partira a trois 
 heures pour Brieg." 
 
 Indeed ! The diligence would proceed no farther, but at 
 three o'clock would set out for Brieg ! I could hardly think 
 of going back, and sought a guide to accompany me on foot, 
 over the Furca Pass. 
 
 " No guide will go with you, sir," said the portier of the inn. 
 " The snow lies on the road over the pass six feet deep." 
 
 Further inquiry only confirmed these declarations. " You 
 cannot get over," was the unvarying answer; "no guide will 
 go with you." There was no help for it; I must go back to 
 Brieg, or wait indefinitely for the storm to end and the snow 
 to pack. Through the thickly-flying snow-flakes I discerned, 
 faintly and wistfully, the road ascending like a corkscrew the 
 cliffs far above us. I tried to perceive also the beautiful ice- 
 fall of the Rhone glacier, but that was impossible ; the air was 
 too thick. 
 
 The return trip to Brieg was a cheerless, monotonous, down- 
 hill ride, lasting far into the night. During the greater part 
 of it I was the only occupant of the cold and dismal diligence. 
 Next morning I quitted Brieg for Lausanne. 
 
192 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 
 
 " I AM going to explore some of the wildest glacier regions 
 of Tyrol," I said to a young American friend, " and if you 
 care to join in the expedition, I would be glad to have you 
 meet me at the Hotel de l'Europe, in Innsbruck." 
 
 He readily accepted the proposition, and our plan and date 
 of meeting were arranged. On the day and at the very hour 
 agreed upon we each arrived at the place appointed, he coming 
 over the mountains, on foot, from Munich via Partenkirchen 
 and Zirl, and I from Vienna via Gmiinden, Ischl, and Worgl. 
 Our expedition was not arranged in all its details, but was 
 planned to carry us over the principal passes and glaciers of 
 the Stubaier and Oetzthaler Alps. 
 
 The city of Innsbruck lies at the most easterly point of a 
 nearly equilateral triangle of which the Innthal (Valley of 
 the Inn) is the base and the Oetzthal and Stubaithal are the 
 sides. At the contiguous sources of the two valleys last 
 named lies one of the most extensive ice-fields in the whole 
 Alpine region. It is an immense expanse of glittering glacier 
 and bare, weather-beaten rock, where animal and vegetable life 
 almost cease, and where all is silent save the thunder of the 
 cataract and the wild revelry of the storm. Cleaving this 
 field in all directions are minor valleys and abysses, out of 
 which the glacial torrents pour, and up the steep sides of which 
 the hardy cedars and larches of the Alps stubbornly struggle, 
 but which even they are finally obliged to yield to the absolute 
 dominion of perpetual ice. Such were the regions which we 
 two were seeking to explore, intending to behold with our own 
 eyes, if possible, their rarely-visited solitudes and mysteries. 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 193 
 
 Setting out from Innsbruck, on a fine afternoon in August, 
 we soon reached, and began to scale, the rocky confines of the 
 valley, by a winding road which leads up — or rather up to — 
 the Stubaithal. Our conveyance was a Stellwagen, the primi- 
 tive mail-carrying stage of Tyrol. As we ascended from one 
 lofty plane to another, along the western incline of a profound 
 defile, the Brenner railway lay far below, on our left, writhing, 
 so to speak, in the first stages of its prodigious struggle with 
 the Alpine heights. Far behind us, in the broad, distant 
 valley, lay Innsbruck, its roofs and pinnacles receding and 
 dwindling more and more with each advancing mile. In 
 front, always " so near and yet so far," rose the massive wall 
 of the Solstein, its symmetrical cone terminating in a shapely, 
 solitary peak which proudly pierced the sky. To the right 
 the Sailerspitze reared its rugged crest. Between these giants 
 the Stubaithal, first seen from a commanding point on the 
 road, lay before us in far-reaching vista, its upper portion 
 fading into softly-shaded outlines, blue, dim, and vapory. 
 Along its varying course its meadows were speckled with 
 white-walled cottages and hamlets, upon which the rude 
 chalets of mountaineers and herdsmen looked down from its 
 rocky slopes. 
 
 The post-road, rough and rustic, continued as far as Vulp- 
 mes, a mining town, with iron-works, where the Stellwagen 
 finished its course, and we began our pedestrian tour. Shoul- 
 dering our light packets, — our heavier ones had been sent 
 roundabout by mail, — we pressed cheerily forward, joined by 
 two young Saxons, from Leipsic, who were also spending their 
 vacation in the pursuit of Alpine adventures. All went well 
 enough for the first hour or two, but meanwhile the thickening 
 vapor, at first distantly seen and scarcely heeded, had crept 
 steadily down the valley, which now became suddenly over- 
 cast, and drenched with torrents of rain. One of us had ex- 
 perienced just such violent precipitation in the mountains of 
 in 17 
 
194 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Western Virginia, while campaigning with Fremont, and had 
 slept in such storms with no roof, and nothing but a gum 
 blanket and some fence rails for a bed ; but the experience of 
 the other and younger of us had not so well prepared him for 
 the present adverse turn of affairs. 
 
 Neustift, the point we were aiming for, described by Baedeker 
 as " the last village in the valley with a church," had been 
 descried before the rain came on, but as night fell, the storm 
 increased, and we trudged along shoe-top deep in water, and 
 no village or sign of one could be seen, we began to conclude 
 that Neustift, instead of being on the confines of Christendom, 
 must lie beyond its pale. At length, just as the tempest and 
 the darkness had reached their climax, we ran square up against 
 Neustift — if I may so speak — and were immediately welcomed 
 to the substantial comforts of a Tyrolese country inn. 
 
 In every such well-ordered hostelry in Tyrol the stranger 
 is met at the threshold by a handsome, sprucely-dressed Fraulein, 
 of lively humor, whose business it is to dish up things, and 
 help weary and moody guests to make themselves comfortable 
 and cheerful. In return for her smiles and little attentions, ■ 
 Fraulein receives from each appreciative beneficiary a few 
 kreutzers of pin-money, some words of compliment, and a 
 good-by pinch of her rosy cheeks, after the fashion of the 
 country. All of which brings to mind the fact that my young 
 companion, who quickly forgot his discomfort from the storm 
 when Gretchen began to serve the hot victuals, had stopped 
 the night before at a peasant's chalet, where the family, 
 as usual, were piously Catholic. When bedtime came, the 
 Fraulein, whose business it was, arose in her place and began 
 repeating a family prayer. The stranger, not apprised of 
 what was going on, supposed he was being addressed, and, 
 turning to the maiden, inquired in his politest German, " Wie 
 beliebt ?" — What do you wish ? Intensely amused at the oddity 
 of the inquiry, Fraulein broke down in her devotions and 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 195 
 
 tittered aloud. Her stern parent endeavored to sober her with 
 his severest frown, but it was no use; in a moment the sup- 
 pressed laughter broke out all round the family circle, and 
 there was no more chance for solemnity on that occasion. 
 
 Among our fellow-guests was a young German advocate 
 from Munich, also making a vacation tour in the mountains, 
 and intending to take the same route which we had planned. 
 He was not at all discouraged by the storm ; on the contrary, 
 he was sure the weather on the morrow would be wunderschon, 
 for he was a member of th.e Alpine Club, and had news that 
 the barometer at the Dresdener Hiitte — one of the Club's 
 stations — on the Bildstockl Alp indicated the most favorable 
 condition of the atmosphere that could be desired. A bright 
 sunrise seemed to justify this optimism. There were some 
 sinister clouds in the sky, phlegmatic and slow-moving, but they 
 had very bright silver linings which folded over on the edges, 
 giving assurance of no end of sunshine if only the lumpish 
 masses of vapor would get out of the way. 
 
 We were off betimes, leaving the guides to pack up and 
 follow. The valley narrowed rapidly ; the road degenerated 
 into a rough and crooked trail. The mountains on both sides 
 were of great height and very steep. At Ranault, the last 
 hamlet, the valley branches and begins to assume the savage 
 aspect peculiar to the upper Alps. While we were halting to 
 observe the scenery a short distance beyond Ranault, a Tyrolese 
 peasant came along, and inquired in his peculiar German 
 whether we had noticed the herd of chamois feeding on the 
 cliff overhead. Immediately we brought our glasses to bear 
 in the direction suggested, and saw about two dozen of the 
 shy little creatures grazing in a strip of meadow not less than 
 three thousand feet above us. Consciously secure at their great 
 altitude, they moved about, one by one, leisurely nipping the 
 herbage among the rocks. 
 
 An hour's walk farther on we were obliged to seek refuge 
 
196 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 in the huts of some cow-herds from a sudden cloudburst. The 
 rain, brief though violent, was quickly succeeded by sunshine. 
 The dismal huts, windowless and filthy, in which we had 
 taken shelter were the last signs of human habitation in the 
 valley ; beyond them a short distance the lateral ranges closed 
 together, forming a gigantic barrier of rock, adown which a 
 roaring torrent poured, formed by the glaciers far above. In 
 the course of ages this torrent had worn its way into the solid 
 ledges, forming a narrow chasm, out of the dark depths of 
 which issued the subdued reverberations of the fretted waters. 
 No other sound was heard in this solitude save the wild cry 
 of an occasional marmot disturbed by our approach. Some 
 beautiful striations made by ancient glaciers were observed on 
 the bare surface of the rock as we ascended the range. In 
 some places the exposed strata exhibited, as distinctly as 
 though it were the work of yesterday, the smoothing and 
 grooving done by descending masses of ice, which must have 
 slid over them ages on ages ago. Thus Nature writes history, 
 in characters enduring, unmistakable, and so simple that a 
 child can understand them. 
 
 At four o'clock in the afternoon we reached the Dresdener 
 Hiitte, at the foot of the glacier. This hut, in which we pro- 
 posed to pass the night, is one of many such which have been 
 erected by the Austro-German Alpine Club for the benefit of 
 tourists on the wild mountain passes of Tyrol. These rude 
 hostelries are provided with plain chairs and tables, stoves and 
 utensils for cooking, mattresses and a few bed-coverings. 
 They are kept in order by the licensed guides, who are cus- 
 todians of the keys, and carry up the necessary fuel. Our 
 first care was to examine the barometer, of the favorable indi- 
 cations of which our young Munich friend had spoken in such 
 a burst of enthusiasm. The indications were indeed favorable, 
 so far as the aneroid was concerned, the index of the instru- 
 ment having been permanently adjusted by the last occupants 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 197 
 
 of the hut. The atmospheric symptoms were not quite so en- 
 couraging. A fire built by the guides in the chimney of the 
 hut soon caused a general rush for the door. The smoke all 
 came down instead of going up, and our cooking proceeded 
 under difficulties. Until supper was ready, those of us not 
 pressed into culinary service took observations of the weather, 
 and of the scenes of solitude and rocky, ice-bound desolation 
 round about us. The atmosphere was nebulous and chilly, 
 and the sun went down amidst gloomy shadows. The fatigues 
 of the day made sleep grateful, even upon the stony floor of 
 the hut. 
 
 We resumed the ascent at daybreak. The cold, uncom- 
 fortable at first, was quickly forgotten in the exercise of clam- 
 bering over the moraine. The glacier was reached in half an 
 hour, and then the snow-field, seemingly boundless, in mount- 
 ing which we moved in Indian file, about ten feet apart, lashed 
 to one another by a rope. I was not long in finding a spot 
 where a thin, deceptive covering of snow concealed a pit to 
 which there was no perceptible bottom. Fortunately the cleft 
 was narrow, and the result of the fall was nothing more serious 
 than a slight bruise. The neve, becoming steeper and more 
 yielding as we ascended, lay like a white sheet let down from 
 the sky between us and the apex of the Joeh, whose smooth, 
 snow-covered ridge, polished by the wind, seemed delusively 
 near. By steady plodding we gained the ridge at 7 a.m., and 
 stood upon the crown of the range known as the Bildstockljoch, 
 about eleven thousand feet above sea-level. A strong wind, 
 bitterly cold, blew over the Joeh, in a cavity of which lay a 
 small lake, solidly frozen over. This on the 19th day of 
 August! Ravelled shreds of cloud floated from the highest 
 summits, but on all sides the eye ranged over a tumultuous 
 expanse of snow-field, glacier, and barren rock, cleft by 
 mighty chasms and abysses. In some directions the vision 
 pierced far into Switzerland and Italy. 
 
 17* 
 
198 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 The scene was one of sublime desolation,— the desolation 
 where cold, solitude, and barrenness reign supreme. Some- 
 times a far, white snow-field, on which the sunshine lay, 
 glittered and sparkled lovely as the fields of fairy-land, while 
 here and there a majestic peak displayed its shapely form, 
 smooth and fair as spotless alabaster ; but generally speaking 
 the outlook was solemn, stupendous, and severe, with few 
 touches of beauty or gentleness to relieve its savage grandeur. 
 
 Our descent, at first down a steep, rocky ledge, led us upon 
 the Windach glacier, where again the rope had to be used. 
 Beyond the glacier our course descended several thousand feet, 
 by numberless turns and zigzags, into the Windachthal, adown 
 which we kept company with the glacier torrent until a group 
 of huts was reached, — the first below the snow-line, — where we 
 drank our fill of fresh milk, cooled in a mountain spring. 
 From these huts a splendid retrospect was had of the white 
 summits we had crossed, looking far more pleasing from below 
 than from above, as they glittered in the sun. Quitting the 
 huts, we walked for three hours down the deep, narrow gorge 
 of the Windachthal, the precipitous sides of which, dressed in 
 deep-green pine, mingled with the lighter green of larch and 
 Alpine cedar, were made luminous or thrown into deep shadow 
 by the effusive light of an August afternoon. It was a rare 
 and striking exhibition of color, — that variegated green with, 
 the blue sky over it, and the dark chasm beneath, at the bot- 
 tom of which — perhaps two thousand feet below the foot-path — 
 was heard the fretful clamor of the deep-voiced torrent. 
 
 At the lower terminus of the Windachthal we looked down 
 from a lofty promontory into the deep basin of the Oetzthal, 
 the longest lateral valley of the Inn. At the bottom of this 
 valley appeared the village of Solden, whose pretty white cot- 
 tages and church, surrounded by velvety meadows and forests 
 of pointed cedars and pines, presented a very pleasing picture. 
 Descending from the heights, we refreshed ourselves for an 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 199 
 
 hour at the village inn, past the door of which dashed and 
 sparkled one of the loveliest cascades in all Tyrol. Although 
 it is not starred in the guide-books, or famous like the Giess- 
 bach, or the Staubbach, this silvery torrent of the Oetzthal is 
 in some respects more beautiful than either. Far up the 
 mountain side it gushes forth from the environing foliage, then 
 dashes down an evenly-inclined plane for a quarter of a mile 
 over its rocky bed, sparkling, flashing, roaring in wild, beauti- 
 ful tumult of boisterous haste, until it pours itself into the 
 channel of the Ache at the bottom of the valley. Nothing 
 could be finer in its way than this mad little cataract with its 
 village, forest, and meadow accompaniments ; and while re- 
 garding the bewitching insanity of its frenzied flood I felt that 
 it would be a great happiness to be an artist capable of show- 
 ing truthfully on canvas how the waters come down at Solden. 
 The Alpine valleys have certain features which are common 
 to them all, or nearly all. Their primary stage is that of a 
 fissure or gorge into which the torrents fall or the glaciers 
 slide. In descending from its parent snow-field, or nevS, the 
 glacier usually reaches the brink of a lofty semicircular bench 
 or ridge, in falling over which its mass is fissured, broken, and 
 disintegrated. With this bench, or the terminal moraine which 
 has been carried over it, the valley proper begins. In elevated 
 regions of this character no trees grow, although herbage and 
 flowers are sometimes seen up to the very edge of the ice-cur- 
 rent. The next stage brings us down to the timber-line, where 
 begin the hardier growths of mountain conifera, at first 
 dwarfed and scattered, but soon acquiring the proportions of a 
 well-developed forest. Below this belt the valley almost in- 
 variably expands, making room for meadows and the first 
 human settlements ; then it contracts until it becomes, perhaps, 
 a mere gorge between the mountains ; then it widens again to 
 greater extent than before, affording tillable laud enough to 
 support a considerable settlement, with possibly a village. 
 
200 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 These contractions and expansions, usually not more than three 
 or four in number, but more numerous when the valley is a 
 long one, alternate with successive benches or plateaus, which 
 drop from one plane to another like gigantic stairs. Finally, 
 the valley terminates in a narrow gorge, with lofty and pre- 
 cipitous sides, through which its waters find vent. 
 
 Such was the Windachthal, out of which we had just 
 emerged, and such also the Gurglerthal, into which we were 
 about to enter. Both of these are minor branches of the 
 Oetzthal, which is broad and fertile at its lower extremity, but 
 in its upper portions is much exposed to mud-torrents and 
 avalanches, and branches off into many wild ravines which 
 ramify the vast ice-fields of the Oetzthaler Alps. The largest 
 of these ravines is the Fenderthal, into which descend the 
 glacier torrents of its branches, the Rofenthal and Niederthal. 
 Furrowing, in a converging course, the northern slope of the 
 gigantic Alpine water-shed between the Inn and the Adige, 
 the Fenderthal and Gurglerthal unite and lose their identity 
 in the Oetzthal ; between them rises a lofty glacier-bearing 
 range crossed by a pass, practicable for pedestrians, known as 
 the Ramoljoch ; at their junction, in the Oetzthal, lies the little 
 hamlet of Zwieselstein, above which rises the huge rocky 
 bastion in which the dividing range terminates. At Zwiesel- 
 stein we reach the Gurglerthal by climbing the steep mountain 
 barrier which closes its entrance, excepting only the chasm 
 through which its torrent escapes into the Oetzthal. After we 
 have scrambled up this height by a fatiguing course, among 
 rocks and pine-trees, the valley opens before us in narrow, far- 
 reaching perspective, between converging ranges of lofty moun- 
 tains. Few people dwell in this remote, icy solitude; its lone- 
 liness is almost oppressive. A few patches of meadow furnish 
 its sole promise of human sustenance. 
 
 The only person we saw or met on our way up the Gurgler- 
 thal was the neighborhood postman, — like ourselves, a pedes- 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 201 
 
 trian. Whatever mail he carried — if any — was contained in 
 a haversack, which seemed to be in a chronic state of vacuity. 
 To our inquiries whether he had any letters for us, he replied 
 with looks of blank amazement. Our most unaccountable 
 questions were no doubt jotted down in his memory among 
 the most bewildering occurrences of his life. 
 
 The last and principal settlement in this valley is the little 
 hamlet of Ober Gurgel, of which Baedeker speaks as " the 
 loftiest village in Tyrol, situated amid magnificent scenery." 
 Now, Baedeker is extremely sparing of superlatives, and when 
 he says anything is magnificent we may be sure that it is so. 
 And so, in this case, the event proved. We approached Ober 
 Gurgel about sunset, after a walk of four hours and a half 
 from Solden, and found it a pretty cluster of cottages among 
 the pastures, grouped around a neat little chapel. All around 
 it rise gigantic mountains, out of the notches of which hang 
 the wrinkled tongues — like those of monsters caged — of some 
 of the most wonderful glaciers in the Oetzthal field. The 
 village contains no inn, but the cure, good soul, came out to 
 greet us, extending both hands, and bidding us welcome to 
 lodge under his roof. Had we been old acquaintances and 
 near friends, we could not have been more thoughtfully enter- 
 tained than we were that night at the fireside of this noble- 
 hearted stranger. Human hearts seem to grow warmer as we 
 approach the regions of perpetual ice. Ober Gurgel lies six 
 thousand two hundred and sixty-six feet — more than a mile — 
 above the plane of Paris or New York. 
 
 Early next morning we set out for the Ramoljoch. A 
 short distance from the village our path led up a steep, 
 meadowy mountain, until a height of at least two thousand 
 feet was gained above the brawling torrent of the Gurgler 
 Ache. From this altitude a splendid retrospect was had of 
 the Gurglerthal, overhung by craggy precipices and snow- 
 capped mountains. The pretty hamlet of Ober Gurgel seemed 
 
202 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 but a group of toy houses among the bright-green meadows. 
 Above us, a thousand feet or more, a huge stratum of ice, ap- 
 parently hundreds of feet thick, glittered like glass upon an 
 overhanging ledge, from which it seemed ready to roll down 
 upon our heads. Beyond us, looking up the valley, the great 
 Gurgler glacier was seen, with its tributary snow-fields, pour- 
 ing its resistless ice-current across the path of its less powerful 
 neighbor, the Langthaler glacier, which descends into the 
 same valley. Traces of this conflict between the prodigious 
 forces of nature are seen in the scarred condition of the walls 
 of the arena within which they have wrestled with one 
 another. The beaten combatant seems, for the present, to 
 have drawn back into its lair; for a placid lake, in which 
 small icebergs float, now usually holds a truce between the 
 contending glaciers, albeit, at the time we passed by, this 
 gentle peace-maker had disappeared, — by evaporation, — leaving 
 behind it only a seamed and discolored chasm. 
 
 As we pursued our course along the face of the mountain, 
 about two thousand feet above the Gurgler glacier, its grace- 
 fully-curved moraine could be seen winding down the valley 
 for miles from the vast neve which lay behind it. Above the 
 neve* rose the Hochwildspitze, and various other giant peaks 
 with Brobdingnagian titles. To the eastward the Gross 
 Glockner ice-field is sometimes visible from here, but from our 
 eyes it was veiled by rapidly-gathering vapor, which the 
 atmospheric caprice of these lofty altitudes soon converted into 
 mist. Clambering over huge piles of rocky debris we reached 
 the Ramol glacier, over which we walked, wading knee-deep 
 in last year's snow. Meanwhile, in lieu of the mist, a heavy 
 precipitation of snow had set in, and flew before the wind, 
 which blew among the blackened crags around the glacier, a 
 howling gale. By the time we had gained the summit of the 
 Joch the storm had reached its crisis, and we were glad to 
 seek refuge from its violence under a sheltering ledge. Such 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 203 
 
 was the state of the weather, on the Ramoljoch, on the 20th 
 day of August. 
 
 The temperature was wintry ; nothing could be seen. Our 
 young Munich friend, who had been ambitious to show how 
 much faster he could get over rocks and glaciers than the rest 
 of us, lay down on the wet stones and fell asleep from fatigue. 
 His face was blanched, and there was apparently no strength 
 left in him. After waiting an hour for the storm to abate, we 
 awakened him with the admonition that if he hoped ever to 
 see the fatherland again, he had better prepare to move. 
 From the Joch, which is but a narrow comb of rock, we de- 
 scended, on the western slope, to the Spiegel glacier, whose 
 treacherous crevasses made it necessary to use the rope. For 
 some thousands of feet we passed, with prodigious strides, 
 down an inclined plane of soft snow, into which, at every step, 
 we sank to the knees. Keeping progress with our descent, 
 the snow merged into solid ice, and the sky began to clear, so 
 that, by the time we came upon the hard, blue surface of the 
 lower glacier, the white peaks, emerging as if freshly blanched 
 from their baptism of cloud, fairly dazzled in the sunshine. 
 Suddenly we found ourselves again in genuine August weather, 
 the heat of which caused the surface of the ice to trickle with 
 thousands of little currents, bright and transparent as rippling 
 sunlight. With the speed of magic nearly the whole sky was 
 swept of cloud, but below us, in the gorges of the Fenderthal 
 and Niederthal, masses of white vapor still concealed all 
 beneath them. Not long, however, for as if seized with fright 
 and bewilderment, those vapory masses suddenly began to 
 move rapidly to and fro ; then, as if shot from a cannon's 
 mouth, rose perpendicularly in whirling eddies until, striking 
 a colder medium, they were absorbed and disappeared. 
 
 At the foot of the glacier our little party separated, we two 
 turning to the left up the Niederthal, and our Munich friend 
 keeping straight on down the valley to Fend. We had not 
 
204 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 gone far until, looking back, we saw our weary companion lying 
 flat on the ground, taking a good rest. Evidently he had felt 
 himself in no condition to accompany us on the rough route we 
 had chosen. 
 
 Our first task was to cross the moraine of the Spiegel glacier, 
 — >a huge mass of broken rock, jammed together in the bed 
 of the gorge. The undertaking was one requiring much cau- 
 tion, as I was soon taught by a violent fall and lucky escape 
 from serious bruises. The unshapen blocks of sienite, carried 
 down by the ice, lay with their flinty corners and angles most 
 inconveniently upturned, and were surfaced like a rasp. 
 
 Up the Niederthal and the Rofenthal, which unite at Fend, 
 lead the two principal bridle-paths which cross the range, the 
 one by the Niederjoch, the other by the Hochjoch. On either 
 side of these ravines the mountains, treeless and very steep, 
 rise to the height of ten thousand to twelve thousand feet. 
 Turning from the moraine sharply to the left, we crossed a 
 rocky ridge, and walked along the eastern face of the Nieder- 
 thal, at a height of from two thousand to three thousand feet 
 above the bottom of the ravine. We were now in the midst 
 of an enormous cluster of ice-bearing ranges, and as we ad- 
 vanced up the gorge a splendid scene burst upon our vision. 
 First the round, crystalline top of the Schalfkogel, incom- 
 parably white against the deep-blue sky, came into view on 
 our left ; then, simultaneously, the equally white and dazzling 
 but more irregular Kreutzspitze lifted its serrated pinnacles to 
 our right ; and directly before us, a very dream of Alpine grace 
 and beauty, rose the symmetrical, snow-enshrouded pyramid 
 of the Similaun. Around the semicircle outlined by this 
 trinity of giants, a series of immense glaciers — those of the 
 Marzell and the Hochjoch being chief — poured their mighty 
 ice-currents into the abysses of the Rofenthal and Niederthal. 
 The Marzell glacier, with its tributaries, forms a colossal mass 
 of ice which descends far into the valley, carrying with it a 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 205 
 
 serpentine moraine of graceful curvature and measureless 
 weight of crushed and abraded rock. About a thousand feet 
 above this mass, along the western slope of the gorge, leads 
 the path to the Samoar Hutte and the Niederjoch. This path 
 we reached by descending the eastern slope and crossing the 
 ravine upon a lofty snow-bridge formed by an avalanche 
 which, descending from the mountain, had filled the lower 
 part of the gorge with its huge mass, and obliged the torrent 
 to burrow through it. 
 
 The Samoar Hutte, on the Niederjoch, like the Dresdener 
 Hutte, on the Bildstockljoch, is a rude cabin built by the 
 Alpine Club for the benefit of mountain adventurers. By 
 diligent climbing we managed to reach the hut just as the sun 
 was setting, and just in time to find refuge from a violent rain. 
 Several German tourists — one a lady — had just taken lodgings 
 for the night, and a savory smell of coffee and roast mutton 
 pervaded the domicile. The pouring of the rain on the thin 
 pine roof, the subdued roar of the torrent down in the gorge, 
 and the sizzle of fresh meat in the saucepan formed a collection, 
 if not a harmony, of sweet sounds particularly pleasing to 
 people so hungry and tired as ourselves. A curious company 
 we were, too, as we sat around the rough tables, endeavoring to 
 twist the German language into threads of conversation from 
 the inharmonious spindles of half a dozen different dialects. 
 While we were all doing our best to be comfortable and happy, 
 suddenly, like an apparition, the full moon, peering through a 
 notch in the mountains, looked in at the open door, and seemed 
 to laugh a wild, merry, elfish laugh from its big, round face. 
 The clouds had broken away a little and given our serene 
 visitor a chance to make this call ; but directly the vapory cur- 
 tains knit together again, the rain resumed its musical beat, 
 and our group of weary pedestrians one after another sur- 
 rendered their consciousness to the magic of its lullaby. 
 
 At dawn, the rain having ceased, we took a guide and set 
 
 18 
 
206 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 out to scale the Kreutzspitze. The ascent began at the door of 
 the hut, and was toilsome all the way to the summit, but the 
 effort it cost was abundantly requited by ever unfolding and 
 widening views of indescribable grandeur. We seemed to be 
 between two planes of vapor, one veiling the topmost peaks, 
 and the other wedged into the abysses far below us. The 
 Venter Wildspitze — the loftiest of the Oetzthal Alps — dis- 
 closed only the lower part of its massive pyramid, and the 
 Weisskugel — twelve thousand three hundred feet — stubbornly 
 refused to display its full grandeur of height and form. 
 Nevertheless, the spectacle was sublime enough, as we looked 
 around from a height of over ten thousand feet upon a vast 
 field of icy desolation, overtopped by mountain giants which 
 were playing hide-and-seek with the frantic, wind-driven 
 clouds. The atmospheric bewilderment, almost dramatic in 
 its effects, was something glorious to witness. The movement 
 of the immense masses of vapor, swept hither and thither, 
 laterally and perpendicularly, by the capricious atmospheric 
 currents, imparted to the mountains a certain mysterious 
 grandeur which they could scarcely have had under clear skies. 
 When the clouds broke above the snowy peaks, and the sun 
 streamed down upon their crystalline whiteness, making their 
 wind-polished, spotless surfaces gleam and dazzle, the effect 
 was almost supernaturally grand ; it was like a revelation 
 from the skies. Over immense fields of ice and snow, inter- 
 mittently revealed, black canopies of cloud trailed their frayed 
 edges, as if rapidly dragged from above by some unseen spirit 
 of the air. In all directions fissured glaciers poured their 
 currents into the valleys, from whose dark depths, thousands 
 of feet below us, came up the deep, solemn roar of rushing 
 waters. There was no other sound than that, and no other 
 life than our own. We seemed to have passed into a supermun- 
 dane sphere, solitary, savage, and sublime, having neither sym- 
 pathy nor connection with the genial dwelling-places of men. 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 207 
 
 The wind was keen, and snow fell occasionally from the 
 shreds of cloud which swept over us. To keep from being 
 chilled, my companion exercised himself by starting over the 
 brink large fragments of rock which lay loose upon the sum- 
 mit, and watching them plunge in prodigious leaps from 
 precipice to precipice until the shock of their tremendous 
 momentum came up in echoing thunders from the unseen 
 abysses beneath. My athletic friend was admonished not to 
 spoil the scenery by tearing down the mountain, but kept 
 heedlessly on, heaving overboard one huge stone after another, 
 until it seemed as if another Polypheme were there, bombard- 
 ing some fugitive Ulysses. The Kreutzspitze was finally 
 saved from complete abrasion by the constraint of other 
 engagements compelling us to quit the mountain, which we 
 had planned to do in the direction of the Rofenthal. In 
 order to descend on that side we were obliged, at first, to walk 
 along a cornice of snow which overhung a precipice of great 
 height. As the cornice sloped steeply to the right, we kept 
 near its outer edge, which projected over the ledge beneath it. 
 Fortunately it was solid enough to bear our weight ; other- 
 wise this record never would have been written. At the end 
 of the cornice we found a practicable route of descent down the 
 steep — nearly perpendicular — side of the cone to the glacier, 
 or rather to its neve, over which we walked in soft snow, 
 sinking, sometimes, nearly to the waist. We marched single 
 file, a few yards apart, attached to each other by a hemp cord, 
 which we hoped was stout enough to enable any two of us to 
 pull the third out of any crevasse, or Bergschrund, into which 
 he might fall. There were many treacherous places, where 
 the snow changed color, and its incrusted surface sounded 
 hollow beneath our footfalls. We felt much relieved when 
 we reached the solid ice, seamed and perforated as it was by 
 pits and crevasses. 
 
 A descent of two hours brought us to the Rofenthal Hospice, 
 
208 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 at the foot of the Hochjoch glacier. The enormous mass of 
 ice which constitutes this glacier lies across the range like a 
 saddle, discharging its current on the northern side into the 
 Rosenthal, and on the southern into the Schnalserthal. To 
 cross it from end to end, exclusive of its ice-fall, requires a 
 brisk walk of two hours. Although we had surveyed its en- 
 tire extent from the Kreutzspitze, its magnitude was not fully 
 realized until we came to traverse it on foot. Upon its steep 
 northern incline thousands of rivulets were coursing down its 
 surface, caused by the afternoon heat of the August sun. 
 Frequently these rivulets, flowing together in a common 
 channel, formed a considerable torrent, which poured into a 
 perpendicular shaft in the ice with thunderous reverberations. 
 These shafts, called moulins — mills, abound upon the Hoch- 
 joch. They are scooped out by the swirls of water which 
 are produced when the surface currents strike cracks in the 
 ice caused by the movement of the glacier. Their depth 
 varies from fifty to three hundred and fifty feet, according to 
 the thickness of the ice and the ramification of its interior 
 cavities. Nearly all glaciers are pierced by moulins in num- 
 ber greater or less. Those of the Hochjoch, having large, 
 slippery orifices, polished by the water, looked like horrible 
 man-traps, into which it would be easy to slide, and from 
 which it would be impossible to escape. 
 
 Beyond the summit of the range the glacier slopes to the 
 south, and the destination of its waters is changed from the 
 Danube and the Black Sea to the Po and the Adriatic. Our 
 guide left us at the southern extremity of the ice-field, where 
 the Schnalserthal opens and a well-defined path begins. An 
 hour's descent by this path brought us to Kurzras, the name 
 given to the first chalet which is reached after passing the 
 Joch. Here we remained for the night, glad to avail our- 
 selves, after such a day's experiences, of the plain but scrupu- 
 lously cleanly and most enjoyable hospitality of the chalet. 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 209 
 
 August 22. — Left Kurzras at 7.30 a.m. Rain had fallen 
 during the night, and the upper mountains were enveloped in 
 m'r ( sty cloud which, while excluding the sunshine, seemed to 
 impart a deeper greenness to the meadows and to the splendid 
 groves of larch and cedar which beautify the rugged slopes of 
 the Upper Schnalserthal. Under the fringes of the clouds 
 which trailed along the mountains could be seen the traces of a 
 fresh snow-fall which, soon after we quitted Kurzras, began to 
 descend into the lower plane of the valley, where it was 
 changed to rain. On the Hochjoch a violent snow-storm was 
 raging. Defying the vicious weather, which seemed to be 
 quite in keeping with the savage solitudes of the Schnalserthal, 
 we walked rapidly, and at 10 A.M. arrived at a forlorn-look- 
 ing hamlet named Unser Frau. Upon entering the inn we 
 found there several tourists, among whom was our Munich 
 fellow-traveller who had quitted us on the Spiegel glacier. 
 After resting for a day, he had been able to get over the Hoch- 
 joch, and was now fortifying himself with Botzen beer against 
 the depressing influences of the weather. 
 
 From Unser Frau we walked in a steady rain down to 
 Carthaus, the next hamlet, near which the valley shrinks to a 
 narrow gorge of immense depth, through which the Schnalser- 
 bach rushes noisily. The scenery here is magnificently wild. 
 While we were descending the steep and stony path below 
 Carthaus, in the midst of a solitary glen, we overtook an aged 
 crone, bent and hook-nosed, hobbling along on her stick, — the 
 ideal of a mountain witch. She did not perceive us until, 
 owing to the narrowness of the path, I was obliged to crowd 
 past her, when, uplifting her face, she turned her sharp eyes on 
 me, and broke into an eldritch laugh. The rencontre was so 
 ridiculously odd that even a witch could not help being amused 
 by it. 
 
 As we emerged from the defile, a rift in the clouds disclosed 
 a small church, with slender, cross-bearing spire, standing on 
 o 18* 
 
210 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 the brink of a promontory, thousands of feet above the bed 
 of the torrent. In a moment the aerial shrine was again en- 
 shrouded in misty vapor and disappeared like an apparition 
 of the sky. 
 
 At Ratteis, where the path develops into a rude wagon- 
 track, we hired an Einspllnner to carry us to the foot of the 
 valley, which terminates in a narrow defile between perpen- 
 dicular walls of rock. Through this mountain gate-way we 
 entered the broad valley of the Adige, hoping to overtake the 
 up-going post diligence, but it had already passed by. There 
 was no alternative but to walk, and we trudged on in the rain 
 as far as Castelbell, where we were so fortunate as to obtain a 
 good dinner and a covered Einspanner to Schlanders. Here 
 we hired another vehicle to Laas, near which a mud-avalanche 
 had just descended from the mountain and obstructed the road. 
 Having walked around this obstruction, we obtained, finally, 
 a carriage direct to Mais, where we arrived, thoroughly rain- 
 soaked and chilled, about 8.30 p.m. 
 
 The names of the villages in the Adige "Valley will not strike 
 the reader as being euphonious. Compounded of a harsh 
 mixture of the German and E-omansch languages, these titles 
 are applied to towns which are as unsightly in appearance as 
 their names are unmusical in sound. 
 
 Aiming to overtake the early diligence at Minister, we 
 quitted Mais before daybreak. A gentle morning breeze blew 
 fresh and fragrant out of the cedar forests, whose blank black- 
 ness took form and color from the golden light of a glorious 
 sunrise which crowned with auroral splendor the mountains in 
 the neighborhood of the Stelvio Pass. The augury seemed 
 favorable for a serene, unclouded day, but it was not to be 
 trusted. No coquette was ever more capricious, or in sunny 
 moods more captivating, than is the weather in these Alpine 
 regions. 
 
 A mile or so from Miinster, towards Mais, the road crosses 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 211 
 
 the Austrian boundary and enters Switzerland. Instantly a 
 striking change takes place. The primitive cart-track develops 
 into a broad, solid highway ; stony, half-tended fields, over- 
 grown with weeds, give place to trim, luxuriant farms ; grimy 
 chalets and filthy villages, where compost heaps rise beside the 
 door-step, are exchanged for neatly-built and painted cottages, 
 with flowers and snowy lace — sure tokens of cleanliness and 
 comfort — in their well-polished windows. 
 
 At Minister we took seats in a handsomely-cushioned dili- 
 gence, quite the reverse of the rude, jolting vehicle in which 
 we had come from Mais. Our course followed the windings 
 of the Munsterthal, which we ascended amidst smooth, verdant 
 meadows and pretty villages as cleanly and home-like as those 
 of New England. The neat white cottages of the peasantry, 
 built with thick walls and small windows on account of the 
 severe winters, looked very attractive, scattered up and down 
 the green valley. The neighboring mountain slopes consist 
 mainly of meadow and evergreen forests until the upper part 
 of the valley is reached, when the snowy Alps again appear. 
 The road mounts by a long zigzag to the crest of the range, 
 which commands a charming retrospect towards Minister and 
 the Tyrol. 
 
 The Ladin language, spoken by the people of the Munster- 
 thal, is supposed to be similar to the Latin dialect of the an- 
 cient Roman peasants. Most of the people are familiar also 
 with the German, which language they speak with correctness 
 and distinctness, in pleasing contrast with the wretched dialects 
 of the Tyrolese. The Ladin rendering of the second and third 
 verses of the Ninety-sixth Psalm is thus given by Baedeker : 
 
 Chante al Segner, celebre sieu nom, annunze ogni di sieu 
 salud. Requinte traunter Us p'ovels sia gloria, traunter tuottas 
 naziuns sias ovras muravigliusas. — Sing unto the Lord, bless his 
 name, show forth his salvation from day to day. Declare his 
 glory among the heathen, his wonders among all the people. 
 
212 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 The village and valley of Minister belong to the canton of 
 the Grisons. This canton, comprising about one-sixth of the 
 entire territories of Switzerland, is remarkable alike in its 
 history, its varied scenery and natural resources, and in its 
 curious conglomeration of races and dialects. The canton con- 
 tains about one hundred and fifty valleys and a vast net-work 
 of mountain ranges. In some of the valleys, as in the 
 Minister, Ladin is spoken ; in others, a similar dialect known 
 as the Romansch ; while in some sections the German tongue 
 prevails, and in others the Italian. The climate varies from 
 that of the benign skies of Northern Italy to the wintry deso- 
 lation of perpetual snow. 
 
 Our course now lay over the Buffalora Alp and the Ofen 
 Pass to Zernetz, in the Lower Engadine. From Zernetz, a 
 thriving trading town, we drove, by JEinspdnner, down the Inn 
 Valley to Siis, and there overtook the diligence about to leave 
 for the Fluela. The vehicle was crowded with passengers, the 
 ubiquitous English tourist, conspicuous in helmet-shaped hat 
 and long linen havelock, claiming, as usual, a large share of 
 space and attention. Directly after quitting Sits, "with its 
 ruined castle on a larch-clad hill," the road to the Fluela 
 turns into a monotonous ravine, and begins to mount the range 
 by the usual windings and turnings. The Fluela Pass, though 
 not so celebrated as some others, is nearly one thousand feet 
 higher than the St. Gothard, or the Spliigen, and two thousand 
 feet higher than the Rigi Kulm. The Stelvio and the Furca 
 are the only European wagon- routes which surpass it in alti- 
 tude. The highest point on the road was reached, in three 
 hours, just as a fierce storm of snow and wind, accompanied 
 by lightning and heavy thunder, swept over the summit. In 
 a few minutes the ground became white from the snow-fall, 
 and the transformation from midsummer in the valley to mid- 
 winter on the mountain-top was complete. A solitary hospice 
 for wayfarers on the pass was the only sign of human dwell- 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 213 
 
 ing in this desolate place. My young fellow-adventurer, who 
 had accompanied me from Innsbruck, concluded to remain 
 overnight at this hospice, in the hope that the weather would 
 be favorable for ascending the Schwarzhorn the following 
 morning. His hopes were not realized, as I afterwards 
 learned, while my own expectations of a comfortable night's 
 rest at Davos Dorfli, which we reached by a rapid zigzag 
 descent of two hours from the summit, were not disappointed. 
 
 The sheltered position of Davos Ddrfli, together with the 
 beauty of its surroundings, have given it much reputation 
 both as a summer and as a winter resort, and have caused it to 
 acquire facilities for elegant and comfortable leisure which the 
 stranger by no means expects in a place so sequestered. Oppo- 
 site to the town hangs the broad, white shield of the Scaletta 
 glacier, which reappears by reflection, in the blue surface of 
 the Davoser See, an attractive little lake in the vicinity of 
 Davos. Many lofty mountains, dressed in Alpine white and 
 green, also reflect themselves in these bright waters. 
 
 Beyond the lake, towards Ober Laret and Klosters, the road 
 descends into the valley of the Landquart, and the Silvretta 
 glacier and snow-field disclose themselves at the parting of 
 the mountains. Most of the villages in the vicinity are more 
 or less the resorts of invalids and pleasure-seekers, and are 
 composed of rude log chalets and elegant summer hotels, 
 oddly mixed. Going westward, the road descends the fruitful, 
 well-improved valley of the Landquart, which emerges between 
 rocky bastions into the broader basin of the Upper Rhine. 
 A few miles down-stream from this junction of the valleys lies 
 Mayenfeld, once a Roman station, nearly opposite to which, 
 on the left bank of the Rhine, is situated the renowned sum- 
 mer resort named, from its twin villages, Ragatz-Pfaffers. 
 
