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PHYSICIAN'S VACATION ;
OR,
A SUMMER m EUROPE.
y
BY ^V ALTER CHANNING
" For so to interpose a little ease." — Milton.
BOSTON:
TIOKNOR AND FIELDS
M PCCC LVI.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
Walter Channing,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the D. strict of Massachusetts.
CAMEEIDC-E *. THOKSTON AND TORRT, PRISTERS.
CONTENTS.
Route, Page 1. Life at Sea, 2. Hotel Life, Abroad, 28. Railway, 36.
Expenses, 54. Luggage, 58. American Abroad, 68. Rank, 70.
News, 75. Paris Talk, 80. Acknowledgments, 83. Why the " Vaca-
tion," 87.
JOURNAL.
England. Leaving London, 90. CliflFs of Dover, ib. Calais, 94. St.
Omers, 100. Brussels, 106. Cologne, 111. Hamburg, 113. Ber-
lin, 122. Stettin, 137. Baltic, 153.
Russia, 159. Cronstadt, ib. St. Petersburg, 160. Churches, 174.
Admiralty, 189. Nevskoi Prospect, 181. Summer Islands, 182.
Sir James Wiley, 185. Summer Garden, 193. Bohemian Gii'ls, 195.
Samovar, ib. Moscow, 196. Incidents, 201. Prof. Fischer, 203.
Museum, 204. Kremlin, 205. Funeral, 220. Russian Restaurant,
ib. Military Hospitals, 221. Dinner at Prof. Fischer's, 225. Leave
Moscow, 227. Russian Villages, 231. St. Petersburg, return to,
231. Convent of St. Alexander Nevskoi, 232. Peterhoff, 234. The
Pilgrim, 244. Young America, 245. Hermitage, 253. Museum,
256. Alexandrosky, 258. System of Remount, 259. Military and
other Hospitals, 261 to 264. Cholera, 267. The Czar, 269. Gov-
ernment, 271. Serf, 276. Anecdote, 279. Church, 280. Censor-
ship. 281. Quas, 285. Social Life, 288. Cronstadt Visited, 292.
Denmark, 292. Copenhagen, 293. Palace, 296. Museum of Northern
Antiquities, 300. Market, ib. Museum of Thorwaldsen, 303. His
Grave, 307. St. John's Cathedral, 308. A Dinner, 310. A Drive,
314. Hospitals, 318. Soil-Culture, 322. Danish Fleet, 323.
Duchy of Holstein. Kiel, 324. Mohen, ib. Anecdote, 325. Cate-
chism, 326.
Prussia. Wittenburg, 329. Fellow Passengers, 330. Magdeburg,
331. Coethen, 332.
Saxony. Leipzic, 333. Dresden, 338. Route to Vienna, 345. Elbe,
345. Mountains, 346. Rocks, ib. Konigstein, 347.
Austria. Vienna, 352. Danube, 358. Steamer, Fellow Passengers,
362. Grain, 364. Lintz, 367. Gmoonden, 368. Ischl, 372. HoflF,
877. Salzburg, 379.
IV C0NTE2s'TS.
Bavaria. Munich, 383. Gallery, ib. Palace, 384. Basilica, 386.
St. Mary's, 387. Hall of Fame, 388.
WuBTEMBERG. Stutgarcl, 391.
Baden, 392. Heidelberg, ib. Castle, 394. University, 395. Duels,
397. Table d'llote, 400. Talk, 401. Manheim, 414.
Feankfurt on tue jNIaine, 402. Rohllers, ib. Danniker's Ariadne,
403. Goethe, 404. Lewes' Life of Goethe, 405.
Prussia. Coblentz, 406. The Rhine, 408. Ehrenbreitstein, 410.
Victoria's Seat, 411.
France. Strasbui-g, 421. Cathedral, ib. Temple of St. Thomas, 425.
Rachel, 427. Buying Wood, 428. Dogs, 429. Paris, 430. Made-
leine, 431. Champs Elysees, 433. Hospital of Invalids, 435.
National Circus, 438. American- Legation, 441. Notre Dame, 442.
Garden of Plants, 444. Louvre, 445. Military Stable, 451. Cham-
ber of Deputies, 455. Gobelins, 456. Pere la Chaise, 457.
South op France and Spain. Leave Paris, 459. Diligence, ib. Cul-
tivation, Grape, 460, 461. Forests, Button-wood, 461. Clan, 462.
Bayonne, ib. Spain and People, 463. San Sebastian, 465. Passage
of Pyrenees, 467. The Mule, 469. Post Towns, 472. Vittoria,
473. Scene with CMldren, 475. Madrid, 477. Prado, 478. Fan,
479. Palace, 481. Ancient Armoury, ib. Gallery, 482. Minera-
logical Museum, 486. Butter, 488. Water, 489. The Escorial, 491.
Philip n., 493. Casino, 497.
Return to Paris, 506. Baron Louis, 514. Dieppe, 517. Channel,
and Incidents of Voyage, 519. Newhaven, 522. London, 523.
Edmburgh, 524. Ai'darroch, 528. Highland Sunday, 529. Prof.
S 's Clinic, 532. Professional Visits, 534. Carberry Hill, 641.
Insane Asjdum, 542. Pinkie House, 544. Sunday — Church, 546.
Queen's Drive, 551. Last Day in Edinburgh, 553. Carlisle, 554.
Anecdote, ib. A Day in Manchester, 557. Leave Liverpool, 560.
Dedication, ib. Appendix, 561. Note, 563.
A PHYSICIAN^S VACATION;
A SUMMER IN EUROPE
ROUTE.
I LEFT Boston for Liverpool, you remember, early in
May, 1852, and after rest from a weary, sick voyage, I started
from London for the Continent, -- crossing the Channel
at Dover for Calais, and passing through France, Belgium,
Prussia, Mecklenburg, Hanover, Hamburg, to Stettin on
the Oder, and thence by the Baltic to Cronstadt, and by
the Neva to St. Petersburg. Moscow terminated my pro-
gress in Russia. My return was through Denmark, the
Duchies, Prussia, Saxony, Austria, Bavaria, Baden, entering
France at Strasburg, and by way of Nancy, Epernay, the
land of Champagne, — Chalons, Vitry, &c., reached Paris.
You will see, by following me on the map, that I passed up
on one side of the Continent, returning along the other,
completing the triangle by the almost straight line from
Vienna to Paris. My wanderings were not yet over. I
left Paris for the South of France, and having passed
through this exquisite portion of that noble state, I reached
Behobie, " the last crumb of France," and was at once on
the bridge which crosses the Bidasoa, which unites, or
separates, as you please, France and Spain. Here on the
banks of the Bidasoa, and on the first plank of the bridge
1
2 LIFE AT SEA.
stands the French sentinel in the national uniform, and
there on the last plank of the same bridge stands the
Spanish Sentinel in the military dress of his nation. The
middle plank of the bridge is the dividing line here of two
great nations. As I walked across it, with one foot in
France and one in Spain, the thought came with an inten-
sity of interest rarely felt before, that this almost imaginary
dividing line, and which the rapid river changed every
moment, gave geographical and political birth to two great
nations as opposite to each other in language, thought,
habit, everything, as if mighty oceans rushed between, or
the everlasting mountains separated them. After six Aveary
days and nights of almost uninterrupted travel, crossing the
Pyrenees, I reached Madrid ; then visited the Escorial, and
soon after began my return journey to France, to England,
to Scotland, to America. In how few words have I sketched
a voyage through many distant empires, of various language,
different governments, and customs, which embraced many
thousand miles of surface, and took some months for its
completion !
LIFE AT SEA.
Life at sea is a perpetual novelty. Let the landsman
go to sea when he may, it will always be new to him. It
is a fragment* of life broken off at both ends. The sea is
never in one stay. . It is motion, of sea, and ship; in the
last, of all kinds, and. in all directions. Now it is sidewaj^s.
Anon it is plunging, first bow, and then stern ; and in the
height of the madness, the ship is, as it were, taken bodily
out of its place, as if about to change sea for air, and then
with half fall, and half suction, she is drawn down into
the depths again. I shall never forget an Atlantic night-
storm many, many years ago. The ship had been for hours
describing all sorts of antics. Not one had been missed,
and nothing remained for her to do, but to sink; when
LIFE AT SEA. 3
suddenly slie became perfectly still, — as still as death.
But there was on deck infinite confusion, — riorsyinG: fallins,
ropes pulling, officers swearing, speaking trumpet in full
blast, wind roaring. What had happened I knew not.
Rejoiced was I to be at rest. I had been sea-sick for more
than twenty days, without let or hindrance, and during
this present storm, worse than ever. At last the ship stood
still, — motionless, — in the midst and presence of a terrible
gale. The felicity was short, very short. She soon began
to bang away again. The bulkheads were at their old
work, — creaking, straining, groaning, and I at once fell
into full harmony with all about me, and was the sicker for
the little rest. An officer came into the cabin. " Whxit
has happened? " said I. " Why did you not keep her still
a little longer ? I was having a beautiful time, and then
the old story came back again, motion, motion, motion, —
sick, sick, sick!" "We have been in the trough of the
sea," said the mate, " and if we had not got headway upon
her at once, we should have been off to Davy's." I em-
phatically suggested to him that, as to that, I should quite
as lief have been " off to Davy's," as where I was then
providentially sojourning. Sea life in a sailing ship is the
true sea life. There can be no mistake about this to him
who has been made captive by its terriSle power. To my
experience it is the most horrible of all lives. *' The mercy -
of the waves! " A wave never had any mercy; and as to
" bowels of compassion," this phrase means little more
than a settled purpose to swallow everything in their
way, — a ship, a man, or a whole crew, making to these
" bowels " not the smallest difference in the world. To know
what a "sailing ship" really is, just look at one from the
deck of a steamer. Observe her movements. Up she goes,
and down again. Then amuses herself and her company,
passengers especially, with a roll ; now tacks, now keeps
on, — all sorts of directions ; now sailing west to make
easting, — now north for southing, as seems to her the most
4 LIFE AT SEA.
diverting, — and now resting, by getting into the trough of
the sea, as if weary of her ridiculous antics, — and out of
the trough determined to behave worse than ever. You
cannot divest yourself of the idea that all this is the result
of a demoniacal will ; and with the Bramin's faith that
there is a spirit in everything, you feel sure she is possessed
by the very devil himself. How, when in a steamer, have I
pitied both crew and passengers of such a craft, when at
such a frolic. There are then lamentations there, and harder
things, — expressions, I fear, savouring more of strength
than of righteousness. Milton's notions of the infernal
regions seem realized aboard a sailing vessel, with a long,
tough head -storm. The whole detail of such a life is essen-
tial confusion, perpetual disorder. Bracing yards, furling,
and unfurling, springing this, breaking that, tearing into
ribbons every sail. I have been in it all. Never, never
will I try the experiment again.
For forty-seven days together have I seen and felt the
unmitigated and unmitigable horrors of a sailing ship life.
It makes me tremble, even at this safe distance, to think of
it. That first voyage, to Europe, was made in the good
ship Nancy, of at least two hundred tons burden, towards
half a century ago. What changes have been made in
ships, and their management, I know not. I speak only of
the old time, and of navigation as it then was.
But a steamer of two thousand tons, more or less, burden,
with her invisible crew of one hundred or more men, all told ;
and only heard when pulling at the ropes, in the chorus :
Cheerly, men, — clieerly, men!
And what a pleasant sound was it to hear in my waking
hours at night, for it told us that the wind was fair, and
the steam was to be helped by the sails ! I shall never
forget that low, deep, almost sad melody, coming in the
night-watches, on the fair, leading gale, telling of progress
and of safety. Then the boatswain's pipe with its clear
whistle, giving the word of command with the distinctness
LIFE AT SEA. 5
of the voice, with none of its often useless noise. Then
the assurance of daily progress. To be sure of this, only
look at the compass, — but speak not to the man at the
wheel, — and, if going to England, see its great capital E,
looking directly, and without wavering, to the short bow-
sprit. I never saw them out of line, though we had after
a few days' sail passed from 42° to 54° N. There was no
talk of easing her, no luffing, no wearing, no vulgar
screaming to the steersman, with a d to help it, to
keep his nose out of the binnacle, and see that he kept the
leach of that sail taught.
On, on, goes the steamer. She never goes out of her
way. She shows not the least ceremony to the waves.
She cuts through them as with a knife, and away flies the
salt sea all over her, to the top of the chimney, making the
red one white. I have seen one of these sea-frolics, this
revenge of the waves on the merciless cut- water of the boat,
when the water washed in torrents over the bows, and set
the members of the forward cabin, who were at play in their
apportionment of the deck, full knee deep in the brine, to
the no small amusement of those who escaped the ducking.
I was in the habit, when able to keep the deck, of going
forward to a seat just in front of the wheel-house, and near
enough the bow, to see how the splendid steamer made her
smooth passage through the mighty waters, throwing them
wide round her, now in the whitest livery of foam, and now
in every colour of the rainbow ; and few visions do I remem-
ber more sublime, or more beautiful. It had been rough
and drizzly for a day or two, and the wind ahead, and I sat
in my favorite seat, and looked without satiety for a long,
long time upon the broken, sparkling, solemn sea. Sir
, a fellow passenger, came and sat down by me.
We were for a time silent. He at length spoke, and asked
me if I remembered certain lines in Homer which describe
the sea in a storm. I said no ; when he poured forth in
Greek, sounds, which were the echo of the very scene before
1*
6 LIFE AT SEA.
US. I cannot let this opportunity pass without a word of
grateful memory of this scholar and gentleman. His uniform
courtesy, his simple, but highly gentleman-like manners,
Ms kindness when the weakness of sea-sickness made it not
easy for me to stand, his varied learning, his knowledge and
love of art, his recollections of S^ ain (which it was my pur-
pose to visit), his richness of memory, and the facility and
cheerfulness with which he brought out his treasures, all
that I saw, heard, and learned of and from this gentleman,
was cause to me to rejoice to have his company, as it now
is of the pleasant memories which the recollection of his
society always bring with it. It was my privilege, and
pleasure to make the acquaintance of Lady in the same
voyage. How often and well do I remember the long
walks ; yes, the long walks up and down the hurricane deck
of the good steamer with that lady, and with what pleasure
do the conversations recur to me. Is it not worth while to
break away from the old and the worn, — to leave one's home,
and by voyage, and by travel to find a new heaven and a new
earth ; and if it should want righteousness, has it not the
great compensation of human development and action under
novel influences, placing us in new social positions in the
society of distinguished persons, unfolding to us new insti-
tutions and monuments which have become reverend by
time, and which, standing side by side with the living pres-
ent, are the great argument of human growth ; and promise,
and prophecy of uninterrupted progression ?
One of the attractions of steamboat life, is its perfect
order. This order refers especially to masses, leaving the
individual as much freedom as the circumstances in which he
is placed allow. Thus one of the great facts in this life is
eating and drinking, they making one, and its rules in regard
to number, time, or hours, are most accurately observed.
One is surprised at the number and quantity, and great at-
traction of these meals. The cuisine is perfect, going into
the minutest details, the choicest and the best, as if a great
LIFE AT SEA. 7
and richly furnished market were just round the corner, and
your host had paid it the first visit. AVe had every day
fresh vegetables, fruit, &c., in the finest order; the whole*
ration for the whole table every day being packed in ice,
and ready to be brought to light with every succeeding sun.
He or she must have fared miserably at home who complains
"here. Nothing is truer than the common remark, that the
worse a man or woman has lived at home, so much greater is
the dissatisfaction with what is found abroad. One looks for
a different inference. The complainer surely suffers by his ill-
placed comparisons. Our meals were daily, five. Breakfast
at eight ; lunch at one ; dinner at four ; tea at seven ; and
at ten a nondescript affair, but always welcome, of poached
eggs, welsh rabbit, sardines, &c., with a night-cap, which
literally capped the climax. It was a great matter these
eatings and drinkings ; and the passive but abundant exer-
cise of the steamer, with the bracing air, insured appetite,
and a good digestion to wait upon it. Then other exercises,
walking, running, hopping, shuffleboard, &c. &c., aided the
stomach labour. These were active amusements. We had
beside, passive occupations, as reading, writing, backgam-
mon, drafts, chess, cards, and much of day and evening
were devoted to these. Walking was named among the
business of the day. Of this the amount was prodigious.
Parties, a lady and gentleman, the younger especially,
walked up and down the long deck, passing and repassing,
with as glowing, living complexions, as if sentiment and the
strong sea-breeze had conspired in their manufacture. It
was whispered that impressions were sometimes made more
than skin deep during these walks. With what truth I cannot
say. This rapid foot exercise aided the steamer in the great
work of quieting, and disposing of the luxurious meals so
rapidly succeeding each other. There was one meal, if the
word be not a misnomer, which was quite by itself, which
seemed to me a supererogation. Whenever I was well
enough to be out of my bed, I was on deck, and being an
8 LIFE AT SEA.
early riser, I was among the earliest astir. Often I found Sir
on deck before me. The meal which was new to
me, was a preparation for breakfast. Let me premise that
as I have made many voyages, it may be supposed that the
following experience was general. It was not at all so.
Between seven and eight, some six or more persons of quite
mature age were to be seen on deck, and they, the stoutest
and most healthful looking of the whole company. After
the morning salutation, it was always proposed to take
something for an appetite, and odd and even, settled whose
lot it was of the party to pay for the general meal or drink.
When this was over, the party disappeared by stairs which
led to saloon and office.
In pleasant evenings, the ladies and gentlemen assembled
under an awning, and there, with singing and talking, the
stupid shore etiquette and its miserable conventions being
quite dispensed with, they entertained each other with story,
song, anecdote, personal experience, and what not, without
*' galling the kibe," or doing other than giving each other
pleasure. I shall long remember these experiences of
steamboat life, and not willingly forget those who con-
tributed to them. We took in at Halifax a number of
young gentlemen, of the army and navy, going home on a
visit, and, among other pleasures, to enjoy the Derby. They
were the pleasantest men in the world. Full of life and
fun, ready for the latest novelty, and daily and hourly task-
ing their wits for something better than the last. I shall
remember these shipmates, their perpetual good humour, and
their ever ready good sense. Being a medical man, one
matter among my sea life experiences has especially interested
me. It is the benefit so frequently (not universally) ob-
served to result from sea voyages to invalids. They have
been long ill, shut up within doors, it may be, confined to
bed, and doctored and nursed to very little salutary pur-
pose. Such persons hardly touch the steamer before they
begin to feel better. I have known one who had been in
JOURNAL. 9
bed all winter, with, rheumatism, making daily or hourly
migrations from one joint to anothar, and giving him terrible
twinges at every stopping-place. I have known such an one
to have been most faithfully watched night and day, with
muffled bell, and light step ; in short the whole house has
been a hospital, and he the only patient in it. Spring comes !
it grows into warmth, — the grass, the bud, the flower. A
voyage is recommended. It is agreed upon. The long, and
sorely tried, and sorely left invalid, is taken on a bed to the
boat, is kindly received, and stowed away in his room.
Rare luxuries for sickness here, — to such a patient, hardly a
comfort ; noise, rushing confusion, the whole mystery of pre-
parations for all sorts of things by all sorts of means. " Is
this No. 3 ? " cries one, plunging " into our friend's narrow
quarters. "No," comes faintly forth in answer, and the
involuntary intruder rushes out as if from the cholera. The
bell ! The sharp brass cannon ring. Away drives the
steamer. My friend begins to feel as he has not felt for
months. He stretches forth his hands on each side of him,
and fixes them ; and raises himself a little. What a weight
for so much weakness ! What a lever ! What an uncertain,
slippery fulcrum ! But he does rise somewhat. Food is
next demanded, and he eats. Night comes, and he sleeps.
Such a night ! The whole winter, how little did Dover's,
how little did morphine, how little did anything ! He
w'akes in the morning, a new man. In two or three days
he is on deck, walking with the rest, happy with all, a new
man, strong as Lucifer, — a son of the morning. Now this is
no dreaming. It is true ; all true. Thousands upon thou-
sands are they who might go and do likewise. So much
does this interest me, that sometimes I think wo might have
hospital steamers. Truly hospitable are they already. But
upon further thought, I would advise no such thing. A
part of the cures now effected by the sea, is by the entire
revolution which it brings in regard to every relation of
sickness. And a most important fact is this in the business.
10 LIFE AT SEA.
But the philosophy of the treatment, the sea-shop ? This
is in a nutshell. Unused potver is used. The power may
be at home, at hand ; but is unused, and a sick chamber
presents to it no motive. At sea, jDillows and plasters,
fomentations, and physic, quiet, noiseless rooms, maternal,
sororal, conjugal kindness, have no place there. They
have all gone by the board, or better said, are thrown over-
board. The man has been suddenly put to his trumps, or
his stumps, and go it he must, and go it he does. Unused
poiver is used. The will is at hand, and puts the machinery
in play again. The hinges may be stiff, and creak too, but
they make their own oil ; and to the utter wonderment of
the invalid, and all concerned, they soon work as well, and
as easily, as ever they did.
The order of the steamer was referred to. It was called
perfect, — the perfection of discipline. A hundred and odd
officers and crew, one hundred and fifty passengers, — a small
village. No confusion. A sailor is rarely seen except on
duty. The boatswain's pipe, — its word, — the harmonious
action. The engine-room was a never failing scene of pleas-
ure to me. The vast apparatus for motion, itself stationary ;
the variety of its parts, a complication without confusion ;
the beauty of finish, and the noiselessness of its activity, —
its energy, — made me a frequent visitor to this room.
My occasional companion was the surgeon, who to courtesy
added the interest of professional and general scientific
knowledge, and explained to me much of which otherwise
I should have been ignorant. There was one department
of the arrangement which especially interested me. I mean
the Stokers, — the men who tend at the furnaces. They were
many, and I never saw them idle. They partook, in this at
least, of the character of every other moveable part of the
mechanism. There were sixteen furnaces in a row, and they
were all of them to be kept at the same temperature, so that
the motion should be as equable as possible. About fifty tons
of coal are used a day. It is brought to the room, put into
JOURNAL. 11
the furnaces, and the ashes cleared out, and thrown over-
board, each furnace consuming between three and four tons
a day. The stokers pass along the line of furnaces of in-
tense fires, constantly clearing out ashes, and throwing in
coal. The temperature in which these men work and live,
Avhen on duty, is 120° of Fahrenheit. To me it was a hot
air bath. Its effect, along with the toil, was striking.
When his short watch of two or four hours is out, the
stoker comes upon deck, reeking "svith sweat, not common
sweat, but this mixed with a large infusion of the oily
secretion of the glands of the skin. The skin absolutely
shines, while the complexion has that soft brown, or Asiatic
colour, which the admixture of sweat, oil, smoke, soot, and
light ashes would give it. The dress is a woollen shirt and
pantaloons ; the shirt bosom wide open, and sleeves strongly
turned up. Each has under the shirt a quantity of refuse
cotton from the mill, and wdth a handful of this he wipes
face, arms, and breast, as a lady might her forehead with
her fine cambric handkerchief. They now seek the very
coolest part of the steamer, between the lower edge of a
sail, if one is set, and the deck, where would be the
strongest draft, and there lying, they drink in the cool breeze.
Iced water is a favourite beverage ; and I was told that if
ice grew scarce, the passengers -would give up their use of
it for the poor stoker. I asked about their pay. It is
high ; and so is the pay of the general cvevi. I asked how
long the stoker could hold out, and learned it w^as for a few
years only. It was said their principal disease is rheuma-
tism ; but more probably it is some other, and more morbid
and permanent condition, which has for its symptoms lame-
ness, pain, and suffering.
Along with order, vigilance enters as a most important
element of steamer life. The hiost casual observation sees
with what w^atchfulness every moment of the vessel's pro-
gress is marked. The steamer left Bostm in May, in a
se^'ere uortheast storm of wind and rain. The Mayflower,
12 JOUEXAL.
which took us to the roads Avhere she lay, was crowded
with people, and luggage, the last being thrown in so much
together, as to make it an almost inextricable mass of con-
fusion. We came along side of the steamer, and then was
the tug of war, for Greek indeed met Greek. It rained
hard, and blew hard. We, men and women, and children,
and luggage, bird cages, and babies, baskets, bandboxes, and
ladies, — all sorts of antagonisms, somehow got upon the
slippery deck, and then beneath impracticable umbrellas
zealous search was made to learn who was who, and where
was any, and everything. The Mayflower and her consort
did not keep equal step up and down ; and it had been ludi-
crous, if not really so distressing, to see some of the results
to the passengers of this want of time. At length, persons
and things were jammed on board. The portion of the
high bulwark which had been removed for the admission of
passengers and their traps, was put back into its place, the
Mayflower was detached, the steam let on, crack went the
sharp brass guns, and away av^ went. I went below, my
luggage was bestowed, and after a short rest, I went on
deck, and how changed. Nothing remained to trouble one,
but wind and rain. On the bridge stood the pilot, trumpet
in hand, the helmsman was at the wheel, the watch was set,
everything for comfort and safety had been arranged, and
the good steamer took to her work with a will.
Sick, sick, sick. I had left home and country, for a time,
to Escape from the power of conventions, to drop the old,
and the deep worn, and to put on the new ; and this terrible
enemy of the landsman, sea-sickness, seemed to be making
pretty clean work of some of the conventions, and putting
a full stop to the power of any which might remain. I had
hoped that I had outgrown this strange disease, for towards
half a century had passed since my earlier experiences of
that kind. But no, 1 was as young as ever in my capacity
for the disagreeable, and " give up," was the word. In
gpme sense, I certainly obeyed the commands of the sea.
LIFE AT SEA. 13
If Othello could say, with the smallest propriety, just after
his marriage —
If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy ;
with how much more truth might not I have said the same
in that terrible passage to Halifax. At last, after a voy-
age of almost unequalled length, we reached that very
slightly beautiful city. But the steamer came to a rest.
The sickest was well almost at the same moment. We
jumped ashore, and felt we were something again. I
thought of him of old, who in a fight lost all his strength
Avhen lifted by his antagonist from the earth, but regained
it all as soon as he touched land again.
After a short delay to discharge way-passengers, and to
take in permanent ones, and coal for the voyage, we put to
sea again. There had been a lull of the wind in the shut-
in harbor. The rain had ceased, and we almost looked for
the sun. The day closed in with heavy fog, head wind, and
heavy sea. On deck was a man of years, but stout and
hearty, and well wrapped in shawl, comforter, thick sea-cap,
&c., with a don't care look at the weather, which pleased
me. We had some talk. He said he had nothing par-
ticular to keep him at home, and so had come to Halifax,
where a daughter was /living, and she wished him to make
her house his home. But he had passed one winter there,
and he was so well satisfied, or acquainted with it, that he
did not mean to try another. He was going home again,
and there he would stay. He looked as if he was the very
man for Halifax. If I had named him, I should have called
him Halifax. He had its hard, tough look, and spoke as if
a winter northwester was feeding his stout lungs. I liked
the old gentleman very much, but he retired to the forward
cabin, and I did not see him again.
We made fair progress, taking the northern course. Since
leaving Halifax, the thick fog and rain had made it impossi-
2
14 LIFE AT SEA.
ble to get an observation. We were at dinner when a cry
came from deck, Land ahead ! So distinct was the cry,
and the noise, the roar of the outpouring steam, at the
same instant, that everybody rose from table, not with a
rush, but in earnest, and made for the deck to learn Avhat
the watch's announcen en meant. I was near the door of
the saloon, and stepp'ng from the room, directly upon the
main deck, was at the bow at once. Before me rose an
object not at once made out. It was a dark, black, rounded
bluff, covered thick with fog, which gave it its colour. It
was fearfully high. The surf and the broken waves were
dashing high against the near rocks which rose like a per-
pendicular wall just before us, and with all the force of
swell, and of wind. It was said the watch had supposed,
when at a distance, that it was the spouting of a whale
which he saw. I looked down over the bow upon and into
the sea, and so clear was the water, that I saw as distinctly
as above water, the natural markings or joints of the rocks
spread out beneath. But what most impressed me was the
perfect, the motionless rest of our huge steamer. Her short
bowsprit pointed directly at, and almost touched the moun-
tain bluff before her. She seemed to me to tremble in her
great rest, so suddenly had she been stopped in the midst
and pressure of an eleven knot speed. She seemed to me
as if looking at the peril before her, and from which but an
instant before she had escaped, with a calm defiance, the
assurance of her own entire safety. Why is it that a moral
character, an intellectual nature, is sometimes seen by us to
attach to purely material things ? Is it not the natural
transfer of the power and will of man to that which he so
wisely, so nobly controls, which divests outward circum-
stance of all its power, yes, makes it tributary to the high-
est good ? Is it not man speaking in his works ? It was
but a momentary rest. The engines were again in action,
the steamer quietly receded, turned, and joyfully did we say
farewell to Cape Race ! A long time after, I accidentally
LIFE AT SEA. 15
fell in with one whose acquaintance I had made in that
voyage, and asked him about the scene just described. He
said the distance of the boat from the rocks when stopped,
was estimated at about eighteen feet, that a bowsprit of the
length of one of a sailing ship of the steamer's tonnage would
have touched the rocks ; and that the engineer, at the mo-
ment of the crj' of land, had his fingers on the valve of the
engine, which would give free course to the steam. Hence
the tremendous noise of its escape, so contemporaneous with
the cry of land.
The thought came after this escape, how it might have
been with us if it had been in the night, when in such fear-
ful proximity to this stormy cape, or if it had been a sailing
instead of a steaming vessel. Is it probable that any would
have escaped ? Here would have been between two and
three hundred to be provided for. The cape at this place
was an abutment of perpendicular rock to the sea. The
w^ater was quite deep up to the rock, so that it was said that
the steamer could have floated when against it. But how in
the deep darkness of night, the time supposed, in the con-
fusion, the rolling of the sea, could land have been reached,
or who at that spot could have climbed to it ? On each side
were rocks and shoals against which the sea was beating,
and the heavy surf dashing. To the landsman there was
seen to be no escape for us, or for any other vessel which
might strike against such a sea wall as that. The feeling
at escape got its character from the sure destruction which,
under other circumstances, might have been our lot.
In the midst of this scene of present danger, the most per-
fect order was everywhere. The captain w^as at his post on
the bridge, and saw from it the all and the whole which
was before him. His orders were given and obeyed with
an intelligence and readiness which got their characters from
the power whence they came. The commander of such a
vessel is a monarch, and must be obeyed. He is the spring
of that vast machinery of human mind and muscle out of
16 LIFE AT SEA.
the use of which is to come safety. The dress, the manner,
the whole position of such an officer give to his word true
authority. I have sometimes thought it was an advantage that,
in the English steamers, the officers have the dress of naval
officers, and have been in the service of the sovereign.
Such men are obeyed at once. They are used to command,
and the men feel their power. The history of the British
navy abounds in instances of , the results of this power under
most threatening circumstances at sea ; and which, in con-
trast with French vessels in like perils, show to the greatest
advantage. I never was so moved by the manner in which
danger was averted as at Cape Race, never felt such conscious-
ness of safety in the use of human power as at that moment.
It was the work of a moment, when thaf noble vessel was
again under weigh. We returned quietly to the saloon. The
power which had ruled the crew, was felt by us all. 'Not a
word of fear was uttered ; not a question was asked. A
nervous lady, and a nervous gentleman, might have showed
his or her infirmity. But there was not one such aboard.
I have often been impressed and oppressed, with the feeling
that this sea life is an imprisonment, and the most absolute
of its' kind. This at times has had associated with it, the
thought that escape was impossible, not only from the impris-
onment as a fact, but from every, and all things which might
occur to add to the embarrassments of such a position. But
I do not remember ever being annoyed by fear even where the
risk of life has seemed, and has been regarded, as imminent.
The thought and talk has been of preparing the boats, getting
out provisions, &c., but not of despair. I do not believe
that the history of adveliture can furnish cases of cooler
thought and nobler daring, and success too, than have been
displayed in shipwreck. Where discipline really is, it is so
habitual, so perfect, — order so emphatically perfect, in evsry
day, hour, and moment of sea life, that a commander always
feels that his men may be relied upon, and his word strictly
obeyed. The "aye, aye, Sir," of a real sailor, is a w^hole
LIFE AT SEA. 17
volume of cheerful, questionless obedience. In the steamers
in which I have made voyages, this has everywhere been
displayed. The captain, the men, and the vessel, have made
one, and the harmony of relation has been perfect.
The prison feeling declared itself most when looking from
bow, or deck, over the wide, wide sea. You felt assured that
you could not leave them for a moment to trust yourself to
the outspread waters. You are weary, tired out, with the
long confinement, and long to be again at large — " to take a
walk." This was the thing longed for by me, and the de-
mand came with a tone you must hear and understand. I
shall not forget the strong feeling which filled me when near-
ing land, — the end of the voyage. I was to leave the steamer,
or ship, and be again free. Sometimes this was said in
the- hearing of the captain, and he would express his regret
that we were so anxious to leave him. It was not to leave
him. But his ship and he were one, and to be glad to leave
her, had naturally associated with it, a desire to leave him.
In my homeward passage down the Baltic in the good
steamer Victoria, Captain Kreuger, of Hull, England, I had
felt and expressed much interest for the land. At the close
of my voyage at Copenhagen, I made it a point to offer to
that excellent officer my thanks for his constant courtesy and
kindness, — to express my regret to- leave him, and to offer
him such return as I could make, should he ever come to
America, and where I might again meet him.
Steamers, though so admirably arranged for speed and
safety, have, with all other contributions to the general and to
the individual comfort, certain incommodities which it is not
always easy to reconcile with their otherwise perfect adapta-
tions to their objects. To allude to one or two of these.
At the head stand the state-rooms for the private, personal
accommodation of passengers. There is a fatal mistake in
the construction of these. They are designed for two. In
the family relation this may be tolerated perhaps. But for
single men, — single men to be made double, — Siamese for
2*
18 LIFE AT SEA.
the voyage, — is utterly abominable. In the first place, the
state-room is almost too small for the healthy respiration —
breathing — of one full grown person. In it are two berths
or sleeping shelves, with a narrow board in front to keep the
sleeper, or the sick, from rolling out. The mattrass of course
harmonizes in width with the shelf. He who has neither
lung fever, nor pleurisy, may sleep " this side up," — and
get along pretty well ; but he who is reduced to the back,
must look out for his hips and his ribs. I have known one
or two men who could only get along by genuflection, which
answers well on Sundays ashore, but for every night in the
week, might possibly be troublesome. ' Dressing is a myste-
ry, when two men, strangers, are up in such quarters, and
■ try to dress at the same time. It is embarrassing, even after
a treaty that only one should get up at a time. Some could
only get along in putting on a coat, by opening a door, and
so thrusting an arm into the corridor; and by a jump from
the bed shelf get into their pantaloons. As to undressing,
the least done the soonest mended. For myself I make a
short toilet, for I have little to replace, for as to the night
detail, I never practised it. My custom was when I was sure
of being a few minutes alone in the day, to use them for
the elegances, as far as such things are practised at sea. I
certainly was of the slightest sect of disrobers. The favours
of sea-sickness were so liberally bestowed upon me that the
military word, " as you were," or rather, "as you are," was
conformed to by me with a respect for discipline which de-
served to be accounted admirable, and which in common
shore life I very rarely display.
Then again the sleeping shelves are one above another,
book-case like. A choice occurs which of the two shall
inhabit which. Many prefer the lowest shelf, for it is easier
under some circumstances, sea-sickness being one, to fall into,
than to climb up to, a bed ! There are reasons, however, for
choosing the upper berth. For instance, the partner of your
joys and sorrows is of great weight and size. The fear will
LIFE AT SEA. 19
come that he may break through the thin sacking and web-
bing, which separate him from you, and so become a partner
of your bed hardly to be desired. I knew a case in which
the slight man below effected a change with the stout man
above, and got great comfort by the bargain. There is an-
other reason for choosing the upper berth! Your chum
devoutly undresses when he goes above ; when he descends,
he who is below may be seriously disturbed by what may
happen ; the descender's feet or their extremities are quite
likely in the restlessness of the boat, to come in fearful
proximity with you, your face for instance, and after a man-
ner in no important sense agreeable.
Non ignara mali
Let me then advise all who are in their novitiates in sea-life
to be hooked up, — to be stowed away upon the upper shelf
of a steamer's state-room whenever he has a choice, provided
he is not to be sea-sick. He may need a ladder for his first
essay at ascension, and one may always be had for the ask-
ing-; above all things, let him have his robes on, and solemn-
ly pledge himself never to get down, till his inferior has
got up.
The true, the only decent method of arranging all this
to meet all personal emergencies, is to take a whole state-room
to one's self. No matter what the cost. Sacrifice a month
or more of foreign travel, wear old clothes, eat but one meal
a day, rather than have a fellow-citizen so near you as to
breathe half your air, and make you breathe all his ; in
short, respire at second hand, for a fortnight or more. Said
a friend once when asked to admit a man into his bed for a
single night only, in a crowded hotel, " What ! a man in my
bed ! I would sooner have a cow ! " And who looking into
the gentle, innocent face of the steamer's cow, as she puts
it out between the bars of her solitary cabin for the kind
pattings of the passer by, would not be more than half
inclined to the doctrine of my bachelor friend ? No ; I go
20 LIFE AT SEA.
for the " room to myself," and if it is to be paid for, I will
cheerfully pay for it, or stay, at home forever. As to di-
viding such a seven-hy-nine with another, I will never
again do it.
Another matter, — meals, — the table. It is the custom to
make a mess of one's friends, countrymen, &c., and for free-
dom, familiarity, sympathy, and what not. Now the theory,
the philosophy is good, but the practice is not always felici-
tous. When you have chosen your seat, put your card into
a plate, the first day out of course, you must keep it to the
last, you have got your place, and you belong to it. But
you are disagreeable to the party, or they to you. No mat-
ter. You may be disagreeable to another one ; change is not
in the order of the day. You made a mistake in your selec-
tion at first, and you must abide by it. When one goes
abroad, he does not care to stay at home at the same time.
He goes in quest of the new, — new men, and new women,
new manners, new life. Should I ever go again, I mean to
plunge head first into the whole novelty of the thing, — of
travel, — and on the very first day, " bid my native land
goodnight." The Hibernianism is pardonable.
Never select your company, then, from among your own
countrymen, if you can avoid it. You want to learn just
what they cannot teach you. I once entered a national
mess. It was large, and had in it three French people be-
side, — a lady and two gentlemen. The lady sat at my left
hand, a countryman at my right. This lady was a whole
volume of manners. Whether of France or not, she cer-
tainly spoke French. The sea, which Salmagundy says is a
marvellous sharpener of the wits, certainly performed the
vice cotis for her stomach, for a most excellent appetite had
she. She was very large, and though I never saw her eat as
freely as Garagantua was said to have done, yet the amount
was in every way worthy of note. What might have hap-
pened had the voyage been a long one, it is not for me, a fellow
passenger, to say. You fare sumptuously every day in the
LIFE AT SEA. 21
steamer. Experimentally, I can only speak for tlie Cunard
line. Than these, better boats, or more gentlemanly officers, I
never wish to meet, to sail in, or with. Everything, yes,
everything was there, and everything done which heart
could wish. But to my lady in French. She had a fine
eye for colour as her dresses witnessed, and so had she
for dishes. These, our lady accumulated around her, and
sometimes devoted to them a self-appropriation which was
noticeable. Madame was especially fond of an article
which was served with a sauce, — pickled beets. One day a
climax was reached in eating. The lady not only eat from
the dish its whole solid contents, holding it in her haiid, but
with the spoon regaled herself with the whole of the sauce,
the blood-red vinegar.
*' The force of eathig could no further go." One day,
however, a sort of retributive justice occurred in the advent of
which some silently rejoiced. Some very fine, large, yellow
apples were served. In their exodus down the table they
gave out before the whole of the company was served, the
supplies stopping just as the lady in French was reached.
This was not to be borne. It seemed to her to be utterly
impossible that she should have been so deserted in her
utmost need. But so it was. Some ladies had been quiet
in such a catastrophe. But nut so my fair neighbour. Look-
ing round, so that what the look meant could not be mis-
interpreted, she exclaimed with a concurrent emphasis,
" politesse ! politesse ! " The servant soon returned with a
fresh supply of the golden fruit, and it reached the lady
without the loss of a specimen. It went no farther.
Now here was a whole chapter of outspoken sea life, un-
der peculiar circumstances. To be sure there is a general
respect for No. 1, which may not show itself so plainly in
shore life. The general at home, becomes individual or
special at sea. If it show itself in the mess, woe to the
neighbours. But for this foreign lady-interpolation, at our
mess, what a humdrum affair the five daily meals would
22 LIFE AT SEA.
have been. There was little or no talk* We had all of
us read Bos well just before leaving the Mayflower, and
had not forgotten the great lexicographer's abjiirgation of
talking while eating. Not that he thought anything about
the chances of choking. No. His remarks of the incivility
of talking while at table till eating was done, applied wholly
to the necessary diminution of pleasure by allowing anything
to come out of the mouth while the means of such exquisite
pleasure were going in. Let me say a word or two of the
occasional selfishness of No. 1, which declares itself in
sea life. I have crossed the Atlantic four times. I have
been upon the Oder, the Baltic, the Neva, the Rhine, the
Danube, the Elbe, across the Channel, and over the roughest
of seas, the German Ocean. I have thus seen and felt some-
thing of sea life. It has its character in circumstances, as
position, character, culture, sex, age, &c. &c. Those all
influence it, or determine the phase under which it declares
itself. A lady and gentleman with six petted children, from
three to twelve, will make the five meals anything but
pleasing. I speak from knowledge. At sea there is a
temporary escape from ordinary shore rules, and in various
degrees of it, which makes sea life a thing per se, and which
to the novitiate, unless he is very sea-sick and keeps below
(which is generally the case with such, and what may inter-
fere with researches into conduct and character), is both
strange and disagreeable. On shore, social sympathy, a
convention again, which, however, nothing but fashion has
power to tread clean out from among men and women, —
pardon, ladies and gentlemen ; this social sympathy on shore,
has for the most part a healthful, active life and power,
which show themselves in a truth, beauty, and delicacy,
which at sea are not always met with. Now, a true philoso-
phy demands reasons, and explanation may be found in a
foregone conclusion with every passenger, that there are ten
chances to one that at any moment he may sink, be cast
away, or somehow find bottom, and that so, the best pos-
LIFE AT SEA. 23
sible business or occupation on ship board is eating and
drinking as much of good things provided five times a day
as is possible, to please one's self, the price being a matter
of no sort of consequence. The condemned, we are told,
sleep soundly and eat heartily the day and night before
execution. The prisoner of hope in the steamer, with Cape
Race before, and icebergs all around, and an impenetrable
fog everywhere, a prisoner indeed, and to feel condemned
to sleep soundly every night, and eat to the full five times
a day, may have reasons for taking care of himself, which
the love of the neighbour may not surmount. Who can
complain of what a generous philosophy so perfectly ex-
plains ? And say you :
" Why not eat, pray, and all you can ? What appe-
tites are got up in a ship ! Why not gratify and satisfy
them? Besides, what a lack of all occupation aboard?
But for the fine meals the saloonites would all die of sheer
ennui. This eating, like sleeping, is a grand institution,
and who at sea has not felt the equal value of both ? If
eating could be patented ! What a fortune would be made !
I defend No. 1, then, at sea. Not by philosophy, but by plain
common sense ; and I believe the man or woman who argues
against me in this, does so merely to get a chance to eat and
drink the more." I put down this argumentation just as it
was given, and confess there is something in it. Let me
give an example or two. In one of my sailing-ship voyages,
No. 1 declared itself in many ways, and in a specimen in
both sexes. We were all fellow-citizens of the Great Re-
public, — not of her of the four masts exactly, — and felt
perfectly at home, and that every body had a perfect right to
do just what he pleased. The second mate, — the hardest
worked man of the whole crew, — responsible for every-
thing, and deputed to the captain's watch to boot, — the
second mate loved onions. As he had the captain's watch,
he claimed now and then, especially at night, to have his
privileges. So he solaced these night-watches with cabin
24 LIFE AT SEA.
bread, cold junk, and uncooked onions. His partialities
were discovered, but not until he had eaten the last onion,
and the poor mate had to suffer, not the pleasures, but the
pains of memory ever after.
At another, this form of self-pleasure, eating on ship board,
declared itself in a female passenger. She daily filled her
plate with everything, approaching to a delicacy, on the
table. Her seat was just below my berth, which was on an
upper shelf of the sleeping and eating cabin arrangements.
I was very sick, and had not been below all the morning.
The lady, one stormy day, had filled her plate with all the
choicest contents of a chicken pie. There was gravy, wing,
breast, liver, upper and under crusts to match. Everything
was ready, when the good ship, in her infirmity, heartlessness,
or heedlessness, fetched a lurch of such decided expression
as to tip the lady's chair completely up, and her completely
down, in the smallest possible space ; over all was her plate
of pie, and various other moveables which the table side-guard
could not keep in place, or on its surface. Not a soul moved.
How to move or what to do in such peculiar circvmistances,
could not be settled. There lay the lady in most wretched
plight, and the more disastrous, that she could not move a
peg to help herself. She called for help, — she screamed.
She declared that her arms and legs were all of them broken,
— she should die. Nobody stirred. At length I began
to move. I was sicker than ten deaths. I looked down
from my eyrie, not as an eagle for its prey, but simply to
take an observation, and to help if I could ; and what a
sight below ! I was three tier up, and looked every moment
to be thrown by the labouring ship into the scene beneath.
I reached bottom safely, — helped the helpless, — found no
bones broken, unless the chicken bones had suffered, — be-
stowed the wovmded in her state-room hard by, and laboured
back to bed, and to a nameless stomach experience, which
certainly had not become less by my latest attempts to help
the afflicted. I was, of course, dressed, as it was my then
certainly felicitous custom to be.
liirE AT SEA. 25
But steamboat life is a splendid thing. I have known
nothing in life to be compared with it. A steamer is a thing
by itself, — so large, so grand, so fearless. One day we
took soundings. It was a sight to see, that enormous
mass stopped in mid-ocean as by her own will, and as if
resting from fatigue to leap away again with renewed power.
It was a splendid thing, that sounding at sea. How I
should rejoice to be off again in a steamer, sickness and all.
But I would have a state-room by myself. I would select
no mess of countrymen, or others. I would go far from the
saloon door, and put my name on the farthest off plate,
and run for luck for the human surroundings. I am not a
merry man, and disposed sometimes, morbidly if you please,
to keep by, and to myself. If this be indulged, when the
fit is off, I can be as cheerful, as social, not of course to say
as agreeable, as any body else. If such a man begins his day
right — if he gets out of bed with his right foot first, it is
odds but he wdll behave well all day ; and if he do no such
thing, he will, I know, always be the chiefest sufferer. Let
me in kindness, dear friend, add, — at sea always go at least
half dressed to bed.
I have spoken of sickness as an element of sea life, as a
part of its very nature. Said one who had sounded all the
depths of this terrible evil, " I cannot define it. It is inde-
finable. We know nothing of its cause. I can only say it
is sea, sea, sea."' For the most part my experience of it
was of the common order. But once the mind became
turned over as well as the stomach. The brain became dis-
ordered. I can best state what was my condition, by relat-
ing my experience. I was lying in my berth one evening, —
the light burning brightly, — too weak to feed myself or
even to think, when I saw sitting opposite to me a man with
his hat on, dressed in a drab suit, his legs crossed, and either
reading or lost in deep thought. I did not see any book.
I was not at all disturbed or surprised at seeing him. He
seemed as naturally there in his place as I was in mine.
3
26 LIFE AT SEA.
He attracted my attention as would any other person who
had in the usual way come in and had taken his seat in my
parlour. While he was there I took a tumbler of water
from the near table, and carried it very slowly to my lips.
But upon attempting to drink, the ends of my fingers and
thumb touched my mouth, while I, in the slowest possible
manner, opened my hand as if to assure myself that I had
not held in it the glass. Again. I took up an orange, and
slowly carried it to my mouth. But again was I disap-
pointed, but the disappointment, as in the case of the
tumbler of water, did not trouble me. I was exceedingly
thirsty, but still the disappearance of orange and glass
gave me no annoyance. Now there was no table in the
state-room ; there was no orange, and no tumbler of water.
There was no man, and yet the consciousness of the presence
of these, and of my having handled some of them, was as
complete as any fact of experience during my whole life. As
if however some mistake riiight exist with regard to the man
in drab, with his hat on and his crossed legs, I should have
risen from my bed and have gone and spoken to him, but
that my utter ex?.austion made this impossible. But why
not speak ? Because it was my purpose to take hold of,
or pass my hand through him. I was not asleep ; I was
not dreaming. The whole character of the phenomena con-
tradict entirely the notion of sleep. And as to its being a
dream, I know too much of the stuff that dreams are made
of to admit this idea for a moment. Dreaming has relation
to nothing. It has no permanent memory. It is thinking
with imperfect consciousness of the process, and hence im-
perfectly remembered, and for the most part made up of all
sorts of incongruities. Its parts have no relations to other
things, and are lost, dropped out of, or through the mind as
having no place in it, or in any of its operations. Now the
state I was in, in that state-room of the steamer
was one of perfect, entire, and consistent consciousness. It
is present to me to-day ; an act of memory as perfect as that
LIFE AT SEA. 27
mental action ever produces. There was tlie man, the glass
of water, the table, the orange, facts of sense, which pro-
duced corresponding related action. The harmony was com-
plete. And yet there was no man, glass, orange, or table,
and I know of no former experience which could by the
memory of them have presented such a picture to my eye,
and what I so deliberately and carefully examined. I have
written my case out at some length, because I think it is
not without interest, and it may be pleasant for you to read,
and to think of.
Sir Walter Scott, Sir David Brewster and others, have
published books about illusions which contain remarkable
instances. That of Nicholai, the celebrated Berlin book-
seller, and author of books, is a remarkable one. I met with
it many years ago in books on legal medicine, in which it is
regarded as a mental disease, in which the question of re-
sponsibility may come to be involved. Quite as remarkable
a case as that occurred in Boston some years ago. The late
Judge D was its subject. He described to me the ap-
paritions by which he was visited. They were of the dead —
his friends. They were moving about, talking to each other,
and were as happy as people could be. Some were of a
very early period of his life, and he described their dresses
and manners. " They are always pleasant," said he. " I
have no disagreeable apparitions." They continued to visit
him to his death. He knew they were appearances only.
They did not occupy space, for real persons and things were
among them, but without disturbing the apparitions at all.
His mind was as clear, as vigorous as ever it was. I have
given to you an account of my own case because of its
connection with a sickness which prostrated me almost fa-
tally. I have not met with it as a result of that disease in
any history of it. In its sudden termination it is unlike
other instances. These last have depended on some more
permanent condition of the brain, and have in some contin-
ued to recur a long time.
28 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD.
HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD.
This is almost as distinctive as is life at sea. Its charac-
teristics are perfect calmness, coolness, knowledge of sur-
faces, and happy guessings of the deeper, together with
interest enough in what is in hand to make sure that it will
be well, and acceptably done. The two things, or words,
are not the same. Things are constantly, artistically, well
done, which are not acceptable, or entirely so. We had as
lief they had been a little less well done. Attentiveness,
without excess, will express the interest referred to, provided
it embrace everything, neglect nothing. The perfect London
Hotel is entirely by itself. It has its own life. It cannot
be imitated. It has been of slow growth, coming up out
of the old, baronial period, it has brought along with it the
cheerful readiness to do what properly can be demanded of
it. The service is natural, easy, — more than enough, it
may be, to the foreigner at first, but just what it should be
when understood. The servant is perhaps the most impor-
tant part of the concern. He is the first for welcome, and
the last for farewell. You never lose sight of him, and
he never of you. He is a piece of the furniture in your
room when in it, differing from all the rest in being alive,
conscious of duty, and happy to do it. His dress is excel-
lent in its kind, and his toilet is unexceptionable. And
why should it be otherwise ? You are in your best to be
waited upon, why not he in his best to wait upon you ?
The harmony is complete, superficial indeed in itself, but in
its workings, it may be, deep enough to meet every demand,
— entire willingness to serve, and satisfaction with the
service.
Different notions exist in regard to the nature of a Hotel,
and as to what is true life in it. It is not a caravansary, as
is that in Trafalgar Square, and that other parallel one in
the Rue Rivoli. I arrived at the last at the close of a
HOTEL LIFE, ABHOAD. 29
hot day, after a most tedious ride by Rail and by Diligence.
I drove into the quadrangle, which seemed more like an
exchange than anything else, in the restless crowd of ser-
vants and travellers who filled it. To my joy the house
was as full as the square, and at a moment's drive down the
street, I found accommodation at a genuine hotel.
My hotel in London was in Jermyn Street, St. James',
and a perfect specimen in its kind. Not too large, it had
capacity for its objects, — to accommodate such a number as
could not possibly interfere with each other, and whose
return for their accommodation would amply compensate
him who furnished it. It met in all its appointments the
following definition of such a house. A somewhat rhetori-
cal classmate of mine in college had been to the opening of
a new hotel. I asked him how he liked it. "•Very much,"
said he. " It has all the privileges of a private house, and
all the immunities of an inn."' Could Johnson himself have
said better ?
From the long practice of doing for myself much of what
is often devolved upon others, a habit of self-dependence
had been formed, which made some of the detail of hotel
life embarrassing. The arrangements of the London hotel
left me literally nothing to do. The service was all that
the most fastidious could require. About the steps, and in
the hall, were always to be seen servants in their black suits,
their white neckcloths and gloves, always ready to meet the
wants of the guest. The door was opened for you by one,
you were accompanied to your room by another, your wants
and wishes inquired for. These attentions were never op-
pressive. They were just what a stranger, a guest — a
hospes — wants. The old hospital was a hotel, a place of
guests, of hospitality. The Mahometan when he was found-
ing a settlement, village, city, began by building a mosque,
a college, and a hospital. The Samaritan carried the
wounded man to an inn, a hotel, or hospital, the guests
place.
30 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD.
But the London hotel service is to be paid for. Certainly.
But sometimes, and in some countries, to be paid for where
not rendered. But that you might have as little knowledge
as possible of the demand, the " service" was charged in the
bill, and as I scarcely ever saw a bill (my courier managing
this whole matter of payment), and as in the exceptions to the
rule, I only looked for the " footings up," it almost seemed
to me that I had been gratuitously served all the time. In
the London hotel I never saw the servants sitting closely
packed into a settee in the hall, and apparently incapable of
moving, or of being moved. I have elsewhere met with such
establishments. The servants of such do little more, except
on " compulsion." A gentleman calls. " Is Mr. in ? "
" Waal, don't know, they'll tell at the bar." The dialogue
is short, and the information harmonious. Now as soon as
you know, or learn, that this is the national custom in such
relations, and more or less runs through the whole of
society, — if you know it as the native knows it, it does not
trouble you at all ; you are in fact as well served in not
being served, as if you were to receive the daily and hourly,
and cheerful courtesy of a truly managed foreign hotel.
At table are new developments of the foreign system.
You may find no tahle, table dliote, a. 'mile long, two or
three in parallel rows, vying with each other in length
and load. You take rooms, your parlour, chamber, &;c.,
and live in them, and when you go out of them, never
meet the crowds which you must encounter in the streets.
You are entirely at home in such an establishment, and as
far as home can be without a family, there is no better
under the sun than is found in such an hotel. I was once
stopping at one of these with some friends. My experience
of hotels was then nothing. I had passed much of life in a
hermit-like way, and this was a new experiment in living.
It was a great hotel. Not great because large, for it was
no such thing. It could accommodate just so many as
would by paying the largest prices secure all that such an
HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 31
institution could do for both comfort and luxury. You felt
you were not in a caravansary, 2i feeding house only, but in a
place to live in, and where living was as pleasant as it well
could be. I remember my first dinner. At breakfast a
card is brought in (a bill of fare), and a selection is made
for dinner. We are not required to eat everything which
is set down. A guest at one of our largest hotels had taken
his place at table before his companion. When he came, he
asked his friend how he was getting on. " O, very well,"
cried he. " I have eaten all through from soup to dessert,
and shall soon finish the fifty cent job," We of the
selected what we wished. The selected is to be paid for,
not the whole card. So that if you mark down one, two,
three, or twelve articles, that is your dinner. If you dine
out, you pay nothing. You are not living per day, or per
week ; but in regard to eating. Your lodgings are a per-
manent concern, and for these the price is not small.
But my first dinner. A waiter entered in black, &c.,
with a napkin across his arm. He was chief. Another
attended him with soup. The table else, except the com-
mon dinner furniture, was entirely clear. The tureen took its
place as if it knew it. We took ours with a like prescience.
The waiter removed the cover, and the napkined arm dis-
pensed the Julien. The soup removed in various ways, the
second course appeared also with two waiters. This was
served to each by the servant, nobody at table by him or
herself aiding. I was getting tired of the ceremony, and of
the extreme repose of its enacting, and ventured to help
myself to salt, when alone for a moment or two. I w^s
kindly told this was entirely against law, or custom, the
sternest law, and that I must always wait to be served. I
transgressed again, and most naturally, for in these matters
I had always been a law to myself, and was again admon-
ished. In utter despair, I at length .exclaimed, " Well, I
mean hereafter to have a servant to feed me, I will while
abroad never feed myself again." This was my first ac-
32 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD.
quaintance with despotism. It was the despotism of the
table only, you may say, but to me it was about as trouble-
some, if not as dangerous, as any other form of the same
thing could well be. It struck at living, if not life. I fell,
however, into the traces, and soon got on very comfortably.
On the continent, hotel life is perfect in its way. The
whole table (where there is a table d'hote), parlour, and
chamber arrangements, are excellent. There is system run-
ning through everything, and this system is more or less
despotic. There are servants in abundance, but always in
their places. Every article of food requiring to be carved is
in small division, and with a fork with which to help your-
self, makes the circuit of the table in constant rounds, and
yes, or no, settles the relation between guest and food.
You cannot but feel how useful, as well as how perfect, is
this order. The courses are numerous, and a very small
portion of so many is quite enough. When you have done
with anything you may have been eating, all you have to
do is quietly to stop, and at once, as by magic, the old dis-
appears, and the new succeeds. There is no interregnum
here. The king never dies. For the most part my own
rooms in the hotel served for every purpose. Sometimes
the suit was of three, always of two, connected rooms, with
every possible outside or contiguous accommodation. Where
there was no table d'hote, there was a coiTee-room, with
papers, &c. For instance, in the Hotel Brighton, Rue
Rivoli, I had three rooms, — a parlour, chamber, and dress-
ing-room. The Tuilleries Garden was directly opposite,
making to me the very pleasantest place in Paris. In my
two visits to Paris, this was my resting place. The walls of
my rooms were covered with paper hangings, and each had
many closets, but as there were no doors visible, these being
covered with the same hangings as the walls, you would not
have supposed there was a closet in the whole suit. This
was especially the case with the front rooms which I selected
at my second visit. Having one day accidently discovered
HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 33
a very small key handle projecting very slightly from the
wall, I turned it, and opened into quite a respectably sized
closet. " Upon this hint " I pursued my search, and found
as many as six or seven in one room. What could they be
for, and all of them so closely shut when the apartments
were surrendered to me. My bed in the front room was in
^ recess, with a curtain before it. It seemed to belong to
nothing else ; but at the footboard I discovered a narrow
door opening directly into a passage to the stairway. Now,
the bedstead filled the recess by its length, so that the door
opened only outwards, and if circumstances should ever
make escape, or a sudden retreat, necessary, it could be
made in the easiest manner possible, by merely stepping
over the footboard, and passing at once down stairs. The
curtain being closed, no one entering the parlour could
know what had happened behind it. The arrangements of
closets and concealed doors bordered enough upon the
mysterious to set my republican imagination at work, and
its labours amused me not a little. How easy it were to
have drugged me for instance, and locked me up in one of
these commodious closets, or done worse by me. And
how much might be made of that door at the foot of the
bed ! That these closets were examined after I left I
learned at my second visit, for having left some trifles in
one of them, I did not find them on my return, and asking
why, learned that it was the custom to clear them all out
when the rooms were left.
The merest accident brought me to the Brighton. I was
one most pleasant day on the Danube, in a steamer, and got
acquainted with an English lady and gentleman, who were
on the way with me to Saltzburg. They added much to
the agreeable of that voyage. He had lived long in India,
and from appearances had made a fortune. He was perfect-
ly courteous, with a slight infusion of the bluntness of his
race, and nation, which produced variety without the dis-
agreeable which not unfrequently goes to make it up as well
34 HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD.
at liome as abroad. The lady was altogether pleasing. She
had a handsome face, which, to me, is often more agreeable
than mere beauty, as handsomeness has more to do with
expression than with features. The expression in this ex-
ample made the attraction. She was often busy with
Murray, and was an excellent guide, and prompter to her
companions. She did not look into Murray to learn what
she was to see, but what she saw, and if there was occasion,
consulted. I abhor guide books. They give you some-
body's impressions, but disburb your own. The farther
north I went, — the further from the common tramp, — the
less I consulted these works, for when I did, the more
frequently was I annoyed by what seemed to me mere im-
pertinences. The lady sketched, and with much skill, and I
have no doubt was guilty of journalizing. At least she
made " notes by the way," Something was said about
Paris, and I made a question about hotels, and lodgings.
Mr. named the Brighton, and described and recom-
m.ended exactly the rooms which I afterwards occupied.
"But," said he, "you will be charged a round sum for
them, and you must not be in a hurry to engage them. But
the advice is useless. Men cannot make a bargain, and
always pay the asking price. The only way to travel is
with a lady. She understands the whole matter. She, of
course, knows languages. Well, we stop at a hotel. Madam
says, ' Sit still.' I obey. She lights ; goes in ; asks for
rooms ; goes up stairs ; is showed rooms ; the price r So
many francs a day. ' No, that will never do. Did not
Mrs. stop here a short time ago ? ' ' Yes.' ' A very
pleasant lady. By the way, how is the little boy of yours
who was so ill, and so much interested my friend ? ' ' Quite
well ; many thanks.' ' You said so many francs, I think.'
Reduction begins, and by the time my lady has asked all
sorts of questions, the terms have come within such con-
venient limits that the rooms are engaged. Now, you will
go to the , or the ; see the rooms, or send
HOTEL LIFE, ABROAD. 35
your courier to see them, and they will be engaged at an
enormous price, — a price never expected, — and so will as
many more who will come after you. I say always travel
with a lady."
Once, at least, in Germany, it happened to me to be sup-
posed to be accompanied by a lady. At least the house-
keeper, with her bunch of keys at her girdle, and clean
sheets across her arm, asked me if she should arrange the
beds for two, — two beds being in every room, not for single
parties, mark you. As I had no fancy to make a chamber
fellow of my courier as such, 1 could not but suppose that
my sturdy son of Denmark, for my courier was a Dane, had
been taken for a lady. What of joke or of truth there was
in the advice of my English companion, he gave it in much
spirit, and it made a pleasant passage in my way through
the Danube. The anecdote is given as received. I cer-
tainly went to the Hotel Brighton, and certainly made no
bargain as to price, and probably paid no more than if I had
attempted to alter it. There is skill in such business trans-
actions, of which endowment I plead to as small an amount
as the dullest traveller of them all. I trusted my courier
with all such diplomacies, and had faith enough in the order
to suppose I was treated as are others who trust themselves
and their affairs to such an agent. He was of mature age,
was well recommended, and was paid what he demanded
for his services. As to the Brighton, I received every atten-
tion that I could desire, and shall certainly drive directly to
it again the very next time I visit Paris. With regard to
the suggestion of my Danube companion, as to the expedi-
ency of taking a female bargain maker Avith us, I would
only say that her expenses might very possibly over balance
the saving.
I have one complaint to make of hotel life in some ex-
amples. Service is charged in the bill, — so much a day
- for servants. I have no objection to this. But as I have
been stepping into my carriage to leave for the railway, or
36 THE RAILWAY.
other conveyance, all tlie servants of the establishment have
gathered round me for remembrance. Now I know they
had all of them been paid. But there was just time to
reach the train with hard driving, and I knew well that rail-
ways, like time and tide, wait for no man. So it only re-
mained to pay again. Some travellers would perhaps have
answered in word and tone wliich would have scattered the
pleaders ; but I have not yet learned the lesson. I meant,
when leaving Paris for Madrid, to come back to the Brighton
on my return, for it was perfect in its accommodations, and
it was as well to leave just such a farewell as would secure
a welcome.
THE RAILWAY.
This is a great invention. I remember the first which
was built in America. Somewhere about 1826, Col. T. H.
Perkins of Boston, built one about two miles long to carry
granite from a quarry, in which he had interest, to the
water. These roads, and modes of their use are national.
In America, the carriages are called Cars. They are long
boxes with windows on the sides, doors at the ends, with
seats for two, each ranged on the sides, an alley- way be-
tween. These cars, or vans, will carry from twenty to fifty
passengers, more or less, each. The seats have low backs,
and for night travel are most unfit. For a stifi" necked, and
stiff backed people, they may answer well enough. The
language of railroad travel is national. " How did you
come to town ? " " In the cars." " In how many ? " asked
one. The lady only answered, " In the cars." This word
means train, convoy, or what not, the whole, whatever may
be their individual use. The cars are not locked. Passen-
gers pass at will from one to the other, whether the train be
at rest or in motion ; and terrible at times, is the attempted
passage, the person falling between the cars, or across the
THE RAILWAY. 37
rail. I was not long ago returning from a professional en-
gagement between one and two hundred miles from Boston,
and had half way reached home. The train stopped at a
station, commonly called a depot in America, when a pas-
senger rose to stop at the place. He handed to the con-
ductor his ticket, and walked towards the door. He was a
tall, large man, between sixty and seventy, and of excellent
appearance. Just as he had put his foot on the platform of
the carriage, the train was set in motion, — this started the
old man forward. I saw by his movements in the carriage
that he was infirm. Instead of turning towards the step, he
stepped directly forward. The conductor, a strong man,
seized him round the waist, and endeavoured to draw him
back, but this he found he could not do, and the weight of
the old man was dragging him directly between the cars.
He must inevitably have fallen there had he retained his
hold. He withdrew his arms, and the man fell forward,
and then laterally so as to lie directly across the rail. The
conductor sprung to the brake ; did all he could to prevent
the farther movement of the train. But he failed. For a
time, say for twenty feet the motion being slow, the old man
was pushed forward, and before the wheel nearest him.
But at length something stopped his farther progress, and
the train passed over his body, just across the hips. By
this time the train was stopped, and the old man was taken
into the station. He was alive when I reached him, but in
the agonies of death, and soon ceased to breathe. I cannot
tell you how deep was the effect of this scene upon the
travellers in the train ; how cautious were they in leaving it,
as they reached their homes. But with caution, accidents
under the present mode of entering and leaving a train will
continue to occur. Before it stops, especially at a terminus
of the railway, everybody is in motion towards the doors
at the end of the carriage. As many as can reach it are
upon the platform, and are jumping off before the train
stops. Twice have I followed others in this perilous hurry.
4
38 THE RAILWAY.
Both times I supposed the train had stopped, so noiseless
and imfelt is its movement when in the station. The first
time I was thrown w^ith almost stunning violence upon the
platform, or landing place, and far aside from the rail. The
second time was evening. The colour of the steps and
platform was the same, and my sight being poor, I did not,
and could not see whether the train was still or not. I
stepped down and was thrown lengthwise between the rail
and wheels. I lost my consciousness at once, and knew
nothing till I felt myself dragged out of my fearful position
upon the platform, and was stood upon my feet. I still
was unconscious. Gradually I saw where I was. Three men
were supporting me, and asked me if I was hurt. I soon
w'as able to answer that I w^as not, and asked what had hap-
pened to me, and learned of my fall, and of having been
dragged from death by the three men w^ho supported me.
Yes, I had been seized and pulled up as a dead animal
might have been ; it being supposed I w^as dead. I could
not at first understand them. A strange confusion held me
in doubt of everything. It seemed to me that 1 had been
dead, and suddenly had been brought to life, but w^as in-
capable of using the restored life. I believe if I had fallen
across the rail as did that old man, a short time before, and
had been killed as was he, I should have been as uncon-
scious of the change as he w^as. Said one who had saved
me, " Sir, it is not safe to get out of a car while the train is
in motion." It was said gently, and from kindness too, and
I have not forgotten it. Few things have more frequently
occurred to me when this railway experience has come to my
mind than the precise parallelism which must have existed
between my body and the rail. If an arm, a leg, any por-
tion of me had been, so to speak, out of line, it must have
been at once ground off. If my clothes or any part of them
had been caught by a wheel the, whole of my body must
have followed it. I have now told my story, almost for the
first time, and I have done so that others may escape the
THE RAILWAY. 39
terrible peril in which a too rapid movement to leave a rail-
road train placed me. On the continent, in Europe, they
lock the carriages.
Something was said about the discomfort of the American
car S3'stem. One does not care when he has left home for
something which for the time may be pleasanter, or, what is
the same thing, is thought to be so, to find his thought at
fault in every mile he may travel. The American system of
cars, brings half a hundred of one's fellow citizens into his
company without introduction, or any farther ceremony than
the buying of a ticket. It is convenient to crowd and cram
certain vans, but why the human ones should be so close an
imitation, and in more respects than one, of the others
alluded to, it is not easy to say. Next to the crowd is its
accommodation. Just step with me into a railroad car. You
need only look at the backs of the seats to learn what your
experience shall be. These backs reach some way up your
own, cutting the spine midway, or higher up, as may be the
man's or the woman's length. Now, the spine is a touchy
member, and you learn what its experience has been on the
rail by an indescribable feeling of shoulder-ache, back-ache,
fatigue, &c., which no change of place will cure or make
less. The day is hot ; dusty ; you started early ; you are
tired ; you are sleepy ; your neighbour on the seat is a very
fat lady ; has an infant six months old in arms ; and infants
must be looked to, and come what may, you must look to
them too.
If, however, you want to learn the whole luxury of our
railway travel, just take a seat, — for comfort, I should say
two, — in the afternoon Worcester express train, and come
back in the New York night train. The latter is a caution,
I assure you. The car is full. Every window is down ;
time, twelve midnight, every passenger sound asleep.
Sleep knows no law. There is a tall thin man, he has
slipped forward in falling asleep, and is caught by the neck,
the occiput, as the anatomists call it, fixing him tight. You
40 THE RAILWAY.
see his throat, — Adam's apple, — making the apex of a broad
pyramid. His arms and legs are any, and everywhere.
His face is dark, livid, and covered thick with heavy sweat.
Every breath is a snore, with certain intercallary respiratory
outbreaks, followed by rests, or arrests of sound, which
seem to be death.
Through the thick, dense atmosphere, and by the partial
light of the yellow burning lamps, you look round for a
seat. At length you find one with only one man upon it.
But he has done his best to make it comfortable to him, and
with this view he has stretched himself diagonally along its
narrow surface, leaving a doubtful triangle back and front,
for you to choose which will minister best to your own
repose. Of course you take that, the base of which is in
front, and gently do you take possession of it, well knowing
if you break its long possessor's sleep, he will be very likely
to break your bones for your pains. For two long hours
or more you industriously exert yourself to maintain a
doubtful position on the edge of a cushion, worn hard by
use, well knowing into what perils a cat-nap would surely
plunge you. There is not the least exaggeration in all this ;
this account of our car luxury, —
QuEeque ipse miserrima vidi.
Let us now see how it is with travel in England, which
boasts itself of those two high sounding and lofty meaning
words, comfort and home. It was said that rail travel is na-
tional, and so is all that pertains to it, and we have seen how
nationality in this matter declares itself in America. There
everybody travels, it having been proved that it is cheaper
to do so than to stay at home, and that the profit of the
enterprise is found in the crowding of so many together,
even though the squeezing be almost unto death. Let us
next see how it is with the country of comforts and homes.
The car, or van system is unknown there. A carriage or
coach-body is placed upon a platform, which last rests upon
THE RAILWAY. 41
wheels. There are two classes of carriages, and you are at
liberty to take your place in either. In the first class is the
extreme of luxury, and the price is harmonious. In the
second, not the smallest arrangement for comfort exists.
You find in them neither cushions nor stuffings, nor carpets.
Boards, boards, boards, are everywhere. The floors are
worn through in places, and the unwashed windows are for
anything but for admitting light. Ventilation is abundantly
secured. They say in England, that none but fools and
noblemen take the first class.
The Marquis of Waterford is one of these, but not the
other. He took the seat to which his ticket condemned
him, in a carriage totally wanting in all comforts. There
was neither stuffing, cushion, nor carpet. Boards, boards,
boards, as was just said, were everywhere. With this,
however, he experienced no dissatisfaction. But annoyances
unlooked for, soon came. Crowds of ill-dressed, dirty persons,
flocked in, with dogs, and loads of luggage, which threatened
to drive the Marquis out, or to squeeze him flat. He saw
through the whole of it. It was a wilful purpose so to an-
noy him as to drive him into a first class. This he resolved
to do battle about. And how ? At the first stopping
place he saw two colliers, or chimney sweeps, of a most foul
bearing, and from whom he learned that they were about to
take passage in a third class, for a long through journey
somewhere. He at once got two first class tickets, gave
them to his sooty brethren, and put them into one of the
most exquisitely appointed carriages of the train. The con-
ductor came up and ordered them out, and with an authority
which had its manner in its believed legitimacy. The Mar-
quis bade him to clear out, to shut up, and ordered the
strange passengers to keep in, adding for the comfort of the
conductor that he was a member of Parliament, and that he
would prosecute him and his whole road, with all the force
of law, and to the extent of his whole fortune and privilege,
if he in the least possible way or degree disturbed those first
4*
42 THE RAILWAY.
class J)assengei*s, who had tickets which secured them the
places they occupied. " NufF sed," as the phrase is. The
conductor " shut up," and the Marquis's proteges were shut
in, and doubtless had a splendid drive in di. first class, all by
themselves, and as doubtless left " their mark " upon the
exquisite drapery by which they had been all day surround-
ed. Such is the story.
You know that I am neither a nobleman, nor a member of
Parliament. So I never took a first class ticket. I began
not to do so in Liverpool, and when with some friends I
went up to London, and they, being wretchedly ailing, and
wanting the comfort, took first class, I took the second, and
sat in the same carriage with their coloured servant. It was
a most uncomfortable place, having nothing in it to minister
for a moment to one's comfort. But the voyage was made
in the day, and being rather a " slow coach " for a steam
outfit, it gave me a very good chance to see a portion of
England which I had indeed seen before, when travelling
post some years ago, but of which no one can tire. My
next experience on the English rail was in this wise. I drove
between seven and eight, P. M. to Euston Square, London,
for the train for Edinburgh, between three and four hundred
miles from London. My very heart sunk within me when
I had got into the second class. I could see its poor promise
by the surrounding lights. It was all of wood, the floor of
old wood, cracked, and abounding in holes. It was incon-
ceivably wretched in all which belonged to it. There was
a gentleman with whom I fell into talk. I found him well
informed, especially about railways and carriages. Acci-
dents he said, and fatal ones among the rest, occurred daily,
and stock quotations were low enough. Said he, " How
can we avoid collisions? We must employ the poorest en-
gineers, and our watchmen are so stupid that they do not
know a red signal from a white one, and as to the switches,
they are a mystery far beyond their comprehensions. The
roads are so unproductive that we cannot pay for good men.
THE RAILWAY. 43
There is a brancti for which so many pounds a week are
borrowed to keep it in operation." Not long after this I met
with a director at a very pleasant dinner party, and he repre-
sented the condition of the roads, of their management, and
of their want of money for their support to be quite as bad
as did my second class companion just quoted. He told
us that he also knew all about one railway in which expense
was so much beyond income, that weekly loans or advances
wei-e necessary for its support.
In due time I began to learn what second class in Eng-
land meant. The carriage began to fill, and with such
materials ! Dogs, shovels, pickaxes, all sorts of packages,
bundles, as soiled as such things ever are, with men attach-
ed. We were literally stuffed full. I appealed to the con-
ductor. He had no remedy, or would not use one for me.
There were half empty, and all empty carriages in the train,
but they were not for me. I had taken a ticket through in
Euston Square, and had taken my seat, and that seat I must
keep with all its surroundings. How heartily did I wish
that I had been half a marquis, or a whole member of Par-
liament. The member from Waterford was in my mind
every moment of this wretched experience of mine, I loved
rank. I adored privilege, and occupied the disgusting hours
with humbling conductors, and scaring railway directors
who owed office to my vote, and who could be made to feel
power. Despotisms, forsooth ! Here was a despotism
which made your bones ache, and every moment an hour of
misery. Oh, Waterford, how did I envy you ! At last the
conductor offered me something else, but nothing better.
It was a sort of private express affair, stuffed with packages
of all sorts and sizes ; in one, with ominous thick, and solid
paper, was contained iron ware ; in another, books with like
envelope, and lighter affairs of all sorts. Room was made
for me by displacing a portion of the loading, conferring on
me the pleasant office of keeping the dislocated in place.
The compensation was that I was alone with none to annoy
44 THE RAILWAY.
me, — with all sorts of ill smells, — nor drive me from my
propriety. There is nothing beneath the skies which can be
made so disagreeable to a man, or make himself so, as one
of his own species. He is a living, self-willed, nuisance.
Talk about charitable constructions ! There is no construc-
tion in it at all ; it is all offensive, all odious, and you can
make nothing else of it. It is pleasant to reach the Edin-
burgh station, and after a short drive, find yourself at rest
and comfort, in Gibbes's, Prince Street.
I left Scotland in the second class. The gentleman by
whom I had been most hospitably entertained in Edinburgh,
went with me to the station. In my carriage was a lady to
whom my friend introduced me as he said farewell. The
lady spoke first, which to a gentlemen is an assurance that
his society is not disagreeable ; that the acquaintance has
been made under pleasant circumstances. She said my
name was known to her, that she had met my brother at
Miss Joanna Baillie's, and that she was acquainted also with
Hon. , of Boston. In short I found myself
at once at home with this lady, for she knew those of my
own house, and friends who had my respect and regard.
She was an author, for her name was associated with literary
pursuits. How pleasant was the second class in this ex-
perience of it. It was in itself the best I had seen in the
United Kingdoms, and if it got its character from my dis-
tinguished companion, I was perfectly \villing to enjoy it
without questioning whence the pleasure came. A Roman
Emperor, who got the surname of Pius, said that place sig-
nifies nothing, in his own tongue — locus nihil signijicat ;
and to my thought the most pious of the succeeding times
have rarely uttered a truer saying. Mrs. — made the
plain, unfinished second class, beautiful ; and how pleasant
to me is the memory of that morning's drive. You may find
that I have spoken of English railway travel in another
place.
I landed at Newhaven, after a rough voyage from Dieppe,
THE RAILWAY. 45
late one night, or early one damp, cloudy morning. There
was a small but comfortable public, not far from the shore,
and with two or three others, I concluded to stop there the
remainder of the night. We got tea, &c., and had a nice
time. The chamber was as perfectly clean and comfortable
as in any first class hotel. An English house of this kind,
if a true specimen, smells sweet, as well as looks so. Early
in the morning I was up, and as is my wont, Avandered
about, and soon found myself upon a pebbly beach. After
an early breakfast we took the train for London. It was
the Parliament train. Though not for members of Parlia-
ment, exactly. It has a history, as well as a name. In
granting a charter to build a railway, provision is inserted
that a train night and morning shall be sent over it, at one
penny a mile charge. This is the Parliament train. It is
of course made as comfortless as possible. At times it is not
covered, let the weather be what it may. But the carriages
are all of the first class, unless there can be a distinction
without a difference. They are all exactly alike. We had
a covered train, and for a penny a mile we travelled much
more agreeably than for the two or three penny charge of
the second class in more pretentious conveyances. I said the
carriage may be uncovered. Now, in England, this is matter
of little consequence. Rain is so common, an every-day
occurrence, that the people are as little troubled about water
as a Hollander, or a duck. They are dressed for it, and the
rare sun is hardly ever so hot as to do more than dry up the
heavy fog, or the heavier rain.
I had the pleasure to pass an evening with an intelligent
man, and a director of one of the principal railroads. The
conversation fell on the condition of these roads, — of the
expenses of construction, and the amount of dividends. The
expense has been enormous. He mentioned £130,000 a
mile as the cost on one road. (?) These high prices were the
necessary results of the price of land, and he gave instances
of this which were very striking. A man bought a bit of
46 THE RAILWAY.
land for £1000. It was really of no great value. He sold
it to a railroad for £4000 a short time after. Another sold
land, and upon it was stone of some value. He not only
was paid for the land, but for every ton of stone removed for
the passage, or for the construction of the road. Then law-
yers' fees, and parliamentary expenses, were enormous. Com-
petition came in for a large share of the loss on the outlay,
and it was showed how great had been the expenses of all
parties in fruitless attempts to prevent the construction of
opposition roads. The dividends were very small. Shares
bought for £20 or £25, which cost from £30 to £50, or that
being par, were dividing two per cent, in some instances,
while in others that amount on £100 par, was all which
could be paid ; in some not only was nothing paid, but a
great loss was thereby incurred, which must ruin the con-
cern. Something must be done. The latest plan was an
amalgamation of the larger roads in one, and the amalgama-
tion of smaller ones in the same way ; and then to
increase the price of fares everywhere, and upon all kinds
of travel. This, it was thought, would lead to the pur-
chase of all the roads by government, and to the running of
them at prices which might be even less than at present.
There was one cause of the great expense of making the
roads which deserves notice. This was settling what should
be the rise of the road a mile, where extensive cuttings and
tunnelling were thought necessary. These processes were
thought by the engineers of the day to demand great sacri-
fices of money in order to secure speed. Thus, on one road,
there would be one foot rise in one hundred and forty-five,
and more. It was now proved that one in forty-five rise
would quite answer all demands for good speed. I saw a
grade of this kind, one foot in forty-five. (.'*) Then again,
committees of construction had been chosen from men who
had been long engaged in the direction of county and
other roads, as if this experience would be of any value in
building a road which had not any such resemblance to the
THE RAILWAY. 47
other as would make it at all probable that previous knowl-
edge could be brought into play. It reminded me of an
anecdote of a friend who was desirous to obtain a captaincy
in the war of 1812. It was not easy to get volunteer gen-
tlemen for the service. My friend was asked which service
he would prefer. He said the artillery ; and for the reason,
as he told me, that having been in early life an officer of a
merchant ship, he knew how to manage ropes He got his
commission, and I did not hear that he disgraced it. I speak
above of English railways as memory and notes serve.
As soon as you leave England travel gets a new face. On
the continent, as well as on the island, you travel by rail in
coaches set upon platforms. On the continent they are per-
fect in all their appointments. The second class has less re-
finement of finish than has the first, but for comfort by night
and by day there is nothing to distinguish them. The seats
are numbered and so are your tickets, and confusion about
places is prevented. I always took a seat by a door, and
as the windows are always perfectly clean, and the carriage
is high, there is an excellent chance for seeing the country.
My courier, who knew every step of the w^ay, kept me in-
formed in all matters of interest to the traveller. You are
safely locked up whenever the train is in motion, so that you
can neither jump out, nor anybody else jump in. This
prevents the death and the injury which occur so often in
America, by leaving the carriage before the train is com-
pletely at rest. As soon as it is stopped the conductors
pass rapidly along the line unlocking each door, and saying
the number of minutes the train will stop. I remember but
one accident which this locking up system most fatally com-
plicated ; this happened in a train which caught fire while in
motion. A number were burned to death. This is the
only grave occurrence on the continental roads, except a very
recent one in France, and for which the train officers im-
plicated were severely punished, both by fine and imprison-
ment. We should have heard of other instances had they
48 THE RAILWAY.
occurred. The English and American journals are, I may
say, daily, more or less occupied by reports of fatal or other
railroad occurrences, which, it is as often asserted, were
wholly " accidental," or " without fault," or any species of
neglect on the part of anybody connected with the road.
The arrangements for safety of passengers on railways on
the continent of Europe are admirable. In the first place
speed is not an essential element in these arrangements.
You go quietly and pleasantly along with the enjoyment
which the whole leisure and independence of travel can
afford. You are in no hurry. You are not racing to get
somewhere to pay a note before *' grace " expires. The
telegraph will do all this for you " without your stir." You
can see everything " by the way," without producing a creak
in your neck, and if you wish you may make a note of what
you see. In other words, travel is wholly agreeable, ■ —
not merely the stopping places, the cities to which you are
bound, — but the getting there has in every inch and moment
of it something for sight and for thought. One thing only
can mar the pleasure of the road. It is eating full meals by
the way. This is fatal to pleasure travel. The work of diges-
tion is as much as a man can do under the circumstances, and
to add to it motion of any kind makes both the function and
yourself as uncomfortable as they well can be. And then
the time allowed to dine is so wholly disproportionate to the
time necessary for eating, that your food goes bolted, and
bolt-like into your stomach, to stop there, and weigh there,
much longer than is consistent either with physical or moral
comfort, — the intellectual is wholly out of the question.
Wherever you stop in the season for travel, the railway
platform is covered with neatly dressed girls, with sparkling
cold water, lemonade, ice cream, strawberries, cherries, or
later fruits and flowers, — everything, in short, for refresh-
ment, even luxury, and the sous, the grochen, or the kreitzer,
cannot be better paid, or give more pleasure to buyer or
seller. Is it not a beautiful " refreshment house," this fine
THE RAILWAY. 49
open air, this liglit, this beautiful sky ? And then how wel-
come the smiles and the offerings of these happy children !
For ninety successive days of travel and stops, such scenes
were mine, for there was not a rainy or stormy day in them
all. I met at Leipsic some friends whom I had left in Lon-
don, and who had been to Holland in preference to Russia,
and who told me that for about thirty days they had been
blessed with rain every day.
Then the arrangements for safety. These are as perfect
as are the carriages, first and second class, for comfort. Sen-
tinels are near to each other ; so near that with the extra
English speed, you would hardly be out of sight of them.
These persons are stationed with short batons, or flag-staffs,
which rest against the shoulder as are muskets at drill, until
the train has gone clear by. In the portion of France which
lies between Calais and Belgium, women are the watchmen.
Their military bearing, and unbloomer costume, made them
objects of remark. Everywhere else were men in a uni-
form, always at their post in front of the sentry-box, ready
to give notice to stop or to go.
Wherever a common road opens upon a railway, is a gate,
and near by a lodge, and a watchman. At a certain hour,
corresponding to the known time of the starting of a train,
and its approach, the gate is closed. There is no waiting
till a train be in sight or at hand, as in America. A certain
time is fixed for shutting it, and the law is obeyed. How
did I learn this ? Thus : As you approach a gate, you see
by the array of carriages of all kinds drawn up on the com-
mon road, that the gate for stopping their crossing has been
closed for some time, and in this way are accidents effec-
tually prevented. How simple the means. How important
the results. I had not been home long before a very de-
structive and fatal accident occurred on a road in which I
had some interest. It occurred to me if some special notice
were taken of this destruction of life and property, by the
stockholders, and more effectual means were adopted for
5
50 THE RAILWAY.
preventing a recurrence of the like, the public confidence
would be increased, and a deeper sense of the responsible-
ness of railway directors produced. With this feeling I
addressed a note, stating some of the facts which had come
to my knowledge of railway management abroad, and ask-
ing if a meeting of the stockholders might not be called.
I must have violated some law of railroad courtesy, for no
notice was taken of my communication, — not even an
acknowledgment was made of its receipt. I had presumed
on the " Reserved Rights " of the Republic to petition, and
in this found an apology for my note. Mais n'importe, as
the phrase is ; though I did regret that the President did
not return my note ; for it probably contained some facts
which might have served me since. My regret, however,
was probably misplaced.
■ Let me say a word here about railway travel in Russia.
I began with the American system, in the far off western
world. It is in place to speak of the Russian, or of that
which terminated my wanderings in the eastern world.
You may be surprised to learn how exactly the two systems
resemble each other. But your surprise will cease when
you learn that, in Russia as well as in America, the railways
are built and managed by Americans. The cars on the St.
Petersburg and Moscow road are made on the same prin-
ciple as are those on the American roads. There are some
differences between them, as there are in those of different
States here. As this long Russian road is alone, — as there
are no rival ones, — as they are under the control of a gov-
ernment which always acts to make life secure, by reaching
to the minutiee of living in the widest acceptation of the
word, personal safety, as far as human means may be em-
ployed in its service, is wholly provided for. There are
no collisions. There are none of the other accidents, which
place life and limb in such terrible peril elsewhere. The
time in which a passage is to be made, or the speed, is
settled by law, and the penalties for its violation, prevent
THE RAILWAY. 51
its occurrence. The time is about twenty-four hours, and
the shortest possible stops are allowed. The travelling
habits of the Russians, which make good arrangements for
comfortable sleep at night, compensate for the American
style of seats in the cars. I was told, that by Express,
the time is shortened to thirteen hours or ten, — that the
Archduchess had recently passed over the road in that
time. The Emperor built the road. When one enters the
station he takes off his hat, and remains uncovered, as he
would in any other house of his Majesty, or of any other
gentleman. It is not a forced courtesy in Russia ; this is
part of a system, and the hardship, if any, is only to the
uninformed, the stranger. You are not admitted into the
Hermitage in a frock, or undress coat. It is a slight evil,
a very small price, to get ready admittance into one of the
finest palaces in the world, and to collections in Art unsur-
passed anywhere. It is, — a small tax for all this, — to put
on a dress coat ; and he who will not pay it, had better stay
at home.
Being a traveller, a stranger, and having some eccentric
tendencies, and which time has not entirely worn away, I
followed my bent fearlessly abroad. At home, you know,
especially in , some attention to appearances, — rather
vague things, — is demanded of the citizen. Being out of
school, I did as do other truants. I had reached Kiel in
my way to Hamburg, and took a third class ticket. I
looked for no luxuries, and found none. My courier en-
deavoured to persuade me not to do so strange a thing, —
that there were only paysants, as he called them, in the
_third class, — that dirt, and harmonious smells abounded,
&c., &c. I thought he was speaking one word for me, and
two for himself, and suggested silence. My English ex-
periences had case-hardened me. So in we got. But what
a place. No seats, or only fragments of such. A crowd of
Danes, in all sorts of costumes, and all smoking for dear
life, as if to keep off contagion. The floor was perilous,
52 THE RAILWAY.
and ominous holes were in roof and sides. You never saw
such accommodations for " man or beast." But who could
complain ? I had been forewarned, and had to take it. To
Hamburg was a few hours only by rail, and the new phases
of humanity by the way paid well for short inconveniences.
Kuskin, in the third volume of his admirable " Modern
Painters," has the following on Railways :
** No changing of place at a hundred miles an hour, nor making of
stuflfe a thousand yards in a minute, will make us one whit stronger,
happier, or wiser. There was always more in the world than men
could see, walked they ever so slowly; they will see it no better for
going fast. And they will at last, and soon too, find out that their
grand inventions for conquering (as they think) space and time, do, in
reality, conquer nothing; for space and time are, in their essence, un-
conquerable, and besides did not want any sort of conquering; they
wanted using. A fool always wants to shorten space and time; a wise
man wants to lengthen both. A fool wants to kill space and time ; a
wise man, first to gain them, and then animate them. Your railroad,
when you come to understand it, is only a device for making the world
smaller; and as to be able to talk from place to place, that is, indeed,
well and convenient; but suppose you have, originally, nothing to say.
"VVe shall be obliged at last to confess, what we should long ago have
known, that the really precious things are thought and sight, not pace.
It does a bullet no good to go fast; and a man, if he be truly a man,
no harm to go slow; for his glory is not at all in going, but in being."
Amer. Edit. pp. 908, 909.
You enter Russia with a promise of good behaviour,
specifying exactly the days, weeks, or months, you mean to
stay. But suppose you wish to leave St. Petersburg, which
is a department, or government, in order to go to another.
You cannot leave without special permission, having with
no small trouble got your passports, and paid full price for
them. Thus, when I went to Moscow I was obliged to go
through this wearisome, and somewhat expensive ceremony,
and when I was to return to St. Petersburg, I was obliged
to do the same. I was told by a public functionary, whose
office frequently, I may say daily, called him from one de-
partment to another, that he was required always to get
THE RAILWAY. 53
passports before he could change or go from one place to
another. The most powerful noble cannot go on foreign
travel without first getting a license, which costs $500 or
more, and without licenses for each member of his family,
servants and all, at somewhat less price. When I left
St. Petersburg for Denmark, on my way to Paris, I was a
bearer of despatches to Mr. Rives, with a courier's pass.
This oflfice enabled me to leave without the smallest police
delay, and without paying any fees. I underscore courier's
pass, for without this, though you have despatches, you get
not the smallest accommodation from your public office.
My impression is, that the railways of the continent are
in some way under the control of government, and that it
was to this fact their safety and appointments are to be
ascribed. I know that when in Austria I got into some
trouble with a conductor, that my appeal for redress was
made to the Bureau of the great northern road in Vienna.
The line of steamers between Prussia and Russia, from the
Oder to St. Petersburg, is owned by the Czar, and the
King of Prussia, his brother-in-law. The name of the
boat in which I took passage was the Prussian Princess.
The two royal proprietors divide the profits, and I was told
that the lion's share fell to the Prussian King. I came
down the Baltic in a British steamer, named the Victoria,
which is owned by a company in Hull. The Great Britain
railways are private property, owned by companies, by
whom dividends are thought to be useful accidents. So are
they private property in America, in which country divi-
dends are eminently accidents. And without departing
from the gravity of the subject, are not other accidents, as
collisions, &c., &c., to be ascribed to the same causes, the
lesser responsibleness of private corporate property, and
the greater importance of dividends to their ow^ners, than
attaches to national investments ? If there be not govern-
ment ownership of foreign railways, is not government
control among the causes of the safety alluded to ? We
5*
54 EXPENSES OF THATEL.
are told that corporations have no souls. Very well. Why-
then trust to them the lives and bodies of men ? Give to
money corporations all sorts of banking and insurance
powers and trusts. The money may be stolen or wasted.
But it is never lost. It will come up again in new, and it
may be better forms, or uses. But it is not so with men
killed upon the railway. In this world is there no resur-
rection of the dead !
EXPENSES OF TRAVEL.
Something was said of the expenses of hotel life, and it
was stated that these correspond with the character of the
house, its situation, means, its whole general arrangements,
and daily preparation for the accommodation of its guests.
You may ask of the general cost of travel. Of this person-
ally I can say little, I am almost wholly ignorant of the
matter. I am not in any sense an economist, that is, one
who pries into his condition before a settled plan of action.
What is wanted, or desired, comes first, and then a small,
thin blue covered volume is consulted, which has the fable
of the means, and off I start. It was precisely in this way
I tore myself from what you know, I always call my den,
and left country and home. I was gone about five months,
and spent dollars; viz., what was demanded, and
without a question. I can give you no account of cost, for
I never counted it. There are the bills nicely arranged,
and a book all about them, in a drawer somewhere, which
you may examine at any time. They are in all sorts of
languages, Russian, Danish, Prussian, German, French,
Spanish, with all the &c., &c., which may be necessary for
dialects, and you will really please me a little to put them
together, add them up, and tell me the result. I have,
however, such perfect confidence in the Messrs. Baring,
Brothers & Co., that not for a moment would I disturb the
dust on their accounts ; and a like sentiment has kept me
EXPENSES OF TRAVEL. 55
from troubling the records of my business friends at borne.
I take it for granted they are all right, and if they are not,
I am positively sure that I could not be made to understand
their errors. Requiescant in pace !
I am probably quite alone in this ignorance of expenses.
The probably, is expletive. It was not used to take room,
and the error in its use deserves correction. I never loved
arithmetic, and am very happy to make the admission, and
at the same time to pay those with whom I have business
transactions the highest compliment which their questionless
knowledge of the science of numbers can lay claim to.
Others, however, who have the knowledge which I want,
have given us the results of foreign travel in its connection
with its expanses, and I hope they will pardon me for the
use I make of their reports. The author of " Eleven Weeks
in Europe," in the preface to his excellent volume, says :
" I spent eleven weeks in Europe as follows : —
" Four weeks in England.
" Two weeks in France.
" Three weeks in Switzerland.
" One week on the Rhine.
" One week in Belgium.
" The places and objects in them seen, amount to nearly
one hundred and twenty. Not only were they visited,
being in several different kingdoms, and often widely separ-
ated, but what they presented was carefully examined, and
is described, and criticized.
" The expenses of this trip (including state-rooms in
packet to Europe, and in steamship to America) were six
hundred dollars only. This includes everything for four
months, from the day I left Boston till I landed there again.
" There is nothing to excite the imagination in this state-
ment, but it may be useful, and lead others to have the
great improvement and enjoyment of a European tour, who
perhaps, now think it demands more of time or of means
than they can spare."
56 EXPENSES OF TflAVEL.
This statement is of great interest. The author speaks
of state-rooms in packet and steamer. Now taking this
literally as it stands, one cannot but be surprised at the re-
sults. A state-room in a steamer costs $180 ; in a sailing
ship, about #100, which exhausts nearly half the sum spent.
But supposing a berth to be meant, then $120 for steamer,
and $75 for packet, together with steward's fees, make
$200, leaving $4C0 for Europe. How was it that so much
was done with so small means ? Economy does not ex-
plain it, especially in the narrow and for the most part false
use of that excellent word, for the author saw everything
worth seeing, and I will venture to add, he saw more of
them, and more thoroughly too, than nine-tenths of travel-
lers do who spend thousands on the grand tour, and who
visit the Tower too. But how did he see and do all his
book records ? By skill, knowledge, fore-knowledge, true
science. He knew what he icanted to see, and saw it. Now
I honor this knowledge, while I declare myself wholly ig-
norant of the whole mystery. Nearly half a century ago, I
went to Europe, to Great Britain, and never left that small
island. 1 was gone more than a year indeed, and one of
my voyages cost me nothing, and I spent in that territorial
speck of Europe more than $2000, and when that sum would
buy of everything almost double what it will now. I went
abroad again the other day, and was absent about five
months. I took money with me, and paid the outward pas-
sage before leaving home, and had a letter of credit from
the Messrs. Baring, for £1000. I confess to have spent
some of ic ; but how much I did not know at the time, and
have not learned since ; all I do know is, that I paid my
debts. To be sure I went further than the author of the
Eleven Weeks. I went from Boston to Moscow, from Mos-
Qow to Madrid, and from Madrid came back to Boston, and
I had a courier for three months, who cost me about the
whole sum, and it may be more, than my friend paid for his
whole trip. But for the courier, I have no doubt it would
EXPENSES OF TRAVEL. S7
have cost me more than did his services. He saved me
money, and time, and care. But for him I know not what
would have become of me. Twice I was lost, for Charles
made a mistake of the trains, and I found myself alone, once
in Belgium, and once in the Grand Duchy of Wurtemburg.
If he had not come up in a succeeding train, it is odds but I
would have been to this day watching my luggage in the
station in Brussels, or in the way-station near Stutgard.
Travelling is a science. It is full of interest, but often
the hardest work a man can do. It demands consummate
skill to save money, time, strength. He that has it, can,
with my excellent friend so often alluded to, see everything,
and at a cost which his imagination may busy itself with,
but will hardly or never understand, exclaiming, " It is too
wonderful for me."
Another friend "who was absent longer than was Mr.
C , by nearly two months, told me that his expenses
were less than Mr. C.'s. I was told of another who added
economy to skill in a novel way. When he reached a place,
by water, for instance, he lived in the ship until he had
cleared his luggage, and until he had so arranged matters
that he could pass directly to his next conveyance for con-
tinued travel. The force of system could hardly farther go.
I should think such a traveller might almost go for nothing.
It were to be most useful if our friends who have so much
skill in travel, would give us their methods, state that,
and those things, by which such skill so declares itself.
Whether, for instance, they ride, drive, or walk. Change
of place demanding motion, the traveller can hardly stand,
or sit still. Then as to diet. Travellers always eat more
than is useful, or needed. The '' money's worth " strongly
pertains to the calling, and it may be, this is the explanation
of the appetite here " growing by what it feeds on."
Where there is smaller expenditure, eating may be conform-
able. Then as to the physical system. How is the
strength ? Does that too, like appetite, increase by use ?
58 LUGGAGE.
There is something to the popular mind so mysterious in
these results from the small means employed ; so much
distance accomplished in so short a time, and almost with-
out any money at all, that no one who drives in an omnibus
to Roxbury, need to give a second thought about the prac-
ticableness of foreign travel under any circumstances, and
enjoy the pleasure and profit which is so kindly held out in
the last paragraphs above quoted.
LUGGAGE.
Something was said above about luggage. This is as
serious an impediment to travellers as to armies. This to
me was a frequent annoyance, especially in parts where the
Zolverein has not been entered into, and where independent
empires are as thick as blackberries, every one of which
depends for revenue much upon the duties paid by travellers,
or rather the tricks practised on them on account of luggage.
Who can forget the annoyance of the German principalities,
practised through their customs' agents upon travellers, to
say nothing of the expense. Why these functionaries plunge
their rude fingers and hands into the mysteries of trunk,
valise, carpet-bag, &c., and bring forth " things, new and
old," clean or otherwise, with as much complacency as
did Noah open his ark door to let its various people and
things come, or be brought out. The bribe of the courier
will do something to mitigate the sufficiency of such a
search, but it is bad enough where only the least is done.
It was a caution to see the enormous trunks, or chests, of
ladies of rank and fashion, on their way to watering places,
or what not, — to see them opened, and their beautiful,
almost sublime, contents brought to light, as varied in
colour as were Sir Charles Grandison's chambers, and of
material as gorgeous as useful. How often have I seen all
these on the ample counters, tray after tray taken out, and
put down, as if the health of the mighty state depended on
LUGGAGE. 59
the character of their contents. Who can exaggerate the
value and the trouble of such possessions. The ladies
themselves were patterns of their order. They were per-
fectly quiet, and looked gently on as the masculine handling
proceeded. You instinctively honoured the German inter-
nal force in this becoming and beautiful outward expression.
He is the wisest traveller who is the least burdened. A
carpet-bag and an umbrella is luggage enough for any body.
And how happiest is he, who to this adds or enjoys that
facility of appetite which is abundantly satisfied with the
hips and haws of the wayside, gathered without stopping ;
and his thirst from the " running brooks," — finding good
and truth " in everything." Talk of the post-chaise of
the olden time, and of the first class of the latter. Why,
to our friend, legs are of almost exhaustless power, and
when wearied, find means of repaired strength in the first
field, and rest for the night under any tree.
Dr. Paris in his admirable life of Mr., afterwards Sir
Humphrey Davy, among other habits of Mr. D., describes
one which had saving of time and convenience, and comfort
for its object. Mr. Davy was often invited abroad, to dine
for instance. He kept in his private room in the Royal
Institution (at which it was my privilege often to hear him
lecture in my first residence in London) a small wardrobe
which might serve him when the time for going to an
engagement, found him with his toilet unmade. His
course now was to take off coat and vest, and put on an
unused shirt over the one in wear. This would he do until
at length he sometimes had on six shirts at once. Some-
thing of the same kind extended to Mr. Davy's personal
hosiery. Now suppose the traveller to put on six shirts at
starting, and to take one off every other day ; six would last
him the steamer's voyage. If he were very sea-sick, he
would not probably change as often, and so would be in
full dress upon reaching Liverpool, and London too, if he
went on next day. Let him take then a valise long enough
60 LUGGAGE.
to take a dress-coat doubled once, and nothing else, literally
nothing else. In some visits the dress-coat is indispensable.
If you mean to visit the Hermitage, you must have one.
Mine cost me five or six guineas in London. Watson made
it ; and I have literally not worn it a dozen times. I will
sell it to you for less than half-price. It is throughout
lined with the best silk, with the richest velvet where this
should be. No carpet-bag, umbrella, cane, &c. With the
coat, take a dress vest and under-clothes. A healthy man
never need wear flannel next the skin, or next but one. It
is a superfluity, and tends by its relaxing, enervating agency,
to produce the maladies sought to be avoided by it. Take
no dickies, the unshaven chin and neck both naturally, and
admirably, supply their place. Very distinguished men
never wear the dicky. A good stout stock may be tolerated,
if the beard be too high an auburn, for individual taste.
The rooin for shaving tools is thus saved. Other articles
of costume take too little room for special provision. You
§ow have full half your valise for accidents, — for instance,
the laundry demands. I made a great mistake in all these
matters. I took valise, carpet-bag, umbrella, and added,
abroad, a hat case and a bundle. The trouble is great, and
quite as great is the consequent expense. Your courier, if
you have one, must carry his own traps. A porter must
carry yours, and he must be paid, and for everything separ-
ately. The credit must be short. The bell, or whistle of the
train, warns you to run, and you must either " run the toll,"
a difficult thing, or pay on demand. Now to avoid infinite
trouble, the following rule may suffice : —
Get a nice, thoroughly made travelling suit of grey ;
coat, vest and pants, of the same cloth ; a fair dress suit,
and six specimens of each of other "articles, shirts, &c. A
moderate sized valise will hold the whole. A good hat and
a cap. The cap to be light and compressible, so as to be
easily accommodated in the hat, when that is in wearing.
A light, but well made silk umbrella. In the train hang
PASSPORT SYSTEM. 61
up the hat, and Avear the cap. In your travelling coat, —
a shooting jacket is its best form, — have as many pockets
as possible ; in mine were seven, and all Avere in use. A
good over-coat, or shawl, or both. At sea wear a worn
suit. At Liverpool go to the Waterloo, an excellent hotel,
and leave your clothes in a bag with your name, in care of the
old porter, Avho of course never dies, and you will get it safe
and sound when you come there again. I certainly did.
If you have a courier, be sure to stipulate as to the amount
of his luggage. They are a wandering race, and, like the
snail, carry all their clothing or covering with them. As this
pays by the pound, weight is an important matter to be
attended to at starting, or rather before finally engaging a
courier. To show you with how little luggage one may
get along, I will add that I knew a man, a man of sub-
stance, who prefers to board and lodge, than to keep house,
who literally has no other luggage or furmtiire than what
he can carry in a carpet-bag. That, and his umbrella, make
his whole stock in trade. Diogenes beat him, for he lived
in a tub, and so took his house as well as furniture about
with him.
PASSPORT SYSTEM.
This frets some American travellers dreadfully. They do
not choose to be called on half a dozen times a day, as may
chance in parts of Germany, for name, height, &c., set forth
in the passport. Now this system never troubled me, and
you see into how many empires, kingdoms, dukedoms, and
Avhat not, it was my choice to enter. It being my choice to
do so, it never fretted me to comply with the conditions.
There was some ceremony in Russia, which once required
me to stop an hour or two in a public office, and once in
Spain I was put to a little inconvenience. But except these
instances there was no trouble whatever. You reach a
6
62 PASSPOBT SYSTEM.
border town, or a new state. You deliver, or better, your
courier hands your passport to an officer who comes to re-
ceive it. You either receive it again at once, or send for it
in the morning. This is the whole story. In America
there is no passport trouble. I have heard of annoyances
which to some are quite as disagreeable to some native
travellers as is the foreign passport system to the stranger.
I speak not from experience, since my whole American
travel was to Philadelphia, nearly half a century ago, and
to Augusta in Maine, about a quarter century afterwards.
I have never been a step farther, and I do not think I shall
ever go so far again. The only annoyance of my travelled
life was in London. I went with some friends to the Alien
Office, I think then in Crown Court, Soho, and not far from
the Parliament House. It was to get my passport which
had been deposited there when I first reached London. I
got a permit to remain upon the sole condition that I should
get it renewed every three months, however inconvenient
that might be. To depart, it was necessary to get back my
deposited passport, and a permit to leave the kingdom.
Well, I reached the office, and read a notice, that " no fees
are to he paid in this ojice.'' My friends went to the table,
and having laid half a crown before the officer, were at once
showed into the interior of the establishment, and got their
" papers." I would not pay a fee. I asked to be showed
in. " Wait," said the man with a very scarlet coloured,
bristling head of hair. I applied again. " Wait," said he of
the light auburn. At length I would wait no more, and
with quick step opened a green baize door, and then two
more of the same, and found myself in a room full of clerks
at their desks. I hardly had time to demand my passport,
when he of the ante-room entered, his face redder than his
head, and in great heat, said that I had broken the rules of
the office, and out of turn had forced myself in. A d
lie, as would have ejaculated. I was forthwith
driven out of the office. I was more especially anxious to get
PASSPORT SYSTEM. 63
away, as I had a ticket from a member of Parliament to the
gallery of the House, and Henry Grattan was to speak that
night on the Reform Bill. It was important to go early to
get a good seat, and it was late in the afternoon. I heard
the speech, one of the most eloquent I had ever heard, and
which occupied the whole night's session.
As early next morning as ceremony allowed, I went to
the minister's, Mr. Pinkney, to whom Mr. Gore, his pre-
decessor, had given me a letter, and told my story. I got
a letter to Mr. Reeves, the head of the Alien Bureau. A
large letter was it, with the broad eagle on the envelope.
I next went again to Crown Court. As soon as he of the
burning head saw the address, he became an altered man.
He was as gentle as two lambs, — begged me to sit down, —
went into the office, — returned and said Mr. Reeves was in
the country, and would return Monday morning (this was
Saturday), — that everything would be ready, &;c., &c. On
Monday I went. Apologies were as thick as blackberries,
and regrets to suit. My passport was ready. It was made
out for Gravesend. Suppose, asked I, I sail from some
other port. " All you need do," was the reply, "is to let
us know by mail, and a new permit shall be sent to you."
And amidst bows I left Crown Court, Soho, forever. I
have been to London since, but did not make the Alien
Office a visit. It now belongs only to history.
You ask, how long I was detained. More than half an
hour. There was no chair in the room. It had lately
rained, and the floor was soaking wet, with deep mud to
boot. One after another came in, put down their money in
the face of the government order against fees, and were at
once showed in. I was provoked, I suppose, bat I said not
a word, except two or three times to learn if I might go in
to the office. No. I behaved very well, and deserved bet-
ter treatment.
Such has been my experience of the passport system in its
vexatious phase. On the continent it gave me not the least
64 PASSPOHT SYSTEM.
annoyance. I shall not forget Mr. Gore's letter, nor his
continued courtesy, and kindness after my return from
Europe. It is grateful to look back over so many years,
and to recollect a gentleman whose character and manners
were formed in a noble day of the republic, and who did
not lose them in the succeeding years.
ART. 65
ART
You know I have always expressed an interest in Art, as
declared in poetry, painting, sculpture, and architecture.
Abundant opportunities have occurred abroad to gratify this
interest. Art has a place in the following pages. It works
from the moral, the intellectual, the religious, just as does
literature. Art is literature teaching by example. Its
works have the same sources as do books. They differ
only in the material used, or mode of expression. Their
language, in other words, differs, but they speak equally
from and to the mind. Art is essentially re;)resentative.
Look at architecture, and we have an illustration of our
thought. A Gothic cathedral, what is it but an expression
of trains of thought, — an epic, with its beginning, middle,
and end ? It existed in the artist's, — its author's mind as
a whole, — a divine harmony fusing its parts or members
into one. I have spoken of the works of art as intellectual
creations, the outward expression of thought acting upon
the beholder in their beauty, their truth, and authority, and
meeting all intellectual demands — his thought — himself.
The special culture which art demands for its best enjoy-
ment and influences, can only come of the study of its
works. No nation is complete, or a whole, which does not
furnish to itself the best means of the highest culture. The
gallery and literature must be close neighbours, or better,
companions, and as free to the people, the whole people, as
are the light and the air, for like these they can only do
good. Yes, bless the whole state. There is seme diversity
of opinion on this subject; but this is true of every other
matter of interest. I have offered my own views concern-
ing it.
Just as this manuscript was going to the press, I met
with the following views of Art in Lewes' admirable " Life
6*
66 A.RT.
of Goethe," and if you have already read it, I am sure
you will pardon me for bringing it before you again : —
" It is necessary for the development of science ihii science should
cease to be the speculation of a few, and become the minister of the
many ; from the constant pressure of unsatisfied waris science receives
its energetic stimulus and its highest reward. In art the same law
holds. In Athens the whole nation co-operated with the artists, and
this is one cause why Athenian art rose into unsurpassed splendor.
Art was not the occupation of a few, ministering to the luxury of a few.
It was the luxury of all. Its triumphs were not hidden in galleries
and museums ; they blazed in the noonday sun, they were admired and
criticized by the whole people, and, as Aristotle expressly says, every
free citizen was from youth upwards a critic of art. Sophocles wrote
for all Athens, and by all Athens was applauded. The theatre was
open to all free citizens. Phidias and Praxiteles, Scopas and Myron,
wrought their marvels in brass and marble as expressions of a national
faith, and as delights of a national mind. Temples and market-places,
public groves and public walks, were the galleries wherein these sculp-
tors placed their works. The public treasury was liberal in its rewards,
and the rivalry of private munificence was not displayed to secure
works for private galleries, but to enrich the public possessions. The
citizens of Gnidos chose to continue the payment of an onerous tribute
rather than suffer their statue of Venus to quit their city. And when
some murmurs rose against the expense which Pericles was incurring
in the building of the Parthenon, he silenced those murmurs by the
threat of furnishing the money from his private purse, and then placing
his name on the majestic work." *
We are told we have not time in the republic for excel-
lence in art, if we possessed the means. Now it is not
necessary that we should know the mysteries of art — the
method of the painter in producing his effects, or commu-
nicating thought — to know how he used his colors, in
order to feel the picture. It has that in it which meets the
demand of the mind of the observer, so far as the mind can
enjoy the sublime or the beautiful. The pleasure is felt,
and when this is the case, its sources need not be matters
of a moment's thought. The truth of the work, the fidelity
with which the story is told, is felt ; and more than this is
* Life and Works of Goethe. By G. H. Lewes. Vol. I. pp. 337, 338.
ART. 67
not necessary to the fullest enjoyment. I recollect listening
to a mathematician, while discussing the doctrine of chances
in the productions of astronomical phenomena — the places
of the heavenly bodies, &c. Now of mathematics I am
wholly ignorant. Of its principles and reasoning, I know
nothing ; and yet I listened to the distinguished professor
with intense interest. There was true eloquence in this
cold, dead demonstration. The eloquence was in the
questionless truths uttered. I believed in what I in no
sense understood. The ungainly scratches on the black-
board had their power, for in them was wrapt up, and out
of them came the power of the speaker. Art has its power
in its truth. In architecture it obeys its laws. Perspective
has its authority and laws, in those of optics mathemati-
cally determined. So it is with nature — form, place, light,
shade, are strictly arbitrary in all the dispositions made of
them in art. Truth thus is the source of beauty — of its
perception and enjoyment — or taste. This is the fact.
The pJiilosophy may never appear. To one near me at the
mathematical discussion above alluded to, I spoke of the
pleasure with which I had listened to a course of reasoning, of
the processes, nay, the language of which I knew nothing.
I cannot tell you how amused was he at my statement.
He could not understand a word I said. Now, how little
do we know of things which give us the truest pleasure.
What do we know of the growth of that flower beneath our
feet, — of the processes of development which have produced
so much beauty ? We know nothing about them.
Consider the lilies of the fields how they grow ; they toil
not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, that even
Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
68 THE AMERICAN IN EUROPE.
THE AMERICAN IN EUROPE.
The American in Europe stands in the centre of the
world's civilization. Everything is new. He is in the
presence of much which remains of the remotest times.
He is surrounded by ancient states — by states in them-
selves old, and the depositaries of the earliest art, science,
literature :
Surviving legatees of nations dead.
He may learn something of the life of the earlier times.
He sees in the exhumations of long buried and forgotten
Pompeii and Herculaneum, and the Scandinavian tumuli,
how often the latest contributions of modern art to every-
day social, individual, and domestic comfort, use, luxury,
have been anticipated centuries ago. He is in the presence
of the gigantic Avorks of ancient art, recently brought from
Nineveh, and in them finds new arguments for, and illus-
tration of, sacred history. He looks with surprise at the
amount of labour, money, skill, which has been used to
preserve in unbroken continuity the works of man in all
ages, for the instruction and pleasure of the present and
for the future. These works inhabit palaces, and in regal
state receive the traveller. They have survived revolutions,
civil, and foreign wars. They have sometimes been removed
from their native home. But how surely have they, by re-
conquest or by treaty, found their way back again. Few
things surprised me more than the care and labour bestowed
upon the treasures of the mind in every part of Europe.
In Paris an object of profound interest was to me the
church of Notre Dame. How deep was its desecration by
the Revolution. Its magnificent exterior, overloaded by the
products of exquisite art, remains much as it was before
that terrible passage in French history. But the interior
presented to me the skeleton only of its former glory.
THE AMERICAN IN EUROPE. 69
Naked pillars of immense size, supporting splendid arches,
and the deep wrought ceiling, were there ; but all that
could be destroyed was gone.
I went to the Louvre, and here were the works of art of
all times in perfect preservation. The Revolution did not
touch them. There they are for the love and admiration
of France, and of the world. The voice of both past and
present appeals to the ever coming future, that these trea-
sures may remain forever.
The intellectual and moral impressions produced by such
fact and such history are to the American traveller new.
He has never before been within their reach. He is con-
scious of wider thought, deeper pleasure, higher aspirations.
He is glad to be where he is, because he has been made
conscious of means of a higher growth than he may have
dreamed of before. He learns, and it may be, for the first
time, or after a manner never felt before, of moral and intel-
lectual power by the sure evidences of his own senses, and
by the new currents of thought which have been stirred
within him. He learns more of his own intellectual en-
dowment, and instinctively comes to regard his own nature
by the sure revelations of the same power which exist
around him, and in such profusion as to establish rules to
which he meets no exceptions. This does a man good.
The new here is a real good. Reverence comes of it. The
apprehension of beauty and of true power has in it a love
of them ; and he who truly values moral or intellectual
greatness, as displayed by another, may reverence himself.
The traveller feels that what is around him in art, is in
some sense his own. The thought to which it gave birth
is his own thought, making subjective, the external, the
representative, — a part of his spiritual possession, and that
forever. It comes to him by association wherever he may
be, — a visiting angel, with a new message of the beautiful.
70 HANK.
RANK.
The American traveller abroad is brought within the
influence of a power which he has never so felt before.
This is rank. Rank there is not a convention — an accident
— which may be, or may not be, any or everywhere. It
reaches to every human being in the state. Said Frederick
surnamed the Great, " A king is only the first subject."
Frederick was a tyrant of the first water — unmixed. He
had no council, the only autocrat of the civilized world
who has not in some measure relied upon one. He was a
pedant, — a man of vast and various knowledge, and of
much facility and felicity of speech and writing. What
wiser or truer saying of his than the above quotation?
Rank is an institution. It has its being in constitutions of
government. From emperor or king, down to the humblest
subject, political and social position is a settled thing in
countries in which rank enters as an element. It is never
impertinent, for it is always in place. It is not in itself
tyrannical, for it simply determines beforehand what position
or condition is ; and comes to be accepted as an institution
which has existed ages before him, who has most recently
become its subject. Its elements are obedience, deference,
or respect, and its natural growth is courtesy. Its institu-
tion supposes that its elements are essential to the highest
national development, or civilization. It becomes habitual in
its influences, and hence is not necessarily an incumbrance,
— an institution which is offensive, or disagreeable in any of
its legitimate uses. Rank determines place. It settles for
each his position. Each knows the ground he stands on.
It begins in the supreme, the king, the president, or what
not, and reaches everywhere. What is a king ? We have
above a king's definition of one. He is governed by the
very law to which he puts his name. He is responsible, not-
withstanding the current fiction that he can do no harm, —
RANK. 71
he is responsible for every day, and for all he does in every
day. He is the hardest worked man in the state. He
owns nothing, but what he may, as do others, make by his
own business and financial skill, — by agriculture, as did
George III., or by the stocks, as did Louis Phillippe, and as
do other men. Everything else belongs to the state, and
so does he. Truly, " the king is only the first subject."
In its nature rank ever presents something for aspira-
tion, hope, enterprise. History teaches how free it has
been to all. Look into English history, and in what gov-
ernment beneath the skies has rank truer place ? You see
at once the argument and the proof of the wide entrance to
rank, position, condition, in their highest development which
exists there. The bench contributes to the peerage by addi-
tions from the courts, and how often have the most elevated
of these accessions come up from the humblest classes of
life. Art, science, literature, minister to the same political and
social fact — rank ; and so does industry in companionship
with moral and intellectual growth, in finding its success in
these, come to the possession, and often inheritance of the
highest rank and the most honoured service. What is curious
is this, that rank with all its promises, and enchantments, is
not unfrequently declined, and by those, too, who best
deserve its highest distinctions. Burke declined the peerage,
and so did Pitt, and Peel, and so have others. Such men
holding their patent of nobility from a higher than a regal
hand, declined the earthly honor. Peel did more, — he left it
in his will that no descendant of his, who was included in
his last testament, should ever accept the peerage, making
the observance of this the condition of inheritance. As a
commoner of England, Mr. Peel became in time the leader
of the House of Commons, and was the author of most im-
portant reforms. This he regarded as the highest position
in the monarchy.* The same feeling is widely felt. Men
* See Appendix. No. I.
7^2 HANK.
of the largest wealth and power are devoting hoth to public
interests. Labour is becoming more and more emphatic in its
demands, and its claims are more and more allowed. Emi-
gration has diminished the amount of wasted or unused
power in England, and given to those who keep at home
wider and more remunerative occupation. What England
has done, and is doing in these important regards, is known
and felt everywhere abroad. England is too near the neigh-
bouring and remoter despotisms not to be seen and heard.
Its mighty lessons must reach and be read everywhere.
How different the estimate of rank in other minds, and
master minds too, from that of the distinguished examples
just enumerated. Walter Scott filled the world with his
fame, making the human intellect and heart, now and for-
ever his debtor. Walter Scott pined for rank. To found a
family, to leave the sure evidence of his having made
such a memorial of himself, was the object of his life. For
this was Abbotsford re-created, and for the means of its
completion, or perfection, did he devote much of his noble
intellect. One anecdote illustrative of this passion for rank
in Walter Scott may be given here. The eldest son of the
Duke of Buccleuch, a Scott, had nearly reached his majority,
and arrangements were made to celebrate this event in all the
country side. Walter Scott was invited as a relative of the
ducal family, — a member of the house. It was told to
me that he had expressed a deeper satisfaction with this dis-
tinction than with all his fame. Some hold rank in con-
tempt. They would sooner be rude than accord it respect.
But the most violent of such, if they have any power, daily
demand for it fealty ; daily feel its influence in themselves.
The modes of address abroad show the relation of the
server to the served. This early attracted my attention.
I travelled a few days on the continent with an English
gentleman who was travelling with a person I took for his
companion. I asked him one day where Mr. was. Said
he, " My master is out, sir, but he will soon return." I was
KANK. 73
struck with this language, because as we do not admit the
difference, we do not use the nomenclature. And yet where
or when has it happened that he who serves was not a ser-
vant ? He does what another bids him to do, and this exer-
cise of power is everywhere. The President of the United
States of America is servant in chief. The Congress man,
and all state legislators are the people's servants. In some
cases the relation between server and served may seem to
be changed amongst us, — he who serves having the higher
rate. But even here we see it is humour rather than fact.
The anecdote of the Duke of Saxe Weimar comes to mind.
He was travelling in America, you know, and had taken a
place in a stage. When the time came to start, the driver
came to him saying, " If you be the man who is going in the
stage, I am the gentleman what's going to drive you." A
later instance in my own experience. One wished to send a
letter by an omnibus driver to a near village. He handed
it to a man he supposed the driver. The man said, " That
is the gentleman who drives the omnibus," crying out in the
same breath, " I say, this man wants you to carry this letter."
I said humour, above. But there is no denial of rank in
these instances. The persons addressed were officials, and
in no country are such distinctions more sincerely felt, —
where a positive recognition of them more strongly exists,
or where they are more tenaciously held to. " Once a gov-
ernor always a governor." Society, with its conditions, is
not a horizontal line, nor can you make it one, theorize or
legislate as you may. It is an undulating circle, never for a
moment stationary, and by all sorts of possible changes, as
revolutions, involutions, fortune, and what not, presenting
every possible phase in position and estimation. "We are
never in the same stay." Death is a fact in the mighty his-
tory, — the frequent friend of those which compose it. Is it
not the most common ? and what a scoffer is it of rank, — of
the whole social and personal ? yet the circle is not broken
even by death. The successor is ready for the inheritance ;
7
74 HANK.
and if there be none, the elective attractions of society at
once fill the gap, the break being repaired before it is dis-
covered or felt. The king here never dies.
The following is an extract from Lord Derby's speech
lately made at a dinner given by the Lord Mayor of London.
You may think, and I am inclined to agree with you, that it
makes unnecessary much which immediately precedes it.
But as that is a part of the journal, I have retained it. The
use he has made of his position and powers, give to his
remarks the highest authority, I cannot forget that many
years ago, if my memory serve, I had the pleasure to meet
more than once at a friend's house in Boston, Lord Derby,
then Mr. Stanley. Mr. Stanley was then travelling in the
United States with his friends Mr. Wortley, Mr. Labouchere,
and Mr. Dennison, each of whom has since distinguished
himself in the councils of his countiy :
" It is no duty of miBe to stand up for every decision at which the
House of Lords may have arrived, for frequently it has been my lot to
be in a minority there ; but I do believe that in the main that house,
although not directly, yet as fully represents the matured public opin-
ion of this country as does that other branch of the legislature
which is immediately returned by the popular voice (ch-ers) ; and,
although the second estate of the realm may be looked upon as a con-
stitutional drag on too rapid progress in legislation, I believe that in
the end it will identify itself with what it feels to be the well-established
wishes of the country. And although it is true, as has been remarked
by the Lord Mayor, that among the members of the upper house are
many who have to sustain the honors and responsibility of ancient and
historic names, it is not less true that, differing in this respect from the
nobility of every other civilized country in the world, the peerage of
England is refreshed and invigorated, and derives new blood, so to
speak, from a constant infusion of members of the commonalty who
have not inherited historic titles, but who have won renown for them-
selves and achieved names destined to live in the future history of
their country. I doubt not that if an examination were made it would
be found that not less than one-half of the existing House of Lordo con-
sists of men who, from various causes, whether on account of distin-
guished services or by reason of more or less merit on their own part,
or on that of their immediate predecessors, have risen from the ranks
NEWS. ■ 75
of commoners to the dignity of peers of tho realm in the course of the
present century. On the other hand, when we come to the second
generation we find that there is no peer so high in rank, or so ancient
in lineage, but that the younger branches of his family mingle again
with the commons, and thus, rising from the people, and continually
returning to them, a common interest is kept up between various
branches of this great community, and together we work out this great
problem, the maintenance of order and a distinction of ranks, accom-
panied by perfect equality of right, cordial sympathy, and complete
harmony of action. This is the task which I believe the House of
Lords is destined to perform in the constitutional history of this nation.
I do not pretend to say that it is not subject to imperfections. I will
not be guilty of the presumption of asserting that it does not, like all
other human institutions, occasionally fall short of its duty ; but this
I venture to affirm, that in the main it does honestly and usefully per-
form its allotted task in this country. I believe that the attainments of
a peerage will long continue to be the prize and object of honest am-
bition, and the highest reward that can be conferred for the most
brilliant services rendered to the commonwealth. Within the last few
days the House of Lords has received an accession of which it may well
be proud, in the person of a gallant and distinguished naval officer —
and, indeed, it may safely be asserted that few years pass in which
that house is not strengthened and made more illustrious by the ad-
mission of some person who, whether in the law, in the army, in the
navy, or in political life, has done his country good service, and who
reaps a recompense of which he and his successors may fairly boast, in
associating with the peers of the realm, and in transmitting to his
posterity a name rendered illustrious by the founder of the family, and
one which carries with it the responsibility of not disgracing that name
in time to come.
NEWS.
In my wandering from Moscow to Madrid, I stopped in
Paris. From leaving London to the time I reached Paris,
I had hardly heard a word from home. But I now got
news. By far the most important was a report in a paper
that there was a good chance of a collision between England
and America concerning certain uncanght codfish, the inhabit-
ants of certain waters which seemed to belong as much to one
76 NEWS.
man, or one nation as to another, and no more to either, than
does any one portion of the deep blue sky which covers said
waters. But a war might come of the fish, and to make
this more probable, a naval force had been sent to the fish-
ing ground by England, and America would send one as
soon as it could be got ready. What to make of all this I
could not tell. At first it seemed to be only a " fish
story," but it daily gained strength. When seriously
looked at as a thing which might possibly happen, I cannot
tell you the feelings which came from the imperfect reve-
lation. Learning that at that moment the situation of
England was supposed to be such in regard to a neighbour
continental power as to demand the utmost vigilance — that
under the Iron Duke it was strengthening its defences
through the whole line of its coast — that it was adding
daily to its navy and army. I cannot express the feelings
which arose upon hearing that America should find occasion
in any existing state of relations between itself and England
for war, especially at a time when its sole colleague in con-
stitutional liberty was preparing itself, it might be, for a
continental war. I recollected the war of 1812, declared by
America against England, when this last, at her utmost need,
was preparing by one more effort to put a stop to the pro-
gress of a despotism which was mowing down nations ; and
with which America was said to be in close political sym-
pathy. I remembered the administration which made that
war, and the party which opposed it. The latter had
always seen in England, and through its whole history, an
infusion of the life, the heart, the spirit of freedom unknown
to any other foreign power. In its long struggles with
continental despotism it had always fought for freedom.
Hence the sympathy of the party which opposed the war of
1812. It v/as even said that the same party had clogged
that war in every day of its history. It had watched the
progress of France, and of its Emperor, with the deepest
anxiety. It had felt the power of the Berlin and Milan
NEWS. 77
Decrees, wliicli had produced the Orders in Council, the
upper and nether millstones, between which the commerce
of America had been well nigh crushed. The party which,
as it was alleged, had felt thus towards England in 1812,
and which was denounced as a traitor party, — as feeling
that such treason was infinitely better than the current —
so called patriotism, — this party was now in power, and had
made this demonstration concerning fish, and against Eng-
land. How is it possible, I asked, for this party, the resi-
duary legatee of the old Federalism, the steady friend of
England, to think for a moment of making such a war ? I
learned that there was an American in Paris, who was the
most likely to know all about the matter, and that he was
at Meurice's, a few doors only from the Brighton, my hotel.
This gentleman was the late Hon. David Henshaw, and
upon him I at once called. I found Mr. Henshaw in most
wretched health, incurably lame, — almost unable of himself
to move. Though so crippled, Mr. Henshaw so success-
fully overcame pain and all, as to be one of the most zealous
and practical sight-seers of Paris. His manner of getting
about was characteristic. He got a wheeled chair, and
taking this with him, he would have it carried into the
Louvre, for instance, and in it be wheeled through the
galleries, taking the deepest pleasure in their treasures.
Here was the " Pursuit of Pleasure under Difficulties,"
in a new and striking example, and you could not but
respect an effort which had so much suffering in its accom-
plishment. Such was Mr. Henshaw' s bodily state. But
his mind was as strong, as bright, as clear, as ever it was.
He spoke of America with an energy and knowledge which
amounted to the best eloquence. He seemed to have for-
gotten party, or had so far escaped its power, that he could
talk of the men of his own, — of the earlier, and the present
time, as of those with whom he had no other connection
than true conditions, real facts established, and over which
prejudice had no power. He spoke ^s a man, *' without
7*
YB news.
his accidents," — as the historian of times in which had
been his life. He spoke of Mr. Webster as of one with
whom he had been long acquainted, — with whom he had
talked often and deeply, and with whom he had freely cor-
responded. He spoke of his vast intellectual power, and of
his official failures. He instanced the case of the Caroline,
and the Ashburton treaty, and showed in what, as he
thought, Mr. Webster had been mistaken in regard to both.
He went into the earlier times of the country's politics —
the long, long portion of its history in which his own party
had rule — of what it had done — of the old opposition to
it — and of the present approbation of the whole — of the
Louisiana purchase — the Florida treaty — the war of 1812
— the annexation of Texas — the Mexican war — California,
&c. &c. ; and finally, of the wisdom of his party friends,
of their prophetic foresight, and the universal fulfilment of
the prophecy. We talked of General Andrew Jackson, that
distinguished President, Avho ruled America by an indomita-
ble will, whose pathway to power was through a war in
which he was the chiefest actor, and in which he achieved
the most important and celebrated victory. I recollected
a conversation between two political enemies of General
Jackson, in which one questioned his intellectual power.
"Very well. Sir," said the other, " you may say what you
will of his power, but I cannot but think that he who
having put down his foot, more than twenty million of
people cannot lift it up, has something in him." I
could not help thinking of the agency of Mr. Henshaw in
the " Removal of the Deposites " by President Jackson, a
measure which took the public treasure from the charge of a
man in whom he had no confidence, and in the sequel of
which his sagacity and practical wisdom was so signally dis-
played, but which measure was regarded by his enemies as
an exercise of mere naked power ; an act wholly tyrannical.
Washington ruled by moral power, strong common sense,
and unsurpassed wisdom. Washington was the Father of
NEWS. 79
his country, and had a nation's reverence, and a nation's
love. Washington and Jackson are the only rulers of
America, since George III.
I listened with great pleasure and interest to Mr. Hen-
shavv's living history, and stated to him the object of my
call, — my wish to pay to him my respects, and to learn
what was to be expected from the warlike demonstrations
of America against England, or of the last against the first,
in their far off borders. I said I had been long without
news from America, that I knew nothing about the " fish
story," that I was on my way from Moscow to Madrid, and
wished to learn from him if there were any political obstacles
in the way to my accomplishing my purpose, — any chances
of war. His answer was prompt and decided. He said
there was no reason in the world to look for war, that the
whole matter would be peaceably adjusted, that I might go
to Madrid and feel sure of getting back to America at the
time I had arranged for the completion of my Avander-
ings. It has turned out just as this old politician pre-
dicted. England and America sent their respective naval
forces to the fishing grounds. But they had champaigne
for powder, and feasting for fighting. Never did a naval
service fare better, or hug closer. The only losses on the
coast were by the poor fishermen, in whose cause the forces
were sent. The navies held on. The fish fled. The re-
sult, a great scarcity of codfish. "^^
* Since writing the above, I have received a copy of a " Memoir of
the Hon. Abbott Lawrence," prepared for the Massachusetts Historical
Society by Hon. Nathan Appleton, from which I make the following
extract, p. 16.
" In August, 1852, England was thrown into intense excitement, in
consequence of a letter written by Mr. Webster on the subject of the
new ground taken by Great Britain in reference to the Fisheries. This
led to several interviews between Mr, Lawrence and Lord Malmesbury.
The result was such a modification of the instructions to the vessels on
the station, as prevented any collision."
80 TALK IN PARIS.
TALK IN PARIS.
I have just given an account of a very pleasant and use-
ful conversation with a perfectly well informed man in Paris,
and will next give you two other conversations with two
ladies in the same great city. I was one morning sitting in
the reception room of an artist, in Grammont street, out of
the Boulevards, when a lady and gentleman came in. She
was young, not too fat, very fair, and certainly not forty.
Mr. was of maturer years, far from handsome, having
that hard sort of face — those stiff muscles, which come of
having been used in the service of one expression, which
was not the most agreeable, and which could not be very
readily laid aside by the wearer, and the impression of
which would not be easily lost to the observer. The lady
was in perfect contrast with all this, and became very agree-
able to you, without exactly saying so. She was English.
He was of the north ; I guessed a Dane. Mr. was to
have his likeness sun-taken, after a new process. I was
there for the same object. It was obviously to him a disci-
pline. He hated — he shrank from it. It was not the first
time. He said brokenly, — " that it was too bad ; " that he
would not submit to it. After a time he came into the
harness, gave his hat to Mrs. after a " my dear " or
two, but would keep his cane, and slowly dragged into a
next room for his sure martyrdom. More than once did Mrs.
say, " Now do, do look pleasant. Sit at your ease,
and have a good likeness taken." She sat at the end of the
sofa, upon which lay a fan. My chair was next the same end
of the sofa at which the lady sat. The morning was warm.
I took the fan. It seemed courteous to offer to fan the
lady, or I did it from instinct, which ordinarily is in such
cases the best casuist. Conversation followed, and at
length Paris became the subject. I spoke of it just as it
moved me. I spoke of its infinite interest in the external,
TALK I:N^ PARIS. 81
both of persons and things, of its amusements, the perfect
contentment of its people, the sunny side of everything in
life which the great city presented, how easy was labor, and
how sufficient its recompense. Mrs. said, slowly,
" Yes, why yes, Paris was pleasant, that she must say, but
there were no homes in Paris. Such a word, which the
English so love, and so well understood, was not in the
French vocabulary. I could never live in Paris."
I said in reply, that I could not agree with her. Her
long speech had heated her. I fanned her again. Said I,
to the French, Paris is home, life, everything. Go out
there toward evening, on the Boulevards, and see the num-
berless groups, family parties, before the innumerable cofes
on the sidewalks, in the open air, -with the little table .be-
tween them, covered with the evening meal in its most
pleasant forms. Listen to these interlocutors as you pass,
the children, parents, friends, and tell me if this is not
home, pleasant home, as pleasant as are many ; yes, as any,
on the other side of the channel. I was getting warm with
my subject, and the fan served both.
Mrs. rejoined in a general admission that the Boule-
vards were wholly by themselves, in every species of social
attraction ; that they presented society in a most agreeable
way, and certainly did attract the stranger mightily. " But,
but," added Mrs. " the husbands ! the husbands ! Their
conduct shows what I mean, when I say there are no homes
in Paris. A husband is never at home. He knows none.
There is the house, the furniture, the coach and horses, the
servants, the money, the wife, the children. Here ends
the catalogue ; the husband is nowhere. But I have made
a discovery," continued the lady. " I used to think the
French husbands w^ere very bad ; but the wives I have learned
are quite as bad as are they." A noise was heard in the
next room. " Mr. 's penance is over," said the lady.
" I wonder how he looks. By the way, sir, you wdll make
an excellent Daguerre. Mr. could hardly fail to sue-
8"2 TALK IX PARIS.
ceed with you." The lady rose, and met her husband. I
laid the fan on the sofa, and soon after the party left.
This was an odd adventure. Here was a lady obviously
of excellent position, and of much attraction, with as sour a
looking mate as a lady could well be matched with, and en-
tering with much grace indeed, but earnestly too, with a
perfect stranger, upon just such topics, as persons perfectly
unacquainted with each other, and in a strange city, might
have made it a question to discuss ; and bandying compli-
ments with as gracious expression in look, word, and
manner as such conventions could well be clothed in.
Whence this lady's knowledge of Paris ? She had just
come, and was soon going. Whence this knowledge of Paris
life, — whence these revelations of the current domestic
morality? I was infinitely amused with this summary
judgment of a million or two of people, and at once made a
note ®f it for your edification.
Soon after, I passed an evening with an American
family in the Rue Rivoli. Paris, the universal topic came
up. I had that day made an entry in my journal, entitled
" Paris children." I spoke of the pleasure it gave me daily
to see and hear the children, in the garden opposite, in hun-
dreds, if not thousands, with their attendants, plajdng, laugh-
ing, sometimes, very rarely, crying, — in all sorts of ways
telling what a grand life was theirs, and how happy were
they to play in the shade of forest and orange trees, with
which the grounds and walks about were filled, or bordered.
I spoke too of the Sunday afternoon and evening, crowds of
children, and of parents in the Champs Elysees, the happiest
place for the time in the whole world, with its infinitely
varied means of amusement for all ages, and all conditions,
and producing universal cheerfulness and pleasure.
Mrs. said, " Yes, these are beautifal places, and no
place in the world can surpass them. But do you know,
Sir, that these happy children of the garden, pass the rest
of their time for the most part with servants in the niir-
TALK IN PARIS. 83
sery, or at school, or with governesses. They have the air,
light, exercise, and all freedom of these. They are nicely
clothed and fed. Health is well looked to, and music,
dancing, grace, have their means in profusion everywhere.
But these children see their mothers only occasionally, or
periodically."
Said one, " Dear Madam, is it not pretty much the same
thing everywhere, differing only in social forms ? Is it not
the same across the Channel, and across the Atlantic?
Are there not boarding-schools in both, in which children
pass much of their young life from home. And are not
other children constantly in charge of maids, Hibernian or
other, from whom they get lessons they never forget ? Do
they not go to city schools, and learn sciences and languages,
of which, it may be, the mother knows not a syllable, and
the father not a word. And if they (the younger) come to
the table, is not their advent with the dessert only, and
their exodus with the wine ? Is not the club the home of
the husbands, and Almacks of the wives ? When are the
daughters the companions of the mothers, or the sons of the
fathers? We abuse Paris ; but doth not the sin lie also at
our door ? " You cannot tell how rich was this criticism
of manners ; and the " Glass House " proverb was clearly on
many lips, and " casting the first stone," was as plainly in
the lesson of the day.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.
I said, you recollect, that I went abroad for observa-
tion, to see in foreign lands, religious and industrial, social
and political institutions, in their actual workings, and
especially in their results. There was England with its
limited monarchy, and there was the continent with its
more or less absolute despotism. Everything had interest
to me ; in such strong contrast was it with everything I had
84 ACKI^OWLEDGMENTS.
left, that the interest in it all could hardly he other than
strong, and I daily sought its gratification. My wanderings
were to be limited by Moscow in the east, and Madrid in
the west. My objects, so far at least as the limits of
travel were concerned, were accomplished. I travelled
under many advantages. From some connection with Har-
vard College, its then President, Mr. J. Sparks, gave me a
general letter of recommendation, which under various con-
tingencies of travel might have been very useful to me.
This distinguished gentleman gave me a letter of introduc-
tion to Mr. Barnard, American Minister at the Court of
Berlin, which procured for me courtesies and hospitalities
from Mr. Barnard which are gratefully remembered. How
pleasant is it to me to look back upon my acquaintance
with Mr. Sparks, who for a long time was a dweller with
me under the same roof, from whom I have always received
most friendly attentions, and for which this acknowledgment
is most gratefully made. To the late Hon. Abbott Law-
rence, then Minister at the Court of St. James, I owe my
thanks for his readiness to render me services which were
highly useful to me. He added to President Sparks's letter,
his own recommendation, and affixed to it the seal of his
important office, the seal of the nation. I took despatches
from the London Legation to that of St. Petersburg, and
received from Hon. Mr. Brown, then Minister at that Court,
every attention which could make my residence in that re-
mote capital pleasant and useful. I cannot forget the many
pleasant and highly useful offices accorded to me by the
accomplished Secretary of the Legation, Mr. Wright, of New
York. Gov. Brown gave me despatches to the Legation at
Paris, with a courier pass, which relieved me from much of
the otherwise necessary embarrassments which both the
entering into, and the leaving of the Russian dominions
involve. Mr. Rives was not in Paris, but Mr. Sandford laid
me under special obligations by his constant disposition, and
efforts, to favor my objects, and most heartily do I thank
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 85
him. Mr. Sandford gave me despatches to the Legation at
Madrid, and from Mr. Perry, the Charge, in the absence of
the Minister, I received every civility and attention I could
desire.
You must pardon me for dwelling so long on these grate-
ful reminiscences. These official services are among the
most pleasant recollections of my foreign travel. Living, as
for years I had done, a professional life, with scarce any
other intercourse with the world around me than that of my
profession, I was more struck perhaps with my European
social experiences, than I might otherwise have been. In
themselves, too, they were most grateful to me. I remem-
ber an incident in Paris somewhat related to what was above
said of my official relations, and which much pleased me. I
was one evening at the National Circus, in the Champs
Elysees, with an American acquaintance, who, when a very
handsome young woman was riding magnificently, touched
me and said, " The Minister is here, two or three boxes in
the same row from us." I did not look away from the
rider, but said, " He is not in Paris, I was told so this
morning at the Legation. He is at Honfleur." " No such
thing," said my neighbour, with a stronger elbow hint.
" He has found you out, and is nodding this way." The
handsome rider had left the course, and looking to my right,
there sat Mr. Lawrence. I immediately rose, took off my
hat and bowed. Mr. Lawrence did the same, and sat down.
The band immediately played our national air. I said this
incident pleased me. It was most unexpected, this vision
of Mr. Lawrence, whom I had so recently left at the Lega-
tion in Lord Cardigan's house in Hyde Park, so courteously
rendering all needed services to his countrymen. It was
pleasant, after the performances of the circus were finished,
to see and speak to Mr. Lawrence again ; to see him in such
perfect health and spirits. The old air, Yankee Doodle, —
which Mr. Sales, the French teacher in Cambridge College,
told me nearly half a century ago, while at a collation with
8
86 ACKXOWLEDGME^'TS.
him, 4th July, in our Doric Hall, is a Spanish air, — the old
air was pleasant in that distant land. I was a little exer-
cised to learn how the band should knowws to be Americans,
but of course settled the question, as it has doubtless been
settled already. I called on Mr. Lawrence immediately
on his arrival in Boston from London. He was not at
home, and I never saw him again. The old kindness will
never be forgotten.
While in the circus, my attention was attracted by two
well dressed men who sat immediately before me on the
front seat. They .-at close together, but said nothing during
the exhibition. In speaking to my acquaintance, I said, in
what connection I do not remember, it was probably the
beginning of a sentence, " Louis Napoleon." Those two
silent, still men, at once turned on their seats and most
intently eyed me. I quietly said to my companion, I shall
call on the Minister of the Interior in the morning, as I was
to leave in a day or two for Spain.
Other distinguished men from whom I received attentions,
which I shall always bear in grateful memory, have recently
died. Among these is Sir James Wiley, who in an impor-
tant sense gave to me the entree to Russia. This is particu-
larly noticed hereafter.
Gotthelf Fischer de Waldheim, of Saxony, was born
1771. He was one of the most distinguished men in
Europe, a fellow student of A. von Humboldt. I have
spoken, as you will find in the journal, of my introduction to
him in Moscow, and of the attentions I received from this
venerable and world-wide distinguished man. He died
about a year since.
A letter kindly given to me by Gen. Swift of the Ameri-
can army, introduced me to Major Brown, the successor to
Major Whistler, in the construction and finishing of the
Moscow and St. Petersburg Railway. From Major Brown,
Mrs. Brown, and their accomplished son, I received almost
daily just such attentions as are most welcome to a stranger
WHY THE " VACATION." 87
in a foreign land. They were the first to welcome me, and
the last to say farewell. How grateful would it have heen
to me to greet them in our native land, and to repay them
in some measure, what had been so generously bestowed on
me abroad. I have recently heard of the death of Major
Brown, and the pleasant anticipations in which I have so
long indulged can never be realized. Cheerfully would I
extend the record of the kindness, courtesy, genuine hos-
pitality, so new to me, which I found everywhere abroad.
I reserve them, that they may appear in future notices of
the places in which I was honored by them.
WHY THE "VACATION."
The following is a daily record of incident, and of
thought, as they occurred during these wanderings. It
was kept for you, which may serve to explain its freedom
of thought, and minuteness of detail. I went abroad, you
know, to escape for a time from the harass of social, politi-
cal, and professional duties, and conventions, — to give up
work, and seriously to play, — to breathe another air, — to
see new forms in nature, in art, and in society, — to see
what foreign institutions had done for man, — to see him
under new aspects. I went to see new and diverse systems
in every kind in their actual workings. For more than
forty years I had lived in the same place, and at the same
work. So literally true is this, that I cannot remember
more than a fortnight (thirteen days) that I was, — for mere
pleasure, relaxation, — from home. I was desirous to get
out of the harness, with a whole ocean between me and
work, — to feel as free as in my earliest days of conscious
liberty, — to go when and where I pleased, — to be conscious
of an entire new mode of life ; of one especially which was
88 WHY THE " VACATION. "
not to be daily determined by the variety of professional
calls, — the different phases of disease, — to see life, health,
and countries, in their beauty, power, truth, — and to find
everywhere, and in everything, opportunities of varied ob-
servation, thought, and pleasure, and to enjoy them. And
I did enjoy them all. Every day left its mark, and glad am
I that its deep traces have not yet been quite ground out,
— life on its old level spread out before me again.
A journalist, if he have any truth or heart in him, must
be an egotist. For what has he got to write about but that
which he has seen, heard, and felt, — his own moral, intel-
lectual, and physical experiences, — himself ? He cannot
escape from himself if he would, when he tells another
what, for the time, made him just what he was. He has
left home, country, friends, and enemies, far behind, or
beyond him ; and all alone, without a single relation with
what is about him, — in a new heaven, and a new earth, he
has willingly and cheerfully yielded himself to the daily,
and hourly, of his experiences, whatever they may be. One
said to me, " I cannot read this ' Faggot of French Sticks.'
This Sir Francis Head is the rankest egotist I have ever met
with." "For that very reason," said I, "I delight in his
book. I thank him for his simple, unadulterated egotism.
I want to know what he thought, said, did, saw, heard, and
felt. Yes, what troubles you is, to me, his chiefest charm.
He is the most important personage in his book, so far as
he himself is concerned, and he was honest and wise enough
to say so." I remember hearing one day, at sea, a gentleman
addressed by Sir Francis's name and title. As soon as op-
portunity served, and without any introduction, I begged
leave to express to him my great pleasure to see him, and
to thank him for his book of French travel. It turned out
that this gentleman was a relative of, not Sir Francis. My
" Faggot " follows.
If my book please you, be satisfied, and I shall feel that I
have neither travelled, nor written, in vain ; used neither
WHY THE " VACATION. 89
money nor legs for naught. I specify these, only adding
French, as the sole and whole capital for him who travels.
You know I have been in the way, through life, of thinking
somewhat for myself.
Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri.
Quomecunque rapit tempestas deferor hospes.
In English :
I acknowledge no master in opinion.
Wherever I stop, I pay my bill.
My thoughts have always found their expression, — their
language, in themselves. I was once expressing my admi-
ration of the language of Shakespeare to one who was dear
to our heart, and near to our blood, — alas! alas! for us,
now dead, — and my wonder, where he found words which
were so expressive of his meaning. Said he, "W., a
thought will always clothe itself.'' How much was wrapt
up in these six words. I have never forgotten them. When
fortunate enough to have a thought, I have taken the
clothing it has brought with it. A thinking man's mind
has its own livery ; and its various styles, colours, shapes,
always, always determine his manner, and distinguish him
more or less strongly from all others.
I have spoken of America, and of Young America. They
came into my mind when I was observing or thinking about
what the foreign state was, and I have written as I was
moved by my theme. I have spoken of our government,
of the powers granted, and of those which I think it wants,
in order to the more perfect development of itself and
people. I have spoken of its partial constitutional pro-
visions for freedom, and of its wide despotism of opinion.
I have spoken of the national sensitiveness, as a want of
national healthful manliness, and as having a necessary
tendency to produce international trouble. Men speak of
what most deeply interests them, earnestly. They should
8*
90 JOURNAL.
be as faithful in such offices as in others ; and never, never
fear the judgments of those, who, for a moment, would
question or diminish their right to discuss any topic which
interests them.
JOURNAL.
Left London for Calais, on my way to Russia, Thursday,
June 3, at 8 p.m., with despatches for the American Minister
at St. Petersburg. "We reached Dover after midnight.
The evening was fine. The moon at full, was never more
bright. The country was in its richest verdure, and the
long twilight and the succeeding moonlight made the drive
as beautiful as any remembered.
At Calais I landed in good order. So smooth was the
sea, and so kindly was chloroform, the use of which in sea
sickness was suggested to me by Sir James Clarke, that I
was not for a moment sick. One poor wight was bad
enough, and another near me was but a little better ; but
they preferred the sea and its power, to the dangers of
chloroform.
The Cliffs of Dover were seen by me for the first time,
though I had passed them mid-channel forty years ago, of
which passage my only memory was, of sickness. But now
the Cliffs were objects of peculiar interest. They are of
pure chalk, and as white as snow. The moon was just high
enough to pour its ocean streams of horizontal light upon
them in measureless power and beauty. No one who has
not seen the Cliffs at such a time, can dream of the appear-
ance, or the effect of light upon such a surface. It was not
dead white ; but the strength of the reflection gave them
almost a moving, living brilliancy. It was like the clearest
and brightest metallic lustre ; but so soft, as well as strong,
was the return, that it did not seem reflected, but original
light. I looked at it for the whole time it lasted, and when
it faded away, it was replaced, but in infinitely less power
JOURNAL. 91
and beauty, by the brilliant channel lights which suddenly
came upon us by a change in the bearings of the Cliffs. I
thought of Shakespeare, of Lear, and of old sightless Gloster,
till the scene of the play seemed before me. On we went.
In mid-channel the steamer's restivencss increased, and she
tossed and rolled like a restrained but powerful animal. Still
I was well. We passed the Calais pier and reached the
wharf. We were soon landed and hurried, or were hurried,
with our luggage, to the custom-house. Here we had fun.
The object of each and all was to be put through first.
There was a bar across an enclosure, and a passage-way
made when the bar was removed, through which five or
six might squeeze before the bar was replaced. In this
way we proceeded for a time with tolerable quiet, but
patience began to fail, and at length gave way. The whole
body moved in a mass, and for a time I thought the people
would have succeeded ; but we had a man before us at the
bar who would not be beaten. He fought bravely. Small,
compact, fearless, the law on his side. He drove back the
whole power which assailed him ; shut his bar, and looked
" try again." We all at length got in, ladies and all, for
there were ladies in the battle. Our passports got certain
red and black marks. Dr. Shannon was called, his courier
appeared for him, and took the precious document, and our
luggage passed inspection. You would have been amused, I
certainly was, to see the searching officer dive his hand down
into that ark of mine, and of everybody else, the carpet-bag,
which you had packed with such matchless skill, that it held
more than it could, and to see how he fished up all possible
things, and then, how he squeezed all back again into im-
possible space. The trunk underwent the same severe dis-
cipline, but rather less in detail. This was my first expe-
rience in this way, and the last. Charles has managed that
matter ever since, and if the whole customs police of Eu-
rope disturb him in the least possible degree, I will forever
abandon the idea of human patience as a human virtue,
possession, or what not.
92 JOURNAL.
You may bear in mind an innocent infirmity of mine,
losing things. Just as I was leaving London for Dover, I
discovered I had lost pounds sterling enough to make a
round sum in dollars. As this want of supplies would have
been a serious trouble "by the way," I proceeded to hunt.
As I had just seven pockets in my shooting jacket, as
they call it, and which had been with me, on my back of
course, to at least one minister's splendid apartments, and in
the presence there and observance of fine ladies, and is invalu-
able, — the saints save me from losing it, — seven pockets, I
say, for two were added to the original five in Liverpool, these
seven were, I slould think, seventy times seven times ex-
amined, but the pounds sterling were not. I remembered
offering to pay my bill just before dinner ; and Stafford,
the head waiter, remembered seeing me put the bills back
into one of the seven pockets, and which he pointed out.
Where were the bills ? Charles had been with me to
change some of my luggage to his trunk, and as I hung
over it somewhat, it might have dropped out ; but it was
not. Things looked serious. My trip to Dover must be
given up, for I must draw more money before I could go.
That could only be done next day. I went to Mrs.
chamber — pockets again — character of house involved,
of my immaculate courier ! The maid took off" of the bu-
reau a roll of papers which she was just putting in the
grate, in which was an excellent fire. " What is this ? "
said the maid. " Why ! " screamed she gently, as became a
maid, "it must be the Doctor's roll of bills." And so it
was. I now remembered I went into the room, and in an
absent fit, had taken the bills from a side, an upper inside
pocket, and laid them on the bureau. Joy was all over the
house. " You cannot go, you have no time," said one.
" Time enough," said another. " Order a cab there ! "
screamed one. " Get luggage down," screamed another.
The cab came. I, with my moveables, Charles and trunks
among the rest, were stowed in and on it, and off" we went
JOUKNAL. 93
full blast, absolutely gallopping over Waterloo Bridge
to London Bridge, to the Dover Station. Beached tbe train
just in time, and on we drove. You cannot tell how much
everybody was plcared, what shaking of hands and kind
words attended my departure ! Sad am I to say, that I left
spectacles, silver pen, two pairs of gloves, and a penknife
behind, and something else forgotten now, but doubtless
really useful to me. You know of this infirmity of mine.
I seriously think of getting another courier, especially as yes-
terday I lost Charles. You shall hear of this, this minute,
while upon the topic. We were at the station nearest to Brus-
sels, in which splendid city I am, and next door to the Palace,
and exactly before me a most magnificent mall, with a sun all
brightness to show me all, in the early light of which I am
writing at this present to you. I had not left the carriage,
and I did not suppose the courier had, though I did not see
him for a moment run away from it. I had some anticipa-
tion of trouble. But I got on pretty well. The train at
length stopped. The courier was not to be found. He had
sole care of my luggage, — my keys, my passport, my
money, just advanced for expenses, and one month's wages,
ten sovereigns. Where was he .^ He is too large to be
lost, said I. Where ! Where ! " Gentle shepherd tell
me where ! " Here was I, a perfect child in resources, not
accustomed to the management of luggage, porters, railroad
agents. German and Germanico French the only tongue.
You know how small is my French, and my German, naught.
Parlez vous this, that, and the other, was asked while list-
eners remained, but one after another departed, and I was
left in a monstrous station, with but one human being,
where had been so many a moment before, with my discon-
solate luggage. I could get no aid, and things grew bad.
Not a porter, not a coach, nothing but universal Brussels,
whether of lace or carpets, I cared not. But the man who
stuck by me, made me understand that possibly the courier
might take a train, which happened to be on the route, and
94 JOURI^^AL.
whicli would pass tlie station where Charles was missed.
He took me to a beer house, which, for temperance, is rarely
a place of high exaltation. There he ordered for me a large
tumbler of sugar-water, and we talked all sorts of things,
largely mixed up in French, German, and a kindred English.
I was restless, and begged him to walk with me to a hotel,
to the Bellevue, so called. " Wait," said he, " ten minutes
more, do, sir. The train will surely arrive by that time."
It did, and Charles came running as well as his Danish so-
lemnity allowed, with all sorts of apologies, «Sz:c.
The luggage was arranged, and I told C. to pay the friend,
who had been so kind to me, waiting so long, and whose
sugar and water was borne in faithful memory. Said C.
" a franc is enough, and he will be satisfied with that." I
was not. A franc ! The fifth part of a dollar. I said I
would pay him myself, and so I did. I did it by a sort of
stealth, for the courier has no love of paying the number-
less demands of foreign waiters, porters, and others who
serve one.
Calais. — We return upon Calais. I reached the town
between two and three a. m. Got tea and coEee at three,
and soon after went to bed. The house is perfect, at least
such was it to me, — Dessein's, known to all the readers and
lovers of Sterne. It is very old, and forms by its four equal
sides a quadrangle in the centre, large, well paved, hand-
some, — house perfectly white. This white is the prevail-
ing colour on the continent. Brussels is perfectly white,
and looks as if it were daily white-washed. My room
looked to a large shrubbery with trees flowering, shrubs,
flowers, and all in abundance.
At my bed hour, the day had broken, and at once, as it
seemed to me, thousands of birds began in all sorts of
strains to sing. They began at once, as soon as day dawned,
and all together. Perfect stillness at one minute, a whole
choir in full harmony the next. I cannot tell you how
JOURNAL. 95
sweet, how c"harming all this was. What a welcome to the
new-born day. What a promise that it was, and would be
well with it all its hours long. I love to remember this,
and to add that what was such a surprise at Calais has been
met with everywhere, — the birds.
The opposite mall in Brussels, — I should call it forest,
— is absolutely alive with birds, with birds which I never
heard before, and of exquisite beauty of note. They are
close by me, and the sound of each may be distinguished
without its in the least diminishing the harmony. I had
shrubberies close to my window, which brought me so near
to the birds. You saw them everywhere.
In Liverpool was the same daily beautiful concert in a
shrubbery close to the Waterloo, and which fronted my
parlour windows. In this they had their nests, and their
young, and never were they disturbed for a moment. A
slight, low rail, an iron rail fence separated them, though
hardly, from passers by, and people stopped to see and to
hear them, but never to scare, or to hurt them. The yard of
the hotel is this moment, seven a. m., (I have been writing
from four,) full of birds in full song. But Calais it was which
took the shine out of all the city out-door aviaries I have
seen or heard. How rejoiced I should have been to have
had you with me. So much for birds. They have been,
my daily friends. They never fatigue you. When men
cease to hear them, and drown their melody in their grating,
discordant, business noises, the birds withdraw, patiently
waiting for the dawning of another day.
I rose early, at Calais, got up, dressed, and went
forth to see the place. Calais is an old fellow. It looks
like a weather-beaten soldier. Like him is it marked
with many a " seamy scar." It is small. I went through
Rue Royale as far as I could go. Calais is surrounded by
fortifications, one beyond the other, with ditches for water
between. In some is water now. You pass through very
strong gate-ways, with gates which turning upon an axle
96 JOUKNAL.
are easily moved, and remain suspended in mid air, or so as
to divide the gate-way into two parts, one above and the
other below. The upper one, I suppose for the birds, the
lower for men and donkeys, for the latter abound. Some
of the walls have been recently rebuilt. A garrison is here,
and soldiers are protecting the city, against — nothing I
They did not molest me. I wandered carelessly anywhere,
and was quite pleased with my walk. I saw only poor and
labouring people around. Women, very homely, and clum-
sily dressed, were working in the streets, washing sidewalks,
and gutters, doing what our scavengers do. I saw nothing
more to record. But I repeat that with which I begun, that
the Inn, Dessein's, — and a Dessein still keeps it, — is a
most excellent one. I Avas served at table by a waiter of
forty years' standing, at the same Inn. Can you believe
this ? We change servants, which are none, every day, —
and here was this old and real servant, as fresh, as cheerful,
as desirous to please, as are half-accepted lovers, with none
of their misgivings. I really liked the old gentleman, who
did not at all seem old, and commend you to stop at Des-
sein's, Rue Royale, the very first opportunity that presents.
A queer arrangement here. The servants' room is in the
yard or quadrangle, and opposite to it and in easy sight are
the bells of the hotel rooms, with numbers attached to the
wall, corresponding to the rooms within, and are easily seen
at any distance. The noise of ringing is thus loud and
clear. I thought it quite a nice arrangement.
You told me, you recollect, to write, and I told you I
would not. Now, like the woman who spoke in meeting, I
have begun to write, and when I shall stop I know not. So
courage ! and you shall have all my travels' history.
June. — The drive from Calais to Brussels has been
very interesting. The portion belonging to France, had
much less to attract me than has Belgium. It looked cold
in France. The soil poor. It is everywhere excessively dry,
and the season has been very cold. The land, though well
JOURNAL. 97
cultivated, is in some contrast with England. There every-
thing was perfect in its kind. Everything in place, and
every place beautifully and successfully tilled. I know noth-
ing which strikes a traveller more than the culture of the
regions he passes. It tells a story, is it not a true one ? of
the people, and of the soil. No matter how scantily the
labourer is paid ; no matter who enters upon his labours,
and gathers all the harvest, except the poor pittance upon
which he and his live. We do not look to the personal in
such moments. The earth is before us, and the fulness
thereof. And whatever we may think about it, the earth
and its, is for thought, and, for the time, nothing more. We
have to trust something to imagination as far as other things
are concerned. But present facts fill the mind, and with or
among them, there are we.
In England I saw few labourers in the field. In France,
and especially in Belgium, work was everywhere. In the
former, many cattle, sheep, &c. In this part of France,
scarcely one. Said one, when the reason was asked, " They
are away from the road, the land here is the best." In
Prussia, which we entered later, cattle were frequent.
The work of the farm is carried on by everybody, men,
women, children. Far more women and girls, than men.
The flax fields are almost entirely cultivated by women.
The flax is in long beds or strips, and you see the women
on their knees weeding it with the greatest care. Not a
weed is allowed to remain, and nothing is neater or more
attractive than a well cultivated luxuriant flax field. Wheat
is grown in great abundance, but I hardly think it looked
as well as in England. Vegetables of all kinds, especially
the large, so called, English or horse bean. This is very
abundant. Apple orchards are frequent, and in Belgium
more so than elsewhere. Much cider is made here, and a
coarse sort of preserve, which, from description, appeared
to me most to resemble our apple sauce, and which is much
used. The greatest neatness prevails throughout the farm.
9
98 JOURNAL.
Everything seemed in perfect order. The thatched cottages,
with a great lack of glass, were very neat, unless decayed
by time. The practice of repair seems little attended to.
What is the effect of so much out-door toil, with, it may
be, scanty food, at least of nutritious food, upon the appear-
ance of the people ? They seemed to me to be under size.
The children, the younger especially, were thin of flesh and
small. I did not see a really fat, English baby among all I
saw. Recollect that very young children are out in the
fields, while their mothers are at work. I do not recollect
seeing a child, or even a cat or a dog, at any of the cot-
tages in my way. They seemed, and they were entirely
deserted, for the fields. The children who were too young
to work were always seen sitting quietly among the grass,
and perfectly at rest. I saw no playing children anywhere.
Now upon women, the eff'ect of such a life is the more
striking. They live in the fields, they seem to have no
domestic cares. They looked short, stout, dumpy, very
dark skinned, cheek bones high, features coarse. Their
size did not seem to depend entirely on flesh, but on the
abundance of heavy woollen clothing. I should think the
main stock in trade or in use, was clothing, and that, as
their cottages are very small, they kept their wardrobe not
in bureaus, chests, &c., but on their backs. This sometimes
has exceptions. I saw a girl of eighteen or more with her
legs to her knees quite bare and exposed. She was working
in wet mud-land, as much of Belgium is, and this doubtless
was the best costume.
I asked how much a very industrious strong man could
earn a day by agriculture. I was told he might earn
1 or 2 francs, or 20 or 40 cents. With every workable
member of a family in the field, this very small sum for one
family amounts to something. But as women and children
are probably very slightly paid, the whole cannot be much.
There is this compensation for so much industry, and so
slight return to the labourer. He can buy a great deal for
JOURNAL. 99
a little money, — such, small wages. The cheapness of food,
of clothing, shelter, fuel, compared with Avhat it is every-
where else, especially in Great Britain and America, renders
industry more productive in the end, though less well paid
for at first. There is another very important fact in this
connection. This is the number of workers. Labour is
less paid for just as the number of labourers is greatest.
But the product of so much industry, though individual
toil never seemed to me oppressive, — the product is very
large. I was daily taught this. I have never seen larger
products. I have never seen tillage more perfect, and its
results more apparent. Hence small wages, and hence too
the value of a little money in the purchase of the neces-
saries, and some of the luxuries of life. Another fact.
Labour, though universal, is not severe, exhausting. I
never saw more leisurely, inexpressive toil. There was
steady occupation, but nothing violent in it. The cheerful-
ness of the people was explained. Their home, their even-
ing amusements. They had strength to play, for they came
not exhausted from their work. Their amusements are not
expensive, and thrift, such as it was, was not checked by
their enjoyment.
I have now spoken of the most industrious nations ever
offered to my observation. The American people, — coun-
try people, — know little of work compared to these. Here
everything labours. I saw dogs constantly in harness in
Brussels, and working well too. One man had the harness
so arranged, that the dog was under the cart, to which he
was attached, and thus did not increase the length of the
establishment. The man pushed behind. The donkey is
everywhere, and a most industrious felloAV is he. He is the
roughest coated creature I know of, with prodigious ears.
On he trots with his velvet hoofs, making no noise, and
bringing a good deal to pass. He works for the women,
carrying them and their merchandise with the patience and
zeal of a martyr. I honour the donkey.
100 JOURNAL.
I had some opportunity to observe men and women, as
well as donkies and working dogs. I mean fellow-travel-
lers. The priests, I think, attracted me the most. I had
many priests in carriages with me, and most of them young
men. You saw at once what rest, repose, quiet, produces
upon people. They were handsome, tall, well made men.
Their voices were gentle and musical. They were very
courteous ; passing much of their time in reading as we
travelled on, but always ready to answer a question and to
give information. Their costume was quite striking, grace-
ful, becoming. Always black, sometimes fitting the person,
and reaching from neck to feet. Sometimes full sacks, but
always graceful in their large flowing. One had bands
of black, with a very narrow white edge. Very becoming
were they, and with the rest of the dress making a perfect
whole. The hat was the most striking garment. For the
most part, I do not remember an exception, — it was a three
cornered cocked hat. The corners were very sharp. The
whole was large, and sitting mostly on the top of the head,
or only so much over it as its safety required. These
cocked hats gave to the young men a most queer, knowing
look, I assure you. There were old priests among them,
but they looked as little interesting as old folk ordinarily do.
Not far from St. Omers, there entered the carriage two
young women, whose appearance attracted me. They were
both well looking, and one quite so. Their dress was of
woollen, of a very dark gray mixed ; I thought at first it
was black. It was very full, and laid in very large plaits,
especially behind. It was a thin fabric, and fitted the per-
son as well as such generous dresses can well do. But
their head gear was the more to be noticed. It was a bon-
net, a cap, a what-not ? the head part shaped somewhat as
the old scuttle shaped cape bonnet was with us ; but there
proceeded in part from the main body of the bonnet, a por-
tion which was turned sharply up, roundly turned, and
coming out in a peak, and continuous with this, on each
JOURNAL. 101
side, a broad portion like the cape of the cape bonnet, as
seen behind, which reached down almost to the shoulder,
but flaring off in a beautifully fanciful manner. The whole
thing was large, projecting far in front and laterally, but
not at all ungracefully. No hair was visible. There went
from the top of the forehead, shutting back and up the
hair, and all round, a sort of cap, fitting close to the skin,
as white as snow, and laid in beautifully small and symmet-
rical plaits. Recollect, very little of this was seen, the
bonnet being set upon it. Now this strange head gear was
snow white, and so deeply penetrated with starch as to
keep its shape entirely. It more resembled a sort of can-
vas stuff, of which samples used to be made ; a foundation
material upon which bonnets were wont to be erected.
That is, the article more resembled it in its stiffness, being
exquisitely fine, and though moving with the wind, it did
not lose its shape. There was no cape behind. This ap-
pendage being lateral only, left the back part of the head
no more covered than would a common bonnet that came
down well behind. No hair was visible there any more
than it was in front. Now who were these very strangely
garmented young ladies ? They were members of a society
of Sisters of Charity, and were at a school to be prepared
for their honoured office. The order was, in all respects, as
I learned, a voluntary one. The members might leave if
they pleased, and were in no sense shut out of society or the
world. But you saw at a moment's glance that these sisters
would not give up their calling. They were devotees, and
for life ; at least, so I read their faces and their manners.
One of them, the last, well looking, talked much in French,
used great action, and was singularly living. The other
had great brightness, animation, but its expression was
much less explicit, so to say, and left her companion far in
advance. I was glad to have met with these girls. It was
a new passage in my " travels' history," and as such, and
for itself, I heartily gave it welcome. I asked the eloquent
9*
102 JOUKNAL.
sister where I could get one of lier head dresses, or rather
one like hers. She said there was a society of her order in
Avierique already, — in Mexique, — these were her geogra-
phical designations, and that I could easily obtain a speci-
men at home. Poor child ! she thought Boston was the
next town to Mexico.
The railroads in this part of France, and many of them
in Belgium, deserve a passing notice. A railroad depends
for its cheapness, speed, and its rapidity of completion, on
the country through which it may pass. If the country be
very level, as in the two above named kingdoms, expense
will be comparatively small, and moderate time only de-
manded. Now, in the condition of surface referred to, —
the freedom from rocks and hills, — we have conditions of
excellent and moderately expensive roads, though, as I
learn, they are far more expensive than the American. The
country in this part of France, and most of Belgium, is
perfectly flat ; not a tunnel is to be met with in either of
these portions of these kingdoms. On, on we drive, with
nothing to interrupt us. Soldiers are stationed throughout
the whole length of the route to warn of danger, or to shut
out by-roads when the trains are passing. The carriages are
sometimes very shaky, and heads are kept rocking from
side to side, as if by a sort of artificial arrangement, such
as keeps the imitation Mandarin's head in motion up and
down. Some of the carriages are very easy. We had, in
the latter stages of the route, from Brussels and Cologne,
very nice and easy second class carriages. I always drive
in them, and had a very pleasant afternoon's travel.
Just before leaving Belgium, and for some distance in
Prussia, the face of the country undergoes a very remark-
able change. From being perfectly level, — making canalling
a most easy matter, but now canals are but little used, —
from so level a region, we suddenly passed into a hilly,
moderately mountainous country, of a most picturesque
character. I could hardly believe my eyes. From Calais
JOURNAL. 103
to this region the whole is flat. Now the whole is changed
to the one described. The hills equalled our Green Moun-
tains, but differed from them in the noble forests which
covered them. The shapes are ver)^ fine, and ridges pass-
ing each other in different ways, produced valleys of exqui-
site beauty. Naked rocks formed the sides at one time,
and at others projected from the tops of the hills. Then
there were rounded masses, and then two tops to one moun-
tain, with their independent forests, or naked. I spoke to
a female fellow-traveller, and whom I found very intelligent ;
I spoke to her of all this mountain beauty and grandeur,
and said I knew a lady who would be very glad to sketch
there. Said she, the people of the place, — Spa was where
we were, — the inhabitants are constantly out making
sketches, — all who have taste for such a service, — and
they have wood sawed very thin, and in the winter keep it
in the water, a mineral water she thought, which hardened
it and made it more durable ; and then, after drying and
polishing, they painted upon them from the sketches they
had made in the summer. These they sell to company at
the Spa, and so make their living. I was pleased with this
simple story, for it taught what nature can, and will do, for
and with her docile children. She will place them in the
midst of her best works, or find them there, and by such
works develop in them powers which, without some such
agency, would have " fusted unused." Such at least, would
seem to be the teaching of the story in one of its phases.
What effect has this change of surface upon the railroad ?
Just this. Instead of proceeding straight through in one
line, without any physical cause or obstacle to disturb it in
its straightest and shortest direction between two points, it
has, in order to accomplish this important object in the con-
struction of all roads, to enter at once upon a system of tun-
nelling, and so wide was the demand, and so many tunnels
made, that I gave up the counting of them, having counted
eight in a distance so short that I had reason to believe that
104 JOURIS-AL.
before reaching Cologne, I should have got to the end of
my arithmetic.
Some stations before reaching that city, another change
of surface was brought into view. The hills gradually
sunk away till we got to the common level of Belgium, and
the tunnels ceased. By the way, they have an excellent
substitute for sunlight in these dismal byways, not high-
ways, through hills and mountains. A lamp placed in the
roof of the carriage is lighted, and serves well to diminish
at least, the darkness which is so near akin to that which
once, it is said, occurred or was common in Egypt, but which
happily does not at present prevail anywhere. Should, by
chance, the Hoosac ever be perforated horizontally, the
writer would suggest respectfully the trial of the system of
the North European Chemin de Fer.
It will be seen by our account of the remarkable changes
which the surface undergoes near the frontiers of two im-
portant nations, that geographical boundaries have a real
existence in the changes of surface and in the rivers, chan-
nels, friths, &c., which are found to pass between them. It
is very striking in the cases of Belgium and Prussia, and I
have given to it a distinct place, because of the beauty of
the illustration it affords to our subject. In many cases the
road passes through hill or mountain by a deep cut. This
brings into view the kinds and positions of the rocks which
are the bases of these elevations. I looked at all I could
observe. The railroad is not the very best situation for
geological inquiry, yet these roads furnish admirable op-
portunities for such study. The rocks noticed seemed to be
argillaceous, deeply coloured by iron, and loosely stratified.
In some cases they are much more compact, and breaking in
strong splintery fractures.
Of the trees. Trees are national. Thus through our
whole drive, black birch or aspen, and the poplar of Lom-
bardy, are the prevailing ones. The birch has a very deli-
cate feathery foliage. Its leaves are small and much sepa-
JOURNAL. 105
rated, so that the light passes very freely between them, and
gives to the whole the appearance almost of blight or dis-
ease. In Prussia the roads receive great attention. They
are perfectly smooth, and have on both sides rows of trees,
principally poplar. Roads, the old ones, are paved in the
middle, w^hich secures uniformity of surface, which no other
but McAdam's can boast, or only very partially obtain. The
poplar is a thriving tree here, but singularly wanting in the
properties of a shade tree, and the same remark applies to
the birch. In the yard of the Hotel Bellevue, in Cologne,
horsechestnuts are numerous, resembling ours exactly,
except in the colour of the blossom. It is here some-
times of a handsome red, and so differs quite from ours,
which is perfectly white. The birds are numberless.
We passed many places of interest on our way to Brus-
sels. St. Omers, the second syllable is pronounced terribly
long, Lisle, Ghent, Cappelle des bois, &c. &c. At Ghent
is one of the most magnificent station houses in Europe, a
crystal palace, being all of glass. We were a very pleasant
party, communicating and receiving knowledge. An Eng-
lish gentleman and his lady much pleased me. Two French
gentleman were my companions part of a day, and we were
getting on famously in French talking, but they at length
reached their destination, and I saw them no more. An
American resident joined us on the road. He was born in
Germany, in Hanover, and told me his whole history. He
was, he said, a publisher of music in Philadelphia, and was
very largely engaged in his business. I could not but be
amused now and then with his descriptions of America, but
said nothing which could raise a suspicion that I was any
other than a genuine John Bull. I have found advantage
in this reserve. It may. however, sometimes have operated
unfavourably, and have diminished both knowledge and
pleasure.
106 JOUKNAL.
Bkijssels. — I continue my record concerning Brussels,
which was broken off by driving about that city, and before
I had said anything special concerning it. This is a great
city. Its general plan is excellent, and the details are ad-
mirably carried out. It is beyond all odds the cleanest
place I have met with. Its buildings, public and private,
are handsome, and so arranged as to place, oifices, grounds,
as to make them very desirable residences. Brussels is
literally arrayed in white. The houses are built of brick
and then covered with a composition, which keeps its place
admirably, and being painted white, produces the brilliant
effect just mentioned. I have spoken of the mall. I had
only looked at it. Since then I have walked all over it, and
a grand place is it. So deep its shade, so dark, and so
silent, but for birds, — so cool, and such living foliage !
One thing is characteristic, the trimming of the trees which
bound the walks on one side, or near to the streets. The
method is this : to cut them off at the top on an exact level.
Then cut off every branch, and possibility of a branch many,
many feet from the earth. Then to shave the branches till
they are parallel. This shaving in every direction, on top,
below, and on all sides, is so precisely managed, that the
whole effect is to give you the idea of a hedge growing
on posts, or supports, quite high from the ground. Though
so perfectly Dutch, so painfully formal, the effect is not dis-
tressing. Its novelty attracted me. The trees look as if
the Hamadryads might weep and lament that their special
and loved charges had been placed in circumstances so per-
fectly in opposition to all their natural tendencies. These
queer looking affairs extend long distances, and in the
perspective produce curious effects. I went next to see
sights. The Courts of Justice ; the Mansion House ; the
Place of Martyrs, in which are buried all who fell in the
battles of that Revolution which separated Belgium from
Holland. It is a beautiful square, with a monument
covered with massive sculptures, designed to embody and
JOURNAL. 107
perpetuate a sentiment wide indeed in its extent, for it
embraces nations, but which, to my mind, expresses also a
strong doubt, if not denial of that brotherhood which in its
truth, its good, its beautiful, would so unite men in common
interests, that wherever man was, there would be the
country of all other men. These efforts to perpetuate the
memory of war, have always seemed to me to proceed from
imperfect views of man and his destiny. In the darkness
of the Egyptian mind concerning this destiny, and in its
theological system which taught that after many ages the
soul would return to its body again, if that were preserved
for its reception, embalming was an instinct as well as a
duty. By a like reasoning, we arrive at the causes of build-
ing the catacombs and pyramids for the preservation of the
dead. In the later Greek, too, with his imperfect notions
concerning a future life, what was more natural than that he
should erect the everlasting monument, and in deep cut in-
scriptions and exquisite sculptures, carry forward forever the
memory of those who mouldered there, — to find in an ever-
lasting memory a compensation for a limited life ? I say
that, considering the condition of the race then, and taking
along with it the wonderful development of that part of
man's nature in which the creations of the sublime and the
beautiful lie, — or out of which they come, — are we not
furnished with the true explanation and theory of the vari-
ous and successful efforts to make the memory of great na-
tional events and of great men perpetual ? Patriotism gets
dignity, yes, and truth too, out of this idea ; and while we
ask no permanent records of that which always had one side
of human wrong in it, we do not blame an age which had
patriotism for its religion, and beauty for its expression, —
which found the future in the present, and out of a hero
made a God. Does Christianity make the same, or like
demand ? Does the " resurrection at the last day " contain
the doctrines of the present memorials of war ? Is war
ever its teaching; ?
108 JOIJENAL.
Lace Making. — This is indeed the work of the hand
or hands. We first visited the shop, or place in which
the lace is kept for sale. The tables are covered with gor-
geous crimson velvet, and when the laces are displayed upon
them, the contrast between them and the velvet shows the
former to the greatest possible advantage. Having made a
purchase of lace as a specimen, I went with the showman of
the place to the rooms in which the work is done. He
spoke English well, as did a very handsomely dressed lady-
like person, who assisted him in displaying laces of all sorts
and of all prices. After this was accomplished, (and the
purchase and sale, I assure you, cost about as much trouble
as money,) we prepared to go to the room in which the lace
is made. The trouble in the purchase was this : I was told
with great eloquence, that such a specimen would never do,
that you ladies would at once see that it was not the best,
— that it was not a new pattern. That such a one had not
yet reached London, — that I should have the honour of
having the first piece sold. Then as to quantity. So many
ells would be worthless, — that with so many, one could
trim this, make that, — that it would never do to buy only
so many, — the ladies would be wholly disappointed. Then
price. But all this is enough. I bought just as much as I
chose at just such a price, and was told it was all right !
Right in quantity, quality, and price. I was exceedingly
amused at all this. In this old and magnificent city, for me,
an old doctor of physic, thousands of miles from home, with
such elegant people, talking about laces, and agreeing that
this was beautiful, that not, with an air of profound knowl-
edge concerning that of which I knew absolutely nothing.
We went next to the lace makers. I was very much
struck with our reception. It was no reception at all.
Young and middle aged women were sitting at tables, in
smaller or larger numbers, with their heads bent low to
their work in most perfect silence, and as motionless as
silent. Not a head moved, not an eye was for an instant
JOURNAL. 109
raised. I was affected by all this in a singular way. Here
were many persons, but not a voice or movement. It was
just as still before we entered, and our entrance produced
not the least change. I recollected in the time of the
cholera going into a hospital ward full of men with that
terrible disease. There was agony of suffering, but not an
audible sound. It seemed in the lace room as if I had been
suddenly placed with living beings who had no voice, no
power of motion. My attention was called by the guide to
a very pleasing looking young woman, who was engaged in
a very nice piece of work. She was making with her needle
a copy of a beautiful flower. The process was thus. The
pattern was covered except at one point, where was a round
hole no larger than a ten cent piece, in the covering, and
this she was to put into thread — the portion of the flower
which occupied the hole. This opening was traversed by a
few threads to divide off the part of the flower exposed. In
her delicate finger and thumb she held the most minute
needle I think I ever saw, threaded with the same thread
as crossed the opening just referred to. My eye-glass was
necessary for me to see the thread. Her work consisted in
taking upon the needle its thread in such order as to pro-
duce in lace the pattern itself. I watched the process with
the deepest interest, and was surprised at the beautiful
clearness and exactness of the detail. The guide would
now and then interpose a word of explanation, — my pur-
chase had won his heart, and had made him communicative.
But the girl was not for an instant attracted by the sound
of his voice, or by my English replies, " stitch, stitch, stitch."
He took up the card in which was the opening through
which a portion of the flower was seen, and thus showed to
me the whole of its beauty. But even when this was done
the beautiful lace-maker did not raise her head or move a
finger. The instant the card was replaced, she continued
her work. When we left her, he showed me a specimen of
this work, I think, by this girl. It was exquisitely beauti-
10
110 JOUB^^AL.
ful. A perfect flower in exquisite lace. Understand now,
what I would convey. With her needle she had, so to
speak, drawn, or more correctly, created a flower, not upon
any thing else as a foundation, but the outline of its won-
derful finish ; and the fillings up, and the openings, were the
result of catching with the eye the proper thread which
crossed the openings in the covering of the rest of the pat-
tern, and carrying out the design with the needle and thread
by the agencies of both hands. When this opening was
finished, it was moved to another part of the flower. I
now passed to others working on cushions with bobbins, a
much less diflicult operation. Then to the transferring of
figures to foundations. A sweet girl was engaged in this
last. Her hair, of the richest brown, laced her fair temples.
Her brow was beautiful, and her dark lashes, I have no
doubt, shaded as beautiful eyes ; she did not for an instant
raise them. Her complexion was pale, but showed in its
delicacy, — exquisite fineness, — how beautiful the blessed
air abroad would make it. There she sat, moving with most
delicate fingers her mysterious needle, with its invisible
thread, so as to produce exquisite efi'ects. Sterne's " ravel-
lings of a spider's web" hardly teaches the whole concern-
ing the material of this girl's toil. I had seen enough.
*' Do not the eyes sufi'er," asked I of the guide, " in such a
service as this ? " " O yes," he said, " it is very bad for the
eyes." " How long," I asked, " can a girl do this fine work
without losing the sight, or so impairing it as to be unable
to use it more ? " " Not long," said the guide, " about five
years, but women can work till thirty or forty years old on
less fine work." All this and more was said loud enough
for all to hear it. " And what can they earn a day ? "
*' They work by the piece," said he, " and with constant work
some make one franc, twenty cents, a day — some only ten,
very rarely thirty cents." My very heart sunk within me.
Ten, twenty, thirty cents a day, and the cost, — the eyes !
What, lose the sight and learn nothing which may be done
JOURNAL. Ill
afterwards to sustain life ! Lose health too ! To live in
perpetual silence ! I learned what was the meaning of this
stillness of body and tongue. These poor things had not
time enough to look at the stranger, though from far beyond
the sea. They could not afford so much vision. Their
wretched pittance would be less by such a waste of sight.
As I was about to leave the room, Charles looked at some-
thing on a board near the last row of women, and attracted
my attention to it by his finger. It was a notice in English
that the box below the notice was " for sometliing for the
poor lace women." Said he in a whisper, '-'' half a franc,
ten cents, loill do.'''' I put in a crown, ten times his sum,
and as it fell to the bottom of the box, the unusual sound
reached the ears of these "poor women," and a gentle rust-
ling passed through that room, before of silence, like death,
and a faint hum of thanksgiving was in the still air.
I know not what you may think of all this. But if you
had seen that room, and if you had seen those women and
girls sitting there, working themselves blind, — had felt
that inexpressible silence and stillness, and then had felt
too, that the smallest act of kindness had so moved them,
you would understand how impossible it has been for me to
forget that visit, — how deeply, — yes, how deeply it drove
itself into my very soul. You talk of missionaries, who
shall carry the lesson of Christian love to the heathen !
Are there not Christians who have not yet learned it ?
By one of those coincidences, which may almost be re-
garded as something other than accidents, just after writing
the above, I met with a report of a Committee of the
English Parliament, in Galignani, on the condition of lace
and stocking weavers in England, in regard to health, sight,
&c. It was stated in the report, that the results to health
and sight to the operative, very closely resembled what I
learned of the same classes of operatives in Brussels.
Cologne. — I am now in the Cologne Bellevue Hotel, —
112 JOUKNAL.
the crack house, — and am still writing up my journal of
Brussels. Our hotel has its band of music, and as far as I
can judge, the music is excellent. The band plays in the
latter part of the afternoon ; and at tables spread under the
trees, men and women are sitting, drinking beer, or stronger,
smoking and eating. I struck off to the hotel because of
the band, and I will now say what I have to say concerning
it. Recollect that I am at Cologne. The Hotel Bellevue
is on the other side of the Rhine, and opposite to the main
city. As I sit at my window, I have before me the city in
its whole length. As evening advances, the lights appear
in all the buildings, and in most of the river craft, making
a very brilliant exhibition. Public buildings, fortresses,
the Cathedral, &c., are before me. I walked next day over
the city. The Cathedral, the foundations of which were
laid centuries ago, which fire has destroyed, and which now
is again rebuilding — the Cathedral was first visited. It is
of vast dimensions. A portion with a temporary roof is
used for service. Numerous confessionals are at hand for
the faithful or the unfaithful. I went to the-markets. They
are entirely in the hands of the women, and presented the
most lively scene I encountered in Cologne. The eggs are
sold in fifteens instead of twelves, which in good earnest
makes a fair baker's dozen. I wandered about till I was
well tired, and came back to the Bellevue. The Rhine
most attracted me. It rises in Mount St. Goatherd of the
Alps, and rushes along in a serpentine course, increasing in
breadth as it comes. It passes through the lake Bodensee, or
Constance, colouring its clear waters with its yellow stream.
It passes to the sea at or near Rotterdam. It was its force
of current which most struck me at Cologne. It seemed
an accident, but its mountain-source makes it perpetual.
A steamer will require two days to ascend the Rhine, while
her passage down, a like distance, will be performed in one.
The Rhine is crossed by a bridge of boats. It is built in
sections, so that two boats should make one. Suppose a
JOUEXAL. 113
steamer or other craft is to pass the hridge ; this is done at
once b}' removing a section or portion of the bridge, by
turning it aside. As soon as the boat has passed, the por-
tion removed is immediately replaced. In spring, Avhen the
ice is coming down, and in masses threatening great injury
to the bridge, so many portions are removed as will give the
freest passage to the ice, and so prevent great destruction.
We left Cologne late on Saturday evening. This pre-
vented, till morning, about two, much observation of the
country passed. But as I was told by a fellow-traveller that
the region was very poor in much of its soil, and that its
cultivation resembled much that which I had passed, I felt
the less disappointed than I might otherwise have been.
Sunday morning came in fogs and clouds, the most un-
pleasant morning I have seen. But it was quite light
enough to see how Sunday was passed here. It was very
much like other days ; men and women were working in
the fields. Amusements provided in their ordinary places.
From Harburg we descended the Elbe to Hamburg, and
the boat was as lively as on any other day. I was told
more so, for it was crowded by parties in search of pleasure.
We had a band of music playing any other than divine airs,
and drinking, eating, and everlasting smoking filled the
time. At Hamburg, the approach to which is very hand-
some, the shore being green with the finest forest trees,
with country seats sprinkled among them, — at Hamburg
the gay life, the Sabbath holiday was in full presence, and
the people everywhere rejoiced.
Hamburg. — Here I am in this far-off town, the birds
in multitudes, and beautiful weather travelling wdth me. I
am up at my old hour of about four, washed thoroughly,
dressed, not shaved, for thanks to the climate, or something
else, shaving is not thought healthful in the Germanic ter-
ritories, including Denmark, into which I extended my
march yesterday. Hamburg has entirely disappointed me.
10*
114 JOURNAL.
I knew of it half a century ago, -when the house of G. & C.
of my native town, sent ships there, and got from thence
much goods. My knowledge has not at all increased since,
in that direction. I find it to be a fine city, or free town,
more properly called. One part of it is built in the an-
cient Dutch style, with the houses extremely narrow, high,
and their queer little gables to the street. The other, and
a large part, is built in the latest and best style. Huge
blocks of dwelling houses, stores, shops, hotels in crowds,
abounding everywhere in this region. I could not at first
reconcile this near approach, this overlapping of the old
upon, or to the new. The explanation was at hand. My
courier explained the mystery. In 1842, nearly eighteen
hundred houses were burnt, in May. The fire made clear
work of the city in that part of it, and literally swept away
everything except a small, very small wooden building,
which stood like the prophet in the furnace, unscorched,
though heated seven times hotter than fire ever was before.
The Hamburgers, out of reverence for such preservation,
have built in the very place, and of the same size, a brick
building, which is quite gay with green and flowers, and
covers the house so strangely preserved. I have read some-
where that a shanty of Peter the Great, in St. Petersburg,
has been preserved by Alexander, in somewhat the same
manner, inclosed in a permanent stone house, or case. Now
this old part, the " burnt district," is splendidly replaced
by the new; I said so, last evening, to a "native here."
He did not agree with me. " The old," said he, "is pic-
turesque, is poetical, those gable ends ; the new is prac-
tical, and to me has no sentiment." Now was not this
queer ? He was a man known on the Exchange, a business
merchant, taking the cudgels with me on a matter of mere
sentiment, and expressing a fondness for the merest baby-
house architectural deformities, you can well imagine, and
against the free, the open, near by, and finely aired edifices
for human comfort. This was not surprising to me, for the
JOURNAL. 115
day before he had defended an old black wind mill, to my
mind wholly out of place, because it was picturesque, had
life, and gave life, as he said, to the really beautiful, living
nature about it, — the Alster, and its fine scenery.
Hamburg is on the Alster and the Elbe, the latter as
yellow a stream as was the Rhine when I first saw it, or is
the Mississippi, or even the yellow Tiber. I never saw such
a mud puddle as is the Elbe ; and the canals, which are
important business ways here, one of which comes almost
to the door of my hotel, are even more muddy than their
parent river. I hope both Elbe and Rhine get a little
cleaner before they reach Rotterdam, or the ocean may well
be ashamed to receive such tributaries into its clear bosom.