 The hot spring which supplies the baths of Ragatz issues 
 from a cleft in the rocks five hundred feet above the village. 
 The location of this spring has been properly described as one 
 
214 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 of the most wonderful spots iu Switzerland. From the valley 
 it may be reached by a narrow carriage-road, which has been 
 hewn out of the rocky walls of the ravine through which the 
 impetuous torrent of the Tamina descends from the moun- 
 tains and pours into the Rhine. Just above the village this 
 torrent precipitates itself over a ledge of rock twenty or thirty 
 feet in height, forming a pretty cascade. An hour's walk 
 from this point up the ravine brings us to the bath-house 
 known as Bad Pfaffers, perched upon an elevated spot — the 
 only one available — above the noisy torrent. A long corridor 
 through this building leads to the fissure by which an 
 enormous mass of natural rock thrown across the ravine has 
 been cloven asunder. Through this fissure, which measures 
 apparently from two hundred and fifty to three hundred feet 
 from top to bottom, the foaming torrent of the Tamina dashes. 
 A wooden gallery, laid upon a shoulder of rock about thirty 
 feet above the bed of the stream, leads into the chasm, under 
 the drip and pour of unseen springs descending from above. 
 The interior is gloomy, but looking aloft, most exquisite vistas 
 are seen, through the parted rocks and overhanging foliage, of 
 blue sky and snowy cloud. At its upper extremity the fissure 
 forms an irregular cleft, narrowing obliquely downward, which 
 reveals, like a stereoscope, the far, conical forms of evergreens, 
 in different shades of color, standing one above another on 
 the precipitous sides of the upper gorge, in clear silhouette 
 against the cerulean above and behind them. 
 
 The spring is approached from the interior of the chasm by 
 a lateral cavern, dark as pitch, in the natural rock. With a 
 light, which an attendant provides, the bubbling fountain may 
 be seen, smoking like a caldron, and filling the cavern with 
 vapor. The water, very clear and nearly tasteless, has a tem- 
 perature of about 98° Fahrenheit. The ordinary discharge 
 per minute is eight hundred litres ; sometimes it rises to fifteen 
 hundred litres. Ten or fifteen feet higher than the surface of 
 
A TRAMP THROUGH TYROL. 215 
 
 the spring a point is marked on the rock to which the Tamina 
 is said, to have risen during a freshet in 1865. 
 
 Above the spring, outside the chasm, a path leads by a 
 natural bridge across the gorge, then by a winding course up 
 the mountain, to the village of Pfaffers. During an evening 
 stroll on this path, I was deeply impressed with the beauty 
 and sublimity of the scenery in this part of the Rhine Valley. 
 The blending of colors on the mountains was a fascinating 
 study. Peaks, crags, and precipices, bare, stern, and misshapen, 
 were pencilled with such delicacy of tint, light, and shadow as 
 to transform their hard lines into lines of mellifluent grace, 
 and their rugged forms into forms of ideal loveliness. Among 
 
 Do O 
 
 the forests and pastures whose alternating tones of green 
 checkered the plane and sides of the valley, white-walled vil- 
 lages were strewn up and down, enlivening and inspiring the 
 beautiful forms and combinations of Nature. 
 
 Among these villages Ragatz rightfully holds the place of 
 honor. Its parks, drives, promenades, baths, and splendid 
 mountain surroundings make it one of the most delightful 
 places in Switzerland. Of the fifty thousand strangers who 
 come here every year, probably none go away disappointed, — 
 at least not with what Nature has done to make their sojourn 
 interesting and agreeable. , The scenery of the Upper Rhine 
 is less famous than that of the Lower, but far more sublime. 
 Lovely beyond expression is the view down the valley from 
 my window in the Quellenhof as I write these lines. The 
 evening sun is just sliding behind the mountain-tops, diffusing 
 the crystalline atmosphere with mellow radiance, and darting 
 volleys of arrowy, golden light against the helmeted summits 
 and grim old battlements of rock, seamed and grizzled with 
 the storms of ages and eons. The quiet valley, smiling, sinks 
 into shadowy slumber, cradled between sentinel lines of Alpine 
 giants, whose serried vista leads the eye and heart up and 
 away into the unspeakable infinite. Bounding the western 
 
216 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 horizon, four peaks of almost even height stand in array and 
 receive the last passionate, fiery kisses of the departing sun. So 
 serene and ethereal is the sky with which they seem to blend 
 and harmonize, that we instinctively imagine bright spirits to 
 be hovering there, — spirits too pure and gentle for this unquiet, 
 unsatisfying sphere of action, — which beckon us with glancing 
 wings to come and enjoy with them a more guileless and tran- 
 quil existence, lying 
 
 Far off, beyond the mountain's brim, — 
 There, where the rich cascade of day, 
 
 O'er the horizon's golden rim, 
 Into Elysium rolls away. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHAKD. 
 
 Ragatz lies on the grand highway through Eastern Switzer- 
 land to Italy, over the Spliigen. A railway which has con- 
 nections, through Zurich and Constance, with all the South 
 German cities, extends as far south as Coire ; from thence con- 
 veyance is obtained over the pass to Chiavenna and Colico 
 by diligence. Travellers leaving Ragatz in the morning 
 arrive at the village of Spliigen, situated at the northern base 
 of the pass, the following evening. 
 
 From Coire the diligence ascends the Rhine Valley as far as 
 Reichenau, at which point the Vorder-Rhein, or principal 
 branch of the river, coming down from the St. Gothard, is 
 joined by its tributary, the Hinter-Rhein, coming from the 
 Bernardino and the Spliigen. The conflict of waters where 
 the two streams come together, at Reichenau, is much like that 
 seen at the confluence of the Rhone and the Arve near Geneva, 
 the Vorder-Rhein, despite its superior volume, being forced 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 217 
 
 back by the turbid and more impetuous current of the Hinter- 
 Rhein. The best view of the rivers is obtained from a 
 pavilion in the garden of the chateau, originally an abbey, in 
 which Louis Philippe obtained refuge, in 1794, under the 
 name of Chabot. 
 
 At Reichenau the diligence for the Spliigen turns into the 
 valley of the Hinter-Rhein, famous for its fertility, its castles, 
 crowning nearly every eminence, and its beauty of scenery. 
 Ascending this valley, we pass through a series of villages, 
 remarkable, like those of the Vorder-Rhein, for their curious 
 mixture of languages and creeds. The language of Coire is 
 German, and its religion Protestant ; Ems, three miles south 
 of Coire, is Romansch in language, and in religion Roman 
 Catholic. Reichenau, three miles beyond Ems, is German 
 and Protestant, while Bonaduz — -just across the Vorder-Rhein 
 from Reichenau — and Rhaziins and Katzis, in the Hinter- 
 Rheinthal, are Romansch and Roman Catholic. Thusis, at 
 the gate of the mountains, is German and Protestant; Andeer, 
 Zillis, and the other villages farther up, are Romansch and 
 Protestant. In the upper part of the Hinter-Rheinthal, 
 known as the Rheinwald, Protestantism and the Romansch 
 language find their limit at the St. Bernardino Pass ; on the 
 southern slope of that pass, in the Mesocco "Valley, the villages 
 are all Italian and Roman Catholic. 
 
 At Thusis I had the good fortune to be transferred from the 
 crowded diligence to an open carriage — Beiwagen — for the re- 
 mainder of the journey, as far as Spliigen. A drive of ten 
 minutes from Thusis brought us to the entrance of the Via 
 Mala gorge, on the left of which, upon a promontory eight 
 hundred feet high, are the ruins of the most ancient castle in 
 Switzerland. This castle is said to have been built about six 
 hundred years before Christ by the Etruscan hero Rhsetus, as 
 a barrier against the barbaric Gauls, then about to swarm over 
 the Alps into Northern Italy. The defile, as we enter it ? 
 k 19 
 
218 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 looks like a fissure in the limestone rock, which rises on both 
 sides, almost perpendicularly, to the height of sixteen hundred 
 feet. Through this chasm,' a mile and a quarter in length, 
 the Hinter-Rhein pours its noisy torrent. Geologists declare 
 that the gorge is not a fissure at all, but a channel, which the 
 erosive waters have cut into the rock in the course of ages. 
 The devouring torrent, they tell us, disintegrated and literally 
 dissolved the limestone, until it got down to its present bed. 
 A huge body of water which appears to have been anciently 
 confined within the bed of the valley above the chasm may 
 have greatly reinforced and accelerated the erosive process. 
 
 Until the building of the present road, in 1822, there was no 
 thoroughfare through the gorge except a difficult and dangerous 
 path only four feet wide. The road, made possible only by 
 cutting into the face of the rock, and once or twice by tunnel- 
 ling, crosses the chasm by three different bridges, one of 
 which — a single arch — hangs at the airy height of two hundred 
 and sixty feet above the torrent. Beneath this bridge the 
 craggy sides of the chasm almost touch, allowing but narrow 
 glimpses of the boiling waters far below. Leaning over the 
 guard-walls, we let fall pieces of slate, which, descending flat- 
 wise, like miniature parachutes, struck the angry current with- 
 out perceptible sound. Yet the water is said to have risen, in 
 1868, within a few feet of the arch. The view from this 
 bridge — the central one of the three — as the finest in the 
 gorge. Forward and backward curves irregularly the sinuous 
 chasm ; below rage the wild waters, scarcely audible in their 
 abysmal channel ; over us tower the beetling crags and 
 precipices. We are closeted here with Nature, and awe-struck, 
 amazed, and overwhelmed by the sublimity and mystery of her 
 works. 
 
 Just above the third bridge the gorge opens into a valley 
 of moderate width, once the basin of a lake. On an eminence 
 to the right stand the ruins of a castle once occupied by the 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 219 
 
 mediaeval rulers of this valley, one of whom, it is said, was a 
 cruel tyrant of the Gessler type. Entering, one day, the hut 
 of a peasant whom he disliked, this mean-spirited despot spit 
 in the boiling broth which the poor man was cooking for his 
 dinner. Thereupon the enraged peasant seized his ignoble 
 highness by the throat, thrust his head into the pot which he 
 had denied, and held it there until he was strangled, exclaim- 
 ing, " Eat the soup thou hast seasoned." Such is one of the 
 traditions of this remote little community. 
 
 Passing additional castles and ruins, we enter another defile, 
 three miles in length, known as the Roffna ravine, resembling, 
 in some respects, the Via Mala. In descending this chasm 
 the youthful but robust and boisterous torrent of the Rhine 
 forms a series of riotous water-falls. The road now ascends 
 rapidly, and by so many zigzags that a pedestrian, taking the 
 direct foot-paths, has no difficulty in keeping far in advance 
 of the diligence. Far up the mountain slopes, on both sides 
 of the chasm, mount the serried spires of pines, cedars, and 
 other conifera, whose richly- verdant color, of various shades, 
 seems to be indigenous only to such elevated regions. 
 
 Beyond the RoiFna ravine the road courses, gently ascend- 
 ing, through an ideal Alpine valley, until it reaches the village 
 of Spliigen, where we remained for the night. At Spliigeu 
 the road branches, its direct line continuing up the valley of 
 the Hinter-Rhein to the Bernardino Pass, beyond which it 
 descends to Roveredo and Bellinzona, at the foot of the St. 
 Gothard. From the point on this road where it quits the 
 valley and ascends to the Bernardino, a path for pedestrians 
 leads to the Zapport glacier, near which the infant Rhine 
 issues from an aperture in the mountain resembling, in shape, 
 the mouth of a cow. The spring which flows copiously from 
 this aperture is soon augmented by tributaries coming down 
 from the glaciers, and descends past a tumultuous mass of 
 fragmentary rock known as Holle, and a wretched stony 
 
220 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 pasture named, by antithesis, Parodies. Farther on the 
 sturdy little stream burrows its way through huge masses of 
 avalanche snow which are heaped across its channel the whole 
 year round. It is worth remarking that, while the source of 
 the Hinter-Rhein is the magnificent spring just described, its 
 twin torrent, the Vorder-Rhein, has its origin in the Toma 
 See, a sequestered and lovely lake. The altitude of the 
 spring above sea-level is seven thousand two hundred and 
 seventy feet; the altitude of the lake is seven thousand six 
 hundred and ninety feet. 
 
 Thus nobly born is the noblest river of the European con- 
 tinent. 
 
 Quitting the Rhine at Spliigen, the road to Italy grapples 
 at once with the supreme difficulties of its mountain barrier. 
 After mounting a few hundred feet above the village, it passes 
 through a tunnel and enters a wild ravine, within which it 
 makes its way up the face of the mountain by multitudinous 
 zigzags. On some of these doublings long galleries have 
 been built to protect the road from avalanches, which here 
 descend, sometimes, in vast bulk and with lightning rapidity. 
 At intervals along the line houses of refuge have been built, 
 around which the snow piles itself in winter up to the win- 
 dows. Upon the four highest of these houses bells are rung, 
 during violent snow-storms, as a signal to travellers. 
 
 Ninety years ago Marshal Macdonald undertook to march 
 his divisiou of twelve thousand men over this range in the 
 dead of winter. An imperative order that this should be ac- 
 complished was given by Napoleon, then First Consul, his 
 object being to throw an army into the Italian Tyrol, by way 
 of the Valtellina, turn the line of the Mincio, and force the 
 Austrians from the plains of Italy. At that day the only 
 thoroughfare over the Spliigen was a mere bridle-path, and to 
 attempt to pass the mountain by such a road in such a season 
 seemed like madness. But Napoleon insisted that an army 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 221 
 
 could go wherever two men could plant their feet, and Mac- 
 donald, being a true soldier, obeyed orders. Placing his artillery 
 on sledges, the general obliged his troops to carry their sup- 
 plies of provisions and cartridges. The cavalry and artillery 
 led the march, and made the first part of the ascent in fine 
 weather, but were soon assailed by a tremendous tempest. 
 The storm lasted three days, and in the midst of it an ava- 
 lanche struck a squadron of dragoons and carried half of it into 
 the abyss below. When the fury of the elements had abated, 
 the snow lay so deep that oxen had to be sent in advance of 
 the column to break a path, which squads of laborers beat 
 down hard, and which sappers widened, when too narrow, by 
 cutting away the ice. In this way the cavalry and artillery 
 were enabled to effect a passage, and the first three columns of 
 infantry managed to get over the range. The fourth and last 
 column was following when another storm came on, blocked 
 the road, and swept about a hundred men into the abysses of 
 the Cardinelli gorge. General Macdonald was present with 
 his men throughout these perils, and by his intrepidity sus- 
 tained their flagging spirits amid their dreadful hardships. 
 Under his personal leadership the road was again opened, and 
 the entire corps, in the course of a few more days, gained the 
 broad vine-planted basin of the Valtellina. 
 
 The Splugen, like the Brenner, is one of the Alpine passes 
 said to have been known to the ancient Romans. It is a trifle 
 higher than the St. Gothard, but not so high as the Furca or 
 the Fluela by a thousand feet. The road over the Stelvio 
 mounts yet two thousand feet farther into cloudland. On 
 both its northern and its southern slopes the scenery of the 
 pass is exceedingly grand, yet less so than that of the Simplon, 
 which is some hundreds of feet lower. On the summit, which 
 a vigorous pedestrian may reach in less than two hours from 
 the hotel at Splugen, a stone by the way-side marks the boun- 
 dary between Switzerland and Italy. 
 
 19* 
 
222 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 This road, like that of the Stelvio, was built by the Austrian 
 government, and was intended mainly for military purposes. 
 Its completion dates from 1821. 
 
 The descent on the Italian side of the pass is much more 
 striking than the ascent on the Swiss side. By a ladder-like 
 series of zigzags cut upon the precipitous face of the moun- 
 tain, we are lowered, by easy stages, as it were, out of the sky. 
 Spurring his team into a rapid trot, our postilion swings the 
 heavy six-horse diligence around the curves with great skill, 
 keeping his leaders, three abreast, at a gallop. Just at the 
 instant when it seems that our momentum must carry us over 
 some nearing precipice, our flying steeds, scarcely waiting for 
 the tightening rein, oblique in rapid chasse, and we round the 
 cliff and mock the yawning chasm with the grace and ease of 
 an eagle's flight. At frequent intervals the road is protected 
 from avalanches by covered galleries, both under and over 
 which torrents descend in couloirs from the steeps above. 
 These galleries vary in length from two hundred and fifty to 
 five hundred and fifty yards. As the down-going diligence 
 emerges from one of the longest of them, a splendid view is 
 obtained of the old road, and the village of Isola, lying in the 
 gorge so far beneath us that the rude log chalets of the village 
 look like toy houses with Liliputian inhabitants. A little 
 farther along, a mad little stream, pouring from the mountain, 
 dashes over a precipice and falls uninterruptedly seven hun- 
 dred feet. The conductor of the diligence — prosaic and heed- 
 less as he is of the sublime scenes about him — stops the 
 vehicle long enough for passengers to get out and view this 
 beautiful work of Nature. 
 
 From Campodolcino we follow the descending course of the 
 rock-strewn Liro Valley, whose savage aspect is softened by 
 the luxuriant foliage of chestnut-trees, out of which rises the 
 slender white campanile of the church of Gallivaggio. We 
 have now entered a zone of vegetation which betokens the 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 223 
 
 genial climate of the sunny south. Whole forests of great 
 chestnut-trees extend far up the rocky sides of the mountains, 
 and the vine, laden at this season with ripening clusters, 
 blesses the husbandry of every peasant. An hour and a half 
 after quitting the summit, the lumbering diligence rolls, with 
 a great racket, through the narrow, stony streets of Chiavenna, 
 observed by inquisitive people from the projecting stories of 
 their dwellings until it reaches the postal rendezvous, and 
 deposits there its curious medley of passengers. 
 
 Three hours later we reached Colico, from whence an hour 
 and a half by steamer brought us to Bellagio. 
 
 The region of the North Italian lakes is a land of beauty 
 and of perfect rest. Its tranquillity is halcyon, its loveliness 
 supreme. In no way could I have acquired a deeper sense of 
 its witchery than in descending to it, as I did, from the wintry 
 desolation of the Upper Swiss and Tyrolese Alps. The con- 
 trast between the scenes which I had just quitted and those 
 which now surrounded me, intensified alike the grandeur of 
 the mountain solitudes and the beauty of this gentle, vintage- 
 bearing clime. Bellagio, amidst its gardens, vineyards, and 
 placid waters, seemed, when I reached it, a very haven of 
 repose and delight. 
 
 The principal lakes of this region, named in their order 
 from east to west, are Garda, Como, Lugano, Varese, and Orta. 
 Como was highly extolled by Virgil, and from the time of 
 Virgil until now the civilized world has paid admiring homage 
 to the trinity of lacustrine loveliness, — Como, Lugano, and 
 Maggiore. Each of these three has its partisans, and it is 
 nothing to the detriment of the rivals that opinions differ as 
 to which is superior in its attractions to the rest. For my 
 own part, I cast the palm of my respectful preference at the 
 shrine of Maggiore. At the same time, 
 
 I could be happy with either, 
 "Were the other dear charmers away. 
 
224 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Como has, in general, the steepest shores and the boldest 
 scenery. The sunny slopes which descend to its waters are 
 dressed in the deep-green foliage of the vine, the chestnut, and 
 the walnut, mingled with the gray tints of the olive and the 
 white walls of numerous villas and villages, the whole reflected 
 and beautified in the cerulean depths of the lake. Of the 
 entire series, Como is said to have the warmest climate in 
 summer, and Varese the coolest. Lugano is environed by the 
 most variegated landscape, including some mountains, easy of 
 ascent, which command magnificent panoramic views. From 
 Monte Generoso, called the Rigi of Italian Switzerland, are 
 seen seventeen lakes, the plains of Lombardy, and the whole 
 chain of Southern Alps from Monte "Viso to the Bernina. 
 The view from Monte Salvatore embraces Lake Lugano, 
 with all its branches, the mountains of St. Gothard, the snow- 
 peaks of the Bernina, and the Monte Rosa chain, including 
 the Matterhorn. 
 
 The shores of Maggiore, lofty and abrupt on the north, 
 slope gently on the east, producing a series of charming land- 
 scapes. The waters of the northern arm of this lake are green, 
 of its southern arm deep blue. In one particular Maggiore 
 surpasses, by far, all its rivals : it possesses alone the unique 
 beauty of the Borromean Islands. 
 
 The highways over the Stelvio and the Spliigen descend to 
 Lake Como ; those of the St. Gothard and the Simplon to the 
 Lago Maggiore. The St. Gothard route touches Lake Lugano 
 also as it proceeds direct from Bellinzona to Milan. 
 
 For more than half its entire length the Lake of Como is 
 divided into two branches, of which the western retains the 
 name of Como, while the eastern takes that of Lecco. Be- 
 tween these branches, and overlooking them both, at their 
 point of junction, rises a vine-clad, narrow promonotory, at the 
 western base of which, and clambering up its precipitous side, 
 lies the old town of Bellagio, with its palatial hotels and their 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 225 
 
 ample gardens adjacent to the landing. Considered with respect 
 to its natural and artificial embellishments, this is one of the 
 loveliest spots in Italy, — one of the most delightful in the world. 
 
 On the summit of the promontory, readied by a circuitous 
 road, stands the Villa Serbelloni, amidst its grove of palms 
 and its forest preserve of semi-tropical trees and plants, through 
 the foliage of which exquisite glimpses are disclosed up and 
 down the Lake of Como and its bewitching adjunct, the bay 
 of Lecco. I ascended to this park one fair morning in the 
 dying summer, when the sunlight had assumed its mellowest 
 tone, — the tone which it assumes only in Italy, — and when, all 
 over the hills, the grapes hung purpling on the vines. It was 
 difficult to say which was fairest that morning, earth or heaven ; 
 or which held the more delicate harmonies of color, the skies 
 above or the woods and waters beneath. I studied the land- 
 scape, as I would have studied one of Claude Lorraine's pict- 
 ures, from different points of view, and in all its details of 
 form, perspective, composition, color, and chiaroscuro ; for a 
 picture it really was, more dexterous and lovely than human 
 hand could have painted. I felt that I could never weary of 
 contemplating it, — that its fascination could never cease to de- 
 light me, — that it would be happiness enough to simply exist 
 in such a place, and dream one's life away amidst such 
 enchanting scenes. 
 
 A little incident which took place at the Grand Hotel 
 awakened some less pleasing reflections. Upon announcing 
 my purpose to cross the lake by canoe to Menaggio, I was 
 beset and annoyed by the hotel people with importunities to 
 hire one of their boats. It seemed strange that so much ado 
 should be made about a matter of so little importance. I had 
 already engaged a barque, and proposed to keep the engage- 
 ment, whether my tormentors were pleased or not. It was 
 kept. My sturdy boatman pushed off, heedless of the wrath 
 and discomfiture of his hotel-favored fellow-craftsmen, from 
 P 
 
226 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 whose clamor we quickly glided away, both in distance and in 
 thought. Our little winged shallop swam with the grace of 
 a bird upon the azure waters, whose tranquil, delicately-tinted 
 loveliness, soothing and drowning the very remembrance of 
 human care, made me wish the voyage might have been many 
 times as long. At Menaggio I took a one-horse fiacre — the 
 Italian equivalent of the Tyrolese 1 Einspanner — for the over- 
 land journey to Porlezza, at the eastern extremity of Lake 
 Lugano. From the landing at Menaggio the road ascends to 
 the village of Croce, from whence a most pleasing retrospect 
 was had of the lake, serenely slumbering in the vast security 
 of its mountain cradle. From Croce we descended amidst 
 vine-dressed hills, skirting lofty mountains, to the village and 
 delicious little lake of Piano, and thence to Porlezza. The 
 little afternoon steamer for Lugano had already departed, but 
 a fleet of clumsy canoes lay along the beach awaiting the call 
 of transient travellers. It was four o'clock in the afternoon 
 when the barefooted, bare-breasted boatman who had con- 
 tracted to transport me to Lugano pushed off from the pebbly 
 strand, and drove his lubberly keel through the bright waters, 
 so pure and tranquil that it seemed profane to disturb them. 
 The very atmosphere was peace, and the evening light fell 
 serenely upon the mountains, whose majestic forms, rising 
 from the lake, stood as bulwarks to the calm which slumbered 
 in its depths. Slowly Porlezza, with its green setting of vines 
 and chestnut-trees, receded behind us ; slowly the shapely 
 cone of Monte Salvatore disclosed itself far in front. Our 
 progress was slow, to be sure, but not tedious, for each 
 moment developed new and never-ceasing witcheries of land- 
 scape loveliness, making the whole voyage seem like a trance, 
 filled with beautiful dreams. No rude sound marred it, for 
 no sound was heard except the plash of our oars and the 
 occasional music of vesper bells floating out upon the water 
 from an unseen church or village. 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 227 
 
 Two hours' rowing from Porlezza brought us to the Swiss 
 boundary, which crosses the lake near its middle, and wanders 
 aimlessly about over the country, without regard to its topo- 
 graphical features. The arbitrary caprices of this scientific 
 boundary are bewildering to the traveller, who may change 
 political jurisdictions half a dozen times a day in this region, 
 never knowing, except by inquiry, what country he is in, or 
 what currency he shall use. In discussing this subject a 
 Swiss said to me, " I suppose our government would be just 
 as well off if it were to give up these two southern cantons 
 [Ticino and Valais], for it costs more to maintain the line of 
 custom-houses than these cantons are really worth to us." 
 
 Night was closing upon the lake when, as we rounded a 
 little garden-covered peninsula, we descried, straight away, a 
 long line of gas-lights reflected on the surface of the water. 
 Half an hour later we moored our barque close by the shimmer 
 of those lights, under the deep night-shadow of Monte Salva- 
 tore. Above us was the sound of voices, — the voices of even- 
 ing promenaders on the quay of Lugano. 
 
 The town of Lugano is so thoroughly Italian in character 
 that we can scarcely believe it to be Swiss. Yet Swiss it is, 
 for the fantastic boundary of the canton Ticino manages some- 
 how to curve around it and take it in. The climate, the 
 vegetation, the scenery, and the language and appearance of 
 the people of this region are all of a pronounced Italian type. 
 The lower hills are spread with vineyards and gardens, sur- 
 rounding elegant country-seats ; the higher ones, graduating 
 up to the rock-ribbed, snow-capped mountains, are dressed in 
 the darker foliage of the chestnut and the walnut. In these 
 sheltered, sunny valleys the lemon-tree and the orange are at 
 home, the flowers of two blended zones unfold their splendors, 
 the magnolia-tree flourishes, and the aloe puts forth its 
 blossoms in the open air. Hither come the pleasure-seeking 
 nobles and wealthy merchants of Lombardy and Piedmont, — 
 
228 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 here are seen the stately villas whose marble halls they have 
 embellished with precious art, and. whose terraced gardens de- 
 scend to the lambent, sky-tinted waters. Above, on the rock- 
 bound heights, the scenery is that of Manzoni's mountain 
 village ; below, amidst, the lakeside hills and vales, it is a 
 striking realization of the words of Mignon : 
 
 Knowest thou the land where the citron apples bloom, 
 And oranges like gold in leafy gloom ? 
 A gentle wind from the deep blue heaven blows, 
 The myrtle thick, and high the laurel grows : 
 Knowest thou it then ? 
 
 Knowest thou the house, its porch with pillars tall ? 
 The rooms do glitter, glitters bright the hall, 
 And marble statues stand, and look each one : 
 ******** 
 Knowest thou it then ? 
 
 Knowest thou the hill, the bridge that hangs on cloud? 
 The mules in mist grope o'er each torrent loud; 
 In caves lie coiled the dragon's ancient brood, 
 The crag leaps down, and over it the flood : 
 Knowest thou it then ? 
 
 Detached from its natural surroundings, Lugano has not 
 many attractions. With its narrow, granite-paved streets, 
 long arcades, and open-air workshops, it has the ways and 
 appearance of an old Italian town, albeit modified by some 
 recent additions and embellishments. Its most famous pos- 
 sessions are Luini's pictures, the chief one of which is a large 
 fresco of the crucifixion. This grand masterpiece is hung as 
 a screen in the old church of Santa Maria degli Angioli, once 
 the chapel of a large monastery which is now used as a fash- 
 ionable hotel. The picture is arranged, according to the an- 
 tiquated style, in two sections, one above the other, the lower 
 exhibiting the principal action, and the upper — on a diminished 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 229 
 
 scale — its adjuncts. The figures, several hundred in number, 
 and the details, equally multiplied, are drawn with admirable 
 truth and power of expression. In the foreground, below, 
 around three huge crosses, which rise to the top of the canvas, 
 are grouped numerous figures, comprising Roman soldiers, on 
 foot and on horseback, the holy women, with St. John, priests, 
 officers, and the executioners, some of whom are raffling for 
 the garments of Christ. In the upper section is seen the pro- 
 cession to Calvary, in the midst of which the Saviour, bearing 
 His cross, falls beneath its weight. The agony in the garden, 
 the betrayal, the scourging, the entombment, and the ascension 
 are also adjunctively portrayed, the whole being so combined 
 and grouped as to produce a harmonious effect, and convey at 
 a glance the complete history of the Passion. In the upper 
 part of the picture a group of sorrowing angels hovers about 
 the expiring Saviour, and the souls of the crucified thieves are. 
 being rendered up, in the form of diminutive human figures, 
 the one to a winged angel, the other to a hateful demon. 
 Old-fashioned as it is in style, the work has all the charm of 
 honest naturalness and conscientious simplicity. The human 
 figures, although many, are each strongly individualized ; the 
 animal painting, even to the dogs which accompany the soldiers, 
 is superb. 
 
 The finest group in the picture — one whose artistic merit has 
 probably never been surpassed in any picture of this kind — 
 is that of the women at the cross. The unspeakable sorrow 
 and pathos of their quartette of agonized faces, as Mary falls 
 swooning into the arms of her companions, are represented 
 with transcendent art. In striking contrast with these, and 
 with the sympathetic countenance of St. John, are the hard, 
 malevolent faces of the priests, and the military indifference 
 of the soldiers. 
 
 Luini was a pupil of the great Leonardo, and, like him, 
 painted the Last Supper. The pupil's work, more fortunate 
 
 20 
 
230 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 than that of his master, has been far better car«d for and pre- 
 served. It is now hung in this chapel. In his treatment of 
 this subject, Luini has not equalled Leonardo, — no artist has, — 
 but he has shown much of his great teacher's skill, if not 
 power, of individualization. His figure of Christ is noble, 
 dignified, apposite, and entirely worthy of the supreme occa- 
 sion. Luini should be regarded as Leonardo's interpreter 
 rather than his imitator or rival. 
 
 A third work by this master, seen in the old monastery 
 chapel at Lugano, is his Madonna, with the Christ-child and 
 the infant St. John. In this charming picture — which is in 
 truth one of the most graceful and unaffected of its kind — the 
 innocence and beauty of childhood and the unapproachable 
 dignity of motherhood are shown in their perfection. 
 
 After quitting the pictures, I spent an hour strolling in 
 Monsieur Chiani's delightful park by the lakeside. Two play- 
 ful children, such as Luini might have chosen for his models, 
 came to meet me at the portal, and volunteered to call the 
 custodian, that I might view the grounds. A fascinating place 
 to linger in was this semi-tropical sylvan retreat, with its 
 stately colonnades of tree-stems, and its superabundance of 
 foliage, rioting over the banks of the lake and dipping into 
 its bright waters. 
 
 The respect in which both Italians and Swiss hold the great 
 name of Washington is strikingly attested at Lugano. Under- 
 neath a handsome marble pavilion, erected in an appropriate 
 and conspicuous space on the principal street, has been placed 
 a portrait bust of our country's founder. The pedestal bears 
 the inscription : Magnum sawulorum decus. 
 
 A three hours' drive over the hills from Lugano brings us 
 back into Italy, at Luino, one of the myriad summer resorts 
 on Lake Maggiore. From thence a voyage of two hours and 
 a half down the lake by steamer brought me to Baveno, which 
 divides the honors with Stresa as a place of sojourn for 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 231 
 
 strangers who wish to tarry in the vicinity of the Borromean 
 Islands. Isola Bella, the most celebrated of these islands, may 
 be reached from Baveno in half an hour by canoe, or in a few 
 minutes by steamer. Originally this island was a naked rock ; 
 now it is a decaying paradise. About two centuries ago the 
 Count of Borromeo, from whom the group of four islands takes 
 its name, undertook to make of Isola Bella, so far as money 
 and art would go, the most beautiful spot in the world. He 
 built upon it a great chateau, and converted the entire surface 
 of the island, not occupied by buildings, into a garden, rising 
 in terraces a hundred feet above the lake, mined with grottos, 
 and profusely adorned with statuary, fountains, flowers, and 
 with magnolias, oleanders, orange, camphor, cork, and other 
 rare trees and plants of the semi-tropics. The count's design 
 was never fully carried out, the chateau being still uncom- 
 pleted and a part of it in ruins. The gardens are artificial and 
 meaningless in taste ; the statuary is ordinary and superabun- 
 dant ; and the chateau, commonplace and uninviting outside, 
 is tawdrily gorgeous in its interior. But the prodigality of 
 nature has surpassed here even that of the rich count, and the 
 sun scarcely shines upon a fairer spot than Isola Bella. The in- 
 terior splendors of the chateau seem tame beside the enchanting 
 glimpses and views which are obtained from its corridors and 
 balconies of the gardens, the lake, and the distant mountains. 
 The part which this little island has played in history would 
 make an interesting chapter. An attendant shows the beds in 
 which Napoleon and Berthier slept a few nights before the 
 battle of Marengo, and a tree is pointed out in the garden, 
 the bark of which, it is said, formerly bore the great emperor's 
 name, carved there by his own hand. Some blotted chapters 
 in the life of an English queen are also mixed up with the 
 glitter and luxury of these gay apartments, but let us not mar 
 with such things the fair pictures made upon the memory by 
 this gem of isles. Let us rather preserve, unimpaired by 
 
232 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 human frailties, the recollections of its vistas of cerulean 
 water and snow-capped mountain ; of the fragrance of its 
 flowers, the luxuriance of its foliage, and the incomparable 
 beauty of its setting in the Alp-encircled lake, which makes 
 it seem, in retrospect, more like a dream of fairy-land than an 
 actual experience. 
 
 While we were waiting for the steamer, one of my chance 
 companions — an Englishman — unstrapped his portfolio and 
 proceeded to make a sketch of the island. 
 
 " Have you finished your sketch so soon ?" I iuquired, when 
 he rejoined us a short time afterwards. " Yes, I have all the 
 outlines," said he, putting his things together. " The rest I 
 can put in from memory." " And do you color your sketches ?" 
 I inquired. " Yes, I do that at home." " You have a most 
 valuable accomplishment," said I, " and one of which I could 
 heartily envy you." " I obtain a great deal of pleasure from 
 ,it," he rejoined. " When I come to Italy and Switzerland, as 
 I do nearly every summer, I seek the unfrequented paths and 
 unvisited places among the mountains, making sketches as I go 
 along, until I obtain a new stock such as no one else has. To 
 complete them occupies my leisure time during the rest of the 
 year, and affords me agreeable recreation." 
 
 It was not a professional artist who thus spoke, but a plain 
 man of affairs, whose practical qualities were happily balanced 
 by a liberal training and an ardent love of nature. 
 
 Intending to cross the Alps by the St. Gothard route, going 
 northward, I embarked at Baveno upon one of the regular up- 
 going steamers for Locarno. As these steamers touch at all 
 the principal landings on both sides of the lake, they cross it, 
 back and forth, many times in the course of a voyage. This 
 fact is not to be regretted when the weather is fair, for delight- 
 ful scenes are sure to greet the eye wherever we touch the 
 shores of lovely Maggiore. On both sides, scores of pretty 
 villages, snow-white in deep-green setting, gleam along the 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. QOTHARD. 233 
 
 margin of the lake, reflected often in its pellucid waters ; 
 numberless white cottages and villas shine upon the hill-sides 
 amidst the rich foliage of the vine, the myrtle, the olive, and 
 the pomegranate. Surely if Nature offers auywhere an ideal 
 home-land, where sky, earth, and water are alike endowed with 
 the power of enchantment, and life is one loug poetic dream, 
 it is here. No wonder somebody has said of it that " its very 
 weeds are beautiful." 
 
 Locarno, a Swiss town politically, but Italian in every other 
 respect, looks upon the azure lake from a background of hills 
 dressed with orange-trees and festooned with vines. From 
 here the St. Gothard Railway carried me to Biasca, from whence 
 I proceeded by carriage. From Biasca to the southern ex- 
 tremity of the great tunnel, at Airolo, the railway and wagon- 
 road crowd each other in the narrow valley, the ancient 
 prerogatives of the wagon-way being often seized and appro- 
 priated by its more exacting rival. In some cases the older 
 track has been obliged to abandon its prescriptive rights and take 
 to the hills. These aggressions of the locomotive are readily 
 excused, however, when we observe, as can be done best from 
 the wagon-road, the enormous difficulties of carrying a railway 
 up such a valley as that of the Upper Ticino. If anything 
 could surpass the grandeur of the St. Gothard Pass, it is that 
 of the gigantic undertaking of building a practicable track for 
 the locomotive from one side of it to the other. Of all the 
 engineering triumphs yet accomplished by man this is the 
 chief. More dazzling, even, than the march of Hannibal or 
 Napoleon over the ice-battlemented crests of the Alps is this 
 beneficent, triumphant march of industry, science, and skill. 
 
 The greatest single task in this stupendous undertaking was 
 that of tunnelling the range ; but a work of no less difficulty, 
 considered in all its details, was that of carrying the track up 
 to the main tunnel, on either side of the mountain. An im- 
 pressive observation of this fact may be made at Faido, on the 
 
 20* 
 
234 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 southern side of the range, and at Wasen, on the northern. 
 Near Faido the valley, or rather gorge, of the Tioino suddenly 
 contracts, forming a bench which rises abruptly several hun- 
 dred feet. The railway, approaching this rocky wall, enters a 
 tunnel at its base, and no more is seen of it until it emerges at 
 the summit of the bench, haviug made the ascent by a spiral 
 course underground. A like feat, more wonderful still, is 
 accomplished at Wasen. 
 
 The St. Gothard route is one of the most anciently known 
 of the Alpine passes, and far surpasses all the others in the 
 magnificence of its scenery. It remained a mere bridle-path 
 until the roads over the Simplon, the Bernardino, and the 
 Spliigen were built, after which time it was almost deserted 
 until the bridle-path was superseded by the present highway, 
 nineteen feet wide, completed in 1832. During four or five 
 months of the year, beginning with June, this road is prac- 
 ticable for carriages, although large quantities of snow often 
 remain upon it, or near it, in the early summer. In winter 
 the range may be crossed on sledges, except after a heavy 
 snow-fall, when, for a week at a time, no communication may 
 be possible. 
 
 The finest of the scenery is on the southern slope. The 
 towns, their inhabitants, and the vegetation retain their Italian 
 character as far up as Airolo, from whence the road mounts 
 like a vast ladder, up the treeless face of the range, into the 
 clouds. A heavy shower came on just as we began this part 
 of the ascent, but gave place to a cold, nebulous atmosphere, 
 without rain, when we had risen a thousand feet higher. At 
 the summit, masses of white vapor were flying before the 
 wind, which was raw and violent. Under the lead-colored, 
 rayless skies, the barren, wintry scenes around the hospice 
 looked dreary in the extreme. We quitted them without 
 regret, and descended rapidly, amidst rain and darkness, to 
 Andermatt. 
 
THE SPLUOEN THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 235 
 
 The following morning, the weather being fair, I descended 
 by an early diligence from Andermatt to Wasen. The 
 stupendous escarpments of the narrow valley in which that 
 village lies were brilliantly illuminated on the one side by the 
 rising sun, and on the other deeply shadowed by the penumbra 
 of the mountains. On a promontory which rises on the south 
 side of the village stands a little church, the terrace of which 
 commands a magnificent view up and down the vast ravine 
 through which the Reuss pours its troubled waters. The 
 valley descends rapidly here, like that of the Ticino at Faido, 
 presenting enormous difficulties to the builders of the railway, 
 who have carried up the line some hundreds of feet in a spiral 
 course, including several curved tunnels, lofty iron viaducts, 
 and galleries cut into the ledges of overhanging rock. Seen 
 from the little church at Wasen, the locomotive, coming up the 
 valley, penetrates the mountain far below, emerges again far 
 above, crosses and turns down the valley along its western 
 wall, leaps over a tremendous chasm, darts through projecting 
 buttresses of rock, disappears, returns again on a far higher 
 plane, and skims away towards Goschenen, laughing at the 
 mighty barriers with which Nature has vainly crossed the path 
 of its ambition. 
 
 Sublime is this work, but sublimer still are the genius and 
 energy which have accomplished it. 
 
 Returning, on foot, from Wasen to Andermatt, I halted, on 
 the way, at Goschenen, situated at the mouth of the wild and 
 beautiful Goschenenthal, at the head of which the white shield 
 of the Dammafirn glacier was seen gleaming in the morning 
 sunlight. Opposite to the village the great tunnel pierces the 
 range, appearing as we approach it, coming up the valley, like 
 a black spot on the side of the mountain. Near the entrance 
 were the buildings containing the machinery for compressing the 
 air by which the boring apparatus was driven inside the tunnel. 
 This machinery — now employed in compressing air for ven- 
 
236 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 tilating purposes, and for propelling traction engines inside the 
 tunnel — is driven by the torrent of the Reuss, which, in part, 
 is diverted from its natural bed and made to pour for a quarter 
 of a mile through an immense iron pipe. Descending from 
 an altitude of some hundreds of feet, the water strikes the 
 company's wheels with tremendous force, furnishing a driving 
 power greater, it is claimed, than could be obtained by steam. ' 
 An attendant explains to visitors the operations of the great 
 air-compressors, which are exceedingly curious and interesting. 
 A perforating machine, such as was used in the tunnel, is also 
 kept ready, and upon request is made to drill a hole in the 
 natural rock which forms the inner wall of the building. 
 
 The tunnel is nine and one-third miles long, — a mile and 
 five-eighths longer than that through Mont Cenis. Although 
 cut by parties working simultaneously from each side of the 
 range, it is perfectly straight from end to end, the engineers, 
 approaching from opposite directions, having met each other 
 with such accuracy that their centre lines varied scarcely a 
 hand's-breadth from an exact coincidence. The ascent from 
 the entrance at Goschenen is one hundred and forty-eight feet, 
 and from the entrance at Airolo thirty feet. The summit of 
 the tunnel lies nine hundred and ninety feet below the surface 
 of the ground at Andermatt, and six thousand six hundred 
 feet beneath the peak of Castellhorn, of the St. Gothard group 
 of mountains. The interior, which has a width of twenty-six 
 and a half feet — sufficient for a double track — and a height 
 of nineteen feet ten inches, is lined with masonry throughout, 
 the sides being laid in ashlar, and the roof, which is a semi- 
 circle in cross-section, being arched with dressed granite. It 
 was at first intended to let the natural rock constitute the 
 vaulting, but the suggestion of an engineer that a single stone 
 falling from the roof upon a passenger carriage might create 
 a popular impression that the tunnel was unsafe, led to the 
 determination to line the whole. 
 