But with all this, the banks of the Elbe are beautiful. They
are dressed in the richest, darkest green the forest or the
grove ever wears. I passed these spots on Sunday, and my
first leisure yesterday was occupied by a drive through that
beautiful region. You pass at once from Hamburg into
Holstein, Denmark. The only partition is a line of wood
not noticed by me, and strong gates at the places where
the streets of Hamburg are continuous with those of Hol-
stein, or rather with those of the town of Altona, which
seems to be only a continuation or suburb of Hamburg.
In the middle of the thirteenth century, Hamburg, Lubec,
and Bremen, united for protection against the pirates and
enemies which the mercantile interest encountered in the
Elbe. In 1229, a confederation was made between Ham-
burg and Hadeln, for mutual protection. In 1247, Bruns-
wick joined them. Additions continued to be made, till, in
1260, a diet was held in Lubec, and the union received the
name of Hanse, which, in the old Teutonic dialect, means
League. The progress of the league was rapid, so that it
came to number eighty-five towns. It acquired political
importance. It exercised a judicial power, inflicting the
greater and the lesser ban. It was extended to England,
and privileges were granted to the Hanse towns. At length
116
JOUEI^AL.
it became mistress of crowns, lands, and seas. All that
could be obtained or was desired from the league, was at
length obtained. The confederation was dissolved. In
1630, its last diet was held in Lubec, the town in which its
first meeting was held. Hamburg, Lubec, and Bremen
(and in certain cases Dantzic was admitted among them)
continued united, though not under the name of Hanseatic
towns. Hamburg, Bremen, Lubec, and Frankfort, are styled
in the German confederations, the four free cities.
Hamburg has its own government, consisting of a senate
and of two burgomasters. They make laws, raise revenues,
keep troops, regulate police, &c. Before the laws take
effect they are submitted to the people, who vote for or
against them, as they think best, and their vote is final.
The place is a very quiet one. Through the canals, goods
are carried to the warehouses. I have observed this same
quiet in other German cities. I have seen no drunkards or
any police in any of them. I was amused yesterday with a
police order, which was lying near me at an ice cream
house. The cream was excellent, though not as per-
fectly fine as Gunter's, in London. The order set forth, as
translated by my courier, that if children made any noise in
the streets, they should be taken to jail, and whipped with
rods, for wilfully breaking the peace of the honest burghers.
I thought they would make more noise for the whipping.
I certainly heard none in the streets. There is nice care of
horses here. I went into the stables of the mounted troops
of Hamburg, the Chasseurs, and saw in them splendid
horses. They were kept in fine order, their coats clean,
bright, lively, — their beds excellent, and ventilation per-
fect. I had never before seen a military stable, and was
much pleased with this specimen. The civil horses are also
well kept. The draft ones wear no blinders, but have the
fullest use of their eyes, and they are bright ones, I assure
you.
Workmen have everywhere their own modes. Here, the
JOURNAL. 117
Hod Carriers of America, use narrow, shallow trays to
carry mortar in. Bricks were carried up by hand, I was
told. But this suits the German mind admirably. You
know how reflective it is. How tolerant the race is of
clothing, as if ballast were useful, where unobstructed mo-
tion might be hazardous. An Englishman, with whom I
travelled to Hamburg, told me that a countryman of his had
buildings, warehouses, to be erected here, and desired much to
bring his workmen from England, but this was not permitted,
and he had to see daily action almost without progress, till
he was tired of the virtue of patience. How germain to
the national character was that little tray of mortar, and
how weary it had been for him that carried it, had he been
given to hurry ! It was often a somewhat dizzy height
to which he had to bear his homosopathic load.
Hamburg is a place of great commercial activity. It does
business as a centre for a wide circle. The Exchange is
very large, and is said to be the most crowded in Europe.
Character is of the deepest import in such a community,
and he who has wilfully done wrong, failed fraudulently, or
in any other way has made a sacrifice of character for gain,
is most severely punished. A merchant named to me one
who has lately made a fraudulent failure, who before had
an excellent character, and was deemed very rich. He is
in close jail, and can never recover himself from the degra-
dation to which his base conduct has reduced him. This
seems a harsh morality, a strictness beyond the rule. But
I said above, everybody engaged in business here, learns
from the earliest days of his apprenticeship that his whole
present, and his whole future in Hamburg, depend entirely
upon his strict probity. If he fail, he honestly fails ; or
falls, never to rise again. You will not be amused at these
dry details. But I came to see, hear, and inwardly digest,
and so I give you some of the results.
I have already said something of the German capacity for
"victuals and drink." They daily give me food for new
118l journal.
admiration. The Hamburgers are not a whit behind their
constitutional countrymen. Passing from the steamer to
my lodgings, and of course through the most thirsty part
of the hurg^ I was struck greatly by the signs. They read
*' Weinhandlung, und Destination " on almost every door,
or above, — wine and liquor seemed the universal language.
With all this, I have seen no drunkenness, none of the
brutal exhibitions of cities out of Germany. And you see
no police. They may be about, but if so, partake so largely
of the Dogberry vein, that they never harm the ill-behaved,
if any such exist here. You see this love of sustenance
wherever you may be. All establishments for eating, and
especially for drinking, are most liberally patronized at any
and all parts of the day. In the evening, including the
latter part of the afternoon, the country about cities is
largely visited. Music, for which these people have knowl-
edge and love, is ever a part of the entertainment. Bands
are found in many places, at hotels and elsewhere. The
Elbe steamer had its band. They are paid by collections
from the company. Looking out at my window at Cologne,
or Coin, as commonly called here, I saw under the trees
many narrow tables, with permanent seats on both sides,
all painted, and looking very nice. The rapid Rhine went
rushing by the place within a very few feet of the garden,
if such it may be, and as here is, named. In the evening, or
rather afternoon, I found these seats rapidly filling. Well
dressed men and women were collecting, beer and other
drinks were in rapid circulation, various articles of tempting
food were on the tables, and the everlasting pipe and cigar
in brisk use. After a time I walked down among this large
assembly. It was a very quiet one, very little was said, and
that not noisily ; very little or no laughing. Not long after
I heard music. Quite a full band was under my window,
and a place built up for them. There they played at inter-
vals for some time, and greatly to the pleasure of the com-
pany. In Hamburg, towards evening, we had music and
JOUKNAL. 119
singing at or near the hotel. This union of music with
other means of pleasure at these large assemhlages of the
people for social objects, gives them a character very different
from our own country holidays. These are rare with us, —
are noisy, often intemperate in their tendency, and in them-
selves. There is no sentiment, there is no such enjoyment
as good music affords to them who understand and love it.
In Germany the whole story is unlike this. As we have
seen, the meetings are really social. The parties know each
other. The music, as well as the cigar and the beer, are
criticized, and the indulgence of the appetite comes to be
associated with higher pleasures. You see everywhere here
that there is something other ; more and better, yes, better,
than every day drudgery, and hard toil. Here at the close
of the day, and in the long twilight, families and friends
come together. They come often, fill ihe garden, or the
mall, and in laying aside the working e very-day dress, give
up toil and trouble too, and in their new dress find for the
hour a new heart and a new life. I cannot but think of
home at these times, and deeply regret that we too have not
our hours, daily or weekly, for social gatherings, to see each
other, and to hear music that is wusic. You need not have
the beer. This is not essential to such gatherings, or to
such pleasures. You must indeed have the eating, and the
drinking too, and it may be easily had of such articles as
do not involve the evils of bad habits. I can say this, that
even in the crowded Sunday steamer on the Elbe, in which
a most curious assortment was collected, in which a shower
drove great numbers down to a very small cabin, — and in
which was drinking, eating, and music, yes, music too, I
saw no drunkenness, or any approach to it. Men and
women were not on a drinking spree or hoiU, but on a
pleasure excursion, to which music, smoking, eating and
drinking largely pertained, not as accidents, but as necessary
accompaniments. And yet there \vas no excess, and though
there were joke and laugh, there was no riot, no indecorum.
120 JOUIINAL.
You say this was not the hest way in which to pass the
Sabbath. This is a Catholic country, as have been nearly
all in which I have sojourned lately, and it is a part of the
custom, if not faith, of that church, to regard the Sabbath as
a day of rest from all toil, and as a day for amusement,
recreation, — a holiday, which if made holy by passing a part
of it in church, in the confession of sin, and in worship, is
not necessarily made unholy by passing the rest of it in
social gatherings, and in such pleasures as the popular
culture or habit may give rise to. Few questions in morals
or religion have been more discussed or more variously
determined, than such as are involved in the inquiry con-
cerning the best use of man's various and antagonistic
nature. The physical, the moral, the intellectual, and the
religious, — for some philosophers tell us that piety, worship,
spiritual culture, have their being and exercise in a religious
element or faculty in the constitution of man, — these four
cardinal elements all deserve and demand the most perfect
development. He who so uses one or more as to overlay
by such use, — to bury up, make useless the rest, has failed
in his apprehension of his own nature, — knows not " what
manner of man he is," and will certainly make a failure of
the great experiment of human life. In the cultivation of
the whole man, is the harmony of a perfect instrument in
perfect tune. Its language is ever true music. Happiness,
contentment, are its accompaniments, for they are its sure
products. The balance is preserved, and life flows on in
successive felicities ; and its sorrows, if such come, may
have the sanctification of a good, a divine temper, and come
to be blessings as sure as are the nearest pleasures.
In Germany pleasure thus walks side by side with labour.
The cultivation of taste does not conflict at all with the
labour which brings with it physical development. The
popular religion is reverenced, for in the Cathedral, and in
all which enters into its idea, is such ministry to the senses
as may reach to the heart. I have been in these Cathe-
JOUKNAL. 121
drals, generally on secular days. I have found in them the
poor, the infirm, the aged, on their knees, at the celebration
of the mass, and at all hours, — nay, more, I have seen
little children at the cradle of the infant Jesus, with
hands on their breasts, looking at the emblem of the mys-
tery reposing there. Their mothers were there on their
knees pressing the stone, and uttering in low tones their
prayers. Thus was the earliest lesson of these poor, proba-
bly very ignorant women to their children, a service of wor-
ship with which "little children" were anointed, as if there
were really to them a truth in that great saying, " of such
is the kingdom of Heaven."
So much for the German popular life, as I have seen it,
and for the national religion. Say what you may concerning
either or both, you must certainly conclude that the people
have discovered what contributes most to their pleasures, and
that they are faithful to their knowledge. The time will
probably come, when at home we shall learn, that life is
better than everlasting labour, and that pleasure is sure, and
only sure, when it forms a part, a most important part,
towards the enjoyment and development of man's whole
nature, — his every-day life.
The traveller's attention is called to the various condi-
tions of the people among whom he may be thrown. The
highest classes are the creations and conservators of conven-
tions, and as these are catching, not much variety is ob-
served in these orders of different countries. Admittance is
not easy to such, and so wholly artificial is the whole life,
that a "brick" is a fair specimen of the whole "house."
We have seen something of the life of the great mass of
many people, and now a moment for the poor, " whom ye
always have with you." In England, beggary is an open,
out-door business, and in very numerous hands. On the
continent, I have scarcely seen it at all in cities, and in
the country, it is most seen in the Austrian Tyrol. One
or two paupers only attracted attention in Hamburg, for
11
122 JOUKNAL.
instance ; but there was so little rudeness in the demands
of the poor seen there, — in fact there was no rudeness, but
such gentleness, — that you hardly thought it possible there
was any poverty there at all. It was an emperor who one
day decreed there should be no poverty abroad in his great
capital, and street beggary disappeared as by magic. Now
it may be that there are no beggars in Hamburg, because
the good burgomasters have decreed it out of the streets.
However this may be, I certainly saw but few evidences of
that poverty which we have at home, and which we see in
such variety of expression in the streets of some cities in
Europe.
The dress of people is attractive. It is quite distinctive
in Europe, each place having its own costumes, or each some
single article which is their own. In America, shoes are
made of leather. Here, in some places, they are made of
wood. Head gear is often peculiar, — that of domestics
and that of their employers. The little white cap upon
nicely combed hair is very becoming, and very common
in Germany among domestic girls, — servants here so called.
Their bonnets and hats have all forms. I should think
there was much less tyranny of custom or fashion in these
matters than with us. Between the cap and the shoe, the
head and the foot, dress has a very wide margin, and in-
dulges its privileges in every possible way. Still every
people has its style, its expression of taste, and it is in
this we find the true causes of those varieties in costume
which give character to peoples.
Beelin. — Left Hamburg yesterday at half past seven,
and reached this capital of a great kingdom between three
and four, p. m. I say great, not because of its population,
for this is not very great. I say so because of its history,
audits present position among nations. This morning is very
beautiful. The birds are with me still ; and if the Rhine
and the Elbe have passed my hotel windows often of late,
JOURNAL. 123
I can welcome the Spree now, which is a clearer stream
than either of the others, and passes by me with a gentle
murmur in its way. The drive yesterday was of little
interest. We passed Hamburg into Mecklenburg, and
thence into Prussia. Here luggage is examined, and mine
again, because, though I had already been in Prussia, and
had passport and trunks examined, I had since been in
other kingdoms or states, and a new inspection was required
when I entered Prussia again. A union in regard to duties
has been made by several states in the north of Europe, —
the Zolverein. An examination in one state suffices for all
the others which belong to the union or league. The Zol-
verein does not embrace all, as Prussia, Austria, Russia, &c.
In these, inspection is required with a view to ascertain if
any contraband articles, or any paying duty, are in the lug-
gage. The former are seized ; on the others, the duties are
demanded. I was detained but a short time, however, for
my courier has travelled so long, that he is fully aufait to
all these matters. It is truly quite pleasant to have in your
service, or in yourself, true, exact knowledge. How smooth
do the rough places become, and how clear the obscure.
My watch was put dreadfully out of time by the great dif-
ference in longitude between America and England, more
than four hours. I let it go the old time ; and now for the
life of it, poor thing, it cannot catch up with the changed
hours. I put forward the hands constantly, but it wont
do, it is truly, without a figure of speech, " no go.''
My fellow-travellers were two Germans. Sometimes we
had five smokers at once in a carriage of eight. They were
pleasant young men, and would have talked with me with
pleasure could we have understood each other. The courier
did well with them. The road was through a sandy region,
and the least interesting and least cultivated of any I have
met with. At times, a fine green spot, splendid forest trees.
The birches, poplars, and willows are less frequent. The
sand w^ould not give them footing, and wretched, tall, and
most gaunt pine trees have replaced them.
124 JOURNAL.
All along the road the women were at work. Hard is
their lot. Where are the men ? Children, girls oftener, far
oftener than boys, are among the workers in the fields. In the
height of the heat, work is abandoned, and the women were
seen lying under trees, if any were, else stretched at length,
with their faces in the sand, in the whole power of the
burning sun. They were better off than the poor lace
makers, for they might rest, — yes, cover their eyes from
the hot light, and wait for a cooler hour in which to look
up again. The farm houses looked better than any I have
seen. Better glazed, better offices, trees, &c., around them.
The vegetable gardens particularly attracted attention.
They were exceedingly neat, and the growths were luxu-
riant. Flower beds abounded, and in short everything
seemed to be done which might contribute to comfort or to
luxury. I saw very few people about the houses, — almost
none, — no children, nor other living, moving thing. I
seriously do not believe that cats have been brought to Ger-
many ; certainly I have not seen one. A remarkable still-
ness was everywhere. The houses are queerly built.
Bricks are scarce, and stones none. So they make their
walls only one brick thick, and, to prevent the wall coming
down, they build in, so to speak, narrow timber or planks
in various directions, parallel, and at angles from each
other, two or three feet apart. These being connected
together, and held in their places by the bricks, the wall is
kept from tumbling, nay, a strong wall is made. So much
for architecture. Do not weary of my dulness, for I do not
require you to read. I should greatly like to go into one
of these houses, and into the mud-walled and thatched cot-
tages. But the inexorable train, — the convoy, as they
call it, the carriages, — will not let me, and making enough
German miles a day to equal about two hundred English
ones, leaves very little time for romancing, and the cottage
silence is not broken by me.
*' The house I live in," the Hotel de Russie, is of excellent
JOURNAL. 125
appointments in all that pertains to house demands. The
service is as good as need be ; more than is in use, and so
sometimes in or out of the way. My room is on the first
floor, the second with you ; the paper, ceihngs, walls,
splendid ; all toilet demands fully answered ; bureaus,
chairs, couch and sofa, perfect ; the floor pannelled diamond-
wdse of oak, with invisible junctures, and so waxed and
polished, that it must be woe to him, who taketh not heed
to his steps. I suppose my French boots understood these
floors, for I got along pretty well. There hangs a portrait,
quite well painted, of Nicholas, the Czar of all the Russias.
He must be a very handsome man, with much force of ex-
pression. He is younger than I had supposed, of very fine
form. The frame is surmounted by the armorial bearings
of Russia, the double-headed eagle, which with its spread
Avings stands as the protecting power of a great State. I
should not forget, in describing my quarters, that my pol-
ished floor has, I suppose, out of compliment to its present
occupier, a bit of booking all round, which makes the foot-
ing not only safe, but comfortable. My first breakfast
amused me. My 005*66 holder was a small nice cream pot,
which held just one cup and a half of liquid. I, not think-
ing of such an outfit in such a palace, supposed that the
poor thing, it being rather hot, contained hot milk, and
went on reading Galignani, expecting the coffee pot. At
length getting curious, I looked into the mysterious little
specimen of china, and lo and behold, it was my breakfast !
The cream vessel held about two table spoonfuls of milk,
with a little melted butter floating upon it, — Germanice,
cream. Two small very hard rolls, and a pat, not pot, of
butter, just the size of a new cent, viz., one not worn quite
thin, completed the Berlin breakfast. Now when you see
Mr. , brother of precious , and whom, viz., I am
determined not to forget ; when you see friend , ask
him what he thinks of a Prussian breakfast, of " our own
times.'' I think I have met with untravelled gentlemen,
11*
126 JOUKNAL.
who might have said a somewhat profane grace upon such a
meal. I forget two eggs, and they were too small for
memory. They were laid expressly for the Hotel de Russia,
and more especially for my breakfast.
Bee.liis'. — Penelope renews the heavy work. Yesterday
was a time of business. I called on Mr. Barnard, and Mr.
Sparks's letter secured his kindest attentions. I next called
on Mr. Fay, the Secretary of Legation. Mr. F. was out,
but Mrs. F. was at home, and I found her a most agreeable
lady. Thence I went to Schneider's, bookseller, and there
saw the German translation of your uncle, Rev. Dr. Chan-
ning's works. Ten volumes are out, and five more are
coming. It is an exceedingly cheap edition, the fifteen
volumes costing but fifteen shillings. Had it been complete,
I would have purchased it. Went to the old picture gal-
lery, and staid as long as my lame leg would let me. There
was Titian's Fruit Girl, so called, which no money can buy.
An ice cream shop next brought me up, and the cream was
good. That is, it was not a cream at all, but a very nice
fruit ice, which abroad many ice creams are. Next I went
to the banker's and got some money, and sent my letter to
you and friend A — — , and this brought three o'clock and
dinner. This last was, as usual, a long aff^air, for a very
long carte had to be devoured before the meal was done.
It was the old thing again, perhaps twenty dishes, and of most
small amounts each. Larger would be absurd. You take
about two mouthfuls of each, and by the time the two,
three, or four varieties have circulated, you are ready for
two mouthfulls more. This makes a dinner a wonderful
affair. Human wit is truly exercised, and strange creations
come forth. Two dishes stirred me. We had the^rs^ peas.
So youthful were they, that they promised absolute sweet-
ness. But the prophecy was not fulfilled. The cook had
stewed the peas with young carrots, a most hateful marriage,
and wretched enough was the product. Something was
JOURNAL. 127
brought to me. I asked what ? Ice cream, was the answer.
But it was a warm ice cream. This was a blunder, which
is always worse than a crime, and which destroying- itself,
left me no alternative but to drop the spoon and to retire.
Went to my den, and after a time, strolled out with Charles.
Very warm. Strayed again into the ice cream house. As
we passed along, said C, the morning cream was sixpence,
this evening it is twelvepence. But I told him we would
not complain, for the ice, unlike the dinner one, was cold.
Bought a cane. A Catholic church door was open, and I
proposed to enter. Directly opposite was the opera house,
and thither fashion was speeding. The poor were on the
'vvay to the church. It is a large circular building. It was
well filled. The organ was grand, and the chanting in
harmony. After the chanting, the service of the altar pro-
ceeded. It was evening mass. The host was elevated.
And as the mystery w^as next presented to the people in the
cloud of incense, and the bell rang, the whole congregation
were on their knees, save only one, a tall young soldier,
who stood next to me. The host was turned, a bell was
rung. The young man with his arm folded, stood firm.
The host was turned to one side ; another bell. He re-
mained erect. Again it was turned, and now directly
towards the young soldier. The third bell. He yielded.
His cap fell to the floor, and his knees upon it with an
emphasis which startled me. It seemed as if he had said
with Coriolanus, when his mother kneels to him :
" Sink, my knee, i' the ecarth ;
Of thy deep duty more impression show.
Than that of common sons."
The service was over, the doors were slowly opened, and the
people left the house of God.
One morning my attention was attracted by the loud
howling of a dog in the street, and going to the window,
I saw a very large dog harnessed to a low carriage on four
wheels ; on it was a water cask just filled at the Spree, and
128 joums-AL.
which that grand animal was not only dragging, but abso-
lutely running along with, so that his master must run to
keep up with him. Truly these Germans are a wonderful
people. I say again, that abroad, one does, at least I do,
like to see the people of the place, and their ways.
I had in the evening a very pleasant visit at the Minister's.
Mr. Barnard lives in No. 75 in the Linden. He occupies a
jiat, or a story, and in very nice style does he live. I sup-
pose his office, in some sense, is a sinecure, as he passed his
last winter in Italy. So at least, I was told. Now how do
you suppose I learned this ? It came to me in my walk
home. It was thus. I drove to No. 75, as it looked like
rain. But as I came into the hall from the parlour on my
return, I found the courier. I reached the street, and my
carriage was not in sight. I asked the reason. He said, as
the evening was now fine, he thought I might prefer to walk,
and in my walk he said, that the Minister passed his last
winter in Italy, for his maid had told him so, and farther,
that Mr. B. would return to America in the autumn. He
had learned more of ministerial arraugememts than I had.
I say here with the greatest pleasure, and most entire
confidence, that whoever may supersede the present incum-
bent, will have to be a good deal of a man to make good
his place. I feel greatly indebted to the Minister, and am
most happy to acknowledge my obligation.
There was little night in Berlin last night. The twi-
light was perfect. I watched it at my open window, till
after twelve, and rose from my bed to see it longer. It
was of an exquisite brightness, or rather lightness. It
extended long in the horizon, and marked the passage of
the submerged sun in its parallel line or course along the
horizon. I was constantly looking for the sun to start into
view, so near seemed it to the horizon. But it travelled
along with a varying, and rather increasing light, and very
probably rose not very long after I fell asleep. I was asleep
at about one, and true to their instincts, my eyes opened to
JOURNAL. • 129
the long day before four, and I was at once up to toilet
and to pen. I am surprised that I need so little sleep. I
was never one of the seven. But now I sleep less than ever.
And yet, as I wrote you yesterday, I was never in better
health. In Russia I fear I shall scarcely sleep at all. At
the Minister's 1 met with Mr. Brown, a son of the Chief
Engineer of the Russian Railway, and was happy to learn
that he will leave Stettin with me in the steamer on Satur-
day for St. Petersburg. Mrs. Fay had told me how very
pleasant he was, and my evening's talk with him of a few
minutes, satisfied me that the description was fully borne
out by Mr. B. himself. (Another water cask is filled, and
that howling dog is running away with it !)
I have said nothing of Berlin as a place. It is large,
covering much space, and holding many people, some hun-
dred thousands, I am told. It is full of things ; such as
palaces, galleries, monuments, public buildings in fullest
numbers ; barracks as numerous as other buildings, squares,
shrubberies, flowers, forests of roses, on the very sides of
streets, brushed by your clothes, but always safe, apparently
never touched, filling the air with the richest odours. Mig-
nionette and heliotrope are abundant, each delighting smell
and sight. These things are very pleasant. They are for
all. The little child I saw last evening as I was going to
the church, would sometimes touch a leaf or flower, but he
broke nothing off", hurt nothing. All sorts of objects pre-
sent themselves to the common eye, and must do good. It
is an expression of refinement to leave the beautiful, the rare,
and the near, unspoiled, so that thousands beside our self
may have the pleasure. You say the reverence comes of
fear. Very well. I saw no agent of power to preserve
roses, so near as to much fear him ; but I still did not
touch what in the damp night will surely die. Why is it,
that we of the Anglo Saxon blood love to ruin, rather than
take pleasure in things ? The roughest mountaineer who
comes up to Rome at the great festivals of that gorgeous
130 JOURNAL.
churcli, wanders througli the Vatican, and is satisfied with
the vision of beauty and of power there. He never touches
what he sees, as if by another sense to get more knowledge.
I remember a foreign lecturer in America, who was about to
send round to his class some objects of great interest, but
very easily broken. He said he had heard that Americans
had been characterized by a traveller as always very curious
to learn the strength of things. He would assure us that
his specimens were very delicate, very easily broken, and
hoped and trusted that we would not try their strength !
There are other things in Berlin, which go as far to fill
it up, as does anything else, — I mean soldiers. I have seen
nothing like the numbers of these. You understand what
the barracks mean, when you see the soldiery. While I am
a;t this moment- writing, a large number of soldiers are
passing the hotel. Their uniform, blue coats trimmed with
red, their white pantaloons, their tall caps with down hang-
ing white plumes, their short, stout, side arms, all tell of
discipline, for everything is in most perfect order, and tells
you how great has been the care. This large body in pla-
toons of six or eight, make but one sound as their stout
nailed shoes strike the pavement in their exactly cotempora-
neous tramp. I followed them with my eye some little
distance, till they wheeled to pass the bridge which crosses
the Spree. Guard is mounted at every point at which any-
thing belongs, however remotely, to the State. The old
Palace, which at present is not inhabited, the king being at
Breslau with the Czar, and who, when at home, passes his
summers at the Sans Souci in Pottsdam, has its appointed
guard. All this has doubtless an agency in producing the
great quiet and order noticed here. I see no police with
uniform and badge, and yet I was never in a more orderly,
less noisy city. There is very little stir, bustle, crowd.
There seems to be very little business transacted here. The
courier says the rich have left the city for the country, —
have taken their equipages with them, and the external
JOUKNAL. 1.31
appearance here is not at all what it is in the fashionable
season. In the street before the hotel is an exquisite flute,
filling its neighbourhood with its music. You would rejoice
to hear at a safe distance so much sweetness and so much
power. The player is doing all he can for a groschen, and
I hope he will succeed. As he comes every morning, it is
highly probable he gets the money. Berlin looks very old.
The houses are not often painted, I should think. The
composition in places is broken, discoloured, and a general,
dark, dingy colour prevails, as from smoke, dust, &c. I
allude to the part of the city in which I live. Across the
street and narrow river Spree, is the Palace of the present
king. In direct rear of this, is a row of houses of all shapes
and sizes reaching to the river ; so that a door from the
lowest story opens upon a four-sided bread-trough shaped
boat, and a woman has just finished rinsing her morning
wash over the side of the flat-boat. Thus do the Palace
and the paiiperum tabernas run side by side, as was their
wont when time was earlier.
June 10th. — Before I had finished breakfast, some friends
called to invite me to visit the Palace, &c. ; in other words,
to see sights. I have a cool abhorrence of all this business.
First, I hate it from principle ; secondly, from fact. I hold
curiosity to be a very wretched interpolation into this nature
of ours, and I am somewhat lazy withal just now, and a
little lame. But there was kindness in being included in
such an efibrt. I left my breakfast not half eaten, and
knew the table d'hote hour too well to be doubtful as to
the possible and probable state of the inner man which my
rashness would involve.
A few days ago, being in London, my wanderings took
me very near to the British Museum. Dr. Boot, of Boston,
but long an inhabitant of London, had advised me by all
means to visit the Museum. • I cannot let this mention of
this gentleman pass without an acknowledgment for the
many most pleasant visits at his house in upper Gower
132 JOtlKNAL.
Street. A lady with whom I was driving, begged me to go
there to see the Nineveh sculptures. So I pulled the check
string, and told the coachman to go to the Museum. I had
been there before. I had wandered about in the vast library,
among manuscripts of the deepest interest, among specimens
of art, rare, and of the highest value. I had seen the Townley
marbles, and thanked him who with entire forgetfulness of
an early wrong, had placed these treasures there. I had much
in my mind of that long ago visit, and was not unwilling
to renew, not the " unutterable grief," but a real pleasure.
A lady was with me, and she wished much to see the " ele-
phant." So we were in due time set down, and entered the
Museum yard. It looked to me altered somewhat. The
railings were gilded a little. The pavement and steps, were
unswept. There was a great crowd about the building. It
was not a holiday. We entered and looked around for
guidance. A hand on a board pointed, as the writing said,
to the Ninevites. But exactly to what direction the index
finger pointed, we could not tell. Another board, however,
had an inscription, and we hastened to learn what it said.
" Do not touch the walls," was its word. The information
was not relative. I said to my companion, I wondered the
directors had not added, "or the steps; " we were just on a
flight. This provoked a smile, then a good laugh, and on
we went. " What does that mean above the door?" said
my fair companion. It was Mammalia in large letters. Said I,
" it means animals which suckle their young." " Then do,"
said the lady, " let us see them." The first thing we encoun-
tered was the hippopotamus. " What," cried the lady, " is
this horrid thing. I am sure no young would come near
that." I told her the name, adding that it was derived
from two Greek words, " Hippos, a river, and Potamos, a
horse,'' according to the questionless etymologies of a cara-
van interpreter. We visited the department, or apartments,
which are filled with the gigantic and monstrous, in every
sense of the word, — the collections from Nineveh, — not
JOURNAL. 133
pronounced 'N'mevah, remember, — and what works are
they ? They look like sculptured rocks, I had almost said
mountains, — mass of stone piled upon mass, reaching the
utmost limit in height of the rooms of their accommodation.
I have seen engravings of the subterranean and other old
temple architecture of India, and beg you to read Sir James
Mackintosh's Journal of his visit to those sacred spots, —
and know to what limitless extravagance of size the early
mind, in art, declared itself. But there in the Museum I was
in the presence of that mind, of that art, and for a time
breathed three thousand years ago, — and for the moment
gave myself to that ancient power. I confess, though, it was
but for a moment. What with the mammalia, the bugs, the
birds, &c., we in due time became so mirthful that we felt
that it was due to so much stiJl life to withdraw, venturing
before we went, to ask of a quiet, serious looking visitor to
the Museum what the people who were sitting or standing
about everywhere, occasionally walking — what all these
people came there for ? " To eat their lunches," said he.
The truth was here revealed. I had inquired for library,
collections in art, science, &c., but was told these were all
kept locked up, and admission to them was utterly denied,
unless by an order, which it was not convenient for me to
hunt for. We saw through the matter at once. Nineveh
and Egypt were clear humbugs. The British Museum was
a " place to lunch." We entered our clarence and drove to
Gunter's. So much for curiosity.
But here we were in Berlin ; in the capital of a small,
but at the same time, a great state. And here was an invi-
tation to visit the Palace. I choose to be particular, for
Berlin rejoices in palaces. When shown the building, its
outside, you think for a moment that you have lost your
way, and left the palace behind, or that you have not yet
reached it. You as little think you are before a royal resi-
dence, as when you look upon a very long, brick, rope- walk
looking pile in Pall Mall, London, just opposite one end of
12
134 JOIIKNAL.
St. James' Street, called St. James's Palace. We were, how-
ever, told that all was right, and that we might *' go ahead."
Whence the question ? We saw before us a monstrous
building, only about a hundred years old, but looking just
about six thousand, the world's age, according to the Mosaic
reckoning. It was bleak, mouldy, broken, cracked. First
brick, then composition. They made a poor copartnership,
which was at length dissolved ; and I can assure you the
assets were miserable enough ; are, for there they were
displayed before us. We entered, and soon began to ascend
a very broad stair-case. The ascents were two, one on
each side, ending in a common landing. The one we walked
up was after the usual manner of stairs. The other was laid
in brick, quite roughly, and suggested the idea that it might
have been used as a road, namely : that the company, if they
chose, might go up stairs and make a call on horseback. I
merely state a suggestion of a lady of the party. We at
length reached the entrance room of the royal residence-.
We got here the height of the rooms, and we see at a mo-
ment, how vast this is. In some cases, it looks out of pro-
portion high, compared to other rooms. For instance, the
dining-room is of immense length, but quite narrow, so
that it must be impossible to hear from one end of it to the
other. The vast height in such a rapid and long perspective,
serves to render it apparently more narrow than it really is.
However seemingly neglected be the outside of the Palace,
the order of the inside is perfect. First, of the floors.
These are exquisite in their kind. They are of oak, laid in
squares, about a foot in size, and fitted to each other by
joints, which are exquisitely true. They are kept polished
so perfectly, so uniformly covered are they, that it would
seem that the whole finish had been done at the same mo-
ment. I do not know how to describe the effect of these
floors. In the material, the finish, and the polish, they are
absolutely perfect. Then to leave that on which you tread,
how gorgeous is all that which in slow succession comes
• I
JOURNAL. 135
before you. At the threshold of the first room, you are
introduced in a corner to a large number of over-shoeSy made
of immensely thick woollen something, and of the greatest
softness and smoothness, especially the soles. You thrust
your boots into these, and go not scraping along, for it is to
prevent this mode of progression that the guide emphatically
commends you to these most solemn gray moccasins ; but
sliding in the most approved manner, adding to the intense
polish by every glide or plunge forward. It was a caution to
see some of the locomotion of our party. Noiseless we went.
The walls are hung with pictures, it seems to me, of less
artistic than historical interest. I saw one which I thought
worthy. One vras worthy its palatial setting. It probably
owed more of its interest with me to its moral than to its
artistic character. It is a full length of Louisa, a princess
of Mecklenburg, and wife of the reigning Prince of Prussia
when Bonaparte conquered Prussia, and which Queen, Bon-
aparte, as I \v3,s told, treated harshly. I think I never saw a
more beautiful, a more noble, a more commanding person.
The painting you pronounce perfect, which is such a revelation
of such a spirit. She stands in the assurance of her nobility,
and that its patent is from heaven. She has in her perfect
loveliness, the safe conduct of her sex, and of her regal train.
If she stood before her conqueror as she stands there, in
that palace room, he must have parted with his manhood,
before he could have treated her with insult. I am not here
talking of art, — of a picture, — of a human work. I am
trying to say what a sublime revelation of a beautiful and
noble truth did for me in this far off land, and appeal from
myself, my own, to the inspiration of him who placed that
being there. I only wish you could have been at my side
and have told me how much you loved that vision. Every
one with me was moved, deeply moved ; and you would
have felt the power which could reach such and so many,
and have felt " paid " for the rough and tumble of that
experience, of those experiences, which had placed you
within its influence.
136 JOUKNAL.
I do not mean to annoy you with hand-book tracings of
a palace. No, I will not even descant on the gorgeous
White Hall, or saloon. Endless splendour is before you.
Room after room full, overflowing with gold, silver, prec-
ious stones, and with what can be made of them. They
are arranged for effect, and are certainly successful in what
is attempted by them. You will understand the intrinsic
value, as well as that which art has done to add to that,
when I name the sources of some of this regal splendour.
It consists of a vast accumulation of royal gifts to the court
or crown of Prussia. Nations, kings, municipalities, have
vied with each other in present making on occasions of
royal accessions to thrones, marriages, births, &c. All oc-
casions have been used to testify respect, to do honour, and
the whole product is before you in this rough old palace.
Such giftS are kept with the greatest care ; they are the
property of the state, and so are transmitted to coming time.
The number and variety which may have troubled you be-
fore, or excited surprise, cease so to affect you, the moment
we trace these things to their sources. They are just in
their true place, and came there in the most natural, legiti-
mate way. (Let me welcome the flute again as I write. It
is of exquisite softness, and if 1 dared say so, skill. 1 love
to hear it.)
We passed along with mice-like foot-fall, if such can be
called foot-fall. We went the whole round of the Palace.
Somebody paid the guide a shilling for his trouble, and we
parted to meet no more. I had arranged vrith the same
party to go to Pottsdam, to see Sans Souci, the summer
residence of the King ; but he and Baron Humboldt are both
absent, at Breslau, so I have given up that visit, and it is
rather a relief than otherwise, for I weary somewhat of these
things. Grieved am I not to have seen Humboldt, the man
of his age ; who has given mind and heart to matters of the
deepest interest and worth the best success. He is eighty-
four, but Mrs. Fay told me, is full of life, of gayety, of true
JOURNAL. 137
spirit. I almost wish I had given a week to him. But I
have not a minute to spare, and must go this moment to
finish my packing for Stettin (the last syllable long) for the
Baltic Steamer for Russia.
Stettin, 4 P.M. — Left Berlin at eleven. I had not
finished my report of yesterday when I left the Palace. I
went with my party to see a private collection of pictures.
It was Dusseldorf, in its fullest perfection. There were the
very Wine Tasters, of which we saw a copy or duplicate in
Boston ; and 1 have no doubt I should have seen many old
acquaintances, had I continued long in the room. But this
style does not please me. The pictures are copies, perfect
copies, if you will, of nature. Now nature never copies
itself ; most lamentably dull would it be, if time only re-
produced itself. It does no such thing, but in infinite vari-
ety, with infinite modifications, but always truly does nature
come and pass before us. A painter is not a creator ; a
poet, a true artist, who copies anything. Nature is before
him, and in presenting nature to us, he does so,- not as his
eyes saw it, but as the mind has used that which the eye
has offered him for love, and for study. Nature nrjst be
idealized, v>'hen(j\ er she is to be presented to me by another
mind. We want effects, not mechanical ones, such as mere
colour presents or represents, but, if you please, spiritual ones,
such as have had birth in the artist's mind. He will pre-
sent these, or thoughts, for such they are, by an infinite
variety of means or coloar ; but under all sorts of combina-
tions. He will clothe them in, or with an atmosphere, so
that he will make you feel that you are seeing his work as you
do nature's, through a medium v.'hich he has provided for his
work, just as true as that which nature has about hers. No
matter what a painter does, he always presents ideas. Per-
spective is nothing more nor less than the idealizing of dis-
tance under the laws of optics ; for nature is as true in acting
through or by us, as when acting directly, or so to speak, by
12*
138 JOURNAL.
itself. Objects approximate to each as they recede from us,
until at length the avenue or the street seems to end. "We
know that it does not, and we know the whole philosophy of
the phenomenon. The painter is doing precisely the same
thing, and we know that his street no more ends than does
that which he has idealized. Now to my mind, the Dussel-
dorf school fails just where failure is sure whenever we at-
tempt to copy nature ; yes faithfully to follow nature, or rather
copy it. I remember an anecdote, full of illustration, of this
obscure matter. Mr. Stuart, — Gilbert Stuart, our own Stu-
art, and the portrait painter of his time, and who will live in
his works forever, — Stuart had finished a portrait of a mili-
tary man in uniform. A friend came in, and was much pleased
with the work. He went up to the picture and exclaimed,
" Why, Mr. S., you have painted the epaulettes with red
and other colours." " Stand here," said S. ; " what do
they look like now?" "Just like gold," was the reply.
" Very well," said Stuart, " be satisfied with my effects,
and never criticize the details of my pencil."
The Dusseldorf school copies, imitates nature. Every
thing stands out with a wholly unnatural clearness ; I had
almost said, audacious accuracy. The thought is lost in
the paint, instead of the paint being lost in the thought.
Gold cannot be painted except by yellow. Stuart's nature was
perfect with a combination of red with the yellow. The
harmony in his union of the two was entire, and the alchemy
was complete, — the epaulettes were turned into gold !
The Dusseldorf school wants atmosphere. It wants
medium. You always have the tiling itself. Now in pic-
tures, as in other modes of expressing thought, the sugges-
tion is sometimes better than the thing. A nudity is not
always the most naked thing in the world. The story is
sometimes the best told, which is only half told. The
Dusseldorf school always strikes twehe, and has no more to
say. You see the brush and the palette. You see not the
mind, the soul of the painter. You are satisfied with the
JOURNAL. 139
first moutliful. You have no room for more. A second
visit would be more than a waste of time.
But here am I, just arrived in this old town of Stettin,
and in the Hotel de Prussie, have done nothing else, but
out with portfolio and write up my journal. I am on the
furthest point of Prussia, have taken my passage for St.
Petersburg, and shall leave at one to-morrow, p. m., for that
city. I have travelled from Liverpool to Stettin, and always
in the second class carriages. And most excellent on the
continent have I found them.
Next for company. I have always found it very respect-
able. The people quiet and well behaved. I once got into
a smoking coupe, but, as I smoked with the rest, this to
me was no annoyance. If you would not be annoyed by
your onion-eating neighbours, after dinner, follow his exam-
ple and eat them yourself. We are told this never fails.
I saw life in its various phases. To-day there was a party
which a good deal interested me. A family was leaving
home, and a son, who was one of them, was to be left
behind. He was sixteen or seventeen, and sat with his
mother till the conductor appeared to shut the door. The
door is always left open till near the time of starting. As
soon as he appeared the young man kissed his mother again
and again, — he rose holding her hand, and now kissed
that. The door was shut, but the train did not move. He
stood at the open window labouring to suppress his tears.
His mother did not succeed with her attempts at the same.
Just as the whistle was heard, he again took her hand,
kissed it again and again, and rushed away. The dress and
manner of the party showed them to be very respectable
people. It was some time before those who remained began
to talk. This kissing in Germany is national. One day,
Sunday last, I saw it to perfection, for men, young and old,
were the kissers, and I saw the process in two parties of
three each, one a very old man. I never saw more earnest
salutations. They happened to be between friends who
140 JOUKNAL.
were expecting to meet each other, and was an expression
of apparently the sincerest welcome. So much for kissing.
Stettin is a fortified city, and of course is full of soldiers.
I have met them in every place since I left the steamer in
Liverpool. In Prussia they are more numerous than in any
other nation, as far as my observation has gone. 1 was
desirous to learn what was their position. Their discipline
is as strict as military service can well be. They serve a
number of years, differing in different states. They are
paid from three half pennies to two pennies a day. In war
they are paid more. They get their clothes, their arms and
shelter, and bread and water. But as for meat, vegetables,
cigars, their principal food, and luxuries, they must pur-
chase with their pay. I am struck with the youthful
appearance of these troops, and with the numbers who were
slightly formed and under-sized. They seem very healthy,
and the regularity of their exercise in daily drill, and other
physical employments, together with the regularity of their
whole discipline, diet, and habits, sufficiently explained their
very healthful appearance. I learned that punishment in
this service is not flogging, but temporary imprisonment,
and bread and water for food. There is one thing to be
especially noted in the Prussian service, — and I know not
but it prevails elsewhere. Sir Francis Head gives *a very
minute account of what I am to state, as existing in the
preparatory discipline in France. I refer to the subject of
education. In Prussia, and in Germany generally, the same
system prevails. Education is provided for every citizen, —
nay, is compulsory. For truancy the parent is responsible,
not the child ; and is fined, or punished in some other way
for the child's delinquency. The young must attend the
gymnasium. I think it very likely to be the case, that
intellectual habits and exercises may do much to produce
the healthful and contented condition of the military, where-
ever the system is truly carried out. I speak particularly
of the military. And I do so because this embraces so large
JOURNAL. 141
a proportion of the actively employed population of Eu-
ropean states. It would almost seem tliat every fifth man
you see is a soldier. The estimate is easily made, for this
portion of the people is at once recognized, as they are
always in uniform. I see here no police, that is, an order
distinguished from the military. I have said so before.
They may be everywhere, but I nowhere see them as we do
in England, in France, and in America. But the peace of
these cities is most remarkable. Berlin, which contains
between four and five hundred thousand inhabitants, is as
quiet as a country village, What is the relation of the
military to this municipal repose I am not able to say.
Early in a delicious morning, I started with my courier to
see the fortifications of this strongly defended city. In our
rambles we came to a sentry station, and seeing the guard
at rest, we, or rather Charles, spoke to him. The early
hour, and the solitary place of guard, favoured our object.
We gathered from him some of the facts just related,
regarding pay, education, service, discipline, &c., in the
Prussian service. He was quite young for his position, cer-
tainly not over eighteen, and of excellent face, expression,
and address ; and withal had evidently made good use of
his excellent Prussian education. I was very much pleased
with this conversation. It was receiving at first hands,
just such an account of matters of real interest, as ordi-
narily come from more or less questionable sources. The
frankness of our young soldier was to me a sufiicient gua-
rantee of the correctness and reliability of his communica-
tions. After giving us directions to points of much interest
in the vast works which surrounded us, we took our leave
of this intelligent, pleasing young man.
I have been much impressed with the evidence of the
perpetuity of things abroad. By which I mean to say that
a system which works well remains here unchanged, and
seems unchangeable. The houses seem to have been built
all at once, and to have undergone no change. There
142 JOURNAL.
is an endless repetition of the like or the same. One tells
the story of all. So of governments, and those who ad-
minister them. These remain as they were. Religion and
educational systems have the same character of permanence.
National physiognomy, habits, modes of living, dress, repeat
the story. My mind, in view of these facts, was irresistibly
carried back to America, and the contrast between all which
makes it what it is, and all which was before me, was too
strong not to arrest attention. Change there is on every
hand, and reaches to every interest, as if this agency neces-
sarily resulted in improvement, — individual and national
advantage.
But if improvement come not of change, excitement does,
and in this may be found the principal food of the Am.erican
mind, as an active power. On the continent of Europe per-
manence of institutions, and of modes of thought, are the
necessary consequence of the long established, and which is
known by thinking men to have worked well, — has pre-
served public peace, and order, and national prosperity.
The simple fact that an institution has been, and for a long
time, comes to be a reason and cause of its continuance. So
to speak, it continues itself. With us the institution, the
form of government continues, but the mode of its applica-
tion, and especially the agents by which it is carried on, are
perpetually undergoing change. The public mind is thus
kept in a constant state of fret, — of unrest, — states not
always favourable for the highest or best intellectual activ-
ity. The new, or change, comes to be an object of paramount
interest, and the country feels it from one end of it to the
other. The government is elective. The president is
chosen for four years, — the representative house for two
years, — the senate for six. Every new election, or the suc-
cession of a party different from the latest incumbent, will
throw out of office everybody belonging to it, and bring in
an entirely new set. The offices in the gift of the govern-
ment are, it is said, near forty thousand. Look at this simple
JOURNAL. 143
fact in tliis nation's history, and gather from it its whole
lesson. Those forty thousand have families. They got the
places because they wanted the bread. They may make
money in place, but this it is said must come of contingen-
cies. Salary men never lay up their salaries. " At one fell
swoop" they are turned out by the new president, and most
wretched must be the condition of many. I remember well
an instance. A man with a family, who had received a
large salary, but who spent it, and was displaced, was at
once reduced to extreme poverty. So great was his need,
and so uunbroken his spirit, that his destitution was dis-
covered, — for he would not reveal it, — and the means of
preserving life were at once supplied. Change and excite-
ment cost something in America. In England, a ministry
goes out when it fails to command a majority in the Com-
mons. But every other agent in the government, from the
most responsible to the lowest clerk, retains his place.
Nay more, the faithful officer in his age is still aided by the
government. Place is held during good behaviour. The
motive for honourable and honest conduct. The government
is secure from peculation, and what is quite as important,
the incumbent has the strongest motive for good behaviour.
Give a man an office for four years, an office which involves
important money transactions, and let him calculate wisely
the chances, in a system of change, of a continuance in
office beyond the time for which he has been elected, and is
it a too violent inference, that the temptation for poor human
nature, as it is called by those who abuse it, to improve its
condition, or provide for the future, may be too strong to be
resisted ? In a country of such vast extent, such boundless
resources, such variety of climate, and the products of such
variety every where at hand, — the soil of which in more than
one region is like
" Heaven's pavement, trodden gold" —
in such a country, men can be found who will stake the
support of families as well as their own on the uncertain
144 JOTJENAL.
tenure of the continuance of a party in power, — more
especially at this moment when the country is flooded with
parties, yes, covered with overlapping political platforms.
Said one, and a thinker too, " It is surprising to me that
any considerate, tolerably respectable man, v/ill take the
office of the President of the United States."
We have been told abroad, and it is said at home, that
America can never have its best man at its head. And
again we hear that the less a man is known, the better
his chance for the Presidency. The present Pontiff, Pio
Nono, translated singularly, by a leading orthodox clergyman
and scholar amongst us, was scrutineer for the cardinals at
their last choice of Pope. He was surprised on counting
the ballots to find that he had been collecting votes for
himself, for they were all for him. It has been thought
that a somewhat similar surprise may have been felt among
those who have been somewhat recently made candidates by
conventions, and elected presidents — their nomination
being pronounced by authority, or felt to be, " not fit to have
been made."
Change, violent and sudden, fills the intercallary of presi-
dential elections. National excitement and turmoil are
abundantly provided for, and improved by the election of
over thirty governors, lieutenant governors, houses of legis-
lature, and infinite state and municipal officers. The ex-
ecutive patronage distributed in so many ways, is not
confined to individuals. It has, at least in one instance,
been directed to a state. This is a slave state. I am told that
the army, navy, and civil service of the nation were supplied
by that state with official incumbents, permanent and fluctu-
ating after a manner and to a degree which exceeded every
other, and more than any state in the Union. The resources
of that state were mainly in the public chest. In process of
time, its soil was exhausted. Its land fell to the lowest
price. The executive patronage was in an important sense
withdrawn, and now its principal support is in the breeding
JOURNAL.
145
and selling of slaves. In one part of this state free labour
is more or less employed, and its comparative prosperity
shows how wise has been the substitution.
The remedy for such and so serious evils is at hand.
Let the tenure of office be good behaviour. Take from the
executive its disastrous patronage, which is a nuisance to
the nation, and of most demoralizing tendency to the peo-
ple. This is all that is necessary to give dignity to public
office, and make it acceptable to the best men of the nation.
Party power — spirit — tyranny, would lose their hold on the
public mind, and public want ; and the honour of the country
would replace the present struggle for place and for bread.
There would be peace in the land, and the present morbid
demand for excitement, and for any change which will fur-
nish it in the largest amount, would gradually cease to be the
thing most prized by the public. A vast accession would be
made to the respectable and productive industry of the
whole state, and men's minds come in for a share of that
culture and care, which is now wasted upon a precarious
external life.
Now, how is it with the people abroad ? Few things
more interest the stranger than the people. The houses
are theirs ; modes of living too. How does this people
look ? " Alike as two peas, especially Pomp," as said one
to another, when he would trace the resemblance between
two coloured boys, who looked very much alike. I every
day remark how much people here look alike. They are
not a large race. Their features are repetitions of one type.
The face is short, as if compressed from above downwards.
The nose is very small. I have scarcely seen a really com-
manding nose. Cheek bones high. The eyes small, blue,
and distant from each other. The lips look thin, as if
drawn tightly over the teeth. Complexion is accidental,
depending on place and occupation. Women in the country
suffer most, — the field labourers, — and the skin answers
to the exposure. Female city servants fare better. With all
13
146 JOUENAL.
their out-door exposure, they never get the complexion, or
the expression of the female field workers. On the con-
trary, they are perfectly neat in their appearance, and im-
press you with the belief, that whatever the service, it
contributes to health, and to good looks. I have met with
very few old people in my wanderings. What these people
do when age comes, I know not. Perhaps they all die.
Whether or no, I have not seen them. It may be asked,
why do women, and girls, and children, do so much of the
field, or out-door work ? In the first place, the labour is not
very severe. It may be weeding or cleaning flax, or sugar
beet fields. This requires constant stooping. You see six
or eight in a row, the fields are narrow, and they keep in a
line, and take up everything like a weed, and give the field
the appearance of entire neatness. This is done when the
flax is young. Other tillage requiring a like process, has
it. Women cut turf. This is a large business. Monstrous
boat loads of it reach Berlin, and pass beyond for a market.
Women are sometimes engaged in brick yards. I have seen
them quite as industrious, and as dirty, or as clayey, as are
the men. Women also make hay, bind wheat, load carts.
Women are porters ; you see them with luggage in hand, or
on head, or on shoulder, following the traveller from his
hotel. I saw women sometimes engaged on the railways.
They stand at crossings of roads, and elsewhere, and flourish
the little flag staff" as gracefully as do the men. In Prussia,
men in an uniform stand on the watch on the roads. I do
not recollect seeing a woman. In cities women work, and
sometimes work hard too. Opposite to my window in
Louise Street, Stettin, is a street pump. It is in its casing
about twelve feet high. The pump handle is full eight feet
long. It is a double pump, with a handle on opposite sides.
It is not open towards the sidewalk for buckets. The pump
noses here project through the casing; the front side towards
the street is closed. Here the process of pumping water is
perpetual. You can understand how heavy a body such
JOURNAL. 147
a pump handle of iron, with its monstrous rounded end,
exactly resembling the larger cannon shot, must be. I have
counted twelve strokes as the smallest number to fill a
bucket, which seems nearlj^ twice as large as ours. I have
seen a man make as many as twenty-one before a bucket
was filled. They ordinarily carry two by means of a yoke
which rests upon their shoulders. Now a great deal of this
work is done by women. I have not counted the amount
of their labour. Boys are sometimes at the pump, but they
are frequently helped by bystanders waiting their turn.
Madame de Genlis says, the fine erect forms of the Italian
peasant women, is owing to their pumping water at tall
pumps, and carrying the buckets of water on their head for
domestic uses, or for irrigation. But my German female
neighbours do not always help their persons by the pump-
ing process. This may be owing to the yoke which rather
depresses than raises the form ; though when the load be
not too heavy, it will serve to strengthen the muscles of the
back, and so keep the spine in a natural, and so graceful
position. I speak of persons and things, women, men,
children and pumps, just as they are, or as they seem to be.
But where are the men ? You rarely see them. The
women are ever in presence. The men are in the army.
They are soldiers for a certain number of years, and then
they serve as they may be needed. I know of no explanation
of the fact that the field service is so much in the hands of
the women, unless it be that the men are in the army. I
know of no other service which can occupy the men of so
laro-e a state. The marine, civil or naval, cannot be of much
amount. 1 never heard of a Prussian fleet, and the sea-
ports, or rather port, would hardly seem to off*er employment
for many men. You say an enlistment for three years will
soon expire, and the soldier at once return to civil life.
But this is not found to be the case. The three years' ser-
vice has formed a character and habits which will suit in no
other mode of life. It is now too late to enter a trade, a
148 JOTJENAL.
meclaanic business, and field work only remains. The army
will be preferred, and bence is it true that " once a soldier,
always a soldier." The industrious farmer works in our
short spring and summer. In the winter he takes care
of stock and tools, gets in fuel, and prepares for the next
season of planting, growth, and harvest.
Women not only do the real work of life in Europe, they
do it in America, and everywhere. The exception is not in
savage life. Civilization and savagery alike impose the work
on women. They work for men in their natural childhood,
and for the most part in that worser imbecility which often
attends on manhood. " A woman's work is never done,"
says the adage, which, like all others, has its source in some
established truth, and for the most part truth of experience.
We have seen women at work on the continent. We may
see the same everywhere in England. The harvest makes
them field labourers, and as hard workers as elsewhere. In
America women do the work which pertains to living, — its
comforts, and its luxuries, — its daily necessities, — its weak-
nesses, — its sorrows. Some one says, a part of the pro-
ductive labour of America is done by slaves. Is not the work
of the free state man intellectually, speech-making, — conven-
tion-talking, — his hands being mainly used in applauding,
clapping speakers, and putting votes in ballot-boxes ? The
women do the work, which is work. They make the
nation's wardrobe. " Stitch, stitch, stitch." Women do
an important part of the work in making of shoes. Thou-
sands and thousands are daily employed in this way. Cigar
making, which forms literally so much of the hand- work of
this age, is done by women in America. It were worth while
to learn what is the eff'ect upon health of such an atmosphere
as the young women are obliged to breathe in this employ-
ment, and the steeping of fingers and hands in the moist
leaf of this poisonous plant. Then again, the in-door busi-
ness of the farm, who does it but women ? The cotton and
other mills are crowded, — populous with women. Thou-
JOURNAL. 149
sands, if not millions, of young women are the operatives in
these vast establishments. They live in rooms necessarily
imperfectly ventilated, for the fresh and pure air disturbs the
processes which occupy them, — the minutes for relaxation
daring the whole day are for eating, and in walking to the
corporations, — the evenings are passed in them for rest, —
not for rest from actual employment, — but for that heavier
fatigue which comes of almost motionless activity in the
tending of looms, or like work. Women do the work of
the world. What in time of peace is the work of the
soldiers who make up the standing armies of Europe, and
who throw so much active employment upon women?
They are the veriest idlers in the world. Nati consumere
fruges, they produce nothing ; they are the wasters of the
industry of nations. Nothing has been said of the recom-
pense of woman's work. It is almost too small to be men-
tioned. Compared with the service, it is no recompense at
all. In America, in many of its departments, wages hardly
"keep base life afoot." Not many years ago an effort was
made by seamstresses, slop-workers, or women who work
for tailors, for wholesale, to have their wages increased.
They held meetings, — large, and many meetings, and gave
a full history of their toil, and of their sufferings. Some
men met with them. My profession had made me ac-
quainted with many of these hard-worked, beggarly paid
women. I saw them in sickness, their own or their fami-
lies, — I knew how they lived, — if that could be called
living, which kept little else than suffering alive. Their
nights as well as days were devoted to toil. In the hot
summer time they were making heavy clothing of the
coarsest kind for the winter market, and you saw sickness
and debility employed in this service which left too little
strength to drive the needle through such materials, The
meetings were crowded with the sufferers. One might have
supposed that women of wealth, of position, — whose in-
terest in such an effort must have much aided it, — who by
13*
150 JOIJENAL.
their presence and advice would have cheered on these
overtasked sisters in their toil, and by sympathy, have
made their lot and life less hard, would have been there.
But I do not remember seeing any such. Some men
attended these meetings. On account of the interest which
was taken by me in them, some of the employers of these
women desired an interview with me ; and one was appointed
at my house. They came. Some surprise was expressed at
the interest I had taken in the affairs of the women they
employed and supported, and my views were asked for. I
stated them freely and fully, with a view to show how de-
structive was so much toil, and such small recompense, to
the health and comfort of the thousands they employed.
Said one, " Sir, you do not know how much employment
we give to these poor women, or how much we pay them.
Why, Sir, in our establishment are employed one thousand
women, and every Saturday evening we pay them seven
hundred dollars." "That is," said I, "seventy cents a
a week, -r- thirty cents less than a dollar for six days and
nights' work, — solid work ; and for what is this seventy
cents used ? For rent, food, clothing, fuel. A family may
have to be supported upon this income." Said he, "We
pay full eight hundred dollars a week to them." " That,"
said I, " makes eighty cents a week for each. The difference
is hardly worth mentioning." Said I to a government con-
tractor for army and navy clothing, " Sir, suppose the
government has a contract worth ten thousand dollars, —
literally worth this amount, in material and labour. Sup-
pose it is advertised, and is to be sold to the lowest bidder,
and you get it for seven thousand dollars, who loses the
three thousand, you or the operatives? " " The operatives,"
said he, without a moment's hesitation. "Where, Sir,"
asked he, " did you get that question? " I told him it came
very naturally along with many others bearing upon the
same business. Much conversation followed, and competi-
tion was alluded to in its disturbing influences upon Indus-
JOURNAL. 151
try. " Why," said one, " when we fit out a whaleman for
three or four years' voyage, so hard is competition, we throw
in the duck-trowsers." "And how much," asked I, "do
you pay the women for making a pair?" " Four cents,"
said he. One expressed conscientious scruples on this
subject of women's wages, and added, that he sought for
light by prayer. The above relates to the pay for female
toil some years ago. I have not learned if any, or what
changes have been made in it since. A friend of mine asked
Mr. Daniel Webster what was the cause of poverty. Wages,
wages, said that distinguished man. Does not the experi-
ence of women in this regard, go somewhat to support the
doctrine of Mr. Webster ?
Women in Europe work steadily, and get small wages.
But it is out-door work, — some of it the work of men, and
a little money goes a great way. They get bread, clothing,
shelter, and their children, public, unpaid education. And
they get health, and are social and cheerful, and have time
for relaxation and pleasure. But what of the lace-makers,
and others necessarily obliged to work in-doors ? These are
the exceptions to the rule. They are few in number, and
owe their slavery and ultimate suffering to the stern tyranny
of fashion and luxury, which have no regard for either eyes,
health, or even life. Women in America work in-doors, —
have no exercise, — their work is exhausting, because con-
tinuous — by rule. The plank roads of the West, so level,
smooth, nice, lame the horses, and this soon too, and merely
for their seeming facilities for locomotion. And so does
the motionless toil with the needle, Avithout variety, with-
out intermission ; and so does the cotton-mill Avith its larger
pay, but more hours of work. Women in Europe work no
harder than women in America, looking to the amount done,
and to the time consumed. They enjoy life more ; they
have better health, and live longer.
Of German cookery, I can say bat little. I have but little
appetite, and this little has not at all affected the national
152 JOURNAL.
cuisine. When I say I have no appetite, I mean I am never
hungry. I do not recollect when I have felt hunger, that
precursory condition of stomach, Avhich demands food. I
relish food much, excepting a few things. This want of the
sixth sense, hunger, is very convenient in travelling. An
early breakfast, and an evening dinner make up my foreign
eating ; and never was I in better health. Seeing so much
rye always in the fields, I asked if wheat was not also largely
cultivated. No, was the reply, the people live principally
on black bread. Black, I suppose, we should render hrovm.
At hotels I have learned what I know of eating and cooking.
It has a very large infusion of French in it, I am told, and
it certainly is peculiar enough for any nomenclature. The
original taste is almost always destroyed in vegetables ; and
meats have no distinctive character. I described the other
day, how successfully the taste of the early pea was destroyed
by being stewed with carrots. A day or two after, the first
beans appeared; chey were cooked with some aromatic
affair, and their natural flavour was most thoroughly de-
stroyed. The meat is equally astray. It is served in small
dishes, either as cooked, if in small pieces, or cut up if
large, as poultry, &c. As the dishes extend to an extraor-
dinary number, — if you mean to eat of many, — you had
better take but a mouthful or two from each. The servant
will tell you the name of the delicacy ; but as he will cer-
tainly do it in German, or in German French, the chances
are, your knowledge from this source will be small.
The carte may help. For the most part, however, names
do not indicate the things. I sometimes met with attempts
to reach the English mind. Thus we had plump pudding, —
reis pudding. Sago could not be anything else, and stood
out just as it is. Eis cream. No ice. Generally a pretty
warm and oldish water. A sort of "remainder biscuit."
Why not ice? Answer, "it is not yet come." I suppose
not yet frozen. In London I found the same want of ice
at the hotel, and certainly a "first class one." I was the
JOURIfAL. 153
more surprised at this want there, because I saw often, often,
in the streets, wagons with Wenham Lake Ice upon them,
in golden letters on a blue ground, and never at home have
I seen finer specimens of the article itself. The account
of the German hotel table is not from that of this large
hotel in Stettin. This was altogether the worst place of the
kind in which it was my misfortune to find a temporary-
home.
The Baltic. — June 18, Saturday, left Stettin for St.
Petersburg, five minutes to 1, p. m., in the Preussiche
Adler — or Prussian Eagle, the Eagle being the crest of
the arms of Prussia. We left her on Tuesday morning fol-
lowing, at about eight, a. m. This voyage has been an
event in my nautical life. I suffered everything, as they
say, in the Atlantic steamer. Sick was I for days ; and
when well for a day or two, would be driven, by extremity
of sickness, from the whist, or other table, spreading con-
sternation, and " other things," in all directions. But in
this swift Eagle, with the ordinarily rough and rude, but
now perfectly calm and gentle Baltic around me, on I went,
in perfect health, among the merriest of the crew, not
omitting a single meal. The weather was cool, but bright,
and glorious. We walked, we talked, we eat. Twelve
and thirteen miles an hour. The steamer a cradle for
smoothness of motion, and a perfect nightingale in her sea
song. I have had a noble time. I met with, to me, a most
welcome companion. A lover of Shakespeare ; and at twenty
more deeply steeped in him, and in his spirit, than many
older ever are. He has studied Schlegel's translations of
the plays, and has seen them played, and surprised me with
the eff'ects of language, as they are rendered in German.
He said that the most idiomatic passages of Shakespeare
seemed to him to gain, certainly not to lose, in their Ger-
man dress. He quotes from Shakespeare admirably, and
his reading is accurate. He was my constant companion, —
154 JOURNAL.
the only one who spoke English, his mother tongue, on
board, and who was Avilling to use it, on my account,
though knowing the German perfectly, and with a crowd of
Germans to talk with. You must let me tell you who is
Mr. B. He is the only son of Major Brown, to whom
Major S gave me letters. Mrs. B and her son
called on me just now. They pass the summer in the
country, and we only arrived in town to-day. Was not
this kind to call so early? and Mrs. B is so pleasant.
She sat in the carriage, and talked to me as if we had
known each other for years. I could not help telling her
just what I thought of her son, and said she, "He is a good
boy." I said he was, from my very heart. I have rarely
met with a person who has so attracted me, and altogether
by his excellent sense, and excellent knowledge. I pro-
mised to go to see Mrs. B , and she said she should
come to see me again. Our steamer company, with the
exception of the above Mr. B., was apparently all German.
I say apparently, for there was one at least, I am sure there
were two, who were English, but were so much ashamed of
that wretched language, their vernacular, that they would
only speak in such German and French as they could on
the spur of the moment command. One of them is attached
to the English legation in St. Petersburg, and his trunk
told his name, and a person at table told the rest."^ But
our Germans beat all. I never heard such Babelistic utter-
ances. They seemed to have a mixture of various lan-
guages, and in various proportions. But the want of
quantity of each was not thought of in the richness of its
quality. I sometimes wished you, dear M., of our party, for
such strange tones you could not have resisted. They ex-
ploded most from a titled person, a Graffe — a Count. I
asked Mr. B. for an explanation of this gentleman's most
* I see a person of the same name was secretary to the latest Eng-
lish legation at Washington. He remains there. August, 1856.
JOURNAL. 155
strange language, and which has an accompaniment of all
sorts of facial distortions, — face-makings. They looked to
me all the world as if they were manufactured for effect, —
for fun. "My dear Sir," said Mr. B., "he stutters badly."
Think of German stutter! His rank, however, could not
alter the effect upon me, and upon others, for it was a
strange composition beyond imagination and imitation, and
yet having something which attracted you, notwithstanding
its very strange accompaniments.* We had, upon the whole,
an excellent voyage, and j'^ou may suppose some of its
attractions from what I have already said. There was one
thing of perpetual interest to me, — the evenings, — for
nights we had not. The sun went down, or somewhere,
between eight and nine, but never so far as to forget us.
The lingering twilight, with which nothing I have ever seen
can be compared, was so bright, that good eyes could have
read on to sunrise. It was a diffused light. Not resting,
as with us, for awhile round the spot which the sun has
just left, as if he had not taken all his light with him ; but
as if dependent on his near presence, and therefore not to
be lost because he had disappeared. There was another
point in this northern sky. The latest colours left upon
cloud and mists remained, somewhat diffused, — not circum-
scribed, — as from a reflecting medium, — a cloud, for in-
stance, — but as if entering into the very atmosphere itself,
and so turning it all into beauty. The Baltic was as smooth
as glass. It reflected all the light which came pouring
upon it from the sky, and reflected it in its exact colours
and splendour. There was not a dark spot visible, — no
land, no shore, nothing save our huge black steamer bathed
in light ; and in its striking contrast with all above, beneath,
around it, — giving to the universal illumination a beauty,
* The Germans have so enormous a mass of titles, that they divide
them into titles of rank, princes, &c. &c.; of honour, grace, highnecs,
&c. ; of offi,ce, professor, counsellor, &c.
156 jouKisrAL.
an intensity, to "be understood only by being seen. "Was it
not an exceeding privilege to be in such a spot, at such, a
time, to see and to feel so much power, so much beauty ?
It is in its truth that nature ever comes to us, and in asking
for our love, would fill us with a reverence, and an imitation
of itself, — of its purity, its truth. Nature is never at
fault. Pierce the deep cave of the lofty mountain, and
through its thick sides, "rock-ribbed, and ancient as the
sun," give the light, passage, and there does it dance and
play, as freely, and as truly as in the upper, the outer air.
How true to itself was this wide and glowing tw^ilight here
on the Baltic, and how short was its passage from the eye
to the heart ! Let me not be extravagant ; yet there was
something in this all night twilight, or day, which might
affect the imagination. I would say then that the face of
the sky had a moral expression, — the expression of plea-
sure, — that it was not to be lost, as elsewhere, in midnight
darkness. You could not sleep in the midst of so much
brightness. The perfectly gentle motion of the steamer as
if making her way in the purest oil, — the exercise of sail-
ing, — brought with it no fatigue ; on the contrary, your
strength seemed to grow by rest, and you walked for hours
without weariness. Why then sleep ? There was no de-
mand for it, and I was almost always awake to the beauty
of the continued day, — a day which cast no shadows, so
uniformly diffused was the light, — a day without a sun !
How rejoiced should I have been to have had you both here,
in those strange nights. I had an excellent companion in
my Shakespeare loving friend. But I wanted something else
and more, to take part with me in the beautiful creations so
lavishly crowded around me, and to have had them rejoice
in that which so moved me. I know not the secret of the
general insensibility to so much beauty and power as that
voyage msinifested. I can only resolve it into that intense
selfishness which leaves us no time to see, and to love, that
which does not directly minister to some tangible, physical
JOURNAL. 157
gratification. But the eye says that the light is pleasant, and
that it is a blessed thing to behold the sun. But how? when?
where ? There were those nights of mysterious loveliness,
as if nature had come forth in new adornments, and in its
fullest joy ; and how dead were we to her ministry of beauty,
and how did we turn away from it as if it had been an im-
pertinence, and not for blessing to all who could look upon
it. I write a great deal, for, somehow or other, I have for a
long time been finding myself my best company. " Great
vanity," I hear you exclaim, and so it may be. But living
entirely with strangers amidst strange languages ; and having
been cautioned in this luminous north to keep a little dark,
I am more shy than ever. So I write on, and when you
are tired, just put the manuscript into the drawer till I
reclaim it. Do take care of it, please.
There was a little incident w^hich attracted me the last
day of the Baltic voyage, which was Sunday. In the cabin
were portraits of the King and Queen of Prussia, and oppo-
site, the Emperor and Empress of Russia. On the day I
speak of, the two gentlemen were taken down, and the two
ladies reigned in the steamer by themselves. The line, the
Baltic line, is the joint property of the two monarchs, and
the courtesy to the queens could not but be acceptable to
all concerned. At all events, it showed that widely ex-
tended empire left place in the heart for courtesy and hom-
age, and these are always grateful, however and whenever
truly manifested. How different was the Sunday in the
Prussian Eagle from the same day on board the British
Atlantic line. In this last there was religious service on
that day ; and the seamen, the crew, had put off their
week working-day dress, and were in the saloon with
officers and passengers, in their simple, neat uniform. The
steamer was for the time a temple, and the simple office
brought to mind the land, and the home, and the church,
and for the moment you forgot that you were so far away
from them all, as to find a relation with them only through
14
158 JOURNAL.
the mind, — through, the ready agency of association, and a
sure memory. In the Baltic steamer the Sunday was in no
sense divided from its fellows of the week. There was
card playing, and other amusements, as at other times ; and
nothing marked the day but the courtesy to the royal ladies
above-mentioned.
Croxstadt. — Our first resting place from Stettin was
Cronstadt. The day before we reached it, we met with a
Russian fleet of fifteen sail, ships of the line, and others,
on a tour of duty for the instruction of cadets in the naval
service. The day was the clearest and brightest of the year.
These monstrous vessels, though sailing in line, could not,
of course, preserve constantly the same direction, and in
their changes of position gave views of the ships themselves,
of their sails and flags, in a thousand lights, and making a
panorama quite worth stemming the Baltic to see. When
we approached Cronstadt, however, that fleet was not missed.
Ship upon ship, or ship after ship, was seen in the noble
docks. Two-deckers and three-deckers, rigged, and without
rigging, were seen and counted, till it almost seemed they
would stretch to the " crack of doom." Remember, that
I was in far-ofi" Russia. That since leaving England and
France, I had met with no seas, no rivers, or few only, and
destitute of shipping almost, and that here the twilight of
the Pole had revealed to me this enormous naval power !
You cannot understand its effect. On the remotest verge
of civilization, — beyond which so littl3 exists, I was in the
midst and pressure of a monstrous power, the being of the
highest civilization, and in time, but yesterday. I looked
round with astonishment. The anchor had j ust been dropped.
The last links of the chain-cable were running through the
bow, when I reached the deck. I looked upon all I have
alluded to. Defences of the most imposing character, which
occupy every " coin of vantage," while battery above battery,
in three and even more ascents are on every side. A sue-
JOURNAL. 159
cession of fhese, on as many islands, is in the midst of the
channel. An enormous square stone fortress with three or
four tiers of heavy cannon is in the naval dock-yard itself,
and others are on all sides. The wharves and docks are
filled with merchant vessels, and vessels are coming and
going every hour, and from all parts. Silence, quiet, is on
all sides. In our steamer the voice of the sailor was not
heard. Great activity, perfect discipline, immediate and
prompt action, with sure results, mark the people here, and
in old Germany, as men of a perfect sense and obligation of
duty, with the most natural, therefore easy, performance of
it. Human effort is less noisy here than in other regions,
as if the voice of nature had not been listened to in vain.
Suppose the sun at rising should make a proportionate noise
to that of a man gaping himself awake. I hardly think the
human ear would hear the result, — day-hreak, — more than
once. I looked over the steamer's bow and saw large boats
around her, probably in the service of the revenue, with
their crews, some sleeping, others sitting at ease, in every
position which would bring the most comfort. I was struck
with their whole appearance. They were dressed in a simple
uniform, — each with his cap numbered, and each with an
ample outside gray woollen wrapper, or sack reaching to the
feet, showing that a part of their duty might be performed
in the night. They were tall, large, very well made, and well
nourished men. They differed from the German people, with
whom I have lately sojourned, in many respects. Their
skins were similar, but their faces and bodies were fuller,
and showed that they had been cared for, or had taken care
of themselves. I saw a great many men, and found them
all to show remarkably fine physical qualities with great quiet
of manner, as if it might be a waste of power to be gigantic
where giantism was not in demand. After a time the cere-
monials of entering a new state in a somewhat novel world,
were all faithfully gone through with, and we were permitted
to leave the Eagle, which was too large to float in the Neva,
160 JOTJENAL.
and to enter a smaller steamer, and to proceed on our passage
to St. Petersburg. I asked the distance. Four miles, I think,
was the answer. After sailing twice that distance, I asked
again, and learned that four miles here were twenty or more
English of the name. These miles were at last fulfilled,
and we came to the wharf or the English Quay, so called.
I was somewhat troubled about my luggage, for I had taken
despatches without a Courier's pass. But as the business
fell to Charles, I was in no great trouble, and was the
first of that steamer's company who that day touched the
Russian soil. Miss Benson's boarding house was near the
landing, and here am I established for the present. I have
again a most shocking down-cellar room just as I had in
London and elsewhere, but it is large, perfectly quiet, like
the northern mind and tongue ; and I am as easy as if I were
higher, perhaps not better ojff. For the first time it is
cloudy, and it just begins to rain. The first rain since I left
home, I think. I do not at all regret it, for I feel that I
want rest. I left home the twelfth of May. I have nearly
reached the end of my tether, certainly, northward, or east-
ward. But with the thick clouds, and cellar-like obscurity
of my room, I am writing at ten minutes to nine without a
candle, and break off" here, as tea is served up at nine. I am
told other meals are thus arranged. Breakfast, half past
eight to nine. Lunch at twelve. Dinner, six. Tea, nine.
St. Petersburg, Wednesday, June 16. — The approach
to St. Petersburg is truly fine. The Neva is a broad, rapid
river. Ships of war are built at St. Petersburg, but are
sent down empty, and on camels when necessary, to Cron-
stadt, where is the navy yard. As you come nearer St.
Petersburg, the river contracts so as to give you Peterhofi",
the Emperor's summer residence, and various other residences,
and which are most luxuriantly supplied with forest trees,
shrubberies, &c. The sun was shining in the freshness of
the morning, and at length we came within seeing distance
JOUKNAL. 161
of the city. The first thing we saw was the dome of St.
Isaac Church. It is covered with gold, at an expense of I
don't know how many ducats. Then the thin, very tall,
gilded spire of Peter and Paul's Church, and of the Ad-
miralty, shooting up to heaven like rays of light. I cannot
tell how much splendour and gorgeousness were before us,
and seen at the very hour (nearly noon) to make every such
thing more intensely visible. I saw the dome and these
spires some time before I caught sight of the city itself. The
country on each side of the river was at hand, and was
readily seen. But where was St. Petersburg, of which I
was seeing such splendid evidences ? It was far below the
horizon, and some time passed before its buildings came
into view. I did not leave or lose the golden vision till
warned, by nearing the land, that I was to become a part of
the great scene before me, and I could not but feel that in
the apprehension of all this magnificence, that I had an in-
tellectual and moral property in it, which was quite as well
for me, as if I had all its gold in my pocket , — as if the em-
pire were mine.
I found a very cordial reception at Mrs. B's. She is
English, very agreeable, with a good face, and very pleasant
voice. I have told you of my room, but I am so used to it,
after a few hours, that it does not at all disturb me, especi-
ally as I am learning to thread the labyrinth by which I
reach it. I lunched at one, dinner came at six. But how
was the intervening time spent ? In dressing, then in re-
ceiving Mrs. Brown, then in a drive to the Minister's with
my despatches, and lastly, to the Hotel de Russie, where I
heard Mr. and Mrs. of Boston were, in the hope they
would take home this letter, which gradually grows so very
large, that I fear nobody will read it. They had gone, how-
eve'r, and so the mass must bide the time. I now drove
about St. Petersburg. What a magnificent city it is.
How nice in all external art. In all its appliances to make
social life agreeable. I passed constantly palaces, and the
14*
162 JOURNAL.
kindred abodes of palaces. The magasins or shops, are rich
beyond example, and the breadth of the streets exceeds any-
thing within memory. I was amused to find stiests with
wooden blocks. In some places they were in excellent
order, but in others as bad as we ever had them in Boston.
Here, they were replacing the old with the new, there put-
ting planks for receiving blocks. I passed a collection of
barracks. Their extent is very great, and near them is a
splendid church, with its golden dome and spire. That,
said the courier, who is as much at home in Russia as in
Denmark, his home ; that church was built by the officers
of a regiment for themselves, and the soldiers belonging to
these barracks, and they attend service in it regularly.
Now this does not look bad, does it ? I honor it from my
heart. If they will be mad enough to have wars, is it not
well to be so wise as to prepare men for peace. How much
before me is for sight and thought. But so little am I of a
sight lover, that I shall leave much, much unseen. In truth,
the story that the works themselves, the institutions of men,
tell, is so much more important to me than their written
history, that half the truth does not reach me. But the
simple, present fact, that in the sixtieth degree of North
latitude, such a city as St. Petersburg is, that it is built
upon what was marsh, and pool, and running, rushing
waters, as is the Neva now; that the very earth, as well as
stones, were brought from a distance to create the city's
place ; that all this earth was brought by men in hand-bar-
rows, because the marshes would not bear the weight of
wagons and horses ; — when its history is before me in
itself, I confess that the present fact tells me so much of
human, — naked human power, — exerted for the highest
ends, that in my admiration of it all, I do not ask for the
detail, do not ask for concealed beauty, and splendour, and
use, but avoiding all impertinences, look as on the greater
works, or traces of human power, — its stupendous comple-
ment, with thanksgiving and with reverence. Most grateful
JOURNAL. 163
am I for this opportunity of standing amidst such works, —
of living amid such displays of human power, — of seeing
man's works partaking of the permanence of the everlasting
in nature, some of whose laws have been suspended in their
creations, and in the midst of all this, have the deep con-
sciousness that all I see is in the power of all to do,
that there is no limit to human power, and that in its
depths it is free, — that the living streams of immortality
are all there, and will have an hour and a day for their
best and highest manifestations. I am in the midst of
human energy. Life flies here, while it creeps elsewhere,
and if you are out of doors with it, you must look out lest it
do you harm, while you are wondering at it all. This re-
mark reminds me of the mode of travelling about the streets,
driving in St. Petersburg. You can have no notion of it.
It is a perfect hand gallop, a steeple chase in crowded streets.
The drosky is a strange customer, I assure you. It has
the least possible protection, the seat being without hardly
any back, or sides. And on, on, goes the horse. The
streets are, in places, rough to a degree you cannot dream of,
and as you jump out of one hole into another, the only
question is, into which you will most probably be landed.
Now, recollect that everybody drives like mad. When
danger seems imminent, all you hear is a very faint hint
like a cry, that your rival does not come too near to you, or
you to him. My courier and I got home safe, and have en-
gaged the same carriage for this morning, for call-making, &c.
Dinner. — Dr. Johnson, of blessed memory, thought
much of a good dinner. It is generally liked. But here,
it is a circumstance. I had my seat assigned me. I was
not introduced to anybody. I never begin conversation.
So all I did was to say " no," to the servant when I did
not like the looks of things, or " yes," when I did, in that
sort of tone which by its indifference makes it very uncer-
tain if it be, " I thank you," or anything else. Servants go
164 JOURNAL.
round, one with meat, say, another follows immediately with
gravy, and a third with vegetables. Here is a muss in-
deed, and were it not for habit, the drill, &c., I should
think there might be cross and jostle in earnest. Recollect,
you have two squads or gangs of men, one having one side
of the table, with its respective wares, the other, on the
opposite side. What dignity in a dinner ! How do soup
and salmon get glorified by such a process ? We had both
of these yesterday ; next, squab pie ; next, roast mutton with
vegetables, very nice stringed beans amongst them ; then an
indescribable pastry, dessert, cheese, butter, — and, — an
end. And glad was I. It is pretty hard to use one's lips,
tongue, and all the other vocal, or associated organs, for no
other purpose but to fill the stomach, though " this does
not defile a man," at least we have the highest authority
for this declaration, and as to what came out of my mouth,
it certainly did me no harm. But we had talk, such as it
was. It was of ioating, bathing, bowling, and many other
things beginning with a B. I was told by a kind friend, that
conversation in Russia was not for communicating, but
concealing opinion. And never in my life, have I heard
just so much of this article of non-committal, a certain Ameri-
can President's mode of utterance, as at yesterday's dinner.
It was sustained entirely by Englishmen, and if you only
except the most extraordinary pronunciation, which charac-
terized it, you had really nothing in it which deserves a
comment or a record. An Englishman just opposite the
writer, had occasion to use the word clever, but kindly
qualified his use of it by saying he meant Yankee clever.
Now as I was the only full blooded Yankee present, his
explanation was, of course, for my edification. But I eat my
beans, and shamed Pythagoras, for whom you know I have
large reverence. But it is just breakfast hour, another meal,
and so here she goes I Let me only add it is a beautiful
morning, and as cool as the north need be in midsummer.
Yesterday grew warm, hot, windy, gusty, dusty. He or
JOURNAL. 165
she who will know something of the fulness of all these
meteorological phenomena, must come to St. Petersburg.
The streets are so wide, so much used, so full of positive
powder, that one has no occasion to utter that euphonious
sailorism, "blast my eyes ; " they get all that, and more,
without asking. I had a hard day's work. The breakfast
was very pleasant. A few early risers met at table, and we
had some good talk. Next, and also opposite to me, sat
two Englishmen. We talked much of England. Of Lon-
don as it was, of London as it is. I was the senior of the
party, and said what London was forty years and more ago,
for 1 was there in 1810, and 1811. It seems there is a plan
for taking down Westminster bridge, the crack bridge when
I was first in London, and an appropriation has been made
of money by Parliament, with which to build a temporary
bridge, while the old one is passing through the process of
removal, and till the new one is builded. The over-peopled
island was much talked of; and it was remarked, that such
was the positive difficulty of bettering a depressed condi-
tion, that it was seen to be fruitless to make the attempt,
and so, by living as good lives as it was possible, sustaining
excellent characters, men were dragging through life to die,
and to be happier so. To me there was sadness in all this.
Said one, on the continent, France for instance, a man of
good and industrious ways may buy a little land ; this he
may cultivate, have his cow, his pig, his fruit, &c., and live
above want. But an Englishman cannot do this. He must
be poor, if so he begin in life, for there is no chance for
him. " My father was rector of " said one. " There
were commons belonging to the glebe, or to some other
interest. An act of Parliament was got for enclosing these,
and by this process a very respectable peasantry, who for
years had used the commons for purpos3s of real comfort,
were at once dispossessed, their cows sent home, all other
uses of the land denied to them, and an amount of discom-
fort produced, which an American could not understand.
166 JOURNAL.
Now," it was added, "there was no injustice in this act
of Parliament, or in its operation ; use had not destroyed
right. The commons were private property, and it was the
duty of the legislature to grant the privileges and rights pro-
ceeding from such a relation to the land." Much was said
of recent efforts to improve the condition of labouring men,
by the building of houses embracing all necessary means of
comfort, good sleeping rooms, light, water in abundance,
ventilation, model houses. Much has been done, and much
in prospect for accomplishing all these objects, and the
result has been very encouraging. The new town on the
other side of the Mersey, — Birkenhead, — was named as
having succeeded perfectly, and thus the respectable work-
ing classes of Liverpool were made very comfortable, hav-
ing places which they can reach for a triRmg ferriage ; and
cool, pure air, bathing, &c., ready for their return. Read-
ing rooms belong to some of these establishments, and these
are producing excellent effects by satisfying demands for
pleasant and useful occupation, where ordinary social posi-
tion, by itself, might fail to meet the demand, and the
tavern come to be the only relaxation of labour. London
was spoken of as having done much, and as constantly
doing more in this highest regard. The health of the
metropolis has been especially studied, and at the instance
of the Queen, parks had been opened, streets widened and
kept clean, and comfort and health thus provided for, after
a manner which heretofore has been unthought of. It
seems that Smithfield is to undergo an entire change in use.
A new place has been, or is to be bought for the Cattle
Fairs, which have been for so many ages held there, and thus
a great public nuisance will be abated. These plans are of
great interest in such populations as London, Liverpool,
&c. The surface on which such numbers are obliged to
stand, move, sleep, eat, work, live, is so small, — the num-
bers are so great, and so disproportionate to the surface,
which must supply them with so many things, so much, that
JOURNAL. 167
every successful attempt to make it larger, and so more use-
ful, is a most important step in that progress, Avhich slowly,
very slowly, but surely, society is this day making; and
to which men of thought, men of heart, and of mind, are
more and more deeply directing their attention.
Allusion was made above to the Queen of England,
Victoria. I think there has hardly been on the English
throne a monarch more widely reverenced and loved. Her
sex, its demands, its interests, — her kindness, her regard,
as we have seen, for that which is truly important to a
state, — her frequent progresses through her dominions, and
the manner of them, — these, and many other things in this
exalted personage, have made her peculiarly the home, the
domestic friend, of a great people. Her political position is
as striking as is her social. Never, perhaps, in England's
history, has Parliament, the House of Commons, expressed
itself so openly, so strongly as a department of the govern-
ment, in whose hands lies all the power, by which the poli-
tical being and relations of the state are sustained. Said one
of different views, " I say it with no disrespect, or want of true
reverence for the Queen, for no subject can be wanting in
this or these, but I do say that her majesty has small place
in the political management of this great, this wide nation.
In the House of Commons, perhaps, more than ever before,
lies the true power of the state. For the two last years,
literally nothing has been done, and we have now the very
singular fact presented to us of a ministry holding office,
and carrying on the country, which wants a majority in the
House, — a ministry which, in fact, does nothing, and can
do nothing." He witnessed the Militia Bill, as showing
how sternly the doctrine of doing nothing was entertained
and acted on, and very much questioned if any good thing
could come of a dissolution. Few things strike a stranger
here in Russia, more strongly, than the perfect freedom with
which Englishmen talk of their country. To be sure, it is
individual opinion only. But this opinion is formed by
168 JOUBNAL.
much industrious and careful reading of the best news-
papers in the world, — newspapers which discuss measures
after a manner unequalled elsewhere, — and which go fear-
lessly into questions of the present, and of the future ; of
themselves and of other nations, and authoritatively declare
what, and when, shall be done, — that, or those things, which
will most surely and widely subserve the highest public and
private interests. In America the perfect freedom of politi-
cal thought and expression is no more possessed and de-
clared than in England ; and it will hardly be claimed by
the republic, that its means of light on all political matters
are more or better than in Great Britain.
My morning, or most of it, was spent in going to and
staying at, or in certain public offices, to get passports for
myself and courier, and permission to stay here three or
more weeks. This is a tedious business ; but you can
hardly complain concerning it, as your coming is entirely
an affair of your own. Being here, you must do what law
and custom require, and he who does it with patience, and
in quiet, studies alike his own dignity and ease. He will
be aided by the public officers, and treated with a courtesy
which a different course will hardly procure. That we can
do exactly thus is not always possible, but I am certain it is
always worth trying for, and when attained will bring with
it only pleasure. I was so much occupied in this matter, I
did little else all day. I took a very long walk to find
Messrs. R. & Co., to whom I had a letter, but failed, asv
they were out of town. I believe Mr. R. passes part of
his time in summer with his family, at Peterhoff. I find
most people, to whom I have letters, out of the city, or I
cannot get at them. I am sorry for this, because I have no
doubt they would contribute much to increase the pleasure
and advantage of my residence here. I am resting some-
what, and hurried travel has made this necessary. I was
sitting here in my new room, and one to which I was trans-
lated in the morning, when the servant announced Mr. W.
JOURNAL. 1G9
He came in at once, and made me a very pleasant call. He
is Secretary of Legation, was educated in law at Cambridge,
and hence knew many of our young men. He is of the
standing of C. P. C, jr., Danl. S. C, and has an important
position here. He drives his carriage, and his official posi-
tion gives him admirable opportunities for seeing much
which will serve him. He is well educated and well look-
ing, — agreeable in manner and in conversation, simple, but
constantly showing he has not been an idler. He has
offered to take me round to places of interest, and brought
the Minister's regrets, that continued ill health prevented
his extending to me such attentions as it would have given
him pleasure to bestow. I shall call on Mr. B when I
return from Moscow, and shall execute a commission for
him, which will much aid my progress to France. Our
house is quite empty, many of its inmates being on a visit
to Moscow. This makes it rather dull, but there is so
much variety abroad, that I do not languish for interest. It
has suddenly become very warm, a common thing in the
advent of the Russian summer, but to my joy, I am able
to walk, and without fatigue, and hardly any of my old
lameness, and after a manner and to an extent that utterly
surprises me. I began in London with hacks, and so here ;
but I have given them up almost entirely, and find much
benefit in the change from driving to walking. So that
when I get home again, I shall dispense with horse and car-
riage altogether, — another gain from travel. I have said
but little about people here, for I am in no hurry to do so.
But one experience I will note. I have seen very, very
little intemperance since I left England. I may say none
that deserves record. But exceptions suppose rules. I
may say here, that I have seen one drunken man, and one
only. He was a dealer in turnips, a large tray of which he
was carrying en his head. He stood on the Quay, opposite
our piazza, crying his turnips, and making every species of
twist and turn to preserve the balance of his tray. He did
16
170 JOURNAL.
this so well, that only one or two would now and then fall
out, and some boys were at hand to pick them up for their
own use. At last, on he went, very soon turning down a
passage way to a boat hard by, in which I saw him preci-
pitate himself and his wares, hurriedly indeed, but still
sustaining himself very well. I am quite willing to make
this long note of what may seem a trifling matter, but as it
is the only one of its kind I have seen, I have given it place
in this journal of facts and of thought, and which, being
designed for home, has relations to its destination which
makes the occupation wholly pleasant to me. Intemperance
is the vice of all northern climates. I hear of it existing
here to an extent that we in America know nothing of. I
have no doubt of the truth of these statements, and of the
causes, beneath the power of which such habit has its
establishment so widely. But I have stated what my own
observation has revealed.
I cannot forget the length of the day here, and the daily
additions to it. I was talking last night with Mr. , a
distinguished English engineer, till after twelve, and the
light was so perfect that a lamp or candle had not been
lighted in the house. I go to bed without the least diffi-
culty ; nay, I think I could read fair print all day, or rather
night. I was more struck with the brightness of the twi-
light last night, than at any other time, and felt sure that
the sun was up, and with difficulty fell asleep. A fellow-
boarder at twelve, midnight, read Milton to me from a fine
print, as easily as at noon.
Friday, four to five, a. m. Yesterday brought with it
its duties, — and to me not the most agreeable, — sight-
seeing. St. Petersburg is a show-place in all senses of the
word. Everything is designed to tell to the public eye and
mind, how much may be, and how much is done for the
public which shall attract their attention, interest, amuse
them. You see this purpose as soon as you reach this
almost stepping-off place of the latest civilization. The
JOURNAL. 171
churches utter this word from afar in their gilded and golden
domes, turrets, towers. The approach, — the closer view, —
does not at all disappoint you. External architecture has
done, and does, what may be in its power to reach slowly,
or at once, the public interest. The detail is curious.
Here is a city of half a million of people covering a wide
surface, with wide, unusually wide streets, traversed by
continuous carriages, from the humblest fiddle, fly, and
drosky, to the most splendid equipage, producing infinite
dust, with which strange currents are felicitously favouring
your eyes, nose, and dress, — and in which vehicles are
driven after a manner we at home know nothing of. In
this great city the arrangement for watering the streets are
on a most minute scale, as if a more enlarged system would
do the work so thoroughly, and so easily, that the people
would lose sight of the hourly effort made here to contri-
bute to their physical comfort. The plan for watering the
streets is this, — take a barrel of water on a barrow, — a
bucket, — and a man. A street a mile or two long may
have this establishment in it twice a day, and the water is
gently sprinkled about that number of times. It is pretty
clear that the wind and the dust will blow where they list,
and that it will be pretty clear whence one of them at least
Cometh. I said above that the various vehicles are passing
in every direction through very crowded thoroughfares.
This is done with very rare injury to the passers by. The
drivers utter a faint cry, or whine, which everybody seems
to hear, and those who are nearest at once take heed to it.
The penalty is very severe, if injury be done to any one.
The police rush in at once and seize the carriage, which,
with the horse or horses, become the property of the one
who seizes them. If death happen, the driver is knoutted ;
if injury be less, he is dispatched with all convenient speed,
first to the Sparrow Hills, so called, and when a sufficient
number are accumulated to form a caravan, he, with the
others, is sent to Siberia. By this system, which is per-
172 jouejn^al.
fectly certain in its issues, one of the benefits of power,
wliich is power, the public safety is provided for, and per-
fectly secured. In connection with this topic for saving
limb and life, is the following relating to persons injured or
taken ill in the streets. I was driving one morning with
Mrs. , and something occurred which led to a remark
on helping a person who had met with an accident in the
street. Mrs. said that I must never offer the least
aid in such a case, and added, that one day driving, she saw
a person fall, as in a fit, in the street. She drew at once
the check string, and directed her servant to stop and let
her out of the coach, that she might help that woman in a
fit. He advised her by all means to do no such thing, for
by so doing, she would be regarded as a witness in any suit
or investigation which might follow, — especially if the
woman was injured, or died, — and as such suits last for
years, she would not be allowed to leave Russia until a
final decision should be had. I spoke of this to a Russian
merchant from Kioff. He said that it was true, and that a
friend of his had suffered extreme inconvenience and posi-
tive trouble, from interfering between two servants of his,
an Englishman and a Russian, who were fighting in his
yard. Years passed before the matter was adjusted, and he
had all that time to be on hand, or in waiting for call of
court. The case is precisely the same if you attempt to
assist a person who has received an injury. You are by
such an act a witness of what has happened, and are held
as such till the whole cause is settled, which, in some acci-
dents, may reach to years. The course is when a person is
taken ill, or is hurt, for the police at once to interfere, and
to take the person in charge. He or she is then carried
home, with all needed care, or to a hospital, if the residence
cannot be immediately found. This procedure, in such a
community as a great Russian city, is probably the best
that could be devised. At all events I heard no objection
made to it.
JOURNAL. 173
In order to get eclat or speed in driving, you find this
arrangement. Two or three horses are attached abreast of
each, either to a drosky or other vehicle, and off they go.
One trots and one gallops. I saw yesterday this in perfec-
tion. One horse was white, the other dark. The latter
was in the shafts, whitey aside of him. The darker trotted
hard, — the white galloped to the top of his speed, throwing
himself about in full play. Everything seemed to be in
perfect order, and nothing but the dust was disturbed.