THE SPLUGEN, THE LAKES, AND ST. GOTHARD. 237 
 
 There are no air-shafts in the tunnel, its two entrances being 
 its only openings. At intervals of one hundred metres there 
 are small square cavities for the deposit of implements, and 
 at every kilometre (ten hundred and ninety yards) there are 
 spaces in the side walls large enough to hold about a dozen 
 men. A few hundred yards from the Goschenen entrance the 
 so-called mauvais endroit — bad place — was encountered, where, 
 for a distance of two hundred and forty feet, the cutting was 
 made through a stratum of soft, plastic material, the constant 
 caving in of which presented almost insuperable difficulties. 
 Costly expedients were resorted to, and an immense amount of 
 money was spent upon them, but in vain ; some offended genie 
 of the mountain seemed to be spitefully thwarting all the 
 pertinacity of toil and all the tricks of science. Massive 
 linings of masonry were bulged in like paper, compelling the 
 workmen to flee for their lives. For three years the battle 
 went on, Monsieur Favre, the contractor for the tunnel, mean- 
 while dropping dead from apoplexy, caused by anxiety, while 
 watching the progress of the contest. At length, by herculean 
 effort, the sliding in was arrested, the persecuting genie ap- 
 peased or put to flight, and the mauvais endroit, finally lined 
 with masonry in the form of an elliptical cylinder, was made 
 as secure as any part of the tunnel. 
 
 Upward-going from Goschenen we soon leave behind us all 
 traces of the railway, and enter the lonely defile of the 
 Schollenen, through which dashes the impetuous Eeuss, over- 
 hung by lofty and nearly perpendicular walls of granite. The 
 road, much exposed here to avalanches, ascends by many in- 
 genious curvatures this narrow ravine, and reaches, between 
 three and four miles from Goschenen, an ideally wild and deso- 
 late spot, surrounded by towering cliffs and beetling crags 
 which almost exclude the sun. Here the foamy, boisterous 
 Reuss, bringing with it the gathered waters of the Furca and 
 St. Gothard glaciers, leaps over a precipice, and falls with 
 
238 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 thunderous roar into a rocky abyss a hundred feet in depth. 
 The road crosses this abyss by the famous Devil's Bridge, 
 which spans by a single arch the roaring chasm. The spray 
 from the cataract rises to this bridge, and, when the sunbeams 
 fall on it, glitters with all the colors of the rainbow. 
 
 A short distance above the Devil's Bridge we emerge through 
 the narrow gate-way of the defile into the beautiful, sequestered 
 valley of Urseren, spread with green pastures, watered by the 
 Reuss, and surrounded by snow-capped mountains. In the 
 lower part of the valley the village of Andermatt rises amidst 
 the meadows, and in the upper part the village of Hospenthal. 
 Standing upon an eminence near the latter place, an ancient 
 tower, said to be the remnant of a castle built by the Lom- 
 bards, forms one of the most conspicuous objects in the land- 
 scape. The old church at Andermatt, with its annex adorned 
 with human skulls, on which inscriptions are written, is said 
 to date also from the Lombard period. 
 
 Before the Reuss broke its way through the gorge of the 
 Schollenen, this valley was doubtless a lake. Its winter lasts 
 eight months, and even during its brief summer fires are often 
 necessary. Three great Alpine routes radiate from the valley : 
 that leading eastward by the Ober-Alp and the Vorder-Rhein 
 to Coire ; the St. Gothard route to Italy ; and the road going 
 westward to the Furca Pass and the Rhone glacier, in the 
 Upper Valais. Returning towards the St. Gothard from 
 Andermatt, and passing, on the left, the old tower at Hospen- 
 thal, I set out on foot for the Furca. 
 
OVER THE FURCA TO MEIRINGEN. 239 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OVER THE FURCA TO MEIRINGEN". 
 
 A monotonous walk of an hour and a half brought me to 
 Realp, at the western extremity of the Urserenthal. Here the 
 valley shrinks to a ravine, and the road begins to ascend the 
 Furca range, which it mounts by a stupendous ladder of fan- 
 tastic zigzags cut into the face of the mountain. The old 
 bridle-path pursues its way along the gorge at a much lower 
 altitude. By some evil spirit I was beguiled into taking the 
 path instead of the road, in the expectation of saving distance. 
 The chalet seen far up in the sky on top of the Furca served 
 as a general point of direction. The path was miserably 
 rough, and as lonely as it could be. Anxious to abandon it 
 and get back to the road, I sought information from a couple 
 of vagrant cow-herds whom I happened to encounter, but their 
 ignorance and stupidity were impenetrable. I then undertook, 
 on my own account, a divergence from the path, hoping to 
 reach the road, the telegraph-poles beside which could be seen 
 in aerial array far up the grassy side of the mountain. 
 
 After mounting about five hundred feet, I heard a juvenile 
 voice far below shouting a note of warning. It was that of a 
 young cow-herd, who was kind enough to come up to me and 
 tell me that I could never reach the road in that direction, but 
 must get back to the path if I hoped to ascend the Furca. 
 My next attempt was to descend again, bearing off obliquely 
 so as to gain distance to the front, but again a warning was 
 sounded in my ears, this time from above, where men were 
 seen swinging their hats, and shouting as if they were frantic. 
 Unable to make out what they meant, I kept on, and soon 
 found myself on the brink of a ravine through which a glacier 
 
240 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 torrent, too deep for fording, poured down the mountain. 
 There was no alternative but to go back to the path, and avail 
 myself of the rude bridge by which it crossed the ravine. Some 
 hours later, thoroughly fatigued, I reached the hospice at the 
 summit of the Furca, eight thousand feet above sea-level. 
 
 The road over this pass, like those over the Simplon, the 
 Spliigen, and the Stelvio, was built mainly for military pur- 
 poses, and, next to the Stelvio, is the loftiest wagon-road in the 
 Alps. The pass, seldom wholly free from snow, takes its 
 name from its situation, between two peaks resembling the 
 prongs of a fork (furca). It descends abruptly on both sides, 
 eastward towards the valley of Urseren, and westward towards 
 the glacier and valley of the Rhone. The sources of the 
 Rhine — two leagues distant — lie on one side of it, those of 
 the Rhone on the other. 
 
 After half an hour's rest I climbed a peak, forming one 
 of the prongs of the fork, in order to witness the sunset. The 
 panorama before me embraced the vast central range of the 
 Alps, from Monte Rosa and the Matterhorn abutting upon the 
 distant horizon on the left, to the huge, snowy pyramid of the 
 Wetterhorn, far to the right, the intermediate line being 
 traced, irregularly, by the glittering peaks of the Mischabel, 
 the Weisshorn, the Aletschhorn, the Jungfrau, the Shreckhorn, 
 and — sublimely pre-eminent over all — " the mighty mass of 
 the Finsteraarhorn, — the monarch of the Oberland." Em- 
 blazoned with the flaming splendors of the declining sun, this 
 magnificent array of Alpine giants, with their intervening 
 snow-fields and glaciers, presented a scene indescribably grand. 
 No words can portray its glorious transformations of light and 
 color as the sun slid below the horizon. The mighty wedge 
 of the Matterhorn, far to the south-west, became a wedge of 
 gold, tinged with purple, while the perpetual snow mantle of 
 Monte Rosa changed to a robe of delicate flush and crimson. 
 For a few moments the fiery glow swept with changing splen- 
 
OVER THE FURCA TO MEIRINGEN. 241 
 
 dors along the entire range of errnined giants, then slowly 
 gave place to that almost supernatural, lily-like whiteness, 
 which, like the cereus, unfolds its perfect beauty only under 
 the canopy of night. Shortly before sunset a dense mass of 
 cottony vapor lay wedged in the narrow gorge of the Reuss, 
 far beneath the hospice, its shapely volumes seeming almost 
 motionless in the shadow of the range. But as the atmosphere 
 cooled, the mass began to rise, slowly at first, then more and 
 more rapidly, until it reached, and soared above, the level of 
 the pass, and being caught by au upper current, was whirled 
 over the range in ragged fragments, like the broken, flying 
 phalanxes of a routed army. 
 
 My vis-ci-vis at the hospice supper-table that evening was 
 an English lady, young and handsome but unassuming, who 
 narrated with much enthusiasm the story of her day's adven- 
 tures on the mountain. She had found, she said, some rare 
 and beautiful Alpine plants, which she described, stating with 
 precision their botanical names and relations. A man having 
 her evident knowledge of the fauna and flora of the Alps 
 would have been taken for a scientist. Her appearance indi- 
 cated the strength and vigor of perfect health, showing that 
 her physical training had been no whit behind that of her re- 
 fined and beautiful mind. The race and country have much 
 to be proud of, and hopeful for, which can produce such lovely, 
 accomplished, and weather-proof types of womanhood. 
 
 Seven miles from the summit of the Furca, and more than 
 two thousand feet below it, a torrent of muddy snow-water issues 
 from beneath prodigious masses of ice. This is the infant Rhone 
 of to-day, — the Rhodanus of the ancients, said to pour from 
 the gates of eternal night, " at the foot of the pillar of the 
 sun." The lofty cavern out of which this torrent first issues 
 into the light of day is formed in the crystalline mass of 
 fissured ice which terminates the Rhone glacier, — one of the 
 largest and in some respects the finest glacier in the Alps. A 
 l q 21 
 
242 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 few hundred yards below the ice-fall, three warm springs gush 
 from the earth and join the glacier stream, which, descending 
 from its birthplace in the mountains, expands into a broad and 
 beautiful river, and after coursing five hundred miles through 
 historic lands, and past historic cities, pours into the Medi- 
 terranean. 
 
 The morning following my sojourn in the eyrie of the Furca 
 was as bright and cheery as its preceding sunset had been 
 splendid. Taking a guide, I started early for the Rhone 
 glacier, intending to cross it above the ice-fall, mount the 
 heights beyond it, and descend to the Grimsel hospice. The 
 heights just mentioned terminate in an irregular, craggy crest, 
 — eight thousand four hundred feet, — from which, in 1799, the 
 French, having made a flank march, poured upon the Austrians 
 intrenched below on the Grimsel, and drove them into the 
 Valais. In the neighborhood lies a small, solitary lake into 
 which were tossed the bodies of those slain in the battle, and 
 which is to this day known as the Lake of the Dead. 
 
 In order to reach the glacier, I turned from the road and 
 followed a path around the face of the mountain, from which 
 could be seen the whole chain of snow-peaks from Monte 
 Rosa to the Wetterhorn, gleaming and dazzling against the un- 
 clouded sky. The heavens were blue, but not of that deep, 
 dark color often observed from the Alps, indicating an atmos- 
 phere heavily charged with transparent vapor, and ready, on 
 slight provocation, to precipitate its moisture. The blue was 
 of a light cerulean tint, — a fair-weather omen, — forming a 
 most pleasing contrast with the white peaks and snow-fields 
 glowing with the early sunbeams. 
 
 We descended to the glacier on its eastern side, passing over 
 masses of broken granite, among which I picked up some 
 beautiful quartz crystals. The huge ice-current, upon the hard, 
 spiny surface of which we landed, courses down from its nevt 
 on the Wmterberg for a distance of fifteen miles. Longfellow 
 
OVER THE FURCA TO MEIRINQEN. 243 
 
 has aptly compared its shape to that of a gauntlet, of which 
 the gorge represents the wrist, and the lower glacier — falling 
 terrace-like and cloven by fissures — the hand. Its ice-fall, 
 composed of immense slabs of pure blue ice sliced away from 
 the main body by lateral fissures, resembles a gigantic frozen 
 cataract. Sometimes a peculiar noise is heard, intermittently 
 rising and falling within the ice-mass, like the snore of a 
 sleeping monster. This noise is supposed to be produced by 
 the rush of air and water forced through the interior passages 
 of the glacier. 
 
 The upper part of the ice-current, at the point where we 
 undertook to cross it, was fissured in all directions, the clefts 
 varying in depth from fifteen to thirty feet. Sometimes we 
 were obliged to move on all-fours in order to make our way 
 through the treacherous maze of slippery- walled pits and 
 chasms. Having crossed the glacier, we climbed to the sum- 
 mit of Nageli's Gratli, from which we looked down into the 
 vast rocky basin known as the Grimselgrund, within which 
 the infant Aar — a swift-flowing tributary of the Rhine — is 
 cradled. Here, on this rocky ridge forming the boundary be- 
 tween two races, — Latin and Teuton, — and where, nearly a 
 century ago, they grappled with each other in their traditional 
 feud, the waters also are divided which form the great historic 
 rivers along which those races dwell. 
 
 " This Grimsel is a weird region," says Professor Tyndall ; 
 "a monument carved with hieroglyphics more ancient and 
 more grand than those of Nineveh or the Nile. . . . All 
 around are evidences of the existence and the might of the 
 glaciers which once held possession of the place. All around 
 the rocks are carved, and fluted, and polished, and scored. 
 Here and there angular pieces of quartz, held fast by the ice, 
 inserted their edges into the rocks and scratched them like 
 diamonds." The entire basin is surrounded by naked walls 
 of granite, on which these striations are traced to the height 
 
244 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 of two thousand feet. On the Grimsel Pass, the striated sur- 
 faces extend clear to the summit of the Maienwand, and are 
 sometimes polished as smooth, almost, as glass by the action 
 of the ice. Above the line of glacial action the rocks are 
 angular and rugged. 
 
 Two thousand three hundred feet below our position on 
 Nageli's Gratli lay the Grimsel hospice, — a lonely chalet habita- 
 ble only in summer. Adown the precipices which rise from 
 the hospice to the Gratli we clambered by a wretched path so 
 steep that great care was necessary to avoid falling. At the bot- 
 tom we found ourselves confronted by a small lake, but boatmen 
 who had observed our descent were waiting for us, and for a few 
 centimes carried us over. After resting awhile at the hospice 
 I started alone down the Haslithal, following a good bridle- 
 path constructed and kept in order by the canton. During 
 the first part of the descent from the Grimsel the valley is 
 narrow, crooked, and magnificently wild. On both sides rise 
 immense buttresses and walls of bare, storm-beaten rock, on 
 which very little vegetation of any kind was to be seen. Two 
 huts of the rudest character were the only human habitations 
 which diversified the first three hours of my solitary walk 
 down the ravine. I was alone with Nature, in her sublimest 
 aspects and blandest mood. The atmosphere was tranquil, the 
 firmament bright and crystalline, the valley here glowing with 
 sunshine and there deeply shadowed by the dark penumbra of 
 the mountains. Beside my path the turbid Aar brawled 
 ceaselessly in its rocky bed, sometimes churning itself into 
 foamy fury as it rushed with headlong fret down some steep 
 incline, and sometimes describing a graceful, misty parabola 
 as it leaped into an abysm. 
 
 Two hours from the hospice, vegetation began to appear in 
 the form of mosses, rhododendrons, and dwarf pines ; and in 
 three hours I reached Handeck, — the first settlement below 
 the Grimsel, — surrounded by beautiful groves of pine and 
 
OVER THE FURCA TO MEIRINGEN. 245 
 
 cedar. The Handeck fall, famous the world over, is unique 
 among Swiss cataracts. Next to the fall of the Tosa, in the 
 Val Formazza, and the Rhine-fall at Schaffhausen, it is the 
 grandest cascade in the Swiss Alps. A wooden bridge which 
 spans the torrent just above the fall affords a good view of the 
 Aar as it comes plunging down over the ledges, and makes its 
 magnificent leap into a narrow chasm two hundred and fifty 
 feet in depth. The silvery current of the Erlenbach, de- 
 scending from the left, falls first upon a projecting rock, then 
 plunges at, and joins in its descent, the gray glacier torrent of 
 the Aar, the two mingling and writhing like contending 
 dragons as they go down together into the dark, misty abyss. 
 The water of the Erlenbach being clear, and that of the Aar 
 muddy, the penetration of the one through the other can be 
 distinctly traced. Loose stones, carried down by the impetuous 
 waters, are constantly descending with them. The best view 
 of the fall is not had from the bridge, but from a projecting 
 rock below it. The Aar descends in an unbroken mass, but 
 nearly half of the cataract is concealed by dense volumes of 
 spray which rise constantly from the abyss. Beautiful rain- 
 bows are formed upon this spray when — only possible for a 
 brief part of the day — the sunbeams penetrate the gorge. 
 
 Below Handeck the ravine of the Aar contracts, and its 
 rock-ribbed sides are diversified with patches of fir forest, 
 whose very dark green color is changed to inky blackness 
 when thrown into shadow. The path is sometimes very steep ; 
 the mountains as we go downward, ever downward, appear 
 loftier and more massive ; the fretted current of the Aar 
 churns itself upon the rocks until it is white as frost. Im- 
 mense masses of loose stones strewn along the basin of the 
 valley, or hanging precariously upon its slopes, mark plainly 
 the lines of ancient glacial action. Guttannen, the first vil- 
 lage, is surrounded by meadows whose velvety surfaces are 
 disfigured by great heaps of rocky debris which the peasants 
 
 21* 
 
246 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 have gathered up in trying to give the grass a chance to 
 grow. 
 
 At an inn reached after a down-hill walk of seven hours 
 from the hospice, the bridle-path developed into a post-road, 
 and I was able to relieve my jaded muscles by engaging an 
 Einspanner to Meiringen. From the inn the road descends 
 gently into a fertile basin forming the pretty parish of Innert- 
 kirchen, below which a rock-strewn ridge known as the Kirchet 
 crosses the valley like a huge dam. Through this ridge the 
 Aar has cut a narrow passage in the limestone rock, forming 
 one of the finest gorges in Switzerland. From the basin of In- 
 nertkirchen — evidently once a lake — the road ascends by the 
 usual windings to the summit of the Kirchet, from whence, look- 
 ing towards the north, a magnificent scene bursts upon us. The 
 basin of the Aar, expanded to a breadth of three miles, is 
 flanked on both sides by majestic mountains, whose rounded 
 forms stand in serried lines, their slopes dressed with timber 
 and their summits tipped with snow. In the foreground, sur- 
 rounded by meadows and gardens, lies the village of Meiringen, 
 beyond and below which, in far perspective, the valley tapers 
 down, in lines of beauty, to the azure waters of Lake Brienz. 
 Farther on, in the same direction, the vision sweeps far into 
 the Bernese Oberland, whose massive Alpine monarchs are 
 tinted with imperial purple and crowned with sunset gold. 
 
 Amid the vast, far-reaching grandeur of this glorious land- 
 scape one object, more than all others, fascinates the eye and 
 fixes the attention : it is the splendid cataract of the Reichen- 
 bach, which comes plunging out of the bosom of the moun- 
 tains, a thousand feet or more above the meandering and, at 
 last, tranquil current of the Aar. Springing from a giddy 
 ledge, the crystal flood falls, white as milk, adown the pine- 
 clad cliff and, striking a sloping surface far below, makes 
 another wild bound, as if maddened with delirious ecstasy. 
 As seen from the summit of the Kirchet, this superb volume 
 
THE HASLI-SCHEIDECK, ETC. 247 
 
 of water — gushing, palpitating, and falling in mid-air, like 
 liquid silver, while valley, river, and lake below and the 
 eragged summits above were suffused in mellow evening radi- 
 ance — reminded me more strikingly than anything I had ever 
 seen of the poetic transports of Tennyson : 
 
 The splendor falls on castle walls 
 
 And snowy summits old in story ; 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying ; 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 Oh, hark, oh, hear! how thin and clear, 
 
 And thinner, clearer, farther going ; 
 Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 
 
 The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
 Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying ; 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE HASLI-SCHEIDECK:, THE FAULHOKN, AND THE SCHYNIGE 
 
 PLATTE. 
 
 In fair weather there are few pedestrian excursions in 
 Switzerland more interesting than that from Meiringen to 
 Grindelwald, over the Hasli-Scheideck. It was at the dawn 
 of an ideally-lovely September morning that I set out from 
 the Hotel du Reichenbach on this tour. Not a speck of cloud 
 could be seen in the whole dome of the sky as I quitted the 
 hotel and began to ascend the heights near by. The atmos- 
 phere was fresh and fragrant ; the grass sparkled with dew ; 
 the glowing effulgence of dawn quivered upon the mountains. 
 
248 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Near to the ascending path the thunderous cataract of the 
 Reichenbach plunged in wild riot of silvery waters, the spray 
 from which, floating out into the sunlight, glittered with rain- 
 bows and fell in showers of mist. 
 
 Like the torrent at Krimml, that of the Reichenbach makes 
 three separate leaps from the mountain before it reaches its 
 channel in the valley. The lowest fall comes down near the 
 Hotel du Reichenbach, and, like the Giessbach, is illuminated 
 by the hotel people on summer evenings. The finest fall is 
 the second, or middle one, whose magnificent leap from its green 
 ambuscade on the mountain has already been described. 
 Darting like an arrow over the precipice, the wild waters 
 spring into the air, then descend in one mass gracefully as 
 
 A feather wafted downward 
 From an eagle in its flight. 
 
 This part of the fall produces by far the best effect when 
 seen from a distance ; some licensed showmen who have taken 
 possession of it have fixed the near-by points of view to suit 
 their own purposes. The same is true of the upper fall, the ap- 
 proaches to which are also guarded by people who exact money 
 for the sight of this beautiful phenomenon of nature. But the 
 scenes outspread before us as we look down from the heights 
 make amends for this annoyance. Before these no curtain can 
 be drawn. In the opposite direction other scenes, still more 
 attractive, come into view at the summit of the fall. As the 
 path ascends the deep gorge of the Reichenbach, suddenly, 
 like an apparition, a huge white mass rises behind its forest 
 screen, and discloses itself in dazzling silhouette against the 
 sky. It is the gigantic pyramid of the Wetterhorn, apparently 
 near at hand, although fifteen miles distant. Around it cluster 
 the bare, gray summits of the Wellborn, the Engelhorn, and 
 various other peaks which rise amid the glaciers borne upon 
 the mighty shoulders of the Jungfrau, the Shreckhorn, and 
 
THE HASLI-SCHEIDECK, ETC. 249 
 
 the Finsteraarhorn. Seen, radiant with morning sunbeams, 
 as we rise from the deep shadows of the gorge, these noble 
 mountains form the background to a picture of surpassing 
 beauty and grandeur. 
 
 As I turned into the wooded defiles of the pass, the echoes 
 of an Alpine horn rang out, bounding and rebounding from 
 cliff to cliff until they died faintly on the far-off summits. 
 A couple of pedestrians — one of them a rosy-cheeked German 
 Frdulein — approached the horn-blower from above at the same 
 time that I came up from .below. " Das 1st schon," exclaimed 
 Fraulein, with a roguish smile, as she tossed a few sous to the 
 volunteer musician. " Aber blasen Sle noch ! blasen Sie noeh !" 
 she added, as she skipped away with the alertness of a chamois. 
 If the man had not been as insensate as a stone, such an appeal 
 would have kept him blowing straight away for half an hour 
 at least. As it was, he put up his horn and gave his lungs a 
 rest for the next customer. 
 
 For two hours my path lay along the mossy banks of the 
 Reichenbach, at first amid groves of deciduous trees, then 
 through sunny meadows, alternating with sombre forests of 
 pine and fir. At the head of a ravine branching to the left 
 the Rosenlaui glacier disclosed itself, descending from an im- 
 mense neve, in the direction of which the thunder of falling 
 avalanches was occasionally heard. The ice of this glacier is 
 singularly pure and clean, owing* to the firmness of its bed of 
 black limestone rock. The baths of Rosenlaui, with their 
 jaunty-looking summer hotel, opposite the glacier, offer many 
 attractions for a restful sojourn. 
 
 Above the timber-line, an hour beyond the baths, we enter 
 the upper mountain pastures, ascending which for half an 
 hour we arrive at the summit of the Hasli-Scheideck. Di- 
 rectly opposite to the pass rises, almost perpendicularly, the- 
 gigantic rock-mass of the Wetterhorn, from whose precipices 
 the avalanches fall in four different directions. From the 
 
250 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 ridge we look eastward into the ravine of the Reichenbach, 
 meandering down to the Haslithal ; westward, into the deep 
 valley of the Grindelwald, lined with forests and pastures, and 
 surrounded by a magnificent pageant of snow-capped mountains. 
 
 From the hospice on the Scheideck the beaten path descends 
 to the hamlet of Grindelwald, opposite the two glaciers of that 
 name ; a less-frequented route leads along the timberless 
 mountain-slopes on the right towards the lofty and isolated 
 peak known as the Faulhorn. Choosing the latter route, I 
 set out from the hospice with a guide, and after an hour's 
 walk reached a point in front of which the great snow-range 
 rose in full view from the Wetterhorn to the Jungfrau, and 
 beyond. Without incident, we pursued our way over the soli- 
 tary meadowy slopes until, towards evening, the base of the 
 rounded cone of the Faulhorn was reached. An ascent of an 
 hour's duration brought us to the lonely chalet which squats 
 under the lee of the short, sharp ridge forming the summit of 
 this isolated peak. 
 
 The Faulhorn is a tolerably symmetrical mass of black, fis- 
 sured, calcareous rock, the crumbling appearance of which 
 gives the mountain its name. On its southern face it is steep, 
 though sloping ; on its northern face it drops two thousand 
 feet from its crest, almost perpendicularly. Its pinnacle — 
 eight thousand eight hundred feet, two thousand nine hundred 
 feet higher than the Rigi Kulm — surveys the whole vast range 
 of snowy Alps, from Lake Geneva on the west to Lakes 
 Lucerne and Zug on the east. From this eyrie, which lies 
 within the zone of almost perpetual winter, the eye sweeps 
 over nearly the whole breadth of the Bernese Oberland, and 
 covers nearly every important lake in Switzerland. While 
 viewing the sunset from the bald, bleak pinnacle, we were ex- 
 posed to a strong wind so piercing cold that we were glad to 
 seek the cheerful fireside of the chalet as soon as the pageant 
 was over. 
 
THE HASLI-SCHEIDECK, ETC. 231 
 
 The next morning broke brightlv, favoring; with radiant 
 skies my descent towards Interlaken. Starting from the chalet, 
 the path circled steeply downward, around the shelvy Faul- 
 horn, to the Sagisthal See, — a small lake lying about two 
 thousand feet from the summit, — then crossed the Iselton Alp 
 and skirted the magnificent gorge of the Grindelwald, at the 
 bottom of which frets and foams the plaintive Lutschine. 
 From a narrow ridge by the way-side I looked down upon the 
 twin lakes of Brienz and Thun, between which lay Interlaken, 
 half concealed by the luxuriant foliage of its parks and gar- 
 dens. As seen from that immense height, a steamer whose 
 paddles wrinkled the blue surface of Lake Thun seemed 
 scarcely bigger than a child's toy ship. 
 
 At nine o'clock — three hours from the Faulhorn — I arrived 
 at the inn on the Schynige Platte, and seated myself on the 
 veranda for a good rest. The Platte is a table of shiny slate 
 rock which hangs at a height of over four thousand feet directly 
 above the bed of the Lutschine, and surveys the Grindelwald 
 and Lauterbrunnen valleys both throughout their entire ex- 
 tent. Behind it rises a mountain-crest (six thousand eight 
 hundred feet), from which, looking northward, a magnificent 
 view is had of Interlaken, with its neighboring lakes and low- 
 lands, and the mountains of the Bernese Oberland. The 
 Platte is one of the finest points of observation in Switzerland, 
 not surpassed, — indeed, not equalled, — in some respects, by 
 the loftiest mountain summits. From the tremendous abysses 
 below comes up the mingled, unintermittent roar of many 
 torrents fed by springs and glaciers on the surrounding moun- 
 tains. As we look up the valley of the Lauterbrunnen, the 
 splendid fall of the Staubbach appears, descending white and 
 misty in its grand, unbroken leap of nine hundred feet. Far 
 beyond it, at the head of the valley, and in the very heart of 
 the mountains, the similarly lofty and graceful fall of the 
 Schmadribach also drops, in full view, its silvery riband. 
 
252 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 From right to left, including the space between the abysses of 
 the Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald, extends a vast redan-like 
 barrier of huge mountains and glaciers, — a gigantic battle- 
 mented citadel where the Ice-King's reign is perpetual and 
 supreme. Most conspicuous in this array are the dark, rugged 
 mass of the Wengern Alp, closing the view towards Grindel- 
 wald ; then, in their order, the peaks of the Eiger, the Monk, 
 the Schneehorn, and the dazzling Silberhorn ; the Breithorn, 
 whose snow-fields and glaciers give rise to the torrent of the 
 Schmadribach ; the mighty wall of the Ebne-Fluh, with its 
 white conical summit ; and, towering above all, directly oppo- 
 site the Platte, the glorious Queen of the Alps, the sublimely- 
 beautiful Jungfrau, robed in spotless white, pure, brilliant, and 
 perpetual. 
 
 While my attention was fixed by these sublime scenes, — ab- 
 sorbed in a trance, almost, of awe and admiration, — suddenly a 
 muffled rumbling sound was heard in the direction of the 
 Jungfrau. At the same instant the innkeeper rushed towards 
 me, pointing and exclaiming, " Sehen Sie! Sehen Sie! eine 
 Lawine /" " See ! see ! an avalanche !" Of course I looked, 
 with all my eyes, and saw, in the exact direction of the sound, 
 a white torrent of descending snow, resembling, in the, distance, 
 a foaming cataract, as it slid headlong down the rocky precipices 
 of the mountain until caught upon the huge shoulders of ice 
 and rock far below its point of origin. Immediately its white 
 cataract began to diminish at the point where it poured over 
 the ledge, and in a moment it dwindled to an apparently tiny 
 stream, the sound of which could be no longer heard. In 
 spring and summer these avalanches fall almost daily into the 
 deep gorge of the Triimletenthal, between the Jungfrau and 
 the Wengern Alp. 
 
 My halt upon the Schynige Platte was virtually the end of 
 a long tour in the Upper Alps, during which the strange fas- 
 cination of the mountains had fixed itself upon me more 
 
THROUGH SICILF. 253 
 
 strongly than I realized until I came to part with my majestic 
 companions. My descent to Interlaken was slow and reluc- 
 tant ; it seemed to me that I would be glad to remain always 
 in the pure atmosphere and amid the sublime scenes of those 
 upper regions, remote from all selfish human cares and pur- 
 suits. Undoubtedly there is* a certain moral elevation to be 
 obtained by association with Nature in her noblest and sub- 
 limest forms. The soul takes on the character of its sur- 
 roundings, and when they are pure and grand, it becomes 
 itself so. It regrets its return, however necessary, to associa- 
 tions which neither inspire nor purify. 
 
 So I felt as the steeply-descending path brought me abruptly 
 to the base of the mountain and I stepped out upon the hard, 
 level road which leads to Interlaken. Yet my regret, how- 
 ever keen, at the termination of a glorious experience, had its 
 compensations, for I could realize with Professor Tyndall, in 
 the fullest sense of the words, that "the Alps improve us 
 totally, and we return from their precipices wiser as well as 
 stronger men." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THROUGH SICILY. 
 I. 
 
 There is scarcely another portion of the globe of similar 
 extent more interesting than Sicily. It is classic ground. The 
 fables of Greek mythology have covered it with their unique 
 enchantment. The flight of Dsedalus, the wanderings of 
 Ulysses, the voyage of JEneas to Italy, the deathless love of 
 Acis and Galataea, the jealousy and rage of Polyphemus, the 
 
 22 
 
254 ' EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 rape of Proserpine, the metamorphosis of Scylla, the victory of 
 Hercules over Eryx, the haunts of the Cyclopes, Gigantes, and 
 Letophagi, — all had their legendary scenes along its shores, or 
 among its mountains and valleys. 
 
 What pearls of literature are strung upon the thread of 
 Sicilian history ! In this island Sophocles was born, .^Eschylus 
 wrote, Plato taught, and " burning Sappho loved and sung." 
 Its pastoral life inspired the muse of Theocritus, unsurpassed 
 among bucolic poets ; its annals are recorded in the pages of 
 Diodorus, Polybius, Livy, and Thucydides. The exploits of 
 its heroes were sung by Homer and Virgil ; the victories of 
 its warriors were the themes of Pindar's noblest odes. Cicero 
 dwelt in Sicily as Roman quaestor, described its scenery and 
 architecture, and plead in its behalf against the vandalism of 
 Verres. Here Tisias perfected the chorus of the Greek 
 drama; Alcasus struck from his lyre his sublime praises of 
 liberty and justice; Xenophanes recited his bold iambics; 
 Epicharmus, named first of comic writers by Plato, composed 
 his comedies ; Simonides wrote his masterpieces of elegiac song ; 
 Archimedes expounded his discoveries in mechanics, mathe- 
 matics, and hydrostatics ; and Empedocles, architect, states- 
 man, and philosopher, broached his startling theories of mind 
 and matter. 
 
 The military events which have taken place within this 
 Mediterranean palestra of the nations have changed the des- 
 tinies of empires and races at nearly all periods of human his- 
 tory. Here the armies of Hannibal and Hamilcar, of Alei- 
 biades and Gylippus, of Timoleon and Marcellus, of Beli- 
 sarius and Ibrahim, of Charles V. and Frederick II., of 
 Robert Guiscard and Garibaldi, have in succession marched to 
 conquest or to ruin. Carthaginian, Greek, Roman, Phoenician, 
 Ostrogoth, Saracen, Norman, Spaniard, and Bourbon have all 
 left here the traces of their dominion, more or less transient. 
 In the same venerable building are seen the Romanesque, 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 255 
 
 Gothic, and Byzantine styles of architecture, built one upon 
 another, betokening the transition of as many different races 
 and periods. In some parts of the island the language of the 
 people is Norman or corrupt Spanish, and there is one plateau, 
 called the Piato dei Greci, where to this day nothing is spoken 
 but Greek. 
 
 In its primitive state, if we may believe the half that is 
 told of it, the natural scenery of Sicily must have been of 
 surpassing loveliness. The imagination delights to picture it 
 as it appeared to the Dorian Greeks when, sailing up the blue 
 Mediterranean, they became enamoured of its beauty, and 
 pitched their first settlements at Naxos. Its valleys,, we are 
 told, were then clothed with luxuriant forests; flashing cas- 
 cades fell voicefully from its mountains ; the vegetation of the 
 semi-tropics rioted upon its virgin soil ; and so rich was the 
 fragrance of its flowers and blossoms that the hounds lost the 
 scent of their prey. The Greek colonists doubtless found here 
 a new Arcadia, realizing to their lively imaginations the ideal 
 one which their poets had celebrated in immortal song. 
 
 Very different from that is the Sicily of to-day, worn by 
 the tramp of so many generations, and despoiled by the ravish- 
 ment of so many conquests. The hills and valleys as they 
 now appear are almost bare of timber ; the watercourses, 
 although roaring torrents in winter, are nearly dry in summer ; 
 a great deal of the soil is thin and sterile, and the scarcity of 
 water confines luxuriance of vegetation mostly to the districts 
 near to the coast. Wheat of good quality is extensively 
 grown, but the yield per acre is pitiably small. The cultivation 
 of cotton spread over the island during our civil war, but has 
 become insignificant again, owing to the inferiority of the 
 plant to American cotton. The orange, the almond, and the 
 vine flourish along the coast ; the olive in the interior as well. 
 The volcanic and limestone rocks forming the surface strata 
 bear no merchantable minerals other than salt, sulphur, and 
 
256 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 marble. Trains of carts laden with yellow sulphur blocks are 
 among the unique sights of the interior. 
 
 The towns and villages generally occupy the lofty sites of 
 ancient strongholds, or the places of refuge upon the hill-tops 
 to which the people were driven for self-protection during the 
 Middle-Age invasions. Built of stone, and heavily walled, 
 the towns of the interior have a cheerless appearance which 
 lends no touch of beauty to the scenery. 
 
 One of the most interesting of these fortified places is Cas- 
 trogiovanni, the Enna of the Greeks, situated on the summit 
 of a hill which rises two thousand six hundred feet. Although 
 pronounced " inexpugnable" by Livy, Enna was besieged and 
 mastered successively by the Syracusans, Carthaginians, 
 Romans, Arabs, and Normans. In the ninth century the 
 Saracens were beaten off in their attempt to carry the place by 
 storm. Against the Romans it held out for two years ; and 
 Roman missiles are found even yet, it is said, on the slopes 
 beneath its walls. The town is now in a wretched state of 
 decay, with not a vestige to show of the splendid temples 
 which once adorned it. The country round about, though 
 anciently of great luxuriance, now looks impoverished and 
 lifeless. 
 
 Palermo — called la felice because of its splendid site and 
 climate — was originally the seat of a Phoenician settlement, 
 which gave place to a Greek colony. It was held by the Car- 
 thaginians during their first invasion, but was wrested from 
 them by the Greek army under Pyrrhus. Retaken by the 
 Carthaginians, it was afterwards captured and held in succession 
 by the Romans, the Goths, the Saracens, and the Normans. 
 Traces of these different vicissitudes are found in the names 
 of its streets and buildings, the character of its architecture, 
 and the language of its people. Conspicuous in the medley 
 of Greek, Saracenic, and Latin derivatives by which its prin- 
 cipal thoroughfares are known appears the illustrious Anieri- 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 257 
 
 can name of Lincoln. On the Via Lincoln we pass the gate 
 by which Garibaldi entered the city in 1860. Following a 
 stately promenade which extends along the entire sea-front of 
 the city, we reach the rock of Monte Pellegrino, two miles 
 west of the city proper. On this magnificent promontory, ris- 
 ing two thousand feet abruptly from the sea, the Carthaginians 
 intrenched themselves, and made obstinate resistance to the 
 Romans. In a grotto of the mountain was found, it is said, 
 the body of Santa Rosalia, a Norman princess, niece of Wil- 
 liam II., who fled to that refuge from the brutality of a Sar- 
 acen soldier, and died there in retirement. The remains of 
 the saint were opportunely discovered during the plague of 
 1664, and, being borne through the city, caused the epidemic 
 to be stayed. Since that event Santa Rosalia has ever been 
 the patron saint of Palermo. 
 
 In the older churches of the city are seen some very fine 
 specimens of the Norman style, and in the secular buildings 
 some interesting illustrations of the feudal architecture of a 
 later period. The palace is a decayed and sorry morsel of 
 mediaeval splendor, excepting its chapel, which is one of the 
 best specimens of the Byzantine style extant. The vestibule 
 of this little chapel is supported by seven columns, six of 
 which are composed of Egyptian granite. The Arabian 
 pointed arches of the nave are supported by ten columns of 
 granite and cipolin. The entire surface of the walls and 
 vaulting is covered with florid mosaics laboriously wrought on 
 a golden ground. The cathedral, a nondescript structure 
 partly Byzantine and partly Gothic, with an incongruous 
 dome, contains the tombs of the Sicilian kings. The objects 
 of chief interest in the National Museum are the metopes of 
 Selinus, illustrating the most ancient sculpture of the Greeks. 
 
 The Cathedral of Monreale, five miles from Palermo, is one 
 of the finest in Sicily, particularly interesting on account of 
 its magnificent portal, and its tombs and monuments of Nor- 
 r 22* 
 
258 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 man monarchs. Near it yet remain, the beautiful cloisters of 
 the Benedictine monastery, with their rare vaulting and delight- 
 ful garden. 
 
 For a general view of Palermo and its environs, we ascend 
 the suburban height on which stands, amid a clustered mass 
 of palms, cypresses, olives, oleanders, and aloe-trees, the old 
 Minorite monastery known as Santa Maria di Jesu. From 
 thence we overlook the city, the zone of garden-like plats and 
 groves which circles between it and the hills, and the dimpling, 
 sparkling waters of the bay which fronts it on its seaward 
 side. 
 
 The most interesting works of man in Sicily, and those 
 least indebted to human care, are its remains of Greek and 
 Roman antiquity. These remains are found chiefly at Segesta, 
 Selinunto, Girgenti, Syracuse, Catania, and Taormina. The 
 ruins of Segesta, the Egesta of the Greeks, lie south-west of 
 Palermo, whence they may be reached by five hours' travel on 
 a mountainous road leading through Monreale and Alcamo. 
 The ruins stand on high ground, solitary and desolate, over- 
 looking the scene of Garibaldi's victory of May 15, 1860. 
 Egesta was one of the most ancient settlements in Sicily, ante- 
 dating even the advent of the Greeks. Tradition ascribes its 
 original foundation to the Trojan followers of iEneas. Not- 
 withstanding that it became thoroughly Greek, its feuds with 
 its Greek neighbors were incessant, especially with Selinunto. 
 The Athenian army, while besieging Syracuse, took sides with 
 Egesta, but after the ruin of that army both the rival cities 
 fell into the hands of the Carthaginians, and were both de- 
 stroyed. All that now remains of Egesta comprises some 
 scraps of mosaic pavement recently excavated ; the theatre, 
 hewn in the natural rock ; and the temple, which is one of the 
 best preserved of the Doric style in Sicily. The theatre, in 
 the usual Greek form, with seats rising in tiers, has a diameter 
 of two hundred and five feet. The breadth of the stage is 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 259 
 
 ninety feet, and that of the orchestra fifty-three feet. The 
 temple, although never entirely completed, is a majestic struct- 
 ure, with thirty-six unfluted columns. Its width is eighty- 
 five feet; its length two hundred. 
 
 In the south-western angle of the island, twenty-five miles 
 south of Segesta, lies Castelvetrano, the nearest inhabited 
 town to the ruins of Selinunto. These ruins, now surrounded 
 by a deserted, insalubrious region, comprise some of the 
 grandest ancient temples in Europe. The Greek colony at 
 Selinunto was established by emigrants from Megara more 
 than six centuries before the Christian era. Its rivalries and 
 wars with Egesta afforded pretexts both to the Athenians and 
 the Carthaginians to interfere in the affairs of Sicily. Hamilcar 
 attacked the place with an army one hundred thousand strong, 
 captured it, and massacred sixteen thousand of its people. 
 Five thousand others he transported as slaves to Africa. The 
 Saracens occupied the ruined town during their invasion, and 
 held it obstinately against the attacks of King Roger. 
 
 The temples of Selinunto stand upon two eminences over- 
 looking the sea. They are seven in number, and were yet in 
 course of completion when the town was captured and de- 
 vastated by Hamilcar Giscon, four centuries before Christ. 
 During the early Christian period cells were built between 
 their buttresses, and used as dwellings. Earthquakes have 
 added their destructive forces to the work of vandal human 
 hands in making wreck of these noble ruins. 
 
 At Girgenti, five hours from Palermo by rail, is seen another 
 group of these remains, which is the finest in Sicily. Girgenti 
 — the Akragas of the ancient Greeks, and Agrigentum of the 
 Romans — was founded by Doric colonists, natives of Crete, 
 nearly six centuries before the Christian era. The ancient city 
 was magnificently situated upon an elevated plateau, behind 
 which rose a semicircular environment of rocky cliffs, and 
 before which was outspread the blue Mediterranean. Pindar 
 
260 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 pronounced it " the most beautiful city of mortals." At its 
 best estate its population was probably about two hundred 
 thousand, although some estimates make it as high as eight 
 hundred thousand. Of prodigious wealth, its people built, it 
 was said, as if they expected to live forever. One of their 
 champions, returning victorious from the Olympic games, was 
 escorted by three hundred chariots each drawn by four milk- 
 white steeds. Art and architecture were invoked to the ut- 
 most of their resources in contributing to the splendors of the 
 city. The Temple of Juno enshrined a painting of that god- 
 dess executed by the immortal Zeuxis, who chose as models for 
 the work the five most beautiful virgins of Akragas. A cele- 
 brated painting by the same artist, representing the infant 
 Hercules in the act of strangling two serpents, adorned the 
 temple of that god. 
 
 Of the temples, — seven in all, — the best preserved is that 
 of Concord, of which the architrave, pediments, and thirty- 
 four columns remain in their original positions. The Temple 
 of Juno, splendidly situated on a salient of the promontory, 
 is a hexastyle of thirty-four columns of the perfected Doric 
 style, each column having twenty flutes and a height just five 
 times its diameter. Sixteen of the columns are yet standing. 
 The Temple of Hercules, two hundred and forty-one feet long, 
 is a hexastyle of thirty-eight columns, of which all are down 
 but one, which stands like a mourner over its fallen comrades. 
 Verres, the rapacious Roman governor whom Cicero prose- 
 cuted and drove into exile, attempted to despoil this temple of 
 its statue of Hercules, but was thwarted by the pious Agri- 
 gentines, who drove off his emissaries. 
 
 The Temple of Jupiter, a huge hypsethral structure, ex- 
 tolled by Polybius, but never entirely completed, dates from 
 480 to 400 B.C. Its thirty-seven massive half-columns were 
 each twenty feet in circumference, and grooved with flutes each 
 broad enough for a man to stand in it. In the interior the 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 261 
 
 columns were mated by corresponding pilasters, upon which, in 
 the cella, stood colossal Atlantes, supporting the entablature. 
 A grand plastic design was wrought in each tympanum, that 
 of the eastern front representing the gods contending with the 
 giants ; that of the western, the siege of Troy. Wrecked by 
 earthquakes and ravaged by war, this stately fane has been 
 drawn upon for materials for ignoble purposes until compara- 
 tively little of it remains. 
 
 In the choice of position of these temples the studied taste 
 of the Greeks has been strikingly displayed. In such har- 
 mony are the edifices with their natural surroundings, that, 
 from whatever direction we view them, they seem to be a 
 necessary part, as well as a splendid embellishment, of the 
 scene. At the same time the view from the temples them- 
 selves is a superb one, covering a wide sweep of plains, valleys, 
 and mountains, before which spreads out, as far as the eye can 
 pierce, the deep, tranquil azure of the sea. 
 
 The conquest of Akragas by the Carthaginians is one of the 
 saddest chapters in history. After destroying Egesta and 
 Selinunto, the Carthaginian leaders Hamilcar and Himilco led 
 their forces against this wealthy and beautiful metropolis. 
 Having girdled it with their armies, they prepared to scale its 
 walls by erecting wooden towers, which the besieged, sallying 
 forth in the night, captured and burned. The Carthaginians 
 then built towers of stone, for which purpose they demolished 
 the Akragan tombs, a sacrilege followed by the terrors of a 
 thunderbolt and the ravages of a plague. To appease the 
 anger of the gods, the besiegers ceased their violation of the 
 resting-places of the dead, and sacrificed a boy to Saturn. 
 Meanwhile, a Syracusan army, sent to the relief of the be- 
 leaguered city, attacked the Carthaginians, routed them, and 
 besieged them in their own camp ; but from this predicament 
 they were soon relieved by the energy of Himilco, who de- 
 stroyed a Syracusan fleet, bringing supplies to Akragas, the 
 
262 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 allies of which he seduced with bribes. Thereupon the leaders 
 of the Akragans determined that, to avoid the horrors of 
 starvation, the entire population of the city should abandon it 
 in the night. The publication of this decree caused universal 
 wailing. " It was a mournful spectacle," says the historian, 
 "to see two hundred thousand citizens, of every age, sex, and 
 condition, abandoning with tears their household gods ; while 
 matrons, beautiful virgins, innocent children, the old and the 
 young, the slave and his master, the plebeian with the patri- 
 cian, passed instantaneously from the summit of luxury to the 
 extreme of wretchedness. The whole body, escorted by the 
 military, retired to Gela, whence the Syracusans conducted 
 them to Leontinum." 
 
 The railway to Catania being not yet completed farther west 
 than Canicatti, I journeyed thither from Girgenti by the post 
 diligence, which was guarded from bandit attack by a mounted 
 patrol. The ride was a dusty one, but its discomfort was 
 palliated by the novelty of the scenery. From. Canicatti we 
 proceeded eastward by rail, passing through a meagrely-tim- 
 bered country, broken into clayey hills. The movement of 
 the train was slow and rapid by turns, as its course happened 
 to be up or down on the steep gradients of the line. Passing 
 Caltanisetta and Castrogiovanni, we descended into the valley 
 of the ancient Chrysas. By that time evening was approach- 
 ing, and the setting sun, diffusing the atmosphere with its 
 mellow radiance, softened the outlines of the hills, and covered 
 them with the marvellously-delicate purple tint peculiar to 
 Italy. The gray-and-yellow cliffs and arid ridges became 
 surpassingly lovely under the transfiguring magic of light and 
 shadow. I was absorbed in admiration of the scene when my 
 sole travelling-companion — a Sicilian — addressed me for the 
 first time. His speech was laconic, but meant much. " Etna ! 
 Etna !" was his exclamation, as he beckoned me to the window 
 by which he sat. I looked, and, sure enough, there stood 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 263 
 
 Etna, in full view from base to summit. The upper portion 
 of the mountain, zoned far down with perpetual snow, was 
 fair and dazzling as a sun-illumined cloud. Fortunately the 
 wind carried in the direction opposite to us the vast volumes 
 of steam and smoke, issuing from the crater, leaving the 
 entire cone clearly outlined against the sky. I saw the moun- 
 tain afterwards from many different directions, but no view 
 of it was so impressive as the first. Fair, majestic, and allur- 
 ing, — even so, probably, did it appear to the adventurous 
 Greeks when they first planted their civilization beneath its 
 mighty shadow. 
 
 Mount Etna, or Mongibello, as the Sicilians call it, is a 
 gigantic cone of heaped-up lava two and one-sixteenth miles 
 high. The circumference of its base, if we include the whole 
 mass of volcanic matter which has accumulated around the 
 axis of its crater, is about one hundred miles. Its slopes are 
 belted by three different zones of vegetation, the first rising 
 about two thousand three hundred feet. In the soil of this 
 zone, consisting of decomposed lava, grow olives, oranges, 
 pomegranates, apples, figs, almonds, and cinnamon-, pepper-, 
 and citron-trees in great luxuriance. The vine also flourishes 
 in this region, and is occasionally seen far above it. The 
 second zone, rising about four thousand seven hundred feet 
 above the first, contains forests of oak, chestnut, birch, and 
 pine. The third zone, comprising all above the second, con- 
 tains but little vegetation. Among the plants found there are 
 the barberry, juniper, and some hardy species peculiar to 
 Etna. In its general appearance this upper zone is a black, 
 silent, glittering waste, streaked with snow-drifts and entirely 
 destitute of animal life. A quarry of perpetual ice was found 
 there in 1828, under a stratum of lava which must have 
 flowed over it. The crater is at the top of a mountain of 
 ashes and stones which rises about eleven hundred "feet above 
 the snowy tract. Usually it is a single abyss, but sometimes 
 
264 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 it is crossed by a barrier, from one side only of which smoke 
 is emitted. An important change of the summit takes place 
 at each eruption. 
 
 In ancient myth, Etna was sometimes called the prison of 
 the giant Typhon, enemy of the gods, and sometimes the forge 
 of Vulcan. According to some poets, the monster Enceladus 
 lay pinioned beneath its mass, and caused its eruptions by his 
 struggles. The absence of any allusion in the Homeric tradi- 
 tions to the volcanic character of the mountain has led to the 
 belief that it was quiescent at the time of Ulysses's fabled 
 adventures. Its eruptions, of which we have historical record, 
 number eighty-one. The earliest of these is described by 
 Pindar, whose account of its terrific sublimity bears evidence 
 of truth. Thucydides mentions three different eruptions, and 
 Diodorus Siculus tells of fiery outbreaks which obliged the 
 aboriginal inhabitants to flee to the western part of the island. 
 In modern times an eruption has taken place about once in 
 ten years. The most stupendous and destructive one of which 
 we have any account was that of 1669, when a violent earth- 
 quake, which shook down the village of Nicolosi, was followed 
 a few days later by the outbreak of lava streams pouring from 
 different parts of the mountain. On that occasion the red 
 double cone of Monte* Rossi was formed, many lives were lost, 
 and twenty-seven thousand persons were rendered homeless. 
 A fissure twelve miles long, extending within a mile of the 
 summit, burned with a vivid light, while parallel fissures 
 emitted smoke and terrific bellowing noises. The walls of 
 Catania had been raised to a height of sixty feet, but the 
 descending lava overleaped them, and poured a cataract of 
 liquid fire among the houses. In twenty days the lava cur- 
 rent reached the sea, having flowed fifteen miles from its place 
 of issue on the mountain. Eight years afterwards the current 
 was glowing hot beneath the crust of black spinous rock 
 which formed over it. As the molten mass entered the sea, 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 265 
 
 the water was thrown into violent commotion, producing hor- 
 rible noises ; the fish were destroyed and cast ashore, and the 
 sun was darkened by enormous clouds of vapor. For many 
 months afterwards the water remained turbid. 
 
 The ascent of Etna is usually made from Nicolosi, ten 
 miles from Catania, the time of starting being so regulated 
 that the sunset may be viewed from the Casa del Bosco (four 
 thousand two hundred and sixteen feet), and the .sunrise from 
 the summit. A halt is made at the Casa Inglese (nine thou- 
 sand six hundred and fifty-two feet) from midnight until two 
 or three o'clock in the morning. From the Casa Inglese 
 (English House) the cone must be scaled on foot. Immense 
 volumes of sulphurous smoke, accompanied by subterranean 
 rumbling, issue continually from the crater, but in settled 
 weather a good view from its margin is reasonably certain. 
 The grandeur of the sunrise, witnessed from the pinnacle, 
 cannot be exaggerated. As dawn approaches, the stars rapidly 
 disappear from the paling sky ; the eastern horizon reddens, 
 faintly at first, then deeply; and the summit of the mountain 
 begins to be illumined while all below is yet wrapped in the 
 deep obscurity of night. While the sun yet reposes in the 
 sea, which seems like a lofty bank of clouds, the distant moun- 
 tains of Apulia disclose their notched outlines against the 
 eastern sky, and, looking westward, the island appears like a 
 sea of wave-like rocky ridges blending with the morning mists. 
 Flecks of purple cloud mark the spot where the sun is about 
 to appear, and while their burning splendors deepeu, suddenly 
 a ray of golden light, with edges of intensest purple, darts 
 across the water the beaming disk slowly emerges, and while 
 the top of Etna is tipped with sunshine, the mountains of 
 Calabria still cast their long shadows on the sea. Suddenly, like 
 an electric flash, the light strikes the summits of the mountains 
 below, and the vast pyramid of Etna casts its shadow over 
 Sicily, forming a colossal triangle on the surface of the island. 
 m 23 
 
266 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 As the sun ascends, the prospect widens, and additional 
 points come into view. Northward, the Lipari Islands, with 
 their smoking volcanoes, and the peak of Stromboli are dis- 
 closed ; eastward, the Calabrian peninsula and its mountains ; 
 southward, Syracuse, and, far off on the blue sea, the island of 
 Malta ; while westward, the Pizzo di Palermo towers highest 
 in the Madonian range, and Castrogiovanni sits upon its pin- 
 nacle of rocks. Around us lies a silent, black, ashy waste, 
 the desolation of which is intensified by contrast with the 
 scenes of cheerful luxuriance into which it descends. Enor- 
 mous masses of lava, seamed, twisted, and rolled in dragon- 
 like contortions, extend far down until, concealed amid the 
 orange-groves, they pour into the sea and merge their black 
 masses with its snowy surf. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THKOUGH SICILY. 
 II. 
 
 With the recorded history of Mount Etna that of Catania is 
 closely identified. This delightful city — next to Palermo the 
 largest in Sicily — traces its origin back to a little colony of 
 Chalcidian Greeks, founded by the Athenian Theocles, more 
 than seven centuries before the Christian era. After having 
 suffered greatly in the wars of the Doric colonies with the 
 Chalcidians, the town was captured by the Syracusan Hiero 
 I., then repeopled under the leadership of the philosopher 
 Xenophanes, taken by the invading Athenians, captured and 
 destroyed by Dionysius, taken a second time by the Cartha- 
 ginians, and, finally, seized and possessed, with all the rest of 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 267 
 
 Sicily, by the Romans. Its political vicissitudes daring the 
 Middle Ages and in modern times have not been less diversi- 
 fied than those of its ancient history, though less calamitous 
 than its misfortunes by earthquakes and Etnean eruptions. 
 Several times the town has been completely destroyed by these 
 convulsions, yet as often it has risen again upon its original 
 site, so that it now stands on a plane sixty feet higher than 
 that of the city of the seventh century. The mighty lava 
 stream which poured down upon it in 1669 was diverted from 
 its course by the heavy buttressed walls of the Benedictine 
 monastery, around which, to this day, lies a mass of black 
 volcanic rock, once a hissing current -of fire. Twenty-four 
 years later, this monastery, then the second largest in the 
 world, was wrecked by an earthquake, after which calamity it 
 was reconstructed as it now stands, covering an area of one 
 hundred thousand square yards. Its present most notable 
 possession is a magnificent organ of nearly three thousand pipes, 
 one of the finest in Europe. 
 
 Out of all its eventful history, with its wonderful catalogue 
 of misfortunes, Catania has emerged a most charming city, 
 with wide, clean streets, new and stylish architecture, and un- 
 mistakable signs of prosperity. Here, too, as in Palermo, we 
 find the name of Lincoln attached to one of the principal 
 thoroughfares. 
 
 Syracuse lies three hours distant from Catania by rail. In 
 visiting it, strangers usually go from Catania, leaving there in 
 the morning, and returning — for the sake of good lodgings — 
 in the evening. Quitting Catania, the railway takes an in- 
 terior course until it reaches Leontini, — the Leontinum famous 
 in ancient story, — from whence it returns to and follows the 
 crooked line of the sea-coast, frequently disclosing the magni- 
 ficent pyramid of Etna on the one hand and the vast blue sea 
 on the other. Directly we pass the fortified seaport of Augusta, 
 the ancient Xiphonia ; then the Megarean bay of antiquity ; 
 
2G8 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 then Hybla, renowned in Greek song for its bees and honey. 
 Priolo, the next town, has recent and vivid distinction in my 
 mind as the place where some fisher-boys importuned me, 
 while the train halted, to buy some specimens of the octopus. 
 Opposite Priolo lies the little peninsula of Thapsus, near which 
 was moored the Athenian fleet. Passing Thapsus, and skirt- 
 ing the bay in which Marcellus marshalled his ships, the 
 train reaches the confines of ancient Syracuse, and, rounding a 
 stony headland on which part of the city stood, enters by an 
 excavation within its walls. 
 
 The lifeless modern town of twenty thousand souls, which 
 travesties the renown of these classic precincts, is situated on 
 the island of Ortygia, the northern extremity of which lies 
 close to the coast. South and west of Ortygia the sea extends 
 inland, forming a most excellent harbor. On the island thus 
 situated the ancient city of Syracuse was originally founded by 
 Corinthian Greeks, seven hundred and thirty-four years before 
 the Christian era. The colonists reduced the native inhabi- 
 tants to the condition of serfs, and established an aristocratic 
 government. So great was their prosperity, due mainly to the 
 extreme fertility of the country round about them, that 
 auxiliary colonies were soon established at Euna (Castro- 
 giovanni) and other places in the interior, and their city, out- 
 growing its insular position, extended itself to the mainland. 
 Here it spread over a rocky plateau overlooking the bay, the 
 original town, and the sea beyond. Eventually the city con- 
 sisted of five different parts, all surrounded by lofty walls, and 
 forming, altogether, a vast fortress over twenty miles in cir- 
 cumference, of which Ortygia was the citadel. 
 
 On the mainland the city comprised four contiguous sec- 
 tions, each of which bore a different name and was surrounded 
 by its own walls. These four towns, known respectively as 
 Achradina, Tyche, Neapolis, and Epipolse, covered a broad 
 plateau in the form of a triangle, of which the base was washed 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 269 
 
 by the sea and the apex turned inland. Achradina, which 
 comprised the stony coast headland now skirted by the rail- 
 way, was separated from the other sections on its inland side 
 by a ravine, and from Ortygia by a narrow strait crossed by a 
 causeway. The low ground around the margin of the bay, 
 west and south of Ortygia, formed a suburb, with gardens. 
 
 At the zenith of its prosperity Syracuse contained half a 
 million people, and was the most important of all the Hel- 
 lenic cities. Pindar called it " The Fane of Mars," and 
 Cicero extolled it as the most beautiful city of the Grecian 
 world. In literature and art, and in the achievements and ce- 
 lebrity of its illustrious men, whether warriors, philosophers, 
 or statesmen, it was the rival of Athens itself. 
 
 Gelon, of Gela, having been invited to interfere in a revolt 
 of the serfs of Syracuse against its nobles, usurped its gov- 
 ernment, which he changed from its plutocratic form to that 
 of a dictatorship, with himself at the head. Energetic and 
 able, Gelon bent all his energies to the aggrandizement of the 
 city of his adoption. An invading Carthaginian army three 
 hundred thousand strong was overthrown by his valor, after 
 which event the golden era of Greek supremacy in Sicily 
 began. Syracuse was practically mistress of the entire island ; 
 but her prosperity and splendor provoked the jealousy and 
 cupidity of Athens and tempted the ambition of Alcibiades, 
 who set forth with a poweful fleet and an army for her sub- 
 jugation. Alcibiades had scarcely landed in Sicily when he 
 was recalled to answer the accusations of his enemies, and went 
 over to Sparta, then at war with Athens. The leadership of 
 the expedition "thus fell to Nicias, a timid, irresolute man, 
 greatly inferior to his predecessor both in genius and boldness. 
 In spite of the indecision of Nicias, and his deficiency in 
 energy, the Athenians were at first successful, especially during 
 the summer of 414 B.C., when they stormed and carried the 
 most elevated portion of the city, known as the Epipola?, and 
 
 23* 
 
270 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WATS. 
 
 enclosed the rest of it with double lines of approach. The 
 Syracusans were now reduced to great extremities, and were 
 on the point of capitulation, when the Spartan Gylippus, de- 
 spatched at the instigation of Alcibiades, arrived with a small 
 army, broke through the Athenian wall into the city, and 
 turned the tide of its fortunes. With his assistance the be- 
 sieged recovered strength and wrested from Nicias the pro- 
 montory of Plemmyrium, on the opposite side of the bay 
 from Ortygia. After this the Athenians exhibited their superior 
 nautical skill in an encounter with the Syracusan fleet, which 
 was defeated ; but in a subsequent encounter between the fleets 
 the fortunes of battle were reversed. The Athenians had 
 achieved their last success, and were now, in turn, put upon 
 the defensive. A reinforcement was sent to their relief, under 
 Demosthenes, — not the celebrated orator, — who, after a hazard- 
 ous night march, attacked the Spartan intrenchments and was 
 repulsed with the loss of nearly his entire command. Over- 
 taken by military disaster, scourged by the plague, and harassed 
 by the dissensions of their leaders, the Athenians thought only 
 of retreat, preliminary to which their fleet, moored in the bay, 
 undertook to beat off the Syracusan galleys and clear the way 
 to the open sea. The effort failed, the assailants being defeated 
 and driven back. Thereupon Nicias and Demosthenes pre- 
 pared to embark their land forces and attempt a night escape 
 from the harbor, but an eclipse of the moon during the night 
 appointed (August 27, 41 3) aroused their superstitious fears, 
 causing them to postpone for twenty-four hours the execution 
 of their plans. Meanwhile, the Syracusans closed the exit 
 from the bay with a line of boats connected by chains. They 
 also resolved to attack and destroy the Athenian fleet, and 
 while the two armaments grappled with each other in the bay, 
 the encounter was watched from its shores by the land armies, 
 whose shouts, says Thucydides, as the tide of victory swayed 
 to and fro, resembled the surging of a dramatic chorus. The 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 271 
 
 fleet of the Athenians being beaten, they quitted by night 
 their intrenchments before the city and marched rapidly south- 
 ward, hoping to escape from some point on the lower coast, but 
 were promptly pursued, overtaken, and captured almost to a 
 man. Seven thousand of them were cruelly imprisoned for eight 
 months in one of the deep, roofless pits formed in quarrying 
 the stone used in building the city. The survivors of this 
 barbarous treatment were sold into slavery, except a few — tra- 
 dition says — who were released because of their skill in 
 reciting the verses of Euripides. 
 
 This repulse of the Athenian power from the walls of 
 Syracuse is declared by Thucydides to have been the most 
 important event in the history of the Greeks. It was the 
 turning-point in the destinies of Athens, whose power thence- 
 forward declined ; whereas, had her expedition been successful, 
 she would perhaps have forestalled the career of Rome as 
 mistress of the world. 
 
 Eight years after the Athenian repulse, the Carthaginians 
 again overran Sicily, and their army under Himilco laid siege 
 to Syracuse, which was defended with extraordinary ability by 
 Dionysius the elder. Scourged by pestilence, and repulsed in 
 its assaults, the army of Himilco fared little better than that 
 of Nicias, and withdrew, a shattered remnant. Dionysius then 
 improved the fortifications of Ortygia, and built a strong wall 
 around the city, which he so extended and embellished that he 
 was called its second founder. This great ruler and military 
 leader, though called a tyrant, was not an absolute despot. 
 He was unscrupulous and vindictive, but the forms of popular 
 government were continued under his sway, and we find him 
 frequently convoking the assembly of the people. His son 
 and successor, Dionysius II., was, more properly speaking, a 
 tyrant, and upon the solicitation of his people, who would no 
 longer endure his debaucheries and abuses of power, was over- 
 thrown by an expedition from Corinth, led by Timoleon. 
 
272 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 After a brief restoration of the republic, Agathocles usurped the 
 dictatorship, and sent an army over to Africa, which besieged 
 Carthage, while the Carthaginians, in turn, attacked Syracuse, 
 but were repulsed. Brilliant, but cruel, faithless, and adven- 
 turous, Agathocles perished by poison. 
 
 Hiero II., invested by popular choice with the supreme 
 power, w T as soon afterwards proclaimed king, and ruled wisely 
 for fifty-four years, during which time Syracuse became more 
 prosperous and splendid than ever before. Hiero kept peace 
 with Rome, but his successor formed an alliance with Car- 
 thage against her. Thereupon Marcellus, with a powerful fleet 
 and army, laid siege to Syracuse (214-212), the defence of 
 which was made illustrious by the patriotism and science of 
 Archimedes, who is said to have fired the Roman ships with 
 burning-glasses erected on the walls. Withstood by a pro- 
 longed and obstinate defence, the Romans at length carried 
 the Hexapylon of Dionysius, and gained admission by treach-, 
 ery to the citadel of Ortygia. The proud and splendid Syra- 
 cuse had received her fatal thrust ; her remaining history is 
 but a story of lingering death. When the victorious Marcellus 
 looked down upon the city from its heights, at morning, and 
 reflected upon its ancient glory and impending fate, he is said 
 to have burst into tears. Its liberties crushed, its treasures 
 plundered, its pictures and statues borne away to Rome, where 
 they first awakened the love of Greek art, the city sank into 
 permanent decay. The Emperor Augustus endeavored to re- 
 store it as a Roman colony, but in vain. It would be Greek 
 or nothing ; to-day it is nothing. 
 
 Two thousand years after its conquest by Marcellus, we find 
 difficulty in tracing even its boundaries, except as Nature made 
 them. Walls, palaces, temples, streets, groves, — all have van- 
 ished. For hours I wandered over the solitary fields of the 
 Achradina and the Epipolse, seeking among weeds and barley- 
 patches for traces of the ancient city, but finding them only 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 273 
 
 here and there, scratched upon the arid surface of the rock. 
 Looking from these heights, one thing only could be seen 
 which has remained unchanged through the flight of ages, and 
 that was the blue " unresting sea," whose deep azure waters 
 sparkled as cheerily in the morning sunlight, and broke in 
 cadence as melodious, 
 
 Adown the bright and belting shore, 
 
 as when ploughed by the warring fleets of Athens, Rome, and 
 Carthage. Verily, 
 
 Men change, and cease to be, 
 
 And empires rise, and grow, and fall ; 
 But the weird music of the sea 
 
 Lives and outlives them all. 
 
 Upon the bleak heights of the Achradina, from which even 
 the soil is gone, the wall of Gelon may be faintly traced. 
 Here and there the natural rock is itself chiselled into battle- 
 ments. Tyche, Neapolis, and Epipolse are almost equally 
 desolate, and equally barren of vestiges of their ancient life 
 and splendor. A solitary column rising in a meadow is all 
 that remains of what was probably once a magnificent forum. 
 At the pointed extremity of the Epipolse, where the walls 
 converged, stood the Hexapylon, a noble fortress built by 
 Dionysius with such consummate skill as to command even 
 yet the admiration of military engineers. Its ruins include 
 the remnants of four massive towers, with two deep fosses cut 
 in the rock, and subterranean passages through which infantry 
 and cavalry could make their sallies and retire again to the 
 protection of the fort. All around are strewn heavy blocks 
 from the parapets, cut with grooves for pouring boiling pitch 
 upon the heads of the assailants. The city was supplied with 
 water from the mountains by two great aqueducts which cross 
 the triangular plateau in channels cut in the natural rock. 
 
274 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 One of these, descending through Achradina to the sea, passes 
 under the Little Harbor and emerges in Ortygia as the so- 
 called fountain of Arethusa. A natural spring found on the 
 island by the Greeks, but now probably extinct, derived this 
 name from the fable that the nymph Arethusa, pursued thither 
 from El is by the river-god Alpheus, was metamorphosed by 
 Diana into a fountain. 
 
 The ancient Greek theatre, cut in the natural rock on the 
 southern slope of the triangular plateau, is the largest and one 
 of the most complete ruins of the kind in existence. Nearly 
 semicircular in form, with a diameter of four hundred and 
 ninety-five feet, it contains sixty tiers of seats, of which forty- 
 six remain, sloping upward and backward from the orchestra. 
 The names of King Hiero, Queen Philistis, and other eminent 
 persons, with which the different compartments were desig- 
 nated, are still legible, cut in Greek letters on the limestone. 
 The auditorium is a model of symmetry, so contrived that, by 
 all the spectators, every object upon the stage could be seen, 
 and every word heard. From its upper part, looking towards 
 the stage, the eye sweeps over a magnificent landscape, diversi- 
 fied by plain, mountain, valley, and sea. Such was the setting 
 to the beautiful classic dramas here witnessed by the Syra- 
 cusans assembled in thousands, fanned by zephyrs from the 
 meadows, and screened by awnings from the sun. 
 
 A short distance from the Greek theatre the Street of the 
 Tombs ploughs its deep, sinuous course through the natural 
 limestone rock. In its walls, on either side, are cavities in 
 which the bodies of the dead were deposited, but not a vestige 
 of their ashes or cerements remains. Even the dead have 
 vanished, as well as the living, leaving no trace behind. 
 Among the pretentious tombs hewn in the rocky walls of the 
 plateau are two with Doric facings, one of which tradition 
 doubtfully assigns to Timoleon, and the other to Archimedes. 
 The neglected tomb of Archimedes, discovered and described 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 275 
 
 by Cicero, can no longer be identified. It was probably out- 
 side the city. 
 
 One of the few distinct and impressive vestiges of ancient 
 Syracuse is the Roman amphitheatre, which, like the Greek 
 theatre, is also an excavation in the limestone strata. Its 
 arena, over the entrance to which still springs a ruined arch, is 
 strewn with blocks of marble, some of which are carved with 
 the names of people who owned seats in the auditorium. 
 Near to the amphitheatre is the great stone altar on which 
 King Hiero annually sacrificed hecatombs of oxen to com- 
 memorate the overthrow of his profligate predecessor, Thrasy- 
 bulus. 
 
 The immense quarries from which the material was taken 
 for building the city and its walls are impressive evidences of 
 its greatness. Anciently used as burial-places and prisons, 
 these huge pits now contain orange-groves, dwellings, and 
 gardens. At the bottom of the quarry within which seven 
 thousand Athenian captives were cruelly incarcerated, I found 
 little children playing among the citron-trees, and peasants 
 spinning twine. Another quarry, one hundred and thirty feet 
 deep, contains the famous grotto called the Ear of Dionysius, 
 so named during the sixteenth century. This grotto, seventy 
 feet high and two hundred feet long, is cut in the solid rock 
 in the form of the letter S, and tapers towards its summit. 
 The slightest sound at the bottom of the grotto is heard at 
 the top, while a loud sound produces a wonderful echo. Dio- 
 nysius is said to have constructed prisons with such acoustic 
 properties, so that he might hear every word — even a whisper 
 — spoken within them. It has been arbitrarily assumed, 
 without evidence, that this grotto was one of those contri- 
 vances. 
 
 The catacombs of Syracuse, lying several stories deep under 
 the greater part of the lower Achradina, have an aggregate 
 length of about nine miles. Frescos and inscriptions on their 
 
276 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 walls show that they were used as Christian burial-places, but 
 their excavation, probably made for other purposes, is believed 
 to antedate the Christian era. The custodian, a decrepit sexa- 
 genarian, lighted me down into a neighboring crypt of the 
 decayed and mouldy old church of San Giovanni. In this 
 crypt, we are told, St. Paul preached when he tarried at Syra- 
 cuse, on his way to Rome.* St. Marcian, whose tomb is in 
 this crypt, is said to have suffered martyrdom while tied to 
 one of its granite pillars. A groove on the surface of the 
 pillar was worn, it is claimed, by the rope with which the 
 saint was bound. 
 
 The modern town of Syracuse is but a lingering and 
 gloomy shadow of its illustrious namesake. The most im- 
 portant building it contains is its cathedral, erected on the site 
 of a Doric temple. This edifice is dedicated to "Our Lady 
 of Columns," because twenty-four noble pillars of the de- 
 molished temple support its walls. The ancient fane, the 
 remnants of which have been thus misappropriated, has been 
 supposed to be the same as that described by Cicero as having 
 been spared by Marcellus, but stripped bare of its splendid 
 ornaments by the infamous Verres. The roof of that temple 
 supported an enormous gilded shield, glittering in the sunlight 
 and seen far at sea by the mariners, who always made an 
 offering as they took leave of its last glimmerings. It is now 
 probable, however, that the temple which Cicero described and 
 Verres despoiled stood on a site altogether different from that 
 of the cathedral, and has been destroyed to the last vestige. 
 
 The modern town contains a museum, which has been 
 stocked with fragments of sculpture gathered up in the 
 neighborhood. Among these paltry remains of one of the 
 
 * " And after three months we departed in a ship of Alexandria, which 
 had wintered in the isle, whose sign was Castor and Pollux. And land- 
 ing at Syracuse, we tarried there three days." — Acts of the Apostles, xxviii. 
 11, 12. 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 277 
 
 most powerful and splendid cities of the ancient world we 
 find a headless Venus and a colossal head of Zeus, but no 
 other important object. 
 
 The entire eastern coast of Sicily is crowded with classic 
 reminiscences. Going northward from Catania, we have no 
 sooner quitted the city than we begin to observe the huge lava- 
 streams which in the course of ages have come hissing down 
 the slopes of Etna and poured their fiery masses into the sea. 
 The march of the Carthaginian army of Himilco on Syracuse 
 was stayed by one of these currents, while, at the same time, 
 a short distance off shore, the squadrons of Mago defeated and 
 nearly destroyed the Syracusan fleet. In the same vicinity are 
 seen, rising out of the surf, the seven rocks which the blinded 
 Polyphemus hurled after the crafty Ulysses. A short distance 
 farther on we pass Aci Reale, a charming pleasure-resort, 
 named from the old Greek fable of Acis, a Sicilian shepherd 
 passionately loved by the sea-nymph Galatsea. The sooty 
 Etnean Cyclops, Polyphemus, also adored the nymph, but 
 was disdained by her, in revenge for which he destroyed Acis 
 by rolling a huge stone upon him from an overhanging height. 
 Galatsea, inconsolable for the loss of Acis, changed him into a 
 stream, which still meanders among the orange-groves. 
 
 Taormina, two hours by rail from Catania, looks down from 
 a bluff which rises perpendicularly four hundred feet from the 
 margin of the sea. On a pinnacle nine hundred feet higher 
 than the town stand the ruined battlements of a Saracen castle, 
 still above which the mountains of the coast, brown and bare, 
 rise in successive gradations. The views from the town, its 
 castle, and particularly from its ruined Greek theatre, are 
 among the finest in Sicily. To the right rises the stupendous 
 pyramid of Etna, streaked with lava-streams, and perpetually 
 discharging steam and smoke from its crater in measureless 
 volumes. Between the precipitous part of Etna and the sea 
 lie gentle slopes, dressed with orange- and olive-groves and 
 
 24 
 
278 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WATS. 
 
 dotted with villages. Before us is spread the historic Medi- 
 terranean, of marvellous color and myriad transformations of 
 light and shadow. Far along the indented coast stretches the 
 gleaming outline of foamy waters beating ceaselessly on the 
 jagged rocks, while near at hand, almost directly beneath us, 
 the little peninsula of Naxos, on which the Greeks planted 
 their first Sicilian colony, pierces with its green wedge of 
 citron-groves the blue surface of the sea. 
 
 Taormina, the ancient Tauromenium, has a most interesting 
 history. Before the advent of the Greeks a stronghold of the 
 aboriginal Siculi, it afterwards became an ally of the Cartha- 
 ginians, and was unsuccessfully besieged by Dionysius. Within 
 its precincts Greek, Roman, and Saracenic architecture mingle 
 under the same roof, and Greek, Roman, and Arabian tombs 
 are seen in the same mortuary. Its ancient theatre, of Greek 
 origin and Roman reconstruction, is, in some respects, the most 
 nearly complete and perfect structure of the kind in existence. 
 Cut in the natural rock in semicircular form, with a diameter 
 of three hundred and fifty-seven feet, its acoustic arrangement 
 is such that every word spoken on the stage can be distinctly 
 heard at the most remote part of the auditorium. The loca- 
 tion of the theatre, on the summit of a lofty cliff rising per- 
 pendicularly from the sea, is such as to surround the play 
 with a magnificent setting of landscape grandeur. Looking 
 towards the stage, we behold the historic and stupendous 
 majesty of Mount Etna, itself a mighty participant in the vast 
 drama of human affairs. Southward, the eye ranges along the 
 coast as far as Catania, thirty miles distant. Below lies the 
 sea, above rise the Sicilian mountains. In nothing is the keen 
 esthetic intelligence of the Greeks more obvious than in the 
 skill with which they have made the sublimity and beauty of 
 nature tributary to dramatic art. 
 
 Thirty miles up the coast from Taormina, overhung by the 
 sea-side range of mountains, lies another city of ancient origin 
 
THROUGH SICILY. • 279 
 
 and renown. Seven or eight centuries before the Christian 
 era, a colony was established on its present site by Cumsean 
 pirates, who gave it the name of Zancle (sickle), because of the 
 hooked peninsula which curves around its harbor. At a later 
 date it took the name of Messana, — now Messina, — from the 
 exiled Messenian Greeks, who made it their place of refuge. 
 Situated on one of the greatest commercial highways, and 
 possessing one of the finest harbors in the world, it has been, 
 like Genoa, an important seaport and trading-place from the 
 earliest times to the present. The Greeks regarded it as the 
 key of Sicily, and referred to its fruit-bearing sea-girt hills as 
 " the beautiful shore." Yet Messana has always been an un- 
 lucky place, its very wealth and prosperity tempting conquest 
 and inviting misfortune. Four centuries before Christ it was 
 captured and destroyed by the Carthaginians under Himilco, 
 from whose barbarities a few only of its people escaped. Re- 
 built by Dionysius, it was again seized by the Carthaginians, 
 from whom, in turn, it was wrested by Timoleon. Later, the 
 soldiers of fortune, called Mamertines, — sons of Mars, — ex- 
 pelled from Syracuse, became its masters, and invoked for 
 themselves and their city the protection of Rome against the 
 aggressions of Hannibal. From the intervention thus solicited 
 arose the first of the Punic wars, a series of struggles which 
 determined the question of supremacy between two rival 
 races, and gave direction to the whole vast current of human 
 affairs. In the course of its subsequent vicissitudes Messana 
 was plundered by Verres and Octavian, made a Roman colony 
 by Augustus, and conquered successively by the Saracens and 
 Normans. The pilgrim armies of the Crusaders, drifting 
 across the Mediterranean to and from the East, made it their 
 stopping-place and stronghold, thereby contributing greatly to 
 its wealth and power. Afterwards it profited by the favor of 
 Charles V., but soon passed the meridian of its prosperity and 
 fell into a series of contentions and misfortunes which reduced 
 
280 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 its population from one hundred and twenty thousand to one- 
 tenth of that number. In 1740 the city was scourged by a 
 fearful plague, which carried off forty thousand of its people, 
 and in 1848 it was visited by cholera, which claimed sixteen 
 thousand victims. But these were not its crowning calamities. 
 Between Etna and Vesuvius the earthquakes are always most 
 violent along the line of contact of the primary and secondary 
 formations. In 1783 a series of terrific convulsions took 
 place along this line, accompanied by whirlwinds, tempests, 
 and a fetid vapor, pungent to the eyes and oppressive to the 
 lungs. The shocks continued, at intervals, for fully a year, 
 during which period Etna and the volcanoes of the Lipari 
 Islands showed increased activity, Vesuvius, meanwhile, re- 
 maining silent. Being situated on the axis of extremest 
 oscillation, the city of Messina was almost completely wrecked, 
 and became, with the suddenness of a lightning stroke, a 
 scene of indescribable misery and horror. Murder and rapine 
 added their terrors to the tremors of the earth, as if the chaos 
 of the elements had set loose a carnival of evil spirits. Thou- 
 sands of people were crushed by the fall of buildings or con- 
 sumed in the burning debris, while still other thousands were 
 drowned by the huge volcanic tidal-wave which rolled through 
 the Messinian strait. 
 
 Ten miles north of Messina the Sicilian triangle — Trinacria, 
 as the Greeks called it — tapers off to a sharp point, forming 
 its north-eastern apex. Sweeping around this point, the Medi- 
 terranean currents form an eddy — miscalled a whirlpool — 
 which appalled the lively imaginations of the Greek mariners 
 and gave rise to one of the most striking tales of the Odyssey. 
 The distance between the headlands of the Sicilian coast and 
 those of Calabria, on the opposite side of the strait, is here 
 but three thousand six hundred yards. Directly across the 
 channel from the whirlpool rises a lofty rock, with caverns 
 beneath it, in which the action of the waves produces sounds 
 
THROUGH SICILY. 281 
 
 resembling the barking of dogs. Between the caverns on the 
 one side and the vortex on the other all ships must pass. 
 Hence the Homeric tale, which narrates that after Ulysses, 
 warned by Circe, had escaped the sirens and avoided the 
 Wandering Rocks, he approached the terrific Scylla and 
 Charybdis, where, as the goddess had foretold, he beheld two 
 lofty cliffs, opposite to one another, between which his course 
 lay. One of these cliffs rose to such a height that its summit 
 was enveloped in perpetual cloud, and could not be scaled by 
 man. In the side of this cliff a cave opened towards the west, 
 so lofty that a man passing under it in a boat could not shoot 
 up to it with a bow. Such was the den of Scylla, a voracious 
 sea-monster with twelve feet, the voice of a whelp, and six 
 long necks, each bearing a terrific head with three rows of 
 close-set teeth. Evermore these necks were stretching forth 
 and seizing the sea-dogs, porpoises, and other creatures which 
 swam by, and from every ship that passed each mouth took 
 out a man. The rock on the opposite shore was not so high 
 but that a man could shoot over it. A wild fig-tree grew on 
 it, dropping its branches to the water, while beneath it the 
 divine Charybdis absorbed and gorged the dark waters three 
 times daily. It was much more dangerous to pass Charybdis 
 than it was to pass Scylla. As Ulysses sailed between the 
 twin perils, Scylla took six of his crew, his ship and com- 
 panions were lost, and he, floating upon a mast, was sucked 
 into the vortex of Charybdis. Seizing the branches of the 
 wild fig-tree, he held on until the swirling waters threw the 
 mast out again, when he resumed his voyage. 
 
 24* 
 
282 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 
 
 By the steamer Amerigo Vespucci, one pleasant May after- 
 noon, I sailed from Messina for Naples. The weather was 
 inclined to be showery, and masses of cloud hovered upon 
 the mountains. Mount Etna was concealed half-way down by 
 its own prodigious volumes of smoke, while in Calabria, on 
 the opposite side of the strait, a curtain of sluggish vapor 
 shrouded the heights of Aspromonte. But as soon as our 
 steamer emerged from the strait into the open sea, all sombre 
 skies were left to landward, and the majestic cone of Stromboli 
 immediately appeared in the far distance, rising in shadowy 
 outline from the deep. Directly the other islands of the 
 Lipari group came distinctly into view, from Vulcano, with 
 its smoking crest, in the foreground, to the steep aud barren 
 cliffs of Alicuri, standing far out, dim and solitary, towards 
 the meeting-point of sky and ocean. 
 
 Evening was at hand as the Amerigo neared Stromboli, 
 and I denied myself half the table d'hote to see the sun go 
 down. There was no occasion to regret the sacrifice, for 
 when I emerged from the cabin the brilliant spectacle was near- 
 ing its crisis, and mountain, sea, and sky were all aflame with 
 golden light. The disk of the sun, touching the smoking 
 summit of the volcano, seemed to descend into its crater, but, 
 as the steamer moved on, emerged again from behind the 
 mountain, and glided slowly into the sea, trailing its tremulous 
 splendors across the waters. Night came, starry and serene, 
 and the darkening shape of Stromboli, with its crown of fire, 
 dropped slowly rearward until, standing alone like a mighty 
 

 
 
 ift* l « 
 
 ffii f 
 
 tea 
 
 11^ 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 283 
 
 sentinel of the sea, it vanished, as if suddenly veiled by some 
 midnight mystery as impenetrable as its own. 
 * Soon after sunrise the familiar outlines of Capri were dis- 
 tantly perceptible, and rapidly became distinct, together with 
 the peninsular heights of Capodimonte, beyond which, domi- 
 nating all, rose the shapely cone of Vesuvius, with its white 
 masses of ever-issuing vapor swelling upward into the sky. 
 Taking the channel between Capri and the mainland, our 
 steamer carried us close under the eastern cliffs of the island, 
 beyond which it skirted the Sorrento Peninsula, within full 
 view of its orange-groves and villas, and sailed up the match- 
 less bay towards Naples. The day, the scenes, the experience 
 — although not identical with the poet's — were such as to 
 bring vividly to my mind, not as a fancy, but as literal truth, 
 the lines of Thomas Buchanan Read : 
 
 My soul to-day 
 
 Is far away, 
 Sailing the Vesuvian bay ; 
 
 My winged boat, 
 
 A bird afloat, 
 Swims round the purple peaks remote. 
 