You sometimes have a horse on each side of the shaft one,
and they make a beautiful picture. The side animals are
lightly and loosely harnessed, are selected for their beauty, —
have often full flowing manes and noble tails. The mode of
harnessing allows them to do just as they please. You see
them always galloping, sometimes at the sides of the shaft
horse, but often at a right angle with him, or less, and as
full of play as a spoiled child. They do not work, are mere
pets, aad for display. I heard this mode or fashion is de-
clining. I cannot but think it will be a real street loss
when it is discontinued. It is full of life, grace, beauty,
and in its variety of outfit, makes the Admiralty, the Nevskoi
Prospect, &c., the gayest, handsomest thoroughfares in the
world.
But the sights. I took this discipline on foot. I walked
very far, in all. Churches were among my objects. These
form a very important part of the material for curiosity here.
I first went to the church of the Casernes, built by the
officers of a regiment for the soldiers. So I was told, at
least, and if it be a fable, why let it be such. The build-
ing is not yet finished, but little remains to be done, as it
seemed to me, only to remove the scaffolding. But so slow
is progress in this northern air, that nobody knows how
long the scaffolding will remain. It is sufficiently finished
for service, — the church, — and no one who enters it will
fail to be struck with the simplicity and nobleness of its
architectural attempts and accomplishments, — its lofty
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174 JOURNAL.
walls, massive granite columns, — the elaborate finish of the
ceilings, and the whole arrangements for the objects of its
construction. I know of no such structures amongst us.
The Greek service, with its elaborate ceremonial, demands
all that architecture can do to save it from suspicion, while
its dignity is preserved. And when this, or these, are
accomplished, as is the case here, it presents itself to us in
an elaborateness of detail, an earnestness of result, which
leaves the Romish church far behind. This was all discov-
ered to me in my next visit, viz., to the Kasan Church, or
Cathedral. This, in its vast colonnades and other arrange-
ments, is said to be an imitation of St. Peter's at Rome.
Whether this be so or not, I cannot tell. I have not seen
St. Peter's, and probably shall not. But more : I have no
disposition to compare things with each other, always having
detested the doctrine and practice of models. I look at
things in themselves, and it is very soon apparent in what
the pleasure they give you hath its source. This fe in all
that which makes the thing seen, just what it truly is.
This has its whole source in that which gives true being to
the thing itself. It is never by the true observer looked for
in resemblance, likeness, identity, — but in something else
and more, — viz., in that which distinguishes a thing from
all other things, and which has furnished you with new
knowledge, another revelation of human power, and for
this demanding your reverence, your gratitude, and your
love. In the Kasan Cathedral, you are impressed with the
vastness and harmony of its parts. The style is simple,
austere, not looking for effects in the variety of its move-
ments, — sudden changes in its aspects, — but in a grand
progress from mass to mass, until the individual passes into
the general, and a sublime unity is before you. It is rather
the action of your own mind upon materials so fitted to give
to it strength of manifestation, or use, than the simple
vision of that which is so wonderfully fitted to thought, and
thought so worthy the time and whole occasion. You see
JOURNAL. 175
disturbances indeed, human impertinences, enough to make
you sick of the machinery of government, — of the means
by which men are to be governed. Against columns of the
everlasting and most rare granite, — against columns so vast
that you instinctively ask if they are in a single piece and
grew there, — you see paltry eagles, and ragged, wretched old
flags taken in war from Napoleon, or rather which fell from
the frozen hands of his dying comrades in the flight from
Moscow, — and were afterwards picked up by Cossacks and
others, — keys of conquered and sacked cities on other
columns, the fruit of wretched victories. All sorts of poor
remembrances are here, of man's w^eakness, folly, and sin,
paraded in a temple to Christ, and to God, as fitting means
for a divine reverence and a human love. Nothing, nothing
to me in God's universe, — they are not his work, — nothing
do I detest and deprecate more than I do these evidences of
human folly anywhere, — but in a temple made for the wor-;
ship of the infinite, the pure, the loving, and the holy, —
what a desecration are they ! what a proof that the mission
of the Son of Man is in no true sense understood ; that
ruler and people are yet in their sin.
The service of the church was proceeding as I entered.
I always enter a Cathedral with thoughts ^nd feelings which
such a place is fitted to produce. In itself how grand,
— in its idea how sublime. You stand as if nearer the
Divine presence, than elsewhere in God's universe ; and the
relation you bear to the infinite is here, in a Cathedral,
more distinctly manifested, and may be, is more clearly felt.
Your reverence for man increases, and instinctively your
reverence for yourself. ]SIan in the Cathedral has put forth his
highest powers, because he has had in view constantly the
Jiighest end. What more worthy reverence than humanity
in this declaration of itself. A house for worship is the
attempt for, — its success, — its completion, is a House of
God. There are no statues in the Greek church. But
there are paintings, and all other objects which may meet
176 JOUKNAL.
the eye and find their way to the heart. There is music,
and chanting, and reading of Scripture, and of prayer.
Crossing, — kneeling, — prostration, — kissing of pictures,
— every mode in which love and worship can declare them-
selves, are in requisition and practice here. I have often
witnessed the service in the Romish church. But I have in
no instance met with anything which compares with the
whole ceremonial in this Greek Cathedral, — and the same
is true of all the rest. The worshipper enters uncovered,
and when within sight of the altar, he begins to cross him-
self, and continues to do so for some time. He approaches
the holy place nearer and nearer. He kneels, and continues
to make the sign of the cross. He prostrates himself, plac-
ing his forehead on the stone floor, and there keeps it for
some time. He rises, and again prostrates himself, making
many crosses in the meantime, but in place of pressing his
forehead on the floor, he applies to it the back of his hand.
All this is done with the utmost solemnity, but still with
much earnestness. One man, advanced in years, approached
a painting of the Virgin, the most of which, excepting an
eye, was very carefully covered, as is usual with such pic-
tures in the Greek church. He approached nearer and
nearer, crossing himself continually, until his face rested
against the portion of glass, at which the uncovered part of
the Virgin's face was exposed. He kissed it with apparently
the deepest feeling, and with an audible assurance of the
act which left it unquestioned. During all the time chant-
ing and prayer were heard. The whole of this part of the
service, was deeply solemn, and beautiful. There was a
prevalent softness of tone, in which expression was not
Avanting, which I think unusual in such service. The vast-
ness of the building, the beauty and the power of the
human voice, the universal reverence, gave to this service
the deepest interest, and 1 could not but think that it was
better for the worshipper that he was here. Under what
endless varieties of forms does not religion in its worship
JOUPvXAL.
177
declare itself ! So various, so opposite, so absolutely anta-
gonistic are these forms, and such the entire satisfaction
with which each sect holds and manifests its sentiments,
that it reall}^ seems very little important what doctrines are
held, so that they be held in the truth, and declared in the
conduct.
From the Kasan, I went to the St. Isaac. This is em-
phatically the Cathedral. Other churches have the domes
gilded with gold leaf. This has its covered with beaten or
plate gold. You cannot understand what is the brightness,
the gorgeous splendour of its dome, when the sun, in its
noonday brightness, is upon it, and illuminates it. It is
truly dazzling. This church was begun by Catherine the
Great, and remains unfinished. The Director, M. Mont-
farrant, who is now labouring to complete it, was absent,
and though I presented a card addressed to him from a per-
sonal friend, I could not be admitted. I cared less for this
that I was told on the spot that the scaffoldings obstructed
the sight so much of the finished part, that it could not be
seen. The enormous granite pillars were the principal
attraction. I left to come again.
It is a popular legend, that whenever St. Isaac Church is
finished, the reigning sovereign will die. A like legend had
limited the length, the natural length, of a Russian mon-
arch's reign and life to twenty-five years, since no one had
reigned or lived beyond that time. His Majesty, the present
Emperor, has passed beyond that period, and lives and
reigns. It was told me when that period in Nicholas's reign
drew nigh, he went into his closet, and there, for three days
and three nights, he devoted himself to fasting and prayer,
for the preservation of his life and reign. This legend of
the length of a Russian reign, may have no more foundation
than has that concerning the St. Isaac Church. Yet there
is an element in the Russian mind which would seem to
favour the idea that reports of such beliefs are not without
foundation. Belief, in that range of it which borders on.
178 JOITENAL.
or constitutes superstition, is this element, and which has
its foundation in some or many tenets of the Greek church,
the national church of Russia.
The slow progress of church architecture towards its com-
pletion here, was referred to. This may have its cause in the
deliberate manner in which industry declares itself in regard
to all matters. Never have I seen men work with less of
violence in their various occupations. I have watched them
at work, and have marvelled much at their deliberateness.
A portion of wooden pavement is in process of repair in
front of an imperial residence. It was in hand when I first
passed it on my way reaching St. Petersburg, and was not
finished when I left some weeks afterwards. It was worth
the time to stop and see the Russians work. A block was
taken up. It was put down again after much investigation
of its physical properties. It was taken up again. The
axe, the only tool used iy carpenters here, was found, and
reached, and taken in hand. Now began the work of
preparation of that block upon the planks, which, covered
with tar, or something like it, are always first laid to receive
the blocks. The block is pared, — smoothed, — its various
angles measured. It is put into its place. It does not fit.
Bits of chips, or larger ones, are put under it, — or between
it and its neighbours. Then the block is again examined,
— turned, — returned, — and if it will only fit by the frail
supports above named, it is rejected for present use, and a
new one tried. Now here is a great deal of time lost in
the description of this enterprise. But you have no idea
of the time taken for the work itself. I positively am not
sure that the block is yet fitted to its place, — and the Em-
press's palace may not yet have received her. I might
have said the street was undergoing repair to prevent noise,
as her majesty is a permanent invalid.
While speaking of the slow progress of church architec-
ture in some instances in Russia, and especially as allusion
has been made to popular theories or legends, as ofi'ering an
JOUKXAL.
179
explanation of this fact, it is but justice to say, that this
tardiness in the finishing of churches is not peculiar to Rus-
sia. In Cologne, for instance, we have an example of the
same, which might better answer to sustain a rule, than to
furnish an illustration. The celebrated Cathedral, or Dom,
in that city, was begun centuries ago, and it is yet un-
finished. Nay, more ; the earlier built parts are decayed,
a ruin almost, without any but a temporary roof. The
towers are unfinished, or not begun. And in close propin-
quity with the venerable and the old, is this day rising the
new, in all the freshness of recent masonry, and as if smil-
ing, certainly not weeping, at the deep cut lines of age in
its elder neighbour brother. I was told that of late serious
movements are making for the finishing of this stupendous
work, and that Nicholas I. had contributed many thousand
silver rubles to this object. This is indeed imperial libe-
rality, and it loses none of its quality by being contributed
by one who has no religious sympathy with the doctrines
believed and taught in the Dom of Cologne.
Again, go out of Germany or Belgium into France, and
we have a new instance of that about which I write. In
Strasburg is a Cathedral, which is the wonder and admira-
tion of Europe. I have stood by its walls, and examined
the infinite detail and beauty in which the Gothic mind, or
style, has here manifested itself. I say beauty, — what
vastness, what solemnity rules here, and with what efi^ect
do they declare themselves and their mighty power. Stand
in the midst of this cathedral magnificence, — its outside
height, and length, and breadth, — its inside religious light,
just revealing enough of its meanings, to move in you the
religious, the divine, and you unconsciously wander back to
the days of its beginning, and hold communion with that
mind which conceived its idea, and who in that had faith
and prophecy of its completion. This Cathedral is unfin-
ished. One tower only is built. But so perfect is it in all
its other parts, that this local imperfection exists without
suggesting the idea of a want of universal symmetry.
180 JOUHKAL.
I have anticipated in the two preceding paragraphs
■what belongs to a later period of this travel's history. But
the connection Avas so direct between what they contain and
that which immediately precedes them, that I am willing to
plead guilty to the anachronism, and to pass on.
I went to the Admiralty, a monstrous mass of buildings,
taking the course of the Neva. Here is a dock for building
ships of war. The Senate, so called, is a fine building, —
so is a palace opposite to the Admiralty, or Admircdity, as
Charles chose to call it. The statue of Peter the Great is
here. It is quite grand. But the effect of the pedestal, or
rock on which the horse stands, is very much hurt by the
smoothing down and polishing by which art has endeavoured
to improve nature. It looks absolutely ridiculous; and you
feel fretted at the folly which the human labour unfolds.
Alexander's column of red granite, finely polished, is hard
by, and is a magnificent afi'air. The shaft, of one hundred
and fifty feet, in a single piece, is truly beautiful. Fifteen
feet were taken ofi", lest the base of the shaft should not be
strong enough to sustain so great a weight. On the other
hand, in order to sustain the horse of Peter's statue in its
position, one hundred thousand pounds of iron were inserted
in its cavity. (?) The figures of man and horse are of brass,
and weigh nearly sixteen tons. The granite pedestal, be-
fore it w^as trimmed away and smoothed, weighed fifteen
hundred tons. Farther support of the statue is derived
from the folds of a serpent, which unite with the tail. The
efi'ect of this is by no means agreeable. In nature the posi-
tion would have supported itself, or such an one only should
have been selected, which admitted of such natural support.
Art failed when it required a substitution, which in nature
would have been a monstrosity.
An anecdote current about Peter and his horse may be
given here. This statue is an afi'air of the deepest concern
and reverence. There are soldiers, guards, about its en-
closures, and will not permit profane, or any sort of feet to
JOUKNAL. Igl
approach it too nearly. It is surrounded by a higli and strong
iron railing, and the better to guard it, and the railing, a
low, narrow strip of granite, say a foot high, surrounds the
bottom of the iron rail. Now nobody is allowed to stand
on this granite, though by doing so, you have a better sight
of the statue. Not knowing the rule, I stood upon it. It
was, however, but for a minute, that I did so, for the sen-
tinel soon suggested to me, and in somewhat an authorita-
tive voice and manner, that it was quite expedient for me to
get down. The hint was taken. But to the anecdote. It
seems, some years ago, that some Am.ericans, among whom
were commanders of ships, were in St. Petersburg, and had
jDassed a day out of the city, and returned to it in a gay and
somewhat aspiring spirit, for on getting to the Admiralty,
and abreast of the statue, it was proposed to alight and look
again at this splendid work. They did this, and one more
exalted than the rest, said that he would take a ride with
Peter. He cleared the railing, and soon climbed up by the
horse's tail, and passed his arm quite familiarly about the
waist of the Great. Short was his ride. The guard saw
him, gave the alarm, and most unceremoniously unhorsed
him, and gave him into the hands of the police. He was
tried, found guilty, and fined, as report goes, six thousand
dollars. His friends made a representation to the Govern-
ment of all the facts in the case, and the fine was reduced.
The accused remarked to the judge, that this was a great
sum for so short a ride. " Yes," replied the judge, " but
if you choose to ride such a horse, you must pay for it."
The Nevskoi Prospect, or Nevskoi Street, pronounced
Nevske, is of great length, and is full of interest to the
traveller, on account of the beauty and splendour of its shops,
the almost infinite variety of costumes, of nations, of races ;
the equipages, the fashion, the poverty, the everything,
which in just such a population would be likely to come
together, and to circulate whatever of novelty existed there,
and to present the whole in just such a way as to produce
16
182 JOTJRTfAL.
constant variety and excitement in the individual and social
life. There are print shops, and the well lined windows
attract many wayfarers. I was among the number, and
saw many beautiful things. The usual silence prevailed.
Everybody seemed to be a stranger to his neighbour, and
talk was out of the question. I have been cautioned against
much speech, and not to leave anything in an outside pocket,
fox which I entertained any value. My person, and my
handkerchiefs, are safe so far. Let me add here, the care of
the personal has not been morbid wherever I have been ;
for the most part there has not been in plan, or practice of
mine, that which had care in it as an element, and yet I
have lost nothing beyond a button now and then washed or
ironed off, in all my wanderings. Among other things, I
went shopping in the Nevskoi. I selected a famous Eng-
lish magazine, or shop, where wealth, rank, and fashion, most
do congregate. I was most attracted towards the jewelry
department, and to which the mines of Russia contribute
numerous splendid specimens. I priced a small, but very
brilliant emerald, and learned that it was two hundred
silver rubles. Now a ruble is not a dollar, but quite near
enough neighbour to one, to cause me to think before I pur-
chased, so that the result of the whole was, that I passed to
the other side, in the end leaving without buying anything, —
quite a common result of such experiences, as I am informed
by those most used to them. And — who are they ?
After dinner, Mrs. B and her son, my Baltic fellow
traveller, called in her very handsome equipage, by invita-
tion the day before, to take me a drive among the Summer
Islands. Mr. W. of the American Legation, had called, I
found on my return, in his carriage, to give me a drive
everywhere, and elsewhere besides. This island drive is the
crack excursion of St. Petersburg. If Peter, — Peter
Veliki, — Peter the First, and Great, was St. Petersburg's
father, the Neva was, is, and ever will be its wet nurse. It
certainly was its mother. Every drop of water the subjects
JOURNAL.
183
■use, and in every way used, is from the Neva. It is daily
brought in buckets, tubs, barrels, &c., to your door, into
the house, up stairs, &c. This is the every-day supply of
this matter of life, and it seems quite enough. Recollect
the water is taken directly from the river. Said one to me,
when I hire a house, I agree with the owner that he shall
supply me with wood and water at so much a year ; this
being the very best mode of settling the terms of these im-
portant matters in domestic life. The Neva is a wide and
rapid river. The waters are hourly changing, so that their
purity is pretty well provided for. It is full of islands.
These are variously connected with each other by bridges,
and are covered with luxuriant forest trees and shrubberies.
The roads through these islands are in perfect order, with
raised sidewalks for the people, who are not permitted to
range among the flowers or woods. It is, or one island is,
a royal summer residence, having on it the Palace of the
Empress Queen. Everything about it, its gardens, hot-
houses, &c., are in beautiful order. You walk or drive
about them, as if they were your own ; and to him who
apprehends, feels, all this array of the beautiful, with taste,
simple taste for his companion, it is as his possession, and
by a tenure, which nothing can destroy.
We drove freely among these retreats of royalty, but to
which the meanest serf may successfully take his way. It
was to me among its pleasantest revelations, that the people,
yes, all the people, might feel at home here. Every sort of
vehicle was flying hither and thither, bringing its party, or
carrying it home ; while walkers of all degrees, were loitering
about, smoking, or else at a small table in the open air, taking
their cup of tea, or what not, and truly enjoying themselves.
The water forms a very attractive part of the scene, and
from some points you can look over and beyond the Neva,
and catch very tolerable glimpses of the Gulf of Finland.
Something is wanted. Hills, hills, are dreadfully at a dis-
count here. Why ? All the roads, forests, palaces, &c.,
184 JOUENAL.
•which are here, owe their foundation, and their whole
selves, to soil reclaimed from the sea, or rather to raising a
morass till it became permanently dry land. What an
amount of human labour to complete what natural processes
had fairly in hand. St. Petersburg itself is a still more strik-
ing proof of what human hands and tiny wheelbarrows may
accomplish. I can only here speak of results, and grateful
was I to my new friends for furnishing me so much for
thought, for pleasure, and for admiration ! How deep is the
interest of the people here in this work, — the Summer
Islands. It is said that this whole effort has had in con-
tinuous prospect a purpose to please the people, — that it is
with other things a part of that system of compensations
which are on every side, and which do so much to make life
tolerable and desirable, under various disciplines. And who,
Tinder all the conditions, can look for more ?
The Islands present all sorts of amusements. Singing,
dancing, instrumental music. A distinguished German
company is now here. Then there are exhibitions of skill,
of strength, tableaux vivantes. Smoking, eating, drinking,
of course, are inseparable companions of such and so varied
an effort to enable people to enjoy themselves, as the phrase
is, and to enjoy each other. The season for out-door life of
this description is very short. The winter is seven, or
eight months long. The spring is often tardy, and the
autumn premature. So that, upon the whole, the time of
roses, — of singing birds, and singing women, — of sweet
and gentle breezes, is but short, " when winter comes again
and shuts the scene." Preparation for suburban winter is
on this wise. Families return to the city. The roads are
closed up. The bridges are removed, which, as they are
built upon boats, is quite easily done. The houses are
covered closely with mats, making quite a curious appear-
ance, — a house in a tight jacket. In spite of all this care
so intense is the cold, that the stucco covering of the houses
often yields to it, and great portions of columns and sides
JOURNAL. Ig5
of houses are left bare, so that the coarse bricks are every-
where seen more or less uncovered. In spring, repairs are
made of the injuries of frost. Sometimes not very easily,
for the Empress's house on one of the islands bore ques-
tionless evidence in June of last winter's cold, in the uncov-
ered places of the columns of her Majesty's Palace. This
effect of climate is seen on all sides, and the question con-
stantly rises if a composition could not be employed which
would better keep its place. Some material for the same
object is used everywhere in Europe. You rarely see the
original true wall. The plaster always stays where it is put,
and the utmost perfectness of surface is seen everywhere.
I have spoken particularly of Brussels in this regard. In
the Admiralty in St. Petersburg, at the front of a building
devoted to commerce, are monstrous large statues of Nep-
tune, Commerce, &c., placed there by Catherine the Second.
Their foundation is brick, and their surface a composition,
either itself white, or painted white. Winter pays no
respect to their royal projector, but makes dreadful havoc
upon them. It carries off nose, eyes, face, all ; and then,
along the bodies and limbs of these huge deities of the
world's idolatry or device, deep, deep are the inroads of
frost. It is June, and the breaches have not been repaired.
I asked why these brick statues were not replaced by bronze,
by granite, which figures so largely in front of the Hermi-
tage, or by marble. " The Empress placed them there,"
was the answer, " and there they must remain."
Before I go a step further, let me give you some account
of my introduction to Russia. In London I had the pleasure
to meet Sir James Clarke in consultation in the case of a
friend, and told him of my purpose to go at once to Russia,
and asked him if he knew any one in St. Petersburg to
whom he could give me a letter. Thinking for a moment,
he said he did, and would give me a letter to him with
pleasure. Soon after I received a letter addressed to Sir
James Wiley, Physician to the Grand Duke of Russia. As
16*
186 joirKNAL.
soon as my arrangements were made for passing some weeks
in St. Petersburg, — and official demands being got well
tbrougb, — I inquired for Sir James Wiley's residence. It
was in the Galerney, a street parallel with the English Quai,
and directly in the rear of Madame Benson's house, so that
a minute's walk brought me to the place. I rang, inquired
for Sir James, and handed card and letter to the servant to
deliver to his master. It seemed a very long time before I
heard from above. The rooms about which I wandered
were singularly deficient in furniture, but on the walls were
some pictures, which to me are the best furniture. At length
John appeared, and asked me to follow him to Sir James.
Upon entering the room, my whole attention was attracted
by the figure of a very tall old man, — between eighty and
ninety, — stretched at full length on a sofa. His face was
harsh, hard, solid. You would never have thought him so
very old, for these faces wear well, — the skin keeps smooth,
the features preserve place, and so have their earlier symmetry.
But the expression was singularly disagreeable. It seemed
made up of physical sufi'ering, and moral displeasure. Sir
James's dress was in keeping with expression. He wore an
old, faded, much soiled, printed calico, dressing-gown. Its
acquaintance with the laundry could not have been recent.
His long neck, which in men, especially old men, is rarely
beautiful, was bare, while the smallest possible portion of
shirt here and there showed itself. His expression was
hinted at. His lips were compressed with that force of will
which says, " You will get little out of me," while the eyes
were staring- wide open, as if to see most perfectly what was
at that moment before them. He slowly, with labour and
pain, half, or nearly half rose from the sofa, and holding my
letter in his hand, he seemed to be measuring the time which
he gave to it and to me, going from one to the other in just
such manner as would make the time devoted to us as nearly
equal as possible. At length the silence was broken. I
shifted the leg upon which I had rested, hat in hand, mo-
tionless from my first entering this strange presence.
JOURXAL. 187
" I do not know what all this means," going from mc to
the letter, and from the letter to me. " What does all
this mean ? I do not know this Mr. Clarke, nor he
me. I am not physician to the Grand Duke. I am phy-
sician to Nicholas, his Majesty — the Emperor. I have
been physician to four monarchs of this empire, — Cathe-
rine, Paul, Alexander, Nicholas. I understand nothing
about this letter." Thus proceeded Sir James, until all the
steam was discharged, while I stood hat in hand, and
took it, as the phrase is. There was no escape but in his
exhaustion. In due time he sunk upon his sofa, and I
spoke. I expressed great regret that I had given him so much
trouble, and so much suffering; and begged him to give me
my letter of introduction ; and with an assurance that I
would annoy him no more, took my leave. Now you may
look upon my introduction to Russia as an amusing incident
of travel, and let it pass. So could not I. I must confess
it troubled me not a little. Sir James had been looked to
as a most important agent in my Russian experiences, and
in a moment the whole prospect had faded av/ay. " The
fountain from the which my current was tojlow, or else dry
up," had in a moment ceased, and I was left as in a parched
desert. Slow was my progress homeward from the Galerney,
and straight did I walk into my desolate room, and sat
down to look at the future, — and what a future was it ?
I had not sat very long before a knock at the door.
" A servant from Sir J. Wiley." Show him up. " Sir
James will be exceedingly obliged to you if you will call on
him immediately." I went, and was showed directly up
stairs. How changed was the Baronet. He was one vast
smile,— jubilant, — uproarious. He sprang to on elbow,
as if he had lost thirty years since I left him, an hour or
two before. His hand was protruded, " Sit down. I am
rejoiced to see you. I have found it all out. It is Sir
James Clarke, the Queen's physician. He wrote to my
nephew, who was a knight. I am a baronet, with armorial
188 JOURXAL.
bearings, made such by bis majesty George IV. Your letter
was to my nepbew, physician to the Grand Duke, Alexan-
der. He died a year ago." And here Sir James laughed
heartily, as if there was something queer in a nephew's
death. " Let me know how I may serve you." A desire
was expressed to visit the civil and military hospitals.
*' Dr. , with the rank of colonel, will call on you in the
morning, and visit all these institutions with you." After
this a day scarcely passed while I was in the city, that I did
not call on Sir James. Upon one occasion a young gentle-
tleman came in of somewhat singular appearance. His dress
was a flowing black garment reaching to his feet, with very
full sleeves. It was of a thin woollen texture, but stiff, so
as to stand off and occupy much space. His complexion
was dark, hair and eyes dark, and his features decidedly
Eastern. He was a Persian. He was very handsome.
Sir James introduced him to me, saying that he was his
son, — or rather Godson. " I have made a Christian of
him, — have had him baptized, and stood Godfather." The
old Baronet was in excellent spirits. An officer came in, who
was introduced to me as the physician to the Empress, Col.
Carrell. He was splendidly dressed. His uniform was
white, — snow white, — fitting him perfectly. His epau-
lettes, sword-hilt, scabbard, sword-belt, hangings, were of
the brightest burnished silver. He stood at rest with his hat
in his hand, as handsome a man as you will see in a thou-
sand. I said stood, for nobody sat in the presence of the
head of the Military Bureau of the Imperial Army. After
some very pleasant talk I took my leave.
At another visit. Sir James talked of his war experiences.
Among other things he spoke of the battle of Leipsic.
Moreau, who was then fighting on the side of the allies,
had both his legs shot off by a cannon ball. Sir James
amputated both limbs upon the field, but such was the
shock which Moreau had received from the ball, that he
survived but a few hours after the operation. It was in
JOURNAL. 189
connection with the service rendered by Sir James in that
battle, that he was made a baronet, with the privilege of
armorial bearings. He told his servant to bring him the
patent of his baronetcy, signed by the English monarch,
which it was evident he was happy to show me. In con-
nection with this was a display of all the decorations and
orders, which he had received from the many monarchs he
had served. I told Sir James of my purpose to go to Mos-
cow. He said he would give me letters (which he after-
wards did) to his Excellency Prof. Fischer, the head of the
Russian Bureau of Natural Sciences, and to Dr. Pfsehl,
principal medical officer of the great Military Hospital in
Moscow.
Upon another occasion something was said Vvhich carried
him back to his boyhood, and his servant was ordered to
bring him a certain package, which was very carefully
opened, and its contents showed to me. " Here," said Sir
James, " are my school books, my first writing books, my
ciphering books, and these are my mathematical manu-
scripts. You see I have kept them all." They were in
perfect preservation, — and arranged after the order of time.
The writing was excellent, and the neatness of them all
showed how early had been formed the habit of doing well
what he had done. Here was an old man, between eighty
and ninety, and here were the records of his earliest days.
He took obvious pride in them, and it was without an
effort, to take part in his feelings, and to express the plea-
sure which such a passage in such a life had excited. Some-
thing was said of the interest which would be taken in the
history of such a life. Sir James said that he had written a
work, in many volumes, of every important event in which
he had taken a part. It was finished for the press. But he
thought it his duty to the Czar to tell him what he had
done. Nicholas begged him to destroy it ; and with so
much emphasis was the request made, that he promised to
comply with it, and had performed his promise. The record
190 JOURNAL.
of a long life, which had been spent in the active and
responsible service of four monarchs, and in the most im-
portant portions of Russian history, — which, in fact, em-
braced almost literally, the whole existence of that empire,
was in a moment destroyed. The evidence which had just
been showed to me, in the minutest details, of the care in
which had been preserved the earliest records of his life, —
the intellectual habits of this old man, abundantly showed
how well fitted he was for just such a work as he had
described to me. The regret was expressed at the loss of
such an autotiography. The answer was, the Emperor had
directed it, and he had obeyed the command.
Sir James expressed again and again his regard, his reve-
rence, his affection, for the Emperor. It was clear that
great confidence had been reposed in him, and that he was
under great obligations to Nicholas. I was told that Sir
James was very rich, his property being between five and
six million rubles silver. I asked who would be his heir.
The Emperor, was the reply. He has left his whole pro-
perty to him. I called to see him on Saturday. Among
other things, he expressed a strong desire that I should go
the next day to Peterhoff, to be introduced to the Emperor.
That, Carrell would be there, — that he w^ould give me a
letter to him, and that he knew I would be graciously
received. I thanked him for his interest in me, but felt
obliged to decline his offer. This surprised and moved him.
"Not go to Peterhoff! after having com3 so many thou-
sand miles, and go away without seeing the Emperor ! You
must go, and I v/ill promise you a decoration, ■ — yes, a deco-
ration ! and will you lose the chance of such an honour. I
cannot understand what possible objection you can have.
I pray you to go." I said that I had been to Peterhoff, and
had devoted a day to an examination of all its treasures of
art and of natara, and I feared I could not accept his most
kind offer. I did not go.
Sir James gave me copies of his published works. Among
JOURNAL. 191
these was a thick volume on the Materia Mcdica of Russia.
The day before I left St. Petersburg I called to make my
visit of leave. I found him very ill. He had passed a
wretched night, and was breathing with so much agony,
and was so exhausted, that he could hardly raise his hand
to me, or to say farewell. He was stretched out on the
sofa, as he was when I first saw him, and it seemed impos-
sible that he would ever rise from it again. I thanked him
for all the kindness he h^d showed me, and took my leave.
It was not without sadness, this leave-taking at the borders
of the grave.
Mr. W. called on me in his carriage, for a drive. We
were talking of the dress of the people, and of the power
of habit in regard to it. Mr. W. asked me to observe his
coachman. He wore a very handsome blue caftan, with
silver lace belt, and collar. His size was remarkable, aid
was explained. He had his sheepskin shube, dressed with
the wool, under his livery. The shube is worn next to the
skin. Think for a moment of the pres?nt intense heat
here in this Northern summer, and learn how strong is the
love of a people for national p2culiarities, even reaching to
dress, and when one would suppose the love of it must,
in its; practical exercise, bring with it so much personal dis-
comfort.
Our drive was various. We started for the Admiralty,
and passed over much ground before visited. But so mag-
nificent is it that it maybe seen often with new intere-t.
The Nevskoi Prospect was, as usual, crowded. We entered
a large and handsome street, and left the carriage, to walk
through some ^lingular by-ways, leading directly out of the
spacious street, into narrow crowded passages full of bazaars.
They reminded me of the Wynds of Edinburgh, except
they were not covered above. These alley ways were
closely packed with small, very low houses, of one story,
and used for various market purposes. One was devoted to
the sale of birds, — the bird market, — and it was literally
192 JOURNAL.
filled with birds of all note, plumage, clime. The Eng-
lish lark was singing, as if on its way to heaven, in the
free air. In another lane, were shops for all sorts of sales.
In one were narrow barrels, filled with walnuts, dried
plums, a queer sort of bean, — filberts, — coffee, — tea, —
pounded bones for manure, — all sorts of things. Then
shops for an entirely different class of objects. Human
want, and comfort, and luxury, might here make known its
need, " and have its claim allowed." No fire or light of
any kind is permitted in these strange market places (among
others is a rag market), either in winter or summer. A
conflagration here would be the easiest thing in the world
to begin, but the most difficult one to stop. The merchants
stand all the time at the open doors, — in winter in their
furs, — and carry on their business as in the best days of
summer.
We next drove to the Summer Garden in the city ; left
the carriage ; walked through the walks ; saw much of rank
and fashion, but little beauty ; took a steamboat on the
Neva, and with a crowd of pleasure hunters, went to the
Mineral Waters. This is the name given to a large public
garden, in which crowds assemble to see spectacles, walk
about, hear music and singing, see dancing ; in short, to
eat, drink, and be merry. The boat and ticket cost less
than a dollar. We entered first the room of exhibition. A
military band was playing. The music was loud, heavy,
crushing, by which I mean ear-breaking. But it was much
applauded ; that is, as much as these nations ever applaud,
which is seldom, and small. At length the band, which had
been in America, struck up " Yankee Doodle," in great style.
Why, we could not learn, though probably some of Mr. W.'s
acquaintance, whom we passed, and spoke to many, gave
the band a hint. Sure am I, they knew nothing of me. This
place is called Mineral Waters, because in a large saloon, are
mineral waters of all kinds for sale. A portion of the enter-
tainment consisted in tableaux viv antes, which were exceed-
JOURNAL. 193
ingly well managed. Prometheus' story was the subject of
one ; the Seasons, of another, &c. What most attracted me
were some parties of Bohemian Gypsy girls. They come into
the Russian cities, and appear at places of amusement as
dancers and singers. They are very handsome, of dark
skin, very black, but powerful eyes, expressive mouth. The
deep, luxuriant black hair, grows very low on the forehead,
but the forehead is seen to be full, and finely formed, a part,
one half about, being covered by the hair. This is after the
antique statuary of female beauty, — the Clytie, for instance.
In America, pains are taken to manufacture high foreheads
by females. Children have the hair forced back by stiff
combs constantly worn. Depilatories are also in use ; and
in one case of which I had charge, not only the hair, but
the scalp also was removed to the bone. And long was the
time, and much the suffering, before the deep wound was
cured. The question has been raised, whether the expres-
sion is improved by this high and broad exposure of the
forehead. Mais cJiacun a son gout. The head-dress is a
black veil, falling at the sides, very like the Spanish man-
tilla, leaving the face uncovered. The rest of the dress is
of dark figured silks, shawls, &c. &c., to suit. There is a
peculiarity in dress in Russia, and in Germany. This is
its heaviness, solidity. It matters not what is the weather.
Men and women wear a great deal of clothing. A long
woollen outside coat, cut to the shape, or a cloak, is very
commonly worn by men. The state of the weather does
not alter this at all. I spoke of the coachman and of his
sheepskin, with the caftan covering all. Soldiers almost
without an exceptional case, are seen wearing this everlast-
ing overcoat, or caftan, with their broadcloth uniform
beneath. The officers wear cloaks. This part of dress is
said to be worn to avoid dust, but this hardly explains the
universal wear. The Russian fears nothing so much as a
change in weather. The thermometer is the commonest
topic at the hotel. Whenever the Russian goes into the
17
194 JOITKNAL.
country, the Islands, for instance, for an evening drive, lie
always takes his overcoat, or cloak, and more frequently on
his back than on his arm. The other evening I was the
only person among the crowd at the " Mineral Waters "
who did not wear his outside, or overall coat. I left my
shawl in the carriage. I have sometimes thought that
health, and dress, were very useful, and important matters
here for conversation. Who has less range of topic than
the Russian ? He has no concern in politics, for this is a
matter of established and permanent arrangement. Busi-
ness is very much in the hands of foreigners, and never in
those of men of rank. An American merchant comes to
St. Petersburg to establish himself. He first becomes a
citizen or subject of Finland. This enables him to leave
Russia, and take his property with him when he pleases. He
has his business to attend to, and has no concern with any-
thing else, and if wise, thinks, certainly talks, of nothing
else. This is a matter of no general interest. The nobility
have certainly nothing more to do with mercantile afiairs
than is necessary for personal or social uses. And there is
no gentry ; at least, no such gentry as constitutes in England
so large and so important an estate, both political and civil.
You see how, in such a community, topics of general
interest come to be narrowed down, and at how great a dis-
count intellectual activity, or habits, stand in the domestic, or
social market. The Church, which in its various manifesta-
tions, has so large a place in the popular interests in some
countries, has the least possible here, except in its personal
regards. You see at a glance how deep is the reverence of
the whole state for the religion of the state. It seems
never to be forgotten. The little candle burns before a
little picture of a saint, or an angel, everywhere, and nobody
passes within range of its feeble beam, at whatever hour,
and no matter what the urgency of his business, without
first crossing himself, and in a manner and with a delib-
erateness which shows you that for a moment the tie which
JOURNAL. 195
bound him to the present has been broken, and this without
violence, and that the union will be in a moment more
re-established, and he passing on his rapid way. The life
in such a state is divided between amusement and devotion,
— health, dress, temperature, &c., and after a manner which
the actual observer only can understand. I can, therefore,
find for dress here, and its strange power, explanations per-
fectly simple, and, I believe, perfectly true. I was talking
of the Bohemian Gypsies. I spoke of their dress ; at times
it is gorgeous in the extreme, especially when they appear
on the stage in the public gardens, &c. - Here, in addition
to their silks and satins, they have rich jewelry of all kinds,
giving to them and to thtir striking countenances an aitrac-
tion which reaches everybody. 1 heard it said that these
girls are more remarkable for their personal appearance, and
accomplishments, than for their moral developments ; but as
the latter are among the questionable matters of popular
discussion, and as I have no knowledge of the subject, I
shall leave it where I found it.
The remainder of the evening was passed in walking and
talking, in the latter mode of passing which, I had but
little share. When we returned, and after a fine drive, I
found myself at the tea table, not far from midnight, and
was not without appetite for the meal.
To few things is the late and weary traveller more
indebted than to the Samovar, or tea urn, which is in
general use in Russia. To preserve the heat of water at a
steady point, and just what it should be for use at any time,
a funnel passes down through the middle of the urn, at the
bottom of which is a grating to admit a free current of air.
When to be used at breakfast, tea, or at any time when hot
water is in demand, the Samovar is filled with cold water ;
a bit of lighted paper is thrown down the funnel, which, as
we have seen, passes through its entire length in its centre,
and some charcoal is thrown over it. The paper rests upon
the grating at the lower or grated end of the funnel, and
196 JOIIENAL.
tlms the heat of the burning charcoal, in passing upward
through it, is all the time applied directly to the water
which surrounds it. The water soon boils, and the heat
may be preserved indefinitely by applying a little charcoal
now and then. A very little outlay of fuel keeps up a steady
heat. Suppose the tea has cooled in the pot, nothing more
is necessary than to place it on the top of the funnel, and it
soon will be found perfectly warm, and of a delicious flavour.
In this way tea may be prepared at once for use, several
hours after the first infusion. Nay, more, if you want a
boiled egg, all you have to do is to put a tea cup with
an egg in it, and filled with water, on the top of the iron
funnel, and it will soon be ready for use. I shall not forget
my obligations to the Russian Samovar. Speaking of tea,
I was early aware of the excellent character and qualities of
Russian tea. I asked about its causes. I learned that the
tea comes from China overland, and we have all heard of
the alleged advantage of this mode of travel over that by
sea, the mod3 by which tea reaches America and England.
Fruits, apples for instance, lose much of their flavour, we are
told, by passing over the water, especially to hot climates,
however carefully packed. Of the truth of this I know
little except from report, but I have certainly heard of the
excellence of Russian tea, as compared with that used by
us. I am now prepared to say that the tea here is of rare
flavour, and more to my liking than any I have before used,
whether in America or England. The price is higher than
with us. Family tea is as with us. The white tea is much
prized ; and I suppose this to be Pecco or jloicer tea, un-
mixed with black or green. The Samovar is made of brass,
and makes quite a handsome addition to the furniture of the
breakfast and tea table.
June 20th. — Left St. Petersburg for Moscow at eleven
this morning, in the convoy, or train, in the second class, as
usual. I sat in seat No. 39. At the railway station you
are taught some lessons which it behooves the traveller to
JOURNAL. 197
heed, who lives beneath the power and protection of his
majesty the Czar. You are always under his protection,
and never did I feel safer, — life more secure than in the
crowds of the Russian cities, and in its country regions.
Power declares itself, and is readily acknowledged. You
enter the station with your hat on your head. An officer
at once attempts to teach you that the place you have
selected for it is not its proper one in that particular portion
of Russia. I walked into the station, as I should at home,
with my hat on. A man with a badge of office at once
came up and told me to take it off, or meant to do so, but I
had been here too short a time to learn the language, and
quietly looked at him for more definite information. His
manner grew rapidly more and more emphatic, but I was no
wiser. At last he adopted the natural language of sign,
and begun fiercely to rub, and raise his cap. I was no
longer oblivious, and took off the offending article of my
out-door toilet, and for a full half hour stood or walked up
and down this immense room, holding my hat, and looking
for a seat, but I found none. The railway carriages are
long, as are ours, entered at end and front ; brake on out-
side, and not inside the carriage, as I saw was sometimes
the case in Prussia, and elsewhere. The brakeman finds it
very convenient, this Prussian mode. The handle of the
brake is at the end of the seat on which he sits, and he has
not to move in order to work it. This saves him much
exposure to wind, cold, rain, &c. But I did not see how
he learned what was going on outside, or what might hap-
pen, and thus the train might be driven head on to some-
thing accidentally, and ruinously, in the way. The carriages
have a slight frame-work twice across each, which seems
designed to prevent a collapse of their sides. I sat next to
one of these, and found it a very convenient place on which
to hang my hat, shawl, overcoat, &c., and against which to
rest my head. Now there is an objection to the Russian
railway carriages. The backs do not reach as high as the
17*
198 JOTJKNAL.
head by a good deal, and, as the night is necessarily passed
on the road, this is not the most comfortable arrangement
for sleeping. The stuffing is not as exquisite as it might
be, and there are no window-curtains. For myself, these
were not very serious annoyances. I was in very early life
taught the advantages of the soft side of a board, when you
were selecting one for a bed ; and I made some arrangements
for the night travel. I had abundant opportunities for ob-
serving the workings of the law of compensation, which
was brought into operation in the station, and in the con-
voy. You saw parties coming, men, women, and children,
wet-nurses, and the like. They brought with them supplies
of pillows, mattresses, cushions, comforters, &c. &c., in
quantities which to me were appalling, for I could not fore-
see what could be done with them all. When, however, I
got my seat, I found them well disposed of under the seats,
which, as if to favour such an arrangement, are made much
broader than with us, as were the carriages themselves, and
in this way abundant room for bedding was obtained, and
besides, ample space was afforded to place a good high and
long pillow or mattress behind the back, to support this and
the head. Then the carpet bags. These were more than
inexplicable. Everybody had them. And what did they
contain, these arks of Noah? I answer, everything.
Oranges, lemons, night-caps, tumblers, bottles filled with
milk, water, wine, sugar in little paper or pastepoard
vessels, with nice covers, sausages, tongues ; every species
of bread, cake, confectionary ; materials for lemonade,
prepared in a dry state, — how prepared, I know not.
But for eating and drinking, never had I such oppor-
tunities for observation and experience. I carried nothing,
nor did my courier give a hint about doing so. I had there-
fore only to accept the current hospitality, for current was
it, or seem churlish or ill-mannered by refusal. On we
went, very slowly, as it seemed to me, but this was im-
proved, or its want unnoticed, in the almost hourly business
JOumsTAL. 199
of eating and drinking, packing and unpacking tlie omniv-
orous carpet bags, for devourers were they, as I have abun-
dantly showed. I had my scat, with my courier in front,
near and with a party of five, a mother and four daughters.
One of them sat on the seat with me, with an arm between
us. Charles just before me, and a very lady-like woman
opposite my companion, M. E. M., as I found were the
initials of her name, and daughter of the lady with four.
^We soon began to talk all round, the whoh party, courier,
and all. Two talked English somewhat ; the rest, French,
German, Italian, Russian. The thoroughness of the north-
ern education impressed me more than once. The facility
of passing from language to language was constantly noted,
and I have the useful and reliable evidence of one whose
own variety and good knowledge of languages, was remark-
able. I speak of the Continent, and of its northern por-
tions. How it is in England in this regard, I know not.
I learned this family's history, and why, without a gentleman
friend, they were travelling so far from St. Petersburg ; for
Moscow is between four and five hundred miles from that
city. They were on their route to husband and father, a
colonel in the Russian service, stationed at Mount Caucasus,
and whom they had not seen for two years and more. Two
carriages were on the freight train, which they would meet
in Moscow with their servants, for the balance of their
journey. I became acquainted with these very pleasing
ladies, for such they were, and of extreme delicacy of
appearance, and manners. Miss Ellen, the youngest, was a
sweet child, quite grown up, but, as she told me, not fifteen.
I took out my pin-cushion, which you so kindly filled with
pins. Ellen, with great sweetness, which her broken Eng-
lish made more expressive, asked me for one pin. I begged
her to take the whole, cushion and all, and added my card,
that she should not forget me. She refused at first, with
that timidity which an unexpected kindness or interest
excited, but at last accepted it, and with perfect childlike
200 JOURNAL.
"beauty, ran to lier mother and sisters, to show them her fine
present. Between nine and ten, p. m., was the hour for
beginning preparations for the night. The enormous bun-
dles were dragged, literally dragged from their hiding places,
under the seats, and arranged in all sorts of ways for repose.
Change upon change ensued, and it seemed that things would
never be settled. I was of course ready, for I had no mattress,
and no pillow. I got my handkerchief ahout my head, as is
my wont, at home, and in some sort, slept. It was, however,
a heavy night, and I could not but conclude, now and then,
that travelling was not all it was cracked up to be, and to
exclaim, " Who would not sell his farm and go to sea ! " I
said a " heavy night." It was no night at all. The same
twilight followed the day as I had on the Baltic. It seemed
absurd to go to bed, or rather try to make up your mind or
body to sleep in the natural way. My neighbours bound to
the Caucasus seemed to be perfectly acquainted with San-
cho's idea of sleep, and found it as readily as did he. And
all did the same thing. A universal sleep visited that rail-
road night-day, and, as I was the only looker on, I could
observe its phases, without a glance being regarded as out of
place, or impertinent. The floor of the carriage had its
scene in the wide drama. There were infant children with
us in numbers, with nurses wet or dry, to suit. These with
their charges had their places in the alley- ways, — the pas-
sages between seat-ranges, and on blankets, bags, or what
not ? And each baby and nurse performed, without embar-
rassment, their appropriate functions.
I assure you this was a new mode of life with me. My
every-day life was new, and to an intensity in degree, some-
times, which my somewhat long and varied experience in
living had never paralleled. A night in time, — a day in
fact, — an astronomical up, or out-heaval, — stranger than
a new-born continent in the wide ocean, — a perfect anach-
ronism. I could not sleep for hours after all others had, —
not retired exactly, but were in perfect repose, — sound
joue:n^al. 201
asleep. What added to the night's interest was ruite a
severe thunder squall, with rain and lightning. This last
made queer work with the bright twilight atmosphere.
Before my family for Caucasus went to their queer beds,
there was a universal kissing amongst them. Each child
went to her mother in turn, and gave her a warm, sweet good
night ; and then in turn they kissed each other, and then, as
if all duty were not done, those nearest took her hand and
kissed that all over. Who would not have been more than
willing to be included in such an office. Day came, or day
was, for we had no night. Then nine o'clock, a. m., and
then Moscow.
Moscow. — The convoy stopped. Luggage was sought
after. The housekeeping in the carriage was broken up,
and I took my leave of my new friends, most heartily wish-
ing them, especially Ellen, a safe and happy journey. A
short half hour's drive brought me to the " English House,"
and for a time " I took my rest in mine inn." About 4, p. m.,
in a drosky, I drove to his Excellency's, Dr. Fischer, a
very distinguished naturalist, to deliver my letter to him,
from Sir James Wiley, of St. Petersburg, as aforesaid. As
I was told he spoke English well, I went without Charles.
I reached the house, first of his son, and then his own, but
found Dr. F. was absent, and that I could not understand
a word more uttered by those of the two households, and
that nothing remained for me, but to retire, which I did,
with all the tranquillity which the circumstances could sug-
gest. A servant girl offered, by the natural language of
signs, to show me where the Dr. lived. She ran on before
me in rather an uncertain Sunday costume, being quite
wanting in shoes, stockings, length of dress, &c. &c., and
so better fitted for the office of a guide, or rather, of an
avant courier. But it was hot, and so I stopped the
drosky, and took the fair Russie in, and on we drove.
As soon as we came in sight of her master's father's house.
202 JOURNAL.
slie leaped out after the manner of that quadruped, or his
species, which M and the good Dr. so dearly love, and
ran into the house. The Dr. was absent, as already set
forth. I drove back to dinner, and so had quite a chance to
see something of this ancient Russian capital, Moscow.
Sunday, June. — And an odd sort of Sabbath, or rest
day was it. Everybody was abroad, and all sorts of busi-
ness seemed to be in hand. I inquired about this, and
learned as a general thing, no work among the citizens was
done that day, — that it was, however, a fair day, and that
the country, the whole neighbouring country, poured into
town with all sorts of things for sale. Hay seemed to me
to be the largest article of traffic, for a very great quantity
of it was on the stands. The streets were crowded with
loaded wagons, carts, and what not — with men, women, and
children without number. Vehicles of all kinds flew about
the street, to the no small risk of the good lieges, but all
succeeded in taking care of themselves. It seems that the
early part of the day is devoted to the service of the Church,
the Greek Church, and the rest of it is given to frolic,
amusement of all kinds in the city, and neighbouring gar-
dens. At 8, A. M., is a mass for the early ones, and at
eleven. High Mass for the million, and then the churches are
closed, or service in them ceases. I did not find the Sun-
day work was confined to the country visitors of the city, for
I certainly saw a tailor's shop open, and the people at work.
When I mentioned this, I was told, that it was an excep-
tional case. After dinner, I walked in the neighbouring
Boulevards, with many of the good people of Moscow, all
well dressed, and of most quiet demeanour, very well pleased
with the pleasant hour, with the shrubs, trees, and flowers,
which were about them on all sides. I went home, and
there met with two gentlemen, who were at the English
Quai House with me in St. Petersburg, and they made my
stay in Moscow exceedingly pleasant. One, Rev. Mr.
E , is a Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. The
JOURNAL. 203
other, an English gentlemen of Yorkshire. The Oxford
man has travelled a great deal in the East, and could trace
the architectural relation of Moscow to their Asiatic sources.
He is very intelligent, very liberal for so conservative a
position, as is that which he occupies ; and was desirous to
get back to Oxford to give his vote for Mr. Gladstone for
Parliament, as Mr. G's. views on certain points had alienat-
ed his friends, and led them to run an opposition candidate
for the University. This society was very pleasant to me,
and because of its refinement, knowledge, and most friendly
bearing, teaching every hour and every day, that no man
need be alone in the universe, who has the smallest wish or
claims for society. Let him only be willing and able to give
and to take, and to be pleased, and he may run for luck
about his position.
June, Monday morning. — Soon after breakfast Charles
came into my room where I was journalizing, and said a
gentleman had called to see me. I told him to show him
up. Said C, he is so very old, blind, and infirm, that per-
haps I might choose to come down to him. I went down,
and found in the passage way to the parlour, a very, very
old man, blind, and moving with great difficulty and ap-
parent suff*ering. Said I to myself, what can this mean ?
It was quite early. Who, so old and infirm, has come
out at such an hour, and in this far-off* city, to see me ? A
gentleman stepped forward, and in very good French, — good
to me, for I could understand it, — said, that the gentleman
before me, was his Excellency Dr. and President Fischer,
at the head of the scientific institutions of Russia, &;c. &c.
I took a hand of the old gentleman, while Dr. Reynard, the
superintendent of the Royal Museum, speaking English like
an Englishman, and of the best manners of the gentleman,
took the other, and we guided him very slowly to the par-
lour, three rooms off", and over waxed and well rubbed
floors, which did not add greatly to the ease of progression.
At length the great arm-chair was reached, and the Dr.
204 JOUKNAL.
seated. We had now a good long talk, and it was con-
cluded that Dr. Reynard should take me through the Museum,
that we should next visit the Kremlin, and last, that I should
dine with Dr. F. at 4, Wednesday, and there meet Dr. R.
We now proceeded to guide Dr. Fischer to his carriage, and
with a gentleness which a peevish child would have been
won by (and for which we had our aged friend's best kind-
est acknowledgments), he was safely deposited in his car-
riage, and left for his home.
Museum. — We were soon ready, and went, my English
friends, and their valet de place, and my host and his son
with me, Dr. Reynard in the first equipage, — all for the
Museum. This is a fine building, and has many objects of
great interest. Dr. R. confined himself, as our time was
short, to some account of the Russian animals in the col-
lection. Among these were a mammoth of Siberia, not the
mammoth, for that is in the Museum of the Academy of
Sciences in St. Petersburg, nor a perfect one, but very inter-
esting for its locality, size, &c. He showed me what he
considered the most curious things in the Museum, speci-
mens of soft parts, very well preserved, of the Siberian
mammoth, which was found in 1803, by Mr. Adam, on the
banks of the Lena, in Siberia, lat. 70. " It fell from a
mass of ice, in which it must have been encased for ages.
So fresh was the flesh of the animal, that the wolves and
bears were actually found eating it." It has been a serious
question how this immense mass of matter had been pre-
served for so many ages ? It must have been accomplished
by the preservative powers of ice, and which is employed
every winter in Russia in the preservation of animal food
— for the market of that wide empire. Dr. Reynard
showed us a bit of the skin of the mammoth. It was
towards half an inch thick. He said he had presented
Professor Owen, of London, with a very small bit, for which
he had received that very distinguished professor's best
gratitude. Dr. R. very kindly gave me a bit of the spinal
JOUKNAL. 205
marrow of the Siberian mammoth, and a specimen of the
fat. I shall preserve these with the greatest care, as they
are probably die only specimens of that extraordinary animal
which may reach America.
Kremlin. — Having examined the Museum as thoroughly
as the time wq had for this object would permit, we drove
to the Kremlin. He who is about to visit the Kremlin, had
better take a long breath. He has much to see, and let him
proceed patiently. Hurry will be fatal to his whole purpose.
Here are walis surrounding buildings, gardens, squares,
which, togetlier, form a triangle which measures a mile.
The traveller here has to submit to some ceremonial, but, if
he be a true traveller, this will not annoy him. Among the
objects which surround him, he may select such as have in
the hand-book most interested him. But the living guide,
after all, is chiefly to be relied upon, and his official station
is the best preparation for his functions. It was my privi-
lege to visit the Kremlin with some English gentlemen of
observation and intelligence, one of whom had travelled far,
as 1 have before said, and so was prepared to observe differ-
ences and settle questions, which were sure to arise. Ob-
jects of special interest were the Treasury, and the New
Palace ; and to these we first addressed ourselves. The
Treasury is so named, not because it contains and circulates
money. It is the receptacle and guardian of the public
wealth ; and of all, or the most important portion of its phy-
sical, external history. Here are the Crown Jewels, and
crowns of many kings, — of the Kings and Emperors of
Russia from its earliest days. The thrones upon which they
have sat, and from which have proceeded the decrees which
have directed the state ; not only the thrones, but the gor-
geous canopies, beneath which have sat the newly-crowned
on the day of coronation, and which have been their kingly,
their imperial covering, when the assembled state stood
uncovered before them. But besides that which pertains to
Russian personal history, here are lasting records of the
18
206 JOUKNAL.
wars and of the successes which mark the various periods in
the life of the state. Here are crowns, thrones, canopies,
the representatives of power, — the globes, the sceptres of
conquered kings and states, through the whole range of
Russian history. These things occupy much space, and are
of the richest materials, and most gorgeous bearings. Here
are precious stones without number. Gold and silver appear
in every form which can impress one with the notion of
extreme value, rarity, beauty, splendour. Here is a saddle,
a present to a female monarch from an Asiatic prince, which
absolutely glitters with diamonds, and every other kind of
precious minerals. Not only does the value of the material
command interest, but the personal history of things, —
their special uses, — their owners, — when they were made,
and what had been their experience, — by whom owned, in
what war taken, — or by whom in kindness or honour
given. Everything in these vast and gorgeous halls has its
history, — tells a story, — takes us into the old time, and
shows, by evidence which cannot be questioned, what was
the time, the event, the thing ; and also tells that which
often is more important than all these, — namely, their rela-
tions, — what they did, as well as what they were, and what
was the age that demanded, and made them ! Material
things, the external, thus become history, — and how elo-
quent are they here in all their teachings. But the whole
story is not told in the emblems of royalty — the im-
perial ermine, the crown, and the sceptre. Here in the
Kremlin, there are other things which attract attention, and
sometimes the most. The commonest articles of dress, —
the table furniture, the first fork, and the horn-handle
dinner-knife, — the awkward spoon, which, if designed for
dipping, had but little preparation in its form for holding
what it might receive. Here is the identical table furniture
of Peter the Great. Here are articles made by himself, of
ornament, and for use, — his own knife, fork, &c., and as
little regal in material and workmanship as can anything
JOURNAL. 207
well be. Here is tlie common, tlie every-day, showing the
extent of want, and how it was supplied. Life in itself
and in its wide bearings, is here displayed, and after a man-
ner which leaves no question as to what it was, and what
was done with it. One room was devoted to state carriages,
and most extraordinary affairs are these. Enormous in size,
rich and gaudy to the extreme of the ridiculous, — heavy, —
uncomfortable. The winter carriage is here of Peter the
First and Great, — Peter Veliki, when a boy, and as every-
day an affair, that carriage, as any Peter might have driven,
— and near to it his summer coach. Glass was not in vogue
much when some of the state equipages were made ; and
instead of it, large plates of talc supply its place, and answer
very well. In another room are collected arms of all kinds
and of all periods. Armour is here ; and kings on horseback
in full mail. Cannon, muskets, swords, &c. &c., through
the whole catalogue of means for killing men, or scaring
them into peace, or of preventing war. As matters of his-
tory, these are of interest. And here in the midst of so
much science, and of so much art, used for such strange
purposes, — here may not one mourn, that in the slow, the
silent, but sure progress of civilization, a truer and higher
moral development has not been made, — that when social
life has been so large a gainer, its better security and hap-
piness has not been sought in a wider and nobler culture,
and that to make men happier and better has not been the
motive and the end of a progressive world ? The better, the
nicer fork, knife, spoon, have ever had in close company the
better means of killing, — the keener sword, the more deadly
cannon, the surer musket. Men have not lost their fear
of man. Men have no better faith than of old in the
brother. You stand here in the presence of the great teach-
ers of history, here in the Kremlin, and feel that the lesson
is a true one. The theory of society is here in its gross
material. The harsh and the coarse have driven senti-
ment wide away, and a vulgar humanity, a conventional
208 JOURNAL.
decency, which is the antagonism of the truly great, stands
here as if to scoff at the progress of man, to deny that in
the highest and the best, he can be better to-day than he
was yesterday. Who can be near and breathe the atmos-
phere through which these remembrances of the past, and
of the important, are seen, and not feel deeply moved. I
confess to such feeling, and thus become conscious of that
endless chain which holds humanity within its divine em-
brace, and bids the latest ever to be the better, that the best
may have its advent the sooner, and the love of God, and of
man, become the habitual function of the human soul. Who
does not feel the value of such a collection of the material
of human history ? To no man, and to no age, can it speak
in vain.
I should have remembered before, the magnificent stair-
case of Carrara marble by which you ascend to the Treasury.
It is of great height, and its vast breadth is spanned by
steps, or stairs, made each of them of a single piece of this
exquisite material. It was said to have cost more thousands
of silver rubles than my poor memory has registered. This
staircase is much more extraordinary than that of the next
building, of which I shall speak, — the ISew Palace^ — as if
in one thing at least the Treasury should excel its modern
rival.
The New Palace. — I may as well not speak of this at
all. No description can be an approach even to the thing
itself. I went to it with intelligent men, gentlemen and
scholars ; they had, one of them at least, travelled far,
and had looked with deep interest and careful study, upon
the architectural wonders of the rich East. He confessed,
whilst we were looking upon and expressing our full admi-
ration of the panorama of Moscow, which was lying in
such fulness of beauty before us, as we saw it from the
tower of Ivan Veliki, — John the Great, surnamed the
Terrible, — he confessed that the panorama of Constanti-
nople might be thought finer than this one of Moscow, but
JOURNAL. 209
that the New Palace M^as without a rival, so far as he was
capable of comparing with it the richest, rarest specimens of
regal architecture. This building contains the state apart-
ments of the Emperor and Empress ; their private apart-
ments, theatres, and chapels, and the private apartments of
the Grand Duke, the heir apparent. Here are words, names
only ; but these in their present connection are in no sense
things. Public and private apartments are rooms in which
men live, and in which public business or the affairs of
public men are transacted. But in such senses are these
words not used here.
The Emperor visits Moscow but once a year, in August it
may be, and then inhabits the Palace. But only as a
matter of state is this done. His summer residence is
Peterhoff, near St. Petersburg. His winter Palace is near to
the Admiralty, in the city. From these are made royal
progresses to various parts of Russia, or to visit neighbour-
ing monarchs, — of Austria, Prussia, &c. We go to visit the
New Palace in Moscow then, as a show-place, as a work of
art to delight us by its displays of architectural achievements.
Speaking of the annual imperial visits here, I should have
added, that at these seasons of festivity and display, the
wealthy men of Moscow make to the Emperor some present,
such as their means and position enable them, or claim from
them to do. These are deposited in the Treasury, and be-
come new sources of interest to the present and to the
future time. But I have not yet entered this Palace in the
truest sense of the word. I remain at the threshold because
I know not how to advance. You are first in the private
apartments of the Emperor and Empress. These are receiv-
ing rooms, sitting, and sleeping apartments, — dining rooms,
private rooms of the Emperor and Empress, — those which
attendants of the family occupy, &c., &c. On the same
floor, in the opposite side of the Palace, are the private
apartments of the Grand Duke and his family. There is
one room appropriated especially to the Emperor which
18*
210 JOURNAL.
attracts attention, not so mucli by its ample dimensions, as
by the great simplicity and appropriateness of its appoint-
ments, its furniture, &c. This is his Majesty's private
room, his study, if such an office pertain to such a position.
No student could desire more entirely comfortable, and
retired accommodations. The chairs and sofas are covered
with good substantial Russian leather, and the tables with
nice green cloth. The change from the elaborateness,
extreme richness and finish of the other apartments of
this first floor, so to speak, to the equal appropriateness,
but simplicity of this single room, at once arrests your
attention, and you ask whose room is this, to whom or to
what devoted ? I think the feeling was somewhat general
of disappointment in regard to these private portions of the
Palace; not that they are in any true sense private, for
they are equally objects for the stranger's regard with those
which he visits afterwards. Not because they are not as
magnificent as art can make them. But they are not sur-
prising for their extent, particularly height. You are not
astonished at their vastness. You do not ask, how could all
this have been done, and everything appear as if it were
made at the same moment with every other part, however
diverse, and still perfectly in harmony ? You do not ask,
was this created, or was it made ? I took the part of this
portion of the Palace against my companions. I had seen
and wondered at the marvellous beauty and power of the
Palace in Berlin ; yes, had expressed my admiration of the
White-room or Hall of that royal residence. And with that
in my mind, I looked at and admired this. The guide
seemed to have understood the feelings of my companions
concerning this vast suite of rooms, and drew the curtains
aside, and took the covering from the chairs, that we might
see the wealth of fabric which was behind and beneath
them. The floors and doors inlaid with various w^oods, and
precious metals, were pointed out. And wonderful are
these. The joinings were so perfect that you could not but
JOURNAL. 211
suppose that the variety in colour or shape was from nature,
not art, and gave to the whole an individuality which no
artifice of mere mechanical detail could possibly have pro-
duced. But with all this you saw that disappointment was
present ; that something higher and better of the same
sort had been seen, or that something else had produced
effects which the equal even could not reproduce.
We next proceeded up the magnificent staircase to the
second story of the New Palace. We entered first, Alex-
ander's Hall. For a moment not a word was said. Vast-
ness, all the properties of space in perfect proportion, —
and filled, or presenting such fulness of harmony, that no
words could convey any sort of notion of what was felt. I
have stood in the presence of the miracles of nature, which
became mine by the alchemy of my own spiritual being, —
which was in harmony with my highest present capacity of
apprehending the sublime and the beautiful, and have been
still. I should as soon have thought of talking of my-
self, as of my other self around me. Something of the
same feeling possessed me in this space, so filled but not
oppressed itself, or oppressing those who eyed it, by its
wonderful presentments. " I am satisfied," was the only
expression of each of its spectators. Detail at length came
to the relief of such entire satisfaction. The floor, trodden
beauty, was first examined. This was in itself so perfect,
that comparisons were not required or thought of. There
was some variety in the material, for there was room for
admixture, without confusion, — of limit, without diminished
effect. The doors so vast, as fitting the entrance way to
what they disclosed, but not oppressive by their weight.
They united some difference of material, but the union was
so perfect, and colour so harmonious, that they lessened not
that to which they were added. The walls, vast in extent
and vast in height, were but the approaches to arches above
them of consummate beauty in turn, and gorgeous with the
elaborateness of various and exquisite art. Here again we
212 JOURNAL.
had gold and marble uniting their several powers in thfe pro-
duction of amazing effects. Columns too of the purest surface,
and of materials so various, or of colours so distinct, that the
effect would have been disturbed or lost but for the skill
which had placed them in such true juxtaposition. Chan-
deliers of gold hung from the middle of the ceiling, and in
such proportion to the extent to be illuminated, as made
them pertinent to the whole purposes of their hanging there.
I said that it seemed as if this whole work had been done
at once, and that it was not the product of months, of years.
But it also seemed as if it had been created yesterday, and
was there in its virgin freshness and beauty, as is that
flower of night, which in its wonderful power creates the
day, — the light in which it is seen, — too beautiful to sur-
vive its birth, and shutting itself up in its own, its fitting
shroud, with the dawning of the common day.
We passed to St. George's Hall, the second in the series.
We say at once that this was no copy of the first, — that it
even surpassed it, though that seemed and was in itself
perfect. It was larger than Alexander's, and otherwise got
this attribute of greater vastness, by an arrangement in the
simplest of its details, the place in which the chandeliers
hung. This was between the columns, in deep alcoves, leav-
ing the lofty arches of the ceiling unobstructed, and seeming
by its fair proportions to ascend beyond the vision ; or which,
in such a case, leaves it uncertain where the limits of vision
are.
Then St. Andrew's Hall, the last in this Trinity of beauty
and power ; but so combined were they, though separate,
and having different functions, as to produce one perfect
whole. I attempt no detail. There was St. George and
the Dragon, the emblem of England's power, at the end of
the hall, high up, almost beyond sight, and of the prevail-
ing colour, white ; there were columns of malachite, that
most splendid of all minerals, which can be used in archi-
tectural effects, with its living green, not disturbing, but
JOURNAL. 213
imparting life to that into which it entered as a necessary-
element. There was the slight furniture, with colours,
which are appropriated to the objects which they represent,
those of the flag, for instance, of St. George. There was
absolutely nothing to diminish the entire simplicity, beauty,
grandeur, I might almost say the sacredness of the place —
of the scene. The attention was not for a moment distract-
ed by the irrelevant, by that which broke the continuity of
the story which the thing itself told, and which you were
delighted to hear. -We left the place just in that state
which such a vision alone can produce, and with a certainty,
an assurance, that in its revelations of power, human power,
— art, — you had become more conscious of your own
nature, of man's power, and had been made better by the
discovery you had made.
We now passed to the chapels, of Avhich the Palace con-
tains more than one, but into which we were not admitted.
We were permitted to look through the finely grated bronze
doors or gates, but so feeble was the light within, that very
little was seen. Our next visits were to the earliest, the
eldest portions of the Kremlin, the Old Palace, but which is
in continuity with the New. Here everything was on an.
entirely new plan. The rooms were small, low, dark,
loaded with ornament, intense gilding, or fine gold, and
with the amplest details possible. Here were the state, and
private, apartments, of the father of Peter the Great, — his
chapels, — his sleeping room, bed and furniture, precisely
as they were when he left them forever. His bed was
small, bedstead perfectly plain, and furniture as slight and
as simple as that of any of his subjects might have been.
His son's arrangements and habits, were quite as simple as
were his, and I was told that the present Emperor has the
same peculiarities. His bed is of leather, his pillow of
straw ; his slippers absolutely in rags. They were made,
I was told, by the Empress, many years ago, and he will
not have them mended, or new ones substituted. The Em-
214 JOURNAL.
press is an invalid, and these slippers were among her last
needle works. There Avas one room which we reached hy
ascending some stairs in the Old Palace, which was novel in
its uses. It is called the " thinking room," is entirely
without furniture, and hither, as the story goes, the old
King used to go to think ! This room of thought, is small,
retired, and remains just as it was when used as stated. In
one thing only, does the earlier royalty of personal and
public accommodation resemble the latest. It seems all new,
as if made but yesterday. It seemed to the people about
court, that it was due to the Old Palace, that something
should be done to put it in keeping with its gorgeous neigh-
bour, and that this might be done in the best way by re-
newing the old. The process to accomplish this, was to
re-gild the old walls and ceilings, and to paint anew, but in
the same colours as before used, the painted portions. So
at it they went, and no greater failure was perhaps ever
accomplished.
In this building a great deal was to be contained in the
least space. It was in a fortress. It was to be made as
secure as possible, and all that walls and guns could do, was
done to render defence as perfect as it could be. In this
the Palace was, in some sort, placed under the guardianship
of the fortress, as was the wont, in the early border History
of Scotland, when the town was built under the Castle
walls. The thought of the earlier days of the Russian
Empire is read everywhere in which its remains exist. The
Old Palace is full of teachings. But this glare and glitter is
dreadfully out of taste. Its new dress sits wretchedly upon
it. It declares all its defects, while it offers no reason or
apology for their existence. How true would it have been to
the old times, if existing now in the venerable investiture of
past ages. In St. Petersburg, in the neighbourhood of the
Admiralty, its most imposing quarter, are to be seen enormous
figures, designed for statuary. They were placed there by
Catharine II. of not exceeding " blessed memory." They
JOUBNAL. 215
are built of bricks, and are plastered over to give tbem the
guise of marble, or of something else. The long and searching
frosts of the Russian winter, crack and break off this strange
crust, and the bricks again show themselves. The plaster
is annually renewed ; the figures are made new. The
fresh plaster is exactly the same with the old, and as Com-
merce and Neptune were built with the Admiralty which
they adorn, no present contrast can be instituted between
the old and the new, the relations between the past and the
present, are precisely what they have ever been. Nay,
more, the Admiralty loses its plaster, its stucco, and the
renewal of these makes all identically the same in their
history. I have spoken of all this in another connection.
But there is the Old Palace here in Moscow, in its new
dress indeed, but with its antique forms and size, the last,
of the old times, and with the objects for which they
were made. There stands the New Palace as at its birth, —
born in the matchless proportions of a perfect maturity,
bearing everywhere about it the questionless credentials
of its truth, the assurance of its future in the perfectness
of its present !
We passed out of the walls of Palaces, through massive
doors, and went directly up the tower of Ivan Veliki, who,
for half his life, had ruled with moderation, and even kind-
ness ; but in whom suddenly were developed the elements
of a cruelty, a barbarity which at once declared themselves
in acts which leave earlier horrors far, far behind. This
tower is one hundred and fifty feet high. You ascend in a
neighbouring building for some height, and then pass by a
horizontal connecting corridor directly into the tower.
You ascend only about one hundred feet, and then pass out
of a place in which large bells are hung, and which in some
sort surround the tower, and in the spaces between and
outside of them, you walk round it, and gain a very fine
view of Moscow, and its surroundings. Like Ancient
Rome, it stands on seven hills. The surface, for you look
216 JOUBNAL.
down upon Moscow, has just that variety which prevents
uniformity, but does not break continuity ; while the hori-
zon, made out of forest, hill, plain, massive buildings of the
finest white, gives you just such a boundary to the whole,
as it has not before been my lot to look upon. What is
there in this whole panorama, — for your slow progress
round the tower presents just that, and all of it, and no
more, — what is there in this view which so distinguishes it
from all others ? Look first round and down upon the
Kremlin itself, the point of departure toward all the rest.
What is there here ? Splendid buildings, wide unincum-
bered spaces, churches, with between sixty and seventy min-
arets, towers, domes, all in the richest gold, the roofs painted
of richest green, and sparkling with the blaze of light which
this more than torrid sun, now at high noon, is pouring upon
them. It would almost seem, without the least exaggera-
tion, that the absence of night here, accumulates light-rays
into the sun itself, and that they are daily poured forth in
the exuberance of their intense aggregation. Slowly does
the eye pass out of the walls of this palace ground of beauty
and of splendour, and of power too ; seeing those one thou-
sand and more of cannon, the stern gainings of a hundred
wars, — slowly does the eye pass beyond all this, and what
now is presented ? Moscow, the whole of Moscow. On
the tower you are in the centre of the wide surrounding
world before you. Every man sees himself always to be
the centre of the great circle about him. From this eleva-
tion, and with so sure a horizon, in such a day, in such an
atmosphere, you feel your personal centralization after a
manner of which you may never have, — never been so con-
scious. In your voyage across the Atlantic to get here, you
have had ever before you an horizon. But how indefinite,
how near, — what running together, — what fusion of sky
and of sea ! Here you are in the midst of obvious realities,
of questionless things, not one of which but is worthy of
your vision and your thought. Here is a great city, spread-
JOUKKAL. 217
ing itself in a luxury of space, forests almost within its
walls, making green places to give life, as well as beauty,
everywhere. Then the Asiatic architecture, the three hun-
dred or more churches, each with from four to six domes,
minarets, towers, blazing with gold, mingling without the
least confusion with the fresh green neighbourhood, or red,
with which the roofs are painted. Then the distance, the
back-ground of this splendid, most beautiful panorama,
made up as we have seen of objects of the deepest interest,
and producing only the happiest effects, — take all, — the
whole together, and then for a moment look above it all to
that divine canopy, which, in its resplendent blue, gives it a
crowning glory, and if you do not in spirit worship it, you
will not be as others Avho have given it their willing, their
most cheerful service. As I looked at all this, I said, yes I
said aloud, I have come far, far from home, — I have suffered
with sickness so severe as to make living a burden, — I am a
stranger, and alone, — but in this presence of beauty, of
power, of overwhelming wonder, I am more than paid for it
all. Yes, Moscow has paid for it all.
I quote from a writer the following, to show how another
mind was moved by the scene before me.
" The day was beautiful ; the sun was shining in all its
brightness, and the sky without a cloud, as we revelled,
unconscious of the flight of time, in the varied beauties of
a scene such as no other spot in Europe presents, — not
even Stamboul, with its Seraglio walk, and the Bosphorus,
with its light caiques."
One word more. From this height you look upon the river
Moskwa, which, at this hour of high noon, is seen "by the
reflection of its intensely white and bright sunlight, winding
through the centre of the city, of apparently uniform breadth,
and so dividing it by a line of light into two distinct por-
tions. The coloured roofs of the houses, alone seen at this
height, make a contrast highly favourable for marking the
course of this fine city river.
19
218 JOITENAL.
You leave tlie Tower and come "back to earth again, to the
bell, surnamed the Monarch (Tsar Kolokal), with its great
piece broken out of it by the burning of the building in
which it was hung, and by the consequent fall which hap-
pened to it ; — which was cast by the Empress Anne ; said
to be twenty-five feet high, and three feet thick, at its
thickest part, but which it may not be, for I carefully
measured it, where it seemed thickest, with my pocket-rule,
and found it to be exactly twenty-four inches through, —
certainly a very great bell. Then we saw, — but I will not
say what, for the detail of these wonders is of little interest,
— and in due time approached the Spaskoi, or Holy Gate.
This gate is not without interest. One story is, that the
Saint, to whom it is dedicated, or the Tower in which it is,
delivered the city from a fearful pestilence. Another, that
the Tartars invaded, and would have destroyed Moscow,
but for the immediate interposition of the patron saint at
the gate. A third, that the French troops, when in posses-
sion of Moscow, approached the Kremlin, and would surely
have destroyed it ; they stopped at the Holy Gate. Nothing
could induce them to pass through, — and the Kremlin was
preserved. Such are the myths concerning this Holy Gate.
Whatever may be the truth relating to them, this certainly
is true, that this gate is held in the profoundest veneration
and awe by all the people. From the Emperor down to the
most abject subject, this sentiment here always declares
itself. Nobody passes through this gate, and nobody can
pass it, nay, come vi^ithin the shadow of the Tower to which
it belongs, without taking his hat clean off, and carrying it
in his hand and in silence too, until he has entirely passed
the sacred precincts. No matter what the season, or what
the weather, the Holy Gate relaxes not a jot of its demand,
— and all respond to it. Guards are in waiting, and he
who is rash, or foolish enough not to respect the national
faith, and which has such sanctions as has this place, is
liable to much personal inconvenience, if not something
JOURNAL. 219
worse. I passed the Spaskoi more than once, and was not
negligent concerning what I owed this nation. I had been,
and was protected by its laws. I was as safe as at my
home. I had been honoured by the hospitality of its dis-
tinguished subjects. Why should not I cheerfully do what
a whole nation did, and did it from the deepest sense of
duty, and demanded a like service from me, when reverence
only could be at its foundation with me ; or a desire to make
some return for the privileges I had been permitted to enjoy ?
I had just left the perfection of human art, in one of its most
distinguished manifestations. I had been admitted without
fee to the most interesting materials of a nation's history ;
why not do so much as to respect its sentiments, or one of
them, which has its source and perpetuity in the religious
nature, and so recognize that nature in a beautiful expression
of it, and which, as such, could only do me good? An
English traveller, I am told, resisted this demand of the
national sentiment, and made himself as uncomfortable and
ridiculous as any Englishman might wish to be ; and another
of the same stock would never enter the Kremlin by the
Holy Gate, for it was his principle not to take oif his hat for
anything. Speaking of hats, few social and universal cus-
toms have struck me more than this of taking off hats. It
occurs at all times, and is not a mere touch, but a veritable
taking the hat quite off. I stop a man in the street to ask
my way. I begin by raising my hat; he does the same
thing at once, and very kindly answers the question. A
man is leaving you. He raises or takes off the hat. You do
the same. You cannot tell how universal is this. The
soldier, — and almost every other man you see is one, — a sol-
dier, on seeing an officer, and he must look out that he fail
not, stands facing him till he has passed, with his hand at his
cap. This seems very strange to one of our people, this
universal show of respect, when the occasion occurs for it.
You must not enter any place of resort, and remain covered.
In a church here, it would be sacrilege ; in a railroad station
220 JOUKNAL.
something hardly less. There may be a question about
the house of God, but there must be none concerning the
requirements of a house of the Emperor. You do the same
thing, take off the hat, when you enter a refreshment room
on the road. Now all this is very right. The only public
place in which the hat has remained on, is the Exchange. I
was there yesterday, and all kept on the hat. A funeral
passes, no matter how humble, the hat is taken off. I did
this, with my drosky man, the other day, and when I told
Charles of it, said he, " Sir, you did the man the last honour,"
meaning the greatest. But you say, the drosky man who
crossed himself, and said some words, probably knew little
of what he had done. True, but he was conscious of having
done something, and under circumstances of all others the
most solemn, — the passage of a fellow being to the grave.
He had been taught to do it always then ; and he had never
failed. Such an office simply, must have done something
for that poor ignorant serf, or mujik, as the Russian labourer
is also called. It did him good, and if for a moment only,
it was then good. My respect for the dead also moved him,
and if I did myself no good by it, I gave the drosky driver
pleasure by the act, and was not this something ? This
travelling you see, is a strange business. It helps us to
understand something, particularly the courtesy of foreign-
ers to servants, for instance, which we so slightly recog-
nize, or return, and which abroad is religiously returned. Said
some one, the man who takes off his hat to another, is by that
act so much nearer heaven than before. It is an act of
reverence, and in nothing are we diviner, than in the recogni-
tion of the divine in others. So much for my sermon on
the hat.
On our way home from the Kremlin, we stoppsd at the
principal restaurant in Moscow, and ordered a Russian
lunch. It came, and consisted mainly of three dishes ; one,
was a boiled sturgeon, — not a whole one, dears ; O, no, by no
means, — and boiled Beluga, a fish, which sometimes, they
JOURNAL. 221
said, weiglis two tons, or four thousand pounds ; of this
too, we only had a hit. Thirdly, a half of a boiled pig.
Sundry other matters shall be nameless. Now what a
lunch ! I eat but the least mite of it. It was wretched, —
boiled pig ! Think what Charles Lamb would have said ?
To pay for such a feast, and a price which had its amount in
the celebrity of the house, was almost too much. But it
Avas paid for as cheerfully as if it were to us as luxurious,
and as luscious, as doubtless it would have been to the native.
In the afternoon of the same day we went shopping, —
three of us. The Oxford Fellow, — the Yorkshire gentle-
man, — and your humble servant. It was a very pleasant
business. ' The question was what we should get. The
Oxford Fellow, not being allowed by his fellowship to have
wife or children, was in great trouble as to his purchases.
He concluded to buy some Kesan leather, wrought in flowers
of gold, for ladies' slippers, as he had some to whom he
would like to make presents, and we all agreed to buy some
of a like kind. Then colours of leather and velvet, for we
bought of both, came up. And as all children, the larger
and the less, always think what others have is better than
their own, we went on changing and changing, till we all
settled down in buying pretty much the same colour, and
the same work, the wrought gold flowers. You shall see
mine, if ever you see me, or I escape robbery. What a long
day that June 22d! — the longest of the year everywhere.
23^. — I rose early, as usual, dressed for the day, and a
long one was before me. Hired a drosky for the day, and
at about nine, left home for the Military Hospital, some two
or three miles off. I had a letter from Sir James Wiley,
the medical head of the Military Medical Bureau, to Dr.
Pfeehl, and was received by him very civilly and kindly.
He is a very fine looking man, very handsome, of e^vcellent
form, and most agreeable manner. You would, at the first
word, have been sure that English was his vernacular. He
took me over the whole establishment, pointing out in
19*
222 JOURNAL.
every ward, and their name is legion, tlie classes of diseases
in each, showing particular cases of interest, making this
altogether a most useful visit. I examined some cases, was
asked for opinions concerning others, and seemed to be
again at home. He took me into the insane apartment,
first asking if I was at all troubled by such people. I told
him no, but expressed a hope that they would behave well.
And they did. They kept flying about, but were quite
harmless. I asked if he had adopted the most modern
method of treating the insane, by relieving them of all
restraints, letting them do as they pleased, as far as such
degree of freedom, as they possessed, allowed. He said he
could not do so in all cases. He was satisfied that there
were cases which demanded restraint, or the same thing,
constant watching, or they would certainly injure them-
selves or others. I was very much pleased with Dr. Pfeehl's
treatment of the sick soldiers, and with the other officers of
the Hospital. In Eussia, authority has all its power. The
strictest discipline, and the most rigidly enforced obedience,
are on all sides. In such a department of the public service,
as a hospital for soldiers, you would look for the same sys-
tem. And here it was. Every man and boy who was able
to stand, was on his feet as Dr. Pfsehl approached. It was
very curious to see that the privileges of disease were here
laid aside, and, with the exception of not raising the cap,
for they wore none, all other observances in presence of an
officer were strictly attended to, when strength permitted.
When our medical visit was finished, the Dr. asked me to
visit with him the kitchen. I did, and was never in a
cleaner, nicer room. Some bread on the table attracted my
notice, and I found it very good. In walking through the
grounds, and I found the patients everywhere. Two servants
came along with a waiter or tray each, nicely covered with
a napkin. Dr. P at once removed the napkins, and
ofi'ered me some of the dishes, soup, cutlets, &c. One
waiter for the officers, the other for the soldiers. He begged
JOUBNAL. 223
me to eat some of each. I declined, because some experi-
ments in unknown food had not resulted successfully with
me. But he eat of all, with apparently great relish ; in fact
said the dishes were excellent. This institution is through-
out in most perfect order. Its neatness quite equalled any
I have before seen. The walls were high, — the windows
abundant, — the bathing arrangements ample, and in all
kinds, — the floors were perfectly clean. The patients had
good beds, bedding, and dressing or night gowns. The
only matter in which I diff^ered with Dr. P was, the
ventilation. This did seem to me less perfect than did
other matters pertaining to the treatment, and comfort of the
sick. There were no disagreeable odours, or they were by
no means striking. But the temperature was to my feeling
much too high. I recollected how much the whole northern
races, the Germans in all their ramifications, were lovers of
heat, — the universal stove in winter, and the care with
which the winds of heaven were avoided, lest they should
visit the people's faces too roughly. I remembered the down
bed-covering, which I met with almost everywhere, and
which in summer would seem insupportable, and how deep
the Russian's love was of the schuhe, the sheepskin worn
with the wool dressed on, and next the skin, at all seasons,
and the same one for life ; nay, transmitted to heirs, —
when I recollected this love of heat, this national passion
for roasting, I ceased to be surprised that the Doctor and I
did not agree about temperature. He asked me how dis-
eases of the eyes were treated in America, and especially in
regard to exposing them to light. I said that a striking
modification, if not revolution, had taken place in this
regard, and that light was much more freely admitted than
formerly. He said he had adopted the same course, and
found that by it, and especially by out-door exercise, which
formed a part of the system, eye diseases were much more
manageable than under a difi'erent system. The exploration
of pulmonary diseases was very thoroughly made. Imme-
224 JOURNAL.
diate auscultation was altogether used, and percussion was
very faithfully employed. One thing I was especially struck
with in these examinations, and when made by myself as
well as by others. I refer to the forcible respiration, and
especially expiration, practised by the patients. I could not
but think that it is taught them ; for I have never met
with any natural breathing which approached it, and the
degree in which we employ the same thing, the forced
breathing, amounts to nothing when compared with the
Russian. The sounds from the cavities, and less tubercular
lesion, were most distinctive, and the healthy part of the
lungs told their story after a manner which might be most
readily understood. Scurvy exists among the soldiers, and
cases were in the Hospital. Gangrene of the lower extremi-
ties, both dry and moist, was also here seen. Scrofula in
its milder and graver forms is frequent. Ophthalmia was
seen in its extremest degrees, the Egyptian, as named by
Dr. Pfashl, is among the diseases. A case of amputation
above the elbow was showed. This man cut off his own
arm in the first place, to escape the service. It required,
however, another amputation, and from this he was convales-
cent when I saw him. He had quite a handsome, striking
face, and was of full height and size. There were cases of
Plica, but in the variety of interests, this disease was lost
sight of, though I had particularly asked to see it. Thus
was a most instructive forenoon passed, and to Dr. Pfaehl's
frequent question, if I was not tired, I answered ever, no —
no. I went everywhere, saw everything. Dr. P speaks
English perfectly. Few can understand with what entire
pleasure I heard him, at my introduction, utter himself in
my mother tongue. It was promise and prophecy of a most
pleasant visit, and it was such throughout. Dr. P
gave me a copy of the last report of the cases, numbers,
kinds, and results for two years, and translated for me the
Russian into English, giving me in this form a very useful
statement of the most important statistics of the Hospital.
JOUKNAL. 225
I shall alwaj'S remember gratefully the extreme kindness of
this gentleman, and only regret it may not be in my power
in any other way to manifest my gratitude.
At five, p. M., I reached Dr. Fischer's, with whom I had
engaged to dine, when he made his well- remembered visit
a day or two before. I found him sitting on the sofa with
his daughter and a guest. They were eating, or had been
eating. A dish of small fish was before them on the sofa-
table, with bread, decanters, &c. They received me most
kindly, and begged me to sit with them, and join in their
lunch. I declined, as I knew dinner could not be far off.
The Doctor now rose, and asked me to go to the library.
He took my hand and another's arm, and we proceeded to
the book rooms, on the same floor, and opening out of the
hall, into which I had been received. This last opened upon
a very pretty shrubbery, among which were flowers. The
gate was to the road, and the one at which I had entered.
It was a retired, and most quiet spot. The passers-by gave
no annoyance, and, as there was no pavement, the carriage
noise was not heard. Dr. Fischer attracted my attention to
an engraving of Lola Montes, and told of her a very charac-
teristic anecdote. He, President Fischer, had evidently been
much impressed and pleased with the lady's beauty and
power. He and his companion pointed out to me many
objects of interest, and he gave me a copy of a part of a
work, now in the press, on the Insects of Russia, by himself,
and a splendid work is it. This part appeared in 1851, and
his sight has failed since. At length dinner was announced
in a large room, three rooms ofl" from the library. This
may give some notion of the houses in parts of Russia.
They seem often very ordinary afi'airs upon approaching
them, but within you find most excellent arrangements
everywhere. High walls, inlaid floors, painted ceilings, very
large and continuous rooms. The house is not piled up of
stones, of a couple of rooms, one above another, but has a
broad, generous foundation, with all the rooms on a floor, you
226 JOUENAL.
can possibly desire. Here was this old gentleman, very
blind and infirm, but with ample accommodation to meet all
his need. You were glad to feel it was so, and with this
feeling came a wish, that such arrangements for comfortable,
yes, luxurious domestic life, or living, were more common.
We of the new world, think the old world is crowded full,
seeing how little space the city plot allows for the family
and its shelter. But no such thing. The old has still
enough and to spare, while it is we who perish for lack of
room. Our dinner was abundant and good. First, soup,
and then fish, — a long white fish, surrounding the ample
dish, the middle space being filled with shell-fish, closely
resembling the lobster, but smaller, — prawns ? Then a
very nice dish indeed, then partridges, with an excellent
salad, compounded of lettuce and cucumbers, with a most
tasteful dressing. Then a cream preparation in a foam, like
hlanc mange, but much better, surrounded with a nice straw-
berry jelly. Vegetables of the season, — fruits, as oranges,
&c. Dinner done, Mr. President Fischer rose, had his own
glass, and those of all the guests, mine among the rest,
filled with champagne ; and turning to me, as the guest, gave
me his welcome, and touched my glass wit^ his, then every-
body at the table did the same thing. I now took my glass
to the ladies, and they paid me the same compliment, — then
a generous hip, hurra ! was said, and we took our seats.
Such is the ancient custom of this ancient state. Such its
ceremonial hospitality towards me. It was grateful to me,
this ancient welcome ; who could fail to be touched by it ?
who, thousands of miles from his own home, had found one
in this far-off land, for whose visit, friends and distinguished
men had been gathered in the house of a father of science,
and for whom old custom had done its kindest offices. I
could not but rise again from my seat and say a word of
thanksgiving, for so gracious a welcome. I said " that I
had come from a great distance, over many thousand miles
of sea and of land to visit Russia, that I had been protected
JOUKNAL. 227
by the laws of his Majesty the Emperor, and had been as
safe as under my own roof tree ; that I had received the
hospitalities of some of his most distinguished subjects, and
that I was grateful for and to both."
Now, looking backward over the wide ocean, as I often
do, how do manners, habits, customs, come up in their
simplest forms, in the absence of all that which gives them
pertinence, for there is no time for detail ; and how unlike
is everything in the picture to my present experiences in
Russia. The distant in space becomes the remote in time ;
and I am in the domain of history, of the past, and no
longer in the fresh, the new, the living present of home. I
look upon all of it as strictly and only objective — the
external, the distant. It is so. It is the external, the
outside, the past. It does not belong to my, this Sunday's
present, with its warm sun flashing from golden tower, and
gilded minaret, its brightest self, with the toll of thousands
of bells calling the faithful to prayer and to praise. That
distant region does not now belong to me. I see it. I
look towards it. It is away. It is gone, and I shall not
look upon it again, till I have seen other realms, other skies,
and have mourned again and again, as I have this day, that
men ever attempted to build the Tower of Babel, — and that
this very Sabbath is not a feast of Pentecost, and that one
of its blessings, — that gift of tongues, is not mine !
June 23rf, Wednesday. — We left Moscow this day at
half past eleven, a. m., and proceeded in the convoy towards
and to St. Petersburg. It was a dull, rainy, thunder-and-
lightning sort of a time. A part of it very hot, and in
perfect harmony with the Russian meteorology, a part of it
very cold. Nothing can be more entirely dull, stupid,
wretched, than almost the whole of the road between these
two Russian capitals. For hundreds of miles there is hard-
ly any change of surface. There is some change in direc-
tion, I believe, but only once, of the road, which was forced
upon the construction, by so deep a morass, that a founda-
228 JOUKNAL.
tion, a reliable one, could not be found in it. On, on goes
the road, — sand, sand, sand, steppe, steppe, steppe, — then
clay and clay, — then yellow soil, — then red, — the *' old red
sandstone," I suppose, for he who sees through the atmos-
phere of railroad progression, must be careful of his geolo-
gy, of his mineralogy, and of his botany too, for the most
part, he only thinks he sees. Then the vegetation, the
forests, ever the same ; miniature pines, or firs, birch, birch,
birch. Here is the whole face of the country, nothing else
but occasional willows, and rarer lindens, sometimes a field
of rye, and anon buckwheat occurs, not for cakes, the last ;
for it is only used for gruel, and its' stiffer congener, pud-
ding. The grain fields are divided into beds of different
widths going through their whole depths. These may
belong to different proprietors or owners ; the only partitions
being the narrow foot-paths between them, or they may
only separate different tillages. You see the same sort of
arrangement in the fields over much of Germany. It saves
both expense of fencing and waste of land, and is an expres-
sion of kindly feeling of confidence, worth all the rest.
This road is through a new country. It was only opened
last November, and is not yet finished. There are the
banks unfinished, though from the number of men employed
these will soon be completed. It is very important that
they should be so, as the frost disturbs these cuts very
much, and the rain washes them. They are finished by
pavings or brick work, or by sodding, as either may best
answer the purpose, and by the best means of drainage. In
the last hundred and fifty miles nearest St. Petersburg, the
surface having become uneven, and occasionally hilly, con-
siderably deep cuts have been required for the passage of
the road. It is a long, most tedious drive of from twenty-
two hours or more, which might with all ease be done in
sixteen, and Avhich has been done in much less. But along
the road, at moderate distances, are refreshment places, and
here the train stops from five minutes to thirty, as the meal
JOUKNAIi. 229
may require, and in this way the inn tax comes to amount to
something, and the generous appetite for victuals and
drink, may possibly be satisfied. Altogether this day's
work is by far the heaviest and worst of all in my foreign
experience.
Of the people living along the road, I can say but little.
Cottages, shantees for workmen, and villages, are met with.
Nothing can equal them in darkness and in gloom. They
are boards, logs, mud, thatched or not, as circumstances
demand, or permit. But however made, they very soon put
on the same livery, get the same colour. This is not unlike
to the soil and its products, and a more miserable prospect
than that presented by a Russian peasant village, I cannot
well imagine ; nothing living is seen near it, neither man,
woman, child, cat, nor dog. You now and then see some
cattle all pressing close upon each other, as if to make some
sort of society in the general desolation. In a few of the
cottages you may detect an inch or two of glass, a small
chimney generally made of wood, a bit of stove funnel, or
somewhat like that, or simpler than all, a hole in the roof,
known only to exist by the turf, or other sort of smoke,
coming out of it. I saw the smoke pouring out of the door
place. Inside the furniture is slight, but the oven universal.
This is the daily friend, the perpetual comfort of the Russian
serf. He loves his sheepskin, his scJiuhe, and deep is his
love for his oven. In this he cooks, and from it he derives
warmth, heat, comfort, luxury. In winter he lets the fuel
burn to a coal, then shakes it well up, and together, shuts
the chimney flue and the stove door, and for hours and
hours he gets a most genial warmth without additional fuel,
and if he lists, he and his lie down to sleep by the side of,
or upon his faithfuUest friend, the stove. Around the cot-
tages for families, are smaller ones which are used for stores,
for barns, for stables, so that when you look at a village
you may wonder for what these tiny affairs are designed.