 Par, vague, and dim, 
 The mountains swim, 
 
 "While o'er Vesuvius' misty brim, 
 "With outstretched hands, 
 The gray smoke stands, 
 
 O'erlookinsr the volcanic lands. 
 
 Here Ischia smiles 
 O'er liquid miles, 
 
 And yonder, bluest of the isles, 
 Calm Capri waits, 
 Her sapphire gates 
 
 Beguiling to her bright estates. 
 
\ 
 
 284 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 The day so mild 
 
 Is heaven's own child, 
 With earth and ocean reconciled ; 
 
 The airs I feel 
 
 Around me steal 
 Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 
 
 Naples, the largest, is to me the most enjoyable city in 
 Italy. Its attractions are peculiarly its own. Other cities 
 please and instruct, but with La Belle Napoli we fall dead in 
 love. Parthenope, her original name, derived from one of the 
 sirens cast upon her shores, is still her appropriate title. She 
 possesses the secret of the siren's magic, and whom she once 
 captivates becomes, for the rest of his life, her adoring slave. 
 
 In historical and architectural interest Naples is far sur- 
 passed by Rome and Florence; in commercial and manufac- 
 turing enterprise by Genoa ; in cleanliness and the elegant 
 display of wealth by Milan and Turin. She is no Queen of the 
 Sea like Venice, no traditional patron of learning like Bologna ; 
 yet, with all her faults and deficiencies, this frowsy, languid, 
 voluptuous child of the sun is more bewitching than any of 
 these. Reclining on her vine-wreathed hills, smiled upon by 
 her dreamy skies, crowned with semi-tropical blossoms, the 
 world's loveliest bay spread blue as sapphire at her feet, she has 
 for twenty centuries received the world's admiring homage. 
 
 The light-hearted, joyous, and gentle temperament of the 
 Neapolitans, wherein, as in other respects, they differ radi- 
 cally from the Florentines, Genoese, or Milanese, may be due 
 in part to the influence of climate, and in part to their in- 
 herited Greek habits and infusion of Greek blood. Proud 
 almost to infatuation of their city and its traditions, content 
 with little, always happy in the present and unconcerned for 
 the future, their thoughts seldom — their affections never — 
 wander from their sunny coasts. They have made no particu- 
 lar figure in history, letters, or art ; they have not cared to. 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 285 
 
 Revelling in a climate which permits flowers to bloom in 
 February with the luxuriance of June, they live much in the 
 open air, in some parts of the city even making their toilets in 
 the street, and permitting their children to run about entirely 
 naked. In front of a hovel which I happened to pass, a 
 corpse awaiting burial lay, in the open street, upon a rude 
 bier, surrounded by burning tapers and mourning attendants. 
 From my room in the Hotel des Etrangers could be heard the 
 songs and serenades of happy, roofless vagrants the whole 
 night through. Rome has her carnival once a year, but in 
 Naples it is always carnival. Not long since a visitation of 
 cholera spread the city with gloom, and hushed its cheerful 
 voices for a time; but the calamity resulted in blessing, for it 
 was traced directly to defects in the sewerage and water-supply 
 systems, both of which were immediately and thoroughly im- 
 proved. 
 
 Owing to the attractions of its climate and scenery, Naples 
 was a favorite resort of the wealthy, pleasure-loving nobles of 
 ancient Rome. Mastered and ruled by Greeks, Romans, 
 Goths, Byzantines, and Normans successively, its environs 
 abound in reminiscences and celebrated relics of ancient and 
 mediaeval times, as well as in scenes of incomparable beauty 
 and grandeur. Here are Herculaneum and Pompeii, with 
 their unique and impressive mysteries ; Torre del Greco, with 
 its solidified lava-streams; Lake Avernus, and its dismal ra- 
 vines wherein dwelt the sunless Cimmerians of Homer ; 
 Bacioli, where Caesar's villa stood, where Octavia dwelt, and 
 where Nero planned the death of his mother ; Cumse, from 
 whence the Latin alphabet and the mysterious Sibylline books 
 were derived, and where the last of the Tarquins died in exile ; 
 Nisida, whither Brutus fled after the murder of Caesar, where 
 he was visited by Cicero, and where, taking his last leave of 
 Portia, he set out to meet his doom at Philippi ; the hill of 
 Posilipo, whereon Pollio, the notorious epicure, built his 
 
286 EUROPEAN DATS AND WAYS. 
 
 sumptuous villa ; Puteolanum, where Cicero had his country 
 residence and the Emperor Hadrian found his tomb; Pozzuoli, 
 where St. Paul tarried and the peace ambassadors of Carthage 
 disembarked on their way to Rome; Baise, the most famous 
 and splendid watering-place of antiquity, notorious for its 
 garish degeneracy, and now a desolate ruin ; Ischia, once an 
 active volcano, and almost uninhabitable, but now abounding 
 in vegetation, famous for its enchanting scenery, and fre- 
 quented by pleasure-seekers ;* Capri, where Garibaldi dwelt 
 after his sword had cut away the barriers to Italian unity ; 
 and lastly, Vesuvius, rising over all, at once grand and terrible, 
 — a landmark of the ages. 
 
 An ideal May morning favored my departure from Naples 
 for Salerno and Psestum. The railway courses along the mar- 
 gin of the bay, and quickly brings us to Portici, built upon 
 the lava-streams and beds of volcanic ashes which cover, to 
 the depth of forty to one hundred feet, the ancient Herculaneum. 
 The discovery of the buried city was made in 1719 by the 
 digging of a well, which, at the depth of ninety feet, struck 
 
 * The inhabitants of this island (Ischia) have long been noted for their 
 simplicity, and their peculiar dialect, costume, and figure. The Neapoli- 
 tan dance known as the tarantella is here seen in its perfection. A 
 German writer thus describes it: " Usually it is performed by two girls, 
 while a third plays the tambourine and sings. The woes of an absent or 
 unhappy lover are usually the theme of the song. The dancers stand op- 
 posite to each other, grasp the corners of their broad aprons, and begin 
 their evolutions. They place their arms alternately akimbo, while the 
 disengaged hand, grasping the apron, raises it high in the air, and occa- 
 sionally draws it tightly across the knee. The posture and the manipula- 
 tion of the apron change incessantly. At one time the dancers flit past 
 each other ; at another, with a slight courtesy and sweep of the foot, give 
 the sign to meet again, whereupon they let go their aprons and career 
 round in a circle, striking their castanets with upraised hands, or imi- 
 tating the sound with their fingers. The caprice of the dancer is capable 
 of imparting an entirely different character to the dance, which is gen- 
 erally intended to manifest the state of the feelings." 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 287 
 
 the ancient theatre. At that time several beautiful statues 
 were exhumed, two of which found their way to the museum 
 at Dresden. Additional excavations were made at various 
 subsequent periods, and a multitude of treasures were brought 
 out, consisting of statues, busts, mural paintings, inscriptions, 
 utensils of all kinds, and a papyrus library of three thousand 
 rolls. These articles were deposited in the museum at Naples, 
 which is the finest — indeed, the only — collection of the kind 
 in the world. Entrance to the excavations is made by a 
 dark flight of over a hundred steps descending to the theatre. 
 Pompeii, being covered with loose scoriae, was ransacked by the 
 ancients, who carried off its most valuable articles ; but Hercu- 
 laneum, of which the greater part yet remains to be explored, 
 was enveloped with hard lava, which has preserved its treas- 
 ures for the benefit of posterity. 
 
 The lower slopes of Vesuvius, like those of Etna, are 
 clustered with villages, cottages, and luxuriant vineyards. 
 Between the volcano and the bay, after quitting Portici, we 
 pass Torre del Greco and Torre dell' Annunziata, both flourish- 
 ing towns standing upon masses of black rock — now covered 
 with soil and vegetation — which once descended from the 
 mountain as huge, hissing lava-streams, red with living fire. 
 One of these streams, that of 1794, over which the railway 
 passes, is seven hundred feet wide and thirty-eight feet in 
 thickness. Beyond Torre dell' Annunziata, where we have 
 charming views over the bay of Castellamare as far as Sorrento, 
 the railway quits the sea-coast, passes ancient Pompeii, and 
 crosses the plain of the Sarno. Beyond this plain we entered 
 a mountainous district, fertile and beautiful in the extreme. 
 The atmosphere, delicately tinged with purple, and fragrant 
 with roses and blossoms, was vocal with the singing of birds ; 
 valley and mountain were dressed in variegated shades of 
 green ; fields of wheat, rye, oats, and Indian corn emulated 
 the orange, vine, and citron gardens in their promise of abun- 
 
288 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 dance ; over all, and ever apparently near, rose the mighty 
 shadow of Vesuvius, with its vast volumes of smoke darken- 
 ing the sky ; and in whatever direction the eye turned it was 
 met by some sublime and beautiful scene. As the train pro- 
 ceeds, it rises by steep gradients, and passes many an em- 
 bowered village and castle-crowned height of historic interest. 
 In a charming valley we pass La Cava, a quaint old town 
 built with long arches, like those at Bologna, and much es- 
 teemed as a pleasure-resort both for summer and winter. 
 Crossing another beautiful district beyond La Cava, we come 
 suddenly upon a deep gorge, through which, overlooking the 
 pretty village of Vietri, lying far below, we descry the blue 
 cerulean of the Mediterranean. Supported by galleries, and 
 coursing by cuttings and tunnels along the sides of the rocky 
 cliffs, the railway descends beyond Vietri, to the town and 
 bay of Salerno. 
 
 The ancient Salernum, which stood upon the heights above 
 the present Salerno, is spoken of by one of the Latin poets as 
 an illustrious city, in which the men were honest and the 
 women beautiful. Gibbon repeats, in his fifth volume, a 
 shocking tale of the barbarous and blasphemous treatment of 
 its Christian nuns by the Saracen chief who held the town 
 under siege. During the ninth and tenth centuries Salerno 
 was the capital of a principality of the Lombards, from whom 
 it was wrested, after an eight months' siege, by the famous 
 Norman leader, Robert Guiscard, who also made himself 
 master of the Greek provinces of Calabria and Apulia, and 
 the republic of Amalfi. The University of Salerno, changed 
 at the beginning of the present century into a lyceum, was 
 celebrated during the Middle Ages for its school of medicine, 
 then considered the finest in Europe. The great Pope Gregory, 
 in the court of whose castle at Canossa the Emperor Henry 
 IV., of Germany, was obliged to stand shivering with cold 
 for three days while awaiting an interview, and whom Henry, 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 289 
 
 in revenge, afterwards obliged to fly from Rome to the pro- 
 tection of Robert Guiscard, died here in 1085. This bold 
 and brilliant prelate incurred the enmity of Henry in his 
 efforts to extirpate the evils of simony and unchastity from 
 the priesthood, and to emancipate the church from political 
 interference. His tomb in the cathedral at Salerno is in- 
 scribed with his words, spoken in his last moments : " I 
 have loved righteousness and hated wickedness ; therefore do I 
 die in exile." The cathedral has the further distinction of 
 containing the reputed remains of the evangelist St. Matthew, 
 brought from the East in 930. 
 
 Having supplied myself with provisions as a precaution 
 against the scanty public accommodations on the solitary 
 plains of Calabria, I set out from Saleruo, by fiacre, for 
 Psestum. For the first three hours we drove upon the great 
 Calabrian road through a country mostly level and well cul- 
 tivated. Peasants of both sexes, and of all ages, were de- 
 ployed in the fields, like an army skirmish line, engaged in 
 hoeing corn, curing hay, or gathering cockle out of the wheat. 
 Mr. Gladstone remarks, as a deduction from his observations 
 during a recent sojourn in Naples, that " no country except 
 France, between 1789 and the Empire, has ever undergone, 
 in a like space of time, such changes as have passed upon 
 Italy in the last twenty years." This observation does not 
 exaggerate, and a substantial evidence of its truth is seen in 
 the fact that a great deal of the Calabrian land, which now 
 produces excellent crops of wheat and other cereals, was, 
 twenty years ago, a malarious marsh, frequented only by 
 buffaloes, herdsmen, and roving brigands. But while this is 
 true, a great deal of such territory, which in ancient times was 
 doubtless well cultivated, still remains to be reclaimed. After 
 passing Battipaglia, where our course turned south, we entered 
 a lonely, sedgy district, touched only at long intervals by the 
 plough. A squad of mounted gens d'armes, which accom- 
 n t 25 
 
290 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 panied the post-diligence to protect it and its passengers from 
 robbery, was an impressive indication of the pokerish charac- 
 ter of this region. As a precaution, I had left most of my 
 valuables at Naples, yet I could not forbear some qualms of 
 apprehension as I reflected upon the tales which have been 
 told of the kidnapping and robbery of tourists on this solitary 
 road. 
 
 The red-eyed buffaloes which pasture these unploughed 
 plains show neither the timidity nor the noble mien of the 
 American bison. The domesticated buffalo of Italy is a ser- 
 vile, abject-looking beast, which seems to have abandoned 
 itself, like some of the human creatures of these parts, to a life 
 of idleness, mendicancy, and uncleanness. The animal's horns, 
 which are large and clumsy, are pressed back close upon its 
 head, as though servitude had made useless for defence the 
 natural armor of which it is possessed as a free-born denizen 
 of the plains. To the males the lion-like mane and regal 
 spirit of the American buffalo are alike wanting. But these 
 uncomely creatures are not destitute of merit ; they thrive in 
 the pestilent marshes, and bend their necks patiently to the 
 drudgery usually performed by oxen and mules. 
 
 About half an hour from Psestum the river Sele is crossed 
 by a lofty stone bridge which some years ago, when the daring 
 brigand Manzi and his associates infested these parts, was con- 
 sidered the most dangerous part of the road. The Sele is the 
 ancient Silarus, whose waters are said to have carried a cal- 
 careous sediment which would incrust pieces of wood thrown 
 into them. From the basin of this stream the road rises by 
 gradual ascent to the summit of a plateau which overlooks the 
 site of ancient Psestum, about, a mile distant. Nearly all that 
 remains of the city is its walls and its three beautiful temples, 
 the brown ruins of which rise in lonely grandeur amid a wide 
 plain, extending eastward and southward to the mountains, 
 and westward, by a gentle slope, to the Mediterranean. 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 291 
 
 Peestuni, anciently known as Posidonia, or City of Neptune, 
 was founded by Lucanian Greeks, about six centuries before 
 Christ. The founders were from Sybaris, a city so noted for 
 its opulence and luxury that Sybarite and voluptuary were 
 synonymous terms. Prior to its conquest by the Romans, in 
 273 B.C., little is known of Posidonia, except that it was 
 probably a city of considerable splendor and maritime impor- 
 tance. As a Roman colony, known by the Latin name of 
 Psestum, it rapidly declined. Its people, never reconciled to 
 their subjugation, were accustomed to meet in solemn assem- 
 bly, on the anniversary of one of their Greek festivals, to com- 
 memorate their ancient rites, language, and customs, and 
 lament the loss of their liberties ; after which ceremonies they 
 dispersed in silence to their homes. The devastation of the 
 place by the Saracens in the ninth century completed its ruin. 
 Deserted by its people, who had fled to the mountains, it was 
 despoiled of its sculptures and monuments, in the eleventh 
 century, by Robert Guiscard. For centuries after that all 
 that remained of the splendid city was wholly neglected. The 
 ground whereon it stood is now overgrown with weeds and 
 brambles, excepting the space occupied by a fiixv hovels and 
 patches of wheat. Among its scattered stones, which once 
 rose in forms of beauty, lizards and serpents glide, the grass- 
 hopper chirrups, and the wild fern flourishes. Of the famous 
 roses of Psestum, — biferi rosaria Pcssti, — which bloomed in 
 May and December, and were extolled by the Roman poets 
 for their wonderful fragrance, no trace remains. 
 
 The temples, excepting those at Athens the finest existing 
 specimens of the ancient Greek style, stand in line a few hun- 
 dred yards apart. The most imposing and beautiful is that in 
 the centre, called the Temple of Neptune, sixty-three yards 
 long and twenty-eight wide, with thirty-six massive fluted 
 Doric columns, — six at the front, six at the rear, and twelve 
 on a side, — each twenty-eight feet high and seven and a half 
 
292 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 feet in diameter. In the interior the cella is flanked on each 
 side by a series of eight columns, each six feet in diameter, 
 supporting a row of smaller columns, on which the roof 
 rested. Both the roof and — on one side — the smaller columns 
 have disappeared. This temple, like the others, is built of 
 travertine, hard and durable in its primitive state, but now 
 browned by age and corroded by the elements. Fossil reeds 
 and aquatic plants are embedded in the stone, the imperfections 
 of which were concealed originally by a covering of stucco. 
 The columns, perfect in their symmetry and proportions, are 
 not monoliths, but are laid up in separate pieces, the flutings 
 of which are joined with exactness. As a whole, the edifice 
 conveys an impression of solemnity and of strength and beauty 
 of proportions. Its architecture, of the oldest and purest 
 Greek type, commands both admiration and respect, even awe 
 and reverence. It awakens the consciousness that we are 
 in- the presence of something majestic, powerful, and sol- 
 emn. A religion, even a superstition, could not fail to take 
 strong hold upon the imagination when so dignified and exalted 
 by art. 
 
 The second temple, less majestic in its proportions than 
 that of Neptune, and of more recent origin, though of great 
 antiquity, is known by the inappropriate term Basilica. Its 
 length is fifty-nine yards, its breadth twenty-six and a half 
 yards. Of its exterior columns, each six and a half feet in 
 diameter, there are nine at the front, nine in rear, and sixteen 
 upon a side. They curve outward considerably, and taper to- 
 wards the capitals, which are in the form of a flat button. 
 The central space of the edifice is elevated about four feet 
 above the outer portion, and is crossed by a row of columns, 
 dividing it into two equal sections. 
 
 The Temple of Vesta, standing some hundreds of yards north 
 of the fane of Neptune, is a perfect gem of architectural sym- 
 metry. Its length is thirty-five yards, its width fifteen. The 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 293 
 
 columns of its peristyle, each five feet in diameter and tapering 
 upward, are thirty-four in number, of which there are six at 
 each end and eleven on a side. The columns of the vestibule 
 differ from the others in the style of their fluting. Although 
 this temple is not so large as either of the others, it is scarcely 
 inferior to them in imposing effect. It is not, indeed, the size 
 of these edifices which gives them their impressive quality, so 
 much as their majesty of proportion, conveying the impression 
 of strength and dignity. They possess the architectural secret 
 of seeming to be much larger than they really are. The more 
 we study them the better they satisfy the eye. There is 
 nothing too large or too small ; nothing incongruous ; nothing 
 to be added, except what time has consumed and vandalism 
 removed ; nothing to be taken away, except, if they could be 
 spared, the unsightly clamps and bars which have recently 
 been put up to hold the crumbling stones in their places. 
 
 But the uncouth iron bracings, much as we deplore them, 
 must remain ; without their friendly support many a cornice- 
 stone and tottering column would go to the ground. A small 
 guard of Italian soldiers lingers about the temples to prevent 
 their further despoilment. Unless thus watched and cared for 
 by the government, these splendid monuments of ancient art 
 would soon be little better than heaps of stones; we marvel, 
 indeed, that they have stood so long. Since they first rose in 
 beauty on these plains more than twenty centuries have sped 
 away, more than twenty generations have come and gone. 
 Verily, they who built these stately fanes built more wisely 
 than they knew. 
 
 Excepting the temples, nothing of the city remains which 
 strongly enlists our attention. The conjectural location of the 
 forum is in front of the Temple of Neptune, because of the 
 foundations of pedestals for altars and statues which have 
 there been found. Of the populous streets which once re- 
 sounded with the clamor of traffic, and sometimes with the 
 
 25* 
 
294 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 tramp of armies, there remain only some scraps of pavement. 
 The location of the theatre, where doubtless the gay population 
 of the ancient city disported itself, can be but faintly traced. 
 Some fallen metopse, overrun with briers, some scraps of an 
 aqueduct, and some mural towers, ruined and dismal, but mock 
 our curiosity. The beautiful city which stood here has van- 
 ished, leaving behind it only some mouldy remnants of its 
 splendor and the sad story of its conquest, desertion, and 
 decay. 
 
 Returning from Pactum to Salerno, I set out the following 
 morning by fiacre for Amain. The drive by the magnificent 
 coast-road from Salerno to Amalfi is the most celebrated in 
 Italy. The indented coast-line consists of a series of rocky 
 cliffs rising almost perpendicularly from the sea, the boldest 
 promontories being crowned with massive Martello towers 
 built in the time of Charles V. as a protection against pirates. 
 Cut into the faces of these cliffs, the road ascends and descends 
 alternately, sometimes reaching a height of five hundred feet 
 above tide- water, and sometimes passing pretty villages, with 
 terraced gardens, squeezed into the ravines along the beach. 
 All the elevated parts of the road afford magnificent views 
 over the bay of Salerno, on the opposite side of which, it is 
 said, the ruins of Psesturn may sometimes be discerned. The 
 most favorable point is that where the road, at a height of 
 several hundred feet, bends sharply around the Capo Tumolo, 
 from whence the eye ranges over the bay, and far along the 
 surf-beaten coast from Salerno to Amalfi, and beyond. On 
 the bay, nearly opposite this promontory, the fleet of Charles 
 "V. was defeated by Filippino Doria. 
 
 In the sheltered nooks of this sunny shore the olive, orange, 
 lemon, and vine grow luxuriantly, clothing the lower slopes 
 of the mountains with a rich vesture of green and gold. 
 Through the surf, which rolls lazily, flashing its snowy foam 
 upon the rocks, or advancing and receding on the sloping 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 295 
 
 beach, the peasants draw their nets ashore, men, women, and 
 children assisting one another in the task. These simple peo- 
 ple were to be envied, it seemed to me, for their sequestered 
 life, apparently so devoid of care, amid a clime so genial, 
 where Nature is at once so lovely and so bounteous. 
 
 The sway of the Saracens has strongly impressed itself upon 
 the villages of this coast. Cetara, lying in the secluded cove 
 where these corsairs first settled ; Ptatto, looking down from a 
 height over the bay ; Maiori, with its terraced lemon-gardens 
 and ruined monastery and castle, at the entrance to the Val 
 Tramonti ; Minori, once the arsenal of Amalfi, embowered 
 among aloe- and lemon-trees, at the mouth of the Reginolo ; 
 Atrani, a quaint old town squeezed into a ravine, up the sides 
 of which its houses clamber one above another ; Pontone, above 
 Atrani, and Ravello, above both, all contain churches and 
 other edifices, of mediaeval date, in the Saracenic style. The 
 patriot Masaniello, whose tragic career is the theme of one of 
 Auber's operas, dwelt near Pontone. 
 
 The rocky height which bears the ruins of the castle of 
 Pontone projects into the sea, separating Atrani from the his- 
 toric city of Amalfi, which, mounting the cliffs from its wave- 
 washed strand, overlooks its pretty bay, skirted by precipitous 
 rocks and imposing mountains. During the early part of the 
 Middle Ages the commercial renown of Amalfi was world- 
 wide. Under the protection of the Byzantine emperors it be- 
 came the gate-way through which the western world was sup- 
 plied with the products of the East. Fifty thousand citizens, 
 says Gibbon, were numbered within its walls, " nor was any city 
 more abundantly provided with gold, silver, and the objects of 
 precious luxury. The mariners who swarmed in her port ex- 
 celled in the theory and practice of navigation and astronomy ; 
 and the discovery of the compass, which has opened the globe, 
 is due to their ingenuity or good fortune. Their trade was 
 extended to the coasts, or at least to the commodities of Africa, 
 
298 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Arabia, and India ; and their settlements in Constantinople, 
 Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria acquired the privileges of 
 independent colonies." 
 
 There is one qualification only to be made to these state- 
 ments of the great historian. It is claimed, it is true, that 
 Flavio Gioja, a native of Amalfi, discovered the mariner's 
 compass there in 1302, but the uses of the magnetic needle in 
 navigation were known to the Chinese prior to that time. 
 What Gioja probably did was to make important improve- 
 ments in the instrument, thereby greatly enlarging the sphere 
 of its usefulness. 
 
 Amalfi reached the zenith of her prosperity while acting as 
 an independent state, like Venice, under the presidency of a 
 doge ; but her commercial success soon provoked the jealousy 
 of Pisa and Genoa, and involved her in dangerous contentions 
 with the neighboring princes of Salerno, and the Norman 
 sovereigns of Naples. After three centuries of prosperity, the 
 city was subjugated by the Normans under King Roger, and 
 sacked by the Pisans, who carried off the precious manuscripts 
 of the Pandects of Justinian, then in the custody of Amalfi, 
 and now in the Laurentian library at Florence. At a later 
 date, Amalfi passed under the supremacy of the dynasties of 
 Anjou and Arragon, from which event the place steadily de- 
 clined in trade and population until, at the beginning of the 
 present century, its inhabitants numbered barely one thousand. 
 Its present population is about seven thousand, mostly, accord- 
 ing to my first impressions, cieerones and beggars. 
 
 The cathedral, which I set out to visit, dogged up to its very 
 portal by a clamorous swarm of mendicants and guides, is a 
 richly-decorated edifice of the eleventh century, in the Lom- 
 bard-Norman style, with a facade and campanile composed of 
 black and white stone in alternate layers. The body of the 
 apostle St. Andrew, from whom the church is named, is said 
 to repose in its crypt, having been brought thither from Con- 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 297 
 
 stantinople in the thirteenth century. The portal, supported 
 by antique columns from Psestum, contains bronze doors of 
 Byzantine workmanship, inscribed in letters of silver. The 
 interior is gorgeous with mosaics and antique reliefs, columns, 
 and sculptures, mostly taken from the ancient Greek temples. 
 A colossal statue of St. Andrew was presented to the church 
 by Philip III., of Spain. 
 
 The finest view to be had within the town of Amalfi is ob- 
 tained from the vine-wreathed veranda of the Capuchin mon- 
 astery, now used as a naval school. The building is perched 
 upon one of the shoulders of a rocky ledge which rises some 
 hundreds of feet abruptly from the sea. From a recess in the 
 rock, used as a Calvary, near the monastery, a most delightful 
 prospect is had of the town, the coast, and the blue, sunlit 
 waters of the bay. For a still wider and more magnificent 
 view we climb to the old town of Ravello, famous for its 
 Moorish architecture, on the summit of a lofty height, rising 
 directly above Amalfi. In the twelfth century Ravello was a 
 prosperous city, with nearly forty thousand inhabitants; now 
 it is a lifeless, moss-grown village of eighteen hundred souls. 
 The cathedral, a modernized structure of the eleventh cen- 
 tury, contains an episcopal throne and a magnificent ambo, 
 resting on six columns, supported by lions, and completely 
 covered with costly mosaics. The Palazzo Rufalo, a building 
 of the twelfth century, in the Saracenic style, was occupied at 
 different times by Pope Adrian IV., King Charles II., and 
 Robert the Wise. Its adjacent garden overlooks the sea from 
 a height of twelve hundred and twenty feet. 
 
 Descending from Ravello along the southern face of the 
 great ravine which cleaves the mountains asunder at Amalfi, I 
 found myself on a solitary path, shadowed here and there 
 by the foliage of the orange and the aloe. No cloud was per- 
 ceptible in the pure cerulean of the sky, and no sound ruffled 
 the tranquil atmosphere save the hum of bees, the twitter of 
 
298 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 birds, and drowsy murmurs ascending from the torrent in the 
 depths of the ravine. Charmed with the beauty and luxuriance 
 of the scene, so strikingly incongruous with the hideous men- 
 dicancy which had assailed me at every turn in Amalfi and 
 Ravello, I was suddenly startled from my reverie by the voice 
 of a plump little maid who emerged from her ambuscade by 
 the way-side and pleaded for a soldo. Her voice was soft and 
 melodious, and her dark, lustrous eyes spoke more eloquently 
 than her tongue. According to the fashion of -the country, 
 her gayly-colored gown was gracefully looped so as to expose 
 her daintily-slippered feet and shapely ankles; her black hair 
 fell massively upon her brown, bare shoulders; and while one 
 little hand was persuasively extended, the other was dramati- 
 cally laid upon her swelling, palpitating breast. In this atti- 
 tude, with tantalizing display of rosy lips and teeth such as 
 the poet King Solomon describes in his allegorical rhapsodies, 
 she implored once again a soldo, in return for a single oscilla- 
 tory privilege. It was a purely commercial proposition ; the 
 goods offered for sale were well worth the money. But it is 
 better to draw the curtain here. [Possibly the scene just de- 
 scribed may have gained something from my fancy and the 
 intoxicating effect of the delicious climate, but the picture has 
 at least a framework of fact.] 
 
 There being, at the time of my visit, no road along the 
 rocky and precipitous coast west of Amalfi, I had determined 
 to proceed in that direction, as far as Scaricatojo, by canoe. 
 Divining my purpose, a horde of harrying commissionnaires 
 pursued me to the beach, eager to do my contracting w T ith the 
 boatmen ; but, believing I could just as well manage the nego- 
 tiations myself, I hastened to awaken a stalwart fellow who 
 lay asleep on the sand in the shadow of his half-inverted 
 dory. Seeing they were likely to be balked, the avaricious 
 commissionnaires rushed in a body to arouse my man's sleeping 
 companion, hoping to be paid for that service; but before their 
 
AROUND THE SORRENTO PENINSULA. 299 
 
 victim had recovered from the surprise and confusion of their 
 onslaught my bargain was struck and the dory was being 
 pushed into the water. A moment later we were afloat upon 
 the bay, and my discomfited persecutors ceased to be anything 
 more to me than an unpleasant memory. 
 
 Amalfi, rising in terraces from its beach, its white-walled 
 dwellings mingling with the rich foliage of its gardens, the 
 crag above it crowned with a massive ruined tower, formed, as 
 it appeared — steadily receding — from the placid waters of the 
 bay, a most pleasing picture, which can never fade from my 
 memory. For some distance we cruised along wave-beaten 
 walls of towering rock, above which the mountains, dressed 
 with olive-groves and vines, and dotted with chateaux and vil- 
 lages, lay sloping to the sun. As we rounded the rocky point 
 of Capo Sottile and pushed out into the bay of Positano, the 
 pretty town of Positauo appeared on the heights above. Sud- 
 denly one of the oarsmen, who spoke French, exclaimed, " Volld, 
 monsieur, un grand poisson V Sure enough, at a distance of 
 some hundreds of yards, a large porpoise was circling about us 
 with the speed of an arrow, sometimes throwing his head and 
 sometimes his tail out of the water, as if in mockery and defi- 
 ance. After ridiculing us to his heart's content, he made one 
 superlative gyration and disappeared. 
 
 A most delightful voyage of three hours ended at Scaricatojo, 
 which is nothing but a lonely fishing-station, comprising a hut 
 or two upon the beach, overhung by lofty cliffs. As I stepped 
 upon the strand, about a dozen people — men, women, and chil- 
 dren — met and welcomed me as if I were an old friend, even 
 a relative. But the case was one of hasty hail and farewell, 
 for within a few minutes after landing I had employed a guide 
 and was climbing the heights on my way over the peninsula 
 to Sorrento. The ascent, prolonged by my frequent halts to 
 enjoy the enchanting views of the bay and its coast, and to 
 watch the course of my faithful and valiant oarsmen on their 
 
300 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 way back to Amalfi, lasted about an hour and a half. In 
 Sorrento, two hours later, I had the pleasure of enjoying an 
 ideal Italian sunset from the piazza of the Hotel Victoria 
 (formerly Villa Rispoli), overlooking the Bay of Naples. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 
 
 The drive from Sorrento to Castellamare nobly rivals, in 
 the sublimity and beauty of its scenes, that from Salerno to 
 Amalfi. It is one of the most delightful excursions in Italy. 
 Diverging from the precipitous shore of the bay, the road 
 crosses the Piano di Sorrento, a famous plateau, sheltered by 
 mountains, sloping gently towards the sea, and covered with 
 the mingled foliage of the orange, lemon, olive, pomegranate, 
 grape, aloe, and almond. This favored district was a fashion- 
 able resort in ancient Roman times, and has ever since been 
 much esteemed as a salubrious and tranquil retreat. 
 
 On the northern side of the Piano, forming its boundary in 
 that direction, rises the Monte di Scutolo, which pushes its 
 rocky buttress far out into the bay, terminating in a lofty 
 promontory. Rising by a long gradient, the road skirts this 
 headland at a height which overlooks the entire bay from 
 Naples to Capri, then descends amid olive plantations and 
 vineyards to the dual town of Vico-Equa, situated upon a 
 rocky eminence, the site of an ancient village. From Vico we 
 follow the coast-line to Castellamare, built on the site of the 
 ancient Stabise, and having the character and appearance of a 
 miniature Naples. Stabise shared, with other villages of the 
 coast, the fate of Pompeii, when that city was buried under 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 301 
 
 the ashes of Vesuvius. The naturalist Pliny, whose nephew's 
 letter to the historian Tacitus contains the only circumstantial 
 account we have of the eruption, was at that time in command 
 of a Roman squadron lying in the bay, near Misenum. 
 Tempted by scientific curiosity, and also by the wish to succor 
 the perishing, he was suffocated near Stabire by volcanic gases 
 and falling scoriae. 
 
 Setting forth in the early morning, I drove, in about an 
 hour, from Castellamare to Pompeii, passing through a level 
 country once an arid bed of ashes, but now fertile as a garden. 
 Originally the town of Pompeii stood on the margin of the 
 bay, but the eruption of 79 produced such changes in the 
 coast as to leave it more than a mile inland. The place had a 
 very ancient origin ; how ancient is not precisely known. 
 Though founded by the Oscans, it soon became thoroughly 
 Greek, and after the Samnite wars passed under the dominion 
 of Rome, It was therefore an epitome of the mingled Greek 
 and Roman ancient life. Having considerable commerce and 
 a lucrative inland trade, its wealth, the beauty of its situation, 
 and the refinement and gayety of its people made it enjoyable 
 both as a pleasure-resort and as a place of permanent residence. 
 Cicero purchased estates in its vicinity, and many wealthy 
 Romans made it their favorite retreat. Its remains abound in 
 tokens of elegant luxury, pompous idolatry, and voluptuous 
 living. Its population, estimated by some of the best authori- 
 ties at not over twenty thousand, probably never exceeded forty 
 thousand. 
 
 The eruption by which Pompeii and its neighboring cities 
 were overwhelmed was the first Vesuvian outbreak of which 
 we have any record. Fifty years before that event, Strabo, 
 writing in the time of Augustus, describes Mount Vesuvius as 
 an extinct volcano, covered with beautiful meadows, excepting 
 its summit. Diodorus Siculus, a historian of the same period, 
 says the mountain exhibited signs of ancient internal fires. 
 
 26 
 
302 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 But since the beginning of the Christian era the history of the 
 volcano has been one of intermittent activit} 7 , with rare inter- 
 vals of tireless quiescence. The eruptions of Porapeiian cele- 
 brity were followed, in succession, by nine others prior to the 
 year 1500; since that year there have been over fifty. Ashes 
 were carried from the eruption of 472 as far as Constantinople, 
 and from that of 512 to Tripoli. During the next ten centu- 
 ries there were various periods of activity, some of which lasted 
 for many years continuously. Then followed over a century 
 of calm, during which the mountain was overgrown with trees 
 and herbage, and cattle grazed within its crater. Meanwhile, 
 a volcanic cone, now called Monte Nuovo, was upheaved near 
 Pozzuoli, and Etna, which sneezes when Vesuvius takes snuff, 
 and vice versa, was laboring incessantly. In 1631 the Cyclo- 
 pean snuff-box was passed over to Etna, and Vesuvius broke 
 its long quiescence by a terrific eruption, during which a cloud 
 of smoke and ashes rapidly spread over all Southern Italy, 
 casting at mid-day the gloom of night. The earth was con- 
 vulsed by an earthquake, stones of great weight were thrown 
 from the crater a distance of fifteen miles, and seven lava- 
 streams, accompanied by torrents of boiling water, poured 
 from the mountain, overwhelming all the towns around its 
 base, and destroying over three thousand human lives. This 
 eruption, lasting nearly three months, is the first of which we 
 have a complete circumstantial account, It reduced the height 
 of the cone by more than fifteen hundred feet. 
 
 After various intermediate disturbances, — notably that of 
 1794, when ashes were carried as far as Chieti and Taranto, 
 and an enormous lava-stream poured through the town of 
 Torre del Greco into the bay, — -the volcano broke forth again, 
 in 1779, on a stupendous scale. Masses of sluggish, cottony 
 vapor, which enveloped the mountain and piled themselves far 
 above it, were succeeded by columns of fire, which shot up to 
 three times its height. Vast quantities of red-hot stones, some 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 303 
 
 of them over a hundred pounds in weight, were hurled two 
 thousand feet into the air. 
 
 Within the present century twenty-three eruptions have 
 taken place, of which at least ten were important. That of 
 1861, by which Torre del Greco was laid waste for the fourth 
 or fifth time, was witnessed by Humboldt and other men of 
 science. In 1822 the whole top of the mountain was broken 
 up, and an elliptical chasm was formed three miles in circum- 
 ference and two thousand feet deep. But the culminating 
 events in the recent history of the volcano fall within the 
 period of activity which began in January, 1871, when a 
 stream of lava began to pour through a fissure on the north- 
 east side. During the following autumn a second stream 
 broke through the cone on its western side, the lava-currents 
 never pouring over the top of the crater, but always forcing an 
 outlet through the mass of scoriae at some distance below the 
 summit. The symptoms of violence began to increase early in 
 1872, and continued to do so until the 24th of April, in that 
 year, on which date and the six days following a tremendous 
 outpouring of smoke and flame was succeeded by the bursting 
 forth of lava-streams on all sides of the mountain. One of 
 these streams issued with such suddenness as to overtake and 
 roast to death twenty persons in a crowd of spectators who 
 were watching the eruption. Many other persons who had 
 ventured too near were hurt by stones thrown from the crater. 
 A prodigious lava-torrent, twenty feet deep and three thou- 
 sand feet wide, descended at the rate of three miles in twelve 
 hours, partially destroying the villages of Massa and Sari 
 Sebastiano, and laying waste a large area of cultivated land. 
 Terrific explosions were heard in the crater, which emitted 
 huge volumes of smoke and discharged red-hot stones and lava 
 to the height of four thousand feet. The streets of Naples 
 were deluged with black sand, and clouds of ashes were car- 
 ried as far as Cosenza, one hundred and forty miles distant. 
 
304 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 The ancient Pompeiians who gazed upon and admired the 
 beauteous groves and pastures which covered the symmetrical 
 cone up to the very rim of its smokeless, silent crater must 
 have had but a faint idea of the real nature of their terrible 
 neighbor. But in the year 63 they received a most impressive 
 and — had it been heeded — timely warning of what they were 
 to expect. A fearful earthquake shook down their temples, 
 colonnades, and dwellings, giving awful premonition of the 
 reawakening of the stupendous forces of Nature which had 
 been slumbering for centuries. The city was a wreck, but it 
 was immediately rebuilt, and was greatly improved by con- 
 forming its architecture more nearly than before to the style 
 of imperial Rome. A reaction from the depressing effects of 
 disaster was at high tide, and Pompeii was doubtless more 
 splendid and more gay than ever when, on the 24th of 
 August, 79, it was overtaken by the supreme catastrophe, the 
 details of which, in the absence of authentic narrative, have 
 been supplied by the romance of Bulwer. First came a dense 
 shower of ashes, which covered the town to the depth of three 
 feet, impelling most of its inhabitants to fly from its precincts. 
 This was followed by a delusive lull, during which many of 
 the fugitives returned to seek their valuables, and perhaps to 
 care for the sick and infirm who could not be readily removed. 
 But directly the shower of ashes was succeeded by a heavy 
 rain of red-hot cinders and pumice, called rapilii, from which 
 there was no escape. This covered the town with another 
 stratum seven to eight feet thick, burning the wooden upper 
 stories from the houses, and extinguishing the last vestige of 
 animal life. On top of this the remorseless Cyclops shook 
 down more showers of ashes, and then fiery rapilii, until the 
 superincumbent mass attained an average thickness of twenty 
 feet, and the beautiful city of the Sarno was literally smothered, 
 buried alive, with scarcely a single trace of it above ground. 
 
 For nearly seventeen centuries Pompeii, except as a name 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 305 
 
 and memory, disappeared from history. In ancient times its 
 ruins were ransacked, partly by the survivors of its wreck, in 
 recovering their valuables and the dead bodies of their friends, 
 and partly in the search for decorative materials with which to 
 embellish temples and other buildings. In this way the city 
 was stripped of nearly everything easily accessible which was 
 w 7 orth carrying away. Subsequent Vesuvian eruptions covered 
 it still more deeply, vegetation grew over it, and a village 
 bearing its name rose upon the ground which covered its an- 
 cient site. During the Middle Ages the place was entirely 
 unknown. In 1592 a subterranean aqueduct, which is in use 
 to this day, was carried under it without leading to its dis- 
 covery. In 1748 some statues and bronze utensils, discovered 
 by a peasant, attracted the attention of the reigning King of 
 Naples and Sicily, Charles III., who caused excavations to be 
 made. At that time the theatre, amphitheatre, and other 
 portions of the buried town were brought to light, discoveries 
 which caused great surprise and enthusiasm throughout the 
 civilized world. The muse of Schiller broke forth in this 
 exclamatory strain : 
 
 What wonder here ! Of thee, Earth, a fount 
 Have we invoked, and from thy sombre womb 
 What yieldest thou ? Is life in the abyss ? 
 And dwells a new race there till now concealed 
 Beneath the lava? Doth the past return? 
 O Greeks, O Romans, come ! Behold again 
 Rises the old Pompeii, and rebuilt 
 The long-lost town of Dorian Hercules, 
 House on house ! 
 
 ■»#%*#■*# 
 The earth, with faithful watch, has guarded all ! 
 
 Under the Bourbon dynasty the excavations were very im- 
 perfectly carried on, only statues and valuables being taken out, 
 and the ruins afterwards covered up again, or suffered to fall 
 into decay. Under the French dominion, the Forum, the 
 u 26* 
 
306 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WATS. 
 
 Street of the Tombs, and many private houses were uncovered ; 
 but after the fall of Murat the work relaxed again, so that as 
 late as 1860 not more than one-third of the town had been 
 laid bare. The new regime which came in with Victor Em- 
 manuel imparted a fresh stimulus to the work. In 1863 the 
 archaeologist Fiorelli was appointed by the government to 
 supervise the excavations, which have since that time kept a 
 corps of workmen constantly employed. Fiorelli estimates 
 that at the present rate of progress the complete excavation of 
 the town can be accomplished in seventy years, at an expendi- 
 ture of about one million dollars. What further discoveries 
 will be made can only be conjectured, but undoubtedly many 
 revelations of intense interest await the search of the archaeo- 
 logical spade. 
 
 The excavated portion of the city, together with its museum 
 and library, are under the care of a corps of government 
 guides, who, for a European wonder, are forbidden to accept 
 gratuities. Quite agreeably to me, my visit fell on a holiday, 
 when the guides were off' duty, so that I was permitted to 
 wander at will among the silent streets, unembarrassed by long 
 and apocryphal verbal explanations. A previous visit had 
 familiarized me with the principal streets, buildings, and 
 localities, so that I had no difficulty in finding my way. Be- 
 sides a considerable region which had been excavated since my 
 first visit, eighteen months before, there were some important 
 buildings which I had not then been able to inspect. Among 
 these was the Villa Diomed, so conspicuous in Bulwer's 
 romance. This villa — more properly speaking, the house of 
 M. Arrius Diomedes — was one of the largest and most splen- 
 did of the Pompeiian residences, and, in addition to the usual 
 conveniences and luxuries of an elegant mansion of that day, 
 enclosed an interior" court, or garden, one hundred and seven 
 feet square, open to the sky, surrounded by a colonnade, and 
 embellished by a central fountain. 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 307 
 
 Beneath this court, on three sides, are long vaulted cham- 
 bers, reached by stairways and lighted by narrow apertures in 
 the upper pavement. These cellars, now entirely cleared of 
 rubbish, are believed to have been used in the summer season 
 as family promenades. "In them," says Bulwer, "twenty 
 skeletons (two of them babes, embracing) were discovered in 
 one spot by the door, covered by a fine ashen dust that had 
 evidently been slowly wafted through the apertures until it 
 had filled the whole space. There were jewels and coins, and. 
 candelabra for unavailing light, and wine, hardened in the 
 amphora?, for a prolongation of agonized life. The sand, con- 
 solidated by damps, had taken the forms of the skeletons as in 
 a cast, and the traveller may yet see the impression of a female 
 neck and bosom, of young and round proportions, the trace of 
 the fated Julia ! It seems to the inquirer as if the air had 
 been gradually changed into a sulphurous vapor; the inmates 
 of the vaults had rushed to the door and found it closed and 
 blocked up by the scoriae without, and, in their attempts to 
 force it, had been suffocated with the atmosphere. 
 
 " In the garden was found a skeleton with a key by its bony 
 hand, and near it a bag of coins. This is believed to have 
 been the master of the house, the unfortunate Diomed, who 
 had probably sought to escape by the garden, and been de- 
 stroyed either by the vapors or some fragment of stone. Be- 
 side some silver vases lay another skeleton, probably a slave." 
 
 The impression of a girl's breast in the ashes, which Bul- 
 wer's fancy represents as the sole remaining trace of one of his 
 heroines, is still preserved in the museum at Naples, and is as 
 shapely and perfect as if the flesh of the fair young victim had 
 been moulded but yesterday instead of eighteen hundred years 
 ago. The bodies found in the Diomedan corridors had their 
 heads wrapped up, and were half covered by the fine infiltrated 
 ashes, in which was preserved even the imprint of the chemises 
 worn by the women and children. The bodies had decayed, 
 
308 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 like those embedded in other parts of the town, but their 
 forms had been moulded in the ashes with wonderful precision 
 and distinctness. 
 
 In many cases such cavities, after the skeletons contained in 
 them had been carefully removed, were filled with liquid plas- 
 ter, which produced an accurate and durable image of the im- 
 printed form. The museum at Pompeii contains a collection 
 of such images, which impress upon the beholder, more vividly, 
 perhaps, than any other objects, the horror and, consternation 
 of those awful days when the rain of volcanic ashes turned 
 noon to night and overwhelmed the doomed city. One of 
 these figures is that of a girl with a ring on her finger ; an- 
 other, that of a woman enceinte; a third, a man whose features 
 are singularly distinct and natural. A group of three includes 
 father, mother, and daughter, found lying near one another. 
 The figure of a female shows even the folds of her drapery and 
 the arrangement of her hair. The attitudes are generally 
 those which follow a short and fierce death-struggle. Some 
 of the victims seem to have fallen upon their faces and died 
 suddenly in their flight. Others, who were perhaps asphyx- 
 iated by vapors, have the calm attitude of sleep, as though 
 death had been but a pleasant dream. 
 
 Near the Great Theatre an open court, with a peristyle of 
 seventy-four columns, is surrounded by a series of detached 
 cells. This is supposed to have been a barrack for confine- 
 ment of the gladiators who were chosen for the contests of the 
 arena. Sixty-three skeletons found here are believed to have 
 been those of soldiers who remained on duty during the erup- 
 tion. In one of the chambers, used as a prison, the skeletons 
 of two presumable criminals were found, together with the 
 stocks and irons with which they were bound for punishment. 
 The story that the people were assembled, in great numbers, 
 to witness some spectacular entertainment at the time the 
 volcano began to belch upon them its rain of ashes is probably 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 309 
 
 a myth. The theatre had been badly wrecked by the earth- 
 quake of 63, and its restoration was yet far from complete 
 when the eruption broke forth. 
 
 The streets of Pompeii are generally narrow, not over 
 twenty-four, some of them not over fourteen, feet in width, 
 and are paved with blocks of lava, with high stepping-stones 
 at intervals, for the convenience of foot-passengers in rainy 
 weather. At the street-corners public fountains are placed? 
 from which the water poured through the decorative head of a 
 god, a mask, or some similar ornament. Trade signs are rare, 
 but political announcements are frequently seen, conspicuously 
 printed in red letters. Phallic emblems, boldly cut in stone 
 and built into the walls, surprise and shock us by their fre- 
 quency, notwithstanding their innocently-meant purpose as a 
 means of protection against witchcraft. 
 
 The architecture of the temples and other public buildings 
 is a clumsy mixture of the Greek and Roman style, the col- 
 umns being invariably laid up in brick or travertine, and 
 covered with stucco. The dwellings, built of the same ma- 
 terials, or of travertine, have very little exterior adornment. 
 Yet at the time of its catastrophe Pompeii must have been a 
 highly-decorated town. Marble was but little used archi- 
 tecturally, but the stucco which took its place was admirably 
 adapted to decorative painting, and this means of ornamenta- 
 tion was lavishly employed. The lower halves of the columns 
 are generally painted red, with harmonizing colors on the 
 capitals. Interior walls are also laid with bright, gay color- 
 ing, usually red or yellow. But the most attractive and strik- 
 ing of the mural decorations are the paintings, the wonderful 
 variety and delicacy of which are only surpassed by the more 
 astonishing wonder of their preservation. The subjects of 
 these pictures are generally drawn from poetry or mythology, 
 as, for instance, Theseus abandoning Ariadne, Ulysses relating 
 his adventures to Penelope, Cupid holding a mirror up to 
 
310 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Venus, Apollo and the Muses, Polyphemus receiving Galatea's 
 letter from Cupid, Leda and the Swan, Diana surprised in her 
 bath by Actseon, Achilles and Patroclus, and representations of 
 Venus, Cupid, Bacchus, Silenus, Mercury, and the fauns in 
 endless variety. A favorite subject was the beautiful youth 
 Narcissus, son of the river-god Cephisns and the nymph 
 Liriope. According to the Greek fable, this youth, seeing his 
 image in a fountain, became enamoured of it, and, in punish- 
 ment for his hardness of heart towards Echo and other 
 nymphs, pined away and was changed to a flower. In con- 
 sequence of its origin this flower loves the borders of streams, 
 and, bending on its fragile stem, seems to seek its own image 
 in the waters, but soon fades and dies. 
 
 The larger and finer dwellings of Pompeii have generally 
 been named from their supposed possessors, or from the works 
 of art found in them. The House of the Tragic Poet, so 
 called from the representation of a poet reading found in its 
 tablinium, was one of the most elegant in Pompeii. Prom the 
 pavement of its vestibule was taken a celebrated mosaic, now 
 in the museum at Naples, representing a chained dog barking, 
 with the legend cave canem, — beware of the dog. The periph- 
 ery of the columns of the peristyle is fluted, except the lower 
 third of the shaft, which is smooth and painted red. The 
 walls of the interior are decorated with paintings, among which 
 are Venus and Cupid fishing, Diana with Orion, and a repre- 
 sentation of Leda and Tyndarus, which is very beautiful and 
 remarkably well preserved. This house, which figures in 
 Bulwer's "Last Days of Pompeii" as the home of Glaucus, 
 was probably the dwelling of a goldsmith. 
 
 One of the most palatial residences yet brought to light is 
 the House of Pansa, — one hundred and twenty-four by three 
 hundred and nineteen feet, — which finely illustrates, in its 
 complete and well-preserved appointments, the plan of an 
 aristocratic Pompeiian mansion of the imperial epoch. Enter- 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 311 
 
 ing from the street by a vestibule, in the floor of which the 
 greeting, "Salve," was wrought in beautiful mosaic, we reach 
 a large interior court (atrium), which, owing to the absence of 
 glass, or exterior openings, was necessary for the admission of 
 light and air to the surrounding chambers. A reservoir for 
 rain-water (impluvium) occupies the centre of the atrium. 
 Passing from the atrium through a large apartment called the 
 tablinium, we enter, towards the rear, the strictly domestic 
 part of the house, which occupies more than half the space 
 within its walls, and is also provided with an interior court. 
 The family apartments open into this court, and derive from 
 it their light and ventilation. It encloses a garden surrounded 
 by a peristyle, and hence takes the name of peristylium. The 
 front part of the house, surrounding the atrium, was that in 
 which the proprietor transacted his business and held inter- 
 course with the external world ; the rear part, surrounding the 
 peristylium, was devoted to domestic use exclusively. The 
 roof, sloping inward, and open over the interior courts, dis- 
 charged the rain which fell upon it into the impluvium. The 
 images of the household gods usually occupied a place in the 
 vestibule. 
 
 The House of Sallust, so named from an epigraph on its 
 outside wall, appears from later discoveries to have been the 
 property of A. Cossius Libanus. This house was finished in 
 gay colors and embellished with mural paintings, one of which 
 — a representation of Actaeon surprising Diana at her bath — is 
 singularly well preserved. Other subjects treated are the rape 
 of Europa (badly defaced), and Helle in the sea, extending 
 her arm to Phryxus. Opposite to the Actceon is a dainty 
 chamber, arbitrarily named the venereum, surrounded by po- 
 lygonal columns painted red. The impluvium was adorned 
 with a bronze group — now in the museum at Palermo — repre- 
 senting Hercules contending with a stag. Out of the mouth 
 of the stag, in this group, the waters of the fountain gushed. 
 
312 EUROPEAN DAYS AND V/AYS. 
 
 Some of the bedrooms of this house were floored with African 
 marble. 
 
 The House of Meleager takes its name from one of its mural 
 decorations, illustrating the story of Meleager and Atalanta. 
 Other frescos adorn its walls, representing the judgment of 
 Paris, Mercury presenting a purse to Ceres, and a young satyr 
 frightening a bacchante with a serpent. Its peristylium — sixty 
 by seventy-three feet — is the finest yet found in Pompeii. The 
 columns of the peristylium are covered with yellow stucco 
 and its chambers are floored with mosaic. A colonnade rises 
 on three sides of the dining-room, and one of twenty-four 
 columns, red below and white above, supports the portico. A 
 garden to the left of the atrium and in front of the portico is 
 adorned by a pretty fountain. 
 
 An exquisite bronze statuette of a dancing faun, now in the 
 Naples Museum, gave its present title to the most beautiful 
 and also one of the largest houses in Pompeii. The discovery 
 of this house was first made in 1830, in the presence of a son 
 of the poet Goethe. A small pedestal, on which the statuette 
 of the faun stood, is still seen in the marble-lined impluvium. 
 In the mosaic floor of one of the rooms near by, three doves 
 are represented drawing a string of pearls from a casket. 
 Mosaics in the dining-room represented Acratus (companion 
 of Bacchus) riding on a lion, a cat devouring a partridge, and 
 a group of crustaceans and fishes. The salutation "Have" 
 (welcome) is wrought with colored marble in the pavement 
 of the vestibule before the main entrance. The walls are cov- 
 ered with stucco, made of cement, in imitation of colored 
 marble. 
 
 The atrium, thirty-five by thirty-eight feet, is finished in the 
 Tuscan style, but the twenty-eight columns surrounding the 
 peristylium are Ionic. In the rear of the mansion opens a 
 garden, one hundred and five by one hundred and fifteen feet, 
 enclosed with a peristyle of fifty-six Doric columns. Various 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 313 
 
 articles in gold, silver, bronze, and terra-cotta were found in 
 this house, and also some skeletons, one of which was that 
 of a woman with a gold ring on her finger engraved with the 
 name Cassia. But the most important discovery of all made 
 in the House of the Faun was that of the magnificent mosaic 
 of Alexander in the battle- of Issus. " This work, which is 
 almost the ouly ancient historical composition in existence, 
 represents the battle at the moment when Alexander, whose 
 helmet has fallen from his head, charges Darius with his cav- 
 alry and transfixes the general of the Persians, who has fallen 
 from his wounded horse. The chariot of the Persian monarch 
 is prepared for retreat, whilst in the foreground a Persian of 
 rank, in order to insure the more speedy escape of the king, 
 who is absorbed in thought at the sight of his expiring gen- 
 eral, offers him his horse." — Baedeker. 
 
 Such are some of the principal mansions of Pompeii and 
 the objects found in them. All of the most precious works of 
 art which were or could be detached, including many exquisite 
 little mural frescos, have been removed and deposited in the 
 museum at Naples. The ruins and the museum explain each 
 other, and taken together furnish the most complete and vivid 
 illustration of ancient life in the world. No books, no pict- 
 ures, can tell us so clearly and comprehensively how the people 
 of that day and country lived as the remains of this buried 
 city. Its dwellings, shops, streets, prisons, temples, theatres, 
 and tombs disclose with amazing fulness and accuracy the pur- 
 suits, habits, follies, vices, and even the thoughts of its inhabi- 
 tants, just as they were living and moving when caught, over- 
 whelmed, and forever stilled in the full tide of their existence. 
 Well-curbs worn by the sliding rope, stepping-stones hollowed 
 by the march of eager multitudes, pavements scarred by the 
 stamp of horses' hoofs, advertisements painted on public walls, 
 shops and magazines containing the symbols and utensils of 
 trade, fountains where the crystal torrent might have hushed 
 o " 27 
 
314 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 but an hour ago its rippling voice, temples whose altars bear 
 yet the marks of sacrificial fire, frescos whose color and out- 
 line are bright and delicate in spite of calamity and time, 
 mosaic floors smooth and shining as if polished only yesterday 
 by the dance of dainty feet, — these and a thousand more traces 
 of the life of that ancient time help the imagination to repeople 
 and restore the ruined city as it was in the day of its pride 
 and splendor. 
 
 An inspection of the ruins of Pompeii deepens upon the 
 mind its impressions of the sublimity and terror of Vesuvius. 
 Physically speaking, the volcano is but a monstrous heap of 
 ashes, stones, and scorise, hollow, or partially so, in the centre, 
 and streaked with black, solidified lava-currents on the out- 
 side. From the crater, whirling volumes of steam and smoke 
 constantly issue, each rotary gush representing an interior ex- 
 plosion, usually heard only on the summit. In the varying 
 states of the atmosphere this monstrous volume of vapor rises 
 in columnar form for thousands of feet, and is then borne far 
 to seaward, or landward, by the upper currents of the air ; or 
 it falls in a dense, sulphurous, shapeless cloud, which envelops 
 and conceals the upper part of the mountain. In the latter 
 condition of things I made my first ascent ; in the former my 
 second. On the first occasion we went up from Portici and 
 down to Pompeii ; on the second, the route was reversed. 
 
 From Pompeii the summit may be made — on horseback as 
 far as the foot of the cone — in about three hours. The rail- 
 way on the Portici side ascends to the outside rim of the 
 crater, within which, separated by fissured slabs of lava which, 
 a yard below the surface, yet glow with living fire, the main 
 chimney or flue of the volcano rises some hundreds of feet 
 higher. On the eastern side, below the rim, a lava-stream of 
 considerable magnitude had burst forth at the time of my 
 visit, and was issuing with a fierce, hissing sound. Its course 
 could be traced down the slopes of the mountain for the dis- 
 
POMPEII AND VESUVIUS. 315 
 
 tance of a mile. Its movement, at first quite rapid, was soon 
 checked by the cooling effect of the atmosphere. 
 
 The operations of the crater at this time were extremely in- 
 teresting. Near the base of the finial cone a small secondary 
 volcanic funnel had recently been formed, which sometimes 
 almost silenced with its screeching and blubber the thunderous 
 rumbling within the main chimney. Neither of the active 
 craters could be approached with safety, but they made no 
 objections to being looked at, and so, dismissing my guide, I 
 remained about two hours on the summit, watching their 
 antics. Sometimes the smaller crater, or safety-valve, as it 
 seemed to be, would work itself up to a perfect frenzy of 
 hysterical hissing and shrieking, as though all the misery of a 
 hundred colicky locomotives were venting itself in one pro- 
 longed scream. During such spells the red liquid lava would 
 bubble over the rim for a time, like the boiling of an over- 
 filled pot ; then suddenly some explosive interior force would 
 throw it into the air in a sheaf of beautiful red spray, rising 
 and descending in graceful parabolas all around the cone. 
 After this performance, the little fellow would subside and 
 keep tolerably quiet for ten minutes or so, when it would be 
 seized with another paroxysm. 
 
 The larger crater, though also intermittent, was more pro- 
 gressive and less fidgety in its action. Its behavior had the 
 dignified air of regular business, while the safety-valve 
 demeaned itself more as a transient upstart, impatient of at- 
 tracting popular attention. The masses of steam and smoke 
 issuing from the main orifice were somewhat irregular, both in 
 quantity and velocity, their increase in both respects being 
 always accompanied by louder and more rapid interior explo- 
 sions. At the moments of greatest activity showers of stones 
 and lumps of red lava were hurled into the air to heights 
 varying from three hundred to one thousand feet, and descend- 
 ing, rolled rattling and smoking down the yellow, sulphurous 
 
316 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 sides of the cone. The spectacle was terrifically sublime at 
 times, particularly when the safety-valve chimed in with its 
 screaming accompaniment, and flung aloft its jet-d'eau-Yike 
 pyrotechnics. The missiles projected from the main crater 
 soared at an angle of about fifty degrees, and almost uniformly 
 in the same direction, so that they fell on territory of which 
 the spectator, looking on from the opposite point of the com- 
 pass, was quite willing to accord monopoly of possession, with 
 a liberal margin for unadjusted boundary. 
 
 As sunset approached, and the shades of evening were be- 
 ginning to add new touches of grandeur to the sublime 
 spectacle, I took leave of it reluctantly, and, with Brobdingna- 
 gian strides down the volcanic ash-heap, descended in not 
 more than seven minutes a space which it had once cost me a 
 weary half-hour and the help of two guides to climb. Three 
 hours later the red currents of lava could be seen from my 
 window in Naples, glittering far away in the darkness, and 
 streaking the black sides of the volcano like descending 
 streams of molten gold. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 FROM MAYENCE TO MADRID. 
 
 From Germany to Paris there are three direct railway 
 routes : First, from . Mayence, via Metz ; second, from 
 Cologne, via Liege; third, from Strasburg, via Nancy and 
 Chalons. For my present purpose I chose the Mayence-Metz 
 route, which descends the Rhine as far as Bingen, then turns 
 squarely to the left and ascends the valley of the Nahe. The 
 scenery in that valley is exceedingly attractive, particularly in 
 
FROM MAYENCE TO MADRID. 317 
 
 the neighborhood of Creutznach, an old German town and 
 famous watering-place, the heights around which bear numer- 
 ous remnants of inediseval strong-holds. One of these heights 
 is the Rheingrafenstein, a porphyry cliff rising almost perpen- 
 dicularly from the Nahe, from which look down the shattered 
 walls of the castle, — blown up by Louis XIV., — within which 
 dwelt the old-time Rhenish counts. Opposite the Rheingraf- 
 enstein towers the crag of Ebernburg, with its pinnacled ruin, 
 originally a stronghold of Franz von Sickingen and the robber 
 knights ; later the refuge of Ulrich von Hutten and his asso- 
 ciates. Other castle-crowned heights, alternating with the 
 vine-clad hills which border the valley, are seen as we pass 
 along. 
 
 Conspicuous in the chain of quaint old towns and villages 
 along this route is Oberstein, a noted seat for the manufacture 
 of mock jewelry) much of which is exported to the American 
 market. Formerly the agate stones used in this industry were 
 found abundantly in the neighborhood of Oberstein, but for 
 some years past the diminished home supply of this material 
 has had to be made up by importations from Brazil and other 
 distant countries. 
 
 At Saarbrucken we enter the mining and iron-manufacturing 
 districts of Lorraine, through which, for some miles, the rail- 
 way meanders among smoking mills and blazing furnaces. It 
 was upon the heights near Saarbrucken that the little Prince 
 Imperial of France received his famous " baptism of fire," and 
 from here it was that Napoleon III. began the so-called con- 
 centration of his army to the rear. Unfortunate prince ! self- 
 deluded and self-ruined emperor ! Who is so poor as to envy 
 the career of the one or the other ! 
 
 At Metz we find ourselves in the historic and beautiful 
 valley of the Moselle. The railway does not enter the fortress, 
 and only a few of its outworks can be seen from the passing 
 trains. Paguy, a short distance beyond Metz, is the boundary 
 
 27* 
 
318 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 station, where all travellers must alight and put their baggage 
 under the inspection of the customs officials. 
 
 " Quel pays f" demanded a French officer in uniform, with 
 a note-book in his hand. 
 
 " The United States of America," was my reply, and it was 
 so recorded. 
 
 " Have you any tobacco ?" inquired another official, as he 
 rummaged my portmanteau. 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 Upon which response I was permitted to gather up my 
 effects and go. 
 
 A short distance from Pagny, the railway passes close by 
 the imposing ruins of a Roman aqueduct, constructed by 
 Drusus. This structure, originally sixty feet high and twelve 
 hundred and twenty yards long, conducted water from the 
 hills to Divodurum, the ancient Metz. Seven of its grand 
 arches rise near the railway, and at another place in the 
 vicinity eleven more still stand in firm condition. 
 
 We have now entered one of the most fruitful and beau- 
 tiful regions of France, — a fair, smiling land, exhibiting 
 everywhere that painstaking cultivation of the soil, and that 
 industrious, frugal thrift so characteristic of the French. Par- 
 allel with the railway, and often intersecting it, branches and 
 trunk-lines of the great canal system are observed, which 
 France esteems as the most beneficial part of her public works. 
 Immense sums are spent in the extension and improvement of 
 these canals, and with good reason, for as a means of cheap 
 interior transportation they are unequalled. 
 
 Having left Mayence in the morning, we find ourselves, at 
 10 p.m., nearing Paris. As the great city is approached by 
 railway in the evening, its numberless lights are seen twinkling 
 from afar, and, with commingled glare, waving to the traveller 
 a flamboyant greeting. Soon we are among the brilliantly- 
 lighted streets and boulevards, swept by almost ceaseless cur- 
 
FROM MAYENCE t TO MADRID. 319 
 
 rents of gay and eager life, and we realize at once why it is 
 that Paris is the siren which bewitches the fancy and incites 
 the ambition of all Frenchmen. 
 
 The beautiful city was at its best those bright May days. 
 The weather was perfect, and every element of metropolitan 
 activity was in full play. It was a luxury to stroll about in 
 the sunshine and mingle with the cheerful current of active, 
 ardent, diversified humanity. Let me quote a few lines from 
 my diary : 
 
 " Last evening we had a cloudless sunset, and it was superb. 
 Looking up the Champs £lys6es, I saw the noble Arc de 
 Triomphe standing in a perfect flood of golden light bursting 
 through its magnificent portal. I walked up to. the Arc, that 
 splendid memento of Napoleon's victories, to see the sun slide 
 down behind the bastioned summits of Mont Valerien, and 
 was rewarded by an inspiring view far out the great avenues 
 of Neuilly and Bois de Boulogne, flooded and dimmed with 
 mellow sunset splendors. What Parisian standing there at 
 such a time could help feeling proud of France and her 
 metropolis ! American as I was, I could not escape the 
 patriotic inspiration of her great national memorial so fitly and 
 sublimely set. 
 
 " Another scene almost equally inspiring was that witnessed 
 from the balcony of the opera-house in the full tide of even- 
 ing. The world does not offer a more animated picture of 
 throbbing, thronging metropolitan life than that. The heart 
 of Paris beats there, perhaps the heart of France also, for 
 from thence the tides of its exuberant energies seem to ema- 
 nate." 
 
 The railway journey from Paris to Bordeaux may be made 
 in fifteen hours. The traveller has the choice of two routes, 
 the preferable one being that via Orleans, Tours, and Poitiers. 
 After quitting Paris, the railway pursues for a time the upper 
 valley of the Seine, and brings us in a couple of hours to 
 
320 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Orleans, whose cathedral, rising high above its clustered gables, 
 looks far over the surrounding plain. The walls froni before 
 which the Maid of Orleans, with her followers, drove the 
 besieging English, are entirely gone, and, excepting her 
 equestrian statue erected in the Place Martroy, the town has 
 few visible reminders of its glorious heroine. 
 
 From Orleans the railway follows the course of the Loire 
 to Blois and Arnboise, each possessing a castle of mediaeval 
 renown, and to Tours, with its celebrated renaissance cathe- 
 dral. At Tours we quit the valley of the Loire and pass over 
 to that of the Indre, on the margin of which, observable from 
 the railway, rise the renaissance spires and gables of the 
 Chateau de la Roche. The region hereabouts has been called 
 the garden of France, — a title which the luxuriance and variety 
 of its vegetation go far to justify. Standing upon an eminence 
 in the midst of this fertile district, the city of Poitiers, sur- 
 rounded by turreted walls, overlooks the garden-like valley 
 at the confluence of the Clain and the Boivre. Two cathe- 
 drals lift their spires upon its rocky promontory, that of St. 
 Pierre, with rare glass-painting of the thirteenth century, and 
 that of Notre-Dame-la-Grande, of the twelfth century, which 
 latter is one of the most interesting specimens of the Roman- 
 esque style in Western France. Poitiers was the ancient 
 Lemonum. Near it the Visigoths were beaten by Clovis in 
 the sixth century, and upon the great plain lying between it 
 and Tours, Abderrahman and his Saracens were defeated two 
 hundred years later by Charles Martel. A few miles from the 
 city was also fought the battle of Poitiers, in which King 
 John the Good, with an army at least fifty thousand strong, 
 was overcome by eight thousand English and Gascons under 
 
 Edward the Black Prince. 
 
 ■ 
 
 The sun was just setting as we neared Angouleme, a fine 
 old town of ancient origin, admirably situated upon a sym- 
 metrically-rounded hill rising two hundred feet above the 
 
FROM MATENCE TO MADRID. 321 
 
 meandering; current of the Charente. Here again we find a 
 noble Romanesque cathedral of the twelfth century. The city 
 also contains a Benedictine abbey of the time of Charlemagne, 
 and a ruined castle, within whose walls Marguerite of Navarre 
 was born. 
 
 It was some time after dark when our train drew up on the 
 north bank of the Garonne, and we crossed by a noble stone 
 bridge of seventeen arches — Pont de la Bastide — into Bor- 
 deaux. This city had long been to me the. goal of many 
 pleasing anticipations. Although situated fifty-eight miles 
 inland, it has ample communication with the ocean by the 
 broad, deep channel of the Garonne, which makes it, next to 
 Havre and Marseilles, the most important seaport in France. 
 Its origin is ancient. First a Celtic port, it became afterwards 
 a Roman station, and was made chief city of Aquitaine by the 
 Emperor Hadrian. In the fifth century it was subdued by the 
 Goths, in the sixth by the Franks, and in the eighth by the 
 Spanish Arabs. Made a dukedom by Charlemagne, it fell to 
 the inheritance of Eleonore, heiress of the last of the Gascon 
 dukes and subsequently wife of Henry II. of England, of 
 w r hose realm, through his marriage with her, it became a part. 
 Bordeaux remained an English city for three centuries, and 
 during that period acquired many English characteristics. 
 Edward the Black Prince made it his residence, and held there 
 a brilliant court. In the fifteenth century it was lost to the 
 English, together with their other possessions in France. 
 Montaigne and Montesquieu were both natives of Bordeaux, 
 and the former was for many years its mayor. A colossal 
 statue of each of these famous men adorns the great central 
 public square of the city, known as the Place des Quinconces. 
 
 Protestantism early gained a footing in Bordeaux, and on 
 the bloody eve of St. Bartholomew twenty-five hundred 
 Bordelais gave up their lives at the shrine of the new faith. 
 During the Revolution the city was strongly Girondist, and 
 
322 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 thereby drew upon itself the wrath of the Jacobins, by whose 
 decree, on a certain occasion, three hundred men and women 
 were put to death. Over the place of execution was written 
 the barbarous motto, " Blood is the milk of the children of 
 liberty." Here it was, too, in this city of Bordeaux, that 
 Napoleon III., referring to the commercial interests of France 
 and their need of public tranquillity, spoke the memorable 
 words, " L 'empire c'est la paix." These words, afterwards so 
 disastrously falsified by their author, were transfixed in letters 
 of marble on the walls of the Public Exchange. 
 
 Outside of France Bordeaux is better known, popularly 
 speaking, by its wines than by its history. Within its vicinage, 
 between the Garonne and the sea, lies the most celebrated 
 grape-growing district in the world. This is the so-called 
 Medoc region, containing the renowned Chateau Margeaux, 
 Chateau Lafitte, St. Estephe, St. Julien, and Macon vine- 
 yards. It is questionable whether any other territory of equal 
 size, even among the gold- and diamond-fields, has produced 
 so much wealth as this. The Bordeaux wines have probably 
 enriched France more than any other single interest. There 
 are striking differences, however, between Bordeaux on the 
 banks of the Garonne, and Bordeaux on the banks of the 
 Rhine, the Hudson, or the Mississippi. The rule of the Gas- 
 con restaurants is vin d discretion, and their guests have the 
 same freedom with the claret carafe that Americans have with 
 the water-pitcher. There is a saying in Spain that the poorest 
 sherry is drunk at the great sherry mart, Jerez, but the vin 
 ordinaire, which costs nothing at Bordeaux, is better than 
 much of the vin " extraordinaire" for which we pay one dollar 
 and a half to two dollars a bottle. 
 
 The great wine-vaults of Bordeaux are interesting in the 
 extreme. Through the courtesy of an acquaintance I was 
 afforded the opportunity to explore one of them, — that of a 
 firm well known in the United States. The vaults of this 
 
FROM MATENCE TO MADRID. 323 
 
 establishment are two stories deep, one series below the other. 
 Most of the wines in store are in bottles, placed on iron racks 
 and laid upon their sides, so as to prevent the admission of air 
 through the corkage. Many of the racks are overspread with 
 a snow-white fungus, which grows in such places in various 
 fantastic forms, without any apparent moisture to nourish it. 
 In some of the racks the bottles had lain ten, twenty, and even 
 thirty years untouched. 
 
 As a conclusion to my sight-seeing in Bordeaux > I climbed 
 the tower of the St. Michael Cathedral, and obtained a far-, 
 reaching, most interesting view over the city and the country 
 around it. Southward were displayed the western spurs of 
 the Pyrenees, sloping down to the ocean ; westward lay the 
 great sandy moor known as the Landes; northward was the 
 Medoc wine district, skirted by the broad, sail-studded surface 
 of the Garonne ; eastward rose a series of verdurous hills, 
 crowned with chateaux, orchards, and vineyards ; and directly 
 below were the great wharves, crowded with shipping and 
 piled with merchandise from all parts of the world. 
 
 Excepting the view, just described, to be obtained from its 
 tower, the St. Michael Cathedral offers no especial attraction 
 to the stranger, but it is the favorite church of the peasantry, 
 and its early mass on Sunday is attended by large numbers 
 from that class of the population. On such occasions the 
 maids and workwomen wear a peculiar head-dress of brightly- 
 colored stuff, with which they cunningly set off to best ad- 
 vantage their sparkling black eyes, brunette complexions, and 
 luxuriant hair. 
 
 Forty miles from Bordeaux I halted to enjoy a quiet Sun- 
 day at Arcachon, a Bordelais sea-side resort on the Biscayan 
 coast. The weather was exquisite, and from my window in 
 the hotel I looked out over the bright bay, wrinkled by a gen- 
 tle breeze and tinted with the azure of an unclouded sky. 
 More enjoyable still was an afternoon stroll among the villas, 
 
324 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 gardens, and evergreen groves which cover the dunes blown 
 up by centuries of fretful wind, and along the far-extending 
 beach, where the wavelets came softly lisping over the sand. 
 
 Next day, for twelve hours, I journeyed southward by rail, 
 through the monotonous Landes, the most sterile region in 
 France. The inhabitants of this district, few and scantily 
 civilized, lead a nomadic life, on the patriarchal principle. 
 The water which falls from the clouds, or exudes from springs, 
 being hemmed in by the dunes and held from absorption by 
 an impervious stratum of clay, the greater part of the country 
 has been converted into swamps and bogs. Over this quaggy 
 surface the shepherds and turpentine boilers, of whom the male 
 population mainly consists, travel on long stilts, in the use of 
 which they are wonderfully expert, and can make the speed of 
 a horse. When the stilt-walker wishes to rest himself, he plants 
 a third stake firmly in the ground so as to form a tripod, upon 
 which he sits for hours watching his herd, and additionally 
 improving his time by knitting. The cultivation of the cork- 
 tree has been successfully introduced in the southern part of 
 the Landes, but the trees must be permitted to grow fifty years 
 before their bark can be used, and it may then be removed 
 only once in eight or ten years. 
 
 The construction of the railway through the Landes was a 
 matter of much difficulty. The workmen dwelt in tents which 
 were pitched upon the track as it progressed, and their food 
 had to be brought forward from Bordeaux. When the Moors 
 were obliged to leave Spain, they solicited from the King of 
 France the privilege of redeeming and inhabiting this region, 
 but were refused. 
 
 Reaching Bayonne at sunset, we journeyed between sun- 
 down and dark behind a chipper little narrow-gauge loco- 
 motive over the hills to Biarritz. It was night when we 
 arrived there, and not long after we reached the Hotel 
 d'Angleterre, I dropped to sleep listening to the beat and 
 
FROM MAYENCE TO MADRID. 325 
 
 swash of invisible waves. Next morning I was awakened by 
 the same throbbing music of the sea, and, looking out, saw 
 the bright bay all a-sparkle with wavelets blown up by the 
 fragrant breath of an unclouded May morning. From my win- 
 dow the indented line of the coast could be seen extending far 
 away to the northward, while in the foreground lay the broad, 
 sandy beach known as the Cote des Fours, behind which rose 
 a range of hills crowned with chateaux. The beach has a 
 gentle inclination, and as the tide came in, long, silvery lines 
 of surf chased each other in slow, measured movement up and 
 down the sloping strand. The picture was a most fascinating, 
 tranquillizing one,— a picture to rhapsodize and dream over 
 through all the livelong hours. But there was one sad object 
 in it, — sad in its associations, at least, — and that was the Villa 
 Eugenie, once the holiday home of the Empress of France. 
 The villa was neglected and weather-stained, and the dethroned 
 empress, who once irradiated it with her truly imperial beauty, 
 was an exile from home and country. 
 
 In respect to its natural advantages, Biarritz has been called 
 the most attractive sea-side resort in Europe. It is certainly 
 the most attractive one in France. Its three different bays, 
 with a bottom and gently-sloping beach of fine, elastic sand, 
 and a surf, here roaring and strong, and there gentle, offer 
 conveniences for sea-bathing adapted to every taste. The ele- 
 vated situation of the town commands a superb view along the 
 coast from the mouth of the Garonne to the peaks of the 
 Spanish Sierras, the whole variegated and enlivened by the 
 perpetual rush of the sea, sometimes leaping up against per- 
 pendicular walls of rock, sometimes foaming and chafing amid 
 the breakers, and sometimes gently swaying back and forth 
 upon a wide, slanting beach. 
 
 Opposite the lower part of the town the sea is open, and the 
 waves come rolling in unbroken, sometimes twenty-five or 
 thirty feet high. Here, also, the bottom and beach are laid 
 
 28 
 
326 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 with soft, fine sand. The coast at this point is known as the 
 Cote des Basques, for the reason that here, on a certain day in 
 August, the Basque peasants, assembled by hundreds from all 
 the country round, march hand in hand, with shouts, drum- 
 beat, and song, into the heavily-rolling waves. On such occa- 
 sions the whole party is often momentarily submerged, but men 
 and maidens keep their places in the ranks, and, when the 
 surf rolls back again, resume with redoubled zest their songs 
 and laughter. 
 
 My original intention was, upon quitting Biarritz, to cross 
 the Pyrenees on foot, and make for Saragossa, but the snow yet 
 lay upon the mountains so deep as to render that scheme im- 
 practicable. I therefore resumed the journey by rail, the more 
 reluctantly because the only comfortable train from Bayonne 
 to Madrid passes over the most interesting portions of the 
 route by night. This train crosses the Bidassoa — forming the 
 boundary between France and Spain — about two o'clock in 
 the afternoon. The last French station is Hendaye, the first 
 Spanish one Irun. In the middle of the Bidassoa, near the 
 point where the railway crosses it, lies the so-called Pheasant's 
 Island, upon and near which war and diplomacy have fre- 
 quently changed the current of human affairs. It was upon 
 this little patch of neutral ground that Louis XI. of France 
 personally negotiated with the Spanish king the marriage of 
 the Duke of Guienne; that King Francis, when a captive of 
 Charles V., was exchanged for his two sons ; and that Cardi- 
 nal Mazarin concluded the treaty of Pyrenees, in pursuance 
 of which Louis XIV. of France was married to the Spanish 
 Infanta. Down the river from Pheasant's Island rise the 
 ruined ramparts of the old Spanish town of Fuenterrabia, from 
 whose walls the Prince of Concle was repulsed, and near which 
 Wellington crossed and marched into France. The gorge of 
 Roncesvalles, where Knight Roland suffered his " dolorous 
 rout," is forty miles distant. 
 
FROM MA FENCE TO MADRID. 327 
 
 No sooner have we halted at Iran than we realize that we 
 have changed countries, changed languages, and must also 
 change trains. Hitherto we have been paying in francs ; now 
 we must pay in pesetas. The standard of time is also changed, 
 and we must set our watches to conform to the standard at 
 Madrid. The customs officers inspect our baggage and ply 
 us with the usual questions about the possession of tobacco. 
 Retiring from the presence of these uniformed and peremptory 
 officials, we timidly seek admission to the passenger coup&s, 
 already crowded, and immediately encounter the Spanish 
 language in all the vigor, melody, and mystery of its provin- 
 cial vernacular. 
 
 The coupe in which, after much persistence, I obtained a 
 place, was filled at first with local passengers, but after we had 
 gotten under way they dropped off one by one, to my great 
 relief, at the way-side stations, until finally I had the whole 
 compartment to myself. For some hours we coursed through 
 a hilly and tolerably fertile country, with views of the Pyrenees 
 inland, and occasional glimpses of the sea to the right. The 
 dwellings, built of stone or some grouty material, were gen- 
 erally low and unattractive, the villages much resembling those 
 of Southern France. In nearly every important town passed, 
 a huge wooden amphitheatre built and used for bull-fighting 
 stood forth as the most conspicuous object. More people were 
 seen working in the fields than in France, and, as evening ap- 
 proached, numerous squads of homeward-going peasants moved 
 upon the highways, accompanied by lumbering ox-carts with 
 great spokeless wooden wheels. So like unto dreams of my 
 boyhood were some of these scenes, that I could have believed 
 them to be phantoms of the mind but for the noise and jostle 
 of the train, keeping my senses awake to the facts of actual 
 experience. This, then, was Spain, really Spain, the land about 
 which I had so much read and fancied ; the land of the Goth, 
 Moor, and Castilian ; of Ferdinand and Isabella ; of Charles 
 
328 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 V. and Philip II. ; of Columbus and De Soto ; of Calderon and 
 Cervantes ; of Murillo and Velasquez ; and last, and least, of 
 Amerigo Vespucci, the Florentine " pickle-vender of Seville/' 
 who gave his name to our continent. 
 
 At Miranda del Ebro we obtained, at trifling cost, an ex- 
 cellent supper, after which I lay down upon one of the divans 
 of the coupe, and was conscious of nothing more during the 
 night except some dreamful regrets upon hearing the trainmen 
 sing out, in their peculiar Spanish drawl, the names of Burgos 
 and Valladolid. Early dawn disclosed a bleak mountain land- 
 scape, for we were mounting the heathy slopes of the Gua- 
 darrama, from the snow-covered summits of which the wind 
 blew piercing cold. About sunrise the train halted, to let the 
 passengers take breakfast, at Avila, a venerable town sur- 
 rounded by weather-stained walls and battlemented towers of 
 the mediaeval period. Avila, with its little vicinage of arable 
 land, lies like an oasis amid a barren waste of treeless, snow- 
 tipped mountains and boulder-strewn hills. The fascinations 
 of the Swiss and Tyrolese Alps are totally wanting to the 
 Guadarrama; its bare and bleak sublimity is harsh and re- 
 pellent, saddening rather than inspiring. 
 
 An hour or two beyond Avila the railway descends the 
 southern slope of the range, and a vast, mountain-girdled 
 region is disclosed, in the midst of which, far below, lies the 
 distant plain of Madrid. The scenery, though imposing by 
 its immensity, is still cheerless and unfriendly, in marked con- 
 trast with that which is viewed from the sunny southern slopes 
 of the Alps, looking down upon the luxuriant plains of Lom- 
 bardy and Piedmont. At nine o'clock the train halts for a 
 few minutes at the station for the Escorial, and at half-past 
 ten arrives at Madrid. 
 
 The capital, although it is the most populous, is the most 
 upstart city in Spain. It is therefore, in some respects, much 
 less representative than other cities of the traditional Castilian 
 
FROM MAYENCE TO MADRID. 329 
 
 life. Situated at an elevation of nearly twenty-five hundred 
 feet above sea-level, its horizon, northward and eastward, is 
 skirted by the Guadarrama range, which, when I saw it, was 
 covered with snow. Much has been said as to the alleged 
 folly of establishing the capital in such a region, but Charles 
 V., who chose the site, had his reasons for the choice. For 
 my own part, I am inclined to ratify it, for my days in Madrid 
 were all cloudless and crystalline. The rarefied atmosphere 
 was cool enough in May to make an overcoat desirable, and 
 the skies were spread with fathomless azure, much resembling 
 that of a Colorado day in spring-time. Charles V. was gouty, 
 it is said, and with good reason loved the bright skies and 
 bracing atmosphere of his capital. 
 