Some of them may be used for the family. I spoke of men
20
230 JOURNAL.
at work on the railroad. These men are not large, and
certainly did not seem to work with any morbid excess of
industry. In the hottest part of the day, they rested, and
in the cool of the long and light evening, I saw them at
work as late as nine or ten, and later. In preparing the
steep and high banks for the sods, much earth must be re-
moved. This is done by small loheellar voids, which, filled
with earth, are wheeled up the steep banks, upon boards or
planks, which ascend the banks in a lateral and winding
direction, so as to make less laborious what seems exceed-
ingly fatiguing. So large are the gangs of men, and so
frequently do they occur, that a great deal of earth is re-
moved very rapidly. At times their numbers seemed so
great that it was thought they must check each other's pro-
gress. Their dress is as wild, as various, as strange, as
wind, work, and rags, could make them. Sometimes heavy
and better sorted, but ever showing that, for effect, it
depended more upon accident than design. In countenance
these royal labourers had but little to boast. It was pinch-
ed often, and of the deepest brown, made of the hot sun,
and the terrible cold, as winter or summer served. They
seemed as patient of condition, whether of suffering, or
other, as unused minds and listless hearts could manufac-
ture. I always looked in these men, for what in most men,
however abject, you may find sometimes. But I saw no
change, and of smile and laugh I never got the smallest
specimen. As the carriages passed along, they stopped in
their work to look at what they saw at least twice every
day, as if it were looked upon for the first time ; but with
the same unmoved countenance. It might be a question if
such were really men, but the flight of the convoy gave no
time for an answer.
This account of the Russian labourer applies to a special
service, the preparation of the banks or sides of railroad cuts
of great depths, for the masonry which shall surely keep
them in their places, under circumstances of soil and climate
JOTJKNAL. 231
especially fitted to render them insecure. The most careful
engineering determines what the angle shall be with the
road, and I may say thousands of men are engaged in the
accomplishment of the work. I see no rocks, no boulders
even, but a loose soil which requires constant labour, and
such degrees of shelving as wdll prevent slides. The labour
is constant, but of slow accomplishment from the vast
amount to be done. Hence the appearance and manner of
the labourer. Nothing can surpass the perfectness and
beauty of the masonry. Nothing in fortification or in pri-
vate achievements in this way, in my memory, equals these of
the St. Petersburg and Moscow Railway, and the same is true
of the arrangements for conducting water, which rains and
melting snows demand. Of climate as influencing labour, we
have here the extremes of heat and cold, and their fullest
effects upon external appearance in all exposed to them. These
labourers in nothing are worse off than are such as do like
work, the construction of railways, elsewhere. The build-
ings described as occupied by them, are infinitely more com-
fortable, and necessarily so from the length and severity of
the winter, than are the American shantees, and the general
condition of the labourer quite as good.
Thursday, June 2Uh. — We reached St. Petersburg in
the middle of the morning, and the rain began to fall.
After all sorts of rencontres with drosky men, a Jiddle was
obtained, and with such flight as could be got out of a tired
and unwilling horse, I reached the " English Quai," and
felt again at home " in mine inn." Wearied with a sleep-
less night, and faint for want of food, for I was quite will-
ing to forego on the road all experiments of eating beyond
bread and water, I proceeded to breakfast, which was still
ready on the table, and then to rest in my quiet quarters.
Here came the consciousness strongly that I had made some
progress towards home, or rather to regions nearer to that
same word or thing, than I had known for many days. I
had been to the farthest point of my v\^anderings in one
232 jouKiSrAL.
direction, and this was a very important fact in my foreign
experiences. I spent the first moments in looking towards
the future.
Friday, June 2otli. — This day was devoted to business. I
called on the Minister to let him know that, as there would
be no steamer till the next week, I meant to remain in St.
Petersburg till she sailed, and would receive his despatches
when they should be prepared ; also a Courier's pass, with my
man Friday's, — C.'s name inserted. I had forgotten to pro-
cure a Courier's pass from Mr. Lawrence in London, and so
had less benefit from the London despatches than I other-
wise should have had. A Courier's pass permits you to
carry your luggage on without being examined, at least so
far as the place is concerned, to which despatches may be
directed ; and I had mine to Paris. I went to the Hermi-
tage and left a note requesting permission to visit it, which
I shall do to-morrow, or- Monday. Also a note to the
director of the Imperial Library. Also to the Museum of
the Academy of Sciences. I called on Mr. ^R., and went
with him to the Exchange, a very handsome building pre-
sented to the Merchants of St. Petersburg by Alexander.
Mr. R. invited me to dinner on Saturday, and to visit with
him, Peterhoff.
Saturday, June 26tJi. — My first visit this morning was
to the Church and Convent of St. Alexander Nevskoi, or
Newsky, the favourite Saint of the Russians, — the Patron
Saint of St. Petersburg. They were founded by Peter the
Great. Built in wood in 1712, in stone 1716. The larger
and present church was built in 1728. Peter, to please the
people, and to attach them to the new capital, caused the
bones of the Saint to be brought from the Convent of Goro-
dichetche on the Wolga, to St. Petersburg, to the new
Nevskoi Monastery. The story is, that the Saint, indignant
at this personal disturbance of his bones, went off to the
Wolga again. He was brought back to St. Petersburg, and
Peter told the monks if the Saint lefo home again, they
JOURNAL. 233
should be answerable for it. The bones have been obedient
ever since. The Convent has fifty or sixty monks, who
superintend a classical school, which, in 1836, had eight
hundred and thirty scholars. It is largely endowed. I
went to this Church and Convent in the morning. The
service was proceeding. The chanting by the monks is
remarkable for its sweetness and its power. It is said to
be the finest in St. Petersburg. The Church is a noble
building. Its walls and ceilings are perfectly plain as
regards colour, being of a cold gray, which suits alike its
architecture and its office. Its cold marble floor in large
mosaic, its high arches, its gothic windows, its size, give to
this Church a character of dignity and solemnity singularly
imposing. In the altar lie the bones of the saint in a
shrine of massive silver of exquisite brightness, and weigh-
ing three thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. The
coffin is covered with glass, and across it is a white muslin
edged with lace. The worshippers kneel at this tomb, kiss
the glass, and wipe away their tears with the rich covering
lying across the coffin lid. A picture by Raphael Mengs, of
the Annunciation, is in the altar.
I said the service was proceeding. The worshippers were
not many at any one time, but were constantly coming and
going, and with the deepest reverence performing the solemn
offices of their Church. The body was bowed to the earth
at the shrine, and the face pressed to it, and there, and in
that posture, prayer was oflTe'red. After this service, he or
she, the richest and the poorest, came to the silver shrine,
and wept over the remains of the Saint. Each in turn
raised the laced pall to the face and with it wiped
away the tears from their eyes. I was j)articularly struck
by one worshipper. He was a poor Mujik, or serf, in his
sheepskin schuhe, and as personally unclean, as desolate, and
miserable looking a man as could well be. He prostrated
himself, and in his worship was restored again to humanity,
to human regard, and took his place amongst the best of
20*
234 JOURNAL.
the household of that faith. He came to the altar, — he
kissed the memorials of the honoured Saint, and he wiped
away his tears with the splendid pall of that beloved shrine.
This Church and Cemetery contain the tombs and remains
of the most distinguished dead. Among them is SouwarofF.
On a brass tablet, in Russian, is this inscription, and nothing
more : —
Here Lies Souwaegfe.'^*
At one, I left St. Petersburg with Mr. and Mr. B.,
with the last of whom I made my voyage from Stettin to
Cronstadt, and to whom I owe much for his unremitted ser-
vices, and proceeded to PeterhofF, a royal summer residence
some miles down the Neva. This is a noble river, — the
Neva, — very rapid, and very pure. It pursues its broad and
unchecked way to the Baltic Sea alway, and so preserves
itself in perpetual purity. It is the only water used here,
and is carried about for all domestic purposes. Many indi-
viduals have offered to supply the city with water, and in
the greatest abundance, by appropriate water-works, but the
offer has been always rejected. Others have applied for
coporate powers to light the city by gas. But their appli-
cations have not been accepted, so that in the long winter
nights, very poor lighting is all that can be had, and this for
only till about twelve midnight, as I was told, the lamps
being then put out, or go out, as the oil in some way disap-
pears from them.
Fear of change .
Perplexes Monarchs,
as says Milton. One, however, who has been in Russia,
would hardly be ready to admit, for a moment, that the per-
sistency of habits, — institutions, modes of life, &c., had
fear for its cause in any possible view of it. AVhile the
sliube lasts, oil and Neva water will continue to give^ the
people light and drink. I heard it said that the oil was so
* Commonly spelt Suwaroflf.
JOURNAL. 235
early exhausted in tlie lamps in winter, by the natives help-
ing themselves to it as a highly prized article of food.
Our steam trip down the Neva, one hour and a half, was
rough and cold. We have had cold weather here for several
days, below 60°, the wind north or northeast, and the most
perfectly dry atmosphere I have ever breathed. The skin
in such times gets dry, hot, rough, as disagreeable as can be
well endured ; the hair dry, brittle, uncomfortable ; the
water, which must be drank, produces great annoyance, so
that Paul's counsel to Timothy must sometimes be literally
followed, of taking a "little wine," &c. In St. Petersburg
Cogniac is preferred, and I am told is both prophylactic
and remedy.
Peterhoff is a royal residence, and the story is told here
everywhere. Our steamer found the royal steam yacht at
the wharf in her gold and paint, and her nicely dressed
sailors. Guards in full dress were patrolling everywhere.
A drosky was soon got, not a royal one, and on we went for
some few miles to Mr. 's residence. We went through
grounds, every foot of which was in as exquisite order as
you ever saw in the very best kept grounds of our beautiful
Brookliue. The grass in perfect green, and the trees, of
various names, in most luxuriant condition. But for the
cold, dry, dusty air, we should have had a drive which my
experience of such ^vould have left unrivalled. We passed
cottage and palace. Old Peter the First lives and shines
here in all sorts of memorials. His •palaces and rural
places, his stables, grounds, &c., are on every side ; and
with these whatever of modern, which present want or taste
demands. I assure you this was a famous drive, and made
me forget the Summer Islands, and everything of the kind
I have ever seen. Recollect that this is no miniature affair,
— a daguerreotype of half an inch diameter, — a level mo-
notonous thing, which tells its whole story in its first rood.
0, no ! It fills miles with a variety which never disturbs,
and with a continuous identity of purpose which never
236 JOUEKAL.
wearies. We drove on hard, as these drosky men will do,
almost shaking one out of the slight seat which is allowed
the voyager, — we drove on hard, and reached Mr. 's
place. It is of all affairs the most modest, I would say
humble, in its approach. I hardly believed it was his resi-
dence. But you know it might be, or any one's else, as
soon as you enter. The hall, parlour, dining, tea, servants,
and retiring room, — all in succession were of ample size,
handsomely finished, and excellently well furnished. The
tea room opens by a window to the floor upon lawm and
flowers, and was as prettily appointed as one could wish.
It is indeed a nice place. Mr. showed us into a room
well furnished with water, brushes, &c., that we might free
ourselves, or rather be freed from the embraces of so much
dust as had collected upon us since we left the blustering
cold Neva. In the parlour we were soon joined by Mrs.
, and a Miss , and in due time by many children.
Mrs. pleased me much. Female beauty is not exces-
sive in Germany, Russia, or anywhere else out of England,
as far as I have seen. Mrs. is from England, and is
as fair a specimen of real English good looks as I have often
seen. Her features are small, but full of expression ; mouth,
teeth, and of course, smile, perfect. Eyes blue, hair brown,
brow beautifully made ; hair low, as in the antique, and the
old exquisiteness. Voice singularly pleasing ; rather taller
and more embonpoint than Venus, but in no approach to
excess. And then ^ler manner was so good. She made her
house your own with her first smile ; and you felt at home
every moment you were in it ; and not a little downcast
when " farewell " came. Mr. is the most hospitable
of men, and most freely and cheerfully devotes himself to
his guests. He had made arrangements to show me Peter-
hofi" in detail. I felt so perfectly comfortable in my tempo-
rary but delightful home of his family, that I was more than
half inclined to keep quiet. I am naturally a little dis-
posed to rest. I am somewhat lame, and all continuous
JOUENAL. 237
and rapid locomotion more or less annoys me. But Mr.
said I was to see everything. Horses and carriage were in
preparation. At dinner, in his kindness, he would almost
demand that I should eat everything as a preparation for
seeing so much. Well, I was very obedient, and had a most
rare time. Let me speak of the children. One boy looked
like his father, and was not a beauty, but well looking
enough. But the three girls, two at least, and the eldest
most of all, had beauty enough, either present, or surely to
come. The blossom no more certainly is the prophecy of
the fruit, than are certain marks in the human blossom, of
its future beauty. The girls resemble the mother. A little
boy, the last, or the neiv corner^ as he was called, was pre-
sented to me. This little boy has a remarkable head, most
strikingly resembling the long sugar loaf prolongation of
Sir Walter Scott's most remarkable head. I told Mr.
he w^ould most assuredly write novels, and poems. The
children all gathered around me, and I had all sorts of things
to say to them. The youngest girl, a strange, odd, bright'
little wight, did nof at first know what to make of me, but
she soon found me out, and was principal tenant of one
knee, as another was of the other, a third of the lap, and so
on. It was really most pleasant. The dinner was excel-
lent, — a fine Neva salmon being a most important part of
it, with all other things, meats, dessert, &c., conformable.
As soon as the dinner was over, the drosky came round to
the door, and off* we started to see Peterhoff".
Peterhoff", I said, is a royal residence, and is of exceeding
beauty. I spoke of its extent, of its variety in all which
can make so many miles, and what is on them, attractive in
all sorts of ways. Its variety is in the manner in which
such extensive grounds are laid out. It seemed to me a
perfect labyrinth, and I wondered how Ave got along in, and
especially how we got out of it. It meets every kind and
development of taste, and without making a demand on
your admiration or gratitude, constantly receives both.
238 JOUEIS-AL.
There is a great deal in the collection, selection, and pre-
servation of what is worth in these. A man has done some-
thing worth doing, and for memory too, who has devoted
himself, or his leisure from stern and perpetual public, or
other duty, to his own present gratification of the better in
himself and in the preparation of what time will make
more and more perfect for the coming ages. It is a great
privilege to occupy just such a position as places large
means in your hands, and at the same time have disposition
and knowledge or power to make good use of them. Em-
perors and kings have opportunity for all this, and let us
say what we may of them in .other regards, we cannot but
honour them for noble and all worthy undertakings. Do
not let us be curious about motives, about vanity, selfish-
ness, &c. &c. Here is what they have done. Here is the
sure and permanent record of their uses of great opportu-
nity, and of great power. Here are things for gratitude,
for reverence, for memory. One thought occurred to me at
Peterhoff, which has very often been with me of late, and
especially when looking at truly great public works, which
have had in view the pleasure and growth of the ages, —
which are ministering to taste, to culture, in every moment
of their true uses, — a thought which was with me in my
beautiful drive over the " Summer Islands," the six exqui-
site islands on the Neva, connected by the bridges which
seemed everywhere, — a thought which came in the fullest
force whilst wandering through the Kremlin, and especially
when gazing upon all Moscow from the top of Ivan's Tower.
It was this, that in all pertaining to true life, under whatever
forms it may be presented, — in all earnest, true, human
work, there is always associated, and necessarily so, the con-
sciousness of a remote purpose, which gives to it a propriety,
a perfect seasonableness, and which satisfies us that it was
the best use of a royal life, — of a nation's resources. A
king, or other powerful man, the single representative of a
great state, and the legitimate source of its whole action, at
JOUBI^AL. 239
great cost to the subject, at a cost of the widest energies of
the whole people, reaching down into the very hearts and
daily duties of every subject, and apparently for his, the
king's, own private interests, pleasures or what not, — such
a man in the midst of everything else, accumulates into the
state whatever may meet the demands of the highest cul-
ture, and be a source of pride and pleasure to the lowest,
and leaves it, not only as a memorial of himself, but of his
times, and so imperishably connects them and himself with
the history of his race. He appropriates to himself vast
territories, — makes palaces, parks, gardens, — sends out his
agents, buys collections of paintings, statues, libraries,
objects of curious interest for cabinets, museums, — brings
from all sorts of climates, animals, plants, birds, and pre-
pares for them habitations, and artificial temperatures, in
which they may live and continue their races. The king is
daily using his vast power, and the means of all his people,
for such purposes, and apparently for his own gratification,
and apparently, it may be, the poorest element in his own
being, and yet if we look at it more nearly, we shall come
to perceive and admit, that what seemed only the coarse, the
vulgar, the personal, has really, and in truth, had its main
interest and argument in that which it daily does for
others, yes, the humblest subjects of the wide state. In
other words, the great fact of absolute, questionless compen-
sation runs through everything, and everywhere. It lies
beneath, and behind, all real action, and makes beautiful,
and even venerable, what seemed to have had its whole
object in that which least deserves such elevated and enno-
bling regard.
I see here everywhere, the people taking an interest in
the objects most worthy their admiration and care. I see
them making a part in the gorgeous tcm^^le-worship of the
National Church. I see them with wives and children, either
in humble conveyances or on foot, in search of objects of
interest, in close company in the same road with the noblest
240 joiiKisrAL.
and the highest. They are at PeterhofF, at the Islands, and
I found one, yes, apparently a poor man, in the Treasury
of Moscow, and in its palaces, in the midst of riches, splen-
dour, beauty, art, science, of which the American at home
has no notion, and which it is utterly impossible for him, at
home, ever to have. Said a friend, " These things are done
for the people. You could not have such power concen-
trated in a single head, heart, hand, unless it were used for
something else than itself. It cannot act for itself, without
reaching to and touching the whole state. This beauty, this
wide external agency, is not for the one. It is for the all.
It proceeded from them, and daily and hourly returns to
them ; yes, returns to them with an interest compounded, of
all that has been done by such investments of a nation's
wealth, and by the added value which time, of itself, brings
with it." This doctrine then, of compensation, comes to
him who stands in the midst of the works, the accomplish-
ments of kings, of all great and powerful men, with a force
which he may have never understood or felt before. Seen
from a distance, his vi^hole mind is supposed to have been
occupied with the mere personal uses and results of naked
power. You see only the external, or rather only get some
vague, physical notions of such agency. You wonder at
the toleration of such power, and of its uses, by large peo-
ples, whole nations, and come to the conclusion, that they
are tolerated only for peace, for personal safety, for the kind
or degree of protection which the operation of any system
of laws, or any forms of government, may secure, — that
present despotism is better than possible anarchy. Now,
this is not the whole or the true philosophy of such human
conditions as these. There is something deeper than all
this in the mysterious problem of tolerated abuse. The
solution of it is to be found and looked for in the real, the
questionless agencies and interests which every man, woman
and child has, and exerts wherever man and human govern-
ment are. The king is, after all, but the representative, the
JOURNAL. 241
exponent, the complement of the whole state. He is the
main spring of the vast machinery which is every moment
in action for the most important purposes. He is the life of
the state. His is its breath, and in him have they life,
motion, being. He is never alone. He never works /or,
for he never works a moment ly himself. I see yonder a
railway stretching thi'ough hundreds of miles, almost in a
straight line through the Russian steppes. I see it opening
up everywhere territory, lands, forests, which, it may be,
have never before been seen by man. I see thousands of
men miserably clad indeed, and miserably fed and sheltered,
labouring in the hot sun through most of the nightless day
of the north, to complete, make safe and lasting that which
has cost millions of money, and has used millions of lives.
I ask why is all this done? Why connect, through such
means, these remote parts of this wide and unused empire ?
I am answered, " This road is for the extension and perpe-
tuity of power. It is a military highway, along which
armies are to be carried with the wind's flight, anywhere
and everywhere that the extension and exercise of power
may demand. It had no public good in its birth, nor will
it have any in its uses." To me a fallacy runs through the
whole of such reasoning. That road must secure social
intercourse. It must reveal individual local interests. It is
to make men who never before heard, it may be, of each
other, neighbours, — friends. The intercourse of life, the
vast exchange, the currency of which is true sentiment, —
interest in each other, — brotherhood, this and these are
established, or are to be established, by that road ; and
so that which, as you say, had its source, its being, only in
the personal, and for personal advantage, comes to be a sure
means of the widest national good. We, in America, it is
said, look at, and labour for the widest liberty. We check
the general government, or in wiser language, the supreme
head and power of the state, in everything. We compress
within the narrowest limits its whole authority. We deny
21
242 JOUBNAL.
tlie theory of supreme government, and never reach to the
fact. We are safe in our distances from each other, and
in the fierce pursuit of personal interests, individualism in-
creases every day. Party is beginning to feel its power in
disintegrations, splits, unknown before to our political history.
This begun, who can foresee its end. Power necessarily be-
comes weaker and weaker, for as it falls more and more into
different hands, its precise uses become more and more ques-
tionable, and confusion is everywhere. At length every party,
or every man even, becomes the country, and the country
nobody. The result of the whole is seen every day. It de-
clares itself most in the extremest jealousy, lest one part of
the nation, some one State, may get an advantage from the
government, which, in the same way, cannot be enjoyed by
another. Internal improvements are the daily and hourly
terrors of the people ; as if it were possible in a great state,
a true nation, that any improvement, by any possibility of
chances, could be in any sort or measure limited to the spot in
which it has been made, — that anything truly good and great
could, by some monstrous law of political optics, be pre-
vented from being reflected elsewhere, and everywhere. I
remember well that the subject of Internal Improvements
occupied the mind of the profoundest statesman of the land,
the late Hon. Daniel Webster. His opponents, the nation,
for a majority makes it what, for the time, it may be, found
their argument in the want of a constitutional provision for
such improvements, as if a constitution was bound to con-
tain the detail of general principles or provisions. All that
is wanted in the constitution is there. Among the powers
of Congress is a provision " to regulate commerce among
the several States," and what more constitutional authority
can be demanded? The old jealousy remains. When Con-
gress has used its legitimate power by passing a bill for
such Improvements, the executive steps in with, I had
almost said, its impertinent veto, and stops with a dash of a
pen, or by not using one, what would have blessed the State.
JOURNAL. 243
This fact in our political history, — this national jealousy
and fear, that some one State may get the advantage of all
others, by an exercise of the supreme power, — prevents all
such large and comprehensive public arrangements, in which
the whole would find a common interest, and from which, as
a centre, there would proceed an influence which would
bless the whole. There, perhaps, is not under heaven a
nation which is so little national as America. There are,
indeed, narrow local interests everywhere, around and in
behalf of which, cluster the popular feeling of neighbour-
hood. But such never enlarge thought, or lead to impor-
tant action. To satisfy a hundred or a thousand, may be
something. But the very satisfaction of such conditions
becomes necessarily the limit of individual or of sectional
power, and true national progress ceases.
Let the people then give the government the power to
act on the largest, the most comprehensive scale. Let the
American nation set at once and seriously about it, that it
will be the efficient patron of its own intellect, — of its own
best powers. Let collections of interest of every kind be
made; yes, in the national and State capitals, and so furnish
to the whole mind here the means of the best culture.
There can be no fear of the abuse of such a power, for the
very culture it secures is ever the surest means of the truest
safety, and best growth. We have men who, away from us,
are doing noble works, and are daily adding to the means
of all Europe for its education and best civilization. Why
should not the works of such men belong to their own
country, or enough of them, to say to the ages forever that
they were ours ? Why should such men leave us, and for-
ever, in the earliest manifestations of their great powers,
these exiles of genius, and find their home, their fortune,
their fame, among strangers, — yes, from Kings, Emperors,
Queens, upon whom the republic looks as upon the enemies
of intellectual progress; despots, who, in their so called
personal, selfish pleasure, find, and have the motive of that
244 JOFKNAL.
very patronage which, we have so long withheld, and which
we seem resolved forever to withhold. It is ridiculous to
say we are young, and can do no better than we do. We
are not young, — we were never young. The Pilgrim was
a man. He was a soldier, — a gentleman, a scholar, a
Christian. In his voluntary exile he brought with him all
that was truly his at home. He brought a cultivated intel-
lect, a brave heart, a good conscience. He came here to
exercise all these, and in their highest uses, to lay here the
foundation of a great State. He began his work. He
formed a government. He made laws. He estalished
schools. He founded a college. He brought here the
memory of his home, — of his altar, of his fireside. He
had generously given all up, to carry forward what he had
begun here, and which he foresaw would never die. The
spirit of a noble sacrifice was in the Pilgrim, and he with-
held nothing which that spirit demanded. Not like the
current benevolence which carefully avoids trenching upon
its own means, lest it should feel some of that want which
it professes to relieve : the Pilgrim's service to state, and to
individual, necessarily involved sacrifice, and he cheerfully
made it. I say again, we are not, and we never were, a
young people. The colony made itself free, and indepen-
dence and the republic was proclaimed. In what period of
our history have there been greater and better than those
who did that work. Washington, Jay, Hamilton, Jefierson,
Franklin, Madison, Adams, — were not these men ? And who
in history have greater honour .^ They were true to their
origin, and preserved, and added to their great inheritance.
Who have done better than these ? Are not their names
as household words ? Do we not delight to give them to
our children, as if this might be an incentive to follow their
steps ? If this be, what some eff'ect to call it, " Young
America," it can only be the second childhood of a once
noble state ; and it is only with the distant future to tell
what its second manhood may be.
JOURNAL. 245
YoiiNG Amekica. — Wliat is Young America? I am
told it is the " embodiment of the energy, go-aheadedness^
of the young men of the States." "And what does it?"
" It subdues primeval forests, wildernesses. It builds cities
in prairies, and on the edges of vast lakes, and mighty
water-courses. It founds colleges, churches, schools ; makes
governments, &c. &c." But these things are doing, and
have been done in every moment of the country's history.
But never was this done by the youthful. The Pilgrim,
of whom we have just spoken, but cannot say too much, a
full grown man, not only subdued primeval forests and
wildernesses, but he subdued the wild beasts, and wilder
savages, who lived in them. He came here to New
England in 1620, cleared land, built villages; and towns;
established churches and schools. He founded Harvard
College in 1638, just eighteen years after his winter
landing upon the rock of Plymouth. The Pilgrim was not
a wanderer, a man of uncertain purpose. He put down his
foot upon that rock, and firmer than was it, made here an
everlasting place for kindred men, for kindred hearts, and
minds. Look at the birth place and birth day of New
England, and at what it now is, and say who have been its
heroes. It was in moral power, and its Christian develop-
ment and energy, that the Pilgrim accomplished his divine
purposes, and made reverend and holy their lofty accomplish-
ment. If the young men of this day and country mean to
follow such a lead, let them in generous, true, and wise
moral culture, and development, prepare themselves in man-
hood to labour with their might to subdue the moral wilder-
ness which has replaced the material, and which the Pilgrim
subdued. Let them in the strength of moral power, which
finds in the understanding only its nearest instrument, be
the teachers of the nation. Let them in the midst of the
restlessness and love of change in everything belonging to
public and private life, teach the great lesson that a man may
be contented with what he has, but never with what he is, —
21*
246 JOURNAIi.
" that the life is more than meat, and the body than raiment,"
— that outward prosperity may have beneath it a moral cor-
ruption which is fatal alike to individual and life, and to
national character. To such a Young America, every lover
of his country and race may say, God speed.
In Europe, in one of its noblest states, had we our and
our fathers had their birth place, and patronage, and Eng-
land dates from the Caesars. With present England we
have a common origin, a common language, a common
literature. We have inherited her laws, her customs, and
hers are our interests. We should feel all this, and cease to
live upon the second-hand and second-rate of Europe. We
should keep our best at home, and command pilgrimages
homeward, instead of yearly and hourly sending our own
and best on pilgrimages elsewhere. A true state is the
patron of its own genius. Why then should we neglect a
duty which we are able to perform ?
I am aware of the nature of our governments, for we
have many. I know that such governments are unfavourable
to such centralization as shall secure the public interest to
objects, or to an object, however important. Still, with this
admission, there is no necessary obstacle in the way to any
such effort. This country, like the individual, fails solely
because it wants purpose, — will. It does not want power.
It secures to useful, mechanic art, that which has placed in
its hands the fortunes, not only of the individual, but of the
nation. To be sure such patronage is in itself individual,
and a reward for what is mainly physical. It secures to the
discoverer his whole interests in his discovery, and leaves it
with him to say precisely upon what terms it shall benefit
the state. Genius, on the other hand, is a republic in its
whole life. It makes him who has it a sovereign indeed ;
whose throne may never be disturbed. But all that it
accomplishes is ultimately for the public benefit, culture,
pleasure. It admits everybody into the closest communion
with itself through its works ; and has its exceeding reward
JOURNAL. 247
in the pleasure, the civilization it so widely promotes and
dispenses. It asks of the state protection, patronage, that
it may do what shall command both. It asks that its works
may be collected in permanent homes, — that it may come
into the presence of its own best ; and more especially of
the best of all others. It asks that the state would in this
way preserve the most valuable contributions to its own
history, for through them will ever speak the public heart,
and the public mind. Refinement and growth, sentiment
and principle, are the expression of genius, — the language
which it utters. Thorwaldsen has made his own birth-place
and nation, the residuary legatee of his great genius. His
native city, Copenhagen, the capital of a state numbering
only two millions, has a name and a place with the largest,
in his gift of so many of his works to it ; and who that has
any love of the highest and the best in human works, will
not stop on his way through the stormy Baltic, to give a
day or an hour to see, to admire, and to be made better, by
works of such transcendent excellence and power so rever-
entially, so lovingly placed there ? We are to begin this
great national duty some time. We are to enter seriously
and wisely upon these labours. We are to find our name
and our place in God's universe, by what we may do to illus-
trate its highest human manifestation, human power. We are
to do it by the external indeed, but it must not be an exter-
nal which ministers only or mainly to the physical. Dante
knew the daily misery of ascending another man's stairs
for bread. But genius will ever make the sacrifices, which
its highest exercises may demand. It will, however, only
do it when in prophetic vision of the deep reverence and
love of the coming ages, it sees beforehand, that, if it now
want bread, it is sure of immortality.
I have spoken of PeterhofF as it appears to you in driving
through its broad avenues, its shady by-ways, its long and
seemingly endless roads. Great skill has been used in
giving to its surface as much of variety, as such a place
248 JOURNAL.
demands, and yet to leave the impression that the whole is
as it was originally made, and that art has only been used
to unfold its treasures, simply by allomng itself to tell its
own story. Now the truth is, that the whole region, Peter-
hofF as it is, is the product of art. It was once a morass, a
dead level, which was utterly worthless. And it has been
made what it is by creating hills here, and leaving lakes
there. The useless soil has been scooped clean out, and
carried where a hill was thought to be wanted. And there
a dyke has been made and a large reservoir left by the
removal of the earth by which it has been constructed, and
which reservoir shows now as a fair lake. You see by this
just what Peterhoff is. And whether the hill is in a good
place or not, can hardly be well argued, seeing that groves
and forests, and all sorts of additions in buildings, &c.,
have been just so interposed everywhere, as to leave but
little chance of your doing other than admire, or at least to
be satisfied with them. There is St. Petersburg, once on
a fair level with Peterhoff, before there was a Peter ; and
who now would dream that it was once as nothing when
compared with its present magnificence ? It is now a great
city of five hundred thousand inhabitants or more, and is
full of famous palaces and great houses, of hospitals,
churches, markets, everything, in short, designed for impor-
tant purposes, and everything accomplishing its design. In
1824, Nov. 7, the river rose suddenly so as to submerge the
city everywhere, in some places to the height of twelve
feet. Great was the destruction of life, fifteen thousand,
and of all sorts of property, and especially of the destructi-
ble means of living. So great was this that the Emperor
Alexander allowed for a year full and free importation of
all articles of consumption which had been destroyed by the
flood, and thus was greatly diminished a most threatening
evil. The Neva is one of the rapid rivers of Europe. The
Rhine comes rushing down from its Alpine home, passing
unmixed through the waters of a lake, and keeps unchecked
JOUHNAL. 249
till it finds its way into the waters of the wide sea. I have
stood upon the banks of this mighty stream, not waiting for
it to pass by indeed, but on account of the deep interest
which such rapid rushes, almost gushes, of great masses of
water always produce. I sometimes ask what might be the
effect of this river in its terrible power carrying everything
for the moment before it, — yes, bodily seizing upon, and
destroying that which, for an instant, obstructed its head-
long progress, and carrying away houses, soil, tree, every-
thing away with it. The Neva has its power in its quantity
as well as in its rapid motion. And this latter you judge
of, more by the motion of things on its surface, vessels and
boats, than by the apparent movement of its waters. The
Rhine, and so to the Elbe, at least when I was upon them,
were discoloured by the mud which was mixed so largely
with them. This discolouration with the broken or uneven
surface of the chafed rivers, enabled you, in some sense, to
measure their rapidity. The Neva has its source in a large
lake, the Ladoga, a lake of many, many miles in breadth,
and the river is about fifty miles in length, before it passes
St. Petersburg. It is perfectly clear, and its dark, heavy
waters become resplendent beneath the bright, hot sun. Its
rapidity depends on a series of falls about half way between
Ladoga and St. Petersburg. The river grows rapidly wider
below the city, and passes Peterhoff in grand masses. It
rushes on and far into the Baltic, as fresh as when it entered
it, until it is lost in the salt sea. You cannot but be struck,
deeply impressed with such histories, and feel glad that you
have stood upon fair land, and in populous cities, where
once, and that not long ago, a great lake, and a wide rapid
river had at will, free, and wide passage, and full play.
Speaking of water here, is of all things the most natural,
when the subject is Peterhoff. This place owes its power
to land and water, and different observers will apportion the
amount of power between them differently. The water, I
think, will carry the palm with the million, as what it does
250 JOUENAL.
in the scene before us is so obvious, and so beautiful, tbat its
demand is made too distinctly to be neglected. This water,
in its amount truly vast, is brought about twenty miles in
enormous pipes from hills which are high enough to give it
in the lowlands of Peterhoff great head or power. And
this is set forth in every variety of manner. Rome was
called the city of fountains, and numbered more than three
thousand. Peterhoff may be also called a place of fountains,
whose number, who can tell ? You pass along whole reaches,
the sides of which are streaming with water from the never-
ending fountains. Lakes are formed, and from different
parts of them, fountains gush from all sorts of sources, ani-
mal, mineral, and what not, at least in form and appearance,
with as little regard to source as possible. There is a gi-
gantic Samson, in full gilding, forcing open the tremendous
jaws of a golden lion, and from which springs a fountain
high in the air. And yonder, as you walk in a grove, or
sit down on a bench under a tree for shade, and for rest, in
an instant the tree becomes a fountain from every twig and
leaf of it, and covers you with its cloud of misty spray.
You feel yourself in a fairy land, over which the fair Undine
has empire, and true to her nature and her gift, she dispenses
her blessings, her smiles, and her tears, on every side. The
water sometimes has other forms. It comes rushing down
rocks over wide and deep marble steps laid in large squares
of black and white. Now it tumbles as a fall, and now
rising as a pyramid of exquisite form and fair size, it is broken
into a dense but silvery white cloud, and in its perfect
silence, asks for your passing regard. The occasional gro-
tesqueness incident to water appropriations or uses, are here
in abundance, and may sometimes be questionable as matters
of severe, rigorous taste. But when we come into such
regions, we may safely dispense with rules, for awhile, and
laugh and be serious to the occasion. Here are arrange-
ments for the interests of childhood, and of infancy. Ducks
and other water things, are floating about, making all sorts
JOURNAL. 251
of imitations by means of their structure, and the move-
ments of water in and out of them, of their natural voices
or languages.
PeterhofF is the product of a single mind, but suited to
sorts of minds, tastes, ages, whims, to give pleasure to great
numbers; in short, is large, various, and full enough to
meet the whole demand. It is of such great extent that
fetes are given here, which the whole people may witness.
Here are illuminations of water courses so intense and per-
fect, that the discordant elements of fire and water seem to
have forgotten their old ways, and flow, and gleam, and
burn in close and harmonious company. One of these fetes
will " come off" 13th of July, and I am sorry that I shall
not be able to witness it. I have stood on the very spot
where this part of the great drama of show will be acted,
and could understand somewhat of the effects produced here
by fire and water. To me, as I have said before, much of
the interest of this and the like arrangements for the per-
sonal, the individual, is derived from the equally well
established fact, that all may partake in the same. A pub-
lic carriage, a drosky, for instance, without company may
not be admitted into the gates. But the passenger so far
sanctifies it, and no matter who that passenger may be, that
so ordinary mode of conveyance is admitted without ques-
tion. Nay, private families, who hire a house for the sum-
mer, are as much at home at Peterhoff, as the descendants
of him who has piled it up out of the waters. This is all
right. It leaves men in the enjoyment of the air and of
the light, the water too, and which are the common proper-
ty of all. If the spectator is in perfect sympathy ^vith that
which is around him, it becomes his own property, and he
may have a deeper interest in it, a truer possession, than has
he, who has it from ancestry, and by the tenure of a written
rr unwritten law. I have no details to give of places, or of
objects. I write to give form and place to that which has
>een produced within me by such portions of the outer
252 JOUKNAL.
-vyorld here, as had in them anything more or less to im-
press my higher nature. I was in the midst of a beautiful
world, and looked round to see what had been done with
it by man, to give to the divine in that nature the better
part of the human.
A rapid drive brought me to the hospitable house of my
new-made friends, and so pleasant was the time, and so
light the evening, it was, to my extreme surprise, past mid-
night when we reached St. Petersburg ; and to my dismay,
the bridge's draw was up for the night, for the passage of
the river craft, which is not allowed to pass it any other
time through the twenty-four hours. I was utterly tired
out by walking and driving, and to foot it seemed the only
way to get to the other side of the Neva ; namely, by a dis-
tant bridge higher up. But I went down the river, and at
length took a boat which ferried me across. A long street
was before me, and the English Hotel seemed at an inter-
minable distance. I, however, arrived safely, and about
sunrise went to bed. I spoke just now of the light of the
evening I passed in Peterhoff. This light of the Russian
summer-night never more strongly impressed me. The
moon was full and in mid-heaven, when, on the bank of the
Neva, I looked at it. But so brilliant was the twilight,
reaching to and illuminating the sky over head quite as
much as the horizon, — a striking peculiarity to the Northern
summer, — that the moon had lost its brightness. It cast no
shadow, and looked as a round white spot in the mid-
heaven.
Sunday^ June 27. — Sufficiently fatigued wdth yesterday's
experiences, I rested to-day. I called on Sir James Wiley
to thank him for his letters to Moscow, and for the exceed-
ing kindness and courtesy to which they had introduced me,
and learned from his servant, his porter, I suppose, for he
has many servants, that Sir James did not receive calls that
morning. I kept within doors till five, and then walked
with Charles to the Minister's, with whom I had engaged to
JOURNAL. 253
dine that day. It was a party of four, himself, Secretary of
Legation, Major , Chief Engineer of the Moscow and
St. Petersburg Railroad, and myself, and I had a most
pleasant time.
Hekmitage. Monday, June 28th, — Everybody goes to
the Hermitage. A note from me to the Director, " most
respectfully asking permission " to visit it, procured me this
privilege, which is as freely accorded to all. A dress-coat
is an indispensable condition of this visit. The Hermitage
is strictly a show-place. He or she who has the most plen-
tiful supply of curiosity is pretty sure to see the most.
NoAv I think I can have but a small portion of this mental
quality, so necessary to make a good traveller. It is always
an effort for me to go sight-seeing. I feel under great ob-
ligations to many friendly persons I have met with for their
kind solicitings, that I would join their parties to the curi-
ous, the beautiful, the sublime. In this way I have seen
some things, which otherwise I might never have known any-
thing of. My courier has travelled, and for years, and with
nobles and gentry, at least so say his letters of recomenda-
tion, the authenticity of which I have never questioned, —
my courier cannot understand me, that I should be so slow
in my search for the wonderful. He has often to entice me
out " of mine inn," as with a pitchfork, and comes as near
right down scolding as becomes his years and his position ;
so if I do not tell you the exact history of every spot of
wide Europe I have trodden, do not, I pray you, charge it
upon my faithful guide, the courier.
The Hermitage is in immediate proximity to the Winter
Palace, and whenever the Emperor is absent from St. Peters-
burg, they may be seen together. His banner was " on the
outer wall," yesterday, Monday, so I was limited in my
explorations to the Hermitage. You go up by splendid
marble stairs to the rooms you may visit. Magnificent
columns of the granite of Siberia, polished almost to daz-
zling, are on both sides. You enter rooms filled with pic-
22
254 JOURNAL.
tures, wMcli, in 1839, numbered fifteen hundred, and tliey
have been added to every year since. The rooms are num-
bered, and contain the works of the various schools of art.
Some rooms are filled with the works of one author. Three
pictures of Titian, as in my catalogue " marked down," par-
ticularly pleased me, and because of their exquisite beauty.
They are in the same room, and the subject is the same.
They differ mainly in some unimportant details. It was
refreshing to pass from the barbarous works of Snyders, his
Boar Hunts, &c., to anything approaching the human.
And these pictures, whether by Titian or not, were certainly
related to that. By one of those coincidences which happen
most frequently in the experiences of travellers, in one of
my visits the day after the Hermitage, I saw, where I was
visiting, a woman who so nearly resembled the person in
the three pictures, that I was almost startled at my first
glance at her, and I was careful in the rest of my visit, or
when opportunity served, to assertain how correct was my
first impression, and the evidence was not diminished by
after observation. This business of tracing likenesses in
distant countries between the well known and the latest
seen, — the foreign, and the home, is a very common one.
I remember in my first visit to London, forty-three years
since, being not unfrequently occupied in this way, and very
often was I surprised by the result of my explorations.
In the Hermitage, I was in the presence of pictures num-
bered by thousands, and claiming not only to be of certain
schools, but set down as questionless works of the best
artists the world has ever seen. Here were Raphaels,
Claudes, Correggios, Salvators, Titians, Murillos, Poussins,
&c., as common as household words ; and then Teniers,
Bembrandt, Rubens, Wouvermans, Vanderveldt, Ostade, P.
Potter, would seem only to have painted for the Hermitage.
There were here besides pictures, things of great interest.
Here were splendid vases of most precious stones worked
after a manner to give you form and material, in their finest
JOURNAL. 255
expression. Malachite, jasper, porphyry, granite, how rich,
how exquisitely beautiful were they. I was almost as
much moved by the vastness, — the great size of these, — as
by their beauty. Nature seemed to have brought forth in
almost wasteful profusion, that which in its rarity in other
regions, and the smallness of its masses, acquires such value,
as to be the possession of a few only, and which is pre-
served with a care which few other things know. What
can surpass the Mosaics in wood and in mineral, which are
here beneath your feet, and on every hand ? The Palace
Halls, which have been made to receive and preserve such
treasures, are in size fitting their important office, and of
this you may have some apprehension. There has often
been, indeed, too little care in the arrangement of light for
pictures. The pictures are for the most part in long rooms
on one side, and the staring, level windows are directly
opposite, making it sometimes next to impossible to see the
pictures at all. But the increase of paintings has forced a
compensation by which the later additions may be seen.
This consists in an alcove arrangement, which allows the light
to fall equally on the pictures on both sides of the projec-
tions which form the alcoves, and by a little adjustment of
position you may see somewhat. Why a picture gallery of
such extent, containing so many admirable works, should
have been so constructed as often to leave it a matter of in-
difference, whether you see the canvas at all, must be left
for the thought of future travellers. To some lovers of art,
the want of a catalogue may be a grievance, but as such an
accommodation would shed no light on its subjects, it is
hardly worth the missing. Suppose for a moment, that the
portion of the Hermitage devoted to art had been thrown
into one vast gallery, with its light coming fresh into it from
above, — a light from heaven, revealing the divine of human
work, how surpassing had been the beauty, and into what
good and happy hearts would it not have found its way ?
All men may have the apprehension of the true, of the
256 JOUEIS-AL.
beautiful. How easy is it to hide it all ? What can be
more vexatious than this carelessness in the construction of
picture galleries ? In such, you are in the conflict of cross
lights, and objects come to the eye in all the confusion which
such a battle, by the sure laws of optics, must inevitably
jDroduce. And then you are dazzled by the strong and
swift reilection ; not a ray is absorbed, but each and all come
back with an increment from the wild investment, which is
absolutely fatal to vision, — nothing but loss to the beholder.
You are in pursuit of some point of a painting, for you can
see it only by instalments ; you twist your head hither and
thither, thinking now you have caught a head, when it will
turn out you have only a nose, or an eyebrow, and after
you have worked the longest and tried your best, you
may have the satisfaction of learning that you have got
nothing but a crick in the neck. It is bad taste to orna-
ment a picture gallery, to cover its walls and ceilings with
rich hanging, or elaborate architecture. Green baize or
broad cloth answers best, for they reflect no light. Never
polish the floors. Let everything be in the strictest subser-
viency to art. Let this only have a voice, and its word may
always be heard. The Hermitage speaks. Is not Art there
well nigh dumb ?
Museum of the Academy oe Scie]s"ces. The skeleton
of the Siberian Mammoth, before alluded to, which was
discovered on the banks of the Lena, is here, and im-
mediately after leaving the Hermitage, I drove to see it.
It stands very near to a large elephant, and you are at
once struck with its great size as compared with its neigh-
bour. Many other specimens in Natural History are in this
Museum, but the object of principal interest is the
Siberian Mammoth. Questions have arisen as to the man-
ner of its preservation, how it got where it was found,
when it reached its resting place there, whence it came,
&c. &c. As to its preservation, there need be but little
question, since Russia presents abundant proof constantly
JOUKNAL. 257
of the preservative power of cold. The market is daily
supplied with meats of all kinds in a frozen state. The
animals, I was told, were killed and frozen in the first frost,
or as early as the cold admits ; and are in the market in this
state throughout the remainder of the year. The table in
the English House (English Q,uai), kept by Mrs. Benson, is
every day supplied with game, &c., which was frozen last
autumn, or in early winter. I write July 1st, and can say,
that these articles of food form the most important part of
the culinary arrangements of this most excellent house.
This food was singularly well flavoured, and excellent in all
its kinds. Poultry especially had this character, being quite
as fat and juicy as the very best of our own winter supplies.
Madame B. one day, turning to me said, " Do you find the
turkey good, and can you for a moment believe, that it has
been killed for months ? " Having expressed my entire
satisfaction with both turkey and cookery, I was led to ask
some account of the manner of preserving the food for a
great capital for months, nay a year, after its having been
killed. I was told that the killing takes place the first
frost, for this is ordinarily sufficiently powerful to freeze
thoroughly what is properly exposed to its power. Dead
flesh is in the best state for this influence ; and it matters
not at all what is the bulk and weight of the animal, so
that it be duly frozen. An essential condition of its being
well preserved, and afterwards fit for the table, is, that it
should be frozen as soon as killed, or before it is cold. If
otherwise, however well it might seem, and fitted for cookery,
it will turn out, upon being thawed and cooked, quite
worthless. Again, I was told, that should a thaw ensue
after the first frost, and market freezings, and the animals
should be thawed, and frozen again, they would be found
ruined for the market, passing at once into decomposition
upon being again thawed. Thus I heard, that after the
autumnal killing, and freezing, a thaw had occurred. The
frozen flesh was thawed with other things, but ^g^in frozen,
22*
258 JOURNAL.
It was found unfit for the market, and the Emperor ordered
it to be buried. This was done. It was dug up, frozen
again, and again exposed in the market. The Emperor
now ordered it to be burned. This was done, and the bad
meat appeared no more in the market. I give the state-
ment here just as it was made. I can answer for the excel-
lence of Madame B's. table, and when we recollect the vast
distances from which food is to be brought to the markets
of Russian capitals, and the great heat of the Northern
summer, we can see a reason for such a mode of supplying
the markets. Especially are we aided by the amount of ice
which is made by the long Northern winter, and by the ease
with which it may be applied to the purpose above alluded
to.
Alexandrosky. — A very pleasant dinner party here at
Major B.'s, five or six miles from the city. I went with
Hon. Mr. Brown, American Minister. Mr. W , Sec-
retary of Legation, took Mr. Kremer, an attache, with him.
Major B., you recollect, succeeded Major Whistler, as Chief
Engineer of the Moscow Railroad. The road was opened
in November last. Much, however, remains to be done,
before it is completed. Major W. died of the cholera, when
the road was but half finished. He is said to have been
singularly pleasing, of excellent intellect, of peculiarly at-
tractive manner, and of fine person. He was a favourite of
the Emperor, and was treated by him with great kindness.
Said one to me, " Nobody can succeed Major Whistler."
Major Brown is engaged for six years, at twelve thousand
dollars a year ; has put the road in running order, and is
finishing the important parts of that great undertaking. He
is very agreeable, well informed, and exceedingly hospitable.
I could not easily forget his kindness, and that of his family
to me, if I would ; and certainly, I have no disposition to do
so. Our dinner was excellent, meats and vegetables cooked
as at home, and the fruit was as fine as could be wished.
There was a guest at table of whom I would speak. Major
JOURNAL. 259
B. passes the summer in a house, on this estate, or in a vil-
lage, in which a great public work is carried on, — the
building, and repairing, railway engines and carriages, or
cars, which are run on the Moscow railroad. The principal
in this great work is Mr. W , of Baltimore. He
has for his use a whole village, numbering between two
and three thousand persons. These he employs, — a mixed
population of men, women and children, — as they are able
to be employed. He supports them, I think. He has a
contract with the Emperor for twelve years, and he is to
make all the running materiel of this great road, about
seven hundred versts, or between four and five hundred
miles long, and to keep it in repair, making new engines,
and carriages, when necessary, so that at the end of the
twelve years, everything shall be left as good as new. This
is called a remount. He began, I was told, by borrowing a
very lage sum to begin with. And now what do you
suppose are the terms upon which this amount of outlay in
money and work is employed ? Mr. W. receives so many
copecks, less than two cents each, for every mile run by
every first class carriage, less for second class, less for a
third class, and freight train, and for every carriage in each,
in every day. The number of copecks, say ten, if that be
the number, for the highest class, and by a gradual reduction
coming down, say to five for the lowest, is so small, that I
was astonished at the contract. And yet, I was told, it is
producing a fair revenue to the contractor. A road is
building, or to be begun, to Warsaw, and I was told that
Mr. W. has already, or vv'ill have, the contract for the run-
ning apparatus for that. I have also heard that a second or
night train was to be, or is started, on the Moscow road.
It was not, however, begun when I passed last over it.
Mr. W. has now carried on this work since November
last, when the road was opened, and the result thus far
shows that his contract was a safe one.
This system of remounting exists in the Cavalry service of
260 JOURNAL.
Russia. The Colonel of a regiment finds horses, keeps them
in perfect health and discipline, replaces sick or dead ones, for
a limited time, six years, and when the time of the contract
is up, the horses are to be in good health, and capable of all
service. This is done for a certain amount, paid at specified
times for every horse, in health, and for his service. Sup-
pose a horse dies at the end of five years. The Colonel buys
a new one, but if he is perfectly well when the term of the
remount is up, and the contract is not renewed to him, then
one year only of the health or life of the animal belongs to
the service, his value for the five other years is to be made
good to him. Mr. W. wore a decoration, or a Cross of
Honour, from the Emperor, at his button hole, and good
evidence is this of the friendly disposition of the Emperor
towards him.
After dinner we walked about the grounds. Mrs. B ,
a townswoman of mine, talked with me a long time of the
old Newport life, in which we bore somewhat a part. She
was daughter of a very excellent physician in that town.
Mrs. B had lived there many years after I left it, and had
much novel matter to talk of. I had a really good old-
fashioned time. "We stayed late, though it was as light as
day almost, and when Mr. Brown, the Minister, and I, were
getting into his carriage, he told his Jehu, — for he drove like
one, as do all St. Petersburg drivers, — he told him he
would get out before reaching his residence for a walk, and
that he must drive me home before taking the carriage to
his place. Off we went. But the driver knew, or recollect-
ed nothing of my residence, and went galloping about
town to his heart's content, and to my dismay. I looked
for nothing less nor more, than to be made up into a Peter
E,ugg, and to go galloping about Russia to the end of
time. He stopped at a door at last; it was not mine.
I drew the string and told him where to go. He understood
not a word, and talked in good round Russian about as fast
as I did, or could, in my vernacular. So amid the general
JOimNAL. 261
screaming, somebody hard by heard me say Galerney,
the name of a street parallel to the English Qiiai. He
screamed out what he had heard me say. The coachman
heard, understood, turned fairly round, and galloped me
home. I assure you it was no joke for me ; for the crea-
ture would not let me leave the coach to walk home, but
made me sit still through his drivership's pleasure. He was
rejoiced to leave me safe, for his place depends entirely on
his faithful attendance to his duty.
Hospitals. Tuesday, June 29. — I visited three mili-
tary, one civil, and one maternite, establishments. These
visits were highly gratifying. Two of the military were Regi-
mental Hospitals. A regiment contains three thousand men,
all included, and to one such, a hospital is often, or for the
most part, devoted, and contains about one hundred and
twenty beds. One hospital was for two regiments, or six
thousand men, and the number of beds was about two hun-
dred and fifty. There is attached to each hospital a church.
I visited some of these. They are exceedingly well adapted
for their purposes. Of ample size, simple but noble archi-
tecture, and upon the whole, I think, altogether in better
taste than some similar buildings in the metropolis. I was
desired to pass across the chancel of one of these churches,
and across the altar to the rear, and my way was through a
gate. Said my most friendly and obliging attendant, a Sur-
geon Major of his regiment, with the rank of Colonel, " a
woman is never permitted to pass beyond, or through that
gate." On what this prohibition depends I know not ; but
I have heard of, or met with the same rule in other churches,
I think. Beside the churches which a.re in the neigh-
bourhood of the hospitals, there is in all of them a chapel,
w^iich the patients attend, if too ill to go to the church.
In this way every necessary opportunity is afforded for
very important offices, — the service of the church- worship,
— and in circumstances when religious instruction and con-
solation are most useful, and most sought. I know of no
262 JOIJENAL.
such, institution in American hospitals. The hospitals are
perfectly clean. The air is pure. That unpleasant odour
so often perceived in such houses, is wanting in these. The
general plan is a long corridor with large windows at each,
end. The wards on each side have windows looking out-
ward, with ventilators in both corridors and wards. I was
struck with one thing. In every ward is a fire in one
of the large, very thick Russian stoves, and the fire is
kept up the whole year. The stove-door is large and kept
open, and so ventilation is farther provided for, and damp-
ness prevented, without any increase of heat. The air is
probably cooler by this arrangement. Floors, walls, ceil-
ings, bed-stands, furniture, are perfectly clean and neat.
Soldiers wear in hospital an outer garment, a caftan, like
that they wear ordinarily abroad, — a light, loose woollen
over-dress, of a grayish colour. If well enough, when the
surgeon enters a ward, the patients rise and stand erect at
the foot of the bedstead, as if on parade, in their long wrap-
pers. They are quite fine looking men, being selected from
other regiments, and form the Guards. Their sick diet is
good, being adapted to diseases and their stages. The bread
is white, and sweet. I saw and eat enough of this to learn
these important facts in its history. As soon as convalescence
begins, the men ask for the black bread, which forms their
principal food in health, — their national food. There are
two meals a day, except in cases in which liquid or mixed
diet is used, when it is given as often as it is required.
Three pounds of black bread, I was told, form the day's
supply in health, and are taken in such portions as are
desired. The sick and convalescent diet embraces all the
articles ordinarily used, — gruels, meat, soups, puddings,
&c. The bathing establishment is very well provided. I
counted six large, nicely painted tubs in one bathing room.
Patients, upon admission, are bathed, and thoroughly
cleaned, and clean clothing substituted for that which they
wore in. The arrangements relating to the hospital history,
JOUKNAL. 263
SO to speak, of the patients, — the card at the head of the
bed, — with name of patient, disease, time of entrance,
prescription, &c., resemble the forms used at the Mass. Gen.
Hospital. On each bed, at its foot, was a report, written in
Latin, of what had occurred the preceding day, or since the
last visit ; an excellent mode of presenting daily all the facts
to the attending medical officer, without any talking.
There is attached to each hospital a corps of young men,
students, who fill the place of our house medical and sur-
gical officers. They enter almost boys, only knowing how
to read. They are taught the common school matters,
including Latin, and go round regularly to attend on the
sick, until they have learned enough, and are old enough
for more important trusts. Some of them may, and do, in
this way rise to the highest posts in the service. There is
a corps of nurses, — men, — in the hospitals, who perform
all the offices of such in civil institutions. In the Moscow
Hospital, Dr. Pfeehl showed me an instrument he got in
Paris, for exhausting the air in a box in which a limb might
be received, and which was used to increase the circulation
in the extremities, in cases of congestions in remote organs,
and in which blood-letting might not be indicated or admis-
sible. Dr. Pfgehl told me he had used this boot-shaped
instrument, with its apparatus for exhausting the air, and
with much benefit in many cases.
I next visited a Maternite Hospital, under the direction of
Dr. Schmidt, who is also a lecturer. He was just leaving
the house, when I, on the steps, was introduced to him by
Dr. B , as a medical man from Boston, America, &c.
He returned immediately, begging me to follow, and,
with great courtesy, offered to show me the establishment.
Everything was in most perfect order. A corps of female
pupils was introduced to me, and I could not but be highly
, pleased at the perfect gracefulness of their manner, and their
I fine faces. They were from the inferior ranks in society, I
was told, and destined to remote country practice. I was
264 jouEXAL.
showed into a room filled with presses having glass fronts,
and full of the wdiitest linen for the patients. The glass
doors prevent dust, and keep the articles within from get-
ting yellow, a colour which dark closets so often produce,
at least as I was told. I saw here an anatomical specimen
in plaster, of great rarity and interest. Also an ingenious
apparatus contrived to preserve a uniform temperature for
new-born, feeble, or premature infants. It is made of brass,
double all round, and at bottom, and into the space between
the two walls of which, hot water may be poured, by vv^hich
the desired warmth may be communicated to the infant
lying in it. There was a new-born infant in the apparatus
when I made my visit. It was of a full red colour, its skin
warm and soft, and seemed as comfortable as any one of
his hours could well be.
This is a small hospital, making up fifty beds or more.
I have said I have been much pleased with the Russian
hospitals. This one gave me unmixed pleasure. The ma-
tron, the nurses, the pupils, — all females, — showed in
their dress, their manners, — the animiation discovered in all
they did, — in other words, the obvious desire to do every-
thing well, gave an assurance that the patients w^ere wisely
and kindly provided for. There was no stint discovered in
anything. Everything was on a generous, liberal footing,
and showed how much to be valued there was in both the
theory and the practice of this institution. Except in times
of epidemicks the health of the hospital was excellent. My
visit vfas a most agreeable and useful one, and will always
be remembered with pleasure.
I next went to a large Civil Hospital, corresponding to our
Almshouse. We entered a room for out-patients, whose
cases were here examined and prescribed for. The director
or superintendent gave us leave to visit the wards. In the
military hospitals Dr. had free admittance, having rank
in the army. To visit the Civil Hospital he was obliged to
ask permission, as any other person would do. This hos-
JOUKNAL. 265
pital has two distinct establishments, one for summer, and
one for winter. The patients were in very large numbers
at the time of my visit. The winter house was empty,
undergoing repairs, thorough cleaning, painting, &c., within ;
and outside, the plaster which had been much disturbed
by the intense winter's cold, was getting renewed.
I examined the condition of the patients in this immense
establishment, with great interest. The state of the mili-
tary hospitals, both in Moscow and St. Petersburg, was such
as to command admiration. They were perfect in their
kind. You may say all this care, and arrangement, and
accurate management, is easily explained. A despotism
depending on the military, having its very being and life in
the army, must of course do everything to secure the utmost
efficiency. The health of the soldier is the first thing to be
provided for, as there can be no difficulty in determining his
action. The Russian discipline is as strict, as perfect, as
entire obedience can make it. But I was now visiting an
establishment for the poor, the sick, the aged. It was with
great pleasure I saw in this Civil Hospital, the same attention
to the wants of its subjects, as was observed in the military.
The ventilation was perfect, and so was the neatness, — the
arrangements for comfort, and may I not add, for luxury ?
Near to the bed of a patient, a feeble, emaciated, suffering
woman, was a little table, and upon it a large basin, with
ice in it, cut up in small bits, within her easy reach. How
short the narrative, but how touching, how beautiful the fact.
In an Empire having within its limits a fifth of the surface of
the habitable globe, and counting from sixty to seventy mil-
lions of inhabitants, that sick poor woman was cared for, as if
she were the only one in all those millions who needed human
sympathy. In other things was a like care. The summer
hospital, which is in the same enclosure as the winter one,
is surrounded with thick shrubberies, and lofty trees. Among
these are walks. The dres* of the patients is a uniform.
A long white robe or caftan, reaching from the neck to the
266 JOUHNAL.
feet, with a turban or cap of perfectly white linen or cotton,
with long pendants flowing below the shoulders, is the out-
side dress of all the patients ; and as you saw those who
could leave the wards, strolling alone in the deep shade of
the trees, their appearance was striking indeed. They
looked to me like ghosts, and I asked Dr. what all
this meant. He explained the matter, and as we approached
the walks, I understood what had at first puzzled me. The
furniture of the wards was white, and the floors were kept
nearly of the same colour. The bedsteads were of iron.
The food was exactly adapted to the disease and condition
of the sick. The amount paid for medicine, for quinine, of
which vast quantities, I was told, were used, was enormous.
To show still further, in an example, how generous is the
provision for the sick, I may instance the epidemick cholera
of 1842? In that invasion thirty thousand died in St.
Petersburg. In two days six thousand died. The Em-
peror, Nicholas, made every arrangement in his power to
check the progress of the disease, and at the same time pro-
vided for the best care of the sick. He had hospitals, —
small hospitals, — opened everywhere, where needed. Even
in the Exchange, a room was prepared to receive imme-
diately those w^ho might be suddenly struck down by the
disease, and physicians and nurses were constantly at hand,
to minister to those who might be attacked. Nor only so.
The Emperor visited these hospitals himself, all of them,
and of course such as were filled by the poorest, the most
abject of his subjects. He made his visits at all hours, by
night and by day, leaving his Palace at Peterhoff" at all
times to make these visits. When his ministers suggested
that it might be advisable that a cordon sanitaire should be
placed around the Royal Palace at Peterhofi", Nicholas said,
no. I will use no such means of personal safety. Where
I am, there may my people be. In this and kindred ways
did this remarkable man show himself above fear, sacri-
ficing personal comfort, and constantly incurring hazard.
JOURNAL. 267
even of life, rather than be ignorant of anything relative to
the condition and treatment of the subjects of that fearful
epidemick. Are not these most interesting facts in such a
life, and do they not serve to show that the care of Nicholas
of his subjects does not proceed from personal consideration,
and that when occasion arises, his whole people become
objects of his direct, personal care ? I write in the English
House on the English Quai, in the early dawn which has
had no night, and within hearing of the drum on the parade
ground, where the Emperor is reviewing his troops, and
record what I have heard of him, and of his deeds.
I went from the Civil to a very large, — one of the largest
Military hospitals in the Empire. There was nothing to dis-
tinguish this from others. In Moscow I had visited one, it
may be, larger than this, and this seemed its repetition in
another city. I was told that the Emperor, about two
months before my visit, drove to this hospital, and arrived
at an earlier hour than usual, and when he was not expect-
ed. It was in the morning, and the usual preparations for
the day had not been completed. He saw everything at
once, and expressed his dissatisfaction at the disorder which
he witnessed, adding that it must not exist again. There
was, doubtless, reason for the apparent neglect ; at least
in his Majesty's view of the matter. My visit was made
early, but the most perfect order prevailed everywhere. I
was carried into the kitchen, and was asked to eat of the
bread and of the soup which was serving out to the nurses
for the sick, and found them both very good. I could not
but remark, when looking round upon this vast establish-
ment, and bringing to mind the interest taken by the Em-
peror in the whole detail of government, how vast must be
the amount of labour, physical and intellectual, performed
daily by this extraordinary man. He was represented to me
as exceedingly methodical in everything he does. He rises
very early ; sees his ministers, then walks, drives, rides,
reviews troops ; comes some miles from his summer resi-
268 JOUEjq-AL.
dence, PeterhofF, to the capital, requiring of him constant
activity to be where he is wanted. He visits different parts
of his empire, naval and military stations, — his brother
monarchs, — has all sorts of fetes ; is everywhere, and does
everything. He is in perfect health ; sleeps on a leather
couch on an iron bedstead, with a hard straw pillow.
Dresses simply, and in his privacy wears a Avorn out pair of
slippers, worked years ago by the Empress, and as plain and
as old a dressing gown, as is worn by any tolerably careful
subject. Lives, in regard to diet, simply. From every
quarter I heard only of his untiring energy, his interest in
detail, his knowledge of everything which transpires in his
immense dominions. Said a long resident in , to me one
day, " A man cannot put a bridge across a gutter for his
personal convenience, or for his dog to pass over upon,
without first petitioning the Emperor." This was meant,
of course, as an extreme illustration only of the personal
knowledge of the Emperor of everything proposed, or done
in the Empire, which has anything of novelty in its purpose,
plan, or accomplishment. His power, as must ever be the
case in such a government, is supreme. An autocrat is a
governor by himself, and perhaps in no part of the civilized
world is he more absolute than in Russia. Many instances
of the exercise of this power were related to me. An offi-
cer in a very important situation failed in his duty. He
was called into the presence of Nicholas, and charged with
high offence, and ordered to leave St. Petersburg, and never
visit it or Moscow again. So wholly overcome was he by
this sentence, that he fell dead upon the floor. Another high
officer had committed a breach of trust under circumstances
peculiarly aggravated. He was degraded to the gallies, and
for life. I saw a man in the stern sheets of the boat of the
guard-ship on the Baltic, which boarded us, scarcely better
dressed than the sailors who rowed the boat. There was,
however, something in his expression and manner which
attracted mv attention, as I leaned over the steamer's side.
JOURNAL. 269
" That man," said a fellow passenger to me, " whom you
are observing there, and is steering the boat, was in a very
respectable public station. He violated law, and was de-
graded to the rank of the sailor's in this roughest service,
and there will he remain as long as he lives ! " It is this
sudden, this immediate exercise of supreme power which is
felt everywhere. Men are arrested, I was told, and sent to
the Sparrow Hills, where are collected the exiles for Siberia,
without knowing with what crime they are charged, and
without the least chance of defending themselves.
The Emperor of Russia stands, in relation to subjects, as
does a father to children who are under age. As these are
bound to questionless submission, as their services are due
to the parent, as they cannot leave his presence and control,
without his consent, so does the Czar claim, hold, and exert
similar power over his people. The subject of Russia is in an
important sense never of age. The noble cannot leave the
Empire but by permission of the Emperor, and for a certain
time only, say a year or more, and by a license which costs
hundreds or thousands of dollars for himself and family.
If he do not return, his estates become the property of the
state. Neither can a stranger enter Russia without leave.
He must report himself to the police at once. He must
give notice how long he means to stay, and advertise his
purpose in three papers. His hotel keeper reports him to
the police as soon as he has taken his lodgings. Suppose
he visits Moscow or other places in Russia, he must get
permission to do so, — get passports, and report himself
to the authorities as soon as he gets there. Notwithstand-
ing, then, he is still in the Empire, he cannot pass from
one of its Governments to another, without repeating all
he did when he first entered it, namely, comply with the
laws which apply to strangers. He must get a passport, pay
fees, and submit to many forms, and some inconveniences.
Let him never forget, when he enters a railway station,
always to take off his hat, at the door, and not to put it on
23*
270 JOURNAL.
again until he is fairly out of it. Now, as I went of
my own accord to Russia, — was allowed to go everywhere,
and see everything, — was protected by its laws, and most
hospitably entertained, — I was quite willing to do what form
demanded, and which was equally demanded of the subject
and stranger. An emjdoye of the government in the rail-
way service, told me one day, that he was required to get a
passport, as was every one else ; that the rule applied to the
subject, no matter what his rank. I entered Russia volun-
tarily then, became for the time its subject, obeyed its laws.
The English traveller who refused to take his hat off as he
passed through the Holy Gate of the Kremlin, and got it
knocked off for his pains, asserted his folly, more than his
independence. You see in these statements what is the
character of the government here. It is the possession and
exercise of supreme power by the individual for the benefit
and control of the subject, who is not judged capable of
taking care of, or governing himself. We have seen that a
similar government exists perfectly in the parental relation.
It is precisely this in Russia. The people are as minors,
children, — the vast majority being supposed unfit to direct
themselves, or to manage their own affairs. In some ancient
state the father had the power of life and death in his own
family. The power exercised by government in Russia is
conceded, and exercised; and so far as I saw, a very strict
and well-regulated family is this vast Empire. These facts,
real or imaginary, in personal history, and in the administra-
tion of this vast empire, were gathered in conversations at
v/hich I was present, or stated to me directly by others.
They are given here as illustrations of character, and of
modes of government of a people. They show relations of
the Emperor to his subjects, which the circumstances in which
both are placed, give rise to. You feel that such a govern-
ment is permanent. As to a revolution, the elements of
such an event do not exist here. The political idea of free-
JOUKNAL. 271
dom has hardly place in Russia. Absolute submission is
the law. To be free would not seem to have yet entered
the Russian mind.
I have never had the problem of government so distinctly
presented to me as since I left America, and especially as it
shows itself in the Empire of the Czar. At this great dis-
tance from home, I have been tempted to look at America as
something remote ; and then to see it as placed side by side
with this, in which I this day dwell. America is to me far,
far away yonder, beyond, and behind the great waters, — a
history, not a fact. I see America as a whole, within its
vast, measureless boundaries, as detached from everything
else, — where great events have been, not are. I know
nothing of what, at this moment, it is. I seem to know it
only as it was. A revolution may have swept over it, and
made it I know not what. I feel no such relations to it as
the present has ever in its idea, and fact. I take it all in as
at a glance, and as having been. I look at it, I handle it,
I annihilate space, and bring it here and compare it with
Russia. It is here in its complexity of systems, by the side
of this vast Empire which is simplicity itself, — a unit, com-
pared with all the numbers. Distance does for me what
time has done with the past. I am a wanderer. I have
no home. This everlasting day, which knows no night !
Is it not another world? Have I not reached another
planet ?
Nobody can feel the absolute difference, the immense
antagonism between America and Russia, who has not
looked at them thus placed side by side with each other.
The difference is so absolute, that they admit of no compari-
son. They are, both of them, positive in everything which
makes them just what they are, and so infinitely unlike each
other. In America, the theory is, that the State which is
least governed is the best governed, — in which government
touches nobody, — can hardly be said to be felt at all. In
272 JOURNAL.
Russia, tlie whole opposite is the case, for here government
reaches everywhere, and touches everything and everybody,
— is seen midfelt on all sides, and by everybody. What is
the best government of a people? This depends on the
precise development, — the whole condition of a people. If
the people' be cultivated, — if the idea and the fact of duty
be familiar, — if the citizen or subject, have self-controul,
and can manage his own affairs, then the American idea of
government is for it the true one. In such a State, the peo-
ple are, in a certain sense, their own lavN^ They are their
own law-makers, and may approach to the best, at least
the best for them. Right conduct may be the rule, so far
as conduct, the exxDression of character, is concerned ; for we
have nothing to do with motives, and a simple code will
meet the exigencies of the exceptions.
Nov>^, the fact is, in America it would almost seem that the
principal business of the people is to make for themselves
laws. The country is flooded with the literary products of
le'J-islation. Almost everybody who is related to legislation
feels himself bound either to put some bill through, which
is a law ; or what to him, in his relation to party, is quite
as important, to make a speech, or write one, and get
it in type before it is in voice, that the very next day's or
hour's mail may speed it to his whole constituency. Some
States, to get rid of the serious infliction of law mak-
ing, have replaced it by a code which is as unchangeable,
while in present force, as are the laws of the Maids and
Prussians, as set forth in the travels of the Dodd Family,
one of the cleverest of the latest works in its kind. In other
States, the intervals of legislative sittings are filled up by
preparing " Revised Statutes ; " and to such an extent, that
the revised will soon be a revision. 1 have absolutely been
told that one in an important position in , declared
that he rarely read new laws or revised statutes. Were
he to do more, he would have little time for anything else.
Now, in Russia, where apparently so little has been done
JOUE.NAL. 273
for culture, or where, we are told, tlie best endeavours have
resulted no other, we have almost a different race from the
American to deal with. It seems almost at first sight, of no
use to provide for education, so little has come of the at-
tempt. Yet here the provision exists, and doubtless prog-
ress is constantly made. There are schools of all kinds, —
Lancastrian and others, — public and private, — supported
by government, and by individuals. There are schools in
the churches, and as all sects are tolerated, all classes may
find schools for their children. The people are profoundly
skilled in the ceremonial of the Greek Church, and I have
never seen such devotion, such faithful performance of wor-
ship. I have heard, however, that the Emperor, while he
encourages education for the masses, is not very friendly to
the universities. I was told the University in St. Peters-
burg, which has had eight hundred students, has now only
three hundred, and this in consequence of an order of the
Emperor. On the other hand, in a recent work on Russia,
which I found in the library of the Victoria, on the Baltic,
and which deeply interested me, I see that in one of the
southern governments, or departments, there were in one
university, ninety professors. This account might lead one
to inquire if there may not be some special reason for the
reported special legislation concerning the St. Petersburg
University, if such have really been adopted. We know
that recent investigations of the management of the endow-
ments of Oxford University, — its colleges, or some of them,
— have showed a condition of things entirely diff'erent from,
and opposed to, those provided for by the founders of pro-
fessorships, or colleges, and more especially in regard to
the numbers and condition of those for whom those en-
dowments were especially designed, namely, yoor boys ; or
those whose only chances of culture could be secured by
such foundations. A neglect, a violation of a sacred duty,
is thus said to exist in highly cultivated, civilized England,
and which it will take the whole power of the government
274 JOURNAL.
to correct, — the crown only being able to restore those
foundations to their original position and purposes ; and the
present patronage of the crown growing out of an alleged
perversion of sacred trusts, is thought too important an item
in the exercise of power, to be yielded to what some re-
gard as demands of questionless justice. The Parliamentary
statements by committees of the present condition, the per-
version of the endowments referred to, are both curious, and
interesting. They show as distinctly, as does anything in
Russia, that what has long been, however in itself wrong,
has for its continuance the authority of usage, or precedent,
and that to disturb such a tenure, might involve some of the
most important related interests of the Empire. Again, in
England, some time since, Sir James Graham brought a bill
into the Commons, called the " Education, or Educational
Bill." It contained a system of universal culture, which
would embrace the children of the whole nation. It was
lost, because it provided that the Book of Common Prayer
should be used in the schools. The Dissenters defeated a
bill which proposed the profoundest national reform, and
defeated it because popular ignorance was felt to be better
than the possible extension of a form of worship, — of be-
lief, — of faith, — whose friends and defenders have been
amongst the greatest, and most venerated minds in England.
In Prussia, where, as we have seen, education has received
the aid and wisest patronage of a prince, whose nearest
companion and friend is Humboldt, — in Prussia, the boy
must leave the kingdom by stealth, or by direct royal per-
mission, if he or his parents prefer a foreign education to
that provided for the subject at home. Again, it was
remarked above, that government may and does get its
character from the popular culture, and America was referred
to as an example. But it would appear that education or
the extent and perfection of its means, is not always the
measure of the character of a government, especially in
regard to the liberty of the subject. In Austria, Prussia,
JOURNAL. 275
Denmark, and in the greater part, if not the ^vhole of Ger-
many, education is not only provided for by government,
but, as we have seen, is absolutely forced upon the people,
and the whole people. There is a penalty to be paid by the
parent for not sending children to school. But where is
military despotism more absolute than in Prussia, where
most has been done for popular culture ?
We have heard of the division of the Scotch Church
which has within a few years occurred, and the cause, viz.,
the presentation of a person of bad habits to a living, which
the seceders petitioned Parliament to annul. Parliament
could not, it dare not, lay the weight of a finger upon this
tremendous abuse of the power of presentation in the Old
Kirk. We read in the English papers of the vices of the
clergy, — drunkenness, horse-racing, or what not. But for
these and like offences, there is no remedy. The delin-
quent may be suspended from oifice, — in other words, get
his rates without service.
But what are all these facts ? They may be exceptions
to the rule, but seen from a distance, for instance in Amer-
ica, and under a totally different point of view from that
under which they are seen at home, they are regarded as
monstrous ; and amazement breaks forth that any nation,
having only a tolerable sense of public character, can tol-
erate such abuse for an instant. In other words, the exception
becomes the rule, and judgment is recorded accordingly.
In Europe, systems of whatever kind, are not changed in a
minute. Permanency is the rule. The old works well
enough ; and if the pressure is too outrageous, — too heavy
to be borne, — Secession happens, as in Scotland, or revol
tion, as elsewhere. The obnoxious incumbent may hav^
his
thin church, but his benefice is worth to him just what ,
was before. Russia modifies its educational patronage.
. ^ get
You cannot tell how strongly impressed was I witt" ^
. aters-
difierences between Europe and America, under whai
276 JOUKNAL.
aspect they were viewed. They have no sort of resemblance.
Conduct, which Mackintosh so wisely calls the "expres-
sion of character," — and manner, which, though of a hum-
hler source, is one of the pleasantest, most felicitous of
conventions, — how different are these in the two Conti-
nents. We, indeed, wear the French bonnet, and read the
English book ; but the American mind is not the English ;
nor is the American face the French, though both are
covered with the same bonnet. The difference is in con-
duct and manner. I do not mean so much in the greater
social moralities, as in all those nameless and so-called lesser
qualities, and their manifestations, which make up so much
of life, — its comfort, its luxury, and its attraction. You
can tell a Frenchman, before he says a word ; and the
Anglo-Saxon has only to speak, to show that he is not the
Anglo-American. The reason is not in my " philosophy."
The most extraordinary personage I saw abroad Avas the
serf. He certainly is a man without his accidents. " Mod-
ern degeneracy has not yet reached him." He is just where
he has always been, and may always be. He is small in
stature, thin, sharp in feature, with blue eyes, and yellowish
light hair. This colour may come of the Russian dust, for
it is certain that a serf never combs or brushes his hair.
The hair is very thick, and cut square off, all round. There
is no fine work here. On his head he has a very small cap,
and as mysterious to me, as to the keeping on, as was that
of the London Blue-coat boy. Sometimes the want of size
in the cap is increased by the loss of it. But the most
important part of a serf's costume is the schuhe. This, as
^^-.s said, is of sheepskin, dressed with the wool on, the
^^'>ol being next to the skin. Now the mode of wearing the
c^'m&e is not influenced at all by season. The summer, and
^^ ^ winter, both make it welcome. The lower dress of the
^^® ^ is anything, or nothing, as the case may be. What
meastate of things may be underneath the national costume,
rega
JOUKNAL. 277
seeing that the government does not encourage washing, I
may guess, but hardly dare say. Speaking of washing, I
was talking with my courier of what I had heard of the
serfs' ablutions, and which I had witnessed. It consists in
filling the mouth with water. After retaining it there a
short time, it is received from the mouth into the hollow
made by holding the hands together at their lower edges,
and swelling the backs out ; and lastly the face is washed by
this same water as clean as circumstances allow. The dry-
ing is not provided for. When I had finished my descrip-
tion to the courier, who is a Dane, he smiled, and said that
that was the mode of face-washing at his home when a boy.
The same indifference about costume prevails beyond the
serf. The serf is a slave. He is owned by another. He
belongs to the soil. He goes with it. Not long ago he
was sold off of the land, as is the present fact in regard to
the slave in America, the Republic. In scarce any other
state in the world, whether barbarous or civilized, is this
traffick in men, women, and children allowed, except amongst
ourselves, and under no possible arrangement could slavery
be more surely perpetuated -than by this. A worn-out Slave
State becomes a breeder of slaves for the market, and thou-
sands are produced in this way, merely to supply the de-
mand. To this is owing the extension of slavery. The new
soil introduced into the Republic, under the names of Ter-
ritories, or States, has been made into Slave States, wherever
the slave can be used. In Russia this trafiick has been abol-
ished by law. The serf is not desirous of liberty. He will
neither buy it, nor take it. He is a privileged man. As long
as he is a serf he must be supported by his owner in sick-
ness, infirmity, and old age. He knows all this, and gov-
erns himself accordingly. I was told he might work on his
own account, and pay as a sort of rent of himself, a certain
amount of his earnings to his owner. He may even get
rich. In the Nevskoi Prospect, a grand street in St. Peters-
24
278 joTJUNAii.
burg, are shops owned and occupied by serfs. Their owners
are rich, and live in great style. "^^
I was once looking out of a window in my hotel in ,
and seeing a labourer in a wagon, dressed in a very clean
white and blue striped shirt, I made some remark upon it
to Mr. , who kept the house. Said he, " That is his
only shirt, and he will not change it till it is worn out.
In my neighbour's yard many men work, — they are called
yard-men. Two of them have tAvo shirts apiece, and are
thought to be excessively particular in regard to clean linen."
This utter recklessness in these orders about dress, — per-
sonal neatness, influences deeply domestic concerns. A
noble family comes to a city to pass the wdnter. It contains a
crowd of serfs. The number of servants determines style.
A great many rooms are taken. Comfort is the object,
and eating the business. Hence cooking makes the prin-
cipal concern of the family. Regularity as to hours is a
minor moral. The consequence is the gradual accumulation
of much it were better to remove ; until, when the spring
* Tke pi'ivileges of serfdom are seriously questioned. Tke Czar has
talked of the emancipation of the serfs. The successor of Nicholas, it is
said, has proposed this. The nobles, I hear, oppose it. Now, if such a
plan or pirrpose is in the Emperor's heart and mind, it will as surely be
accomplished as the sun shines in July in St. Petersburg. It will be a
curious fact, will it not, if Kussia gets the start of us, — the des-
potism be in advance of the Kepublic, — in the race of freedom ? Think
of it, that in that uncivilized, barbarous, warlike, for so they call the Rus-
sian people, the near denizen of the Pole, — think of the dark, benighted
Russian, abolishing slavery before America, the U. S. A. If that day
come, it will be darker for us, than is the Russian winter, for its people.
We shall be alone among the nations, which are nations. Why, the
Ottoman has abolished, and so have aU the states of Barbary. We
shall be alone. Do you think that any American President will ever
have the rashness to recommend, in an inaugural address, what the
Czar has begun to talk about, and will surely accomplish ? But the
nobles object. Yes. But do you for a moment think they can prevent
so divine a purpose ? Other nobles of other lands might. But they of
Russia ne^er will even think of doing so.
JOUENAL. 279
comes, and with, it a general and special thawing out, few
things can exceed or equal the reUquicB of that noble house-
keeping. Painting, papering, washing, &c., are the pro-
cesses which immediately follow its departure.
While travelling in Russia, I met with a very nice Eng-
lish lady, who was my fellow-traveller for several days.
She had been about one thousand miles from St. Petersburg,
as a governess to a noble Russian family, — a teacher of one
little girl. She spoke of the strong contrasts between do-
mestic life there and England, — of the carelessness in
regard to matters about which the rule of English life is
so severe. She had been in Russia two years. The place
was perfectly beautiful. The grounds were in the highest
state of cultivation, with hot-houses for all sorts of fruits, —
in short, having everything to make the place a paradise.
She said she always called it one. And yet, with all this
external care, the national in-door customs Vv^ere to her in
most extraordinary contrast. This lady had been highly
pleased with the family ; had been most kindly treated, and
what she said expressed surprise more than censure. There
was a little romance in the story. Miss was alone.
She had made a journey of two thousand miles from her
home to her Russian residence, exposed to all sorts of
chances, but sustaining herself perfectly, — adapting herself
to whatever occurred with admirable facility. She was
handsome, and of excellent manners. I had much conver-
sation with the people about me, for they differed from
many groups which have fallen in my way abroad, some of
whom were so wholly disagreeable and repulsive, though
apparently of good birth and culture, that you shrunk in-
tuitively from them, as hardly belonging to the race, and
who gave you no desire to study the new variety or species.
A man can make himself the most disagreeable creature
beneath God's heavens. With my present party was suffi-
cient variety, but very attractive elements ; and this young
280 JOURNAL.
lady especially ministered to the current pleasure. I talked
to her often, and always found her very cultivated, and very
happy in expressing both knowledge and thought. But the
romance. I learned she left England on account of an
attachment which was not agreeable at home, and had been
in the heart of Russia for repose, for useful occupation, and
its products. She had been absent two years, but had not
forgotten what she had left at home. She was now return-
ing with a settled purpose to be married. I learned this
from a lady fellow-traveller ; and it was pretty clear from
the distinctness with which her companion communicated
her purpose to her, that the sentiment which two Russian
winters could not freeze out, would have its way, though
that way might not be smooth. So goes the world. Such
is life everywhere.
Few things arrested my attention more in Russia, than
the extent of the Church, the provision for w^orship, and the
power of the priesthood. The high priest is the Emperor
himself, — the head of the Church, as of everything else in
his Empire. The position of the Emperor to the Church, or
his power in regard to its administration, may be inferred
from this historical fact. The patriarchal dignity of Mos-
cow having been abused, and a new patriarch being about to
be chosen, after the death of Adria, 1702, Peter the Great
presented himself with the words, " I am your Patriarch,"
and in 1721 the whole church government was intrusted to a
college of bishops and secular clergy, called the Holy Synod,
first at Moscow, now at St. Petersburg. Under such a sys-
tem it can hardly be otherwise but that the priesthood
should yield to the Emperor. I was again and again told
that this was the case, and that the submission is as perfect
as is that of the serf, or the soldier. He rules as by divine
right. When the people petitioned him not to build the
Moscow and St. Petersburg Raihvay, as it would seriously
affect their intercourse in the interior, and their settled
JOURNAL. 281
business on the old roads, his ans^ver, as reported to me,
was, " God makes the railway," and all objections were
withdrawn. What is the best government in such a state ?
Is it not just that which now exists ? Does not the univer-
sal condition it has produced, and maintains, require it ? Is
not such a controul necessary, where no other exists ? Are
not the people of Russia children in fact, as v.^ell as in laid ?
And must they not be treated as such ? The man would
laugh at the punishment which the child keenly feels. He
must be restrained by physical force, and punished with
comparatively a terrible severity. Capital punishment is
abolished in Russia. A bad government is felt to be such,
the moment a better one is demanded. The present govern-
ment, — this supreme despotism, — may be the best now.
The time of a better one will declare itself, whenever
is the sure progress of civilization.
The censorship is very rigidly enforced. You have a
book in your trunk, a road-book, or other. It may be taken
from you as soon as found, and sent to the censor. He ex-
amines it. If it contain nothing which by any construction
can be regarded as dangerous to the Empire, it is returned.
If any question arise, it v/ill be kept till you leave the
country. Now it is well known that the Emperor, unlike
Frederick ihe Great, who, we have seen, took counsel of
nobody, — an autocrat in the severest sense of the word, —
the Czar collects around him the most distinguished men he
can find. He fosters, honours such. He is himself highly
cultivated, and remarkable for his intellectual powers, and
for their wise uses. He knows the value of the means of
self-culture. Yet with all this, he keeps books under the
strictest watch. He questions what they may contain, or
what they may suggest ; and this, notwithstanding a popular
ignorance, said to be wholly unparalleled, and notwithstand-
ing the large means in use for the higher classes of liberal
culture. There is an almost equal jealousy of foreigners.
They are, after all, living books, and are read without the
24*
282 JOURNAL.
authority of the censorship. This jealousy shows itself in
inconvenient forms. I have given an example in the Rus-
sian passport system.
When I entered Russia, I was told to leave politics be-
hind me. It was a contraband article, and must neither be
entered, nor uttered. I was told that somebody would
watch me wherever I went, and report at court what I
might say in the street ; that walls would speak, and a
bird in the air would tell the matter. Now all this seemed
very strange to me, and I took early and special pains to
inquire into the subject, and of those who might be sup-
posed to know most concerning it. From them I learned
that nothing more was expected in Russia from visitors,
than the safety and courtesy of nations everywhere demand-
ed ; that it would be in very bad taste to go about to abuse
a government concerning matters of which a stranger might
be wholly ignorant ; and that a state which protected the
foreigner, admitted him to the first social intercourse, opened
to him its institutions for learning, for art, for every im-
portant human interest, deserved not only courtesy, but
gratitude, from him, and from those who were so generously
provided for. I certainly received nothing but kindness.
I was not robbed in the streets, nor on the railway, hotel,
nor in the crowded assembly, though other guide boards
caution the traveller specially concerning these. I saw no
staring notices, in large capitals, to beware of " pickpockets,"
&c., in these places of public resort. I v/ent out, and came
in, with as much freedom from all fear, as at home. I am
free, however, to confess, that I did sometimes feel under a
restraint which was not always agreeable. I did feel as if
more than common prudence was sometimes necessary in
the freedom and confidence of social intercourse, to prevent
one from saying that which, by a forced construction, might
involve him in trouble, — and I am free to confess, that I
breathed rather more freely on the broad Baltic, than on the
Neva. Letter writing had its cautious. My correspondence,
JOURNAL. 283
which was rare on the Continent, was mainly done in bank-
ing houses. When I wanted money, I drew on Messrs.
Baring & Co., London, and left with the banker in St.
Petersburg, or elsewhere, a letter to my agent in America,
giving him notice of the draft, together with a word of my
whereabout, and health to my family, with a request that
my letter should go with the draft to the London house.
Thus were the claims of business and of the family an-
swered at the same time, and as comprehensive a correspon-
dence sustained, as might well be carried on, and without
the least adulteration of foreign affairs. I sometimes met
with social annoyances. Thus a person I sat with every
day at table, , used to address and talk with me in
French. Nothing but the apparent kindness of this, my
vis-a-vis, would have led me to attempt to talk with him at
all. A gentleman, with whom I had become acquainted,
having seen my embarrassment, said, "That person who talks
to you in French, and apparently to your annoyance, is an
Englishman, and talks French for some reason best known
to himself. I would take the liberty to advise you to say
nothing in his hearing in English, which you are not willing
everybody else should understand. From his official posi-
tion, I would avoid him."
Let me add a little to what I have said of the Emperor.
Qualities are universally attributed to him on the Continent,
which place him very high in the roll of statesmen. I have
this day talked of Russia with one who has had large op-
portunity, from an official position, to know much of what is
going on there. (I am writing in Denmark.) He spoke of
the vast executive power of Nicholas, — of his wide knowl-
edge, — of his skill, or tact in seeing what was to be done,
and how to do it. He instanced his intervention in the
case of Austria and Hungary. He was opposed, he said,
and I have heard the same said again by others, — Nicholas
was opposed by his ministers, or by those with whom he
was in the habit of conferring more or less, as to the part he
284 JOURNAL.
meant to take in public affairs. But lie v/ent on, and as
tlie person referred to said, he had saved Europe. Austria
otherwise would certainly have been overpowered, and a uni-
versal war would have desolated the Continent, — a war not for
liberty, but for plunder. Then again in the recent pacifica-
tion of Denmark, by which the succession has been settled,
and the Duchies of Holstein and Schleswig have been re-
united to Denmark, — in this important measure, Russia
had taken a principal part. Prussia was opposed to this
arrangement, for she had determined to have made the
Duchies its portion of the prey, and because she could in
this way get important ports, of which she had great need ;
and having these, she could at once create a navy. Russia
opposed this scheme. She had an hereditary lien upon
Denmark, or the Duchies, but was willing to abandon this
claim, and so sacrifice the addition of this kingdom forever
to her own vast territory, if Prussia agreed to the pacifica-
tion. This was at length accomplished. By the interven-
tion of Russia in the affairs of Austria and Hungary, a loan
of eighty millions rubles silver, became necessary. It was
said this w^as raised to meet the cost of the railway, which
exceeded the estimates by that amount. I heard it said
again and again, that not a copeck of this loan was used on
the road, but was used in the military service referred to.
You will complain, I fear, that I am so long and tedious
about Nicholas. But I assure you that nobody who passes
any time in Russia, and who says anything about it, can
fail to say- something of the Emperor. He is Russia. I
saw him only in his drosky, as he drove rapidly through the
streets of his capital. But I saw him in his works every-
where. He has created his own memorial before he dies.
Well may it be said on his monument, " circumspice," —
look around. He receives the astonishing work of Peter
Velikiy otherAvise, the Great, — the magnificent, — a city,
created in a marsh ; but how added to in all that a great
capital of a vast empire demands, and with what success,
JOURNAL. 285
I left my account of the labouring class, the mujiks before
finishing it, and there are some things in their modes of life,
character, and amusements in themselves, and in their rela-
tions to the government, which may make the sketch more
complete. They are as perfect fixtures as the Empire it-
self. They are always the same. I have seen them in the
morning, the noon, the evening, going to their earliest
work, and at the close of day, when they were going to their
homes. I have seen them in the church. The same care-
lessness of costume, the same entire leisure in all sorts of
labour, the same want of interest in the affairs of others,
especially where mutual aid is required. A word of their
diet. This knows little or no change, except in the fre-
quent and severe fasts of their church, and these consist in
no diet at all. The black, and as it seemed to me, acid
bread, — the national bread, — and a drink called Quas, form
the principal articles of food. The bread has an agreeable
aromatic smell, but the taste to me was not enticing. The
taste was positive, a quality which makes many things not
agreeable at first, exceedingly so by use ; the use of which
was begun with reluctance, if not disgust, making it abso-
lutely a necessity afterwards. I asked often if this bread
was ever thought to produce disease. With us, rye is
thought at times to do so, and is known to produce certain
medicinal eff'ects. The answer was always in the negative,
and long observation of its use had showed that it was the
very best bread for the labourer. It is comparatively slow of
digestion, and this is regarded an advantage where food is
taken at long intervals. At all events, this bread is prefer-
red both by sick and well, to all other ; and we have seen
that among the first marks of convalescence from disease, is
the strong desire to return to the common diet, to the
abandonment of the white bread, and other delicacies of the
hospital.
The national drink is Qiias. It is the product of the fer-
mentation of grain, and is of a very taking colour. It is
286 JOURNAL.
made by the people everywhere. It is as much relished as
is the bread, and, it may be, for the same reason. It is said
to be cooling, quenches thirst, is nutritious, and in no quan-
tities intoxicating. Having heard so much of Quas^ I was
desirous to try it, and on the railway to Moscow I had an
excellent chance for the indulgence. Wherever the train
stopped, whatever else might be wanting for refreshment,
Quas never was. It was brought out in bucket fulls, and
sold for almost nothing. I took a glass full, as did most of
my fellow travellers, and attempted to drink it, but the ex-
periment failed entirely. It hardly reached so far from my
lips as my teeth, when as by a functional instinct, it rushed
back again, and escaped to the ground, to my exceeding joy.
A Russian gentleman who partook largely of this luxury,
and commended it most strongly to me, was not a little
amused at the result of my trial of his national beverage.
Quas was said not to be intoxicating. I have seen but
one drunken person in Russia. This fact is explained by
another. Drinking, brandy drinking, for the popular in-
toxicating drink, is called brandy, — is in some sort periodi-
cal. The labourer will work the whole week. On Saturday
evenings he will go to the drinking places in the outskirts
of the city, and there drink, it may be, all night. He may
do the same other nights, but for the day, I saw but one
instance of this frequent result elsewhere of the practice.
This drink called brandy, is, I believe, a whiskey, a distil-
lation from grain, and to increase its pungency, a small, dark
reddish, or greenish pepper is added to it when drank. I saw
large quantities of these peppers in the bazars where gro-
ceries were sold. Whiskey drinking has a large financial,
or political bearing. A vast revenue is derived from it. I
think I was told, if memory serve, seventy or eighty millions
rubles silver is the excise on the distillation in first hands.
Then comes the retail excise. You see how important is
this drinking custom to government. Its revenue, I was
told, exceeded that from any other source. There is not
jouii:nal. 287
the least check to it by government. The license is largely-
taxed, and cheerfully paid for. Russia is not alone in the
revenue it derives directly from national customs, involving
national vices. England is another example. The Gin
Palace is, in London, everywhere, and its customers are of
all classes, from the half-clad, squalid beggar, to the best
dressed of its frequenters. It stands open on Sundays,
while the bread shop next to it is closed and locked ; for the
law makes food-selling a violation of the Lord's day, while
it sanctions the Gin Palace, and its terrible, infamous traffick.
It first debases men to the army, drunkenness being the
surest incentive to enlistment, and then supplies the funds
for the soldiers' vv^retchcd pay. I saw no drunkenness on the
Continent of Europe. In England I saw it in its most dis-
gusting expression, — for instance, a woman with her face
bleeding, her clothes torn to rags, roaring curses, in the
rough hands of the police, on her way to prison. I saw
this from my window at the Waterloo in Liverpool. I have
a remembered drunkenness in England, which I saw to-
wards half a century ago, when a student in London. I
mean what I saw on Sunday evenings in my strolls to the
outskirts of the city, and was among the crowds who were
coming from the gardens, and other places of resort in the
suburban surroundings. Nothing could go beyond that
degradation. What effect the discovery of the Gin Palace has
had in diminishing the popularity of the old resort, I cannot
say. It is a modern invention, but I have not learned that
it has contributed to that uprightness in which we are told
man was created.
In France they manage this better. The popular drinking
takes place outside the barrier. And this, because wine
and its congeners can be drank at an expense less the duty,
the octroi, which is paid for all food and drink which enters
Paris. There is drinking enough there, and men must be
sobered again, I think, before they return to the city, for I
certainly saw no drunkenness in Paris.
288 JOUKNAL.
I have been constantly struck with the social dispositions,
and with their expression on the Continent, and have referred
to it before. The lower classes, so called, in Russia have their
meetings. These are as simple in their preparation as they
can well be. They have for eating a sweet substance con-
tained in black pods, or hollow canes, and which is very cheap.
I knew it as soon as I saw it. We boys used to get it
in Newport, my native place, from vessels in the tropical
trade, and we prized it highly. It is a black, adhesive sub-
stance, and very tasteful, called Locust. This with Quas,
whiskey, and bread, forms the entertainment of these simple
people. I was in one of the public w'alks of a Sunday
evening, in Moscow, where were men and women selling
various things, and saw upon a table, and then on many, my
old friend the Locust. I bought some of it, and carefidly
stowed it in my luggage for you. I have spoken of the
places of congregation for pleasure in the outskirts of St.
Petersburg. In its neighbourhood, are the Summer
Islands, so called, to which resort fashion, and unfashion,
in coach, on horse, on foot, for evening entertainments.
In Russia, the perpetual day, much favours these enter-
tainments. It attracts the American much, this endless
system of public amusement in foreign countries. We
have no such thing ; nothing approaching to it. I have
sometimes wondered how the people abroad are able to
give so much time and money to such objects. I should
say that Sundays, and other holidays, the latter of which
are very frequent in the Greek Church, are specially
devoted to amusements, after worship or Mass is over,
by the labourer ; while the nobility and gentry devote other
days also to the same objects. The roads at such times
are full. The public houses and grounds are crowded. But
no noise, no riot, but real downright enjoyment. I some-
times pitied the little children dragging along the dusty
roads, and the mothers too, who were carrying their babes in
their arms. But it was a lost grief, all seemed contented,
and all seemed happy.
JOURNAL. 289
You know that I always look with interest at industry,
which is work, to an end. I have been a worker all my life,
and many times have I lamented that I had not chosen a
mechanic trade, instead of physic. This old predilection
was in full blast in Europe, and whenever there was chance,
I have seen men at work. I say chance, for you know that
women do most of the out-door, as well as in-door work, in
this Old World. But the Russian labourer. He is of all
men the most moderate, quiet, noiseless man in the world.
You are reminded by him of the builders of Solomon's
Temple, in which the noise of the hammer or saw was not
heard. The Russian is never in a hurry. He is driving a
horse in a cart or wagon, loaded or not. He goes on his
way with most commendable moderation. The pleasure
driver is a very Jehu ; the streets are too wide for easy col-
lision, and he who sins by injurious contact, has to pay a most
heavy penalty. I had fair opportunity to watch work in
which absence of excitement was remarkable. The Russian
carpenter, so far as I saw, uses but one tool, a broadaxe.
With this he cuts and shapes his work, — smooths, mortices,
dovetails it. In short he does everything with it which his
mystery demands, and I have never seen better work done
than with this one tool. What he may have in his shop
beside, I know not. He may have all tools. I only speak
of what I see. I have seen houses in progress, and you
cannot tell how accurate are the joints, — how symmetrical
is the product. I have heard and read that interpolations
have been made on the old apparatus, or tools. But I
chronicle j ust what I have seen. The street cleaner uses a
wooden shovel.
There w^as on the road to Moscow an incident which
attracted me, and of which I meant to have made special
record. We stopped for a few moments for refreshments.
On the platform was a lady, dressed with much care, and
really very handsome, who found her refreshment in smoking
a cigar, — not a cigarette, but a veritable good-sized, and
25
290 JOUHNAL.
very dark coloured cigar. She wore the whitest kid gloves,
and the contrast between these and the black cigar was
indeed most noticeable. The lady had left her bonnet in
the carriage, and was as much at home in the open air as if
in her parlour.
I have thus put down for your edification some things
which come before me, or were heard, concerning Russian
life ; and some of the thoughts of which my observations
have been father. How imperfect seems individual and
national development. Russia reposes in and upon the past.
Its latest progress has often been made by foreigners.
Americans have been most liberally employed. American
engineers built the Moscow and St. Petersburg Railway,
and they have made the vast material for running it. Nay,
they are permanently employed for keeping everything in
repair, or for making the new. The late Major Whistler,
who begun the railway, and made vast progress towards
completing it, but who, in the midst of his labours, was cut
off by the cholera, — Major Whistler was the personal friend
of Nicholas, and upon the most intimate terms with him.
The splendid bridge which crowns the Neva in the ciiy, was
finished by an American engineer, at least, so was I told in
St. Petersburg. I have since learned that the material only
was furnished for finishing the bridge, by an American ; if
my memory serve, Mr. Harrison, of Baltimore. Progress
or change among the people, or by its head, however, is very
slowly made. I said that responsible men had offered to
the Emperor to bring water by pipes into the city from the
Neva, which passes through it ; and that others had pro-
posed to introduce gas, and to distribute both everywhere,
and upon reasonable terms. The Emperor declined the
proposal at once. I asked why ? I was told that the
novelty of the scheme seemed the only objection to it. The
Russian has always dipped his water out of the Neva, and
there ran the river ; and hands, arms, buckets and baAls,
remained for use unto the present day. And as to the gas
JOURNAL. 291
matter, oil was as abundant and as pure as ever. If it were
sometimes frozen up in the lamps in the long cold night of
winter, the gas might fail too ; and as to the serfs stealing
the oil out of the lamps to drink, a use to which I heard
alleged it was occasionally put ; why, the police must look
to that. So that, as it was with the fathers, so is it now
with the children.
But this relates to the physical. How is it with the
moral, the intellectual, the religious ? Its philosophy is
fatalism. Its faith is predestination. The product of their
union is religious repose. Peter the Great died in the
twenty-fifth year of his reign. The monarchs, I was told,
since Peter, down to Nicholas I., the reigning Emperor,
have all died at a like time from their accession ; at least no
one has exceeded it. The same fate, it is said, awaits suc-
cessors.
One cannot leave such a country unmoved. Its history,
— the slow, but steady growth which the annexation of
empires has so faithfully fostered, — the fusion of conti-
nents, of nations, of races, into one, — the universal order,
the product of a government which never rests, and never
tires, — the general aspect of content, — its exhaustless re-
sources, — the hatred of change, the only tolerated one
being the addition of new territory, — the wide popular
ignorance, and the apparent national indifference concerning
it, — the patronage of art and science, — the indigenous, as
well as that of foreign lands, — serfdom tolerated without a
murmur ; nay, nay, held to, because securing an old age of
comfort, for the youth, and manhood, of toil : look where
we may, — study the problem of Russian life as earnestly,
and as wisely as we may, we must come from our study aston-
ished at a present which is a continuous past, and for which
the future seems to have nothing to bestow. But the time
of a truer, a wider civilization, is coming, and may be now
at the door. Humanity asks in prayer, that its advent may
be in peace, and its consummation a nation's felicity.
292 JOTJENAL.
Den3IAiik:. TImrsday, July 1st. — Left St. Petersburg
for Copenhagen about one p. M., in the English steamer
Victoria, of Hull, England, Captain Kreuger. Having a
little time on hand at Cronstadt, I, with a fellow passenger,
left the boat, took a drosky, and drove about the place.
This is an immense naval depot, and its docks are crowded
with large ships of war, rotting at their w^harves, it taking,
as I was told, about five years to complete that process
for the largest three-decker, of which I saw many. Mer-
chant vessels abound from all nations, but much fewer from
America than formerly ; say twenty-five, where there were
a hundred. The defences of Cronstadt, within itself and
neighbourhood, are of the most imposing appearance. There
is a large granite structure of immense strength, four stories
high, with holes in each, each occupied by a largest size
cannon. This is in the yard itself. Then, in the sea, the
Baltic has fortresses on every island near Cronstadt, built
or building, having the same character of strength, which is
in the Navy Station. Activity is everywhere, and from the
"universal evidence of preparation, the thought will come,
that some great movement must be at the door. There is
an establishment here for the education of young men,
cadets, for the navy. Masts are here, with spars and rig-
ging, for practice, with other appliances for learning and
for practising the wild trade of war. But the world is at
peace all the while, and has been so for forty years. Why
such notes of preparation ? Cronstadt has the feature, and
expression, of such regions. Short jackets and tarpaulins,
are everywhere, while business seemed the only order of the
time. In our drive we called on the Episcopal clergyman,
an acquaintance of my friend, and found a beautiful parson-
age, but Mr. out, and Mrs. not visible. We
proceeded to the naval region. We went quietly into the
grounds upon a fine road, congratulating each other at our
good fortune in getting along so well. The felicity, how-
ever, was short ; for in very simple Russian, which my com-
JOURNAL. 293
panioii well understood, an orderly enticed us off of the
road-way by a milder method than by a pitchfork. We
soon learned that the drosky was the offender, and that we
might walk where we pleased. So on we went, and exam-
ined things at our will. In the construction of a new dock
which we visited, tools used in digging were found deep
down in the earth, and of which no one living knew the
history. Upon examining some old records, it was discov-
ered that Peter the Great had attempted to make a dock-
yard in this very spot, and that these were the tools with
which he, and his men, worked. We passed an hour or
more walking and driving round, and returned in a Cron-
stadt water-boat to the steamer. After some difficulties
and delay from a head wind and crowded neighbourhood,
we got under weigh, and rushed into the then rough and
stormy Baltic. The voyage was short, though with a head
wind and turbulent sea, and accompanied by as much sea-
sickness as you would see on a summer's four days.
You must go to sea if you would know a word, a syllable,
a letter, about life and character, as you must go to Russia
to know all about men. Sometimes I was less sick. Not
so at others. There was no true sympathy in this matter.
The 4th came, the " glorious fourth." It happened on a
Sunday, and I was to have given an oration all about union,
and like trifles ; but I could not utter a word, though very
little " stuck in my throat." I could not even do so much
as touch my glass of water with my next neighbour's glass
of something else. My companions were mixed as to
tongues, manners, opinions, &c. But as no man of taste
ever frets, or any man at sea ever does anything which is not
for the general joy, our differences produced no severe
antagonisms, and we all kept along with the steamer.
Monday, July 5th. — To-day we reached Copenhagen, the
capital of Denmark. It was a warm, bright day, and I
rejoiced in it, for cold enough had it been at sea. What
with wind, rain, nausea, and often something worse, I had
25*
294 JOUKXAL.
suffered with cold. But here was rest and warmth, and the
prospect of a hed-room in which you might sneeze, cough,
&c., without disturbing the equanimity of a neighbour, by
leading him to suppose that you had done it or those things,
with a special purpose to annoy him. Now there were in
the Victoria's cabin seven such neighbours, surrounding a
space just three feet by seven. To prevent inextricable con-
fusion, such as thrusting one of your legs into a leg of
another man's nether adornments, while he was appropriat-
ing the other to his own use, — to prevent such malapropos,
as far as possible, we agreed to dress by instalments, the
curtains being closely drawn, as by protocol of the five high
and great contracting powers, and with as little splashing of
water in our ablutions, and other sacrifices to the graces,
as possible. I soon tired of the whole horror, and so,
except one night, I slept sofa-wise in the general cabin or
saloon. Go to sea for human nature ; but tarry on land
forever for yourself.
You cannot imagine my thoughts or guess my experiences
in my first moments in Copenhagen. I felt as if I had all
at once got among a new race, so different was the general
and particular aspect of what I had just left, from all I now
saw. That was perfect in its kind from the extreme of its
magnificence, down through all its stages, to its lowest.
This, too, was perfect in its kind. Here was a people in its
own costume, every one of them. Not a beard, nor mous-
tache, nor whisker. It seemed as if the everlasting Sab-
bath had come, and clean faces, clean clothes, &c. &c., were
the order of the day. I thought I had been years north
instead of days ; and the change was greater, as such
crowds of events met with in Eussia now seemed to have
required so much time for their enactment, for in their
extreme interest they had replaced all others. My courier
is a perfect hand-book here, his "native land," — as he is
everywhere else. We passed along through the streets.
" There," said he, " lives the English Ambassador, — he
JOTJRisrAL. 295
has been here thirty years. There lives the Russian. That
is the Governor's house. This is Prince , and that the
King's," &c. &c. I did now take courage, as did the
Apostle when he saw the Three Taverns. So we drove to
the Hotel Royal, opposite the Christiansburg Palace, and in
a very nice place have I now my present abode.
I have said nothing of our leave-taking on the deck of
the Victoria, — a queenly steamer indeed. I am sure, laugh
as you may " at this life's weaknesses," this going touched
me. With some of the passengers I had passed most of
my Russian life, which seemed so long. In strange lands,
strangers are nearer than others when at home ; and I felt
that I owed these friends much. Then the captain had done
his whole duty in storm, and in some peril. I had been so
much pleased with him, that I wrote him a note in which to
say that which might not have been otherwise said so well.
I felt sorry to leave so many in whom I had found so much
kind feeling, and which, in its expression, had done so much
to make me feel that I was cared for. But the parting is
over, and I can do no more, and could have done no less,
than to make record of Avhat, at the time, so much pleased
me, and which I shall not forget.
The table d'hote at the Royal was at three, and a very
good dinner did I get, — the more relished, it may be, for
my recent Baltic sea-sick experiences. We had lobster
soup, boiled fish, pigeon pie, roast veal, &c., and among
those things which followed were the finest strawberries I
have ever seen. The manner of eating strawberries was
new. A soup, or deep dessert-plate is taken, and more
than half filled with the delicious fruit. Then finely
powdered sugar, — and the northern sugar is the best
in the \^orld, — this sugar is sifted over the berries, and
then the plate is taken in charge, and strongly shaken by
both hands, until the sugar so completely covers the fruit,
that the red is "one white." Then cream, which is cream,
bathes the whole in its unstinted abundance. This incor-
296 JOURNAL.
poration of tlie three makes one of tlie most delicious ter-
tium quids in the world, and I recommend the manner of it
to the thought and deed of every true fancier of the best in
eating. Dinner dispatched, I started with my man Friday
for the Palace. The objects of my special interest were the
collections of Northern Antiquities, and the Museum of
Thorwaldsen. Under the guidance of Prof. Thompson,
whose departments are history, antiquities, and related mat-
ters, I went through the cabinets and halls of Scandinavian
remains ; and admirable and curious are they in relation to
the subjects which their contents illustrate. These collec-
tions have been made, — and are daily added to, — because of
their immediate connection with Danish history, and are
arranged after a manner to trace this from the earliest to the
present day. They embrace a period of three thousand
years, and are arranged under three periods. The first con-
tains the specimens which belong to the Pagan period of
the state. The second, such as characterize the Catholic.
The third, the Protestant. It is utterly impossible for me
to give you any notion of the perfect illustration of impor-
tant historical periods which is furnished by this method of
arrangement of such vast and admirably preserved materials,
and which may be studied with entire ease, and real plea-
sure. They form, and are, a history of a nation, traced
through ages after ages, in permanent records, — the used
material of every-day life. Nothing can be clearer than the
steps of that progress by which Denmark is just what she
is. Most striking harmonies are traced among the different
periods of this history everywhere. You have all sorts of
tools, — implements of industry, — of war, — articles per-
taining to the table furniture, — to dress, especially its
ornamental departments, as rings, bracelets, con^bs, &c.
They have all their characteristic forms, but modified as
taste advances. Especially is the material changed. At
first, we have stone, — especially for tools of industry, war,
&c. Then metal, — as copper, silver, gold. Last comes
JOURIS-AL. 297
iron, the most useful of all, but the least often found native,
and the most difficult to be made malleable. The swords of
the first period are of copper. They are very small, are
without hilts, and the handle so small, so short, as to lead
one to suppose that the race which used them was of much
smaller stature, or had much smaller hands than its suc-
cessors. Tools bear a remarkable resemblance to those now
in use, — and so do stirrups, bridle bits, spurs, showing,
as do the exhumations in Pompeii and Herculaneum, how
completely has the present been anticipated, by or in, the
long past. Ornamental articles are of gold, — solid gold.
I saw one massive golden collar, made of two rings, one
M'ithin the other, and moveable, large enough to go over the
head, — and so coming together as to present the two rings
as one, round the neck. They were truly splendid, and as
bright as when made, and were dug from some of the ear-
liest Scandinavian tumuli. What is of special interest in
these collections, to me at least, is the fact that explorations
are constantly in hand, and new things are every day, —
yes, this day, brought to light. These were particularly
j)ointed out. Now this collection is not the product of
national curiosity, or worser, of national vanity. Its objects
are sought for and preserved as portions of national history,
which is ultimately the history of the race, and so belongs
to all times, to all historical periods, — revealing the moral,
— the intellectual, — the progress of civilization, from its
starting point, and reaching in an unbroken series down to
the latest times. Rarely have I been more satisfied, and
taught, too, in my wanderings, than by the hours I passed
in th:se halls of the long and great unknown.
When I said taught, just now, I had vividly in memory
my obligations to Prof. Thompson. We were all obliged
to him. Visitors were constantly arriving, women and
children, among the rest. I went some time earlier than
others, and could see and observe most. The Professor
spoke English well, with an accent, indeed, but always with
298 JOUHNAL.
perfect distinctness. And so lie did oilier languages, and
adapted himself to his audiences as soon as he learned that
his own language was not understood. Every new party
was an object of interest to him, and he would repeat again
and again -what he said, in order to gratify everybody.
JNTothing was kept locked up, or omitted, which could please
his large auditory. He said to me, " Professor, now see, —
I show dis for de shild, — and see, they will like it." And
again, " I show dis for the womens, and look at dem when
I show dese." The effect was always produced. Interest
was excited, and gratified. He looked to produce im-
pressions which might be permanent and useful. Perhaps
some of the agency was in the kindly, original, and very
distinct manner in which he expressed himself. He took
nie alone, when he was at leisure, and showed me objects of
special interest, — but in the great amount he spoke to all,
and for all. He shovv^ed me, in a room devoted to the sub-
ject, antiquities of American aborigines, with specimens of
existing works of art amongst them. What most please
the traveller whose time allows him little room for parti-
culars, however important, is the exhibition of character
they present, — of national character. Here were most
rare and curious specimens, in various arts, of a remote peo-
ples, existing under various circumstances, — theologies, —
arts, — sciences, — governments, — held in trust for the peo-
ple, with a man of great and various learning placed over
the whole, to secure to it the best possible arrangement,
and security, and to present it freely to the whole people.
Such means of popular culture cannot be otherwise than
useful. In no part of Europe I have visited, and in no part
of America, is the obligation of education so enforced, so
despotically, I may say, insisted upon, as in Denmark.
This is a small state, not more than two millions, and from
this very cause is it the more able to see the requirements
of government practically obeyed. But, with all this provi-
sion for elementary learning, great collections in various
JOTJKIS'AL. 299
kinds are made, of what will interest and enlighten, — yes,
elevate the public mind and heart, and to these the whole
public, — men, women, and children, — may freely come.
The royal patronage of science has been extended to Ame-
rica, and the gold medal for astronomical discoveries, has
been recently awarded by the King of Denmark to a daugh-
ter of Massachusetts, Miss Maria Mitchell, of Nantucket, —
the only living lady, so far as I know, who has, through Royal
hands, received the more than regal testimonial of a science,
which she has done so much to add to, and to illustrate.
I begged Prof. T. to come to America, and showed him
how easily it could be done. He laid his hand upon his
abundant locks, and alluding to the silver among the brown,
said, " Ah ! this says, no." I laughed, and asked his age.
Why, children, he was but a boy to this aged friend of
yours, standing here in a Danish Palace, thousands of
miles from his home. I said Prof. T. is a learned man, but
he is as simple, and playful as a child. He reminded me of
the late Dr. Bowditch, and of Prof. Agassiz, in his hearty,
warm, living, playful manner. Some men can afford to
play. Their moral and intellectual wealth is too large, and
too generously used, to allow the most perfect naturalness,
simplicity, yes, playfulness, to lessen either our affection, or
our respect. Do they not add to both ?
I had given to Prof. T. at my entrance, my name and
country, and it turned out not long afterward, that my
name had been heard of before, for a gentleman stepped up
to me, at a moment when I was unoccupied, and said he
heard me give my name, and begged to ask if I were the
Dr. Channing whose works he had read with so much in-
interest. I told him I was not, that he was my brother,
and that he had been dead several years. As he was turn-
ing from me, I asked his address, saying it would give me
pleasure to call on him, or to see him at my hotel. He
nov\' came very near me, and in a low voice and confused
manner, said something as a reason for not answering me,
300 JOURNAL.
and asked wliere I stopped. I told him ; wlien lie said lie
was at the same hotel. As he was about to leave me, he
said in a voice perfectly distinct and loud, " How is Nor-
ton ? " I said I left him well ; and the stranger was lost in
the crowd which syrrounded us. This affair impressed me
much, and I have often thought of it since. This person
had evidently read your uncle's writings with much interest.
Yet he knew not of his death. He wanted to hear of him,
and I was just so situated as to give him the information he
seemed to desire. But I have not seen him since. Why his
question about Mr. Norton, so emphatically put, as if he
had been intimate with him, and as if he supposed that I
was ? You cannot tell how natural, how simple was the ques-
tion. But coming in such a place, in such a region, so far
from the object of its regard, that it startled me not a little,
and led me strongly to desire to know the person who so
distinctly put it. His whole appearance and manner at-
tracted me. He was pale, thin, of excellent face and per-
son. You would have pronounced him an invalid, and still
deeply interested in what was about him. He said ho
had been in the country thirty years, and for reason ; and
Prof. T. seemed very intimate with him. His manner was
of a retired, shut-up student. Though he was quite com-
municative, his manner said, if he had a secret, he could
keep it.
Tuesday, Jvly 6th. — Awake and up at four, or earlier.
Toilet soon dispatched. I go to writing to keep things
somewhat square. Notes by the way are taken, and used in
making up the record of the preceding day. It is amusing
to me to observe, how with a mile stone, or so, — the
slightest hint, — we can get on quite comfortably, without
which we should be constantly liable to get astray. Your
diary writers do some service when they are faithful to note
and memory; for what day's work in any life, is done, a true
account of which would not be worth something?
Up then at four, a. m., and at work. At seven, looking out
JOURXAL. 301
of my window, at a short distance opposite on the right, I
saw a long line of Avomen sitting, dressed in white cape
bonnets, and white aprons, busily engaged about something.
Across the street, and farther to the right, other women in
considerable numbers are moving about. As I am desirous to
be something other than a sentimental traveller, I took hat
and gloves, and sallied out. I at once found myself among a
multitude of most respectable, nice looking, and nicely
dressed women. Before each was a broad, shallow basket
filled with live fish, and eels, flapping and squirming about
at their pleasure. The women were nicely accommodated
on chairs, each had her own place, and though in near con-
tact, and each desirous to sell, yet every one was as quiet,
and as comfortable as could be wished. I had seen fish
women elsewhere, but these seemed of quite a different
race. The fish were all new to me, if I except the haddock,
with the print of the Saint's thumb on either side, and I
may have been mistaken concerning its identity after all.
The flounders were numerous, and various. Some were of
a greenish, or yellow green colour, with bright red spots
here and there. Some of different colours without spots.
Crabs and shrimps were in abundance, and all alive. The
Danes like sweet fish. I wandered about among these
fishes, and these nice looking, well behaved fish women, for
some time. They never looked at me, nor apparently at
anybody else. I was so struck with this social feature or
fact, — this apparent indifference among people sitting to-
gether in the streets, that I spoke of it to a friend here.
" Everybody," said he, " takes care of himself, but meddles
not in the affairs of others."
A canal comes up to, and runs along the street in which
are the fish women, and in it were many boats with masts and
sails. This canal runs entirely round the Christiansburg
Palace, making it an island. In these boats were many
women, younger looking than the fish merchants, and at a
work I did not at first understand. I soon found they were
26
302 JOURXAL.
getting out of confusion the fishing lines which had been used
in the preceding day's cruise, and clearing the hooks of frag-
ments of bait. The process was this. Two sticks as large
as the finger, and a foot or so long, were stuck up on the
boats' decks, or gunwales, and each hook was jiassed down
one stick to the one before it, while the line was brought
out between the sticks, so keeping lines and hooks distinct,
and ready for use. The number of lines and hooks was
great indeed, and large was the number of girls and men at
work. But the women beat the men in hook cleaning
and line clearing.
I crossed the street beyond the fish women, and came at
once to a long square, or market, so called, devoted to the
sale of flowers, fruits, and vegetables. This was thus man-
aged. The women come to town in carts in the early morn-
ing, — I heard them on their way before I was up, — and
take their places in lines, standing at the tail of the cart,
and there arrange their commodities. I was much pleased
with all this, so much variety, and still so much harmony.
A still, low hum as if at school. Here w^ere the fruits of
the early summer, — here cherries and strawberries were in
abundance, and of the choicest kinds. All sorts of vege-
tables, milk, and cream, and flowers in profusion, and of all
colours and varieties. It was truly a busy, pleasant, beau-
tiful scene. I wandered almost everywhere, examined
everything, and was no more noticed than if I had been in
America. I did not disturb the busy merchants. Next, I
went to a large market, or place for the sale of meat. It is
a long building divided ofl" into distinct rows or stalls, and
in each was a woman, or were women, selling meat. Wo-
men are the merchants here, as in the other departments of
the provision business. I examined the meat. Veal is very
large,- the calf not being killed the day after it is born, as in
some countries of which we have knowledge. There is a
curious passage in our sanitary legislation concerning veal.
A bill was brought in setting forth that calves were killed
JOUE.NAL. 303
SO soon after birth, that they might not be regarded as
healthful, or luxurious. Much debate followed. To meet
the various difficulties involved in the passage or disposal of
the bill, a sensible old farmer moved that no calves should
be born until they were six weeks old. The farther con-
sideration of the bill was postponed till the next legislature.
Lamb and mutton, and beef, are small compared with the
English or American, and more like those of Scotland.
When customers are absent, the women sew or knit. Thus,
in these important branches of business, women are solely
engaged, and so have I found it elsewhere on the Continent.
The men are in the army, the navy, in trade, and commerce,
and mechanic arts and trades,, in various agricultural pur-
suits. Men go fishing, the women stay at home Mdth their
families, or come to the market. The men raise and kill
animals, women sell the meat. All this seems to me to be
well. It is a division of labour just where it is practicable,
and useful. I have not seen so many persons together,
doing more important social service, and looking, and be-
having better, than I have seen in the markets of the Con-
tinent, and these persons are women. I see women every-
where in shops, selling all sorts of things, and after a man-
ner so pleasing, so wholly satisfactory, that when you get
among men at counters, and in all sorts of womanly work,
one shrinks from the occasions of going to shops at all. I
bought one day a pair of gaiters which the shop person, a
woman, desired to try on me. She was of the largest, full-
est European specimen. I declined the service, but down
she went to the floor, and accomplished her purpose. I
could not but think of Gibbon's love passage, when she at-
tempted to rise.
Breakfast over, I went again across the street to the Mu-
seum of Thorwaldsen. A palace embracing a quadrangle
has been built for his works. On its outer walls are frescoes
representing the various arrangements made for his reception
when he last came to Copenhagen. Every occupation is
304 JOURNAL.
here showed ; every employment of masses of the citizens,
— what could in any way show the public feeling, is faith-
fully and permanently recorded. It was a triumph decreed
by a whole people to one who had made his country illus-
trious over the world, and who had now come home again
after a long absence to live over again his childhood, and
early manhood, with those who started in the race with him,
and whom he had never forgotten. He lies in the deepest
place of his country's heart. He is the object of perpetual
thought, and of its exj)ression. His works are repeated in
every degree of reduction, and of cost, that the whole
people may have some memorial of v/hat he did. I have
met with few things which have been more present to me,
or in more various ways, than is this interest in Thor-
waldsen.
His works fill a Palace built and arranged for them.
The catalogue, before me, of his works, contains what had
been collected and placed there in 1850. Additions are con-
stantly made to them. In passing from room to room, you are
impressed more and more with the amount of these works,
accomplished in one life. Especially is one impressed by
this when we remember what was Thorwaldsen's early life,
and the difficulties he had to surmount in prosecuting his
designs concerning art. He was born in 1770, in Copen-
hagen. His father, a poor stone-cutter and carver, was a
native of Iceland. He early shov/ed the direction of his
mind in regard to the use he would make of it, and his
father, in order to develope his power, put him to the school
of design in the Academy of Fine Arts at Copenhagen, where
he got the first prize. This was of great importance to him,
as it enabled him, by a small pension connected with it, to
prosecute his studies in Rome for four years. So destitute
was he beyond this pension, that he proceeded to Rome in a
Danish frigate by way of Gibraltar, Algiers, Malta, and
Naples, and remained there thirty-three years. After this
pension ceased, he was greatly straightened for the means of
JOURNAL. 305
living. But a friend appeared, Zoega, at a moment when a
friend is most wanted. Thorwaldsen made a model of Jason.
This met with universal applause. Hope, of Amsterdam,
commissioned the artist to execute this colossal figure in
marble. This was the beginning of a career which, in its
progress, has produced the works it was my great privilege
now to see. I have had for years a desire to see these works.
I had read sketches of the life of their author, and many
criticisms of his works. He was presented to my mind as
an object of the deepest interest, — as a man having the
inheritance of genius, and nobly and wisely using his vast
possession. Murillo, more than any other artist, had affected
me in the same way ; and Madrid and Copenhagen, where I
might see them " at home," as I expressed it to myself, were
among the places I proposed to visit when abroad. Upon
entering this fitting abode of Thorwaldsen's genius, so mu-
nificently appropriated by his native city, I was impressed
with the varied magnificence of his style, its size, Its vastncss.
Everything you see impresses you with the great thought
which sought to be delivered in a language as solemn, as
grand, as itself; and spoke through the everlasting marble,
that its voice might be heard forever. And then, in the
exquisite beauty before us, we have the smaller, the delicate,
which shrinks before its own expression, and would gather
around it that which might conceal some of its beauty.
Everywhere, in everything, do you feel that in Thorwaldsen
was the purity of nature herself. He could create infinite
beauty, and in its virgin nakedness, look upon it with the
childlike love and purity, with which nature regards her own
works. Look where you will upon these works, and the
feeling ever comes that you are among thoughts, not things.
You must array yourself with the wings of Psyche, and, a
winged soul, live and move, and have your being in this vast
treasury of the soul's best accomplishments. We are made
better by the daily, the hourly teachings of such works.
We have the revelation of true beauty in ourselves, when
26*
306 JOUHXAL.
we see and love the same which has come out of our own
nature in another. The world is made better by such works,
as by the blessed sun, the pure air, the vast, the ever new
ministries of nature. Let us then come to Thorwaldsen's
works, as to Thorwaldsen's very soul, — his heart of heart.
Let us with a pure mind, and holy step, enter into the great,
the venerable, the sacred place.
It is no part of my purpose to give any account of the con-
tents of the Museum of Thorwaldsen. The attempt would
be absurd. We have finished works, — models in relief,
— working models, — casts. They are in their diff'orent
stages of progress, admirable teachers for the young artist
of the steps by which great works have been done. Some
have been carried forward by others, and finished by him-
self. Some are entirely his own work. They fill thirty-
four cabinets, or rooms, and many long corridors, and line
the broad stairs. They are now colossal, and arrest your
regard by th^ space they occupy ; and then detain you by
the demand they make on your fixed attention. But the
smallest have their claims, and will not let you^go until they
have blessed you. In such scenes is the argument to the
American for foreign travel. By it he escapes from the
tyranny of expensive copy, to the free life of the original.
He has faith in what he sees, for it is the true ; and its
love, and its worship, can only elevate him, — bring
him into direct sympathy with the questionless works of the
highest genius, — revealing to him the whole consciousness
of his own relations to the manifestations of the highest
human power. I certainly have never known what it was
to feel the capacities of my own nature, as in these the latest
experiences of my life, in the midst and presence of such
works as these of Thorwaldsen, and of kindred minds.
Scarcely a day passes in which there is not something to
mark that day, and make me grateful for it. Would that I
could move others to enter into such labours, — to love
them, and so make their own, what they always bring with
JOURNAL. 307
them. Who would not stop on his way through the rough
and stormy Baltic to visit the shrine of Thorwaldsen, —
that double shrine which contains his silent body, and the
ever living, ever speaking accomplishments of his exalted
genius ?
Besides the works of Thorwaldsen, the Museum contains
others in art, and in all its kinds, which in his faithful life
he had collected. His books are here. They belonged to
him. They fill eight large cabinets, and are of great inter-
est. These had been his companions, — his teachers, — his
intimate friends. But in themselves they have earnest
claims to regard, and the visitor to Thorwaldsen must not
neglect what was so truly his.
I visited Thorwaldsen's grave. If his works deserve a
Palace for their preservation, what more ajDpropriate place of
sepulture for his mortal remains, than the privileged precincts
of royalty ? His body lies in the quadrangle of the Palace
of Art, and nothing else is there than absolutely belongs to
the single purpose to which the place is devoted. The
whole space is covered with stone, so smooth and so accu-
rately fitted, as almost to seem one piece. Surrounding that
spot beneath which the body lies, and of shape correspond-
ing to the tomb, the earth is covered with black stone.
Just over the body is an enclosure with granite sides and
ends a few inches high, on which are slightly cut the follow-
ing words : —
BERTHEL THORWALDSEN:
F. Den 19 Nov. 1770.
D. Dea 24 March, 1844.
Born 19 Nov. 1770.
Died 24 March, 1844.
The space thus enclosed is filled with flowers, in full
bloom, kept the whole season fresh by the care daily
bestowed upon them. The walls of the Palace forming the
308 JOUENAL.
quadrangle, are covered with frescoes of Thorwaldsen's
works, not for ornament, but showing that the enclosure
which they form, is the everlasting resting place of their
author. Here, in this broad space, beneath the unob-
structed light of heaven, are the remains of a master-spirit
of the age in which he lived ; and there, around him, within
those walls, rest safely his works, in the freshness of imper-
ishable marble, and in the promises of immortality. How
simple, — how sublime, — how grand is this place. I re-
member no such intensity of stillness in the broad day as
was there. I moved v^dth the lightest tread, lest I should
disturb the deep repose. Nothing was alive here but those
beautiful flowers, — the fitting coronation, — was it not ? of
such a genius, and of such a life.
I soon after left the Museum, but have not yet left
Thorwaldsen. My next visit was. to the new Cathedral of
Copenhagen. This speaks most eloquently for the genius of
her son. In the tympanum of the pediment is a St, John
in basso-relievo, preaching in the wilderness. In the niches
of the vestibules, are the greater prophets. In the frieze,
Christ bearing the cross. In the interior of the church are
the twelve Apostles. In the high altar, Christ himself. I had
seen their models in the Museum, yesterday. I was now to
see them as finished, in marble, by Thorwaldsen himself.
It was because of what I had heard before leaving home,
that I stopped on my voyage on the Baltic, to see these
renowned figures. The figure of Christ is the centre of
attraction in this wonderful group. He is in the chancel,
colossal in size, with his head gently bent forward, and his
arms extended. The expression of the figure, that of his
countenance, form, and action, is that of earnest invitation,
of entreaty, — along with the deepest sympathy for its
objects. It fills the whole chancel with its divine presence.
The chancel had nothing in it but the Christ. With sin-
gular good taste, a true feeling of the subject, this whole
large portion at the end of the church was left without any-
jrornxAL. 309
thing which could, for a moment, attract the attention from
the sole figure there. There was nobody in the church but
myself and the guide, — nothing to break the deep silence
and solemnity of .the time. The church is very large. You
are impressed with the extent- of space embraced by its
walls, — and the harmony between it and what it contains,
and which so fills it as to prevent any sentiment of vacancy.
There is no glaring light, an impertinence so often encoun-
tered in places for public assemblings. The light is in the
subject before you. In it is embodied the idsa of the mis-
sion of Christ, — his mission of love, — and you read in the
whole, one word, " come." The disciples are on each side
of the Christ, in front of as many niches. John stands at
the head of the right side of the Cathedral, and is of sur-
passing beauty. Mathew also struck me as singularly beau-
tiful. The bag, in which he had collected custom, lies at
his feet. The martyrs of this great company have the instru-
ments of their death by them. Christ difi'ers from all the
rest in losing the individual in the possession of the univer-
sal. There is nothing, so to speak, distinctive, or which
separates him from his divine office, — his life, — his death,
— his resurrection, — his ascension. The kingdom of heaven
is the idea which fill men, and his word is, —
COME UNTO ME.
I next called to see Mr. R., the American Consul here,
and the only agent of the government. I called to pay to
him my respects. He received me with courtesy and kind-
ness, ofi'ering to serve me in any way in his power, — in
short, gave me great pleasure, and much information on
subjects of interest, making my call a very pleasant and use-
ful one.
Another call was on -, to whom Mr. gave
me a letter of introduction. My call was soon returned.
I hardly know how to express myself about this visit. It
'was so hearty, so cordial, — so just as you would always
310 JOTJIINAL.
have such, a visit to be. Mr. was delighted to hear of
his old friend again, and from one who knew him, and who
had so lately seen him. He endeavoured to express how
much he was indebted to me for bringing 'back again, in so
much freshness, the old and happy times of his early life,
Avhen he and " lived together." " This was
more than thirty years ago," he said, " in , in which
more than semi-barbarous corner of Africa we both held
official stations. The plague came, and we went into the
country, took a house, shut ourselves up, as is the practice
during the plague, and alternately kept house month by
month. In — 's month he had supreme, and ques-
tionless controul. Then came mj month, to play the despot ;
and he was not to say a word about my rule, and we were
as happy as we could be. I cannot tell you how happy we
were, and how happy you make me by bringing it all
so freshly to mind. Do tell me how I can serve you.
Come and dine with us at four. I know not what we may
have, but you shall have just what we can give you. I
want to show you 's letters, which I have kept
for years. After dinner we will drive into the country, — to
Palace, and to garden, — to Tivoli, — to the Cemetery, and
to the Battle-Field, — anywhere, — everywhere. I am glad
to see you, and only tell me what you want to see and to
do, and I will do all I can to make Copenhagen pleasant
to you."
I went at the hour, and was introduced to Mrs. ,
after which Mr. continued to say everything to make
me feel perfectly at home, and to reassure me of his strong
desire to make my visit to his native city both useful and
agreeable. Now, here was something, was it not much? for
memory. Out of a good and honest heart had come things
which I shall not forget. Thorwaldsen had filled me with
thought, the deepest, the purest, the best. Here was living
kindness, genuine courtesy, pouring itself out in streams so
clear, so true, that I could not but feel the deep refresh-
JOURNAL. all
ment. Here Avas true feeling, and if there is anything wel-
come to the human soul, it is that which comes to it in far
off lands, and when and where everything else tells you
how truly a stranger you are. Here was a man speaking to
me in my mother tongue, — and from the high rank he held
in his own country, giving to my position there, just what
rendered to me important facilities in carrying out my
objects.
At four, then, I went to Mr. 's, where the plea-
sure of my first introduction was increased by miking the
acquaintance of his daughter, a highly pleasing young lady,
whose husband is an officer in the Danish navy, and at sea,
but daily expected home, and to Mr. 's son, a
very agreeable looking, well informed, pleasant young man.
My friend Mr. 's letters had been collected, and
Mr. looked them over, pointed out passages to
me, and talked again of the long past, in the same fresh,
happy manner as in the morning. Dinner was announced.
I gave my arm to his very handsome daughter, who talks
excellent English, with a nice Danish accent, which adds to
rather than hurts it, and we took our seats at table. I tell
the whole story. No notice had been given that a guest
from a foreign country had been invited, and the family din-
ner was just as it had been arranged in the morning. And
this was all the more welcomed by me. Soup came first, of
course, as well as in course. These soups we know little of.
They are made with apparently very little meat, but with
many vegetables. They are perfectly clear, transparent, and
slightly coloured yellow, are served very hot, and, though
novel to the stranger, are very acceptable. Next came
round a dish, with something arranged in overlapping slices,
the length of the dish, with the silver fork with which each
helps himself, or herself. This is the true way of serving a
dinner, — the only way. You take what you want and no
more, or nod your negative. There is no asking about this
or that, — white meat, or dark, — wing, leg, &c., through
312 JOUKNAL.
the whole anatomy, — no useless calling. When you have
finished, there is the end of it. You lay your knife and
fork upon your plate, and it disappears. We borrow all
sorts of fashions, ridiculous, or other, from the Old World ;
why not some of their eating customs ? It would, on the
score of ease and real comfort, make all the difference
in the world. But of the dish over my left shoulder. The
servant tires. I took the fork, turned over two or three
slices. They were moist, red, slippery, and firm. The cus-
tom abroad is, if you do not like, or have a question con-
cerning such matters, to put the fork into its place, and look
steadily for an instant or so, at your empty plate. In other
words, do nothing. But I felt so much at home there, away
in Denmark, — had been made so truly, if not technically,
at home, in that most hospitable and honoured state, and
especially in this most excellent city of Copenhagen, —
and still more especially in the family, — every member of
it, which I was that moment visiting, — that I almost un-
consciously asked, if the dish at my side was not salmon,
and if it had been cooked. The question was expletory.
The answer, it was salmon, and uncooked. I was troubled,
for I had been told what the dinner would 7iot be, — one
prepared for me, — and I had agreed to eat it, whatever it
might be. I was troubled, for I was obliged to decline the
salmon. In the Baltic steamer, uncooked, but pickled her-
rings, were served at breakfast. I was asked to eat of
them, and was told they had been preserved in salt water,
and were excellent. I knew herrings lived in salt water.
I tried, but it was no go, — or the fish would not go. I
got no encouragement from remembered smoked beef, —
smoked salmon, — salt fish, — nor even Westphalia hams,
which, at their home, I was told, are never boiled. To me the
herring mouthful was odious. The salmon I could not try.
What, in the name of all eating, is more terrible than to
find something at table, at a strange table, in a strange land,
and to fill your mouth with it, and which you find you can-
JOUKNAL. 313
not possibly swallow ? A young lady, not of the " land of
the olive," but still from "Down East," was one evening at
our table, on which were olives, and she saw with what relish
and praises they were eaten. Being asked to partake, she
did, but, not knowing the nature of the fruit, she took more
than one into her mouth at once. Never was mouth, unac-
customed to such contents, put to such strange resources to
dispose of them. Much beauty w^as lost in the conflict
which ensued. At length the luxury was swallowed, stones
and all, and I shall always have question if this lady ever
ventured upon such eating again. Three, you know, make
the sessame of olive eating. Of the number in my fair
friend's experiment, I am not informed. I said I was trou-
bled. I was grieved, and the whole table was grieved.
We soon, however, all of us, laughed intensely, and a merrier
dinner-table I have not often seen. I ruietly eat German
bread, while my friends enjoyed the uncooked fish.
Another event. "Wine! Will you drink wine. Sir ? "
This, I saw, was hard. Another salmon.
I simply answered, " No." Just as I had done a thousand
times before.
Up went hands, and out poured words of heartfelt aston-
ishment. " Not drink wine ! You will, of course, drink
cogniac," — the word here for brandy.
I said, *' No ! " again.
"Not brandy ! Why ! you neither eat nor drink. What
do you do ? "
In the meantime, Mrs. left the table, and returned
bringing some sliced meat, not as hot as the soup, indeed,
but very good. Peas, and roasted pigeons followed, and
who could have asked for more ? Most delicious strawber-
ries, with nice cream, and sugar, made the dessert. And
so the dinner ended ; glasses, mine filled with water or
wine, were touched, healths drank, and we rose from the
table.
Oh, how you would have groaned in spirit had you been
27
314 JOUENAL.
with, me in Copenhagen, and at that dinner ! The rainbow
would have faded before the intensity and variety of your
colours, — and how, in going home to the Royal, would
your exclamations have waked the echoes of Den-
mark !
Now, to me, this dinner was of the deepest interest.
Every fact in it was a whole chapter of domestic life under
every possible phase of variety and difference, to what was
native to me. What should I have learned had I been invi-
ted four days before to dine at 7, p. m., with the fashionable
world of this grand old city ? I should have learned
nothing to be compared with the simple truth, the undis-
guised hospitality and confidence of this family of true men
and women, — true friends. It is of the best remembered,
and the best valued of any dinner I have eaten in Europe.
It is side by side with that Moscow dinner at Prof. Fischer's,
for, though there was more form in the latter, it sj)oke for
old Russia, yes, hospitable old Russia, as did this for the
true, every-day life of Denmark.
The carriage was now called. I was furnished with a
nice warm overcoat, a protection from the day's dust, and
for the evening's cold, and forth we started for the country.
My friend rejoices in fine horses, and liveried coachmen and
footmen, — silver lace for hat, &c. It Avas a barouche, we
drove in, thrown entirely open. Mr. seemed to know
every gentleman and lady we met or passed, in coach or on
foot. His knowledge was not a sinecure, for to every one
he knew, he raised his hat, not touching it merely, but taking
it fairly off his head, and with a graceful sweep carrying it
off at arms length. It was done with great ease, but it
seemed to me more of a toil than pleasure, and that it was
a custom much to the benefit of the hat-maker. It is a
custom which prevails all over the Continent. With us in
America, and it is much the same in England, a jerk of the
head forward, backward, or laterally, is the measure of our
street courtesy of recognition. If we stop, we shake hands.
JOURNAL. 315
and say, Ou ar yu, — uttered in a single syllable, —
Anglice, How are you ? I shall never forget how an Italian
artist, and scholar, was confounded by this word. He tried
hard to get it, but had not succeeded when I last saw him.
It was not in the dictionary, and he never could dig or drag
it out of his mouth. We of the "West shake hands. The
East and the North folk kiss, — men and women. I once
offered my hand to a lady at parting, she shrank away
utterly ignorant of what I meant. With Shakespeare some-
what altered, we may say : —
Hands at the East give hats.
But our West heraldry is hands, not hats.
Our drive was full of novelty to me, and so, full of inter-
est. I saw on every hand more than I can tell. The country
is fine, and everywhere cultivated. A vast deal of grain is
grown, and has its market in England. Water is every-
where, and bridges innumerable. This gives to the summer
field and forest, the richest, fullest green. The grass is as
rich as it is in damp England. Water is distributed every-
where, where natural irrigation is wanting. We stopped at
the principal cemetery. The arrangements for the dead are
simple, and to my mind, more appropriate than the elabo-
rateness, and large displays Ave so often meet with elsewhere.
The nature of the country determines, somewhat, the char-
acter of these places. It is very flat, and what surface might
do for the picturesque, if such be desirable, is much wanting
here. Mourners are seen on all sides at the graves of
friends, to renew flowers, or to dress the growing ones, —
and strangers are here, like myself, to look for customs and
observances in foreign lands. My friends took me to the
place prepared for their final home, and wdiere had been
gathered together those whom they had honoured, and loved,
and lost. If such, as they are, or have been to me, do they
not deserve both reverence and love, — an everlasting mem-
ory, and ever coming flowers ? We visited the battle
grounds of the armies not long since gathered here to settle
316 JOURNAL.
important national questions. A decaying, uninhabited
palace was an object of interest. A Dowager Queen had
lately died in it, and the moveables had been sold at auction.
The question was entertained of using the palace for a hos-
pital, but I believe is abandoned. I saw on the grounds,
near the old palace, a nurnber of wooden houses, — two
uprights with a connecting beam, — and asked what was their
use. They did not look ornamental. I was told they were
used to hang out to air the palace beds and bedding. This
brought to mind that I had seen a precisely similar contri-
vance, and in active use too, across the way from the Cathe-
dral in Copenhagen, as I stood upon the steps of the church
waiting for the guide to come to show me the sculptures of
Thorwaldsen. I liked this custom very much, and we
might introduce it with much benefit ; especially into some
hotels, where we are told the traveller sometimes sleeps not
only on the same bed, but under the same bedding, which
a few hours before may have wrapped some weary prede-
cessor. The grounds about this old palace are magnificent,
— hill, valley, rocks, water, old forests as green as if not
over half a century grown, — the grass, the richest velvet.
Everything strong and grand as from the most generous
hands of nature, and more striking from its neighbouring
human desolation and decay.
" Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon."
How true is poetry to the whole story of fact ! There was
one thing in these grounds for whose beauty as well as use
I was specially grateful. This was a spring at the mouth of
a cell in the side of a hill, everlastingly shaded by the
dense forest trees and overhanging rocks, and from which I
drank with the zest of the holiest hermit of them all. I
spoke of the number of people in the streets, as we drove
along. So it was with the road. Walkers, riders, drivers,
— rich and poor, men, women and children, were all aim-
ing at the same point. We reached, on our return from the
JOURNAL. 317
Palace, the objects of such general attraction. These were
public gardens, — with slight, but very nice buildings for
those who wished the accommodations ; and every out-door
means of amusement and relaxation. What most attracted
me were the numbers of persons selling strawberries, not in
half pint, or so called pint boxes, and small at that, with a
dozen or two large berries atop. But large baskets Avere on
all sides, full of splendid fruit clear through, and at a price
which everybody could easily, cheerfully pay. My friends
bought a large specimen of the very finest, which the foot-
man put into the carriage for our evening meal. Here they
are bought at first hand, and are always fresh. I was among
the people here, and it did my heart good to see such ample
provision for the public amusement. Here toil was at rest,
and here some of its products were used to give tone and
health, and cheerfulness for the succeeding labour. There
may have been excess with some, but the general character
was of good humour, — a diff'used pleasure, which is the
severe antagonism to individual uneasiness. There is giving
and taking in such social reunions ; and where these are, in
close company with them are generosity, liberality, kindness.
We in America have got to learn something about all this.
Work ! work ! ! work ! ! ! is the everlasting rule with us.
There is not enough real, downright genuine play for an
exception. Some reformer, it is to be hoped, will one day
arise and take the people with him, and teach them what is
joy, what is play, and hov/ they may get its means, and
truly use them. I have spoken of this before, but it will
bear repetition.
We got back to Copenhagen in the long twilight, and had
tea with our freightage of delicious fruit. Mrs. , the
daughter of my friend, had promised to sing and play in
the evening. She played Danish music, sang national songs,
waltzes, &c,, and to my mind admirably well: She sang
one song which was exquisitely beautiful. It was a song of
home, and I have never listened to anything more touching.
27*
318 JOUHNAL.
She told me she would get for me a copy of it in the morn-
ing, and send it to you, and I feel sure she will not disap-
point me. This portion of my day's visit to this most
excellent family, lost none of its interest to me in its
lengthened hours. At ten I left these friends, and soon
reached my now very dull, solitary hotel.
The course of things at the hotel is to dine at the table
d'hote, if we please ; breakfast, alone in your parlour ; and
as to tea, with me, to eat in the same quarters, fruit. I
very soon tire of this life. It is made tolerable by writing
about what I have seen.pr heard in the day, generally in the
very early morning. It is not etiquette to speak at table
to one's side or opposite neighbours, unless spoken to, and
who, ever in such an arrangement, is to speak first ? I have
not literally said a single word at table, except to a servant,
and for the most part he does not understand a word I
say. I do not believe I should say a word if I lived at the
Koyal a year. The dinner is for any, and for everybody, —
not at all confined to the household. It is, therefore, a
moveable feast in more senses than one. People come and
go at pleasure, and so are never the same. To eat then,
and this generously, and to drink much wine, is the order
of the feast. Now as I do nothing, to speak, at this last,
I have less amusement than the rest. The effect of wine
declares itself, f^r you know the phrase, " when wine is iw,
wit is, or comes, out. The liberty of speech is certainly en-
larged then. What is said, of course I know not. But
there is laugh in it. My French is very small, and my
Danish is very nothing ; so I get on if not positively stupid,
certainly not very luminously gay.
Wednesday, July. — Mr. R.'s son called on me at half
past 7, A. M., to visit some hospitals, to the heads of which
I received introductory letters from his father. It was a
long walk, and Copenhagen is not famed for smooth side-
walks. Hard, hard, are the pavings of the streets. But
there is a curb stone about a foot wide, which is very at-
JOURNAL. 319
tractive. But you must not set your foot upon it, unless
it falls to your share by the strict law which regulates street
walking. A stranger does not readily fall into any course
of locomotion to which he is unaccustomed. He is ignorant,
it may be, of the rule. In England the rule is to walk and
to drive to the left. In America, to the right. So strict is
the law in Copenhagen, that Majesty itself, I was told,
must conform to it. I generally walked with my courier,
who is a Dane, " and to the manner born," but had as much,
as he could do to keep me within the street rule. As I
went through Square, some fire companies were out
with their engines and hose, for exercise. I have never
seen such apologies for fire apparatus in all my wanderings.
The engines were very small. The hose in proportion, and
the height to which the water was thrown, did not begin to
reach the roofs of houses experimented upon. There was
this comfort, however, in the case. There is so much brick
and mortar, and stone, and so little wood in the Danish,
house architecture, that I defy a fire to get beyond the easy
reach of the fire companies.
The first hospital I visited, has Prof. T. at its head.
This is a large institution, and its wards were occupied with
many patients. I went through the medical wards, and
found their arrangements good, securing comfort to the sick,
and faithful medical regard. Prof. T., with his family, re-
side in the hospital. This is the case in other hospitals on
the Continent I have visited, and has its advantages.
My next visit was to a Maternite Hospital, under the care
of Dr. Lever, if I spell his name correctly. This hospital
entirely pleased me, and he must be fastidious indeed, who
is not wholly satisfied with it. I have seen no approach to
it in all I have seen of hospitals in all their kinds. There
has been much fatal fever in this house, and successful
measures have been adopted to prevent its recurrence. The
building is a grand one. It was grateful to be permitted to
visit it, — to examine it, and to learn the results of treats
320 JOURNAL.
ment in it. For three years not a case of fever has occurred.
How has this been brought about ?
The hospital is so large, and so arranged, that one-half of
it only is used at a time, viz., for six months. The patients,
at the end of this period, pass into the other half which has
been purified for half a year. Not only so. There are
more rooms in the occupied part than are commonly used. If
occasion require, a patient may be placed in one of these
rooms, and the room thus left empty, may be thoroughly
cleansed for another patient. Every patient has a room,
not a small, cell-like affair, but a lofty, large sized apart-
ment to herself. No patient ever sleeps on a bed which
has just been used by another. It is taken to pieces, picked
over, washed, as is the sacking, &c., as soon as the patient
is discharged. The bedsteads are made of iron.
Beside all this provision for the safety of patients, ven-
tilation is made as perfect as possible. Each room has a
ventilator at the top of the room. This is large, and has
direct reference to the size of the apartment. Very often
the opening for the escape of the air,, is made with so little
regard to cubic contents, the size of the room, that the air is
imperfectly changed. The process in these cases is so slow,
that the impure air is so blended with the pure, which I
should have said is admitted near the floor, as to be more or
less MiYiit for healthful respiration. In the Copenhagen
system, which I believe is Reed's of London, the foul air
passes by the ventilating opening into a tube which ends in
a foul- air chamber in the top of the building. From this it
passes by a free, direct chimney, dov\ai into a room in the
cellar, in the centre of which is a furnace, in which is kept a
fire through the whole year. It is kept in full blast all the
time by the air from the foul-air chamber above. In this
way this air is sure to be consumed, as there is no other
source of air to keep up the fire ; all other draft being cut
ofi" by the insulation of the furnace chamber. Dr. L. asked
me if I did not feel a current of air on my head, my hat
JOUTIXAL. 321
being off. I said yes, for this was evident enough. In this
way is ventilation secured. But whatever the philosophy,
the effect is certain. There has been no fever in the hos-
pital since this, and the rest of the system for health, have
been adopted. Is it not a noble worli to save from so much
disaster as has so often occurred in these institutions ? And
what class of patients deserve more, more faithful use of
means to prevent a disease which so often produces death ?
Few visits have I made which have given me so much
pleasure as has this one, and to Dr. L. how great are my
obligations.
In describing the Russian hospitals, it was said that in
the wards, fires are constantly kept in the stove. The con-
struction of this stove prevents its getting heated by the
amount of fire necessary to secure ventilation. The Ameri-
can furnace prevents the use of this means of ventilation.
This furnace supplies the ward with heat by the hot air
which passes out of the registers. This would be intolerable
in summer. There are no fire places, as the heat in winter
would be wasted by the draft which would be produced to,
or in them. The ventilation in such wards is by ventilators
in doors, or in the cornices, for ordinarily there is not air
enough any way in hot weather to produce currents, and as
the outward air, at night for instance, is cooler than that in
the wards, the draft is downwards, towards the ward
through the ventilator, and the foul air from the sick, es-
pecially in surgical wards, is rather accumulated than driven
off. Again there is not always such due proportion between
the cubic feet of space enclosed by the walls of the ward,
and the size of the ventilating holes, as will secure thorough
changes in the air. This is another source of mischief from
our modes of ventilation. What the effect may be of all
this in prolonging disease, or preventing recovery, I have no
means of judging. The motives for the present method,
are safety, convenience, and economy. These may be ad-
mitted in private houses, the inmates of which are for the
322 JOUEXAL.
most part in health ; but the question may be entertained if
they should have much or any influence when the well-beinf^
of great public charities may be involved.
This was my last day in this ancient city. I called on
my friends to say farewell. The music and the song of
Home, promised the day before, were all ready, and directed
to you. Those friends remained to me as when I first saw
them. Had arranged parties for me to-day and for to-
morrow, and other drives. But the traveller's lot is mine,
— to make friends and to leave them. I shall never forget
these. At 2, p. m., I take the steamer Schleswig for Kiel.
A moment more to Denmark. The soil and culture here
tells their own story. I have rarely seen on the Continent
anything which compares with these things here. The bar-
ley is very productive, — rye is good, — buckwheat excel-
lent. This last particularly belongs, as far as I have seen,
to Holstein. The fields are beautiful with the red stem,
and the white flower of this plant. As soon as, and wher-
ever you catch the land in this part of the Baltic, and are
sufficiently near it, you have its eA-idences of productive-
ness, and the beauty of its natural arrangements. I saw in
the early morning exquisite reaches of forest and grove, —
and long vistas lying between these, and neighbouring hills,
— the deep green of grain, grass, and leaf, making space
and height as beautiful as it has been my lot to look upon.
It was now deep shade, and now the level morning sun was
piercing the deep reaches referred to, and new beauties were
revealed. You wanted to stop the steamer to land, to build,
and live, and move, and have your being, in these scenes of
beauty and of peace. I thought I was looking upon the
wide acres of some rich English lord, and that I should
hear the rustling of the deer in the copses, and under-
growths around. This scenery continued quite till we were
in Kiel.
I was everywhere impressed with the simplicity of living
in Denmark. It was my good fortune to travel with one
joirRNAL. 323
thoroughly acquainted with it, and in steamer, and on railway,
I met with others w^ho made me their debtor by their gen-
tlemanly bearing, and the information communicated. Said
one, " We have few very rich. Our means are moderate,
but possessed by many. We have but few paupers. You
see no drunkards. Our government is simple. We have a
King, — a w^ritten constitution, a wide, if not universal
suffrage, — an army of about thirty thousand, — a compul-
sory system of education, which allows, indeed, those to
pay for instruction who please ; but all others must send
their children to school, or pay the penalty of truancy. The
King is rarely mentioned, and is not a frequent visitor to the
metropolis ; — is about forty ; has been twice married, and
been divorced twice, his present being a questionable wife.
He has had no children by any of his wives ; and as there
seems to be something uncertain in the state of Denmark,
certain high contracting powers have recently disposed of
succession elsewhere, — in more protocol phrase, have ' set-
tled it.' "
In my way to the steamer my attention was attracted by
a number of hulks of ships of the line, and others, whiten-
ing in the hot sun. I was carried back in less than an
instant of time, to the destruction of the Danish fleet by
Nelson, lest it should be used by France against England.
These hulks seem all like the ghosts of the old fleet, risen
to shame that act, of what some thought an unnecessary,
w^anton exercise of brute force. Then came Nelson's de-
mand for ivax, instead of an off'ered wafer, to seal his des-
patch to the Danish government, w^hich informed that
government, " that his Troy was half destroyed," as if the
"Majesty of Denmark" wanted the knowledge, or would
ascribe to hurry, or any cause, the use of a wafer. And
then came pressing upon the memory the arrival into
America of a British Minister, named Jackson, who, from
some connection with the Copenhagen affair, had got, by
our haters of England, and lovers of Bonaparte, the eupho-
324 JOURNAL.
nioiis sobriquet of " Copenhagen Jackson." The British
government, indeed, had endeavoured to mollify the repub-
lic, by sending its Minister in a ship called the Rose, as if a
ship by any other name, as Defiance, Vengeance, Spitfire, —
would not have smelt as sweet. I remembered Mr. Jack-
son, how a Federalist friend of mine had of him a portrait
by Stuart, and how I had dined with that Minister at that
friend's house, and how the burning of the old Exchange,
disturbed the " order of our going" from that dinner table.
There's nothing like foreign travel to set the mind to work
about home matters, of no matter what date or nature. I
have passed hours in London streets in tracing resemblances
between the people driving on foot and carriage, through the
streets, as mad ; and the people at home. Hartley, you know,
makes Association one of the two foundation princij^ies in
the Nature of Man. With me its activity produces very
curious results, by showing relations which it is not always
convenient to declare. I sometimes thought that the doc-
trine of Original Sin might have its illustration, if not
cause, in this principle.
Thursday, July. — A most beautiful trip was it to Kiel.
The sea was like glass. The steamer excellent, — accom-
modations unusually good. The cabin was warm, and I
adjourned to a sofa in the dining saloon, where I slept till
half past two, a. m., when I went on deck, and staid till
five, when w^e reached Kiel. I made an acquaintance, a
young Dane, who knew everything about the country, and
told me a great deal about Denmark, — the Baltic, Islands,
&c. About seventy miles from Copenhagen is an island
named Mohen. Its front, like some great promontory, rises
perpendicularly out of the sea, and to a commanding height.
As you approach, it becomes constantly more striking, and
at length you see the whole side surface presenting a mural
elevation as white as snow, and closely resembling the Clifis
of Dover. Still nearer, lines are seen crossing it obliquely
from top to bottom, which are formed of dwarf shrubs,
JOURNAL. 325
evergreens, growing in their direction. At length the hori-
zon, that outline which seemed quite level, is found to be
irregular, — castellated formations in one point, rounded
at the top, like the crater of an extinct volcano, while
pointed minarets shoot above their neighbours. You cannot
tell how varied and how beautiful everything here is. The
scale was large, — the sky bounding it above, and at the
projecting bluff, while the wide Baltic washed the bases of
these seeming rocky-mountains. When nearer, the outline
was found to be made by fir trees, of the deepest green,
forming a crown for that upon which they grew, the setting
sun shedding its light over all. At length we rounded the
promontory. My Danish companion said he had frequently
visited the island with guides, for pleasure, and pointed out
spots of more special beauty ; and that with much relish
they had drank their champagne there.
Kiel is beautifully situated on a bay of the Baltic, in the
Duchy of Holstein. It has 14,000 inhabitants, a University,
in which, in 1832, the students were two hundred and fifty,
— in 1846, one hundred and ninety-one, — a library of
.100,000 volumes or more, an observatory, a public garden,
a hospital, a royal palace, — and among other churches, that
of St. Nicholas, which has special regard. I hope you will
duly thank me for this long drain upon the authorities, for
though I am "ill at these numbers," I, seriously, have
studied accuracy about Kiel. There has been steadily a
disposition to avoid, in these sketches of foreign travel, the
appearance even of sentimentalism, and if there be a depar-
ture, in any sense or degree, from this purpose, it is hoped
it will be pardoned, or regarded as an exception, which you
know is necessary for the sustentation of any rule. Let me
give an anecdote. I was detained in Kiel, only while the
locomotive wsLsJired up. While sitting on the piazza of the
hotel, something happened illustrative of the genius and
industry of the burghers of this ancient city. It solved the
problem of how many men are necessary to drag and drive
28
S26 JOUENAL.
a cow, whicli cow has a very long tail. There were two
men engaged. One held in his hand a rope of much length ;
its other end was fastened to the cow's horns. The other
man had the tail in one hand, and a fragment of a board in
the other. The action. If they both pulled together in a
straight line, which could only be in opposite directions, and
which, in their zeal, they unconsciously did, and equally, it
is clear there would be an equilibrium of forces, and the
cow, the body to be moved, would be at rest. If they
drew in different directions, and alternately, there would be
a decomposition of forces, and the direction of the moving
body, the cow again, wou.ld be a diagonal. The enticements
of the bit of board, and the violent shakings of the tail,
which were constantly in practice, produced a confusion
which none of the philosophies can explain. Now under
these various appliances the cow was set in motion, and
described as fine a zigzag as any Virginia fence maker could
have desired. Do not these men of Kiel deserve a medal
from his majesty of Denmark, their ruler, for so illustrious
a discovery in science ? It is a great matter to solve a prob-
lem, let it be what it may ; and we leave it with the king to
settle what the medal shall be. This experiment, and its
success, was the more pleasing, as it stirred the risibles of
those who were v/ith me on the piazza. The dullest looking
Dane of them all really smiled, audibly almost, when they
saw the success of the experiment. But the train was
ready, and I left Kiel, seeing no more in that early morning
hour, except one woman, two men, three dogs asleep on
a sidewalk, and a flock of tame ducks in a pond, and, on
Saturday, July 10th, at 7 A. m., having disposed of the sen-
timental, I take up my parable.
In the train one day, was a family party in excellent spirits,
and in German kept up a very animated, and, I doubt not,
agreeable conversation. I asked in French and English, if
any one spoke either of these tongues. The general answer
was, no. At length a young lady of pleasing face and man-
jouRK-Aii. 327
ner, said, in a voice which singularly contrasted with the
rough, loud German around, that she could speak some
English. I thanked her for the announcement, and we
talked some time. After a pause the young lady began
again, and the following dialogue passed between us :
"Where, do, you, live?" The commas indicate the
manner of enunciation.
In the Universe.
" Where ? "
In the Universe, — in that part of it called Germany, —
here, — in this carriage.
" Where, were, you, born ? "
I cannot precisely say. I was very young at the time,
and know only by report where it happened, and common
report being a common story-teller, I must decline an an-
swer.
"Have, you, any, family? "
O, yes.
"Where?"
In this carriage. Your friends, and you, Miss, make
up my present family, and very pleasantly am I situated.
" What, is, your, name ? "
I handed my card, begging her to say to one I took to be
her mother, and who seemed much interested in our dia-
logue, that there w^as nothing important meant in the offer.
Here the catechism ended.
This to me was quite a curious affair. It was perfectly
pleasant. But my fair friend, I observed, translated all I
said, to her party, and they looked at us with great interest
as the dialogue proceeded. I had with me a small volume
of verses, which I had recently printed for friends, and
offered it to her. She received it most kindly, and I looked
around upon the rich, level, but noble country.
Do not say that I was discourteous to my fair catechist.
I had certainly no reason to be so. But the first day on
the Continent, a fellow traveller, a man, put to me many
328 JOURNAL.
questions, which I, without thought, answered, and some
which I might have quite as well been silent about. I then
determined, that under no circumstances whatever, would I
submit to the like. One hardly knows what use may be
made of apparently the simplest communications. It was
in recollection of a former experience, that I answered as I
above stated, in this " second lesson in questioning."
It was midsummer, and the fruits of the season, especially
strawberries and cherries, were in their perfectness. At the
stations, fruit and other refreshments, with flowers, are
offered for sale in profusion, and at very small cost. I have
never before seen such strawberries. They are the very
Anaks of the strawberry. They are offered on the stems of
the plant, tied together, and with the finely marked deep
green leaves, show splendidly. Before leaving home, I had
a travelling coat made, with many pockets. And of much
use was the structure. One pocket was devoted to lumps
of sugar, put up in nice paper, and used with water and
fruit. These were in demand this fine Saturday, and my
fellow passengers had free use of them with their strawber-
ries, a small piece of sugar being bitten from the lump as
occasion required. I have heard that in Russia the same
mode is adopted in drinking tea. I can only say I saw
nothing of this custom there. Different peoples do the
same thing differently. I have seen strawberries eaten in
Denmark, as already described. Now, I can answer for
it, that the Danish is an excellent mode of arranging straw-
berries, sugar, and cream. Their union is delicious. Speak-
ing of sugar. The sugar beet is extensively cultivated on
the Continent. I passed vast fields, entirely covered with the
sugar beet, in the most vigorous growth. I did not know
what these monstrous crops could be used for. A very nice
and intelligent companion told me all about it. It is, said
he, for sugar-making, — that a hundred pounds of beet
would make ten pounds of sugar, — and that so large was
the product, as seriously to affect the price of foreign sugar.
JOURJ^^AL. 329
I have spoken of manners and customs. There is one I
have often noticed, but much more distinctly to-day than
before. I mean leave-taking among families and friends, —
public leave-taking. It cannot be that it is a great, or rare
event, for people to leave home here, any more than in other
countries, but from Moscow to Germany, I have wit-
nessed this ceremony. More women than men enter into
it. The whole family circle, no matter how large, compose
it. Such a talking, laughing, — such fulness of utterances,
before the final whistle, — and then the forming of lines
along the railing of the station, — and lastly, the kissing of
hands, waving of hats and handkerchiefs, make a scene, of
which the Anglo-Saxon races absolutely know nothing. I
have generally succeeded in getting a seat next the door of
the coupe, and nearest the railing, and there, with my old
and constant companion, my eye-glass, I have looked at
the long crowd. The carriages, you know, move slowly at
first, and give one a fine chance to see the people, and, with
a traveller's license, I always did see them. At first, I
thought these gatherings were of passengers, and asked my
courier if the train would not be crowded. " O, no," said
he, "they are friends." The Germans have much manner,
and the strongest voices in the world. You cannot tell how
annoying this becomes, when the infliction lasts through
three and four hundred English miles of travel, in a warm
summer day. Recollect you do not understand a word of
what is screamed or roared out. It may be very clever, but
it is all Greek to you. An extreme annoyance, under such
circumstances, are children. Get a restless, pretty, petted
boy of four years opposite to you. When he gets tired of
everything else, he begins to try his humour on your shins,
by sundry kicks of his tough German shoes. I rejoiced in
many of these experiences to-day ; and was forced to
appeal, by natural signs, to his parents, to have the nuisance
abated. The American car prevents all this.
We lunched at Wittenburg, where I thought of Hamlet,
28*
330 JOUKNAL.
— changed carnages and compan5\ The last part of my day
was worse than the first. In the new carriage, I had for
fellow passengers a very pleasing looking lady and her
hushand. For a little while we were alone. I found the hus-
band was a Pole, an exile, and living in Magdeburg, on our
route. We soon learned that each knew some French, and
at it we went, and such a mixture of Polish, and English,
with French, may never before have been met with. But
there was good feeling, and this helps much in this as in all
other embarrassments. The lady had a sweet face, and Avas
in simple, but deep mourning, as was her husband, as if
they had lost an only child, — and their native land, too.
She was German, but her manner was so quiet, so gentle, —
her expression so sweet, that you could not but be happy to
be there. But my pleasure was not long. A young mother
entered the carriage with a boy, two and half years old,
named Herman, and a girl a year older, named Hetwig.
By the way, my Polander lady was named Mary. I wish
you could hear her pronounce it. The lady and her chil-
dren, the new passengers, sat opposite to me. Next her
was her nursery girl, a somewhat extensive, bu]; not neces-
sarily disagreeable body. Mother took the son, the maid
the daughter, thus placing the four opposite me. It was
terribly hot. We thought we should have melted, and have
left a product which would puzzle even Cuvier to have
determined. The train started, and so did the children.
The young mother began the training by giving them cher-
ries. It was like the first taste of blood to the tiger. He
never forgets it. So did not these the cherries. The drive
was ruined. I could not sleep. I could only sweat. I
laboured to occupy, and so please, the young immortals. I
gave them my gold tooth-pick case, — my keys, — my little
ivory rule, — my watch. But it was no go. I saw I had
to take it. It came in kicks, — tumbling all over me, —
putting both shoes on one of my corns, and, at the same
time, — a piling up of shoes, — climbing all over me, with
JOURNAL. 331
clierry-stained, and still wet hands. At Magdeburg, I got
rid of them from the carriage, but saw them in the station's
ladies' saloon, drinking milk, the girl screaming because she
could not drink fast enough. You ask if I did not hope it
would choke her ? I can say I had never seen and felt the
like. It were professional to say that I did wonder how the
milk and the cherries fared together. From this day's ex-
perience I would humanely suggest, that if people mean to
carry children when they travel, whether it would be amiss
to pack them away among the luggage, or deposit them in
the freight train. There would be both economy and com-
fort in such an arrangement.
Magdeburg is a historical name, and the city looks as if
time and man had worked successfully in giving to it the
questionless evidences of age, and of war. It is one of the
most important fortresses of Germany, and, from the time
of Charlemagne, has preserved its interest in the commercial
and warlike characters which attach to it, and which, with
its defences, is regarded as one of the strongest fortresses of
Europe. A canal, which connects the Havel and Elbe,
connects the latter with the Oder, and so with the Baltic,
thus bringing Magdeburg in easy communication with the
whole north of Europe. I was at every step struck with
the vast and various means employed to make this old city
impregnable. You pass through gate after gate, — wall
after wall, with portcullises, standing with their enormous
teeth of massive iron suspended in mid air, and in readiness
to fall, and close shut up the city, or to destroy everything
beneath them. Time is impressed upon everything. The
black walls are crusted over with the accumulations and
deep dyes of ages. The very stones in the narrow streets,
are deeply worn by the tread of multitudes who have long
passed away ; and, as you w^alk through them, unite with
everything else in deep attestation to the surrounding anti-
quity. The new was nowhere. The Gothic Cathedral
332 JOUHNAL.
stands higli above everything else, and tells the story of
ages. In the Napoleon wars this was an object of the deep-
est interest. I was told on the spot, as I looked upon its
grand old tower frowning down upon me, that its surmount-
ing cross was shot off by a treacherous commandant of the
city, named Kliest, who afterwards sold the city to the
French. But he had small joy of his bargain, for the very
money he had received was taken from him as he was leav-
ing Magdeburg. It was in a prison in Magdeburg, that
Baron Trenck passed so many years, and from which he at
length escaped. The history of this Baron formed an im-
portant part of my early day's reading ; but which the later
literature has replaced by Jack Sheppard, and the like. If
time had served, I should certainly have visited the Baron's
*' prison house."
Prussia you know is as fiat as a prairie. The exception
is the mountain boundary between it and Belgium, and
which I have already commemorated. As you get along on
the railway, you see narrow roads passing off from its edges
into the country, and parallel roads with their tributaries.
At the stations we got cherries in abundance, and very
cheap. At Coethen, pronounced by the natives Coen, in
the shortest possible order, we had a splendid time with
the cherries. Women are the merchants. It is a female
monopoly. The rights of the sex are unquestioned here.
And who would ask for other sellers of such exquisite fruit ?
They sell them in paper envelopes, wrapped up like cornu-
copoeias, and I was not a little amused to find that my liorn
was made of a broad leaf of four pages, a work of Hippo-
crates, in Greek, with a Latin translation, very handsomely
printed. Here in this obscure, out of the way village of
Prussia, is Greek medical literature used to make cherry
bags ! Doubtless, literature has been put to worse uses.
On v/e drove, and at about nine in the evening, in fair,
reading twilight, we ended our journey, of about three
hundred miles, having arrived at —
JOURNAL. 333
Leipzig (properly spelt), in Saxony. — This is a queer
old spot. I stopped at the Hotel Barriere, tie best in the
place, utterly worn out with heat, noisy, restless children,
and a steady, solid drive of some hundred miles, to say
nothing of dust, smoke, soot, &c,, the accompaniments of
railway travel. Tea was ordered, — candles were lighted.
Going into my parlour, four large wax candles in high silver
candlesticks, wei- found in full blaze for the edification of
the furniture, that being the only occupant. They were of
coarse put out. Speaking of candles. These are a heavy
charge in a long bill, and to make this charge less, some are
in the habit of taking the ends of candles, which, sometimes,
are almost the whole article, away with them. At Leipzic,
having before heard somewhat of the practice, I thought of
adopting it, and told Charles to gather together the things
which remained, and which were surely destined to perish.
Said he, " Sir, I would not take the candles. Gentlemen
never take them." It w^as clear the courier was greatly
troubled, and most anxious for my dignity, and I gave up
the thought of burdening him with the wax. Sugar was
quite a different thing. I daily pocketed what was left,
and found uses for it. A friend once told me, that when
half a century or more ago, he was in Paris, he took lessons
in French, of an old Abbe. The lesson was given at
breakfast, and M. seeing the remainder sugar daily car-
ried away by the servant, with the breakfast furniture,
asked my friend, as it was paid for, to permit him to take
away what was left. It was in small, most delicate, imita-
tion sugar loaves. My friend readily granted the request,
and the poor Abbe got daily a generous supply for his
coffee, and sugar- water. It was in memory of this old anec-
dote of my friend's foreign life, that I " put the remaining
sugar in my pocket." So much for candles and sugar.
Sunday, July 14. — Leipzic I said was old. In the tenth
century, its site had on it a small Sclavonian village. In
the 12th, Leipzic was there, a fortified city, with walls and
334 JOXJRNAL.
ditches. From its present looks I sliould tliink it was built
all up at ouce, and is this pleasant summer's day, precisely
as it was then. Such a city. I have seen nothing like it,
and it is in no part of it like itself. Here are streets, and
squares, and churches, and a university with many students,
and seventy or more professors. The character of Leipzic is
in its architecture, or rather, no architecture. Everybody
has built, — nobody builds now, — just as the whim took
him, and whim has been the order of the day. A house is
four or six stories high. The roof is the largest part of
the house. I have counted six and seven stories in one
roof, that is, rows of dormant windows to this extent. But
this differs perpetually. Houses being as much unlike in
this as in other resj)ects, as possible. I asked the use of
these strange shaped, and j)laced rooms. One said they
were used to dry clothes in. I could understand this, for in
Germany, every housekeeper begins married life, — the
woman does, I mean, — by getting together, house, bed,
and other linen in quantity sufficient to last the family, that
is, and its natural and accidental increments, half a year, —
six months, — for it is a custom to wash but twice a year.
The drying rooms must be large to accommodate such
washes, and this may be found in the rooms in the roof.
Another reason for this odd architecture was given. These
windows, and the rooms they light and ventilate, are for the
accommodation of the thousands who come to the fairs,
annually held in Leipzic. These fairs are many. Two a
year for books only, and the volumes brought and sold here,
are almost numberless ; and bookmakers, printers, and ven-
ders, are in proportion. Then there are fairs for horses,
peltry, wool, cotton, and cotton fabrics, domestic and
foreign, French, English, Turkish, &c., &c. Large accom-
modations are demanded for these, and the existing amount
hardly is enough. But the roofs rejoiced in other things
than windows. Out of some projected miniature spires, as
of churches. And for what purpose? May they not be for
JOXIEXAL. 335
a sort of chapels of ease, and tlie partition walls of the
rooms used during the fairs being removed, the vast attics
may be used as places of worship by those w^ho do not find
accommodation elsew^here. How strange is Leipzic, which
makes such de.mands on philosophy, which asks such ques-
tions, and which may be so variously answered. I have
sometimes thought while looking at these houses, that the
builders must have had some concern with the Babel Tower,
and meeting after the confusion of tongues, had gone to
Avork without any plan, each one for himself. I looked up
and down, side ways, and all ways, upon the things before
me, but it Avas no use. It was all " muddle," as says that
most wretched man in Dickens. I said that from one roof
came out a miniature church spire. Near it is one which
has a tower springing somehow from its gable end, looking
more like an observatory than anything else. Then, one
man desirous for the extremest architectural antagonism,
has made his window sills slanting, instead of horizontal,
all askew, and the effect is queer enough. I was getting so
twisted and turned by these works of art, that I went home,
lest I should get a lee lurch myself, and come home wrong
side up. You never saw such a place. I have wandered
somewhat, and have seen different peoples, and widely dif-
ferent cities, but never anything like this. Nothing can be
like it, for it is wholly unlike itself. Leipzic is built of
stones, monstrous large ones, and there are sculptures of
all sorts on the corners of buildings, on the tympanum of the
pediments of the gables, just as were ornamented the same
members of the Greek and Roman public architecture. The
stones are black, or brown black, and much worn away, or
masses may have been carried from them to build other
houses, and could have been spared, and not missed. I
thought this very day of sketching some of these houses
which are in the square near my hotel. But I abstained as
it is Sunday, though as women are selling cherries, and
strawberries in the square, I might not have much disturbed
336 JOURNAL.
the devotional spirit of the place. I had neither heart,
mind, nor time, to visit Leipzic sights. It is a sight itself,
and cannot fail to satisfy the most rampant curiosity. I
heard there was a sight worth seeing, — a Gallery, — and
particularly worthy, as in it was a full length of Marie An-
toinette on her way to the guillotine ; a work by a native
artist. You may be surprised that a gallery should be open
to-day. But there was consideration in this. It was not
opened until the churches had been closed, at noon, — and
so could be visited when the morning service had been dis-
posed of. It reminded me of the mercantile accommodation
formerly granted our burghers by opening the Post-office
for an hour after morning church. There was short time to
get letters on the first Sunday of the month. But all went
and had their letters ready for Monday. But we" have
changed the time of late ; we can get our letters before going
into church. I went to the Gallery. Among the Turks,
you know we must do as the Turkies do. The picture of
the Queen is the principal attraction. It is striking. She
has been long in prison, — has looked death in the face
every day. She has grown pale in darkness. The blessed
sun has not blessed her. On the top of her head, down to
the neck, the hair is as white as snow, while the heavy
curls over the neck and shoulders still have their youthful
colour. Hair sometimes becomes white very suddenly. Fear
has produced the change. The Queen had never betrayed
fear. She has not forgotten that she was, — that she is a
Queen. She says that until the
" Long divorce of steel fall on her,"
she will remain a Queen. The eyes are not full open, as if
the strong and unaccustomed sunlight, and the scene around
were more than the eye, or the mind, could at once bear.
In the mouth the expression is the most striking. The lips
are closed as by the will, — the long enduring, and still
acting will. You see that the pressure of the lips against
JOUKXAL. 337
each other has a purpose, or is the product of a mental state
of unbroken energy. There is no acting in all this. There is
only, — and what more is needed ? — there is nothing more
than entire self-possession, with a sadness too, which comes,
it may be, from the memory of the dead, — children, — hus-
band, — sisters, — all killed, and in detail, as if to make her
surviving agony heavier by being longer. She stands firmly,
— a full length, — in black. Around her, are soldiers, with
swords and guns, as if that helpless creature might turn
upon, and kill them all. There are wretches with the lonnet
rouge on their heads, and one more especially, who has hell
in his face beforehand. Others are thrusting their hard
clenched fists at her Much of this is in the shade, and no
more of it than is sufficient to tell the story.
The queen picture has been here three days, and as a
special favor will remain as many more. If an apology or
reason, then, were asked for opening the exhibition of a
Sunday, perhaps one might be found in this fact. But I
hardly believe it. It seems a national custom, a part of that
Euro--ean life, which hardly separates Sunday from the week.
The shops, however, were all closed. The people were
abroad in their best, and everything spoke of the general
comfort. The streets are w^ell paved with stones of the size
and shape of very large bricks, and the sidewalks are gene-
rally good. The quiet was perfect. Soldiers were about, of
course, and in numbers sufficient to restore order should it
anywhere be broken.
Speaking of soldiers. Leipzic is as celebrated for its
battles as for its fairs. Twice we are told the destinies of
Germany have been decided by arms on its plains, viz.,
September 7, 1631, and October 18, 1813. Another earlier
battle, on the 2d of November, 1642, is not without mem-
ory. I w^as told of these battle-fields, — of the places of the
dead, — of the victors, and of the vanquished, — and was
desired to devote a day to visit them. But I have no curiosity
about such places or things, — no desire to see them. • I
29
338 JOXJKIS'AL.
had been wifhin a short distance of Waterloo. But I knew
that nature had covered the desecrated earth there, with
green, and with beauty — that she had gentlj' wiped away the
evidence of man's terrible insult to herself, and to her God,
— and that peace had again its abode there. Why, why,
disturb for human memories, such repose? Why, with
curious word, and vulgar tramp, arouse the echoes around
the buried, — the mouldering, the forgotten ? I cared not
for Waterloo. I cared not for the Battle-fields of Leipzic.
Deesden. Monday, July 12th. — I left home May 12th.
I am, then, just two months from home. Two months, —
and as epochs have a value, this is recorded.
It is a fair and fine morning. The sun has power even at
his early rising at this time of the year, and a hot day is
toward. I am at the Hotel de Rome, — the Stadt Rom, —
of the vernacular here. It is a grand place, in front of a
noble square'. My rooms are engaged for a Grand Duke, of
a Grand Duchy, and I am warned, if his highness arrive
before I go, I must go up higher. The square is directly in
front of my windows, precisely as in Copenhagen, except
wanting water, boats, and nice fxsh women, is a market, and
in full activity. This was not to be resisted, so out I went,
and was at once in the midst of venders and buyers. Of
course the first were women. All sorts of things were for
sale, — a curious mixture. Rye bread in enormous circular
loaves or masses, two feet or more in diameter, and in pro-
portion thick, — thick crusted, with the peculiar smell, and
Ihave no doubt taste, which are so rejoiced in, in Germany.
There were long loaves, looking like a very respectable un-
sawed log of wood, especially when mounted on the shoul-
der of the buyer. These solid wheels of bread, or circles,
were piled up very high, as you may have seen large cheeses.
This bread is very popular. It has its value to the German
heart and stomach in the thoroughness of its cookery. It is
of the deepest crust. It retains its sweetness comparatively
JOURNAL. 339
a long time, and is always fresh. The whole bread of the
Continent is thoroughly done. The German wheat flour roll
is completely baked. The crust is brown, and «risp, —
to tender teeth and gums, a caution. I have not these, but
having so long eaten uncooked, — everything else but good
bread, — that the crispness of the foreign in its novelty was
not wholly agreeable. My practice is to take the roll firmly
in hand, and with a good squeeze, crush it into something
like the accustomed softness. I shall miss this most excel-
lent foreign bread. Then, across the square, were farming
and garden tools, and straw, and hay, and seeds, all in
large quantities. Next, vegetables and fruit in abundance,
and of the nicest quality. Loads of splendid cherries, and
grand gooseberries, and something between our huckle and
blue berries, also abundant. Next was a market of children's
basket wagons; and lastly, butter of exquisite complexion.
I like to know how people live. Here were the necessaries
and many of the luxuries of life in profusion, and so cheap
that the mo'tley customers might be all served. Is it not
pleasant, does it not speak well for a people to see them in
the early morning, in from the country, with its best pro-
ducts, in the open air, and bright sky, and surrounded by
the city folk in pleasant chat, disposing of their marketing ?
Then the perfect neatness of everything. The public gaze
is here, everything is seen, and people know that what they
buy will be worth having. I delight in, I love this old
marketing, so social, so pleasant, so honest, and so satisfac-
tory. I took out my pocket book, as is my wont, to note
down what was before me, and some of the folk looked at
me this morning. Generally, I have wandered about with-
out exciting the least remark, and am never troubled by
solicitations to buy.
In the market I looked at the women to learn something
of their position by their persons, manners, dress. There
was a striking difference between buyers and sellers. The
latter are peasants, the former citizens, mostly women. The
340 JOIJPvNAL.
peasant woman shows her position by the effect of constant
out-door work, on both complexion and expression. The
daily exposure to the long hot days of summer acts surely
upon both, until almost feature, certainly beauty, for all are
born with beauty, is absolutely burnt out of them. Why,
no longer ago than Saturday, I passed a sugar beet field
which Avas boundless in extent, — spreading in every direc-
tion as far as the eye could reach, and in it, I counted be-
tween seventy and eighty women in a row, a straight row,
at work, weeding and turning the earth about the plants.
In a neighbouring field was another party of about forty at
the same toil. They, or many, wore large hats which could
do little more than at high noon keep ofi* the sun's burning
heat. There was something picturesque in the exhibition.
The German, like all other women, delight in dress, and it
was pleasing to see how true is the interest even in the
sugar beet field. All sorts of colours entered into the cos-
tume, and the bright ribands, and other floating or flying
appendages of hat or dress, gave to the women" a cheerful as
well as gay look. As the train passed, they stood resting
on the end of their hoe handles, like soldiers at drill, and
with not a little grace, I assure you. Across the square is
the Bom, the Cathedral, — Catedral, as the courier calls it,
— in its age, its dark, heavy, time-worn walls, — its vast
size, — the silent majesty of material forms, standing there
forever, a spiritual guardian, embodied for the salvation of
the people. Breakfast dispatched, I passed across the
Square to the " Ro3^al Gallery of Dresden," as sayeth the
catalogue. The catalogue is before me. It numbers eighteen
hundred and fifty-seven works of art, by several hundred
masters and schools, the authors of seventy-seven being
unknown. I have just returned from the gallery, — from
one of the great interests of Europe. Who has not heard
of it, who has ever heard of art ? Who does not desire to
see it ? You have in it the original of works, the copies of
which in great and little, painted or engraved, have filled
JOURNAL. 341
the world, for adornment, for instruction, or for pleasure.
Art has done what it could do to give some notion of what
these great and old works are, and to what their production
has been owing. The master has sought by pencil, or by
tool, — on the canvas, or the marble, to reproduce ideal
states, — to reveal his own spiritual being, in its highest
activity, — in the hope to make immortal the memory of
human greatness, — to reveal the beauties of nature in their
influences upon himself, — to strengthen piety, — to give
to the affections a more powerful, — a more active life, —
and as its final cause to awaken, — to keep alive, reverence
toward God, and toward man. He who reveals to me most
clearly by whatever means, the moral, the religious, the
intellectual, has done for me the best work that man can do.
It may be in a cup of cold water, — or in the Consecration
of the Bread and the Wine, in the Dresden Gallery, from the
hand of its author. As soon as you see the original of
this work, you feel that the whole story is told. A copy
must be a failure. In the original is embodied the master's
mind. Who can copy a mind ? Nobody. One day as I
looked again upon the " Consecration," an artist was copy-
ing it. You saw at once it was a failure. Christ was not
there. The story was not told. In the original the bread
is 7uade Jlesh, — the wine is made blood. You see what, to
the human in that Divine Being, had been the terrible con-
sciousness before hand of that which was surely to come,
— but you see also, how the Divine has replaced the
human, and with what, I had almost said, joy, that heart
is now visited. I never before saw such an expression in
a living mouth. It can never be repeated.
This is my body which is broken for you.
This is my blood which is shed for you.
I declare to you that to weep is so present to me now in
this silent, far-off chamber, when I bring that picture in
thought before me, that tears from my very heart almost burst
from my eyes. I wish I could give to you some idea of
29*
342 JOURNAL.
this, to me, wonderful work, — this transfusion of the Divine
into the human, and that you could see the Divine triumph
there. The tears are dried up. The places they have occu-
pied may still know them, and you may almost think there
is still weeping. But the shadow of the vanished grief is
only there. I looked at the copy. It is all human. The
expression of the mouth and eyes was only common grief, —
the simple consciousness of suffering to come. There is
Correggio's " Magdalen " lying on the earth, reading a book,
with a vessel of holy oil at her side. This was also under-
going the agony of being copied ; and how many thousand
engravings and painted copies have been made of it. Now,
failure here is not so great as in the " Consecration." This
is human, — the Magdalen, but purified, — " born again."
But here in the copy, you get no true idea of it as a work
of art. Correggio is at the head of those artists who have
their fame in the beauty of their conception, — ■ in form, —
colour, — and the use of these in expression. His flesh is
exquisite. It is warmed as with living blood. It is as
luminous as if it were the source of its own illumination.
There is no failure. It tells its story. I know I am writing
about pictures in the near neighbourhood of the Madoistxa
OF DnESDEisr. But I am not at the petty, absurd work
of comparing great works which have no likeness ; or find-
ing authority, or models, for original works. I am talking
of things of, by, and in, themselves, and such study excludes
all other related work. I had no idea of Correggio, or of
Carlo Dolce, till I saw them in the Gallery across the Square
yonder. I had seen efforts to copy them, and beautiful
shapes may have been the result. But there is beneath the
surface of the originals of such works, that which makes
the external just what it is designed to be, — the outward
life, or being of underlying form, — the ideal, — which, not
being there, in that copy, cannot be revealed by it. There
can be no copy of a true painting, — a true work of art.
Men may copy, and try and give us size, and shape, and
JOURNAL. 343
colour. But they have no more that they can give. A
man might as well think of reproducing another man's
son.
There is here the world-renowned picture of Raphael,
called the Madonna of St. Sixtus, — the Dresden Madonna.
It is of great size. It stands by itself. Care has been
taken to preserve it from injury, — the action of moisture,
dust, &c., and now five hundred years since it was painted,
it has the freshness of a recent work. A heavy plate-
glass does not in the least obscure it, while it protects it
admirably. This picture affects you as a work of art. The
highest authorities have pronounced it perfect in its kind.
It excites less emotion than other works of its author, or of
some other authors. We go to the works of Raphael with
profound reverence and love. We mark that day in our
lives, in which we have seen one of his works, as an epoch
in our moral and intellectual life. I have seen nothing in
these works which could for a moment raise a question of
their perfect purity. Raphael depends on the truth of
detail, and therefore never, for a moment, offends your
taste, or disturbs the entire satisfaction and pleasure with
which you see his works. You, as by an intuition, — in-
stinct, — go to that for which the painting was made, and
which has given it so long life, and find your pleasure in
the harmony which subsists between it and your capacity to
understand and feel it. We feel more. We are glad that
we have had an opportunity to come so near to one who has
made himself immortal by his works. We come into his
presence, and place ourselves where he only is, as disciples
to a master. We make no question of the authenticity
of the manner in which a thought may be presented to us
by him, because we feel that the thought is there, and
has clothed itself, and demands our assent, — yes, entire
submission to its own decisions, — to the internal evidence
of the whole truth in the work itself. I marked other num-
bers in the catalogue, for memory and for description, but
pass them by.
344 JOURNAL.
The same defect in lighting the gallery, which was noticed
when speaking of the Hermitage, exists here. The win-
dows are opposite the pictures, to the annoyance of the
visitor, and obvious injury to the effect of the pictures.
Two paintings of Carlo Dolce had been taken from their
places to be copied. The effect Vv'as to present them in the
true light, and you cannot tell how much is gained to the
spectator by the change. There is a large picture by Van-
dyk, — a Danse on her bed, receiving Jupiter metamor-
phosed into a shower of gold. No. 399. It is most exqui-
sitely coloured, and the drawing is as fine as the colouring.
Now, this picture of this great artist is placed thus : A
large Avindow is in front of it, and a window on each side
of that. They seem to contend which shall do most to pre-
vent the picture being seen ; and it is one of those rare cases
in which all parties succeed. Now, if there be anything
in such a subject, or in its treatment, or in the manner of
treating it, vrhich makes it unfit for the public eye, why not
put it down cellar at once ? I will venture to say that there
is more neck-twisting to see that picture, than any other
specimen of its kind in the Gallery, and many such there
are which enjoy excellent light. If there be no so-called
moral considerations in the question, why not put in its
place half a dozen, or hundred things, which scarce anybody
cares to see, and let this replace them ?
I have said nothing of the architecture of this ancient
and justly renowned city. It resembles Leipzic, but with a
difference. It really has order in it, — is the product of
some plan. There are storied roofs, but much less ambi-
tious than in Leipzic. Houses are built of stone, and get
old sooner than might otherwise be, by the crumbling away
of that of which they are built. I have not seen this ex-
plained. Upon asking a cause, I was told it is time.
The entrance to the Gallery affords a striking instance of
this stone decay, and so does the Cathedral in the same
square. It does not occur only on the outside of buildings,
JOURNAL. 345
or in parts of them liable to injury or wear. There is some
cause in the composition or structure of the stone which
predisposes to such decay.