 Madrid, despite all the unfriendly comment of which it has 
 been the subject, is a very beautiful city. Its parks, prome- 
 nades, public buildings, and principal streets are all on a mag- 
 nificent scale. But in nothing does it excel so much as in its 
 great museum of painting, which has sometimes been called the 
 finest collection of modern art in the world. I had seen 
 Murillo in the Louvre, at Dresden, and at Munich, but it is 
 necessary to see him also at Madrid and Seville to form an 
 entirely adequate conception of his genius. Velasquez is not 
 only great in this museum ; he is gigantic. The gallery 
 contains sixty-two of his pictures, among which his Philip 
 IV. entering Lerida and Duke Olivarez commanding in Battle 
 have been declared by some writers on art to be the finest 
 equestrian paintings extant. To me, and perhaps to most 
 people, a more pleasing specimen of his work of this character 
 is a less pretentious picture, representing the boy-prince 
 Balthazar riding a pony, which seems to be verily springing out 
 of the frame. Among the numerous portraits by Velasquez 
 are his incomparable character-pieces known as Philip IV.'s 
 dwarfs. The museum contains several Raphaels, the most 
 celebrated of which is that known as The Pearl, so called 
 
 28* 
 
330 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 because Philip IV., when he first saw it, exclaimed, " This is 
 the pearl of all my pictures." It represents the infant Saviour 
 and St. John, and although it has suffered much from restora- 
 tions, gives convincing evidence that it could have come from 
 no other hand than Raphael's. 
 
 Titian, as might be expected from his long residence at 
 the court of Charles V., is magnificently represented in 
 the Madrid collection. In the Salon Isabel his splendid 
 coloring flames like the golden gleams of a Venetian 
 sunset. His portrait of Charles V. on horseback disputes 
 with the equestrian paintings of Velasquez the honor of 
 being the very first of its kind. Some of the choicest Van- 
 dykes extant are in the Salon Isabel, while Rubens's blazing 
 color illuminates nearly every chamber in the museum. One 
 of the most interesting portraits in the gallery is that of Queen 
 Mary, painted pending her marriage with Philip II. It was 
 executed by Antonio Moro, who was sent to England ex- 
 pressly for that purpose by Charles V. The museum contains 
 several of Claude Lorraine's landscapes, but most of them 
 have suffered sadly from the effects of time and the brush of 
 the restorer. The Dutch and Flemish schools are of course 
 largely represented, and the pictures by Spanish artists are 
 very numerous, but at the boundary which separates Murillo, 
 Velasquez, and Ribera from the rest of the Spanish school its 
 interest for the most part ceases. 
 
 Tourists who go to Madrid feel it to be a duty to go also to 
 the Escorial. The task is a tiresome one, and consumes an 
 entire day. Those who undertake it leave Madrid by a 
 wretchedly-slow morning train, and return by the same sort of 
 conveyance in the evening. The compensation for the tedium, 
 dust, fatigue, and other discomforts of the trip is the privilege 
 of exploring the dismal monastery wherein Philip II. glided 
 about with his fellow-monks; where his austere and merciless 
 career came to a fitting close ; and where most of the Spanish 
 
FROM MAYENCE TO MADRID. 331 
 
 kings, queens, and emperors are entombed. Readers of his- 
 tory scarcely need any description of this monstrous pile, dismal 
 alike in its nondescript architecture and in its savage surround- 
 ings. It is situated far up among the rocky spurs of the 
 Guadarrama, where winter howls and rages with such fury 
 that no human being can endure it with any comfort, and 
 where the kindlier seasons come timidly and tarry briefly. 
 
 Strangers are permitted to wander at will through the church 
 and the monastical corridors, and are shown by a guide 
 through the numerous chambers of the palace. A guide also 
 conducts the visitor down into the crypt of the Pantheon, 
 where rest in sublime seclusion the coffined remains of the 
 Spanish monarchs. The church, or chapel, as it is called, is 
 the finest part of the Escorial. Here Philip II. punctually at- 
 tended the daily services, and the seat is pointed out wherein he 
 sat when an attendant whispered to him, and he received with- 
 out apparent emotion or interruption in his devotions, the news 
 of the Lepanto victory. Excepting its chapel, the Escorial is 
 nothing special in an architectural sense. The rooms of the 
 palace were no doubt considered very grand in their day, but 
 are quite insignificant in comparison with the present royal 
 apartments at Madrid. Most of them are small, low, and 
 badly ventilated and lighted, the most famous, though small- 
 est of all, being finished in costly inlaid wood and filigree work 
 in gold and silver. The walls are generally lined with rather 
 monotonous tapestries after designs by Teniers and Goya. « 
 
 The most interesting of all the apartments are those in which 
 Philip II. lived and died. It is difficult to avoid the conclu- 
 sion, after seeing those miserable chambers and hearing all 
 the tales told about them, that their royal occupant was crazy. 
 Nobody could live in such a place and in such a manner as 
 Philip did and be a cheerful, generous ruler of men. The 
 furniture which he used has been carefully preserved just as 
 he left it, and is miserably plain and mean. The rooms which 
 
332 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 he personally occupied are small arid, with one exception, 
 dark. That in which he died is but a cell, barely large enough 
 for a bed, and has no aperture for light excepting a door with 
 glass panels, looking into the gloomy grandeur of the chapel. 
 In this sombre cell, as in the depths of a cavern, the royal 
 monk listened to the masses celebrated at the grand altar. 
 Here it was that he governed Europe, and here he expired, at 
 last, amid terrific tortures of body and mind. For fifty-three 
 days, it is said, he lay in unmentionable filth, consumed, like 
 Herod, by self-engendered vermin. 
 
 Before quitting the Escorial for Madrid, having nothing 
 else to do, I climbed the mountain behind the village. The 
 skies were clear, and the atmosphere warm but stirred by a 
 pleasant breeze which fanned the heathy slopes. Seated upon 
 the fragments of a ruined wall near the summit, I found 
 myself in a good position for reverie. Directly below me rose 
 the gray walls and lofty dome of the palace monastery, beyond 
 which, stretching southward, lay the plain of Madrid. The 
 whole country looked bleak and sterile. It was an ironical 
 destiny, I thought, which led the remorseless monarchs whose 
 mortal remains lie in the Pantheon of the Escorial to choose 
 such a region and such a spot for their last resting-place. The 
 stony desert which surrounds them in death is in keeping 
 with their hard, unrelenting natures in life ; and Spain, which 
 shows plainly in her silent, melancholy decay the results of 
 their misrule, could have given them no more fitting tomb. 
 
 My sojourn in Madrid happened to fall in the midst of a 
 season of national festivities. One of the principal events in 
 the catalogue of amusements was a great bull-fight, in which 
 were to figure some of the most famous matadores in Spain. 
 " By all means go and see it," said an acquaintance to me, 
 " for you will never be able to realize how utterly brutal and 
 horrible a bull-fight is until you have witnessed it." Yet I 
 did not go. Our civil war had satiated my appetite, if I ever 
 
FROM MAYENCE TO MADRID. 333 
 
 had any, for combative and cruel amusements. But another 
 opportunity was presented, which I did not miss, for observing 
 some of the interesting phases of Spanish life. I attended the 
 races. 
 
 We went early, and secured a position for our carriage 
 directly opposite to the royal pavilion. The delightful weather 
 and other attractions brought out an enormous crowd, in which 
 the beauty and nobility of all Spain were represented, from 
 the beach of San Sebastian to the orange-groves of Valencia. 
 As the time approached for the races to begin, a splendid car- 
 riage, drawn by six white horses, drew up at the pavilion, and 
 King Alfonso and his queen appeared upon the platform. 
 They were attended by ministers of state, ambassadors, noble- 
 men, distinguished military officers, and many ladies of the 
 court. The king looked more like a young coxcomb than the 
 ruler of a great nation, though it must be confessed that he 
 was ruling then, and ruled afterwards, up to the time of his 
 death, with wisdom above his years. Queen Christina did not 
 impress me as handsome, so much as graceful and womanly. 
 
 After the races, which, by the way, were a wretched failure 
 so far as the racing was concerned, everybody took a drive in 
 the Prado. Down one side of the magnificent thoroughfare 
 and up the other, throughout its entire extent, two and a half 
 miles, a continuous line of carriages passed and repassed, filled 
 with the elite of Spain. Between the moving lines space was 
 left, by usual courtesy, for the royal equipage. The city, the 
 weather, the promenaders, and the promenade with its stately 
 trees and splendid fountains, all were at their best. The 
 glittering uniforms of ambassadors, attaches, and military offi- 
 cers were mingled with the gayly-colored toilets of dark-eyed, 
 jewelled seiloras, while over all the declining sun of May cast 
 floods of golden evening light. The entire scene was a brilliant 
 and intensely-interesting one, unique and never to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
334 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TOLEDO AND CORDOVA. 
 
 The intellectual delights of travel in Spain are many, but. 
 its comforts are few. The best hotels, albeit reasonable in 
 their charges, are scant and ordinary in their accommodations, 
 while those of less pretensions are scarcely endurable. The 
 railways make slow time, bad connections, and long detours. 
 " They suit us," say the Spaniards, in their blissful uncon- 
 sciousness of anything better, and it must be confessed that 
 they are something of an improvement over the primitive 
 modes of Spanish travel. 
 
 To an Americau, Spain is a country of especial interest. 
 The discovery, exploration, and early settlement of our conti- 
 nent all lead our thoughts to her. Spaniards dispute with 
 other Europeans the honors of first discovery of our Atlantic 
 shores, and were first of Celts to look upon our great central 
 river, or to reach our western boundary, the broad Pacific. 
 The West Indies, Mexico, and Central and South America — all 
 neighbors with whom our relations will become closer and closer 
 as time rolls on — are largely or predominantly Spanish. Cali- 
 fornia, Florida, Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico were all first 
 explored and settled by Spaniards, New Mexico nearly a cen- 
 tury before the English landed on the coast of New England. 
 No country ever had such colonial opportunities, or made such 
 colonial conquests in the western hemisphere, as Spain. From 
 the dawn of American civilization to the present the current 
 of Spanish history is intermingled with, or closely related to, 
 that of our own destiny. Reciprocally, the annals of America 
 run for centuries through Spanish archives, and the best his- 
 
SENECA. 
 Portrait Bust, Uffizi Gallery, Florence. 
 
TOLEDO AND CORDOVA. 335 
 
 tories of Spain, of her lost conquest, the Netherlands, and of 
 her retained one, Granada, have been written by Americans. 
 
 No city of Spain is more truly typical of her history and 
 of the social and intellectual life of her people, and none can 
 therefore be more interesting, in these respects, to an American 
 than Toledo. What Nuremberg is to Germany is this vener- 
 able city, or rather citadel, to Spain, except that it looks, and 
 really is, much older than the quaint old German fortress. 
 Perched aloft on great ledges of gneiss and granite, which 
 have been tilted upon their edges and deeply cut by the gnaw- 
 ing current of the Tagus, Toledo lifts its gray walls and 
 towers high above the bare, sun-baked, foot-beaten hills around 
 it. The city and its surroundings have alike a worn and 
 ancient look, an air of storm-stained, threadbare antiquity, 
 surviving the flight of many ages and the fret of many gen- 
 erations. Ascending from the railway-station towards the 
 town, we pass under a portcullis upon the narrow stone bridge, 
 five centuries old, which spans the chasm of the " wild and 
 melancholy Tagus," the " lonely, unused river," which " flows 
 away solitary and unseen, its waters without boats, its shores 
 without life." Beyond the bridge we mount again, passing 
 under the shadow of the huge walls, until we reach and enter 
 the principal gate — over which another portcullis hangs — and 
 alight amid a bewildering net-work of narrow lanes, under 
 the towering walls of the great citadel. 
 
 Here we are in the midst of a city of less than twenty thou- 
 sand inhabitants, which once contained more than ten times 
 that many dwellers within its precincts. Here the Jews found 
 refuge who fled from Nebuchadnezzar ; here the Romans con- 
 quered under Marius Fulvius ; here the Goths established the 
 seat of their monarchy ; here the Moors dominated for three 
 hundred and fifty years; and here the Alonzos Set up an im- 
 perial Spanish throne. Jewish, Gothic, Roman, Moorish, in 
 succession, Toledo became at length thoroughly Spanish and a 
 
336 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 renowned source of the pure Castilian dialect. To speak 
 Spanish en propria Toledano is the equivalent of speaking 
 German according to the strictest Hanoverian standard. But 
 languid now are the scenes among which once surged such 
 great activities, the little life that remains in them but casting 
 into stronger relief the life that was, but is no longer. The 
 streets of the old town, made purposely crooked for defensive 
 reasons, wind and cross each other in all directions, and are 
 seldom passable for carriages. The dwellings, built of stone 
 and whitewashed, are severely plain outside, but many of 
 them are arranged with a charming interior court, in the 
 Moorish style, wherein tropical plants are cultivated, and over 
 which awnings are drawn in summer. Of the Moorish 
 architecture, seen here mainly in decayed remnants, the old 
 church of Cristo de la Luz, originally a mosque, is the com- 
 pletest and best-preserved specimen. The Gothic style is more 
 conspicuous than the Moorish, and manifests itself here in its 
 most exquisite forms. The old Franciscan convent known as 
 San Juan de los Reyes, although it was gutted and partially 
 burned by the French, is still a rare gem of Gothic art. The 
 best-preserved portion of this once splendid but now ruined 
 establishment is its chapel, the embellishment of which is rich 
 in stone tracery and leaf- work of poetic delicacy and grace, and 
 in the surpassing beauty of its exquisitely-pointed arches and 
 its flamboyant windows. This admirable chamber was used 
 by the French invaders as a stable. 
 
 The cathedral is a magnificent example of the pure thir- 
 teenth-century Gothic. Not surpassed by any of the great 
 French cathedrals in the excellence of its style, it excels them 
 all in the richness and variety of its furniture and artistic em- 
 bellishments. Like many other great churches of Spain, it is 
 built on the site of a Moorish mosque. In 1808 it was sacked 
 by the French under La Houssaye, who carried off its silver 
 plate to the amount of two thousand three hundred pounds. 
 
TOLEDO AND CORDOVA. 337 
 
 Its painted windows, executed four or five centuries ago, are 
 of the finest materials and workmanship, and, when illuminated 
 with the splendors of the setting sun, glow with the color of 
 rubies and emeralds. The interior consists of five naves, sup- 
 ported by eighty-four majestic piers, with lofty arches of sub- 
 limest Gothic form and symmetry. The great choir, which is 
 so prodigally ornate as to form within itself a museum of rich 
 carving, sculpture, and painted decoration, takes its place at the 
 centre of the church, in the middle nave, which is widest and 
 highest. The principal chapel is also placed in the central 
 nave, adjoining the transept. This chapel contains the tomb 
 of Alonzo VII., and that of Cardinal Mendoza, the great 
 prelate, who shared, as Tertius Rex, the sovereignty of Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella. Its superb Gothic retablo is reached by a 
 flight of steps in jasper and colored stone, with elaborate carv- 
 ings dating from the year 1500, illustrative of the lives of 
 Christ and the Virgin. Twenty-seven other chapels range 
 along the walls around the outside nave, all abounding in 
 objects and decorations of deep religious, historical, and artistic 
 interest. Near the central aisle a pyramid of gilded open 
 Gothic has been erected to designate the spot on which the 
 Virgin Mary descended from heaven, in person, to meet San 
 Ildefonso. Incased in red marble, and suitably inscribed in 
 Latin, the very slab on which the Virgin's feet alighted ap- 
 peals to our reverential wonder. Devout visitors have visibly 
 worn away the stone with pious kisses. The Virgin is further 
 honored in this church by an ancient effigy of her person, 
 carved in black wood, and seated on a silver throne beneath a 
 gilded silver canopy. The wardrobe of this image includes a 
 mantle embroidered with pearls, precious stones, and threads 
 of gold. Many of her jewels were carried off by the French, 
 and in 1 868 her superb crown and bracelets, of sixteenth-cen- 
 tury workmanship, were stolen. The sacristy, entered by a 
 stately portal finished in colored marble, is a museum of relics, 
 p w 29 
 
338 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 gems, church plate, and other precious articles. The library, 
 occupying a noble apartment, contains many volumes and 
 manuscripts of great antiquity and value. 
 
 From Toledo to Cordova, if we betake ourselves to the 
 railway, we must once more travel by night. The down trains 
 from Madrid are intercepted at Castillejos Junction, sixteen 
 miles from Toledo. Leaving Castillejos at ten o'clock in the 
 evening, we arrive at Cordova just twelve hours- later. This 
 train passes through the fine scenery of the Sierra Morena 
 mountains about sunrise. Being the solitary occupant of the 
 coup£, and having fallen asleep soon after we quitted Castillejos, 
 I was conscious of nothing further until awakened by the 
 curiously-intoned cry of the trainmen, — "Alcazar ! veinte min- 
 utos !" The station so announced was that of Alcazar de San 
 Juan, from whence the line branches to Alicante and Valencia. 
 Sixteen miles farther south, on the Cordova stem, we pass the vil- 
 lage of Argamasilla, where Cervantes wrote his " Don Quixote," 
 while in prison. Beyond Argamasilla we cross the dry, tim- 
 berless plains of La Mancha, which, exposed to intense heat 
 in summer and piercing winds in winter, derive their sole 
 interest from the geuius of Cervantes. At Manzanares we 
 enter a vineyard district, which extends as far as Valdepenas, 
 famous for its wine, — a rich, fruity claret of the same name, 
 preserved in pig-skins and goat-skins such as Don Quixote 
 attacked. At Venta de Cardenas, in the province of Jaen, 
 just south of the La Mancha boundary, we enter the hilly 
 region bordering the Sierra, where the scenes of some of the 
 most striking adventures of the famous Knight of the Sor- 
 rowful Figure are laid. These fancias of Cervantes are re- 
 garded by the simple peasants of the neighborhood as historical 
 verities. Ascending the Sierra Morena from this district, the 
 railway finds passage across the range by a magnificent defile, 
 darts through numerous tunnels, and descends to Vilches, near 
 which, in 1212, the King of Morocco, at the head of the 
 
TOLEDO AND CORDOVA. 339 
 
 Andalusian Moors and their allies, was defeated by Alonzo 
 VIII. Near the important mining city of Linares, some miles 
 farther south, a great battle was fought between Scipio and 
 Hannibal. Beyond Linares we cross to the left bank of the 
 Guadalquiver, whose course, fringed with palms, aloes, and 
 orange-trees, we follow to Cordova. 
 
 Beautifully located at the southern base of the Sierra, and 
 of far-reaching historical interest, Cordova is nevertheless one 
 of the least pleasing of all the Spanish cities. In ancient 
 times it must have been far otherwise. By the Goths it was 
 called " holy and learned," and by the Carthaginians " the 
 gem of the South." During the Roman civil wars it took 
 sides with Pompey, and was therefore half destroyed by Caesar, 
 who is said to have slaughtered twenty-eight thousand of its 
 people as a terror to the rest. Marcellus rebuilt it, and colo- 
 nized it with impecunious patricians from Rome, from which 
 circumstance it became known as Patricia. Under the Romans 
 it was the seat of a celebrated university, which taught philoso- 
 phy and rhetoric especially, and sustained a professorship of 
 Greek. Among the eminent persons born in Cordova during 
 the Roman period were the two Senecas and the poets Sextilius 
 Henna and Lucan ; in more recent times it was the place of 
 nativity of the painter Cespedes, the "Spanish Chaucer" Juan 
 de Mena, and of the great captain Gonsalvo de Cordova, 
 leader of the armies of Ferdinand and Isabella. Cordova lost 
 its importance under the Goths, but regained it under the 
 Moors, who transformed it into a seat of wealth, luxury, and 
 learning rivalling Bagdad in its splendors, and so renowned in 
 letters as to be called the Athens of the West. The accounts 
 of its prosperity and magnificence during this period — from 
 the ninth century to the twelfth — almost rival the tales of the 
 Arabian Nights. Its population, now about forty thousand, 
 is said to have then reached an aggregate of a million souls. 
 
 The great mosque of Cordova, founded in the year 786 by 
 
340 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Abdurrahman I., rose in wondrous beauty on the site of an 
 ancient Roman temple dedicated to Janus. To make room 
 for it, many buildings were torn away, including a basilica, in 
 the use of which the Moslems and Christians — strange to say 
 — had enjoyed an amicable partnership. The mosque of 
 Abdurrahman, intended by him to be the most magnificent in 
 the world, was enlarged by his successors — particularly by the 
 Khalif Almansur — until it covered an area of three hundred 
 and ninety-four feet from east to west, and five hundred and 
 fifty-six feet from north to south, the whole enclosed by walls 
 six feet thick and thirty to sixty feet high. The low but 
 graceful roof of colored tiles was supported by twelve hun- 
 dred — some authorities say fourteen hundred — slender columns, 
 linked together from capital to capital by exquisitely-rounded 
 Moorish arches in gay colors, appearing, when viewed obliquely, 
 like plaited ribands. These columns were of jasper, porphyry, 
 verd-antique, or precious marbles, susceptible of high polish. 
 One hundred and forty of them were presented by Leo, the 
 Emperor of Constantinople ; about two hundred more were 
 taken from Nlmes and Narbonne, in France, and from Seville 
 and Tarragona, in Spain ; the residue were brought from the 
 plundered temples of Carthage and other cities of Africa. 
 Not being of uniform length, the longest were sunk into the 
 floor, and the shortest were spliced out by giving them a redun- 
 dance of Corinthian capital. Their arrangement was in par- 
 allel rows, extending lengthwise with the interior, which was 
 thus divided into nineteen longitudinal and thirty-three trans- 
 verse aisles, the former all opening into a roofless interior 
 court, which was — and still is — planted with orange-trees and 
 embellished with fountains. This court is that referred to in 
 the " Tales of the Alhambra," wherein grew a palm-tree, 
 " planted in days of yore by the great Abdurrahman," whereon 
 sat a wondrous parrot which had "all the learning of the 
 East at the tip of his tongue," and was " a universal favorite 
 
TOLEDO AND CORDOVA. 341 
 
 with the fair sex," on account of his talent for quoting poetry, 
 yet would " burst into a fit of rickety laughter" at " the mere 
 mention of love." The court and its orauge-trees are still 
 there, and loiterers still lounge within its precincts, but the 
 palm-tree has disappeared, and the cynical parrot no longer 
 discourses to the multitude. 
 
 In its completed state the interior of this splendid mosque, 
 illuminated, as we are told it was, by four thousand silver 
 lamps, and by a great silver speculum of thirty-six thousand 
 facets, must have been transcendently beautiful. But the sad 
 truth must be told, that in the process of adapting it to its 
 present use as a place of Christian worship, its beauty has 
 been greatly marred. All of the aisles which opened into the 
 court have been closed but three, while at their interior ex- 
 tremities chapels have been built, the emblems and style of 
 which produce lamentable architectural discord. The most 
 destructive and incongruous of these additions is the choir, — an 
 ornate, cumbersome structure, so located as to greatly impair 
 the forest-like effect of the columns and the beautiful bewil- 
 derment of plaited arches. When Charles V. saw this " im- 
 provement," after having mistakenly sanctioned it, he confessed 
 his misplaced leniency by the remark, " You have built here 
 what you, or any one, might have built anywhere else ; but 
 you have destroyed what was unique in the world." 
 
 The style of the exterior walls is original and pleasing. A 
 striking effect is produced by their square, buttressed towers 
 with bearded parapets, and their portals of Oriental type, with 
 latticed openings, Moorish spandrels, and Cufic inscriptions. 
 The bronze plating on the doors of the principal entrance to 
 the court bears the legend, in Gothic and Arabic, " The Empire 
 belongs to God ; all is His." 
 
 A pilgrimage to this mosque was deemed equivalent to one 
 made to the shrine of Mecca, which alone surpassed it in the 
 veneration of the Moslem world. The lovely little sanctuary 
 
 29* 
 
342 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 is still preserved which was known as the Mihrab, wherein a 
 copy of the Koran, written by Mahomet's friend and com- 
 panion, Othnian, was deposited in a small heptagonal recess, 
 with shell-shaped roof, and point turned towards Mecca. The 
 Mihrab is decorated with brilliant Byzantine mosaics, donated 
 by the Emperor Leo, who sent his Greek artists to teach this 
 art to the Moorish workmen. The stone floor still shows the 
 well-marked path worn by the feet of Moslem pilgrims, who 
 performed here, as is done at Mecca, the pious duty of walk- 
 ing seven times around the sacred shrine of their religion. 
 
 The lofty Moorish walls, with octagonal towers, which still 
 surround the older part of Cordova, are built of a mixture of 
 stone, brick, and cement, and are supposed to stand very nearly 
 upon the line of Roman circumvallation described by Csesar. 
 In one or two places the tops of venerable palm-trees rise above 
 them, adding their own strange suggestiveness to the fancies 
 awakened by these huge crumbling buttresses. Excepting the 
 great mosque, these walls, now burrowed -with the hovels of 
 the indigent, are almost the only substantial vestiges which 
 remain here of the mediseval pride and splendor of the Moors. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 
 
 My journey from Cordova to Granada fell upon one of the 
 fairest days of an Andalusian May. So long as our course 
 pointed southward, it lay amid undulating landscapes, with 
 smooth, flowing outlines and mountainous confines, both north 
 and south, where rose, treeless and shadowy, the purple-tinted 
 forms of the Sierras. The surface of the country was richly 
 mottled with olive-orchards, vineyards, grain-fields, and patches 
 
MOORISH INTERIOR. 
 Algiers. 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 343 
 
 of meadow. It was a pleasing picture of bucolic loveliness, 
 yet this favored region does not sustain its ancient reputation 
 for fertility and luxuriance. Its population seems to be sparse, 
 and its agriculture in a languid, backward condition, for which 
 the land monopoly of the nobility and clergy is no doubt, in 
 part, responsible. With some parts of Northern Italy, West- 
 ern Germany, or of France and Belgium, where the metayer 
 and peasant proprietorship systems prevail, it compares but 
 indifferently in painstaking and productive husbandry. 
 
 At Bobadilla, situated in the open country at the northern 
 base of the Ronda Mountains, we quit the main stem of the 
 railway continuing to Malaga, and turn eastward towards 
 Granada. Beyond Antequera, an old town abounding in 
 Roman and Moorish associations, we pass through a broad 
 gate-way of the Sierras into the so-called Vega, or valley of 
 the Xenil. This Avas the garden-land of the Moors, and their 
 last citadel. It is still garden-like, notwithstanding all it has 
 suffered from the neglect and devastation of man. Its scenery 
 is truly Arcadian. North, south, and east it is shut in by 
 mountain barriers rising behind its girdle of hills pinnacled 
 with the ruined strongholds of the Moor, while high over all 
 the Sierra Nevada, with its single glacier, the most southerly 
 one in Europe, lifts its summits, wrapped in perpetual snow. 
 Watered from the snowy sierras, the vegetation of this valley, 
 like its climate, covers the entire range from arctic to semi- 
 tropic, from the hardiest Alpine lichen to the orange, the 
 indigo-tree, and the sugar-cane. The olive, the aloe, and the 
 fig diversify the rich foliage, the vine swings burdened with 
 its purpling fruit, and the pomegranate displays its flaming 
 crest. Cotton and hemp grow side by side with the cereals of 
 the north, and crops follow crops through all the seasons in 
 unbroken succession. 
 
 Historically speaking, this is one of the most interesting 
 regions of the world. The very mountains, solemn and 
 
344 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 shadowy, seem like dim old memories, looming out of the 
 obscurity and silence of the past. There is scarcely a cliff or 
 a brook which has not its legend, scarcely a locality which has 
 not been consecrated by romance, poetry, or history. Andalusia 
 was the Tarshish of the Bible. Here the ancient Phoenicians 
 came in quest of fortune, and the fervid imagination of the 
 Orient pictured the Elysian Fields. Here Carthaginian and 
 Roman disputed with one another for the mastery of the 
 world, and here art and literature flourished when Greece and 
 Rome decayed. Saddest of all, here Moslem and Christian 
 fought out their deadly feud, and a heart-broken race quitted, 
 in humiliation and despair, the fruits of seven centuries of 
 toil. 
 
 The evening light was falling softly on the hills as we passed 
 the old town of Loja, once the key of Granada, around whose 
 castellated battlements, now decayed and sallow with age, the 
 Moslem army made its final and ineffectual struggle with that 
 of Ferdinand and Isabella. Farther on we passed the " bridge 
 of Pinos," a defile, says Irving, " famous in the Moorish wars 
 for many a desperate encounter between the Christians and 
 infidels." It is also famous for another and better reason, for 
 here took place an event of immense importance to the West- 
 ern World. The story of that event, so interesting to every 
 American, may be briefly told. 
 
 Near the little seaport of Palos, on the Andalusian coast, 
 stood, in the fifteenth century, and still stands, the ancient 
 Franciscan convent of Santa Maria la Rabida. At the gate of 
 this convent a pedestrian stranger of distinguished air, though 
 humbly clad, stopped one day with his little boy to request 
 some bread and water for the child. The stranger was Co- 
 lumbus ; the prior of the convent was Juan Perez de Mar- 
 chena, who had once been confessor to the queen. Happening 
 to pass by while the refreshment was being served, the good 
 prior, struck with the appearance of the wayfarer, engaged 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 345 
 
 him in conversation, and drew from him the avowal of his 
 wonderful geographical theories, and the daring schemes of 
 exploration upon which he had already labored for nearly 
 eighteen years. Baffled in his efforts to enlist the sovereigns 
 cf Spain or Portugal in his enterprise, Columbus was at this 
 time about to betake himself to the court of France. Deeply 
 interested in what he had heard, Juan Perez persuaded the 
 stranger to tarry as the guest of the convent until he could 
 consult the veteran mariners of Palos. Among these was 
 Martin Alonzo Pinzon, a man of wealth, and the head of a 
 family of experienced navigators. Pinzon also became in- 
 terested, and offered to bear, from his own purse, the expenses 
 of a renewed application to the Spanish court. This generous 
 proposal prompted Friar Juan Perez to address the queen a 
 letter on the subject, which was at once despatched by a shrewd 
 pilot of the neighborhood, named Rodriguez. Queen Isabella 
 was at this time with the army at Santa Fe, a few miles up 
 the valley from Pinos, where a " military city" had been built 
 up to convince the Moors that the siege of Granada would endure 
 until successful. Rodriguez executed his mission with discre- 
 tion, and brought back encouraging assurances from Isabella, 
 coupled with a request that Perez would repair immediately to 
 court. The kind-hearted friar saddled his mule, and set out 
 before the following midnight. Arriving at Santa Fe while 
 the siege of Granada was still in progress, he soon obtained an 
 audience, and eloquently presented the cause of Columbus to 
 the queen. His earnest words were warmly seconded by the 
 queen's friend and favorite, the Marchioness de Moya. Isa- 
 bella was persuaded, and requested that Columbus should 
 return for further conference. At the same time she illustrated 
 her nobleness of nature by directing that the sum of twenty 
 thousand maravedis (about two hundred and sixteen dollars) 
 should be presented to the impoverished navigator, with which 
 to pay his travelling expenses and provide himself with apparel 
 
346 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 suitable for making a decorous appearance at court. Perez, 
 overjoyed at the success of his mission, hastened back to La 
 Rabid a. 
 
 Immediately upon receiving the message of the queen, and 
 her gift, Columbus purchased a mule, and set out once more 
 for the camp before Granada. He arrived in time, says the 
 historian, " to witness the memorable surrender of Granada to 
 the Spanish arms. He beheld Boabdil, the last of the Moorish 
 kings, sally forth from the Alhambra and yield up the keys 
 of that favorite seat of Moorish power, while the king and 
 queen, with all the chivalry and rank and magnificence of 
 Spain, moved forward in proud and solemn procession to receive 
 this token of submission." It was " one of the most brilliant 
 triumphs," continues the chronicler, " in Spanish history. 
 After near eight hundred years of painful struggle, the 
 crescent was completely cast downj the cross exalted in its place, 
 and the standard of Spain was seen floating on the highest 
 tower of the Alhambra. The whole court and army were 
 abandoned to jubilee." 
 
 But the public exchequer had been depleted by the war, and 
 the requirement of Columbus that, in case of success, he 
 should be invested with certain dignities and emoluments, pro- 
 voked the resentment of the nobility and clergy. While King 
 Ferdinand continued to regard his projects coldly, Queen Isa- 
 bella was shaken in her support of them by the dissuasion of 
 her confidential advisers. Columbus would concede nothing, 
 and his negotiations failed. Mounting his mule, he set out for 
 Cordova, from whence he intended to depart at once for 
 France. This was in February, 1492. But it so happened 
 that Columbus had gained two earnest friends at court, who 
 were firm believers in his cause, and perceived the star of his 
 destiny. They were Luis de St. Angel and Alonzo de 
 Quaintanilla, revenue officers to the crown. These friends, 
 deeply distressed at the loss of what they esteemed a great 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 347 
 
 opportunity for Spain, hastened to represent the matter once 
 more to the queen, anil were heartily seconded in their efforts 
 by the Marchioness de Moya. Their eloquence kindled the 
 enthusiasm of Isabella. The great endeavor dawned upon her 
 mind in all its grandeur, and she exclaimed, " I undertake the 
 enterprise for my own crown of Castile, and will pledge my 
 jewels to raise the necessary funds." " This," says Washington 
 Irving, "was the proudest moment in the life of Isabella; it 
 stamped her renown forever as the patroness of the discovery 
 of the New World." 
 
 A messenger, despatched with all speed to summon Columbus 
 to return, overtook him at the bridge of Pinos. He hesitated 
 for a moment, then turned back to Santa Fe, and was graciously 
 received by his royal benefactress. On the 17th of April, 1492, 
 stipulations for the expedition were signed, and on the 12th of 
 May following, Columbus took leave of the court and set out for 
 Palos, there to organize and equip his momentous expedition. 
 
 It was some time after nightfall when we arrived at Granada, 
 and drove, first through the narrow lanes of the old town, 
 then, amid deep forest shadows, silent except the purling of 
 descending waters, up the winding ascent of the Alhambra 
 hill. Near the summit were two hotels, standing opposite to 
 one another, amid thick foliage, near the massive walls of the 
 Alhambra. • Looking out of my window next morning, I found 
 that I could toss a penny to the tower of the Siete Suelos and 
 the grand gate — afterwards walled up as of bad omen — by 
 which Boabdil emerged for the last time from his palace, ac- 
 companied by his dejected followers. Damp, mouldy, and 
 suggestive of rheumatism, as well as of romance, the place is 
 infested with nightingales, whose song at night mingles with 
 the silver sound of many a rivulet which the cunning hand 
 of the Moor has conducted thither from the sportive current 
 of the Xenil. 
 
 To the imagination the Alhambra — "red castle" of the 
 
348 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Moors — is one of the most captivating themes in history. The 
 human fancy will always delight in its poetic tales and legends, 
 and the human heart will always be touched by the pathetic 
 story of its conquest and decay. In its perfected state, as the 
 stronghold of the Granadian princes, it was both a sumptuous 
 palace and a powerful fortress. Forty thousand men could be 
 quartered within its massive, turreted walls. Viewing it in 
 its admirable position, and adaptation for defence, we are not 
 surprised at the difficulties of its conquest, but rather that it 
 was conquered at all. But in its present condition the Alham- 
 bra is a melancholy and disappointing wreck. For centuries 
 after Boabdil's fall it was a subject of pillage and depreda- 
 tion. Charles V. tore away some of its most characteristic 
 portions, including its entire southern facade, in order to make 
 room for a clumsy, nondescript palace, which he never com- 
 pleted. Plundered by its successive governors, it was finally 
 ravaged by the French invaders, who blew up eight of its 
 towers, and tried to demolish the rest. We wonder, not that so 
 little, but that so much of this gay, slenderly- wrought architect- 
 ure has survived so many vicissitudes. The Arabesque is but 
 poorly adapted, at best, to withstand even the natural effects 
 of time and decay. It seems, and it is, fragile and transitory 
 in comparison with the massive and robust Corinthian and 
 Doric. Its natural association is with such scenes of Oriental 
 luxury and splendor as the poet ascribes to " the golden prime 
 of the good Haroun-al-Raschid," — scenes and pictures which the 
 bard thus gracefully portrays before the delighted imagina- 
 tion : 
 
 Adown the Tigris I was borne, 
 By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold, 
 High-walled gardens green and old. 
 
 Anight my shallop, rustling thro' 
 The low and bloomed foliage, drove 
 The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove 
 The citron shadows in the blue : 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 349 
 
 By garden porches on the brim, 
 The costly doors flung open wide, 
 Gold glittering through lamplight dim, 
 And broidered sofas on each side. 
 
 Far off", and where the lemon-grove 
 In closest coverture upsprung, 
 The living airs of middle night 
 Died round the bulbul as he sung. 
 
 With dazed vision unawares 
 From the long alley's latticed shade 
 Emerged, I came upon the great 
 Pavilion of the Caliphat. 
 Right to the carven cedarn doors, 
 Flung inward over spangled floors, 
 Broad-based flights of marble stairs 
 Ban up with golden balustrade. 
 
 The fourscore windows all alight 
 As with the quintessence of flame, 
 A million tapers flaring bright 
 From twisted silvers, looked to shame 
 The hollow-vaulted dark, and streamed 
 Upon the mooned domes aloof 
 In inmost Bagdat, till there seemed 
 Hundreds of crescents on the roof 
 Of night new risen. 
 
 Then stole I up, and trancedly 
 Gazed on the Persian girl alone, 
 Serene, with argent-lidded eyes 
 Amorous, and lashes like to rays 
 Of darkness, and a brow of pearl 
 Tressed with redolent ebony, 
 In many a dark, delicious curl 
 Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone. 
 
 Of like character are the pictures which the fancy conjures 
 up of this " boasted terrestrial paradise" of the Moorish kings 
 of Granada. Washington Irving truly says, " It is impossi- 
 ble to contemplate this once favorite abode of Oriental man- 
 ners without feeling the early associations of Arabian romance 
 and almost expecting to see the white arm of some mysterious 
 
 30 
 
350 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 princess beckoning from the balcony, or some dark eye spark- 
 ling through the lattice. The abode of beauty is here, as if it 
 had been inhabited but yesterday ; but where are the Zoraydas 
 and Lindaraxas?" 
 
 It would be altogether superfluous to undertake to add any- 
 thing to Irving's descriptions of the Alhambra. It is very 
 much the same now that it was when he rambled and mused 
 amid its ruins. We enter the fortress by just such an immense 
 Arabian arch as he mentions, with an outside key-stone carved 
 with the emblem of a hand, and an inside one displaying a 
 huge key. The famous Court of Lions, with its fountain cele- 
 brated in poetry and romance, are just as he saw them. "The 
 alabaster basins still shed their diamond drops, and the twelve 
 lions which support them cast forth their crystal streams as in 
 the days of Boabdil." The magic charm which according to 
 popular tradition has preserved the light and graceful archi- 
 tecture and delicate ornamentation of this court through " the 
 wear and tear of centuries," " the shocks of earthquakes," 
 " the violence of war," and the " pilferings of the tasteful 
 traveller," still holds its potency. The Hall of the Aben- 
 cerrages, and the alleged blood-marks on its pavement, caused 
 by the atrocious butchery of thirty-six gallant cavaliers of that 
 name, were shown to us, just as they are described by Irving. 
 The superb chamber known as the Hall of the Ambassadors, 
 although stripped of its vases and all other loose ornaments, 
 rebukes with its mutilated magnificence the vandalism of its 
 despoilers. This saloon contains nine alcoves, in one of which 
 the throne was placed. The views of the old city, the Vega, 
 and the distant mountains from the arched windows of this 
 chamber are said to have elicited, as we may well believe, the 
 exclamatory admiration of Charles V. 
 
 A passage with iron gratings leads from the great tower of 
 Comares to the whispering gallery and the Moorish baths, — 
 apartments which have been miscalled the prison of Boabdil's 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 351 
 
 queen. Over the halls and grottos of the baths is a suite of 
 rooms, with Spanish decorations, which were fitted up in 
 1526 for the beautiful Elizabeth of Parma and her maids. 
 Irving tells a delightful story of the manner in which he dis- 
 covered these rooms and took up his abode therein. The 
 locality was his favorite haunt, and his pen loved to dwell 
 upon its unique aspects and romantic associations. There were 
 two lofty rooms, he says, speaking of his chosen apartments, 
 with an outward prospect towards the Generalife and its em- 
 bowered terraces, and looking inward upon the bewitching 
 little court and garden of Lindaraxa, with its Oriental foun- 
 tain of alabaster and its thickets of roses and myrtles, of 
 citrons and oranges. " The garden of Lindaraxa was still 
 adorned with flowers; the fountain still presented its crystal 
 mirror." And such is the case to this day. 
 
 The best view which the Alhambra affords is that from its 
 tower known as the Torre de la Vela, so called because, upon its 
 silver-toned bell, at regular intervals during the night, signals 
 were struck to the Moorish irrigators in the Vega. This tower, 
 rising upon the outmost extremity of the Alhambra promon- 
 tory, surveys a superb panorama, with the city directly below, 
 the garden-like, mountain-fringed Vega beyond it, and the 
 snowy sierra in the background. History and legend vie with 
 Nature in giving interest to this scene. The luxuriant valley, 
 twenty-five miles wide and thirty long, is dotted with villages 
 and checkered with fields of variegated green, through which 
 the flashing Xenil, descending from its parent glacier on the 
 Sierra Nevada, courses like a silver riband. Far to the south- 
 west rises a rounded spur of the Alpuxarras, on the summit 
 of which, as the old custodian of the tower endeavors to ex- 
 plain, Boabdil sighed and wept his last adieu to his kingdom 
 and to this Eden planted by his people. " You do well," ex- 
 claimed the haughty mother of the fallen prince, " to weep 
 like a woman over what vou could not defend as a man." 
 
352 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 An inscription on the Torre cle la Vela records that the 
 Christian flag was first hoisted over the Alhambra on January 
 2, 1492, after seven hundred and seventy-seven years of Moorish 
 occupancy in Spain. On the anniversary of the surrender the 
 bell on the tower is rung, and the Alhambra is visited by 
 crowds of peasants, with whom it is a favorite superstition that 
 the maiden who strikes the bell is sure of a husband, and a 
 good one if the stroke is sufficiently vigorous. 
 
 In the old Romanesque cathedral, which we look down upon 
 from the tower, lie entombed the mortal remains of Ferdinand 
 and Isabella. The vault is reached by descent through a trap- 
 door, which an attendant reveals by removing a carpet. The 
 metallic coffins are plain and much indented, but have never, 
 we are assured, been rifled or disturbed. The letter F desig- 
 nates that- of Ferdinand, "the wisest king that ever ruled in 
 Spain ;" the letter I that of Isabel, " the queen of earthly 
 queens." The crypt is a simple one, far less grand than that 
 of the Escorial, but not so gloomy in its associations. No 
 epoch in Spanish history suggested by that splendid pantheon 
 is worthy of so much pride as that of which these unpreten- 
 tious shrines remind us. 
 
 In the time of the Moors the city of Granada had a popu- 
 lation, it is said, of half a million souls ; now it has about 
 seventy thousand. Much of its architecture shows traces of 
 Moorish origin, but there is little such which has not been so 
 modernized as to have lost its original character. Of the sup- 
 pressed convents in the suburbs, several of which were once 
 possessed of great wealth, the most important is the Carthusian, 
 founded upon an estate which was the gift of the Grand Cap- 
 tain, Gonsalvo de Cordova. The solitary sacristan who con- 
 ducts the visitor around this deserted and lonely establishment, 
 displays with great pride its numerous treasures, among which 
 are some rare and costly agates, splendid marbles, and no end 
 of inlaid work in ebony, tortoise-shell, and mother-of-pearl. 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 353 
 
 Among the paintings which the convent possesses are some 
 revolting representations of alleged persecutions and tortures 
 of the Carthusians in England by Henry "VIII. Most of 
 these paintings are very inferior as works of art, but in one of 
 them the artist has performed the singular feat in foreshorten- 
 ing of making a pair of horses appear to be moving straight 
 from the spectator, whether the picture is viewed from the right, 
 left, or front. 
 