It was a delicious morning, this, upon which, at about
six, I left Dresden for Vienna. Our route was on the banks
of the Elbe. Railways love such places. The river, at
least this portion of it, is narrow, shallow, and sallow, and
as lazy as any river need be. But, for its state, it has mag-
nificent scenery. We should hardly call its lateral boun-
daries first class mountains ; but they were of sufficient
height to give character to the country. Why is it that
mountains so deeply impress us ? Is it that in their mys-
terious heights, the mountain, the unknown, they come to
be related to the near present, — the material, — the phy-
sical, after a manner which we do not comprehend, or even
care to have explained ? Several years ago I went to the
White Hills, so called, in America. I walked up Mt.
Washington, between six and seven thousand feet above the
level of the sea. I looked from that " far height," over a
vast extent of country. It was noon, and one of the bright-
est. I saw a line, as of a white ribbon, winding, for miles,
away among forests, and hills, and valleys, having a bril-
liancy like burnished silver. What is that, said I to the
guide, " It is the Saco River," said he. Between thirty and
forty miles to the south and w^est, I saw a large bright
white spot, on the earth, almost as brilliant as the river.
This, 1 was told, was the Winipiseogee Lake. The noon
sun was over them, pouring upon them a torrent of light,
every ray of which was retu^ ne 1 to the heavens again, and
in its way filled my eyes with its brightness. I could not
bear to leave a spot which furnished to me so sublime, so
beautiful a vision. It seemed as if I should not be happy
below again. The mountain had become as a friend. How
much pleasure had it not given me ? I reached the hotel
in the evening. I did not cease to think and to talk of
that mountain. It seemed to me the most solitary thing on
346 JOUEXAL.
the whole earth, which it had left so far beneath it. I felt
sad that it was all alone out, and up there, in the cold, —
the silence, — the darkness. The sense of solitariness never
so deeply affected me before. When I left that mountain-
region, I felt a sort of homesick desire to go to it again, —
yes, hold communion again with the " everlasting hills."
How much enters into mountain scenery to make it just
what it is. How many parts in the vast whole, — and what
perpetual novelty, — the product only of different arrange-
ments of the same parts. A river is among mountains, and
one of their creations, follows them wherever they go. Like
a loving child, it clings to, and follows the parent. Here
we have a source of our interest in such facts in nature.
The hour of the day, and the presence of the sun, have
much to do with our theme. These are prolific of beauty,
and you may create it, or have it created, simj)ly by changing
your position with regard to a mountain range ; and so
make the sun to bear npon it in different directions. The
winding of the mountains, or of the river, make all this
change of direction for, you. The light mist of the morn-
ing is a great help to the effects of such scener}^ Suppose
the sun to have been up an hour or two, and the river fol-
lows the deep curves of mountains, as it must. You have
every effect of light and shade, — the certain revelation of
variety and beauty. At times the sun, behind the angle,
or bend in a range, illuminates half of a tree, a tall, noble fir,
leaving the other part in the depths of its sad-green, and
which no other foliage yields. Sometimes the mist is mov-
ing, or the refraction of the light on entering a denser
medium than the surrounding atmosphere, gives this effect
of motion, — this seeming to be living, and moving, by an
effort of the tree itself. At times the colour of the foliage
is purple ; and then it will present a surface of the light-
est down, perfectly white. A cloud may now pass between
a portion of it and the sun, the rest of it being full of light.
You cannot tell how arorareous is the contrast, — how mag-
JOUKXAL. 347
nificent the whole. I was alone. The train went banging
along, but I did not heed its noise. And then the shrill
whistle spoke, and echo upon echo returned its clear voice.
Other effects came from the relative positions, simply of
masses ; while natural hollows, or deep retreats of hill and
wood, gave darkness to aid the power of the celestial light
which reigned everywhere else.
The structure of these mountains is rocks, which, lying
near the surface everywhere, increase the general effect by
their colour, and by an apparently architectural arrange-
ment, as if placed there by art. The first rocks we saw
were of a dark cream colour, but becoming lighter and
lighter till they were almost white. This, a sandstone,
accompanied the Elbe in its course. You may lose it for
some time, and then the formation recurs, and you see at
once the same rocks you lost miles before. They are strati-
fied. In the first region in Avhich I noticed them, the
stratification is horizontal with vertical seams, producing at
different distances natural joints. The strata occur of dif-
ferent thicknesses in the same range, and are separated from
each other with ease, so that you can get out stones of
various thickness and lengths for any purpose for which
stones are used, — architecture, or other. The mountains
spring from near the river's edges. This allows of a ready
and speedy passage of the stones to the water, and to gon-
dolas hard by. An inclined plane, which the mountain's
side is, is just smoothed, and the stones slide down it.
Between the mountain bases and the Elbe, is a road. The
stones stop here, and are easily passed thence to the
boat.
One use made of this stone, of itself, and of its forma-
tion, is seen in the Konigstein, or " Kingstone." This is a
mountain fortress on the Elbe, in Saxony, and near Bohe-
mia. It is impregnable. It has never been conquered.
It has stood through the long and complicated wars of Ger-
many. No army has overcome it, and no treachery has
348 JOUKNAL.
betrayed it, the certain evidence of its physical and moral
power. "But," says one, "the fortress is of no military
importance, as it cannot serve for a rallying point, or point
of support for an enemy." The pictures of the Dresden
Gallery have been preserved here in times of danger. A
well, 1172 feet, is on the top. Supplies can always be pro-
duced on the mountain. About six hundred people live on
its top. Its cannon command the town below on the Elbe.
It stands there in its virgin purity, as it was at first erected,
and has this day in itself the sure prophecy of never losing
its distinction among the works of nature and of man.
The mountain rises in solitary grandeur, fourteen hundred
feet perpendicularly from the river ; its surface is more than
a mile in circumference. It is wholly mural in its elevation.
What was necessary for the formation of the fortress ?
First, to remove the earth, and then strata enough of the
sandstone to give smoothness to the surface, and symmetry
to the outline. Galleries, embrasures, &c., were easily pro-
vided. This fortress in itself, in its beautiful material, the
cream-coloured sandstone, — in its position, and relations,
in its history, — makes an interesting passage in the travel
on the Elbe.
In other parts of the route very different rocks are met
with. These are dark, black, with smooth and bright sur-
faces, which strongly reflect the light. These are everywhere
undergoing disintegration, falling off in large or small
masses. Sometimes they almost overhang the road, and
seem as if they might separate and roll upon the rail, or
fall upon the top of the train. The process of disintegra-
tion is curious. A rock of some height will have masses
small and large come off from its circumference only, pro-
ducing at length a columnar form, as high as was the original
rock. These columns are pointed at top, and resemble a
spire, and as if formed by art. The surrounding surface is
covered, piled up with the debris, — the product of the dis-
integration. In form, these detached masses vary, sometimes
JOUHNAL. 349
appearing ciiboidal ; in others the disentegration is less per-
fect, a mass having the character of many pieces still united,
and presenting a great variety in shape. While there was
this variety in this formation, and made the region so truly
picturesque, the opposite side of the river, with its stratified
sandstone put to economical purposes, had the same charac-
ter, but from different sources, — the infinite varieties in
size, shape, direction, and position, of mountains, — the
varied forest, and other facts in the history, the entire
scenery making the day's drive exceedingly agreeable.
Wherever soil exists you have cultivation. The hill sides
are sometimes so steep, you can hardly think any one could
stand upon them. But grain is seen growing upon them of
all kinds, on patches of land of all sorts of shapes, and
going in all directions. The appearance of things was
striking and beautiful. It was positively pleasurable to
track the plough, the hoe, the spade, along and up these
steep hill-sides, — to see the variety of crops upon the
ground, and to learn how successful is culture under difficul-
ties. x\t times, and often, the steepness is less, and you see
long reaches of excellent land filled with heavy grain, de-
noting plenty, and associated comfort and contentment.
Man is here truly in the midst of his works, — the conqueror
of nature.
The cottages are of various sizes and shapes. In some,
the roofs are in numbers, 1, 2, 3, &c. They are formed by
projecting each roof forward, at certain distances, resem-
bling the projection of a deep cornice, over its neighbours
beneath. The windows are curious. They occupy the
cornice, or cornices. They are shaped like the human eye,
the outline of the lids, and the pupil being precisely like it.
At times, there is only one eye, sometimes two, or more.
The effect is quite striking. I give you a sketch made on
the spot. I have said generous culture denoted human
comfort. The cottages are in harmony with their surround-
30
350 JOURNAL.
ings, and we may infer, I think, that their interior arrangis-
ments correspond.
As you approach Vienna, the country becomes flatter, and
at length, flat ; and on every side, and as far as the eye can
reach, luxuriant cultivation declares itself. In England, and
America, farmers seem to think that the more stone walls
or hedges, the better it is for the crops. But it is not so.
These subdivisions of land into small fields, or lots, dimin-
ish useful surface. The plough is turned often, and at
every turn, is loss. Tillage looks ill when so hampered.
You see on the Continent here, that the ownershij^ of land
may vest in more than one. It may be in many. Diff"erent
grains, &c., may be grown on it. But there is no fence
to separate one portion from another. A narrow foot-path
only is between them, and this is sufficient to prevent tres-
passing. Then the appearance of things is so good, — dif-
ference of colour and shape in the varied culture, making
beauty, — the beauty of use, and of show; and you rejoice
in the human force, the good minds, and good hands which
have done so much for the general advantage. We talk in
America about the foreign owner, — the lord. Very well.
There are owners and lords, but they are the products of all
this soil, and culture, just as much as the grains themselves ;
and the cultivator is no less, and no more. The question,
what is the best health, and the truest contentment ? The
experience of every day's life, everywhere, may answer it.
I met very unexpectedly with an old friend of the fields
here. This was our "Indian Corn," — maize, as they call
it abroad. It had the old home freshness and expression,
and I was glad to see a native of our Indian land in this
far-off" world. In its first specimens it seemed hardly at
home. But it soon showed its old face, and the best " sweet
corn," I have no doubt, was in prospect. Potatoes were
grovx^ing all along the edges of the cornfields just as
in America, and I have no doubt had my sight been
better, I should have seen pumpkins, and the genuine
JOIJKNAL. 351
old crooked necked squashes, v/hich some new fangled
foreign kinds, not half so good as the old, have in America
replaced. The Austrian tillage is neater than ours. Women
are the farmers, and they have the physical accidents of out-
door work. They aid in preparing the ground for the
seed, sow it, have much of the care of it. When ripe, they
reap grain, and mow grass, and fit both for their uses. They
carry the harvest home. Where required, men are at work
with them. The heat of the day they rest. Their children
are with them in the shade ; and they take their food with
them. They do not work hard, but steadily. Nobody, as
far as I have seen, works hard on the Continent. The hard
workers, men and women, are in Great Britain and America.
On the route a misadventure occurred which annoyed me.
My courier got the tickets for the day's drive, and kept
them. As I am unacquainted with the language, should
question arise, it might be embarrassing, and as he was
to-day in the second class, it would not be possible to refer
to him. I thought, as there was some inconvenience in this
arrangement, that I would keep my tickets for this day's
drive. They were examined soon after leaving Dresden, at
the first station. They were of some number and of different
colours. I was not asked for them again. I observed that
fellow-passengers as they left, gave tickets at diflferent sta-
tions, and the last one, as they left the train. At a station,
the courier came and said to me that when he told the con-
ductor that I had my own tickets, telling him in which car-
riage I was, he denied that I had any, and if he did not at
onc3 buy another set, he would turn him out of the convoy.
There was no time for talk, and the new set of tickets was
bought. They were endorsed duplicate. When we reached
Vienna, I was in a profound sleep. The conductor roused
me, and asked for my tickets. He took the whole of them,
tore them all up except that on which Wein was printed,
and threw them on the floor.
352 JOURNAL.
Vienna. — We arrived here between eight and nine,
A. M., and drove at once to the Erzherzog Carl, — the Arch-
duke Charles, where I found excellent quarters. My cou-
rier, soon after, asked me for a note to the head of the
Bureau of the Northern Railway, stating the facts about the
ticket imposition, as he called it, and to ask for a return of
the money. He carried my note, and returned, asking for
the tickets which he had given me. I told him what had
become of them. He returned to the Bureau, and was told
it would be necessary to report this matter to the officer
at Praga, before it could be settled, adding, that if I had
retained the tickets, which the courier had told him were
torn up by the conductor, there would have been no delay
about the matter. The giving of checks, or taking tickets
at stations, is just what is done on the railways at home.
I left the address of my Vienna banker, and stated the
affair to the banker also, where, if the money were returned,
it would find me. I should have said above that my courier
had his duplicate tickets, — those endorsed duplicate, —
when we left the train in Vienna, and on this evidence it
was, which he could not have had, were it not that he had
purchased the second set, that my complaint at the Bureau
was made. But, as the set which I had taken from my
courier, as above stated, merely for convenience, had been
torn up, and scattered upon the carriage floor, just as I was
about to leave it on reaching Vienna, that evidence of three
sets having been purchased was wanting, and the question
could only be decided by information from Praga. Any one
of common sense will see that this evidence was wholly
unnecessary, as the endorsed duplicate set was still in p)os-
sessicn of my courier, and was produced at the Bureau. I
do not know if the government have any interest in the
railway, and if it have, as I am informed the Emperor is a
minor, a suit for damages might not lie. But it would have
been something, would it not, to have sued a ruler of more
than thirty millions? Let it not be forgotten that the
JOUKNAL. 353
tickets in my possession, as well as those held by ray cou-
rier, had both been examined at the first station, after leav-
ing Dresden, and were pronounced correct. I have stated
the facts just as they occurred. Austria owes me many
gulden !
Vienna is on the southern bank of the Danube, and
fourteen miles in circumference, the oldest city in Germany.
It has 487,846 inhabitants. Its general aj)pearance pleased
me. It has many places, or squares, which are for public use
and for health. The older cities in Europe were very gen-
erous in their land appropriations for the general good. The
means here of education, intellectual health, are abundant.
The libraries are numerous, and are rich in books, manu-
scripts, works of art, — the materials of popular instruction,
and gratification. Colleges, academies, hospitals, museums,
abound, adding to the provisions for general benefit. St.
Stephen's Church especially attracted my attention. I wan-
dered over it, lost in its immensity, — its unobstructed, free
space. I have alluded to this before, when recalling the
impressions made upon me abroad. It would seem that the
old sacred architecture saw in its vastness some relations
with its object, — that the house of God, in its differences
from all other human works, — in its exceptional character,
should have some correspondence with the universe of which
it is a type. This church was surely old enough to show
the marks of age, and it certainly did. You saw this at
once as you approached it. Time has impressed itself also
upon the interior. The stone is crumbling, and men were
at work replacing the decayed by the new. I was the more
struck with this, as the interior of so vast a pile is secure
from changes of temperature, — from rain, wind, moisture,
slow, but sure causes of decay, — the decomposition of
stones. But the work was going on, and but for the sub-
stantial repairs which governments only can make, this mag-
nificent church would surely long before this have been a
ruin.
354 JOUENAL.
I had come to Vienna, the capital of a great empire, as I
had visited every other place, to get some notion of foreign
arrangements for the present, in human want, and for human
progress. I went into the streets, and to such places as
would promote these objects. In short, whatever might
form public taste, the perception and enjoyment of the
good and the beautiful, — and serve as the bases of every-
thing else which would best promote physical and intellec-
tual health.
I had a letter to Doctor A., whose connections with pub-
lic charities best fitted him to favour my inquiries. He was
not at home. I left my card, and was soon favoured by a
call from him. I was at once assured that Doctor A. was
the person, of all others, who could, and would most aid
me in my objects. His face, expression, form, manner, —
the whole man, showed you his character, and what he
would do, and how he would do it, to serve you. There is
an instinct in this matter, which rarely, if ever, deceives us.
Men speak without saying a word. Dr. makes you
at once his friend. You cannot resist such simple, natural
eloquence of manner. It makes its silent demand on your
confidence, by showing you that it will not be misplaced.
I said to Doctor A. that I had come to Vienna to see him.
We spoke of Professor Simpson, of Edinburgh. " I have,"
said Doctor A., "made him a visit lately, of some weeks,
and was delighted with him. He did everything in his
power to make my visit agresable, and I shall remember it
as among the memorable things of my life." I told him I
had long corresponded with Professor Simpson, and, that to
see him, w^as among the motives of my coming abroad.
An arrangement was soon made to visit the Hospital.
To a medical man this is one of the attractions of Vienna.
We soon reached it, and a great afi'air is it. It has grounds
about it, with trees, shrubberies, walks, for the pleasure and
good of convalescents ; and for those, too, who have in-
curable disease, such arrangements, such beneficent provi-
JOURNAL. 355
sions, are most acceptable. The extent of the Hospital
particularly arrested my attention, and I examined its
various departments with entire satisfaction. I was intro-
duced to Doctor B., a resident physician, and found in him
the same dispositions to favour my views in visiting the
house, as his friend and colleague had manifested. I was
carried into all the wards, saw all the arrangements for the
whole comfort and well-being of the sick, and could not but
be highly gratified at the vast provisions for these objects.
The wards were perfectly plain in furniture, and the deep-
worn floors showed how much they had been used. The
walls and ceilings betrayed questionless marks of age. It
was clearly a place of business, and a large business too,
and that the interest was in that more than in the show-
place, provisions of some other institutions for similar ob-
jects. It was for the poor, — and for those who cannot so
conveniently pass through sickness at home, as in a public
charity, — that if was founded, and I doubt not answers its
whole purposes. It is a general hospital, in the fullest
sense of the word. It is a national hospital, and it does
great honour to the Empire, under the patronage of which
it had its broad foundation, and has its continued and im-
portant existence. There were questions asked, and cheer-
fully received and answered. Ventilation was one. This,
as it seemed to me, was not much regarded here ; and the
heat of the day, and the number in the wards, made this
form of neglect the more obvious. Both medical officers,
whom I accompanied, agreed that it might be improved;
but, at the same time, both of them stated what had been
observed by each of them, namely, that fatal fever had more
frequently occurred in the wards which were the best ven-
tilated ; while the patients in other wards, as in that very
one in which I had referred to the subject, no fever had
occurred. I stated that what I had seen at Copenhagen
had furnished different results. Dr. said he had re-
ceived the same statements from Doctor L., of the Copen-
356 JOURNAL.
hagen Hospital, and of its use in the Westminster Hospital
in London, and, that from some cause, Dr. Uigby, of that
hospital, had given it up, — viz., the method of Dr. Reed.
Having completed my visit, and most grateful am I for
such opportunity of seeing so vast, and so important an
establishment, I took m.y leave. Dr. could not accom-
pany me, as he vi^as to deliver a lecture to his class, the last
of his course. He said he lectured in German, and though
it would give him great pleasure to have me present, yet he
felt sure that there would be no interest in his lecture to
me. I am very sorry, however, that I did not attend it ;
but, having engagements, I left this distinguished Professor,
sincerely grateful for his truly valuable attentions. Both
he and Dr. sj)eak English, and so perfectly, that you
hardly detect the German in a word they say.
I had not been long arrived in Vienna before a person in
the costume of the priesthood called on me, and handed me
a paper printed in English inviting me to attend a charity
meeting. I supposed it Avas the custom of his order, to
visit hotels, find out who had arrived, and to give to them a
similar invitation. I am sorry my time did not allow me to
accept it. I Avas mainly occupied in walking and driving
about to learn what I might of condition by the external
state of things. The public buildings are less attractive
than in other great cities, but the compensation was in the
general appearance of neatness, — the character of dwellings,
of streets, and of people. There are numerous squares,
public walks, kept in good order, and great luxuries are
they, and for the enjoyment of all. There was often an
appearance of freshness, newness, in the houses, which showed
attention to important means of comfort. All this was
apparent in my long drive to the hotel on entering the city,
and in my longer one to the steamer to leave it. I went
into shops which were filled with articles of beauty, ele-
gance, taste. Those in which Bohemian glass was collected,
were especially attractive. I was showed an order left by
JOURNAL. . 357
an American for some of the finest specimens of this gor-
geous manufacture. I selected a small, but distinctive
specimen for myself, it being a custom with me to take some
memorial, however slight, of the places I am visiting.
Occupations interest the traveller. I saw very little in
Vienna which distinguishes these from the rest of Germany.
It has been seen how moderate is effort, however directed.
The mechanic, the farmer, the man of all work, each seeks,
and successfully too, to avoid fatigue, making labour as little
toilsome as possible. Women are most frequently found at
work, whether in the field or on the road. Where the
country is uneven, they take their loads upon their heads, or
in panniers upon donkeys, or what not, and in ordinary roads
in wagons or otherwise. Women do all sorts of work in peat
or turf fields, — brick-making yards, — ditches, &c. One
woman was employed here in a novel way, — tending brick-
layers by carrying mortar. To be sure the quantity carried
at a time is very small, but this did not mend the matter.
The men were repairing a large drain, and a soldier was on
guard to protect the public from injury. And this was well.
The heat of the day was intense. I never suffered so much
from heat. Would that that overworked, wretched looking
woman, with her deep bonnet on, as if to hide the shame,
had been allowed to leave the scorching, out-door sun that
day, and had been permitted to find in domestic offices that
employment for which, in her constitution, both physical and
moral, she has been designed. When I spoke one day to
one on this subject of female employment in Europe, said
he, " Men do not work here, women do all the work."
Another said, " The strength, the vigour of manhood is
given to the army and navy. What would become of the
nation if women Avere not forced into this physical and
moral servitude ?
You have not failed to remark again and again in this
record, that wherever the military system is severest, the
armies are the largest in proportion to the population, and
358 JOUKXAL.
the younger the conscript, or the drafted. In such, women
work the most, — do most of the work of men. There has
been ahvays this compensation. The number employed is
very great compared with the service, or demand ; and
hence the toil, which is so largely divided, is less ; and so
is the exhaustion, and the injury to health. You see also,
and pray note it, war, or preparation for it, enters into the
very heart of society, and tends directly to hurt and debase
whole peoples. The war spirit is everywhere. It is ready
every moment to declare itself ; and its causes are sought
and found in circumstances as ridiculous as they are unprin-
cipled. In an old Scripture is a prophecy that swords shall
be turned into ploughshares, and spears into pruning-hooks,
and men shall learn war "no more. The prophecy is slow in
its fulfilment. The swords and the ploughshares go hand
in hand, — and as to the learning, war is clearly an instinct,
and not a lesson,
Danube. July — . — Left Vienna for Lintz, on the
Danube. The day again was among the finest which had
dawned upon me in Europe. The Danube is a noble river.
Its clear water reflecting the blue of heaven in all its depth
and richness, was altogether unlike the Rhine or Elbe.
Our voyage was up stream, and but for steam, it had been
wearisome indeed. Rafts, and immense boats, were met
Avith constantly. They were dragged along by horses in
long lines, in the shallow waters near the shore. The men
who drove them were singing in company, and the effect
was singularly pleasing. This making canals of rivers I
have seen again and again, but never on so large a scale.
These boats were large enough to carry thousands of cords
of wood, — coal, and lumber, in the same like quantities.
We passed two of the largest size lashed together, and came
in contact and sharp collision with one of them, or it with
us. The eff'ect was disastrous. The cargo was broken up,
and covered the river with its ruins. The steamer kept its
JOUKNAL. 359
way. The number of men on these rafts, sometimes, as I
was told, five hundred, will give you some notion of their
size.
We were on the Danube one whole day in a fine steamer,
and so passed over much of its surface. Its direction is
constantly changing. So striking is this that one cannot
avoid conjectures concerning its formation. Suppose two
ranges of mountains of different heights, shape, size, and
direction. Suppose they stand nearly opposite each other,
but in their progress bend from their course, wind, and some-
times irregularly, one before the other, and thus, for hundreds
of miles, you have a valley formed between two opposite
ranges of mountains. Now suppose the level of this valley
be not ]3erfect, but has an inclination east or west, north or
south, and this is always the case, you have an inclined plane.
Suppose, from the highest point or part of this valley a
spring breaks forth, it may be in its formation, — the water
begins to descend. At first the quantity is small. But
from a variety of sources, new springs, rain, the melting of
snow and ice, the rapid Danube is produced, or the more
rapid Rhine. Sometimes we find the river close to the
mountains for various distances, while a broad interval exists
between it, and the opposite side. In this case, the bases
of the mountains reached by the stream, the interval being
wanting, are lower than the opposite, having been washed
more away. But sometimes there is a break in the moun-
tain chain on one side, or on both. Still the river keeps
within its limits. This we see frequently occurring on the
Danube. In this case, the head of the river was originally
made as it was between the mountain ranges. It was at
first, as we have said, a small stream, and required but
little room. It grew deeper by the action of the moving
water upon its bottom. As it grew larger, it in like propor-
tion grew deeper by the increased weight, and of course
power of water over its bed. The tendency of a moving
360 JOURNAL.
tody being towards its deepest part, or bed. At times
freshets force a river beyond its banks, these being sub-
merged. Yet here its bed is not wider, seeing that it again
returns within its original banks when the freshet is over,
and this it does because it does not depend upon accident
for its existence, but on a certain regular supply, and always
must depend upon this. From Mount St. Goatherd, rushes
forth the rapid Rhine. It owes its rapidity to the height of
its head, — to the contraction of its banks, — permanent
supplies from neighbouring mountains, and at certain seasons,
as spring, or early summer, from the melting of snow and
ice. But it keeps its course. In other rivers, as the Missis-
sippi and Missouri, the channel is constantly changing its
course by the accum.ulation of soil, or by washing away, —
by drift wood, &c., producing bars, or a narrowing, embar-
rassing to the craft which navigates it, or them. Here we
have change in direction too ; the banks receding on one
side and trenching on the other, and so altering or leaving
the original bed. For long reaches there are no mountains
which immediately influence the course of these rivers.
The interval which forms their banks, is the product of over-
flows which leave deposits of soil, and is constantly becom-
ing higher and higher, and the banks of the river in propor-
tion, deeper and deeper. It is a curious fact that what a
river, or sea, or lake, gains in one direction, it loses in
another, the opposite. In Ravenna, we have a remarkable
instance of this. The Mediterranean has encroached upon
the land here ; so that ships now float over land to which
ships used to be moored, the rings through which the ropes
passed being visible at the bottom of the clear sea ; or in
walls of buildings now submerged. The sea has receded
on the other opposite side.
I said, the lordly Danube, and it is so. It takes its broad
rise miles and miles away, and rushes on through narrow
and broad channels, making islands of sand here, and
JOURNAL. 361
washing tliem away there at its own leisure and pleasure.
At times it seems abruptly stopped. The steamer has dead
before her a mountain, which approaching towards, seems to
touch its opposite neighbour. We kee23 on without a check
to the steam, and when ruin seems inevitable, a way opens,
— the mountains gracefully part, swelling away and aloft,
as if rejoicing in their own magnificence, and abroad stream
is ready to give us free passage out of the seeming danger.
The character and uses of the mountain banks of the
Danube depend much upon their aspect. The mountain
side against which the sun pours its warmest rays, — the
southern aspect, is most cultivated. Not a foot of soil is
wasted. Where the slope is very steep, the process is to
build terraces, or steps, a stone wall forming the front.
They recede from each other, having a surface for cultivation
in proportion to the slope. There are pathways between
them for the vine-dressers. The whole eff'ect is very pleas-
ing. The height affects the cultivation and product. At
the highest points, the vines are least luxuriant. The sun
Avould seem there to have less power than below. Where
the slope is gradual, and terraces are unnecessary, the wash-
ing of soil, and manure, serves to increase the richness of
the lower portions of a vineyard, and the difference between
the vines here compared with the higher is striking. Our
notion of a grape-vine is of a plant covering a great deal of
space, ascending trees, trellises, &c. Here, on the Danube,
they appear from the distance seen, to be short, cut in close,
so as to have no more wood than will be fruit-bearing.
They are planted in rows from below to the top, and are
kept perfectly clean, as is our maize. The vine-dressers
are women. You see them everywhere, diminishing to the
smallest size, and at length, to my. imperfect vision, passing
into the invisible.
The Danube is full of histories. It is crowded with cas-
tles in ruins, with their stories of tl:e stern, semi-barbarous
ages in which they were built. They hang over the river
31
362 JOUKNAL.
as if designed to be tumbled down upon any who might
invade them. Some of them have been repaired, and have
become the beautiful and peaceful homes of men, women,
and children. Few things attract one more after having
passed himdreds, I might almost say, of ruinous domestic
fortresses, — the w^alls only left, and these in places broken
into all sorts of shapeless, graceless forms, — few things attract
us more than the restoration of one of these castles. You
see the lawn with its fine trees, edged with flowers, —
children at play, and the curious eyes at the large open
windows, watching the approach of the steamer, the only
m.oving thing which breaks the repose of these solitary
mountains. Reaches into a valley are here, and here again
is culture for ornament, or use. Everything human is
alive, and for good. There is no fear, and no appearance of
defence.
Fellow Passengers. — Our steamer was the Austria.
I asked an old officer her name before I had learned it. He
said she was the Astrea. This was classical at least, and
as the name of the Goddess of Justice, — the only member of
the family which remained on earth, — I shall retain it. The
Astrea' s human freightage was great, and its kind vari-
ous. The boat is both theoretically and practically divided
into two parts, by an imaginary line drawn across the deck,
immediately abaft the paddle-boxes or houses. The part in
front of this line is dedicated to all classes of passengers,
except the first, who occupy the hinder division of the
deck. This day the Astrea rejoiced in having the forward
half of her accommodation filled and crowded with men
and women of extraordinary appearance and habits. Not a
child was amongst them. They were labourers, without
doubt, but being dressed better than peasants, I did not
make out their specialty, if they had any. They had not
been long aboard before they began cooking and eating.
The cuisine was as heterogeneous as may be well imagined.
Every family seemed to have its own peculiar food. They
jotJii:N-AL. 363
had all sorts of vessels containing drink, and each seemed
jDleased with what he or she had. Having satisfied them-
selves, they went to the water cask on deck, and drank
largely of water. All this was done in the forenoon;
whether as breakfast or dinner, I did not learn. The last
movement was with the water jugs, which each filled from
the cask. What next ? I was reading a new volume, and I
was interested in every new leaf. They now prepared to
go to bed. Recollect the time and the hour. They spread
all sorts of things on the deck, — a very thick stufi" with a
shaggy side, in which the wool lay close, an inch in length,
was a very general bed. One man made a regular bed.
Half of a log split in the middle was the pillow, a jacket
the pillow-case, his blanket the bed. Upon these he
stretched his remarkable long self, and went to sleep.
Variations in beds occurred as materials difiered, but to the
sleepers, a sufficiently comfortable sort of arrangement was
reached. There upon the deck they slept much of the day.
They neither snored nor moved. There they were, crowded
close together, like animals of more legs, the sun pouring
upon them like hot fire, until hands and faces gleamed
with intense redness, as if combustion would soon reach
them. For a time the hat or cap was put over the face, but
it was pretty clear it was a lost labour, so soon was it
blown or shaken away. They roused up somewhat at noon,
went again to eating and drinking, but soon addressed
themselves again to sleep. All night upon the deck, things
were arranged much as in the day, with some additional
bedding, perhaps. I wandered amongst them till late in
the evening, and there they lay asleep in shirt sleeves, or
covered, just as chance was. The dew fell heavy upon
them, but this was unheeded. They scarcely moved till we
reached Lintz the next morning. Now these fellow pas-
sengers were not paupers. Not a bit of it. Their whole
appearance, and outfit showed better than this. I saw one
with a watch, and everybody had his meershaum, or pipe,
364 jounxAL.
and of course could buy his tobacco. It was an incident in
my wanderings, these men and v^omen, and I was giad that
what seemed a hard lot, could be borne with so little com-
plaint, or better, and truer, no complaint at all. Was it hard
at all ? I s]3oke of the meerschaum. Everybody uses it,
and at all times. One in the Astrea slept with his in his
mouth, — and a great heavy thing is the pipe, and the
wonder with me was how he contrived to keep it between
his teeth while asleep. But he succeeded. One of this
company especially attracted me, and you may add profes-
sionally ; no matter for the reason. He was suffering from
fever and ague, — intermittent fever. This was the day for
a paroxysm, and he had it.
" And when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake."
It was a hot day. He got close to the hot smoke pipe, in
the burning sun, and still he was cold. His skin was
colourless, and shrunk and wrinkled up, as if he had be-
come " instant old." I spoke to him, but it was in an
unknown tongue, I succeeded in getting him covered up,
and gave him some hot drink. The spirit in which this
was done, it may be, or as you may say, the spirit in, or of
the drink, wrought the miracle, for he was soon quiet, and
slept with the rest.
We continued on, till the twilight had shut in, say be-
tween nine and ten, and then stopped at Grain, to wait for
daybreak, which would be between two and three. This
was made necessary by the uncertain course of the river,
which rendered it utterly impossible to thread our way in
the dark. To have upset, or down sunk such a boat load
of life, such as it was, was a possibility not to be entertained
for a moment. The captain's judgment was highly ap-
proved. As we were to stop here till daylight, an English
gentleman whom I had found very agreeable, — another
passenger, — and myself, agreed to leave the boat, and to
JOURNAL. 365
go into the town. From the landing the ascent was steep,
and as we ascended, we saw arches, with garlands, &c.,
across the way, and learned that a large building on our left,
and in which there were lights, was a castle belonging to the
Duke of , and that he was now in it. This explained
the arches. We thought it too late for a call on his Grace,
and held our way. After some time we reached what
seemed a square, and in two houses there were lights. We
selected the brightest, and of course the best, and went in.
It proved to be a beer house, and in the public room was
company of various kinds. There was a billiard table in
the centre, and a party of two very well looking young men
was playing with three balls ; very large, one white, and
two red. There were five pieces which looked like large
chess men, or very, very small nine-pins. These were
j^laced in the centre of the table, and he who knocked one
or more of these down, lost two or more in the count,
twenty-four being game. Each was so to play, that neither
his own ball, or the one or more of the two other balls he
struck by it, should strike one or more of the centre pins.
In order to avoid this, most of the strokes were for, or from
the cushion. To me the game, which was called the Italian
game, was intricate. I watched the party some time with
pleasure. It required constantly the making of angles, and
this was well managed. They played well. They were
quiet, said but little, and made no fuss, but took great
interest in what they were about. Other company was
present, of different classes, eating, drinking, and smoking.
Our party was an observing body, obeying surrounding
influences, and not a little occupied with our fellow citizens.
There was one feature in the feast which was noticeable, —
its abundance. Few things have amused me more, if such
a fact have any amusement in it, than the pinching parsi-
mony, and penury of Hotel supplies of food in some parts of
Europe. It was sometimes really ridiculous. Again and
31*
366 JOURNAL.
again hare I rang, and with a will, to learn of the servant,
where, iqDon what part of the table, was the breakfast, or if
he supposed a man on his travels could bo sustained upon
such homoeopathic doses of roll and butter before him. But
the servant is alwaj^s true to his place, and to the existing
sj'-stem. Instead of going off in hot haste, and bringing
you with a rush, baskets full of rolls, and whole lumps of
butter, he would come lumbering up with one roll, and a
dollar-sized mass of butter, and put them down as if he had
done a good day's work, and satisfied any man's reasonable
capacity for food. But here in Grain, what a generous spirit
there was ! Bread, cheese, and beer in fullest abundance ;
pipes and excellent tobacco for the smoker,' and then the
service ! These it was which made the night on the banks of
the Danube for record, and for memory. The service was
very pleasant, — nice, neat servant-maids, with an elder to
preserve the balance between service and served. But it
was getting late, and the bill was asked for. It was just ten
English pence, about the smallest bill for three, we had ever
seen. It was paid, and we left for the Astrea,
The steamer lay where we left her. We got on board as
we could, it being as dark as pitch. There was the heavy
load on the forward deck, in death-like sleep, and we knew
how crowded must be the cabin. It was matter for debate
whether we should pass the short night on deck, or go
below. The latter was preferred, and down we went.
What a jDlace was it. It was full of men, some sleeping on
chairs, one for the legs, — and others on the floor, as chance
or necessity demanded, — in full dress. It was a day-boat.
A very feeble light was burning, as I passed, or threaded
my way through all sorts of personal windings, in an atmos-
phere alike intolerable for odour, and for heat. I saw
stretched out on one side a very white leg, — a stocking-
covered leg, as I supposed, but whether it belonged to smj
one, or to whom, could not be learned, for the rest of the
JOUKNAL. 367
dress and the person were lost in the general darkness. I
was much exercised by this singular vision, for the cabin
was for men and women hy day. But I will not pursue the
subject.
I fell asleep, and began, an unwonted thing, to dream. In
such an atmosphere, and so closely packed, " thick coming
fancies " were to be expected. In the midst of my dream I
woke myself by audibly asking "Is anybody here," follow-
ing the question by this comment, " How ridiculous to ask
such a question in such a crowd." My next chair neighbour,
my new English acquaintance, told me in the morning that
he heard me ask that most strange question in such a crowd.
The steamer got under weigh about three, and I at once left
my chair, and w5nfc upon deck, where I staid till the cabin
was emptied and aired, and then went below and rested,
from as much fatigue as I have experienced for many a day,
or rather night,
LiNTZ. July 15. — This is on the Danube, and is the
capital of Upper Austria. It is of considerable size, and
from the stir, would seem to be a place of much business.
There are railways, with horse power, in the business streets
near the river. It was pleasant to see how so many heavy
goods, in various kinds, could be carried from place to place,
with very little labour to man or beast. This rail arrange-
ment may exist elsewhere, but I do not remember to have
met with it before. I walked about Lintz at my leisure,
and, as is my wont, went to the market or square. This is
quite a nice affair. The houses and shops are very neat, —
some quite handsome. A most elaborate and lofty cross of
stone is in the centre of the square. The market is for
vegetables, fruits, and flowers. The cherries were large
and fine. A basket o^ apricots quite won my heart. They
were larger than I had ever seen, and of delicious flavour.
I bought them for two-pence halfpenny a-piece. I went
into the shops, and found them well supplied with goods,
368 JOIJENAL.
and, as I thouglit, at cheap rates. The views about Lintz
are fine. Before you is the river, which divides the town
into two parts, which are connected by a bridge four hun-
dred paces long. I was on the left side of the river, reck-
oning from its head or run. Large hills, or small moun-
tains, rise in all directions, and are exquisitely cultivated.
It was full noon, and the sun was shining in his power,
presenting in form and colours, — in lights and shades, just
such pictures as you would love to sketch. On quite a high
hill is a castle, or fortress, of great strength apparently, and
at present garrisoned by an artillery corps. Circular forts
are seen on various parts of the hill, to aid defence, I
spoke of colours as presented by forest and fell, in the beau-
tiful landscapes about Lintz. The variety pf culture is very
great, as in other parts of Austria, and managed, of course,
by women.
The appearance of people in Lintz corresponds well with
what is observed elsewhere in Austria. Street-begging, —
barefooted, and barelegged women, doing all the work, and
getting very little of the pay, — their erect and fine forms,
— their self-possessed, graceful manner of walking, are all
matters of observation. They carry heavy burdens on
their heads, arms, shoulders, and at times you might think
they would sink under the weight. I was sitting at a win-
dow, when looking up, I saw a girl of pleasing countenance,
standing motionless, with the marks of poverty in her whole
appearance, not uttering a word, but in her profound silence
laying her claim for charity. She received what was offered,
and slowly went away. Soldiers abound as usual, and
well-built barracks for their accommodation.
I dined at noon, and soon afler took the horse railway
for Gmoonden. This was a novel afternoon's experience.
The train was the most wretched thing ever looked at.
Everything was out of order. TSe cushions, worn out,
were as rough as well could be, and were constantly slip-
ping, taking you along with them. The window curtains
JOURNAL. 369
were useless. The heat was intolerable, and the dust worse.
The carriages loaded with men, women, and children, all
doing their worst to get best seats. Rarely have I suffered
more. The road had hardly been graded at all. Happily
for us we had horse power only, and the drivers did all they
could to keep the train on the rails. As a compensation,
we stopped often, apparently to accommodate the dwellers
on the road side, for women and children were everywhere,
with cold water, and cherries and raspberries in abundance
for sale, and I assure you the demand was great. Then, by
way of change, we were beset by beggars, dwarfs, all sorts
of sore, of sick, of mutilated men, women, and children,
begging for charity. It seemed like nothing so much as an
out-door travelling hospital, or rather almshouse, for these
poor creatures were often far away from anything like
homes. I should not omit to state that in our train was
the whole company of our fellow-passengers in the steamer,
who lived so harmoniously by night and by day on her for-
ward deck. We reached the town in safety. I stopped at
the Golden Ship, — called Golden, I suppose, because, except
in the lettering of the sign, not a particle of gold could be
seen. It was a wretched house, but a fitting terminus of
such a railway.
The slowness of the train gave excellent opportunity to
see the country, and rarely have I been more gratified than
by this region of Stiria. Some miles before we reached the
lake, a glorious range of mountains was in view. They
are now abrupt and solitary, and very high, — and now
stand with companions at their side, stretching far away,
losing in the distance both height and distinctness. One of
the first class especially demanded attention. It rose before
me in perfect loneliness and nakedness, — its cold gray
granite would have distinguished it from all others had any
been in view. The table land, upon which was the rail,
rose high before this gigantic mass among mountain rocks,
so that its base seemed on the horizon, when in fact it was
370 JOXJENAL.
far this side of it. It raised its bald head, somewhat bend-
ing from the perj^endicular, as by its own weight, its age,
its infirmity, — it raised its head into the skies, and pre-
sented an object as unique as it was grand. Deep channels
could be seen at the great distance I was from it, running in
deep j)arallel directions from above, downw'ards, haxning the
inclination of the mountain itself. This is the Traunstein,
— the " mountain of sorrow," — standing all alone there,
mourning that its lofty head has lost its crown. The range
just alluded to is the Steiermarker, which gives name to
Stiria. It so lay before me, in regard to the sun, that his
setting rays swept by it as in perspective, making its irre-
gularities more striking by the lights of the edges, and the
shadows of the depressions, in the surface over w^hich they
passed. The Traunstein was seen under a similar aspect to
the sun. The light which was reflected from its deep cut
side, which was before me, was of purple and silver colour,
now distinct, and now blended, making the very mountain
to glow, as if it v\^ere the source of its own light. A slight
mist did not obscure, but seemed to make it more distinct.
I have seen few things more gorgeous, more sublime. It is
before me, now that I am reading my record of it, as if it
were near, as if it were seen by me from my room, at this
hour, so long before the dawn of the autumnal day. I am
sure that no external objects do so deeply impress the mind,
as do these vast, but defined masses which make mountain
scenery. They sink, by their size and weight, into the very
mind, and allow nothing else to disturb them in their deep
resting place. I do not know that I have given you any
notion of this scene. How heartily do I wdsh you had seen
it with me, — had entered with me into the solemn mys-
teries of this temple of Nature, and been filled and satisfied
with the vision, — the sun, with its subject earth, in con-
current, willing harmony.
I will detain you but a moment in my quarters in the
Golden Ship. The hotel was a quadrangle of much size,
JOURNAL. 371
my rooms looking into the square space inclosed by its
sides, and enormous were tliey. They seemed modelled
upon the plan of the neighbouring mountains. My parlour
was a slice, a mounstrous one, cut off from a larger, the
partitions not extending by any means to the ceiling, and
surmounted by a cornice. The light of my two wax can-
dles hardly lighted its extreme termination. In a neigh-
bouring slice of space, a neighbour dwelt, and his various,
and sometimes questionless movements, and noises, were
most audibly present to me, in themselves, and seemingly
in their echoes. I was bodily jaded out with that recent
railway travel, and most welcome would have been an
earlier sleep. But I said nothing, and did nothing, though
one was almost tempted to throw his boots over that frown-
ing cornice, to quiet the noises behind it, had there been
strength enough to have accomplished such a purpose.
Early next morning, up and out. I was rewarded for my
sunrise walk. The lake, lying near the house, is exquisitely
beautiful. It was somewhat rough, its slight waves broke
gently upon the shingle which covered its shore. It was
absolutely set in mountains. They interlaced each other as
if jealous lest such beauty should be too much exposed,
while like a giant guardian rose above all the rest, the
Traunstein, the " rock of sorrow." 1 had looked for hours
yesterday upon this mountain far away. But now there was
he in his majesty, and solemn nakedness, his neighbours
rejoicing in the green foliage which clothed them, and
which the giant wanted. After breakfast we took the
steamer and passed through the lake. It was a grand
morning. The mountains did not desert the lake for an
inch of the way. In every spot, however small, upon
which anything useful to man or beast can grow, you see
the steady and sturdy hand of labour, making its mark, and
there, you feel it would never be effaced. I am constantly
seeing this in every variety of expression. You can always
read the story. Here was the grape growing. There, were
372 JOUHNAL.
oats, wheat, barley. On a little spot on this small lake was
a church. The village around could hardly count ten
houses, yet here was industry declaring itself, and apparently
on a scale so small that it seemed but child's play. I was
told that in the aggregate of such small farmings was found
the means suiScient for the hamlet's sustenance. And there
was the church, in its solitariness sure of repose in its own
creed, and doubtless better and happier for its loneliness. I
said : —
" That if jDeace were on earth, we might look for it here."
Dense smoke was driving out of a deep ravine between two
mountains. I was told by the engineer that yesterday a fire
had been there, and a house had been burned. It was still
burning. It was sad that so solitary a household should be
driven from their beautiful and comfortable home, but the
engineer did not doubt that the people of the church village
nearly opposite, would at once turn out, and aid the house-
less to replace the old by the new. We landed not far from
the place of the fire, and took coach for —
IscHL. — Our drive was on the bank of the river through
a valley made by opposite ranges of mountains upon which
snow and ice still were, and would survive the hot summer
below. The road was as smooth as any coach-way through
a gentleman's grounds ; while the transparent river kept its
way amid the silence around it. I say the transparent river.
I have walked along its banks, and could have seen every
pebble over which its deep waters flow. Ischl owes its
fame and fortune to the transparency, and softness of its
waters, and to its magnificent scenery. Crowds come here for
its baths as a luxury, and as a means of health. Ischl is
like Gmoonden, set in mountains, as is a picture in a frame.
You need go hardly a step before you may begin to ascend,
and passing through all climates, come at length where the
power of winter is never usurped, or overcome. The moun-
tains approach the place as old guards, to save it from harm.
JounNAL. 373
It is one of the many spots in this region, which have been
to me daily objects of the deepest interest.
Ischl is a resort of fashion. The Emperor passes a portion
of the summer in this his favourite retreat. This gives charac-
ter to the place. You have nice shops, nice walks, near the
clear water, — shrubberies, and what not. The place has
its illustrated guide-book, with very good engravings of
mountain, lake, and waterfall, — an excellent aid to memory.
The hotel is pleasantly placed, and well managed. I left
Ischl July 18th, at five, a. m., in a hired carriage, for Salz-
burg, a crack place among the mountains in the Austrian
Tyrol, and getting to be the most visited of any other portion
of this region. It was a beautiful morning. I have rarely
known one more so. Mountains, valleys, lakes, these were
my " small deer," all day. At times, a range would be
suddenly interrupted, as if the last one had been finished, and
the work of mountain making had there been stopped. Per-
haps half a mountain only has been finished, and there it
stands as a mural wall against the sky, a boundary beyond
which you were not to pass. You drive along a few miles,
and the chain is begun again, and the old rocks, the firs,
and the lake are reproduced. I was much attracted by the
seeming interruptions, but still continuousness of chains.
These mountains had probably common bases, but grew, or
were forced up independently, — having difi'erent forms,
and produce an endless variety of efi'ects. The lakes de-
serve notice. They are now of the deepest blue, — and
now of the richest green. If you are imaginative, you
might suppose that the bordering forest had washed in one,
and left its colour in the water ; and that there in another,
the sky had bathed. Streams proceed from these lakes,
and take their colours with them, giving beauty and refresh-
ment to the drive along their banks.
We were constantly meeting peasants on the road. " They
were very neatly dressed in the costume of the place. They
walked rapidly after the manner of mountaineers, or as most
32
374 JOUKNAL.
people walk here ; with bundles or baskets on then- heads, or
arms. What it meant I could not tell. Certainl)' the dress
was not like that worn in the market, and many had no
burden, but went along swinging their arms with a gait
and air of much grace. This was particularly the case with
the women. The dress of the men was handsome. The
hat is green, with ribands of a another tint. It is low,
with a wide brim. Flowers of various kinds are worn in
the hat. Some had feathers, or a wild bird's wing, a sign
that they were hunters, and looking for emjDloyment. For
the body, a closely fitting jacket of dark or black colours.
Dark or black breeches, fitting close, with ribands at the
knee. Green stockings, with gaiters, or short boots. The
colours were according to the taste of the Avearer. The men
were tall, and walked easily, and so gracefully. The women
were simpler dressed. The}'' wore a close fitting jacket, or
short sac, with a short, and apparently heavy petticoat. For
the head, no covering except the hair. This has special
care, wherever appearance is studied, and nowhere is it
more luxuriant, or finer. A German lady told me that
the hair is seldom or never cut in German3^ It is allowed
to grow, and gets great length. It is softer and fairer if so
managed, and longer preserves its colour. This is more
remarkable in the working classes, who, for the most part,
carry burdens on the head. Sometimes they have a padded
ring which fits tbe part of the head which supports the
weight, and may preserve the hair. I was pleased witn the
lightness, the ease, and grace of these Tyrolese, and the
numbers of both sexes were enough for judgment. Walking
was perfectly easy, and though some carried large burdens,
they were nothing behind their fellows who did not. They
were strong, not fat and clumsy, nor lean, wiry, scraggy.
They were in " trim," and there was no doubt of their
ability to do what they had to do. They could care for
themselves. You saw they were not overworked, or rather
did not overwork themselves. They were well-looking.
JOURNAL. 375
Their complexion clear, and expression good.- By far tlie
greater number were young, and had not yet felt the power
of constant out-door labour, to shorten youth, and destroy
beauty, which is so commonly the experience of women here.
We drove along, and soon came to a post-house or inn,
where we stopped for breakfast. As we approached it we
saw a church, a very small building, nearly opposite the inn.
A procession was just entering it with banners, but whether
a funeral, or a festival, was not apparent. The bells were
ringing. "It is Sunday, Sir," said my courier. "Well,
it is strange," said I, " but I do not recollect a Sunday for
some time." Travelling so constantly, and frequently long
distances, and going daily into churches in Catholic States,
with the perpetual ringing of bells, had confounded all dis-
tinctions of days ; and so time in a continuous stream of
events went flowing on, carrying you so gently along with
it, that you hardly knew the beginning or the ending, cer-
tainly not its arbitrary divisions which are so universal, and
so indisjDcnsable to the busy, working world elsewhere. A
perfectly parallel experience was mine, nearly half' a century
ago. I had, with my friend and fellow pupil, the late Prof.
John Revere, been travelling on foot in the Highlands of
Scotland. We were entering Callender, the first stage from
Loch Katrine, and found the peasantry abroad in unusual
numbers, and very carefully dressed. A bell was tolling. We
stopped and asked a person what it all meant. He said it
was Sunday, and the people were going to church.
While our breakfast was in preparation, and our horses
were eating theirs, I walked with Charles into this village
church. A church and an inn are always found together
in these scattered populations. The New Englander adds a
school, — the district (often pronounced deestrict, you know,)
school. The Arabian of old had the mosque, the hospital,
the caravansary, and the college. Each in their several
ways, meeting the demand existing, or to be, of the people.
I lilve these village churches. They are small, but built in
376 JOURNAL.
good taste ; simple, but wisely so. They may promise little
on the outside. Inside they show the feeling of the people,
— their strong desire to make them attractive. They have
in them pictures, images, — the Cross. It always seems to
me that religion, — worship, — Sunday, — have a meaning
here in Europe. I often see, alike in the simplest and
in the most gorgeous churches, the most wretched looking
beings you can imagine, on their knees, their hands clasped,
— their eyes riveted to the Cross, — the whole soul given to
the service. At times, tears flow in streams, as if the very
heart Avere breaking in the living presence and suffering of
utter poverty, — the remembrance of unforgiven sin, — in
the sure prospect of the solemn and sad future^ until there
is rest in the bosom, and love of Him who is symbolized
there. I went into the church. It is called St. Gilden's
Church, and surely is it gilded, as in enti e correspondence
with the name of the Patron Saint. The post-house was
full. The earliest morning service was over, and the wor-
shippers were at breakfast. They must have come from a
distance. I saw no houses near. There were travellers
among them, for I saw coming from among the trees, which
skirt and cover much of the lower portions of the moun-
tains, half a dozen or more men carrying long poles with
chairs suspended between them. These were guides, and
bearers of travellers among the mountains. It was pleasant
among these old Stirian mountains to see so much of the life
of the dwellers in them. It was an exquisite morning, and
the assemblage was probably greater for that. Costume,
manners, language, voice, were all before you for observation
and thought, and you felt glad for the whole display. I
went from the church, and then returned to the inn ; and
found C. had arranged my breakfast upon the piazza, the
surroundings of which were an arbour of hanging vines,
making it as nice a spot as could have been desired. Very
near were many ringdoves, and a most thriving and beauti-
ful family was it. As soon as I had taken my seat at the
table, these feathered friends began to descend upon, and
JOURNAL. 377
soon covered it. Tliey were very well behaved birds, and
partook of such portions of my abundant meal, as I put
before them, sometimes helping themselves. They were
perfectly at home, and I hardly know when I have had a
pleasanter party. Was there not a lesson in it? You
know what Shakespeare says, —
" tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
Why not in a breakfast party of ring doves, with their beau-
tiful forms, and gentle note ? You know my intercourse
with the biped without feathers was never very intimate, nor
wide, — and has often been ^vanted, and this without being
missed. The doves were not my only society. A dog was
quietly basking in the warm Sabbath sun, and hearing the
gentle cooings of my friends, slowly roused himself, and
came with- wagging tail to join my party. The first news of
his advent, was seeing his fore-paws on my nice table-cloth,
and then his nose projected between them. His counten-
ance was quite pleasing, and soon told his wants. The
doves seemed perfectly acquainted with him, and were not
at all disturbed at the extension of my hospitality to our
new guest. But the carriage drove to the door, and with
refreshed man and beast, we took up our journey for Hoff
Church, so called. Our road lay through scenery which was
a continuation of that already described, — mountain, valley,
and lake, with the variety incident to such formations. The
day was warm, but there was too much for pleasure, to
make complaint very audible, if expressed at all. He is not
far from content who, for the time, has forgotten, or neglected
to complain.
We reached Hoff at noon, and halted. The church was
opposite the inn, larger than the last, and of better archi-
tecture. Its interior arrangements, and appointments, were
more imposing, altogether showing the same care which T
have so generally found abroad in places of worship. But
whence, or where the people ? Nothing like a village is to
32*
378 JOURNAL.
be seen, and yet it was clear that there was a congregation.
The inn was crowded with company. The daughters of the
host were nicely dressed, and handsome, with excellent com-
plexion, and of good manner. They did not look as if their
lives were passed in the field, or in any more toil than was
consistent with the best looks and the best health. The
mountain girl who was walking in her Sunday dress, in
shoes, stockings, and bright ribands, with a gay handkerchief
round the head, a glossy hair, with streaming ends, down
the back, — why, the field worker, it may be, is to-day a
lady, and with friends, father and mother, is on her way to
or from church, passing the interval time at rest, or in
pleasure. And who would have stinted her of either ? I
knew she would pass some of this time in the house of her
worship, and then make merry with her friends. I rejoice
in such a Sabbath, making preparation for the rfext week's
duties, and peradventure for Heaven. But does not habit
destroy the whole effect of such offices? No. If you
would have virtue sure, make it habitual. Vice finds its
strength and perpetuity in the deep worn tracks of habit.
The drunkard was not made one by a single glass, — and
the wretched creature who is now poor, and naked, and
starved, with millions, might have been once happy with a
cent. I have heard of one who said he must retrench, for
he had a large sum in the bank which he could not let. He
only lent out money on usance. No. If I have learned
anything which I had not been so taught before, it is the
important, immovable power of habit in regard to that,
and those things, the object of which is reverence, — the
recognition and love of something higher, and better than
one's self. Yes, you say, if accompanied with a purpose,
and an effort, to attain to it. I say yes, too. But the
service is an aid to the thing itself.
I left the now empty church, to find those for whom it
had been opened, for whom it always stands open. Children
were playing in the belfry, in their nice Sunday dresses, and
JOURNAL. 379
as keen in their play as young life rejoices to be. Who
does not love to see these " little beings," as Spurzheim used
to call them, with the grace, freedom, and variety of their
movement, showing life in its freshness and beauty, — the
resurrection of your own happy childhood, and a promise of
immortality ? Lavater says : " Keep that man at least three
yards distance who hates bread, music, and the laugh of a
child." I reverence the old aphorist for that. But there
were men in the scene. It was dinner time. The hall ran
through the middle of the post-house, the door at one end,
opening to the road, the other to the yard. It was filled
with small tables for one or two, on each side, while adja-
cent rooms were for families. - I passed up and down the
hall, and saw there many and various guests at their Sun-
day dinner. It was simple, — bread, cheese, beer, with some ;
and more complicated fare with others. Some had got to
the dessert, which, for the most part, was a pipe. There
was good humour, pleasantry, but nothing boisterous, noisy,
disturbing the neighbourhood by its misplaced outbreaks.
Some were in the bowling alleys, playing, amusing them-
selves with the exercise, and the success of skill. Every-
body was active. The rest of the Sabbath was not a
sleeping rest. There was the earnestness of labour, without
the toil, — enjoyment without fatigue. The nation speaks
in these, its most numerous representatives ; and there was
refinement in the utterance. I went abroad to see men and
women ; not kings and lords, — ladies and gentlemen, —
for these are common enough, such as they are, everywhere.
I went to see men and women at work, and at pla}^ — to
see what is Sunday and Monday, and the rest of the week.
The Sabbath, as the word imports, is everywhere for rest,
— the repose of worship, — and the rest from toil. The
remainder of the week is used in Catholic Europe, as it is
in the Protestant world, — work, work, work, of some
kind, fills it all.
We left for Salzburg, and in good time reached this
380 JOURNAL.
important point in recent Continental travel. Salzburg is
emphatically a city of mountains. You travel towards it,
among these, but of far less height than those you are
approaching. On every hand you see them projected into
the regions of perpetual winter, with snow for their crown-
ing. The solemnity of the silence of Nature is here. I
was glad to have reached the end of my route in this direc-
tion. Was it not a fitting closing of so much which had
daily given me so much pleasure, — in which, whether I
would or no, I had felt elevated by the sublime of the out-
ward world ; in which I had, under most favourable circum-
stances, lived, and moved, and had my being ? The mode
of travel to such a region was perfect. It was the slow%
private coach, in which I could travel hours, without the
tedious impertinences of railway crowdings, — and with a
vulgar speed, which make it a toil to attempt to see what
you are flying by. The old six or eight miles an hour, is
your only true speed. Our road winds round a low moun-
tain of rock. It rises perfectly smooth from the ground,
and is perpendicular, — a mural rock. On the edges of it,
aloft, you see trees and shrubs. This is the " outer wall "
of the fortress, and city of Salzburg. There is the gentle
Saal, from which is the city named, and here is one of the
city's chief defences. It need hardly be said that it is a
city of great natural strength. Its old castle is but a quiet
place now. You enter by a gateway, which at once gives
you a notion of the thickness of the walls. You pass
through an arched passage, — and then another gate, — each
with its portcullis, suspended by enormous, chains above,
just ready to fall as you pass, — another archway, another
gate. The outer mountain wall seems to have been the
work of art, so smooth, so regular its surface. But it is a
single piece, and your error in regard to its construction is
at once corrected. There was art and science, too, in the
selection of such a spot for a city,
" . . . . . i' the oklen time.
Ere human statute purged the gentle weal."
JOURNAL. 381
From the termination of the range, the intervening spaces
are occupied by works, which rival in strength the natural
walls. It is in the natural, however, that Salzburg has its
true attraction. It is in the surrounding scenery it has its
true power. I had the very best opportunity, in approach-
ing it, to see the universal majesty. The sun was bright.
There was not a cloud. There was no mist upon the moun-
tains. The whole outline of the landscape, — the near and
the remote, — was seen, and under every advantage, whe-
ther of detail, or of masses. I had never been in such a
presence before. On reaching the hotel, I told C. to get an
open carriage at once, for, with the long twilight, we had
time for some hours' drive among the mountains. Other
travellers were leaving the hotel on a like expedition. But
before we were ready, clouds had gathered from the four
winds, and covered the heavens with a blackness, the like of
which I could not remember. Thunder and lightning were
on every side, and the echoing mountains repeated the story.
Rain soon fell in torrents. It had been a long drought.
The electric equilibrium had been gradually disturbed, and
the heavy charged batteries were now at successful play. I
sat at my window, and enjoyed the scene, while I regretted
the sudden and conclusive stop which had been- put to a
plan which promised so much pleasure. I had been on the
road since five, — my only meal through the day was my
breakfast with the doves. But I was neither tired nor hun-
gry. The rest of the storm, I did not want. The heat in
the close city was intense, and C. advised me to wait till it
was cooler. I did, and washed, dressed, and dined. These
operations took little time ; but it was long enough for the
quick thunder storm to declare itself. There was cause for
more than content, with arrangements which prevented a
further drive, and a thorough soaking. The thunder storm
ended in a steady rain. All prospects of a fair day succeed-
ing being at an end, my arrangements were made for leaving
next morning. The oldest inhabitant predicted a regu-
382 JOURNAL.
lar iveather, as Dryclen has it. C. was directed to get a
seat in the coupe, the best seat, — in diligence or by rail,
for seeing, — and the only one sure against crowding.
Morning, rain, and darkness. Got away early. C. pointed
out the coupe of the carriage he had selected for me. I
found the seat covered with cloaks, hags, &c. You know
the amount better than I do. But I squeezed in. My pro-
gress was, however, soon impeded, by words and pulls from
behind, and turning round, a lady was encountered. She
told me in plain French to descend ; C, in English, to ascend.
Whom to mind ? Which to do ? I concluded to descend,
and there stood the husband, intensely French, and fierce of
course. He took me for an Englishman, — remembered
Waterloo, St. Helena, and sundry other marked places on
the Frenchman's map, and spoke and looked accordingly.
C, in the meantime, was hunting for the conductor. I ex-
pressed regret as far as my French Avent, — asked pardon of
the lady. C. at length appeared, — found he had made a
mistake, — had read his ticket wrong, — gave a Danish
smile, — pulled his wig, — made no sort of apology, — in
short, conducted himself to the French as coolly as the
Majesty of Denmark himself would have done. At length
I started, having with me in the coupe, which belonged to
me, a good stout, and staid looking German lady, and was
tolerably sure of a quiet time at least. But at every post,
my Frenchman " looked daggers, though he used none." In
looking back upon this misadventure, I cannot but think
that my courier had been won by the smart appearance
which the Frenchman's diligence presented, as seen by day-
light, and was willing, as the boys say, to " hook it." He
never spoke to me of the affair afterwards.
We were now for miles in the midst of mountains. At
times their outlines were well marked. At others, the
clouds covered them. Then the east would grow light, —
the clouds part, and a ray or two of sunshine would come
through the fissure, as if the storm was over ; and nothing
JOURNAL. 383
can exceed the splendour, the richness of the scene. The
light would fall upon a heavy cloud. A moment ago it was
perfectly black. Now it was glowing with light, while
everything else was in shade. The mountains presented
constant variety. It soon settled down into a steady rain.
It would have been worse than idle, to have stopped in
Salzburg for good weather, I should have only lost my
time, when there was none to spare. The Pyrenees were
before me, and the distant Escorial. The last rose of sum-
mer was in the bud, and I was to be in Liverpool before
the sailing of the last September steamer. On ! was the
word.
We drove quietly along in the slow diligence. My
fellow-traveller slept, eat German biscuit, got beer when-
ever we stopped, and seemed to have a nice time. She
talked, but this served only to use her mouth, when not
otherwise employed. But she soon learned that she was
her own and sole auditor, a discovery quite fatal to elo-
quence. In the evening we reached Munchen, — Minchen,
— Moonshine, as I heard an American call it, — or Munich,
in common speech. I soon found myself in very comfort-
able quarters, in the Hotel Bavaria ; and woke next day,
early as usual, after an excellent night's rest, ready for the
business of the day. Munich is on the Isar, as spelt here,
— not " the Iser rolling rapidly," for the v/ater is so little,
and so slow, that it hardly seemed to roll at all, as I looked
down u^Don it from the bridge which crosses it. It is of the
usual yellow colour of such streams in Germany.
Munich. July 20t.h. — As soon as the Gallery was
open, I was in it. It contains treasures gathered from the
whole and wide domain of art. I went through it, cata-
logue in hand, and devoted my whole time to the works of
men of name, and fame, reaching all minds and all hearts
which have at all been devoted to such authors. Here are
rooms for Rubens alone. Every master has his representa-
384 JOURNAL.
tives here, and so well arranged are tlic rooms for light,
that everything is easily and perfectly seen. Here are
works of Snyders in abundance ; works, I have no doubt, as
achievements of art, of great value. But to me they are
utterly disagreeable, I had almost said, disgusting. They
are devoted to every species of killing, of cruelty, — hunt-
ing gives its scenes to the painter ; and the battles of beasts
are displayed in their force and enormity. I never stop before
these pictures of Sjaiders. Here are works of Vandyk (Dyk
in the catalogue), and what noble things are they. His
portraits are something more, and beyond a mere copy of
feature, form, size, proportion, colour. They present to us
that state of the individual's mind, which gives to his face,
in the portrait, its present character, and you feel as if you
were before a 77ian. So strong was this feeling wdth me,
that I absolutely smiled, and half spoke, as if I could have
been understood by the fiat surface before me. In few
things, as it appears to me, does Dyk more excel, than in
his management of light. His effects from this are so per-
fect, that he hardly seems to use shadow at all-. I was
never before so deeply impressed with the power of this
master. I have never seen so many of his works at one
time. They were among those which made my visits to the
Gallery occasions of constantly increased pleasure and of
memory. There was a landscape by Winyarts, which I
must notice. It gave me great pleasure, and I wished it
were mine. It was an exquisite scene, of simple materials,
masterly handled. It was obviously from nature, not a
copy, a portrait, but a revelation of what so much objective
beauty had produced in the mind of the author, — nature
addressing you through the mind of another.
The Palace. — Everybody goes to the Palace. It has
very little architectural attraction. It forms a quadrangle,
and the large space enclosed is filled with trees, with tables,
and benches, for the public pleasure. Parties were scat-
tered round. The cigar, the pipe, the coffee, &;c., &;c., were
JOURXAL. 385
in request. The frescoes are worthy of all praise. These
are on the walls of the surrounding colonnades. After
waiting long in a corridor of the Palace, the assembled
were admitted into the rooms. These are in great number,
and, as usual, ornamented with pictures. In one, the
females of the Royal Family, and household, covered the
walls. There was one portrait which particularly attracted
attention. It was of Lola Moxtes, the favourite of the old
king. To her was devoted one whole side of the room, her
picture hanging between two immense windows. As repre-
sented, she must be quite handsome, and the expression is
pleasing. It is not at all extraordinary that a discarded
favourite of royalty should have her portrait among those of
the kingly family and friends, especially if, as reported, her
expulsion from the royal precincts was not by royal autho-
rity. The picture will do the state no harm.
Palace hunting is the most tedious of sports. The traveller
Avho thinks it his boundless duty, faithfully to follow it, has
a wretched prospect. He must go with the crowd, as it
rushes and races from room to room, from sight to sight.
The Palace is a sort of lion's den. There is no looking
back, or treading back. I got excessively tired. I was
obliged to attempt to rest. There were chairs at hand,
time-worn, with red woollen coverings. They were not in-
viting, but I thought anything of the kind would be better
than nothing, and down I sat. Short was the joy. The
superannuated guide, who looked as if he might have lived
through much of Bavarian history, came shuffling, and
scuffing towards me, making indescribable grimaces, which
turned out to be natural signs, that I should rise and walk.
Remonstrance was out of the question. He understood not
a word I said, and seemed very much disposed to try some
other form of eloquence than signs. So up I rose, a need-
less Alexandrian in the epic of an hour, with a sure begin-
ning, and possible ending, and dragged my slow length
33
386 JOUKXAL.
along. Rejoiced was I when I entered a monstrous large
room filled with statues of historical men, of colossal size,
Electors and others, and apparently of solid gold. They
were certainly gilt. What was below does not appear.
Behind a golden Elector, I found a seat, and whether under
the shade of king, or subject, rarely have I found greater
comfort. The room was attractive, and much time was
wasted before the Seneschal could collect his forces into
marching order. I readily joined them, and survived the
penance.
The Palace abounds in pictures, of course. They are as
thick as blackberries in all such residences, — a. form, or
expression of the patronage of Art, which preserves, while
it makes public the means of refinement, and culture. As
there is a vast surface to cover, subjects are often chosen
which will require large uses, if not waste of canvas. Such
subjects are battles by sea and land, exhibiting man-killing,
and brute-killing too, in every form in which such death can
come. Nothing can equal the horrour of such pictures, but
the thing itself. In the picture, however, imagination
coiftes in, and in its exaggerations leaves the product not
far behind the reality. Such works make an exception to a
preceding remark on the salutary influences of art. What
benefit can come of such exhibitions of unmitigated suffer-
ing ? They hardly can be looked to as arguments for peace.
But they are historical. They teach history. It is his-
tory taught in blood, or what is meant to be such. It may
be a question if, in such language, the lesson is worth
teaching.
The Basilica. — This church has been recently finished,
and at great cost. It is grand in its extent and proportions,
and of corresponding finish. From flocr to ceiling it is
complete in all its details, and the product is a sublime
whole. The marble columns which support the great arches
above, — the mosaic floor, the stern simplicity of the chancel
and of what it contains, the windows, the frescoes, — all it
JOUKNAL. 387
reveals to you is fitted to excite your awe and admiration.
Again was I struck with the contrast between church archi-
tecture in different countries. Here was a church finished
not long ago, presenting everywhere the venerableness of
antiquity, — the power of ages long past, and you felt glad
that here was a teacher for times long to come.
St. Mary's Church. — This which I saw next is by
some preferred to the Basilica. But it needs no rival to
disturb or increase its power. It would blush to have its
claims settled by comparison with anything else, — the
model system, in its most offensive form. The St. Mary's
is Gothic in its plan and detail. The clustered columns of
the order, of vast size, rise to the high ceiling, and there
support arches which extend across and make so much of it.
Nothing can be more beautiful from its exquisite grace, or
more sublime from its calm dignity, than are these members
of this order of architecture, in this specimen of it, — the
columnar growth of the arches above, of the finest marble,
in perfect proportion and harmony. The space so appropri-
ated, taken out of the common air, the common world, and
for such a purpose, is in itself the most important element
which enters into the constitution and accomplishments of
public architecture. It is the highest art which so appropri-
ates, so separat3s such space, as to present to the mind, and
to the heart, such claims for reverence, and in the revela-
tion of this sentiment, ministers daily and forever to the
progress of man. In the Basilica, the ceiling is quite pecu-
liar, and the questions arise, What does this m-eaii ? and is
not that out of place ? The questions come from this.
The columns, the magnificent columns, are single masses of
stone of a diameter demanded by the space the building
includes, or the distances between them. The ceiling has
naked beams arranged precisely after the Gothic, but without
the groined arches. In the St. Mary's, the Gothic prevails
everywhere in its simplicity, beauty, power. The arches,
though so high, so far away, are as distinctly seen in all
388 JOURNAL.
tlieir members, as if at liand, — their perfect proportions
preventing any disturbance in vision, or in thought. I
state how the ceiling of the Basilica affected me. It seemed
to want power, massiveness. Wood, and that not large,
is in too violent contrast with the everlasting uplifting rock
there, and gives those columns too little to do. The beams
may be iron. But they are so painted as to resemble wood,
and so lead us astray. There may be no architectural dis-
cords in all this. But the effect is not pleasing ; at least it
was not so to me. It did not satisfy me. The relation
between the parts was not perfect. I did not look upon a
whole.
The IIuh:meshalle, oe. Hall of Fame. — This is not
finished. It is of vast size, of stone, with elaborate cornices,
sculptures, columns, — with everything which can give
dignity and magnificence to the effect, but not for an instant
interfere with, or disturb the object of the building. This
is to receive, and to preserve the statues of persons who
have distinguished themselves by works which have made
them worthy of public honor, and sure memory. It stands
away from the city, on elevated ground, with large vacant
fields around it. Its situation is excellent, and reminds you
at once of ancient temples built in lonely places, on high
ground, having the place of spiritual watch over the neigh-
bouring state. It is a national work, and the people who
build it will always enjoy it. An object of interest here, is
the statue called the " Bavaria." The height of the figure,
standing upon a pedestal fifty feet high, is fifty-four feet to
the crown, and sixty-five feet to the wreath of victory.
Previous to the casting of the head, there were in it at one
time twenty-eight grown persons and two children.
You ascend the Statue by a staircase on the inside, and
through so much space does it pass, that I was fatigued
before I had half finished the ascent. The day was intense-
ly hot, and the bronze was heated through. You can judge
of the heat of the air within. A part of the passage is
JOUENAL. 389
dark ; and candles are necessary. Within the head is a
room in which eight or more persons may be accommodated.
The eyes serve for windows. We descended after a short
sojourn. There wsre ladies in the party. The figure has
by its side a majestic lion.
One cannot fail to be struck with the number, variety,
and excellence of the objects of general interest and culture
in this ancient city. The Gallery is an admirable one. It
entirely delighted me. On all hands it is held to be one of
the best in Europe. Architecture has contributed vastly to
the public interest, and the latest work, the Hall of Fame,
has the strongest claims to wide regard. I was told that
this extensive apparatus for pleasure and for culture, has
revenue connected with, or derived from it, — revenue to
the public, — the royal treasury. The attractions to strangers
are very strong in Munich, and from careful statistics, it
may now be settled what will be the value of any new at-
traction, to the government revenue. And why not ? A
state which becomes the patron of its own genius, whatever
may be its direction, has secured to itself a vast advantage
in the possession of that which it has itself produced, and
liberally paid for. Here is tenfold return to the bosom
which has nurtured it ; and it is ever for national fame and
good. It brings to itself the stranger from all lands. He
pays nothing for the privilege of gallery, palace, &c. He is
showed the whole without the least demand for compensa-
tion, and he does not see that there is any expectation of
reward. He pays liberally for his accommodations in the
foreign capital, but no more than in one which has no at-
traction at all. Munich has done nobly for art, and who
does not rejoice in the success of such an enterprise ? Every
year makes it greater. To me it is a perpetual source of
pleasure. I only regret that I cannot give to it months, in-
stead of days.
I had now devoted much time to sight-seeing. I have
390 JOURNAL.
faithfully done my duty, and here closes my account of
Munich. Indulge me in a few parting words. You know
how common is this infirmity, of " last words," and that
sometimes they are our best words. What lady of your
acquaintance, who has said her parting word in the parlour,
does not linger on the stairway, — in the hall, — nay, at the
wide open front door, to say those last words, of which
you have so often heard me ask the philosophy ? Munich
is a noble city. How large is the provision for the mind ;
and the care for the body. The Gast-haus, — the stomach,
or eating-house, meets you everywhere, and then the Bava-
rian beer, — the lager, — (called lager because kept on
stands, or horses, as we call barrel stands,) is in perpetual
readiness, at all hours, and everywhere. The Bavarian is
evidently true to himself, to his language, to his literature,
to his taste, and his stomach. And with all how perfect is
his health. There is an art, a science, in beer-drinking.
Not an uncommon vessel is a long glass tube, an inch or more
in diameter, and a foot or more in length, with a handle at
lip. It is filled full, and to see a lady, when the train stops,
on the platform, or at the carriage window, go through the
manual of drinking, and empty this Alexandrine of glasses,
is a sight to be seen. The head is first bent a little for-
ward, until an inch or two of beer is drunk, then slowly
raised, the glass rising with it, until face and glass are near the
zenith, and along the neck of the lady are traced the gentle
undulations of the Bavarian, in its progress from beautiful
lips to its happy destination. It is an art, I assure you, for
not a drop is wasted. Let me say here, that the instances
of lager drinking which attracted my attention, were possi-
bly exceptional, and so may not indicate or illustrate a na-
tional custom. And let me farther add, that I have not
seen an instance of drunkenness in Germany. Munich,
like other German cities, extends itself far into the neigh-
bouring country, by means of public gardens for the amuse-
ment, the pleasure of the people. The roads to them are
JOURNAL. 391
crowded in the latter part of tlie day, and in the long twi-
light, with the carriages of the gentry, and with walkers.
The labouring classes go on Sundays, after church, the
Sunday being a Continental holiday, having in it but a
slight admixture of the Jewish Sabbath, if we except the
entire abolition of labour. Other classes visit the Gardens
through the rest of the week. I was made perfectly sen-
sible of the Garden practice, and popularity, as I was
approaching Stutgard, where I am writing. The train was
approaching that place, when a thunder-shower began to
declare itself. We were close by many gardens, which are,
when possible, near to stations. And such an inundation
of humanity into a train, or enclosure, has hardly before
been seen by me. It was filled in a minute, and crowds
were left. Nicely dressed ladies, with maid-servants and
children, formed a part of this human flood. And such an
out-pouring of the human voice as we had, — of fun, and
laugh, — can be better imagined than described. I like
these utterances of a people's heart. No worry, no fret,
no rudeness, no selfishness, — a spirit of general accommo-
dation, and most cheerful good nature ! These it was which
marked this incident of foreign travel, and which I shall
always recollect with pleasure. The local storm was soon
over, and a glorious sunset closed the day.
Stutgard. July 21 . Wednesday. — I reached Stutgard,
the capital of the kingdom of Wurtemberg, in the evening,
and no part of my experiences marks a more unpleasant day
than this in all my wanderings. I mean the portion of it
passed, or suffered in the diligence. The day was intensely
hot. Very little air, just enough to raise and keep sus-
pended the thick dust at the height of the carriage. A
crowd of Germans, full of talk and laugh, made the discom-
fort greater. We were so squeezed, that one's neighbours'
voices came ringing into one's ears after a manner before
unknown to me. Charles took seats for me and for him-
392 JOUKXAL.
self in the same coach, the best in the yard, and a caravan
was leaving. Seeing a female, before he got in, coming to
the diligence, and asking for a seat in it, the only other one
in which she could be accommodated being a very poor one,
he gave up his, and got into the other. Upon reaching the
last stage but one of my day's travel, Charles was not to be
found, — his diligence not having kept pace with mine. My
luggage was taken into the station of the railway by which
I was to reach Stutgard, and there, by its side, I waited.
We had entered a new Empire, at least a new kingdom, and
my luggage must be weighed and examined before it could be
permitted to enter the new State. The courier had my keys.
As it was utterly uncertain when, if ever, he would appear,
and the train being nearly ready, I left our trunks, &c., Avith
the conductor of the diligence who was to remain, and the
name of the hotel to which I was recommended, — the
Marcquard, — and an order to the courier, that he should
make a liberal compensation to the very obliging conductor
who took in charge our luggage, — the courier's being with
mine. I reached Stutgard in the evening, and found myself
excellently well accommodated at the hotel. At about ten
the courier appeared with the luggage. He said one of the
two horses of his carriage fell dead on the road, being killed
by the heat, and he w^as detained till a horse was got, or
caught, and the harness of the dead animal fitted to his
successor. When I asked of the compensation to the con-
ductor, he mentioned the merest trifle. I remonstrated.
" O, Sir," said he, " he was quite satisfied."
Heidelberg. July 22. Thursday. — Left Stutgard by
steamer, on the Neckar, for Heidelberg. This was a most
pleasant exchange for the diligence, in which most of hot
yesterda}'' was consumed. It rained before our voyage was
completed, but happy were we to find a bright sun await-
ing us when we reached Heidelberg, the city of the famed
Castle. We drove to the Adler, or Eagle, and got good
JOURiS^AL. 393
accommodations. The Neckar, like most of the rivers thus
far on my route, is very shallow, with abundant stones in its
way, and sometimes a rock or so. But the boats are of
slight draft, and pass along, scraping, now and then, as they
go, the bottom, and assuring us if we foundered we should
hardly sink. The paddles are so arranged as to produce
most plentiful quantities of spray, and as the water is of a
tolerably thick mud-gruel consistence, the ladies' nice dresses
and parasols were abundantly spotted. The other sex had
some employment in rubbing off the yellow spots when
they were dry. I went under my pladdie, and in my undis-
turbed loneliness, d"efied the foul fiend. The mountains on
the Neckar's sides are sometimes respectable. The rocks
crop out as they do on the Elbe, and like these, are accu-
rately stratified. They differ from those of the Elbe, in
being a red or pink-coloured sandstone, instead of the white
or yellowish of that region. Men are at work everywhere,
getting out masses for paving, &c., and for such uses they
answer perfectly. They are detached in the natural joints,
and then are trimmed for use. When finished, they are
brought to the edge of the bank, and along channels, or
inclined planes, find their own way easily, and without
damage to the river's side, where are gondolas, with or
without horses attached, in which they are placed, and car-
ried where they are needed. So simple is the process, and
so easily are materials for great variety of use obtained.
Look at it. The formation of rocks allows of the easiest
detachment of the needed stones, ready formed. Then
there is the natural inclined plane, and lastly, the common
carrier, the river. You everywhere see the result. The
streets are admirably paved. The process is going on
directly under my window ; and in every other way these
stones are used for such things as their structure fits them.
I saw grindstones of every size lying along the river's side
for sale.
W e passed many points of interest on the Neckar. The
394 JOTJKNAL.
ruins of old castles are tliere, and in one place I counted
four large ones, said to have been the stronghold of a noted
Count of the old time. Some of these ruins have been
repaired, and are put to good use. The grape is every-
where, and so are grains, and large forests of firs, where the
soil allows. Men are rarely seen in the fields, and women
have just now very little out-door work to do. The
grass, and much of the early grain are harvested, and the
later crops are maturing. The Stork is a frequent bird
here, and you will see him standing erect on one leg, on the
edge of the neighbouring hill-side, looking like a soldier on
guard. He is as peaceable, as quiet as Efre his fellow-coun-
trymen, and gives the interest of life to the wide and wild
scene.
My first visit in Heidelberg was to the Castle. It was
founded about 1300, by the ancestors of the family now on
the throne of Bavaria. It is of great size. It was an Elec-
toral palace, and in rooms which are in good condition are
preserved much of what constituted its state in earlier days,
— portraits, paintings, furniture, medals, coins, armour, &c.,
&c., which are of historical interest. The grounds are
wooded, with walks. The restoration is not forgotten ; but
the thirsty traveller may drink water at first hands, as it
comes gushing out from living springs ; or at its many
removes from these, in the shape of beer. For those who
demand stronger waters, Cogniac is almost as universal here
as is the German tongue. The Castle has been destroyed by
man and by lightning, — battered down, and blown up, and
rebuilt, — and deserted, and wasted ; so that one says, " Peace
was more injurious to it than war ! " It was not origin-
ally built on its present site. But there it is, on a mountain
overlooking the Neckar and the city, and is a magnificent
spectacle from whatever point viewed. I went up to it first
from the city, and afterwards had fine views of it from
across the Neckar. The ascent is steep, and donkeys are at
hand for the lazy, or the infirm. You pass through the
JOURNAL. 395
great gateway, and soon are in front of tlie Castle. This
facade is said to be the work of M. Angelo, and resembles
most the Venetian architecture. It reminded me strongly
of the fronts of Canaletto. I entered the Castle, and went
patiently through the discipline of seeing the treasured
relics of ages long gone by. There is a fragment of a
tower which was blown off by powder, and which, as show-
ing what human power can do to produce material strength,
is worthy a visit. I did not measure its thickness, nor do I
remember what it was said to be. It was certainly several
feet. It was rent off whole. Its enormous weight did
nothing to break it in its terrible fall. It looks like a piece
of a fractured mountain. The vines, and trees, and shrub-
beries, are around it, growing out of its soil, and will soon
make its living grave. Do not call me sentimental, or
smile at my rhetoric. But there are things of man which
move me still, and not the less that they have not been able
to conquer nature, but have often needed the " live thun-
der " for their solemn ruin. I went to all the show places,
but will not weary you with them. I did not go into the
Great Tun of Heidellerg. Its outside was more than
enough.
I crossed the Neckar the next day by the heavy, fine stone
bridge, and called on an old resident friend. From his
window I had a view opposite to that described, and a grand
view is it. I think it is the best one.
The same day, Thursday, July 22, 1 went to the University
with my friend, and heard a lecture on Roman Law, by
Mettemeyer. This professor is an admirable lecturer,
I think altogether the most accomplished teacher I have ever
listened to. His enunciation is so clear that you hear each
syllable of each word, and so perfectly was this done that
you became acquainted with his subject, though you knew
nothing of German. He quoted largely from the most
noted authorities, ihe great masters of the Roman Law,
codes, pandects, twelve tables, &c. His quotations were in
396 JOURNAL.
Latin, the language of those masters, and were most dis-
tinctly given, so that a tolerable knowledge of the language
gave 3^ou a good notion of his subject, and how he was
treating it. There was a care, a precision in giving his
references, which was excellent. Thus, volume, chapter,
section, page, and paragraph were given, and for the most
part repeated, as was the quotation itself. You saw that
this eloquent professor understands the whole nature of his
office, and is alive to the important duties it demands. He
is eloquent. He had the eloquence of manner, on a dull sub-
ject, — the law of descent, and the transmission of property,
testaments, &c., civil and military. His power is in earn-
estness, without noise and impertinent jesticulation ; and
in. freedom and fulness of enunciation, without the least
hurry. His voice is excellent, clear and musical in into-
nation, and sometimes lofty, but with that general evenness
which is the best manner of a public teacher. You saw the
effect of all this. The class felt him, and with avidity
received his important teachings. Silence is profound, per-
fect, in his lecture room. If you shut your eyes, you would
suppose that you were the only auditor there. The room is
admirably arranged for the class. It has benches, each
holding six or eight, — in rows, and stationary. A simple
desk runs the length of the benches in front, of size for ink-
stand, note-book ; and below, ample place for legs, cap, or
hat. Here are real comforts, luxuries for the student. His
is a wearisome life, and never before, — and I have studied
both in England, and in Scotland, as well as in the Republic,
— have I found such welcome arrangements for such a life, —
six lectures often a day, and with nothing to save them from
being the heaviest hours of life. I was entirely pleased
with all I saw and heard in this celebrated University. The
lecture was an hoiir long, and as soon as it was over the
Professor went into another room to meet another class in a
different department of his prselections. I was surprised to
see so many young men in the class room of such a professor,
JOURNAL. 397
his subject, Civil Law, being not merely matter of history,
but embracing great principles in their depths, and making
the strongest demands upon the minds of a class. The
German face and expression, in such examples, are remark-
ably fresh, and probably gave me the impression of a youth,
Avhich was not entirely the fact. The courses are long, —
two courses in each year, — of half a year each, so that '
a young man at matriculation, has a chance to look older
before he graduates. Degrees are given not after passing
so many years in the University, but after such examinations,
and which are very severe, as will satisfy the faculty of the
candidate's qualifications for his calling. The classes were
made up of students from many countries, — Greece,
Swabia, America, &c., &c. I sat in Prof. Mettemeyer's
lecture room with American students. After the lecture
was over, I was introduced to some of these in Graimberg's
book and stationery shop. Among others, Mr. , of
Charleston, South Carolina, the grandson of the distinguished
author of a portion of American Revolutionary History ;
and I learned afterwards that this young gentleman was the
most distinguished member of his recently graduated class.
I found him to be a very pleasing, agreeable man, and am
happy to have made the acquaintance of one who has done
so much honour to himself and to his country. I asked
what was the compensation of a professor, and of his ser-
vice. He gives two courses a year, and the fee for a course
is eight dollars. The class, when full, is seven hundred.
The lecture room, I thought, might accommodate some
hundreds, the whole class rarely attending the same course
at the same time. Prof. Mettemeyer, I was told, had two
thousand five hundred dollars a year from government. The
German dollar is less than ours.
Duels. — The mode of settling disputes in some of the
German Universities is, I believe, peculiar to them. It is
by the duel. There are certain individuals, I was told,
whose special business is to do the fighting. Thus, in one
34
398 JOURI^AL.
University there are five fighting corps, numbering together
between one or two hundred. They may be known by the
colour of their caj)s. Those referred to wear white. In
fighting, a costume is worn. Its object is to prevent dan-
gerous wounds. The whole trunk and the lower limbs in
part, are covered with a thick, padded garment of great
strength, and so is the right arm, the left being carried
behind,. Over the eyes is a visor coming well down. The
sword, or rapier, or rather striker, — a schlager, from the
German verb schlager, to strike, — for some inches from its
point is of extreme sharpness. The rest of the blade is
blunt. A surgeon is at hand during fighting. I got an
invitation to witness a combat, but no parties appeared.
The fighting room is a large hall in a public house. The
floor is marked in two spots by letters, about eight feet
apart, I should think. The fighters stand on these and
approach each other till they have reached the middle of the
space between the letters. Here they stop, and begin the
battle. They aim only at the face. This is the only point
for attack. The battle lasts about twenty minutes, a certain
number of rounds being accomplished in that time. Some-
times, if not always, after the rounds are fought, though no
blood be drawn, the fight is over. Blood being drawn
earlier, may settle the contest. It was said that disputes
led to the duel. If there be no special cause for fighting, a
member of one corps may challenge one of another, and this
is good cause for a fight. You thus see that however fomii-
dable the afiair may appear, it may resolve into a trial of
skill. At times, indeed, severe wounds are made. A part
of the nose has been cut ofi". Sometimes a corner of the
mouth may be cut through, and the wound extend through
the cheek. I met with a young man this very day, and was
with him some time, and I have no doubt he had been a
fighter. He had the scar of a clean cut extending from near
the right angle of the mouth, almost to the temple, passing
obliquely across the cheek. Some have many scars. A
JOUHNAL. 399
number of duels may be fought in a day, — time, from
8, A. M., to 11. As we approached the scene of battle, I
was told that there would not be any duels that day. I
asked why not, and the reason was given. I heard it asked
in a company at the table of the hotel, and when these duels
were under discussion, — I heard it asked why they were
allowed, — if not directly, at least so far as their not being
suppressed, implied permission. The answer was somewhat
remarkable. In all classes, it was said, are young men who
do not study. These have been always most forward in
public disturbances. The duel gives them occupation, and
so aids to keep them in political order. This explanation
was given. If we bear in mind how young many of these
students are, — how far, it may be, they are from home, and
rational means of excitement, — the national temperament,
— and especially the daily and hourly presence of the mili-
tary, we may reach many causes conspiring to produce the
custom. Said one to me : "Do you know Heidelberg is in
a state of siege?" No, said I. "It is so. The courts
are shut, and martial law exists." But, said I, I see no
military. " No," was the reply. " But, nevertheless, we
have troops here from Austria to keep us in order, and the
good city has to pay for the defence." This University
fighting is a singular fact in the educational system of a
state ; and we can easily understand what its influences
may be. It is a singular mode to suppress a spirit of insu-
bordination ; for it fosters the spirit itself ; and after a man-
ner to produce the very evils it would prevent. It diminishes
the value of life by the practice of that which, in its wider
operations, tends directly to its destruction. It accustoms
men to swords and to blood. It begins its teachings early,
and before the better and higher have been much developed,
or much used. It may come to affect character deeply. All
this, you say, may be true, and much of the same tenor ;
but that there is a foregone conclusion to fight, cause or
no cause. No one enters a corps who does not suppose
400 JOTJUXAL.
himself equal, and prepared, and ready for what he may be
called upon to do, and fight he must, and will.
You ask why I went to witness what I consider so dis-
graceful, or so demoralizing? I came abroad to observe in
various peoples, hovf character, condition, conduct, and man-
ners, might be affected by conventional and other institu-
tions. I had seen the results of |)articular systems at home.
I had left home to observe the working of others abroad. I
went to these duels, not to see what is so absurdly contrived
as to make it ridiculous, — risk without danger, — or to
witness any duel at all, in and for itself, — for I have always
regarded duelling as an outrage against good morals, and
an insult to true courage. I went to see the embodiment of
opinion in one of its phases, — to witness what government
is said to tolerate. I was not disappointed that I did not
see the duels, — which were to have come off. I had been
to the scene of such conflicts, and had such assurance of
their reality as the questionless arrangements for them
afforded.
Table d'Hote. — Much of the foregoing account of the
University duel was got at the table d'hote one day.
Among the company was an English party on their way to a
watering place for the summer. The man of the party was of
address, and dress. He talked for the whole table, and was
entertaining. I took him for a Cambridge, or Oxford man,
— a Fellow, — a nobleman's younger son, — perhaps in
orders, for he wore &ivJiite neckcloth. But no matter whom,
which, or what ; he described the duel very well. The un-
known, — not the great, — talked of all sorts of things,
among others, he talked of Americans, — of their manners,
and especially of their speech, — their pronunciation.
"There are certain words," said he, "which always declare
the American. There is one word which is a perfect Shib-
boleth, with or for that people. It is the word very. An
American cannot pronounce very as we do. He always pro-
nounces it ?;ar2/, — vary well, — &;c. This is universal. It
never fails to distinguish him from an Englishman."
JOURNAL. 401
This English talk amused me exceedingly, as it did others
of our countrymen at table. I had often noticed the English
pronunciation of this word very, and it certainly differs
from ours. It is very rapidly uttered, as are most words,
and for emphasis is always repeated "very, very," and even
a third time. No remark was made on this pronunciation
episode. It was on my lips to say, " Heidelberg is a very,
very nice place," 7iice being the commonest English eulogistic
epithet of character, whether of person or place, and I would
have uttered the word with a rapidity and emphasis, too,
which would have been English to the top of any English-
man's bent. It is rare, I think, to meet with an Anglo-
Saxon quite so communicative as was our dinner companion ;
and certainly there was nothing offensive either in his
manner or word. I could not but think if one or two New
Yorkers, who said they were such, had kept dark, we might
not have heard so much from our very agreeable English
head, — for he took that part of the table. But how much we
should have lost of really pleasant talk. I have met abroad
with Americans at table, and from New York too, and they
seemed to take special pains to declare their country ? " And
why not," I see no reason in the world. In regard to pro-
nunciation, we must confess to some peculiarities. We
certainly do not pronounce this word very as does an English-
man, nor do we give the letter o the sound he does. Hear
him say morning. It differs entirely from our pronunciation
of it. The with the English sometimes gets a sound like
u, with us. Thus, a most justly celebrated English reader.
Miss , said in her magnificent reading of Macbeth : —
" and take a bund of fate,"
for bond, as we pronounce it. In the word more, which we
pronounce with a very round, and positive o, the English-
man will give it the er sound. I could fill more than a page
with similar notices of the national in the pronunciation of
the two nations, — England and America. An American
cannot speak as does an Englishman, that is, like one of the
34*
402 JOURNAL.
best marked specimens of that race. It is not only, or chiefly,
rapidity . which makes the difference. It is found in the
variety and distinctness of the modifications of sounds,
though rapidly rendered, which give character to speech,
and which to me are very agreeable. All this is found in
the English speech or pronunciation, and is that which gives
to it a perfectness, a finish which is thought by some to be
the luxury as v>rell as the distinction of uttered language.
Fkankfukt on the Maine. July 25th. — The drive
from Heidelberg to Frankfurt on the Maine, was short and
beautiful. Frankfurt is a large and handsome city. It
is famed for its interest in the Fine Arts ; and the col-
lections of Bethmann are truly grand. Its bankers are
of name. The high priests of the order, the Rothschilds,
were born here. It is Goethe's birth place. I went to the
shop of Rohllers, four doors from the Hotel de Ptussie,
to execute a commission for a friend, — viz. to buy a
group of figures in bronze, — the Story of Erigone, and
an exquisite work of art is it. I asked the price. "Twenty-
five pounds," said the salesman, or owner. No less,
asked I. "No," said he. "It cost me thirty pounds."
An English gentleman, with whom I had become acquainted,
and who went with me to Rohllers, spoke to this statement
at once. " That is just what our shopkeepers do in England.
They always pay more for what they buy, than what they
ask for it." The shopkeeper replied with some emphasis
to the construction put upon the offered price as com-
pared with what he paid for it. I again asked if twenty-
five pounds was his lowest price. He said " Yes," and we
left, having first bought for you a paper-folder, beautifully
ornamented v\^ith stag-horn sculpture. This shop is famed
for its exquisite articles made of stag horns. They are
beautiful in design, grace, finish. They are of great cost.
I got a very slight article as a specimen. A specimen of
the manner in which these things are done. I am aware
JOIIIINAL. 403
that a Irick will hardly show the house. You must come
to Frankfurt if you would see perfection in this art.