 The bull-ring of Granada is a huge, roofless amphitheatre, 
 built of wood, capable of seating about twenty thousand per- 
 sons. Coming upon it by accident in the course of our mean- 
 derings, we were conducted through it by an attendant. In 
 the stables were a number of wretched-looking steeds, aged 
 and raw-boned as Don Quixote's Rosinante, yet considered 
 good enough to be slain by doughty bulls for the amusement 
 of the gentle dames and spirited young dons of Granada. On 
 the stockade surrounding the arena were great streaks and 
 blotches of blood, which had spurted from the wounded ani- 
 mals in various combats. While these were being pointed out 
 to us it was stated as an interesting fact, incident to the noble 
 practice of bull-fighting, that a horse would sometimes have 
 the strength and pluck to continue in the fight to the finish, 
 although its sides might be ripped open by an infuriated bull, 
 and its entrails trailing on the ground and dangling about 
 its feet. 
 
 We were then conducted to the chambers where the mata- 
 dores dressed themselves, and where were kept the trappings 
 for ornamenting the horses, and the apparatus for provoking the 
 bulls. Among the articles of the latter sort were long poles 
 with sharp spikes in the end, masks, dummy horses, and vari- 
 ous other devices and instruments of torture cunningly adapted 
 to arouse the wrath of a peaceably-disposed bull, and convert 
 him into an infuriated demon. In one of the rooms, impro- 
 vised as a chapel, there were crucifixes and other pious para- 
 x 30* 
 
354 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 phernalia, by which the last offices of the church might, in 
 case of sudden emergency, be administered to a mortally- 
 wounded matadore, so that his gentle spirit might not take its 
 flight unshriven. There appeared to be no similar provision 
 for the bulls and horses, they being only brutes, and having 
 no souls. 
 
 Since 1873 direct railway communication has been complete 
 between Granada and Seville. Returning from Granada to 
 Bobadilla, we thence take our course through a rolling but 
 mostly open country, via Osuna and Utrera, with the peaks of 
 the sierras distantly visible. The towns on these Andalusian 
 plains, being generally of Gothic or Roman origin, have all an 
 ancient appearance, with conspicuous Moorish features. The 
 scenery, despite its somewhat worn and rather solitary aspect, 
 has a unique loveliness peculiar to Southern Spain. Nature 
 has here arranged her tones, colors, lights, and shadows with 
 infinite art. The neutral yellowish-gray of the mountains 
 serves as an advantageous foil to the positive green of the 
 plains below them. The contrast is toned down somewhat, 
 but not impaired, by delicate tints of purple, which make us 
 doubt sometimes whether it is really a mountain that we see, 
 or the cloudy semblance of one floating along the horizon. 
 The gray-green of the olive orchards accords well with the 
 purple-gray of the sierras, and the meadow-green of the fields 
 by no means breaks the harmony. The colors are not strong, 
 and neither is the light, as in the Alps, but all is gentle aud 
 dreamy, as if the dim old centuries, so many of which have 
 left their human traces here, had shed upon the land something 
 of their own remoteness and mystery. A railway seems out 
 of place in such a country ; we yearn for leisurely enjoyment 
 of that fine frenzy of romantic reverie whioh only such a cli- 
 mate and such scenery can produce. 
 
 As we approach the Guadalquivir we enter one of the most 
 fertile districts in Spain, celebrated from ancient times until 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 355 
 
 now for its oil and olives. Here the aloe flourishes, and the 
 cactus, often planted in the form of a hedge, to serve as 
 fencing, reaches an extraordinary height. The palm-tree and 
 the parasol pine, sure indicators of a warm climate, grow 
 spontaneously. 
 
 Seville, the metropolis of this valley and of Andalusia, had 
 its origin with the Phoenicians, but afterwards became a Gothic 
 capital, and passed successively under the dominion of the 
 Carthaginians, Romans, and Moors. Life in Seville is much 
 after the manner of that in Naples. While winter does not 
 come with any of its hard lines, the long, hot summers pro- 
 mote indolence. The noontide hours, when all who can do so 
 seek refuge from the midsummer heat, are the most tranquil 
 of the twenty-four. Trading and shopping are mostly done 
 after sundown, from which time until midnight the streets are 
 full of gayety and life. The most fashionable evening drive 
 and promenade is the Alameda, a stately thoroughfare, with 
 marginal gardens and rows of palms and pomegranate-trees, 
 along the left bank of the Guadalquivir. 
 
 One of the sober phases of Sevillian life is seen at the 
 government tobacco factory. This enormous establishment 
 employs about six thousand women and girls. It manu- 
 factures cigars, cigarettes, snuff, and cut tobacco for the 
 Spanish market, using chiefly the Cuban and North American 
 leaf. The women are paid for their work by the piece, re- 
 ceiving from four to six reals (eighteen to twenty-seven cents) 
 per day. They are permitted to come to the factory from 7 
 until 10 o'clock A.M., and may remain until 8 P.M. They 
 must all reside outside of the government premises, which are 
 surrounded by a moat and kept under strict military guard, to 
 prevent smuggling. No schools or hospitals are provided for 
 the employes, of whom most are very ignorant, and some 
 immoral. Not more than one in a hundred can read. The 
 majority of them are young, but some are middle-aged, some 
 
356 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 very old, and some yet children of tender years. Many 
 mothers bring with them their babes, which are seen coddled 
 in cradles, or crowing amid the tobacco leaves on the work- 
 tables. Beside these tables, on one vast, unpartitioned floor, 
 the workers sit in groups of fifteen or twenty. Most of the 
 women are true Spaniards in appearance, with tawny skin and 
 eyes black as coal. Beauty is exceptional among them, 
 although a few are quite handsome. It is a wonder that any 
 of them can retain the color of health, sitting, as they do, from 
 day to day, amid such fumes of nicotine. Some of the girls 
 wore roses in their black hair, and I noticed one pale little 
 maid who kept a bunch of flowers amid the tobacco on the 
 table before her. 
 
 The name of Seville cannot be mentioned without brino-in^ 
 to mind its great cathedral, which, while it preserves the ex- 
 terior form of the Moorish mosque which once occupied its 
 site, in its interior is a sublime specimen of Gothic art, impos- 
 ing alike by the vastness and perfection of its proportions. Its 
 painted windows, the work of Flemish artists, are among the 
 finest specimens extant of deep, harmonious color enriched by 
 the lapse of centuries. The grand central aisle is a majestic 
 Gothic arch, springing aloft in such captivating lines as to 
 carry with it the very soul of the beholder in its ambitious 
 flight. On either side are two minor aisles, and also a series 
 of chapels. Under the floor, near the main entrance, Colon, 
 the son and biographer of Columbus, lies buried. A plain 
 marble slab, carved with an epitaph and two quaint ships, 
 marks the spot. In the chapter library, an adjoining build- 
 ing, some manuscripts in the handwriting of Columbus, and 
 some rude maps drawn by him, are shown. These documents 
 were prepared by the great explorer while in prison, to answer 
 the accusations of the Inquisition. 
 
 One of the most important relics which the cathedral pos- 
 sesses is an image of the Virgin, said to have been presented 
 
THROUGH ANDALUSIA. 357 
 
 to St. Ferdinand by St. Louis of France. It is called The 
 Virgin of the Kings. The image, which is of life-size, is 
 kept behind a screen, and only exhibited by special request. 
 It is made of wood, wears a crown and hair of gold, and is 
 seated on a throne of silver. A small pecuniary reward in- 
 duced the attendants to draw aside the screen, and permit me 
 to behold this wonderful effigy. The exhibitors reverently 
 turned away their faces, scarcely venturing to glance at an 
 object so sacred, but I must confess that, divested of its purely 
 religious claim to respect, its appearance was not awe-inspiring. 
 
 The treasures of the church, deposited in the sacristy, are 
 of immense value. Among them is a portable silver altar, to 
 carry which requires the services of twenty men. Massive sil- 
 ver candelabra accompany the altar ; also a superb monstrance, 
 dating from 1587, which is considered one of the finest speci- 
 mens of the silversmith's art ever executed in Spain. The 
 sacristy contains, among other precious articles of special in- 
 terest, an agate chalice, the rock-crystal cup of St. Ferdinand, 
 a fine Gothic cross of 1530, a gold censer, a Gothic Lignum 
 Crucis, a cross made from the first gold brought by Columbus 
 from America, and a splendid monstrance studded with twelve 
 hundred gems. Among the relics are shown a sliver from the 
 Crown of Thorns, and the identical keys delivered to St. Ferdi- 
 nand by the Moors when they surrendered Seville. The vest- 
 ments of the priests, made of the finest fabrics, and embroidered 
 with gold, are kept in a glass cabinet devoted to that purpose. 
 
 The name of Murillo is inseparably associated with that of 
 Seville. The great artist was born here, and here, like one of 
 his own matchless beggar-boys, he passed his early youth in 
 poverty and neglect. Made an object of charity by a distant 
 relative, he learned here his first crude lessons in art, and here 
 he afterwards executed most of his celebrated works. Yet 
 Seville possesses but twenty-four of his paintings, besides two 
 or three in the cathedral. They are hung upon the dull, taste- 
 
358 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 less walls of a suppressed monastery, now used as a museum, 
 and are among the least meritorious of his productions. Let 
 us turn from them to that which is more interesting and beau- 
 tiful, — the story of his life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 bartolome esteban murillo. 
 
 Spanish art is a child of adverse fortune. It had its origin 
 about the year 1450, when Juan Sanchez de Castro established 
 at Seville the earliest school of Spanish painting. But for 
 more than a century after that its growth was stinted, feeble, 
 and precarious. Born amid the gloom of the convent, it was 
 brought up under the iron hand of the Inquisition. Its 
 moral and intellectual habitat was a fit counterpart to the land 
 of its nativity, aptly described by Irving as, for the most part, 
 "a stern and melancholy country, with rugged mountains and 
 long, sweeping plains, destitute of trees, and indescribably 
 silent and lonesome." 
 
 To the rollicking, sensuous freedom of Dutch and Flemish 
 art the art of Spain was a stranger. No genial Venetian 
 skies warmed and vivified it with their generous golden radi- 
 ance. All its surroundings were austere and monastic. For- 
 bidden to taste the bright fountains of classic inspiration, it 
 was held to the strictest chastity and sobriety. Alike in sacred 
 and profane things it was subject to the vigilant and jealous 
 censorship of both church and state. Under such influences 
 and restraints it grew up austere, devout, and sombre. Cramped 
 in its sphere and its aspirations, its development was slow, and 
 for more than a century its results, with few exceptions, were 
 indifferent and capricious. 
 
A MODERN MOORISH TYFE. 
 AlCIERS. 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 359 
 
 The first important stimulus to healthy aud vigorous growth 
 in Spanish art came from Italy. That stimulus began to be 
 felt just at the period when Spain had reached the climax of 
 her political aggrandizement under Charles V. At that time 
 Diirer and Da Vinci had accomplished their work, Holbein was 
 in the meridian of his career, and Raphael, Michael Angelo, 
 and Titian were enriching and astonishing the world with the 
 products of their genius. Enamoured with the work of Titian, 
 Charles V. made him a pensioner and count palatine of the 
 empire, and retained him as a guest at the imperial court. The 
 emperor became known as a generous patron of art, and a 
 genuine though tardy art revival spread itself over the Pen- 
 insula. 
 
 During the reign of Philip II., whose vast dominions em- 
 braced nearly every art-producing country except the Italian 
 Peninsula, the revival thus begun was fostered and still 
 further stimulated. Titian, continuing in favor, remained at 
 court, and many other Italian artists, attracted by the liberal 
 patronage of the king and the wealthy noblemen, churches, 
 and cloisters, came to Spain. Juanes and Ribalta studied in 
 Italy, and returned accomplished in the style of Raphael; 
 Antonio Moro, a Fleming, came from Antwerp and established 
 a school of portrait-painting ; Morales, misnamed " The 
 Divine," won something more than provincial reputation by 
 his coarse and grotesque but vigorous art; Navarrete, "The 
 Mute," returning from his studies in Venice, founded the 
 school of Madrid ; Theotocopuli, " The Greek," filled the con- 
 vents with bizarre imitations of his master, Tintoretto ; and 
 Peter of Champagne, another Fleming, settled and labored at 
 Seville. Upon the works of these and numerous other artists 
 of minor reputation, and for the most part Italian by training 
 or by birth, the wealth then being drawn from the New World 
 was liberally expended in the adornment of convents, palaces, 
 and churches. The directing and vastly-predominating influ- 
 
360 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 ence in the art of the country was Italian, and the schools of 
 the Peninsula in the sixteenth century were more Italian than 
 Spanish. 
 
 It was not until the beginning of the seventeenth century 
 that Spain produced any great master of painting worthy of 
 the name. About that time a cardinal passing one day through 
 the streets of Rome observed a bright-faced youth intently 
 occupied in copyiug the frescos on the facade of a palace. 
 The young artist was dirty and ragged, and beside him lay 
 some crusts of bread which had been given him in charity. 
 His earnestness and evident poverty touched the cardinal, who 
 took him to his home, dressed him decently, and gave him a 
 position in his household. 
 
 The youth thus befriended was Jose 1 de Ribera, a native 
 of Jativa, near Valencia, Spain. A pupil in the studio of 
 Francisco Ribalta, in Valencia, this young enthusiast had been 
 captivated by the splendors of Italian art then diffusing their 
 lustre throughout Europe. Thinking only of Rome and its 
 marvels, he quitted his home and country, and made his way, 
 penniless and friendless, to the artistic and religious capital of 
 the world. With no resources but a burning desire to learn, 
 he exercised himself in making drawings of the frescos and 
 statues of public buildings, and subsisted for a time upon the 
 charity of the Roman artists, to whom he soon became known 
 by the pet name of II Spagnoletto, or " The Little Spaniard."' 
 The name thus acquired was destined to become illustrious in 
 the annals of art. A pupil of the vagrant and turbulent 
 Caravaggio, and a student of Correggio, Ribera developed a 
 style as original as his genius, and settled in Naples, where he 
 rose rapidly to fame and fortune, and became chief of the 
 Neapolitan school. But in an evil hour his beautiful and 
 favorite daughter fell into the wiles of Don Juan of Austria 
 (natural son of Charles V.), who, abusing the privileges of a 
 guest, and pretending honorable purposes, enticed her to her 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 361 
 
 ruin. Broken in spirit by this calamity, Ribera died soon 
 afterwards. His is one of the trinity of great names around 
 which clusters all that is best and greatest in Spanish art. 
 After him came Velasquez, and then Murillo. 
 
 Although he never revisited his native country, Ribera did 
 more than all who had preceded him to influence the formation 
 of the Spanish school. The reputation he had acquired caused 
 a great demand for his pictures in Spain, and drew Velasquez to 
 Italy, where that great master, whose rising fame had preceded 
 him, was received with the highest honors. Apartments were 
 assigned to him at the Vatican, where he diligently copied the 
 frescos of Michael Angelo and Raphael, although he regarded 
 Titian as the greatest of the Italian artists. Before returning 
 to Madrid, Velasquez visited all the principal art centres of 
 Italy, including Naples, where he carefully studied Ribera's 
 work, though apparently without fancying its subjects, or being 
 materially influenced by its style. 
 
 In the illustrious trinity of Spanish art the genius of 
 Velasquez, with a strong individualism all its own, was of an 
 intermediate and transition quality between that of Ribera and 
 that of Murillo. Of Ribera's master, Caravaggio, it has been 
 said that he painted like a ruffian because he was a ruffian. 
 With deep shadows and obscure backgrounds, his pictures 
 have an air of imposing mystery quite in keeping with his 
 passionate and dramatic life. Like teacher, like pupil. In 
 Ribera's work we see the legitimate product of his impetuous 
 and fiery nature moulded by his Spanish training and by 
 Caravaggio's influence. Gloomy, horrible, and frightfully 
 strong and truthful, his pictures relate mostly to martyrdoms, 
 tortures and executions. His art is the offspring and reflex 
 of Spanish life and character as they emerged, savage, ascetic, 
 and imperious, from the darkness and barbarism of the Middle 
 Ages. With a passion for the cruel and revolting, he is a 
 Michael Angelo in strength and correctness of anatomical 
 <j 31 
 
362 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 drawing. No wonder that his pupil, Salvator Rosa, who was 
 of like genius for the awful and fantastic, should have passed 
 into art history as " The Savage." 
 
 It is a relief to turn from the dismal precincts of this bloody- 
 school to the work of Velasquez. Here also we see a reflex 
 of Spain, but a vastly different one from that of Ribera. It 
 is a harsh and ascetic Spain, still haughty and half savage, but 
 chastened and restrained by reviving civilization, and tem- 
 pered by the refining influence of the Italian renaissance. It 
 does not appear that his studies in Italy produced any essential 
 change in the style of Velasquez. The influence of Rubens, 
 with whom he formed a personal acquaintance at Madrid, 
 affected him more than that of the Italian masters. But an 
 influence far more potent than any of these in giving character 
 to his work, and to all Spanish art, was that of the court and 
 the church. Ribera took his cue from the church, or, rather, 
 the Inquisition, Velasquez from the court. 
 
 King Philip IV., into whose service Velasquez was taken 
 early in his career, was himself an artist and a lover of art. 
 Yet in the enjoyment of his sovereign's partiality the master 
 was by no means wholly fortunate. As chief chamberlain to 
 the king, Velasquez was obliged to be in constant attendance 
 upon His Majesty, and it was while making arrangements for 
 the marriage of the Infanta to Louis XIV., on the famous 
 lie de la Conference, that he contracted the fever of which he 
 died. 
 
 It is pitiful to think of a genius like that of Velasquez 
 half the time absorbed with the dull and petty distractions of 
 court routine, and even in its nobler functions obliged to 
 pander to the doltish vanity of trumpery princes and grandees. 
 Moving in such a sphere, Velasquez became chiefly a portrait- 
 painter, and his subjects, mostly chosen for him by his royal 
 patron, were scarcely less unlovely than those of Ribera. The 
 members of the Austro-Spanish royal family, as Velasquez has 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 363 
 
 portrayed them, are the opposite of all that is graceful or at- 
 tractive either in person or in dress. Among the least agree- 
 able of them all was Philip himself, whose vapid, long-jawed, 
 preposterous countenance the hapless court painter was obliged 
 to reproduce over and over ad nauseam. The fashions of the 
 day were also as repugnant as possible to all enjoyable art, 
 particularly those adopted by the women, who were done up 
 in prodigious hoops and long-waisted, armor-like corsets, and 
 who seem to have particularly prided themselves on having 
 their hair twisted and frizzled into shapes of mountainous 
 deformity. 
 
 An artist busied with such material could not be expected 
 to take frequent inspiration from the sublime and beautiful in 
 out-door nature, or even from higher religious themes. There 
 could be no lofty spiritual incentive, or seeking after the ideal, 
 in the slavish routine of painting court dolls, dwarfs, and 
 dunces. Nor was there for Velasquez. He missed the ideal 
 in art, and became an embodiment of intense, energetic real- 
 ism. This, however, was probably due quite as much to nat- 
 ural choice and taste as to force of circumstances. A key to 
 the artistic nature of Velasquez is found in his disrelish for 
 Raphael.* His mind was too unimaginative, too naturalistic, 
 to appreciate the sublime Italian. But what he lacked in im- 
 agination he made up in truth and power. He is realistic, but 
 his realism, like his personality, is of the noblest quality. He 
 sought the true rather than the beautiful, and his truth is 
 gigantic. If art were solely the imitation of nature, the world 
 would not have seen a greater painter. 
 
 * Boschini says that, being asked by Salvator Kosa what he thought 
 of Kaphael, Velasquez 
 
 " Bowed his figure tall 
 And said, 
 
 4 For Raphael, to speak the truth, — 
 I always was plain-spoken from my youth, — 
 I cannot say I like his works at all.' " 
 
364 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 From the gloomy naturalism of Ribera, and the materialistic 
 realism of Velasquez, we pass to the bright and sublimated 
 ideal of Murillo. The transition is much like unto that from 
 the Inferno through the Purgatorio to the Paradiso. 
 
 Like Velasquez, whose junior he was by nineteen years, 
 Murillo was a native of Seville. He was born on New- Year's 
 Day, 1618, and received the baptismal name of Bartolome 
 Esteban. In early childhood little Bartolome gave sign of his 
 genius by scratching figures and sketches on the whitewashed 
 walls and brick floors of his father's house. His parents were 
 poor, and his youth a melancholy one, passed without education 
 or pleasure, except the happiness he found in sketching the 
 ragged, sunburnt children of the street. At length, out of 
 compassion and charity, his uncle, Juan del Castillo, a Seville 
 artist of inferior talents, took him into his studio as a pupil. 
 But Castillo could only instruct the boy in drawing, and in 
 his own cold, dry style of coloring, aud it was not long until 
 the apt scholar had learned all of art that his master knew. 
 How different this from the training of Michael Angelo 
 by the brilliant Ghirlandaio, or that of Raphael by the great 
 Leonardo's friend, Perugino ! 
 
 Castillo having removed to Cadiz, Murillo was cast upon 
 his own resources. He therefore betook himself to the pro- 
 duction of cheap images of the Virgin and the saints, which 
 he painted on wood, and offered for sale in the Thursday 
 markets. These crude paintings were eagerly bought by ex- 
 porters and ship-captains for the newly-converted population 
 of Mexico and Peru, and to this day many of them are relig- 
 iously treasured in the churches of Spanish South America. 
 
 Thus the young artist reached his twenty-third year, when, 
 by accident, a great awakening took place in his mind. Pedro 
 de Moya, who had been one of his school-fellows under Cas- 
 tillo, now returned from Flanders, where he had been taught 
 by Vandyke, and had schooled himself in the style of that 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 365 
 
 master. As soon as he saw Moya's paintings, Murillo's soul 
 was on fire. It was the revelation of a world of beauty, and 
 the dawn of splendid possibilities no glimpse of which had 
 hitherto crossed his provincial horizon. He was in an ecstasy 
 of delight and enthusiastic aspiration, and his conscious genius 
 thirsted unspeakably for training and for opportunity. But 
 he had neither money nor helpful friends. He resolved to 
 help himself. Having bought a large canvas, he cut it into 
 small pieces upon which he painted the Madonna and the 
 infant Saviour accompanied by the cherubic host and encircled 
 with garlands of flowers. These little paintings he sold at the 
 fair in Seville, and with the small sum thus obtained in his 
 pocket he set out on foot for Madrid. It seemed a pitiful 
 undertaking, but the friendless young Andalusian who thus 
 trudged away un missed and uncared for was destined to win a 
 fairer fame for himself, and confer a nobler distinction upon 
 his country, than its proudest captains had ever achieved. 
 
 At Madrid, Murillo sought Velasquez, then in the full merid- 
 ian of his fame. The great court painter, whose generous heart 
 was of like mould with his genius, received him kindly, gave 
 him instruction and the means of earning subsistence, and 
 secured for him what he chiefly sought, the opportunity to 
 study the famous Italian and Flemish paintings then hung in 
 the palace, the Escorial, and the master's studio. What hap- 
 piness, what privilege was this for the craving and expanding 
 soul newly eliminated from the little art world of a provincial 
 town ! 
 
 For two years Murillo remained at Madrid, working, copy- 
 ing, and learning under the direction of Velasquez, whose 
 generous help did not stop with encouraging him by words of 
 praise and promise, but went so far as to bring his work to 
 the favorable notice of the king. Velasquez also urged 
 Murillo to go to Rome, at the same time offering to pay all 
 his expenses, and proposing to secure for him an influential 
 
 31* 
 
366 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 acquaintance in Italy. But the simple-hearted artist felt a 
 dread of great cities and courts, and turned back to his native 
 Seville. His return, like his departure, was unnoticed, but 
 he only lacked the opportunity now to compel the world to 
 recognize his genius. The opportunity soon came. The friars 
 of the Franciscan convent at Seville desired to have some his- 
 torical pictures painted in one of the cloisters of their establish- 
 ment, but the artists of their choice hesitated to undertake the 
 work for the moderate compensation offered. The friars then 
 turned to Murillo, who accepted the commission, and executed 
 it so superbly as to create universal astonishment. At one 
 bound he reached the lofty position to which his talents en- 
 titled him, and henceforth he had no lack of orders. All 
 Seville was in raptures over his charming and original style, 
 more winning than that of Vandyke, Ribera, or Velasquez. 
 
 Quickly following this came another happy event which 
 added much both to his felicity and his usefulness. Having 
 occasion to visit Pilas, the birthplace of his mother, a short 
 distance from Seville, his eyes there fell upon Donna Beatriz 
 de Cabrera, a lady of great beauty and intelligence and con- 
 siderable fortune. The artist became enamoured with her, but 
 shrank from proposing an alliance with one so much above his 
 station. His good fortune soon made amends for his diffi- 
 dence. Being engaged to paint an altar-piece for a church in 
 Pilas, he gave to the face of an angel in his picture the faith- 
 ful semblance of the idol of his heart. Touched by this com- 
 pliment, the lady reciprocated his passion, and they were soon 
 afterwards married. 
 
 Murillo's rising fame and his attractions of person and 
 character doubtless had much to do with the making of this 
 match. The gentleness, modesty, and manliness which were 
 so conspicuous in his life are plainly read in his portraits 
 (painted by himself) which have come down to us. His 
 delicately-moulded face, deep, spiritual eyes, full brow, and 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 367 
 
 shapely head, with its " black cataract of hair" streaming down 
 upon his shoulders, must have made him, with his quiet and 
 faultless demeanor, a most lovable man to all true-hearted, 
 sensible women. 
 
 The effect of his marriage upon his art is notable. The bold 
 and vigorous style to which he had been accustomed was 
 softened, subdued, and polished, to be resumed at a later period 
 witli more vigor than ever, coupled with exquisite grace and 
 sweetness. Thus he reached the last and best of the three 
 different styles which, like Raphael, he successively adopted. 
 To the Spaniards these styles were known as the frio, calido, 
 and vaporoso, — cold, warm, and hazy. It was the latter style, 
 a suffusion of ethereal warmth and effulgence, a unity of the 
 living, breathing world with the celestial life, in which Murillo 
 most delighted, and in which he made his sublimest flights 
 into the empyrean of the ideal. In this style he painted his 
 luminous, silvery-toned annunciations, depicted the ecstasies 
 of the saints, and achieved such triumphs of light and color as 
 only Guido Keni and Correggio had previously attempted. 
 
 One of the finest examples of this third-style work is the St. 
 Anthony of Padua, which hangs in the cathedral at Seville. 
 This picture is well described in the words of Mrs. Jameson : 
 "Kneeling near a table, the shaven, brown-frocked saint is 
 surprised by a visit from the infant Jesus, — a charming, naked 
 babe, who descends in a golden flood of glory, walking the 
 bright air as if it were the earth, while around him floats and 
 hovers a company of cherubs, most of them children, forming 
 a rich garland of graceful forms and lovely faces. Gazing up 
 in rapture at this dazzling vision, St. Anthony kneels with 
 arms outstretched to receive the approaching Saviour. On a 
 table is a vase containing white lilies, the proper attribute of 
 the saint, painted with such Zeuxis-like skill that birds wan- 
 dering among the aisles have been seen attempting to perch on 
 it and peck the flowers." 
 
368 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 During the night of November 4, 1874, the figure of St. 
 Anthony was cut out of this picture and spirited away. 
 Through the efforts of the government it was afterwards dis- 
 covered in New York, while being offered for sale. It was 
 immediately returned to Seville, where it was received and 
 borne back to the cathedral by the people, with great rejoicing. 
 It has been restored with much skill to its place in the paint- 
 ing, for the protection of which the chapel where it hangs is 
 now closed by lofty iron gates securely locked, and opened for 
 the visitor only upon special solicitation. It so happened that 
 when these rusty portals were swung back for me, a devout 
 bat was chirruping joyous orisons in its place of concealment 
 behind the precious picture. 
 
 From the rapt St. Anthony of Murillo we turn naturally to 
 his beatified and glorified women. His art is the apotheosis 
 of womanhood and childhood, the idealization of their beauty 
 and perfection. Divine they are, and spiritually irradiated 
 with a glory that seems to emanate from an opened heaven, 
 yet they share our mortality and are of ourselves a part. They 
 are supernally exalted, and yet thoroughly human. It has 
 been said that the women in the streets of Rome seem to have 
 walked out of Raphael's pictures in the Vatican. His Sistine 
 Madonna is a sweet Italian girl of eighteen years, and his 
 infant Christ and St. John are ideals of Italian babyhood. In 
 like manner Murillo's types of female beauty are just such 
 brown-faced, black-eyed maidens as we now see in the streets of 
 Seville, with red roses coquettish ly hung in their raven-black 
 hair. His own beautiful daughter is said to be the original of 
 some of his finest creations of angelic and virgin loveliness. 
 His children are the very children which every traveller sees 
 in Spain. He drew not upon the distant and the strange, but 
 transformed and beautified the daily life around him. 
 
 The best study of Murillo is to be had in the Royal Museum 
 at Madrid, which contains forty-six of his works. The two 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 369 
 
 principal Madonnas hang side by side in the great central gal- 
 lery, than which the world has no grander chamber, no more 
 fit repository for such priceless gems of art. In these pictures 
 it has pleased Murillo, like Raphael, to paint the Madonna 
 young, to impart to her all the guilelessness and artless grace 
 of early womanhood. But the two pictures show a difference 
 of age, the Madonna in the one being a girl of seventeen, and 
 in the other a woman of twenty. Both are radiantly beautiful, 
 and both are expressive of the sublimest and purest ecstasy, but 
 the younger is the more intuitive and winsome ideal. No 
 artist ever drew a lovelier semblance of maiden innocence. 
 Every lineament is eloquent of purity, tenderness, and holy 
 rapture. With her hands crossed upon her breast, and her face 
 upturned in timid surprise and caught in adoring ecstasy, the 
 Virgin stands upon a crescent amid unfolding clouds, while the 
 luminous haze which surrounds her is thickly clustered with 
 cherub faces. Around her figure, which is robed in spotless 
 white, floats a loose drapery of blue, in pleasing contrast with 
 the rich golden glow which transfuses and glorifies the whole. 
 Verily, in the presence of such a work, we seem to tread on 
 sacred ground. 
 
 In the companion picture the Virgin* stands' in similar at- 
 titude amid parted clouds, her crossed hands " stilling the 
 glad tumult of her heart," and her face upturned in rapturous 
 adoration and submission, whilst amid the ambient effulgence, 
 soft and golden-hued, a host of happy cherubs are waving 
 palms and strewing myrtles and lilies. Light, coloring, 
 drapery, and transcendent beauty of face and form all combine 
 to express and emphasize the trust, the peace, the infinite bliss 
 of the transported soul. 
 
 But the crowning jewel of the conceptions, the flower and 
 
 * In painting the Virgin in this picture, the artist is said to have taken 
 his daughter as a model. 
 
 y 
 
370 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 perfect fruit of Murillo's art, is the Immaculate Conception, in 
 the Louvre. This picture, with many other precious paintings, 
 was carried off by Marshal Soult during the French invasion, 
 and at the sale of Soult's collection, iu 1852, it was bought by 
 the French government for six hundred and thirty-five thousand 
 francs. In this, as in the Madrid pictures, the Virgin, robed in 
 white, with drapery of blue, appears amid a lustrous entourage 
 of diaphanous cloud, her feet resting upon the crescent, her 
 hands meekly folded upon her bosom, and her face upturned 
 in unspeakable rapture. Around her, and bearing her aloft 
 in the golden mist, flutters a multitude of winged cherubs, 
 painted with incomparable sweetness. Nothing could exceed, 
 nothing in art has surpassed, if equalled, the pure and seraphic 
 beatitude of that adoring face. Emotionless must be the 
 heart that is not thrilled and awe-inspired in the contemplation 
 of this sublime revelation of the possibilities of heavenly ex- 
 altation to the human soul ! 
 
 It is much to say that no artist has deserved more than 
 Murillo the veneration of women. His art is the exaltation 
 of motherhood. Many beautiful Madonnas have been painted, 
 but the mother-soul belongs peculiarly to his. They are 
 celestial in their purity and beauty, but they are not super- 
 natural. His Christ-mother is a real mother, his Christ-child 
 a real child, yet both are as satisfactory to our conceptions of 
 the ideal as they are to our knowledge of the real. 
 
 One of the finest of Murillo's works of this kind is his 
 Virgin and Child, in the Dresden gallery. Beautiful in its 
 simplicity, it is the personification of divine motherhood and 
 angelic childhood, all within the range of human experience 
 and sympathy. With her lips parted and her eyes directed 
 heavenward, the Virgin, with reverent affection, embraces the 
 bright-faced child, which rests its chubby hands upon her 
 breast. The countenances are thoroughly Spanish, yet suggest 
 by that fact no anachronism, since they have that touch of 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 371 
 
 Nature which makes them kin to all the races and conditions 
 of mankind. 
 
 Resembling but not quite equalling the Dresden picture in 
 style and merit is the Virgin of the Rosary, in the Madrid 
 Museum. The rosary which the mother holds in her hand, 
 and which gives to this picture its name, is an incongruity 
 which somewhat mars its otherwise admirable effect. Murillo 
 very seldom resorts to such accessories, although so common 
 with the artists of his time. The Madrid collection also con- 
 tains an Adoration of the Shepherds, marvellous in poetic 
 grace and truth, and not excelled even by Correggio's famous 
 La Notte in its magical effects of light and color. Wrapt in 
 the same dreamy enchantment of the vaporoso style are (in the 
 same collection) two superb annunciations and a deeply-pathetic 
 picture representing the Child Redeemer — -an impersonation 
 of infantile beauty and innocence — asleep upon the cross. 
 Also glowing with the soft effulgence of this style is the 
 delightful and universally-favorite Madrid picture known as 
 The Children of the Shell, in which, with perfection of loving 
 grace and tenderness, the infant Christ presents the water of 
 life, in a shell, to the child St. John. Of like merit as an ideal 
 portraiture of childhood and motherhood is the St. Felix, of 
 the Seville collection. Of this picture, also in the vaporoso 
 style, the Spaniards say that if pricked it will bleed, and that 
 the playful and winsome child, which the venerable saint is in 
 the act of restoring to the Virgin, has been fed on roses. 
 
 But the genius of Murillo had also its realistic side, and 
 while it could thus idealize divine infancy and motherhood, 
 and the beatitudes of saints and angels, it was scarcely less 
 phenomenal in portraying the gypsy and gamin life of the 
 street. The so-called Beggar-Boys, produced by the same 
 pencil which drew the beatific conceptions at Madrid and the 
 Louvre, are the perfection of genre art. Three of these pict- 
 ures, numbered 348, 349, and 357 in the catalogue, hang in 
 
372 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 the Royal Pinacothek at Munich. Number 348 represents 
 two youthful tatterdemalions seated on the ground near a 
 basket filled with fruits, the one in the act of biting off the 
 berries from a bunch of grapes which he holds aloft ; and the 
 other devouring a melon. In Number 349 two gamins are 
 squatted on the ground, accompanied by a chipper little dog. 
 One of the boys is poking a piece of melon into his mouth, 
 and is being laughed at by the other. The third picture shows 
 two sprawling ragamuffins engaged in playing dominos, while 
 a third, standing, and accompanied by his dog, observes them, 
 and devours a piece of bread. Near the group is seen a 
 basket filled with fruits. 
 
 Nothing could surpass the life, vigor, and naturalness of 
 these pictures or their appropriateness of coloring. They are 
 as true to life and nature as it is possible for art to make them. 
 Yet Mr. Ruskin finds fault with the dusty feet of the boys, 
 and with his usual dogmatism judges and condemns Murillo 
 upon these specimens of his art. It is enough to say that the 
 same arbitrary oracle declares that Salvator Rosa and J. M. 
 W. Turner were far superior to Claude Lorraine ; that Tinto- 
 retto's huge and bewildering Paradise is " the most wonderful 
 piece of pure, manly, and masterly oil painting in the world, 
 the most precious thing that Venice possesses ;" and, to put 
 the climax upon audacious and erratic judgment, that Turner 
 is " the only perfect landscape-painter the world has ever 
 seen !" 
 
 Murillo's art, like his life, is sublime in its simplicity. It 
 is of that rare quality which conceals art. He paints as a tree 
 grows, or a bird sings, and his work, with all its surpassing 
 excellence, goes straight to the plainest understanding. He 
 had no academy training, and was for the most part self-taught ; 
 but he painted from the heart to the heart, and thereby made 
 himself, as he still remains, the most popular of all the 
 Spanish painters. 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 373 
 
 Murillo is no imitator and no mannerist. He is thoroughly 
 original. At Madrid he studied Ribera, Velasquez, Vandyke, 
 and Titian, but his style is entirely his own. It is also wholly 
 indigenous to his own people and country. He never was 
 outside of Spain. After returning from Madrid he labored 
 incessantly for thirty-seven years at Seville, producing his 
 greatest and best work after he became fifty years of age. 
 None of the enticements of court life or the flatteries of 
 power could induce him to quit his native city. One of his 
 " immaculate conceptions," which he completed at the age of 
 fifty-seven years, was borne in public procession at Madrid, 
 and created such a furor of admiration that King Philip sent 
 at once for Murillo ; but even royal solicitation could not beguile 
 him away from the pursuit of his art iu the quiet of his home. 
 He has been called the painter without ambition, and properly 
 so, for he certainly cared little for distinction for its own sake. 
 
 He was equally indifferent to the acquisition of wealth. 
 Vastly as he enriched the world by his name and works, he 
 died almost penniless. The king honored him with commis- 
 sions, and the Pope was proud to possess some of his works, 
 yet the highest price he ever received for a picture was but 
 eight hundred dollars, or less than the one hundred and fiftieth 
 part of the amount paid by the French government for his 
 Conception, in the Louvre. In 1874 his Little Shepherd, which 
 Queen Isabella had presented to Guizot, was sold at auction 
 for one hundred and twenty thousand francs. His Healing of 
 the Cripple was bought by an English collector for one hun- 
 dred and sixty thousand francs. In all civilized countries his 
 works are now considered gems of almost priceless value. 
 King Charles III. became so deeply impressed with their ex- 
 cellence that he issued a decree forbidding their export from 
 Spain ; yet, strange to say, of nearly five hundred pictures 
 which Murillo is known to have painted, only one hundred 
 and twenty-eight remain in his native country. Of the resi- 
 
 32 
 
374 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 due, London has one hundred and five, other English cities 
 one hundred and fifteen, Paris twenty-one, other French cities 
 seven, Russia twenty-four, Austria-Hungary six, Italy six, 
 the United States seven, Germany ten, Holland three, and 
 Sweden two. Forty-seven are of unknown location. Verily, 
 Murillo, like Lord Bacon, though not with the same need, has 
 bequeathed his name and memory to foreign nations and to 
 after-ages. 
 
 Modest as Murillo was, and blamelessly as he lived, he did 
 not wholly escape envy and even persecution. He was nar- 
 rowly watched by the Inquisition, and it is said that he was 
 obliged at one time to take refuge in a convent to escape pun- 
 ishment for exposing the pretty foot of one of his Virgins 
 beneath her drapery. The same restrictive surveillance may 
 account, in part, for the fact that, pre-eminent as he was in 
 his power to portray and idealize female loveliness, he has left 
 behind him no portraits of real women. The works of Velas- 
 quez, who was one of the greatest portrait-painters of his time, 
 show a similar deficiency, and probably for similar reasons. 
 The social as well as the religious customs of Spain in that 
 age obliged well-bred ladies to live in a kind of Oriental 
 seclusion, and were jealous of any form of art which might 
 mitigate its strictness. 
 
 Eleven years after his return from Madrid, Murillo under- 
 took to establish an academy of painting in his native city, 
 but was much opposed by Herrera and other artists who had 
 studied in Italy and were disinclined to be led in such an en- 
 terprise by an artist who had never quitted Spain. Neverthe- 
 less the academy gained a permanent footing, and Murillo, its 
 first president, with characteristic magnanimity, placed his 
 would-be rival, Herrera, at the head of its directorship. 
 
 Another contemporary who was loath to endure Murillo's 
 ascendancy was Castillo, a painter and poet of Cordova. 
 Coming to Seville, this artist viewed the master's works with 
 
BARTOLOME ESTEBAN MURILLO. 375 
 
 speechless astonishment. When he had recovered voice, in 
 despair of ever emulating such excellence, he exclaimed, " It 
 is all over with Castillo." He then went home and died, poet- 
 like, of melancholy and discouragement. Such, at least, is the 
 story solemnly told by various chroniclers. 
 
 Of Raphael it has been said that, beautiful as his works are, 
 none of them " surpass the perfect picture of his life." Of 
 Murillo, whose life and works bear many striking resemblances 
 to those of Raphael, the remark is equally true. So far as we 
 know, there was no serious blemish upon his character or 
 career. Victor Cousin observes that " the loftiest aim of art 
 is to arouse the sentiment of the infinite." This aim Murillo 
 diligently pursued. Like Juanes, the evangelist of Spanish 
 art, he was profoundly religious, and it has been related of 
 him that he spent part of each day in meditation before Pedro 
 Campaiia's Descent from the Cross, in a little chapel of the 
 Church of Santa Cruz. On one such occasion, when reminded 
 by the sacristan that it was time to close the church for the 
 evening, he replied, in a state of beatific abstraction, " I wait 
 until these holy persons have taken away the body of our 
 Lord." 
 
 As he lived and labored in single devotion to art, so, in one 
 sense, he became a martyr to it, for while painting the Espousals 
 of St. Catherine over the high altar of the Capuchin Convent 
 at Cadiz, he fell from the scaffolding and received injuries 
 which proved fatal. He died in April, 1682, at the age of 
 sixty-four, and was buried in the Church of Santa Cruz, in 
 Seville, beneath the picture he had so much admired. During 
 the French occupation, in 1810, the church was destroyed, and 
 the grave of Murillo, like that of Velasquez at Madrid, was 
 despoiled of its contents. 
 
 The house where he lived still stands in Seville. I found 
 it one golden vernal evening, after long pursuit through laby- 
 rinthian alleys, in a remote corner of the ancient Juderia, or 
 
376 EUROPEAN DAYS AND WAYS. 
 
 Jews' quarter. It was a plain, whitewashed, two-story build- 
 ing, with an Arabesque court, standing next to the old Moorish 
 wall. It possessed no very important or attractive feature ex- 
 cept its association with the great master who had been its 
 occupant. Little children were playing in the grass-grown 
 street near by, but except their merry voices no sound dis- 
 turbed the devout and grateful reminiscences which the place 
 awakened of the pure and splendid genius which has so em- 
 bellished this human existence with immortal beauty, and has 
 so filled the world with a light that never was on land or sea. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 
 Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 
 
 BD-T9. 
 
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