One of the attractions of Frankfurt is Danniker's
Ariadne. This is showed in a building erected solely for it
in the spacious grounds of its opulent, and noble spirited
owner. It is in the midst of groves, and shrubberies, and
flowers, giving and taking beauty from the exquisite nature
around it. It is open daily, and may be visited by every-
body, and without fee. Now is not this a munificence to be
honoured and loved ? When has wealth such attraction, —
its possession more honour, than Avhen it shows itself in
wise and beautiful expression, — ministering to the mind
and the heart, making stranger and friend, and poor and
rich, alike participators in the best it can do ? The English
nobleman hangs out his banner, and opens his gate to the
people one day in the week, and everybody may wander
through his grounds, and have in the sight of so much
beauty and grandeur, what has in it power to do so much
and so varied good.
Ariadne, in this work of Danniker, is seated on a panther,
— as the wife of Bacchus, in a position of exquisite grace,
ease, beauty, with her head raised, and an expression of no
little exultation, that her apotheosis has already begun, —
that sh3 is already among the gods. The marble has the
efl'ect it always produces, — that of a living surface. The
light upon it is absorbed, and becomes incorporated with
the marble ; and to heighten the effect, a red shade is over
the window through which the light reaches Ariadne.
When I saw this work, the sun was just in such a position
as to pour his most powerful rays upon it through the red
curtain. As marble does not reflect light, the character of
the surface produced is stationary while the light is upon it,
so that the curtain has no other efl'ect upon the figure than
to render the atmosjjliere through which it is seen warmer
than it otherwise would be. I wish you could see this work
of art, which has given me so much pleasure. There are
404 JOURNAL.
excellent casts of celebrated statuary here, — especially of
the antique. But marble only tells the story of art, and
though the plaster be never so accurate in giving form, —
figure, — face, — it cannot for a moment deceive you into
the idea that you are looking at the original, or that which
can assure you what that original is. It is very much like
copying pictures, — this plaster cast business. It is always
a failure.
I wandered about Frankfurt, and saw most of its grandeur
and beauty. Strolling out at one p. m., a colossal statue in
bronze of Goethe was encountered, the antique with, but not
in the modern, and the whole very little to my taste. I did
not care that I did not like it more. Goethe himself as a
man, is of very little interest with me. Some of my notions
of him were gathered many years ago from a German friend,
whose character was a guarantee of the truth of what he said,
and who was near enough to the time of the illustrious poet
to learn much of his private history. In the overgrowth of
the intellectual, the moral, according to my friend, had not
an exalted place. His anecdotes related principally to
Goethe's personal life. He represented him as the slave
of the court, — as never having returned to his father's
house after his inauguration there, — that with a singular
inconsistency, he would refuse to answer small pecuniary
demands, while he was in the large way munificent. His
estimate of women, as showed by his personal relations and
conduct towards them, were stated as by no means favourable
to him as a man, or a moralist. A book purporting to be a
life of Goethe, ajDpeared not long ago, in which is given an
account of the manner in which he received the person, — a
travelling tutor of his son's, — when he came to report to him
the circumstances attending that son's death. He tells us
he shrunk from the office which his duty imposed ujDon him.
He had witnessed the death of an only son, and this last fact
in his melancholy mission, heightened his reluctance to per-
form it. Goethe received him as an ordinary, every-day
JOUKNAL. 405
vi?itor, — as having nothing special in his call, and an inter-
ruption rather than a pleasure. There was in his manner
nothing of that dignity which a suppressed grief always
imparts, — or of the composure of a reconciled sorrow. His
manner had in it no dignity at all. It was trifling. He
approaches the messenger with a flower in his hand, and asks
him to look at it. However you may explain all this, it is
to me, if true, as certain evidence of the surrender of the
moral to the intellectual, as history records. His fame, and
that which made it, are the grave of feeling. He has sur-
vived the affections, and his only son's death is of less
moment than some silly flower. Whether the cause of this
spiritual condition were philosophy, or insensibility, I will
not argue. The fact is enough, and explains other points in
Goethe's moral history with which I will not make longer
this record, which came directly to me from a countryman of
the great poet. " Nil de mortuis, nisi,'' I hear you say.
Yes, I have heard it before. But Goethe is not dead. He
will never die. His works have given him the philosopher's,
the scholar's, and the poet's life, and fame. What investi-
ture of immortality more sure ? He is remembered by me
by a work which, in my boyish days, I read a thousand times,
— the Sorrows of Werter. And in what Avork have the
depths of man's emotional nature been so sounded, as in
that short story. For one, I shall never forget it. Why
speak of the infirmities of such a man ? Because they were
nearer to the highest intellectual nature than in any other
instance in my recollection. Human nature, true human
nature, can always afford to have its whole story told, if
there be any reason for telling it at all. And who can ques-
tion the honesty of Goethe ? I cannot tell you with what
distinctness the above anecdotes of Goethe came to my
memory as I stood in the calm summer evening in Frankfurt
before his statue ; and they are recorded just as quick as
memory brought them back to me. Four years after writing
the above, 1 have just finished reading Lewes' Life of Goethe.
406 JOURNAL.
From every one who lias read it, I have heard the highest
admiration expressed of this excellent work. It reaches to
the whole life of Goethe, beginning at its beginning, and
never losing sight of him till the grave covers him. It is a
defence of Goethe, and it was not easy to avoid giving it
that character ; and yet to my mind, it is not the best text
for such a work. It is, however, much occupied with the
scientific and literary character of its subject, and brings to
the examination of each, the skill, and power, of true criti-
cism. The claim to priority of discovery in its spirit and
results, has been in the manner in which it has been urged,
among the opprobria of both science and letters. Look, as
a single instance, to the quarrel between Newton and
Leibnitz, and if you can find anything sadder, in its kind,
let me know where it is. It embittered the life of Leibnitz ;
and its melancholy power closed only at his grave. This
work of Lewes aims to place the claims of Goethe where
they justly deserve to be, and as it seems to me, the evidence
is conclusively in his favour. In regard to the moral phase
of this great man's life, it is stated at great length, with
such explanations as such a history authorizes. Explanation
here, is defence. Why have I not left what I had written
away off" in Frankfurt, touching Goethe, out of this volume ;
especially after reading Lewes' work ? The answer to such
questions, for the most part, does little to settle them ; and
I am quite willing to leave the latest where it is.
CoBLENTZ. Monday 26. — Left Frankfurt, and reached
Mayence, not far from noon, on my way on the Rhine.
The day was just one of those of all others best fitted for
an excursion on such a river.
Here am I in the Hotel de Bellevue, looking out on the
Ehrenbreitstein, — the Broad Stone of Honour, — the Gib-
raltar of Prussia, and the second or third in strpngth on the
Continent. The river is just in front, and below me. A
common street only separating me from it. I look up,
JOURNAL. 407
down, and across, and everywhere are the treasures of the
Rhine. I would have gone farther, but I have much to do
to accomplish my object in travel. I have been all day
upon the river, every hour revelling in some new beauty, —
some new scene for pleasure and for memory. Directly on
a line with my window, is a bridge of boats across the
river. The steamer comes along, — the chain of boats is
broken, — one or more being turned aside, — the craft
rushes through, and in a moment the bridge is again. But
the Rhine ? I have been days on the Elbe, the Danube,
the Neckar. This mighty stream takes rank with the best.
It is so wide, so full, so generous, so rapid. It sweeps along
from its Alj)ine home, and makes its way in giant strides
among the mountains, as if they were its old friends, which
it will never desert. You can hardly imagine its beauty,
its power. It never is with you a moment the same, or for
more than a moment. You look before you, and you have
sea room and to spare. Look again, and the mountains
have kissed each other. You can go no farther. They part
before you in a moment, and away you fly by them. The
Danube is repeated. The Rhine is the highway of great
states, and takes tribute from many monarchs. They have
made new palaces out of old castles. The King of Prus-
sia entertains Victoria in his castle palace, on the Rhine.
And there lives the Prince of Prussia, in that restored ruin,
as if it were the work of the last half year. Farther on
the same is done, and in everything you see that the hard
spirit of the old time has relented, and is happy to express
itself in the tone and manner of the indwelling beautiful.
I passed another instance of the same. The old castle was
again inhabited. The windows were curtained, and opened.
The vine was all round it, marking the narrow footpath to
the open door. And there were flower-pots there, and
nice shrubs. It was human life again before me, and I was
glad to see such a life replacing the dark reign of that bar-
barism which has passed away. I saw a fine specimen of
408 JOURNAL.
old castle architecture, ^vith scafFoldings against its sides,
and around its old towers, which showed the present was
taking the place of the past. One might be willing to lose
the picturesque, that the old and the new might join hands,
and show that wherever man is, there is the human heart
too ; and that the greatest anachronisms are often the
truest harmonies.
The Rhine is the calmest or smoothest river I think I
have known. I have been on it in a strong wind, but it
was perfectly smooth, often like glass. I think this quiet-
ness may be the result of the situation of the hills and
mountains which make its borders, or banks. They often
are very near to it, and for the most part there is hardly
enough for a road between their bases and the stream.
The fact of its perpetual fulness distinguishes it from the
Elbe, the Danube, the Neckar. These, as I have seen
them, are affected by drought. The Rhine is full. The
Danube is a noble stream, as rapid as the Rhine ; but you
saw that a heavy rain would help it amazingly. The Rhine
is not a clear river. It rushes from a mountain, and bears
a part of its parent in its bosom. It has tributaries from
other rivers, high or low, and these disturb it. The Moselle
enters the Rhine in or near Coblentz, and the difference
between them is marked. From the top of Ehrenbreitstein,
you see the Moselle entering the Rhine, with its blue water.
But the Rhine has not, for a time, the least effect upon it.
No. The line between the two rivers is drawn so strongly,
that you can hardly suppose that they will unite to form
one.
On a very high point is an old castle, which has a sin-
gular use. It is a State Prison. A few years since a
brother of Metternich was said to have been confined in it.
As we approached it, an out-work, defended by six cannon,
was seen. It seemed to me if the noble guest were at all
contemplative, and could look from that far height upon all
the beauty in such near proximity, he might have found a
JoiriiNAL. 409
prison life as happy as the free. The thought came that he
might have been quite as happy as was his statesman bro-
ther. Speaking of the Austrian Minister, let me say a
word about his estates on the Rhine. One of the most
remarkable of these is Johannesburg. It is on a hill in
the Rheingau, formerly belonging to the bishop of Fulda,
under the direction of the Electors of Mentz. The Em-
peror of x\ustria gave it to Prince Metternich, on condition
of receiving a tenth part of the produce. Prince Metter-
nich once said that he had received twenty or thirty, or
more, ambassadors from one of the largest states on the
Continent, leading the hearer to infer how long he must
have held office in the fullest confidence of his monarch.
Johannesburg lies along the side of the river, rising very
gradually to a moderate elevation above the land in its
neighbourhood. It is in shape a segment of a very large
circle, just such an arrangement as to bring the most points
under the best influences of the sun, the air, the rain.
It does not appear large. It lies basking in the sun,
getting protection from cold winds, from neighbouring
mountains. You see in such a situation how everything
conspires to bring the grape forward early, — to develope
all its wine-making properties, — ripen it for the harvest.
Nothing is so important in this business of wine-making, as
the perfect maturity of the grape. Sometimes this is not
accomplished, and unripe fruit is used. This prevents those
processes on which the best wine depends. To secure fer-
mentation, and give sweetness, as to Champagne, in bad
harvests, sugar must be added. In such wine the true
flavour, the charm is wanting, and a skilful taster detects
the want at once. Johannesburg is just so situated as to
insure the most perfect vintage. Some fruit may be better
than is other, and hence some variety in the quality of the
wine. What mere soil and place may do to aff'ect the
product, is at once seen by recurring to the Danube.
The rough character of the wine may be gathered at
35
410 JOURNAL.
once from the situation of the mountains, or hills, their
elevation, and other circumstances which may diminish the
local power of the sun, and waste the soil. It is in this
connection a fact worthy of notice, that the wine of the very
next, the adjoining estate, the Geisenheimer, does not begin
to compare with that of Johannesburg. There lays this
last, offering its broad acres to the warm sky, making its
preparation for the vintage, which will be sure to offer to
such as will pay for it, its delicious wine.
I have spoken of the surface, exposure, &c., &c., of the
Johannesburg estate, in their connection with the quantity
and character of the Avine. This reminds me of what much
interested me elsewhere on the Rhine. I mean the extreme
care taken to use every inch of land for culture, on the
sides of mountains, however precipitous ; nay, more, to
make land where is none, and so to protect it, that it shall
not, with its crop, be washed away. The comparative slight
elevation of Johannesburg, — its easy slopes, its continuous
unbroken surface, I thought, placed it in circumstances
resembling the lower levels of other terraced mountain vine-
yards, and this might give character to its wine.
Next to the Geisenheimer estate comes another, and I
believe much esteemed for its wine, — the Rudisheimer ;
and my last acquaintance with the Rhine wine-land, was
that which borders directly on the Moselle, a beautiful
river, to whose blue water I have before alluded. Many
remains of the Roman rule are in the neighbourhood of the
Moselle, which will well reward the industry of the travel-
ler in his search, who has time and taste for hunting after
them. I must add that besides vineyards, grains and grasses
are everywhere more or less cultivated, in the region of
which I have been speaking.
Eheenbkeitsteijt. July 27. — A light rain in the
night was followed by one of the pleasant days which have
almost every day welcomed me, — my morning blessing.
JOUKNAL. 411
It was hot, but, as you know, your true traveller, and true
man, are both above complaint. If we sweated, we bore it.
We were for Ehrenbreitstein. Breakfast was for seven,
and at eight we were on our way. We crossed the bridge of
boats, and were soon at the foot of the mountain, on the
top of which is the fortress. The Broad Stone of Honour
is a mural rock, rising almost eight hundred feet above the
Rhine. The ascent is less fatiguing than you might sup-
pose, as the road is of inclined, winding planes, which take
you along with no very distinct consciousness that you are
so rapidly ascending. When coming down, however, I did
feel somewhat of comfort, as I looked upon later pilgrims
to the land above. They came along, hat in hand, occa-
sioning the courier to say, " The Broad Stone of Honour
makes them take off the hat who come to see him." I
recollected that we had paid him so much of reverence.
Never do I remember such liberality of perspiration, as
accompanied me in this ascent, I hardly think the proud
rock would have put in any claim for this portion of the
tribute. I was, however, not conscious of fatigue.
Ehrenbreitstein is of great strength. It mounts seven
hundred cannon of the largest calibre. It is pierced every
where for musketry, where musketry can be used. It is
always provisioned for seven years, and its supply of water
is inexhaustible. One source is the Rhine, another a well
in the fortress itself. I stood upon the highest point of this
vast rock, picked flowers there, and collected hard speci-
mens of the stones of which it is composed. A great deal
of the rock is bare, — is compact, and of a dark brown
colour, — its whole structure impressing you with the feel-
ing of its strength.
Our guide, an old soldier, took pride in his office. The
fortress was clearly a pet. He took us to all points of inter-
est. Among these ^vas " Victohia's Seat," so called, where
her Majesty of England rested herself in a visit here last
year, as the guest of the King of Prussia. Everybody
412 JOURNAL.
must sit, wliere did the Queen. I told him of America, my
fatherland, and how long had been my journey to Coblentz.
This particularly pleased the old soldier, and he was more
zealous than before to please us. What especially attracted
notice was the prospect, as you stand on the top stone of
Ehrenbreitstein. In the first place, the extent of the view.
You look up and down the Rhine for miles. Coblentz is seen
in every part of it, a bird's-eye view. The great fortresses
of Alexander and Constantino, named in honour of the
Russian Princes of those names, are situated to the east, and
ready in their strength to co-operate at an}^ moment with
their time-honoured neighbour. Then the Moselle, winding
its slow length along to the Rhine, soon to lose itself in that
rapid stream. You see, and I am sure with deep interest, the
cultivation far below this, the fortress side of the river. The
ground is level there, and adapted to a variety of culture,
and with sufficient extent for each particular growth to show
itself to the best advantage.
The utmost care is taken to combine symmetry with
economy. Thus, in one place is a large crescent, and
bounded by a deep green shrubbery. From, and to this, as a
centre, strips of difierent widths pass, on which are various
grains for instance, each showing its distinctive colours, and
thus producing a carpet-like arrangement too wide and deep
to be stiff, and entirely beautiful. It is artificial, and such
is cultivation over the whole Continent. The variety saves
repetition from at all offending you, or from diminishing the
beauty. Everywhere around you is this exquisite care and
taste displayed to produce agreeable eff'ects ; and I think
nobody would look over this wide field of beauty and of
good, without feeling that he owed a debt to the Rhine, the
extent of which he might not have felt but for his pilgrimage
to Ehrenbreitstein.
Let me speak of the structure of the fortress. The rock
does not end above in an uninterrupted level outline. No.
It rises very irregularly, with projections upward, pinnacled,
JOURNAI,. 413
with spaces between. Well, in building the fort, the outline
has not been altered so as to produce a horizontal surface
upon which to erect the walls of the fortress, but the spaces
are huilt into and above the pinnacles, or projections when
necessary, so that, with an originally very irregular outline,
the surface line is perfectly uniform, or horizontal. The effect
of this is excellent, and you feel sure of the strength of
works which have had such principles in their construction.
Look at the splendid bronze statue of Peter Veliki, Peter the
Great, in the Admiralty, in St. Petersburg, and see how the
rock is hurt, in its effect, by the paring down of roughnesses,
and smoothing the edges of fractures to give to it grace.
Its chiefest grace was its strength, — for this only could be
in harmony with that which it suj^ports. The rock upon the
Khine remains as it was, and so does that upon the Elbe,
upon which is the Koenigstein. Man's work in these, respects
those of nature, and has not dreamed of making them better.
One is sad that a spot sacred to the worship of nature, —
yes, consecrated by its infinite beauty to the loftiest offices,
should have been brought into the service of war. But the
times promise it a long peace, — an unbroken rest. It may
be in another and better age, when a truer civilization has
been reached, the wild flower, and vine, and grass, will groAv
over, and cover up these works of man, and the Broad
Stone of Honour recover from the desolation of ages, as
has the Rhine Palace of the King of Prussia ; and in the
ministries of hospitality, regal, and neighbourly, show that
the age of war is gone, and the gentle rule of peace has
succeeded.
Left Coblentz in the Prinzessen von Prussen, — the
Prussian Princess, — on my return voyage upon the Rhine.
The day was fine. I was now occupied in seeing the same
things seen before, but in a reversed order. The voyage was
exceedingly pleasant. Whether it was that I had learned
something of the scenery, that it so much delighted me, or
not, I cannot say, but am sure that the new aspects of old
35*
414 JOURNAL.
scenes were very pleasing. Th.e simple change in the direc-
tion of the sun's rays, brought with it new surfaces, — new
mountain outlines, — may I not say new mountains ? I
knew indeed every important point I had seen before ; but
the knowledge was power, and increased the interest of
what I saw a second time, or to-day.
Manheim. — About twelve, midnight, by the light of a
brilliant moon, I landed near the Hotel de T Europe in
Manlieim. I shall not forget the effects produced by moon
light upon the scenery of this night voyage. The Duchy is
in a state of siege, martial law having replaced the civil.
"Why this is so, I, of course, know not, and I certainly never
should have dreamed of such a thing ; the besieged being
and acting very much like other folk. The soldiers were
about everywhere of cou.rse, for on the Continent where you
see a man you almost invariably see a soldier. 1 saw a review
on the parade. The siege may be for the benefit of the
otherwise unused military. Manheim is a neat, quiet, com-
fortable place. The people seemed well off, and apparently
lived upon little labour, but in what this consisted I could
not see. One can understand how people get along in the
country. There is labour, and this produces something to ob-
server, as well as to emplo3^er and employed. The population
is small to the surface, and so want of employment may be
rare. But in these cities, so compact, so small, so crowded
and covered with men and their habitations, with apparently
so little employment, it always seems to me as if there
must be some difficulty in settling the question of supply
and demand. The unused army may be a convenience, as
more opportunity for employment may be secured to the
people, and the government pays the army. But the people
pay the government. Whence the revenue ? I go to the
market in these cities. It is well supplied. The country
does its part, and liberally, in meats, vegetables, fruits.
The sea, or river, furnishes fish. You see it comes from
JOURNAL. 415
labour at a distance, tliis market abundance. It is all bought
up early, carried home, so that by two, p. m., the square or
market is perfectly clean, as if all sorts of things had not
covered it a moment before. The masses then do get work,
— eat and drink, — go to the beer houses, — to the theatre,
— enjoy themselves as do others, — do not die of starva-
tion. The hardest service of the people here is to support
mere idlers, soldiers, and government, — neither of which
orders support themselves, — to pay these, and provide
for itself, its nameless real wants, and its rarer luxuries.
It seems as if labour can hardly reserve enough from its
toil to make new strength for new toil. Look where you
may, the same story comes in endless repetition. The masses
must work, and trust their recompense to circumstances,
which they cannot controul. I say masses. Every worker
does the same whose whole capital is in his mind or hands,
or both. The highest of the professions and the lowest occu-
pations, have alike their sustenance in or out of what they
do, — not as do others, — capitalists, — whose interest rolls
up, or rolls in, without their stir. Such men rarely loork.
They hardly understand the meaning of the word. A
Daniel Webster may strain his great intellect almost to*
bursting, — may work as such idlers cannot dream of ; and
may be paid w^ith money, the making of which has not cost
his employer two thoughts. I say may, for is not the pay of all
professional men, — the physician with the rest, — somewhat
contingent? The professional man has worked with body
and mind, — night and day, — in cold and heat, — and
when the year is ended, if his employer have saved enough
to pay every other demand, and leave an overplus for the
future, the professional creditor may get his remuneration.
The day labourer is the more independent of the two. He
must be paid, for except he eat, he cannot work. The capi-
talist lives then upon his income ; and the labourer cannot
long subsist upon idleness. Men ever demand the most
toil for the least possible wages. The harmony of society,
416 JOUENAL.
as now constituted, would be disturbed, we are told, by a
more liberal competition, a true co-operation ; and so a less
oppressive industry. There would be, however, in a co-opera-
tive system, the immense advantage of allowing labour,
time for a true culture, and for true intellectual uses ; and
toil then would be alike for mind and for body. The
great problems here involved are to be resolved some time.
Let us wait, doing what we may till the fulness of time be
come.
I walked among the barracks. These are extensive, airy,
well built, and I was told are kept in excellent order. The
soldier is the most reckless, careless of men. He is wholly
supported by others, — has, literally, nothing more to do than
to appear on parade, — his dress and equipments being in
perfect order, — and there learn the trade of death, — the
science of killing, — he himself always having the chance
of being dealt with as it is his trade to deal with others.
Policy requires that a state maintained by an army should
take care of the soldier. The burden upon the Grand
Duke of Baden may not seem great, as his army amounts
only to fifteen or twenty thousand men. But this is in
*exact proportion to the extent of the state, and the tax
upon industry is the same as elsewhere. The size of the
Grand Duke's army has its compensation in his alliances
oiFensive and defensive with Prussia and Austria. They
are to protect him, and he them, as the case may be. I
have heard of very small armies in my wanderings among
German Dukedoms. I one day asked the name of a station.
I was told it was PikenhusJi, — at least this was my nearest
spelling of the name. I looked up, and saw plainly printed
on the station house, Biichenburg. This not looking much
like Pikenbush, I asked again for the name of the station.
I got the same answer, and something more. Soon after I
learned this was a Dukedom, — that the present Grand
Duke inherited it from his father. It is his estate, and not
being very large, his standing army is very small, three men
JOURNAL. 417
all told. This army is only in service on certain state occa-
sions, sucb. as visits from Kings, or Dukes, and then it is
thus : "When a royal or ducal visitor comes to Biichenburg,
the army is at the entrance of the duchy to receive them,
and having done so, passes rapidly to some other marked
point, and there does the same ; and so on until the illus-
trious visitor is fairly in the farmstead palace, or castle.
The Duke, in the Diet, is as much of a leader as the
best of them. Now this history, as related to me, may he
only a myth, a fable, and the Germans are proverbially
poetic. I am the more inclined to question some points in
this account, as I was once told the contingent of Homburg,
near Frankfurt, to the confederacy is very small ; Avhereas I
find it in print to be two hundred men. This certainly
beats the Duchy in numbers, and may serve to correct the
error of report, if error exist. ■^•'
We left ;Manheim about ten, a. m., taking the rail for
Strasburg. As we advance we perceive a change in the
language, the French growing constantly more and more
frequent. I am daily called to notice the universality of
the French language, — how common it is to meet it in the
midst of other tongues. In women I have most frequently-
met with this. Northern nations have much facility in
learning languages. For ages the Latin tongue was the
language of education in the universities, and in Hungary
* While this work is passing through the press, I have met with the
following account of the Duke of Biichenburg in a newspaper of the
day. I see the spellmg of the name of his capital differs from mine,
which was copied from that on the station.
" Buckeburg, the capital of the little principahty of Schaumburg
Lippe, was recently the scene of great festivity. The sturdy prince,
who is upwards of seventy years of age, of which he has reigned
thirty-nine, celebrated his goldm or fortieth marriage anniversary.
He is so robust, and leads such a healthy and invigorating life, that the
chances are he will live to celebrate his diamond or fiftieth wedding
jubilee, and this, as the gossips of Krehwinkel-Buckeburg assert, with
full title to the Dunmow flitch."
418 JOURNAL.
it was almost a vernacular. I well remember hearing an
American traveller, who is an excellent scholar, say, that
finding himself near by a German university, out of which
the classes were passing, he addressed one in English, and
then in French, as far as this would go. But, as he did not
get ahead much, he resolved to try Latin. He was at once
understood. The German, where it is vernacular, is not
spoken with equal accuracy or elegance everywhere. Differ-
ent states have their peculiarities, and provincialisms are
not wanting. Thus, in Heidelberg, and throughout Baden,
German is the least elegant. In Hanover the language is
most perfect. The French is very common in Germany. I
travelled with an Italian family, who spoke German and
French. It was diverting to hear this family speaking such
diverse tongues, and passing from one to the other without
the least effort. It was clear that they did not mean that
any body else in the carriage should understand much which
they said. I allude to this subject here to speak of an-
other, which has interested me. It is, that I have rarely
met on the Continent, with Germans, well spoken English.
In Russia the English is almost as perfect as it is from the
mouth of an Englishman. This state of things, — this non-
intercourse, is, of all things, the most annoying to the trav-
eller. But that I have with me a courier, who speaks every
language of every people I have visited, I should have made
out most wretchedly. You want something. You go into
a shop to get it. You might have as well gone to the
deserts of Arabia for it. You are not understood. You
cannot make yourself understood. A friend of mine in
Germany wanted a hat-case. He hunted a town over. He
asked for it. In natural signs he tried to describe it, but in
vain. Two German words, for hat case, would have saved
all the trouble. Two friends of mine wore travelling alone
in a diligence, before railway times. They were strangers
to each other. After long silence, one addressed the other
in such French as was his. The other had none, or less
jouii:n-al. 419
than his fellow-traveller, and conversation soon lagged, and
then stopped. German was next tried, but failure fol-
lowed. At length an English word crept in, or out. " Can
you speak English ? " cried one. " Can you ? " screamed
the other, and there was no more silence. Another friend,
this was a lady, had lighted at an inn in Italy, for the night,
and it being cool, having examined the bed, asked for a
blanket. The chamber-maid did not understand a word
she said. Then by signs and words together, she laboured
to be understood. But constant failure. At last, with the
quick sagacity of a woman, she cried Baa, — Baa, and the
sheep's clothing, in the form of a nice blanket, was brought
at once. I have heard of another lady, (they were of
America,) who was told that, by adding an o to English
words, very tolerable Italian would be produced. As the
story goes, she adopted this method, and succeeded admir-
ably. Thus : Haveo youo anyo lodgingo ? et ccetero.
Money matters are a great torment on the Continent.
Every state has its own currency. Exchanges are made
with both loss and difficulty, especially where the language,
the name, and value of coins are unknown. If you are not
very careful, you will insensibly get your purse filled with
dead money, as ruinous to pleasant travel, as dead water to
a ship's progress ; and then the chances of being cheated, —
not the least of the annoyances of such useless coin.
I cannot leave Germany, without a passing word of grati-
tude for the privileges which were mine, and the pleasures
I enjoyed, while a sojourner in its wide and noble territory.
How vast have been its contributions to the literature, the
philosophy, the arts and the science, which adorn nations,
and keep in sure progress the civilization of the world.
There was another aspect in which Germany is seen with
interest. I mean its humanity. I do not use this word in
its popular and restricted sense, — the performance of cer-
tain duties to each other in certain relations, — poverty and
riches for instance. I use the word in its higher signifi-
420 JOUENAL. '
cance, — that never-forgotten provision by states, whole
nations, for the highest intellectual and moral elevation,
and the surest means of individual comfort and questionless
pleasure. You see everywhere in Germany, industry, and
in the closest connection its generous products. The labour
is light. The product sure. The climate and the surface,
the sky and the earth, concur to make Germany as com-
fortable, as agreeable, as is any other portion of the material
universe. The physical has and preserves its powers ; and
for use, to a degree I have rarely seen equalled elsewhere. •
Then how wide is intellectual culture. It is somewhat
forced, indeed, for its elements, which are provided by the
state, must be used. The child must go to school. He
learns to read, and in this simple possession he has not
only the means, but also the promise, and prophecy of any
and every degree of human culture. Here is humanity in
Germany. It is in education, in soil, in climate, and in a
good physical organization. They are strong men, — these
Germans. They are hard thinkers, and firm speakers, and
strong actors. They have applied thought, man's reason, to
theology, and after a manner unknown before. This has
disturbed minds which have rested in authority for their
faith and creed ; but to others it has given a character to
theology, — the most important study to which the mind
can devote itself, — which to many it never had before. It
has related it to all other human concerns, and must have
an important agency in the future Christian civilization. I
am glad to have passed so much time here. I only regret
that it was not longer. How happy should I be to see it
again. In the Indian Summer of human life, — that return
for a few days of the warm autumn, standing upon the
threshold of the coming winter, as if to shake hands before
it die, — in that momentary rejuvenescence w^hich some-
times blesses old age, — how happy should I be to give
some of its hours again to foreign travel ; and again find
myself in the pleasant scenes, — the cheerful hapj)y life of
Germany.
JOURNAL. 421
Strasbueg. — After leaving Manheim, on the way to
Strasburg, a change is soon seen in the surface of the land.
It is quite flat. The Rhine is not far distant. In the
mineral water region of Baden Baden the country rises,
and at Buhl, mountains and forests surround you. I was
glad to tind myself again among these old acquaintances.
It had rained in the fore part of the day, but in the latter
part it was clear, and the level rays of the sun came back to
us from mountain side, and forest leaf, with great richness
and beauty. At length we crossed the Rhine for the last
time, and were in France.
We reached Strasburg late in the afternoon, but early
enough to notice its approaches, and their principal objects.
Towering above all else of man's work, is the spire of the
Minster, the Dom, or the Cathedral, for so are such church
buildings variously called. It stands alone and dark, —
yes, black, with the accumulations of ages. You see at a
distance where it is distinctly visible, the spire and a part of
the tower only. Yet such are their perfect proportions that
you have no feeling of the heavy, the clumsy, which other-
wise such an unrelieved, and enormous mass would produce.
The spire bounds your prospect, — or rising directly out of
the far-off horizon, — for you are looking across a level, —
it leans against or rests upon the sky as its natural support.
It is nearly five hundred feet high, and cannot be first
seen without deep emotion. I said the lofty spire. There
is but one, and this not rising from the centre of the facade
of the church, but from one of its angles or corners, suggests
another as essential to the completeness of the architecture.
I was, in fact, told that failure in the means is the cause of
its unfinished condition. There stands its simple spire in
widowed solitude, bearing itself nobly, and there it probably
will ever remain alone. The architecture is somewhat
mixed, the Gothic spire and clustered column, — with
the Roman arch. At least this diversity may be found in
it. But nothing disturbs the solemn majesty, the re-
36
422 JOUHNAL.
pose of tlie whole. Its vastness silences detail ; and
criticism has no voice in its presence. But vastness here
does not exclude detail. Oh, no. Such is the exquisite
finish, — the elaborateness of the walls, and roof, and spire,
that they seem as covered with an exquisite lace. Some
notion may be got of immensity here by standing near the
tower upon which rests the spire. It rises within the church,
and, without any disposition to exaggerate, it seemed large
enough to fill the body of one of our largest churches. The
demand for such a structure is in the enormous height, and
weight of the spire. It is built throughout of stone, and
nothing could resist its crushing weight but the stupendous
foundation upon which it rests, — the tower. This is
formed of columns, and few things impress one more than
to see them in their vast size ascending till they end in
giving origin to the spire, which seems to be their growth.
There is an effect produced by this spire which I have
noticed again and again in very high structures of the same
kind. They seem less tall than they really are. The deception
may be owing to their great size. They are seen so well at
such vast heights, that one cannot lose the feeling that they
are nearer the eye than they are. The spire of the Stras-
burg Dom, strongly impressed me in this way, and I felt
disappointed at its apparent want of height. There was
wanting that indistinctness which we always associate with
the distant. Mountains often deceive us. Seen many
miles off, — standing alone on the traveller's horizon, — of the
colour of the distant sky, or distinguished from it by the
lights or shades of salient or receding masses, — or shining
above the clouds in the lustre of their own sun, — moun-
tains seem under these, and related aspects strike .us by
their height, and masses. The White Mountains, seen from
Winnipiseogee Lake, a great distance off, I think always
impress the traveller with the idea of their height. As we
aporoach, the height diminishes. We have neighbouring
elevations to measure by. The mountain side is cultivated
JOURNAL. 423
a certain way up. Then we have trees, — next, diminislied
vegetation, — then the naked rock reflecting the light so
strongly as not to fail to bring the mountain nearer, — to
diminish the height, — then perpetual snow, or ice, glisten-
ing in the summer sun, making us to wonder that what is
so fully seen, — is so near to us, — has not melted long ago.
Great height produces vagueness, uncertainty in the objects
looked for. The illusion is hurt by hints offered by what is
easily seen, for these are, or involve questions of height.
Raise a spire very high. Let it be small, tapering thinly
and rapidly away. Place upon it a vane, representing a
man, and of man's size. You will barely see it sufficiently to
learn how it points. You have here the elements of height,
or of its idea Let such a spire be only two hundred feet,
and it will seem higher than that of Strasburg, which is five
hundred.
Some have said that the body of the church is too low
for the tower and spire. It is on a plain, — perfectly level
spot. So is Isaak Church in St. Petersburg, — and the body
is kept down by the depressed state of the basement. But
I was not stinted of a particle of my admiration, as I stood
in the solemn presence of this grand and venerable work of
man, by the fault-finding about the proportions of its mem-
bers. You feel that this Strasburg Cathedral is related to
the permanent in its present freshness, and in the assurances
of history. It is throughout its exterior in perfect preserva-
tion. It is coated with dust and soot, — with all and every-
thing, which time can give. Is it not to these that its pre-
servation as well as its colour, are to be ascribed, and not
to the kind of stone ? The Cathedral in Cologne was begun
about two hundred years after this. But the decay of the
stone is very remarkable. The liberality of the Czar, as I
heard, had enabled the city to proceed with the work, for it
is still very far from completion. The Czar is brother-in-
law to the King of Prussia. The contrast between the old
stone and the new is striking indeed. I saw in another city
424 JOURNAL.
a public building of red sandstone, the age of wMcli I could
not learn, but in wbich the stone of the walls everyv/here is
so deeply decayed, that an entire new facing by thin layers
of a stone is in progress. The restoration by this sort of
stone veneering will be perfect. The effect of what is
already done is excellent. The stone is compact, unaffected
by moisture, heat, cold, air. It is a very important fact in
the architecture of the exterior, that the material is so endu-
ring. You can imagine nothing so delicate, so elaborate, as
the work upon the spire, and exterior, or body of this
church. The stone is cut into all sorts of forms. The spire
is lace work in stone, and the light passing freely through
its meshes, gives beauty, lightness, grace, to what is so vast
as to amaze you by its effects.
I cannot get away from this wonderful work. I enter it
again. Here I see decay. P.epair keeps pace with it. You
everywhere see stones which have been recently inserted, or
walls renewed, or more frequently, new w^ork added, to
finish an original intention, which seems to have been first
deferred, and then forgotten. The greatest care is taken of
the whole interior. It is regularly washed, but with great
caution that architectural points, fine sculptures, should not
be hurt by the process. Distinctness is everywhere. Every-
thing tells its story. The light is on the projecting edge,
or outline. The shadow is between all parts which are so
related as to prevent the equal entrance of light. The
effects are beautiful, and you cannot but feel grateful that
there was a time in human history when such works might
be begun, and that the latest ages have not neglected them.
There are beautiful carvings in v\^ood, wherever wood may
be used as pulpits, &c. The light comes in through painted
glass, so perfect in its old history, and which astonishes you
by its amount, and delights you by the exquisiteness of its
execution. I can give you no idea of such size, such vast-
ness, — of such antiquity, and such preservation, as give
tone and character to this cathedral. I have rarely, if ever
JOUKNAL. 425
"before, had the consciousness of these elements of the
sublime so clearly, so absolutely revealed to me.
Strasburg Cathedral, the history of which is before me,"^**
was built amidst storms and war, — lightning and tempests,
— and which, since its completion, has met with disaster on
all hands, so that a writer says, " They reach to such an
amount that a volume would scarcely suffice for a list of
them." This church stands to this day, the illustration and
the proof of human progress in a matter of the deepest
human interest, and a specimen of the highest human art.
Time, sometimes, has given his busy hand to the work of
destruction ; but human devotion and care have interposed
to repair the waste, and to preserve and to carry it forward
to the endless future. What has such claims on human
reverence and care ?
My next visit was to the Temple of St. Thomas. This
establishment dates from 670, when St. Florent, Bishop of
Strasburg, founded on its site a small hospital for certain
monks, his countrymen. A hundred and sixty years after,
Bishop Adeloch restored the church, made to it large gifts,
and converted it into a college. It remained such till 1007,
when it was burned down. At the accession of William to
the Episcopal See, he rebuilt it, and inaugurated it in 1031.
The Chapter was secularized in 1374, and the revenues
transferred to the prebend. So things remained till the
Reformation, the principles of which were adopted by the
canons of St. Thomas. By an agreement made in 1548,
between the magistrates of Strasburg and the Bishop Eras-
mus, this last consented to the alienation of the revenues of
the chapter of St. Thomas, and approved of the use which
* The words completed and completion occm* in this account of the
Cathedral of Strasburg. It, however, is not finished. It has but one
spire. The other tower patiently waits for its fellow. This is alluded
to, because in America, I remember at least one church in which this
striking defect in the Strasburg Dom is copied as an architectural per-
fection, — two towers, as has the Strasburg Dom, with one spire.
426 JOURNAL.
had been made of them. Since then the professors of the
ancient university, and afterwards those of the Protestant
seminary, have enjoyed the stipends of this church. I was
told that of the revenue of St. Thomas, a large part was paid
to the Cathedral. This brings to mind what was told me of
an accommodation between Catholics and Protestants, in a
matter of worship, in Heidelberg. I was walking one day
in Heidelberg, with Mr. , and saw a large, and
very long building in the middle of a wide street, or square.
Said my friend, there is a history about this church which
may interest you. One end of it is used by Protestants,
and the other by Catholics. There is no division for this
accommodation, but this is compensated for by an arrange-
ment between the two religions. One uses the church in
the forenoon, the other in the afternoon. Peace in the
house of God is thus preserved among the worshipping
Christians. I am reminded by this anecdote of a somewhat
similar arrangement, if such was ever made, between two
sects, in a town not far from my home in America. An
Orthodox church, so called, had, for a century or more, stood
on the side of a square, or market-place. In the progress
of religious ideas, a Unitarian place of worship was built
nearly opposite to it. Said a friend, a humourist, to me
one day, when I was speaking of what had occurred, " The
Lord's people have agreed to come out of their churches at
different hours, lest they should fight in the market place."
Among the objects of interest in St. Thomas' are some
sculptures, — the monument of Marshal de Saxe, placed here
by Louis XV., busts of Oberlin and of Koch, and two
mummies, discovered in 1802. There are also some pic-
tures.
Let me say a word or two about Strasburg. It is a nice
city, having somewhere about seventy thousand inhabitants,
forty thousand Protestants, and thirty thousand Catholics.
At least so I am told. There are eight thousand soldiers to
keep the other thousands in order. I said to one who told
JOURNAL. 427
me this, that they must be sad fellows in Strasburg, to
requii-e so many soldiers to preserve order, — for that in my
country we had hardly double that number of public mus-
kets to keep the peace, with a population of between
twenty and thirty million. He was quite amused at our
peace establishment. My courier asked me if I wished to
go to the theatre. I asked of the play, actors, &c. He
said Madame Rackal^ or Rascal, or somebody else, was to
play, — that she was celebrated, — and that the play was
Adrienne. I directed him to get a ticket, and went. Of
the play I can say but little. It was, of course, in French.
I had never read it, or seen it before. It was " Greek " to
me. Rachel, in her great power, told the story. The
power was in her commanding person, her face, expression,
voice, manner. She was at home in the character, and
lived in it. You did not, for a moment, lose the conscious-
ness of being in the presence of the greatest actress of the
age. I thought her power was most strikingly manifested
in her low, sometimes, lowest tones. The silence of the
house was as profound as if she alone were in it. The
theatre is large, and dark, from the colour of the walls and
ceiling, and want of lights. The stage was perfectly well
lighted. There was no orchestra. Scenes were changed,
and curtain raised, by strokes of a hammer on the floor of
the stage. The manner of the audience attracted my atten-
tion at once. From the beginning to the ending, there was
perfect, and entire silence, and fixed attention. There was
no music, still the intervals between the acts were not dis-
turbed by impatience, or noisy demands of any kind, or for
anything. Even applause was subdued to the occasion, and
had its depth in its delicacy. It was hearty, without being
deafening. In regard to the prevailing character of the
audience towards the actors, a like respectful attention was
paid to all. It seemed to matter not who were on the stage,
or what was said, or how. The crowded parquette was
equally attentive, and still. I saw in all this two agencies
428 JOITKKAL.
in operation, wliicli are sure to produce such effects. First,
the authority of government, as felt in every public interest.
Secondly, the national sense of propriety, — the correspond-
ence of individual conduct with public duty. You say all
this is outside, superficial, heartless, and forced. Very
well. In what other way can the real be expressed ? If
the merely artificial, the conventional life of a people, as
you call it, be decent, be refined, — if it serve and please
you, and everybody else, — what more do you want ? You
look for the national character in the conduct of the many,
and of the few. If this be marked by courtesy, — by a
desire to please, why go behind the record to hunt up
causes ? Suppose the effort to please you is to be paid for.
What better thing is there in the social market ? What
better can money buy ? I, for one, say it is grateful to me,
and I will do what I can to show my sense of it. If it
demand a journey, — a voyage of one thousand leagues, to
find it, — I am on hand to undertake it.
In my walks I met with many things which interested
me. Among these is a very fine statue of Giittenberg,
usually called the inventor of the printing press. Kleber,
who was a native of Strasburg, with the above, and was
killed by a fanatic Turk, while at the head of the French
forces in Egypt, after Bonaparte's return to France, has a
statue to his memory in the city. It stands in the Place
D'Armes, and, as a work of art, attracts much attention.
This is a most clean, neat city. The streets are swept often
every day by women, who know how to sweep.
The quiet of these cities is great. I have before alluded
to it, and here it is as striking as elsewhere. People attend
to what they are interested in. I was sitting at my window
early one damp, somewhat chilly, morning, and witnessed
the following : A large load of wood was stopped at a door
opposite. A woman well dressed, with bonnet on, came
out, and stood on the street side of the long four-wheeled
cart. A man soon appeared with a long measuring pole.
JOURNAL. 429
The woman, with hands in pockets, watched the process of
unloading with most attentive eye. The measurer stuck up
two uprights, for supports of the pile, or range, about to be
made of the wood, and the process began. Every stick was
watched. A crooked or knotty one was at once rejected,
and put aside. Sometimes a large gnarled crooked log
would turn up. It was at once challenged, and rejected.
The whole quantity might have been between two and three
cords, and nearly an hour was used in placing and measuring
it. But there stood the lady. She scarcely moved, follo\ving
with her eye the whole process. The peasant did just what
she ordered, and without the least question. It was to me
a whole history.
Soon after the wood came a wagon, with lids opening at
both ends, like our city scavenger wagons, only longer and
wider. Two men sat in front. They stopped opposite my
window. One of the men looked behind with much inter-
est, and soon jumped to the ground, and walked fast behind
the wagon. I saw him stop close by a peasant's cart, and
seizing a middle sized dog, took him under his arm, and
walked back to his wagon. The peasant remonstrated, but
it was no use. The man with the dog raised the tail end
lid. The cart was full of dogs. They were of fair size, of
a yellowish or reddish brown colour, fine, handsome dogs, as
you will ever see. They were perfectly quiet, as much so
as any Strasburger. Not a bark, nor a yell, nor a whine.
They looked at the stranger, as the man thrust the new
comer amongst them, with calm countenance, but as if
thinking the " coach was full." I asked the meaning of all
this. Hydrox^hobia has been very rife in France, and to
prevent it, a law was passed, that if a dog was abroad with-
out a string about his neck, and the other end in the
owner's hand, he should be taken up and " dealt with."
The peasant's dog came within the category, and, with his
new acquaintances, was, when I last saw him, on his way to
sacrifice.
430 JOUK^AL.
Pahis. — Left Strasburg for Paris. "We filled the coach,
as we thought, perfectlj^ with ourselves and luggage, and,
with six fine horses, three abreast, we got on swimmingly.
We had not proceeded far, however, before we had a some-
what inconvenient addition to our party. Fourteen con-
scripts, en route to some military station, mounted our
loaded carriage, and bestowed themselves in the banquette
on the top of the diligence. They were fine looking young
men, or rather boys, ranging from sixteen to eighteen, and
as full of fun as they well could be. At every stopping
place, these fourteen pair of legs came dangling down in
front of the coupe, where I sat, and were to be dangled up
again before we started. Their owners found something
very attractive in the inns, for they were as slow as they
could be about leaving them, and evidently came out with
higher or better spirits than they entered with. They
laughed, and roared, and sang at the top of their voices,
and kicked about as much as their narrow quarters permit-
ted. At nightfall we reached Nancy. Nancy is the ter-
minus of the day's travel, and here we passed the night.
Through our whole route we w^ere beset with beggars, men,
women, and children. They were wretched looking enough,
but seemed better ofi" than the Austrian specimens of the
same. The children especially looked healthy and comfort-
ably clad. These incursions of poverty were made all along
the hillsides, the coach crawling slowly up their heights,
giving ample time for the various exhibitions of the sufier-
ing of the neighbourhoods. The railway will be fatal to all
this beggary, and Avhat will become of the beggars who have
so long depended upon the roadside charity, I cannot tell.
At six, p. M., precisely, Saturday evening, the day's work
was ended by my entering Paris. It seemed as if life, going
on everywhere, were active without restlessness. Sunday
was an exquisite morning, its temperature making walking a
luxury, and showing everything in its very best dress. Op-
posite my window is the Tuileries Garden. This garden
joirnNAL. 431
gets its name from tuile, or tile, for here tiles were once
made. It is now the pride of Paris, — a garden of between
fifty and sixty acres, with a palace attached, — the last for
the monarch, — the first for the people. You feel at
once which is the best provided for. The garden is full of
old trees, orange trees of large size among the rest, —
flowers for sight and for smell. Ample walks for the mil-
lion and a half, and large spaces for all sorts of temporary
amusements. Tuileries Garden is constantly used, and
enjoyed by all. It lies in the midst of the city, with the
Rue Rivoli on one side, and the Seine on the other. The
palace was begun by Catherine de Medici, wife of Henry II.
Henry IV. extended and finished the gallery (1600.) Louis
XIV. enlarged it in IGoi, and completed the great gallery for
the arts. Napoleon began a gallery leading to the Place Rivoli
and street St. Honore, which he did not finish. The Rue
Rivoli is of great length, with buildings on one side the lower
stories, of which are shops with a colonnade, and making
a wide walk protected from the summer sun and rain. This
fine street is now forcing its way in a straight line as far as
the Place Bastile, and when completed will be between four
and five miles in length.
I came to a large building, in form a Grecian temple, with
its pediment with its supporting colonnade ; and the lateral
colonnades, which support the overlapping roof at its sides.
This is the Madeleine. The modern church is not only
frequently modelled on the old temple, but the name applied
to it is sometimes derived from a building which was not a
temple. It is thus sometimes called a basilica. Now this
name was originally given to a court of justice, or a place of
meeting on public affairs. Constantine gave to the Chris-
tians some of these basilica for their meetings, and hence
the name basilica became common in this use of it. Another
explanation is that the basilica had colonnades, and so had
the early churches, and hence the name became common to
both. The temple never pleases me as a church. In the
432 JOUKXAL.
ancient simplicity of its interior, if this be strictly follo^Yed,
we may have poverty, not grandeur ; and if we break it up
for accommodating-pews for religious uses, vastness is lost in
the process. The Gothic is grand in its immensity, and har-
monious in its exquisite detail. You never feel disappointed
w^hen you pass from the outer magnificence into that which
it contains ; or for which it is. You stand in astonishment
in such a fulfilment which so exceeds the promise. "Jtou
walk with noiseless steps, — and speak with subdued voice.
Truly is the old cathedral a poem written in immortal pages,
and forever singing of devotion, — of love, — of aspiration,
— ever in tune, — in harmony with the worship of the Inif-
nite.
I went into the Madeleine. It was the forenoon service.
The people imperfectly filled about a third of the place.
They were supplied with chairs at a sous a piece, an excel-
lent arrangement, as it prevents the impertinence, and
exclusiveness of pews, a deformity which probably does
more to keep people from church than any other fact relating
to public worship, so called. The preacher began his ser-
mon soon after I had hired a chair. His person and manner
are excellent. He was eloquent, as is he who, to such a
work, brings earnestness, grace of manner, and a good voice.
As, however, to me he spoke in a tongue, if not unknown,
imperfectly known, I followed the example of some who
did know it, and walked out into the genial sunlight of the
beautiful day. The evening service has the attraction of
the best music in Paris, and the Madeleine is then filled to
overflowing, — a victory of art over preaching. Then it is
that wealth, fashion, rank, is out of door with the multitude,
and on its way to the temple.
I wandered about, acquiring as I went, more and more
knowledge of this vast metropolis of a great nation. The
knowledge was literally superficial, but exactly such as a
stranger most wants on his advent into so wide and to him
hourly, or less, changing scene. Towards evening I strolled
JOUKNAL. 433
into the garden, and into its near neighbour, the Champs
Elysees. The people were gathering from all quarters.
Paris was out of doors. The hour was perfectly beautiful.
The day dawned with the smile of welcome, and its farewell
was without a sigh. All were nicely dressed, and manner
was in harmony with their appearance. It was quiet, civil,
accommodating. A well dressed man with a child in his
arms and accompanied by a woman with three children,
passed. Said my companion, " That man is a mechanic, and
those with him his family. He has made enough by his
week's work to support them, and now he is over here in
the garden, for their pleasure, and his own." You need be
in Paris but a short time to learn how easy it is for crqwds
to be perfectly polite, courteous, without interfering at all
with each other's convenience and pleasure, but on the con-
trary, promoting both. Sunday is the weekly holiday of
Paris. The churches are crowded, and the streets and shops
not deserted. The Garden is the centre of attraction in the
evening. All sorts of arrangements are made for the public
amusement. Shows of all kinds abound, from the most
simple, — for instance, a dog leaping over a string held by
two boys, at a height which, at first, seems too great for
him to surmount, but which you see is kindly accommodated
to his power during the experiment, and this to the entire
satisfaction of his young audience, — to a raised and
enclosed platform with an open front, in which is performed
some slight vaudeville, or slighter concert. A space in
front is filled with seats between which waiters are constantly
passing, off*ering coff*ee, creams, lemonade, &c., and a sous
or two v.'orth of either gives you a seat as well as a sight,
and hearing of the performance. The variety and simplicity
of the means of amusement, especially attract the stranger.
I have spoken of the dancing dog. A woman had her circle,
though her principal attraction was a hand-organ, and a dog
standing on his hind legs, and holding a cap for money in
his fore-paws. A man weighed people, and as it is a weak-
37
434 JOURNAL.
ness, or a privilege, to learn what is one's weight, in
the society in which one moves, this man had much cus-
tom. There were turn-abouts of various kinds. One had
vessels in full sail, with colours flying, and flying themselves,
filled with children as happy as children could be. Their
mothers, or others, were fellow-travellers of the air, and
prevented accidents. This whole affair was very tasteful,
and the mechanism allowed of motions resembling that of
waves. A girl played a harp with an accompaniment. This
exhibition was very popular. It was added to, by a pretty
child nicely dressed, mounted on high stilts, which she
managed admirably, gracefully bowing to receive the money
for the musical part of the entertainment. But why extend
the record ? I could fill pages with the means in use for
the Sunday, the holiday amusement. All sorts of things,
for all sorts of demand. Eating and drinking were simple
and abundant, and the pleasure was in harmony with
everything you saw and heard — in every face, and in every
movement. What most strikes the stranger is this perfect
satisfaction with everything, as declared by vast assemblages,
and the obvious wish that everybody should enjoy the
scene. I wandered about with my courier, talking the
American and the Danish English, but nobody took the
trouble, or was so uncivil as to turn round to observe the
strangers. But wherever we came, or stopped to see some-
thing v/hich had attracted a local crowd, some little move-
ment would be seen when our voices were heard, — some
opening made, Avhich gave us a chance to see what was
in hand. This gave no disturbance to others. There was
no hurry in the courtesy, and it was impossible to avoid
some expression of pleasure, at what an earlier experience
elsewhere might not have led you to look for. There was
not the slightest shade of servility in it. Now if a govern-
ment really exists which can develope in large masses
of men, under any circumstances, a manner so wholly
welcome, and truly agreeable, I can only say it is a govern-
ment which does not rule a world.
JOUKXAL. 435
Hospital of Invalids. — I was everywhere in the
midst and presence of this living Paris. Few objects
attracted my attention more than the soldiers of the Hospi-
tal of Invalids, hard by. The old men of war were here,
such portions of them as battle had left. Some with one
eye, — others with one leg, — here an arm was wanting, —
and there a part of the face. But whatever the mutilation,
what was left was alive, and living, and life seemed as happy
with these old men, as with the youngest child. They
wore the old uniform, bringing to the present the sure me-
morials of the long past. You saw in them the remnant of
Wagram and of Moscow, and felt that, in a few short
years, the wariors in the first Empire would be no more.
Was there not justice in this munificent endowment of the
Hospital of Invalids by Louis XIV., — in this provision for
men forced into battle, and who had come out of its bloody
service to support life with only fragments of a body which
had been so miraculously preserved ? The terrible spirit of
the Revolution spared this relic of an earlier and sterner
tyranny than that which it crushed ; and the latest has not
diverted from it the means of its sufficient and liberal sup-
port. The " Invalids " is placed just where it can be always
seen, and by the greatest numbers. Here may be a motive
for soldier making. It is a compensation in reserve, — a
sort of social or rather political make-weight of charity,
which it were unmitigated cruelty not to have provided.
The evil of war given, every species of compensation be-
comes an obligation, a duty, which it were simple savagery
to avoid. The Invalid was of this great Garden company,
and I looked at him with the deepest interest. You know
this military corps, if such a term can be applied to such
mutilated men. I said they wear a uniform. It is blue,
with slight touches of other colours. They have another
and more distinctive uniform, — an uniform of non-confor-
mity. It is in all sorts of mutilation, and all sorts of con-
trivances to supply such varied deficiency of bodily members.
436 JOUBNAL.
You see in them, and -what had been attempted for them,
what society tries to do to cover up, or supply what has
become deficient by its own terrible wrong. If the man be
killed outright, and leaves widow or orphans, the state may
adopt them, and make such provision as it can for the woful
loss. It is in this way, it was said, and no apology is needed
for the repetition, — society unconsciously, it may be, offers
motives for the continuance of the greatest national evils, —
a premium on customs over which humanity mourns, and in
which Christianity sees and feels the chiefest obstacles to its
surest triumphs. I was glad to see these old, decrepit,
maimed men. They are in the midst of innocent, child-
ish amusements, indeed, but which seemed to have a
meaning w^hen you saw their age, their weakness, their sure
progress to that time, Avhen the child returns upon the man,
as a prelude to a new birth, and another life. The Invalid
took his seat, smoked his cigar, drank his lemonade, and
seemed as happy as the youngest and the best of them. I
wish you were here to see, in this great city, how strong
are the instincts in man's nature, — how sure are their rule,
and how easily they may be satisfied, — in short, to see so
much pleasure provided and enjoyed at so exceedingly small
an outlay of the means. Is it not true, that to be easily
pleased, is the secret of pleasure ?
In regard to the building itself, simplicity prevails every-
where. The floorings in the ceilings are uncovered, as in
buildings rather for use than for show ; and corresponding
plainness prevails. The church is fine, large, and lofty, and
hung with flags from battle fields ; some much worse or
better for service. There is among them one English flag,
but no American. If the old soldier wdio guides you
learns that you are a Yankee, he wdll smile when he tells it
you. The dormitories are very neat. The beds are ftdl
and high, as the French most like. They are covered with
neat counterpanes, with a jDanelled bureau at the foot of
each, — wash-stand, night table, &c., at the sides. The
JOURNAL. 437
floor is clean, and the ventilation excellent. It was plea-
sant to see all this preparation for the comfort of men
whom, for the most part, by involuntary service, and its
sure results, have been deprived of the power of self-
support. There is compensation here, as in the whole
experience and discipline of life, for the most barbarous and
terrible of social evils, war ; and one blesses God that for
such society has done anything.
The dining halls are as well appointed as the dormitories.
There are four of them. About three hundred and sixty
dine in each. The average number of invalids is about
fourteen hundred. The house is not always the object of
chiefest interest. It is not in this. Its inhabitants form its
attraction. They make a very singular corps. I saw them
in line, as at drill. It may have been to relieve guard. In
their infirmity and age, 1 could not but look back at the
other end of life, when, as children, with wooden swords
and paper caps, with tin kettles for drums, we marched
about, as efficient a soldiery as the mutilated old men before
me. Among the invalids there was one who especially
attracted notice. He was a very, very old man, they said
over one hundred, and was crawling about with a grand-
daughter of some considerable age. I talked with him, and
learned he had seen service, — had been in Quebec, and
evidently took pleasure in his reminiscences, and in the
attention they received.
But not to the wounded, living soldier, is the whole
interest of the Invalids owing. How large a part of it is
from death, and in a single instance. In a small room, lies
Napoleon. But for him, hard by, is in preparation a monu-
ment, of a nation s reverence and love. At one end of the
church is a screen, and behind it, in a separated portion
of the church, is this monument. Its floor is level with
that of the chapel. But in the middle of it is an excavation,
into which you descend by steps arranged all around it, and
in which is the place of burial. The sarcophagus of black
87*
438 JOURNAL.
marble occupies the middle, so that from around, from all
sides, your eye rests upon it. The impression made by all
around you is of grandeur, expressed by that simplicity
which always gives strength to the grand. Architectural
details which can aid in the effect, are everywhere in place.
Everything is in stone. The floor is of inlaid stone of
various colours, and differently arranged in the approach to
the spot in which the body is to lie, and in the place itself.
In this last they have a radiating arrangement, the rays of
yellow stone converging from the circumference to the
centre, which is the black marble sarcophagus. On the
floor, and near to the screen is an arch, with a simple cross
of marble, of great size, near to it. The pillars of the arch
are of white and black marble, twisted, and of a polish I do
not remember to have seen excelled. About the arch are
figures at present covered up, as are many parts of the
work to prevent injury, while the heavy stone work is
proceeding. It is not easy to conjecture when it will be
finished, though apparently so nearly done, so slow is its
necessary progress. When it is completed, and the screen
is removed which separates it from the body of the church,
the effect cannot fail to be such as its object and accomplish-
ment are designed to produce.
National Cikcijs. — In my rambles, I went into the
Champs Elysees and saw a large building, which, as its name
imported, was the National Circus. It was still broad day-
light, but brilliant lights were seen in the building. What
especially attracted attention, was the large number of per-
sons coming to the Circus, and the order of their approach.
They were men and women, doubtless seeking admittance,
and good places. There was not an approach to a press.
There were spaces between parties desirous to sit together.
The order and quiet were perfect. There were people
enough there to have occasioned infinite annoyance, and yet
mutual accommodation was manifested on every side. How
is this explained ? I am answered, by the police. Power
JOUHNAL. 439
is at hand to preyent disorder, and so it does not occur to
be put down ! And what does this say ? It says that men
and women cheerfully submit to authority, when its possible
exercise, not actual use, keeps the folds of dresses, — the
richest plaitings of muslin, undisturbed, and coats, bonnets,
hats, and heads, in their proper places, and especially min-
isters to daily and hourly comfort, and pleasure. Yes, it
says, that the mere assurance of entire protection does them
each and all so obvious a service, that it is never for a
moment thought of as an evil. They feel that they are
made happier and better by its whole agency.
Now, what is the effect of the municipal system in
France ? In Paris, on every hand, are exposed to the com-
mon gaze, — out of doors, — objects of both nature and art.
Gardens, wdth flowers, shrubs, trees, — arches, fountains,
squares, or places with statuary, gateways of elaborate orna-
ment, — all sorts of things are at hand, adapted to the
general taste, or fitted to develope it, — to do good by all
of refinement they may produce. From the interest I
everywhere saw taken in these things, I am sure that they
give pleasure, — that they are talked of, criticized by the
observer, — that the people know all about them, — are
proud of them, — feel that they are their property, their
possession, and would defend them as their chiefest trea-
sures. They never touch or injure them. The Revolution
killed a king, but spared the Louvre. I stood, and moved
among the people who were looking at the fountains, flow-
ers, statues. They were satisfied wdth looking. Now,
there is refinement in this. I go not behind a fact for any
other causes than such as are offered by the circumstances.
I am satisfied wdth such a result, let what may aid in its
production. It is a great lesson of life which my daily
observation here reads to me. I am a stranger, and speak
in an unknow^n tongue to most, but 1 do not attract atten-
tion, am not stared at. I go about to see and hear, and
eyes and ears are too common affairs to make their proper
440 JOURNAL.
uses matters of notice. I may pass many days here. I may
see many things, lions, which are to the travelling masses
much more attractive than my Sunday experiences just
recorded. But I will venture to say that I shall see nothing
which will interest me more than have living men, — espe-
cially men who have escaped the poor conventions which
chiefly act to separate men from each other, — stop the
clear and beautiful current of human sympathy, which fuses
men into one, — and force classes into the wretched service
of that heartless fashion, or exclusiveness, which is destruc-
tive to a generous and life-giving relationship. I shall cer-
tainly go to the Garden again.
Let me here tell you of individual or personal results
of Paris manners and life. You shall have examples from
my own experience of them. I had agreed to go to the
Opera Comique one evening, with Mr. A. C, a gentleman
from home, to whom I am under many obligations. We
thought we might be late, and with national speed proceeded
to the place, — to the house. I struck my foot against a
curb-stone, and heavily fell into the mud, which a recent
shower had produced, and painfully wounded myself. Hard
by was a shop, — a very small shop, with a single candle
on the counter. We went in, and a middle aged, simply
dressed woman, came from a back room, to know our needs.
My story told itself. See went out, and returned at once
with wash-bowl and water, — a nice napkin on her arm, —
brush and soap in hand, and began, as the phrase is, to
" clean me up." The blood was stanched, and the mud
removed, and I greatly comforted. I took some money out
of my pocket, and handing it to this Samaritan lady, begged
her to take as much as would satisfy her, for such offices most
kindly bestowed, — such useful services. She declined
taking anything. She was happy to have served me, and
this was enough. I shall never forget the kindness of that
unknown woman.
I had a commission to execute for a female friend at
JOURNAL. 441
home, and wishing to proceed in the best manner for the
object, called at No. Castiglione Street, to be directed
to a good and fashionable arHiste. I got on a card, name,
street, and number. You know my constitutional infirmity
about finding places. It soon declared itself, and I found
myself in that most uncomfortable situation, — Lost. A nice
shop was near, with its open door, and in it I sought guid-
ance. I was successful. A very pleasing young female
came forward and described to me the way to Mad. 's.
She saw I was still in the dark, and begged to go and show
me the way. At once, without bonnet or shawl, leaving
the door wide open, with nobody to guard the shop, she
stejiped out upon the sidewalk, I following her. After
sundry turnings we reached the fashionable millinery, and
my fair guide left me, hardly allowing a moment for thanks.
It were the easiest thing in the world to fill pages with this
sort of incident of travel, and what more grateful ones
could I record ? It was in both manner and conduct which
a distinguished writer calls the expressions of character, in
which they had their interest, and have their memory.
Courtesy is cheaper than is money, and yet it seems harder
to pay. It is a sentiment and an act. In Paris, how com-
monly, may I not say how universally, do the sentiment
and the act accompany each other.
August — . — I went to the Legation, and found my de-
spatches were in time for the steamer. The Minister was not
in Paris. From Mr. Sandford, Secretary of Legation, I
have received civilities which I have not forgotten. I met
there an American gentleman, who had intimately known a
friend of mine, now dead, and who spoke of him in the
warmest manner. He spoke of his knowledge, and how
this had led to an introduction which had ended in intimacy.
" I was making," said he, "a quotation from an author, in
whose works we both felt an interest, when he begged to
correct me, which he did, and in a manner which greatly
pleased me. From this time our intimacy began." I
442 JOURNAL.
asked him if he had not found him somewhat eccentric.
" O, yes," said he, " but that did not at all trouble me."
Thus you see what, and how intimate are human relations,
— how closely is mind united to mind, — how continuous,
unbroken, is the great stream of life, and of thought, and
how sure is a true humanity to declare itself. Who would
have supposed it possible, that so far from home, and in
such a room, I should have met with a man I had never
before heard of, who so intimately knew that early and true
friend of mine, and who was not forgotten by him at such a
distance of time, though so long dead.
Notre Dame. — This, to me, was an object of great
interest, and was visited next. It stands there in its an-
tiquity and darkness in gay Paris as if just as much in place
as the Palais Royale, and certainly no two things in the
world can be more opposite and unlike. The old church
attracts you by its exterior, size, form, sculptures, its age.
Human art and human labour have almost wasted them-
selves in these great results. I might have added religion,
for it w^as this sentiment which underlies such efforts, and
such accomplishments. No matter under what form it
occupies mind and heart, we have a right to conclude of its
depth, and its power, by what visible marks it makes upon
its ov/n age, and by the perfect unity it secures with the long
future. Notre Dame has withstood all the revolutions, and
the chiefest, which it has been said was "without God," —
the product of national infidelity, and atheism ; which made
Talleyrand its bishop, and Anacharsis Clouts, its orator, —
even that revolution spared Notre Dame ; though, as did
he British cavalry with our Old South Church, it did make
.'Stable or riding school of its interior. On the inside it is
very much as it was left by that terrible passage in human
history. You enter it by a small, low door, from the restless,
busy street, and in an instant you are beyond its noise and
its power. Such is the unobstructed vastness into which
you have so suddenly passed, that you forget outside imper-
JOUKNAL. 443
tinences, and are lost in the intense loneliness which sur-
rounds and encloses you. Such is the plethora, — such the
grandeur of column, — of wall, — of ceiling ; such the vast-
ness, — but never oppressing you. The old architecture in
a single expression of it, the present cathedral, for instance,
seems to have had nothing else to do but to create this one,
and entered into the service of the individual, as containing
genus, species, all. Years, and centuries, and ages, dragged
by, and yet the work was not done. Look at the cathedral
in Cologne, and see its earliest portions, ages old, wasting
and wasted away, and hear there the busy hammer and
trowel of this nineteenth century, — of to-day. I go daily
into churches. The door is always open. The old cathedral
is not owned, tiny more than is the sun, and the stars. It
owns itself, and generously throws open its doors and its
service to the wayfarer, whoever he may be ; and presses
him into that service for which alone it is, and has its being.
It is the noblest work of man. It has its story and tells it.
It is written all over its walls, and devotion and reverence
are its teachings.
There was an old woman, and from her clothing, evidently
not of the rich, on her knees at the chancel in Notre Dame,
and in its vastness and wealth of silence, was saying her
unuttered prayer. She was the only one except myself
there. It was not an impertinence to stop and mark her
devotions. Oh, no, it was not unkind, it was not intruding
upon that with which the stranger might not intermeddle.
You instinctively pause at such an office, lest by motion you
disturb it. I was glad. I rejoiced that this poor wretched
looking woman might that moment have that peace which is
past finding out, — which the world had not given her ;
and which it could not take away. I like this cathedral
service, and more in its silence than in its splendour, — this
door always open, and which admits me as freely as its most
zealous child. I like to leave the wide street, and by crossing
the threshold only, find myself in the stillness of the grave,
444 JOUBXAL.
and where tTie outward noises never are heard. Was it for
this, for this creation, so to speak, of religious repose, that
the cathedral, the old church rose so majestically, — enclosed
so much space within sanctified walls, and left the world to
itself, and allowed the worshipper to escape for a time its poor
impertinences, its meaningless noise ? And then when we
take along with us the all and the whole which belongs to
the time-worn cathedral, — the antiquity, the uncertain
knowledge of the time when the work began, does it not
associate itself with the earliest day, — the world's child-
hood, and so come to be a part of the Divine, which is for-
ever ? With what reverence do we not enter such places.
We put off our shoes, for we are on holy ground. We would
not break such repose. We would not disturb such silence.
It is of the dead, as well as of the living, — of the young,
— of the old, — of the poor, and of the rich. A child
passed through Notre Dame. At the door, he made the
sign of the cross upon his forehead with water which he
believed was holy, and was again at play.
Garden or Plaxts. — From Notre Dame I went to the
Garden of Plants. A sudden and vehement storm of wind
and of rain came on and drove us from the Garden, just
after I had entered. I sought shelter, and put off my visit
to a more convenient season.
Palais Royale. — To this everybody goes, and I fol-
lowed the multitude, to do evil or good. You may say
which, for all I did was to buy a pretty silk neckerchief.
This suggests a subject to which I know you would have me
say at least a word, — Paris Shopping. Go into a Paris
shop, and raise your hat as you enter, and see how at once
the elder or the younger lady (never a man) approaches to
serve you. Observe the quiet manner in which the articles
you ask for are displayed. You want gloves. Your hand
is measured, and the gloves are brought. You try them on,
or this is done by fairer hands. You make your choice, and
pay the price, and lastly, hear the Merci, Monsieur, " in
JOURNAL. 445
linked sweetness long drawn out," and which no foreigner
can imitate, and tell me if shopping has not been a pleasant
morning service, and if the memory of those large dark
eyes, and of that voice, has not lasted more than the length
of the street, even though it be as long as the Rue Rivoli ?
You feel at once at home in Paris, though a perfect stranger.
Whatever service you may ask for is rendered, as if originally
you were its sole object. What you may want, is never
worthless. The fair seller sees its value in your wanting
it, and will serve you with the very best. What you want
may be near, but never obtruded. This quality of obtru-
siveness I never met with in Paris. It would please the
person to whom you apply to gratify you, and the desire to
do so, and the manner of its expression always lessen the
disappointment of failure. One day I went into a shop for
something I wanted for a special purpose, and failed to get
it. So attentive was the shopkeeper, so desirous to serve
me, that I said that I could not go without purchasing
something, and left it to her to settle what it might be.
She at once brought me a pretty and useful article, for
which I thanked, and paid her.
The LouYKE. August 2d. — A day of hard work. The
Louvre, — my first visit. I began with the beginning of
this immense collection in Art, and slowly went through it.
It took hours, though I did not use a catalogue. My pur-
pose was to get a general impression of what was here for
study, thought, gathered into one family, — to trace rela-
tionships, and differences, — the works of difierent nations,
minds, power, — to read this mighty book page by page,
and in such generalizations as I might be able to make,
place these great and diverse works in such relations in my
own mind, as would remain to me for pleasure and for use.
I passed through the Louvre at first to learn its contents,
and general plan. It took hours, the heart of the whole
day. I did not literally and strictly adhere to my plan. I
was stopped sometimes by an irresistible attraction towards
38
446 JOURNAL.
some picture, or pictures. I shall speak of one picture only,
and which is the present attraction. It is Murillo's Miracu-
lous Conception, lately bought at the sale of Marshal
Soult's collection for, as I was told, 620,000 francs, —
$124,000, or about £25,000. The Czar, it was said, was
a competitor in the purchase. I thought it strange, after
visiting the Hermitage, that the Emperor could consent to
be beaten in a contest for such a prize, where mere money
entered, or was in " the lists." This picture is the " ob-
served of all observers." And now what is it ? I will try
to describe it, or rather the impression it has made upon
me, and the thought which followed.
Mary is seen standing upon and amid clouds of glory,
and surrounded by worshipping angels. You are struck
with the freshness of this picture. It seems but the work
of yesterday, finished when it was begun, — as existing
in its integrity, in the thought, in which it had its life, —
created, not made, — and having the sure prophecy of im-
mortality. It is its unity, the highest end in a great work,
in any work to which human power can attain, which to
me is its power. There is not the smallest atom of the
wide canvas which does not belong to all the rest. One
atmosphere envelops and transmits all which is in it. There
is air, pure air, here, which is the breath of its life. You
never weary looking at it. You rather gain power ; for the
longer is your communion with it, the clearer are its revela-
tions, and the more conscious are you of your relations with
the highest art, — of your moral and intellectual sympathy,
unity, — with the mind which created it. I said the first
impression of this picture is its perfect freshness, its life, its
external, its objective veracity, or reality. You have not a
doubt you are looking at the perfect in art. That it is what
it is said to be. It speaks for and by itself; report is silent.
I wish I could give you some notion of the force with which
the thought is stirred within you, that you are in the pre-
sence of a real being, when you are before this picture. I
JOUHI^-AL.
447
do not say a living being, for some vagueness almost neces-
sarily attaches to that word, though the thing itself is
around and within us in every moment of our being. I
prefer the word real, as expressing existence as intense as
being can be, and in this instance of it, before us, satisfying
you of its entire truth. You look at the figure. Here are
body, limbs, and draperies of various kinds and colours.
The expression of thought, — which art is. You have no
question of all this. You are satisfied with what you see.
You look into that face, and ask to read of the mind, the
soul, which gives to it its intense life. Not a feature is at
rest, — yet, not a feature moves. The colour changes as you
look, as thought glances here and there, until the whole
glows with intensity of consciousness, of which the human
has taken no knowledge. The eye is filled with the story,
and with what infinite sweetness, and with what power does
the mouth utter its ^yord. The eye has caught its expres-
sion, and M-hen you look again, how exquisite has been the
transmutation. They are now one. Is not this the whole
alchemy of art? Is not here the great discovery made?
Who but Murillo has discovered that which has given price-
less value to all his works, — yes, turned them all to gold ?
Of the drapery. In this we have in Murillo the power of
simple colour. Artists excel in particular colours, or make
some one prominent in every picture. Correggio is exquisite
m his blues. One artist never finished a picture without
giving to one colour very distinct place. This was red.
\ ou always see it ; sometimes, indeed, by no means promi-
nent, but always visible. In the Madrid Madonna, Murillo
has exalted blue, the colour of the principal article of dra-
pery, through which the left arm passes, partially covered
with gossamer white. Drapery has its fitness, its exjores-
sion, its thought. It has its character from the being it
clothes.
And now what have I just written? I have endeavoured
to give to you the impressions produced on my own mind
448 JOIJRXAL.
by an effort in another, to impress his own intellectual state
and action on the canvas, by colour. I may have entirely
failed, but I was quite willing to make the attempt. It is
hard to work out a purely intellectual problem in speech, —
harder in painting or sculpture, hardest in writing. Human
testimony is, and must be, the most fallible of all things.
The witness owes it to his eye or his ear, how perfectly an
impression on either shall reach his mind, — then the mind,
at the moment, may not be in a state for a true impression,
— a true print to be made. Then the language in which he
communicates it to another. How imperfect is language in
itself; and then the ear or the mind of the hearer may be
in a state wholly unfit for him to receive the impres-
sion which the narrator designs to make, — or the truth.
How imperfect, how uncertain, must be a description of a
picture, or a sculpture, which, as we have seen, is but an
attempted representation of thought upon canvas or stone.
I wish I could give you some notion of the pleasure, — of
the sense of perfect satisfaction, which this work has pro-
duced in me, — which remains with so much freshness, and
which, I trust, will remain forever. Most especially do I
wish you were both here to see it with me.
There is a picture here, which I knew at once, from a
copy "in little", made of it by your uncle, W. Allston, for
its colour, — the Marriage of Cana. Here was an old
acquaintance in a new place, and glad was I to see it.
Many of the persons in this picture are portraits of distin-
guished men, artists, &c. Here were pictures of Tintoret,
and they reminded me of the extravaganza of Fuseli, whom
it was my pleasure and privilege to hear lecture in the
Royal Academy in London, nearly half a century ago.
" The stormy pencil of Tintoret swept away individual
misery in general masses." The pictures of Salvator I saw
with great pleasure. These pleased me, because they gave
to me not only his manner, but the character of his mind,
— his thougrht. Here was desolation, wildness, — nature
JOUENAL. 449
in a new phase, — thouglit under novel expression. Why,
he seems to have scorned the use of ordinary means in what
he would express, and throwing colour aside, he used the
fewest possible, — light, and shade, it was his object to pro-
duce, and white and black were mainly his means. The
effects are wonderful. You might as well have looked for
all the colours of the rainbow in the ink by which Shake-
speare expressed his thought, as to Salvator's pallette for a
like assemblage of colours, with which to paint Jiis nature,
his thought. " When Dryden writes tragedy," says Dr.
Francis, in Boswell, "declamation roars, but passion sleeps.
When Shakespeare wrote he dipped his pen in his own
heart." Shakespeare found but one colour there. Salvator
hardly used more.
Hours and days did I pass in the Louvre. What a life
might one not pass amid the works, — the enduring lives of
such men, in their works so piously kept there. Here they
are. True lives written by themselves, — eternal silences,
uttering words for all hearts, for the consolations, and
rejoicings of all souls. The impertinences of fashion were
left with the parasols and canes at the door, and low and
rare whispers broke the stillness. Perhaps they made it
deeper. And what a place for such power, — Art, — to
act in. Immense in size, — lighted from heaven, — the
palace of art, of a monarch who, in his wide and various
power, rules the world, — whose empire reaches humanity
in its whole heart, and whole mind. Do you wonder at the
silence which is here ? Crowds are daily and hourly tread-
ing its vast halls, and everywhere is silence. I recollect
few things which more deeply impressed me than this form
of homage to Art. The people had put the shoes from off
their feet, for they were on holy ground. Now is it not well,
such culture, such means of culture for a whole people r
Here in Paris, — ever living, ever moving, ever cheerful
Paris, — in its very centre, in the midst and pressure of
fashion, pleasure, business, such as it is, — yes, here in this
38*
450 JOUKNAL.
centre of all antagonisms, and attractions, is the teacher,
the great teacher of the whole people. Here are for love and
for reverence the relics of ages long past, and works of the
later, and latest, — of mind and of heart, poured out like
living waters, for the refreshing of the nations. I say
nations, for we from thousands of miles off, have come up
to this altar of Art, and have worshipped there as freely as
does the more favoured child of France, or of Europe.
VeksailI/ES. — A whole day was devoted to Versailles,
first stopping to visit Sevres, and to see its exquisite porce-
lain. The finest portions being made for the court, and
with the products of the Gobelin looms, being annually
exhibited at Christmas in the Halls of the Louvre, the
traveller can only examine them in the places in which they
are made. This visit was by far the most important part of
the day's work. I went^ through Versailles, and was re-
joiced when the labour w^as over. The water is the attrac-
tion, but it was all dry. Nothing can be so essentially dead
as apparatus to show the power, the life, the beauty of water,
when the moving force is not. As to the Palaces, the Royal
Coach-house, and the coach of Charles X., specially conse-
crated to his use by the Bishop of Paris, were worse to me
than
Twice-told tales to the dull ear of a drowsy man.
I will allude to a single corridor. It was filled with statues.
On one side were distinguished military men, and on the
pedestals of every one, was in large letters, Tue, — killed.
Not one had died a natural death. It seemed that all the
later chivalry of France was here in marble. On the other
side were the effigies of renowned churchmen, in mitre and
in surplice, with hands devoutly clasped on their breasts,
their faces looking upward, as if in the sure prospect of
immortality. A visit to a nice cafe, and a splendid drive
back to Paris, were the most agreeable and instructive
experiences of the day.
JOURNAL. 451
August — . — This was a splendid day, tlie perfection of
weather. Early in the morning Mr. A. C, whose frequent
kindness I shall always remember with pleasure, called on
me, saying he should devote the day to sight-seeing, and
asked me to take a seat in his carriage. We went together
to the Invalids. He is interested about architecture, whether
civil or military, and examines with excellent knowledge the
various arrangements in buildings for domestic or public
life. Of this I have already spoken. Our next drive was to
Grenelle and the Artesian Well, and to the Abattoir, or
slaughter-house, near. These were examined, — the latter
'n\ its practical details, by my companion, — the former by
myself, — that part of the preparation of living animal mat-
ter for the table never having been agreeable to me. We
next went to
A Military Stable. — An officer was at the gate
reading a newspaper under the shade of a tree. Sitting
there on a low bench, in a most pleasant time of the morn-
ing, it seemed hardly fair to disturb him by a question.
We asked permission to go in. He asked if we had a per-
mit from the Minister. We had not. It was then impossible,
said the officer, to let us pass. The refusal was in the most
courteous manner, with regrets that he could not gratify us.
We informed him that we were citizens of the U. S. A., —
that we had come far to see other countries, and that we
should always deeply regret not having seen the important
public institution at whose gates we stood. He begged us
to wait a moment, and disappeared. In a few minutes he
returned, and begged us to enter. In the grounds we found
a soldier who had been detailed to wait upon us, and to
show us the whole arrangements of the establishment. My
most excellent companion thought my French wonderful.
Upon entering a stable we were surprised at finding it
perfectly light, special care having been taken to admit the
light everywhere. The contrast between this and our own
manner of providing for the horse, was as great as it well
452 JOTJENAL.
could be. With us, our horses are either kept in cellars, or
in rooms as dark as cellars. No care is taken in building a
stable to give it light. The eyes must be hurt by all this,
and it is very probable that external objects frighten the
horse because of the exaggerations under which they are
presented in broad day, or when he leaves his cellar, or
cellar-like stall. In another regard the national stable
pleased us. It is thoroughly ventilated. Air is as freely
admitted as light, and scarce any of the odour of such a
place is perceived. And then the entire cleanness, the fresh,
thick bed, — the clean, well washed floor. Everything
attracted us-, and everything agreeably. The space for each
horse was excellent. The stables, instead of being boarded
up at the sides, a great box, with one end open, were only
separated by a round rail, hanging by a rope between the
horses. The mode of fastening the horse was ingenious
and perfect. They had freedom in perfection, and yet could
neither hurt themselves, or neighbours. Their condition
w^as excellent. Grooming was still in progress at our visit,
and the process was carefully watched. It was equally ex-
tended over the whole animal, and his beautiful coat, perfect
health, and graceful motions, showed you how excellent
were the results of the discipline.
There are men and states who take better care of their
horses than of themselves or their children. We went into
the soldiers quarters, and we could not but feel that the
horses had much the best care. My friend was very desirous
to see the hospital for the sick horses. We found this in
the same admirable order of everything else. The sick
animal had such accommodation as his disease required.
You saw what fine animals they had been, in health, in
their form and manner, and what care was taken to restore
them. The horses are all numbered. This is done on a
fore-hoof. A red hot iron with the number on it, is applied
very near to the hair, so near that I could not but think a
sensitive part was near the red heat. But no suffering was
JOURNAL. 453
manifested. As the shell grows the number advances, till
it disappears, and numbering is again resorted to. We
Avalked about at our entire leisure, seeing everything. As we
left, we offered the guide money, but were told that it was
against the rules of the place for money to be received for
such service. We thanked the gentleman for his kind, and
most gratifying, and useful courtesy, and the guide for his
patient attendance, and took our leave. What a chapter is
this our daily experience here, in national manner, entering
as it does into the details of every-day life. How constantly
has this been impressed upon me, and how as constantly
has the wish accompanied it, that so much good, yes, refined
breeding, — this deep rooted principle of accommodation to
the wishes and wants of others, had not geographical limits,
and could with the free air and free light, cross mountains
and seas, and make of men and nations a brotherhood.
But says , " Why all this talk here and else-
where, about French courtesy ? It is so old that all heart is
worked out of it, if it ever had any." Very well. I only
say I am glad it has lasted so long. Peradventure it has
become habitual, and so is safe. It has lived through cen-
turies, varied by all sorts of changes, — survived revolutions,
— the abuses of power, and the worser abuses of irresponsi-
ble, sanguinary freedom. It is in all the beauty of youth
to-day, in the Republic, — and will not bate one jot of its
freshness, in the Empire of to-morrow. Yes, courtesy,
kindness, — and all associated with these, are old to France,
and have sure record. I am glad to-day to give my testi-
mony, however feeble, to it, and to its power. " But there is
no heart in it." Very well. There is something quite as
good as heart, if the two things differ. There is in this
people a clear recognition of human relations, and hence, of
human duty. Their own pleasure, and how much may and
do they enjoy ? their ov>m pleasure is increased by pleasing
you. It is its own reward. The kindest offices, and from
those too, Vvdiosc means of living arc small, are not paid for,
(at least, I have never been charged for them ;) and refusal
454 JOUEXAL.
has always come to offers of pecuniary return. Others may
have had different experience in regard to these matters. I
give ni)'- own, and these have been quite frequent enough to
allow me to say that if there be no heart in such offices,
they have that in them which answers quite as well.
Says another, " this vaunted national courtesy, and its
adjuncts, are the products of despotism, — of a rule which
reaches to everything, and which cannot with impunity be
violated. " Very well, again. Freedom without its limita-
tions, may be as hostile to true national character as is des-
potism. The citizen who has no check in the rule which he
claims it to be his right to exercise, may be as great a tyrant
as he who governs subjects, and who wears a diadem. He
is beyond that law to which all men should be subjected, —
that law which recognizes the true freedom of all other men.
A state may be rude, coarse, vulgar. It may be sensitive,
quarrelsome, overreaching, — it may be wholly disagreeable,
— just as a man may be. It is questionable if despotism
would make such a nation, any more than a man, good man-
nered, or good natured. Power can, and does establish public
peace, by making every individual within its rule strictly,
and immediately, responsible for his conduct. Thus we have
seen that in Russia, laws relating to conduct in certain cases
secure the general and individual comfort and safety. We
have seen that everybody is allowed to drive through the
streets just as fast as he pleases, and all the horses and men
aiefast. The streets are very wide. But if a man is care-
less as well as rapid, and injures person or property, his own
property is at once taken from him, and he severely punished.
As soon, therefore, as carriage or person is injured, he who
has done the injury leaves his carriage, — cart, wagon, as it
may be, and flies for dear life. He does not stop to curse
you for being in his way, while you have done all that you
could to avoid him ; or having ridden over you, drives along
just as quietly, as unconcernedly, as if he had knocked over
a dog, feeling pretty sure that " no blame " will be returned,
whatever may be the inquest.
JOUENAL. 455
Chamber of Deputies. — Our next visit was to the
Chamber of Deputies. This much pleased us. Mr. C, who
has a practised eye for architecture, examined such portions
of the building as were visited. We were struck with the
prevalent simplicity in its structure and finish. No show,
— no attempt at mere ornamentation. Harmony prevails
alike in the general plan and in matters of detail. The
w^hole effect was of dignity, — severe propriety. In form,
it is a semicircle, which secures easy hearing and seeino- from
the Tribune on which speakers used to stand, when address-
ing the Deputies. I took the Prince President's chair, and
rose to address the Chamber. It was perfectly empty. Our
guide and ourselves the whole auditory. I spoke the first
sentence of a speech. Our guide, an old soldier, listened
with becoming attention. There is no disturbing echo.
You feel that your voice goes everywhere, but never returns.
I have spoken in many halls, but never before in one which
so well answered the purpose of public speaking. The Tri-
bune is abolished, — or its place is used by the clerks of the
Chamber. The members speak from their seats. These are
fitted with dark red velvet, and are plain but comfortable.
No arrangements for writing, as desks or tables. By this
plan less room is required by the Deputies. All are within
hearing of each other. A very small gallery in front of the
President will accommodate a few spectators. The rooms
around or near the Chamber, are as well fitted for their pur-
poses, as committee rooms, conference rooms, &c., as is the
Chamber for its objects. The post-ofiice is well arranged,
and placed. It occupies a portion of the wall of a commit-
tee room, and consists of as many pigeon holes as there are
members, each numbered. A member at a glance learns
if there be any letter or journal for him. There is the
king's room with a chair of state. Everything being as
sternly simple here, as elsewhere. Statues, neither numerous
nor obtrusive, are about, and some pictures. I stood near
where was the old Tribune. I stood, as the guide said, near
456 JOUBNAL.
or in the place in which Napoleon once stood, a young man,
a young officer, with the regicides and sans-culottes about
him, — Robespierre among the rest, who, with clenched fists,
and infuriated words, were threatening him as the enemy of
liberty. Altogether, we agreed that this place, the Chamber
of Deputies, stood among the most important places in
which we had been. It belongs to periods of history not to
be forgotten ; and in and through all times it has stood in
its severe dignity unhurt, and was still the scene of all of
free constitutional government which remains to France.
Hotel d'Ville. — Next, we drove to the Hotel d'Ville,
the mansion house, the seat of government of the munici-
pality of Paris. We were not long detained here.
Gobelins. — Here are made those tapestries which are the
admiration of the world. A little formality is gone through
with before you enter. The stranger is asked for his passport,
and this admits him. I shall not undertake any formal de-
scription of this work. It consists in copying pictures of all
kinds in different coloured threads, and so perfect is the exe-
cution, that in some lights you v/ould certainly think you were
looking on the smooth surface of a painting. If the work
be opposite a window, so that the light falls directly upon
it, the deception is perfect. The work is seen in the clearest
manner. There is none of that glare and confusion from
reflected light, as happens when an oil painting has the
same position in regard to a window. On the contrary, the
light is all absorbed, and the whole is seen most perfectly.
Now place a tapestry copy of a painting at a rigid angle
with a window, in an alcove, for instance, so that the light
shall sweep by or over it instead of falling on it, as when
opposite a window, and the whole resemblance to a painting,
the whole deception is lost. The threads now cast shadows,
and everything is obscured. I saw this many, many times
before I could explain it. The effect depends on the mode
in which the light reaches the tapestry, whether directly or
at an angle. But when seen, as such works should be, under
jounxAL, 457
the aspect of direct light which makes a shadow impossible,
nothing can be more beautiful. The resemblance to the
living human skin is perfect. As that in its perfection ab-
sorbs light, so does the tapestry imitation of the skin, and
you cannot at first believe you are looking on anything but
the thing itself. In every department of the art is the
success great. From the down on an angel's wing, to that
on a peach, or most exquisite flower, the tapestry gives
you the Avhole. I saw how it is made, and so slight seems the
art, so readily is it done, that it seems no art at all. There
is the warp, and the woof comes to it so naturally that
it almost seems less than mechanical. You see minute lines
in motion, and in various directions, and in time an embryo
figure begins to appear, — the prophetic initiative of some
marvellous form. These works are often of great size. The
original from which the weaver copies rests on an edge of its
frame behind him, and he turns to copy it. Men only were
seen at work in any of the departments. The preparation
of the threads, — of the bobbins, — the arrangement of
colours, — all are done by men. You pass through all the
works, and have full opportunity for all such examinations
as you may desire. Carpets were made in one room with
the figures, and all they represent worked in precisely as the
tapestries are. I was delighted with all I saw, and went
away a little weary of so long a morning's work.
Pere la Chaise. — Our morning was not yet completed.
We began with the Ahattoir^ the slaughter-house ; and
ended with the Fere la Chaise, the place of graves. This
city of the dead is some distance from the Gobelins, and we
had time for rest. The term city is well applied. The
place is filled with miniature houses, built of various kinds
of stone, with a half glazed door opening into a minute
room, often with a chair or bench, or an altar-like construc-
tion, covered with the symbols of the Catholic Church, —
the Virgin, — the Child, — the Cross, — the candle, —
flowers. I cannot say that the eff'ect was agreeable. 1 was
89
458 JOURNAL.
not conscious of any very perfect impression made by the
place. It was so artificial, that sentiment had no place in
the visit. It was a question of mere taste we were called
on to settle, not one of feeling at all. Garlands made of
yellow flowers, were abundant. Some of these w^ere fresh.
Others were decayed. What was touching was to see friends
with these garlands, or fresh flowers, in the pathway to a
tomb, there to lay these emblems of a deep heart-sad-
ness, which, though it would not reach the dead, might
minister some consolation to the living. Quite often were
these friends on their mission of love here, and you did,
when they passed by, feel that there were sad and desolate
places in your own heart, to which these memorials of the
stranger were related ; and if there were sighs, there was
also consolation. This strange world of ours, and its expe-
riences, are of all hues. While I stood or sat in Pere la
Chaise, and the friends of the dead were walking hurriedly to
their tombs, as if they were impatient of any longer separa-
tion, there were funerals entering its melancholy gates.
I stood still, and the body of a young girl was brought near
me. The hearse was white with its draperies ; and flowers
were its dressing. There was something very touching in
this. The friends, the father and others, carried the body
gently from the hearse. The little door was opened, and
the cofiin put into its resting place. Men stood uncovered,
and so did we of that distant home, and the priest, and the
procession passed by. I saw four other funerals in rapid
succession afterwards. These, like the first, were all of
children. Some were of very, very poor people ; others were
of the rich. Death knows no distinctions.
We left Pere la Chaise, and soon reached our resting
place in Rue Rivoli.
JOURNAL. 459
SOUTH OF FRANCE AND SPAIN.
Madrid. August 14th. — Left Paris, August 8, at eight
A. M., for Spain, and I am now here after six days and
nights weary travel, at the Fonda Peninsulares, in the Calle
de Alcala. Our drive was by rail and by diligence.
I took a seat in the banquette before leaving France, and
for the whole passage to Madrid. For my courier I took a
seat in the interieure, so that by changing with him, I
secured fine prospects by day, and some rest at night.
But why this uninterrupted travel ? Unless you secure a
seat through, you may meet with much discomfort. You
may be obliged to stop at some place where you only meant
to rest, perhaps among the mountains, till the next diligence
arrives. If it be full, — a common thing, — you must wait
for the next, which wil] not arrive till the next day. A
writer says, two months have passed before a seat could be
obtained. You may not be able to get post horses, and wait
you must.
The diligence is in its perfection in the south of France
and Spain. In the latter, so hard is the mountain service,
it gets its true character. This is strength. In Spain, a dili-
gence looks like a man-of-war upon wheels, — a two-decker.
The lowest is divided into three cabins, — the upper, into
two. The living cargo is stowed into the three lower
cabins, and the front upper one. Luggage, and sometimes
certain of the crew, fill the other upper deck cabin, — a
most wretched place, without window or door, — the entrance
being a narrow hole, which runs across the deck. Such is
our land ship, — quite as like a sea one, as any camel of the
desert. I was in the front parlour, — upper deck, — and
for seeing, the best place. It is very high, and except
when we had a ladder, it was as much as I and Charles
together could do, to get me into my eyry.
The incidents of travel through France, were few. I saw
some carrier pigeons start from a station with despatches for
460 JOTJUNAL.
Paris, and shall not forget the rushing sounds of their
wings, and how rapid was their flight. They were out of
sight almost at once. The palace of imprisonment of Abel
del Kader, the chief of certain uncivilized people, whom
civilized Europe has conquered, — this prison is on our
road. My fellow travellers were the courier, and four boys,
going home to Bourdeaux for the vacation. They belonged
to a military school. They were fine boys, full of life and
of fun, and vying with each other to make the journey
pleasant. They insisted upon my taking the best seat for
seeing the country, and extended their courtesy to Charles.
Then their supplies were abundant. They were fruit, bread,
cold meat, — butter, wine, &c., &c., and they never took
food without pressing us to take part with them. They
were with us two days. They gave me lessons in French,
and I returned the service by instruction in English. They
were very communicative, and gave me much information
concerning their school. Their friends were at the Bour-
deaux station, and the meeting was truly French.
The country everywhere is highly cultivated, and the sure
evidence of success is in the mighty harvesting which is by
the way, and on the way home. I should delight to stop
and give you some sketches of this exquisite country where
man and nature have laboured together, and where the
produce of such a union lies in measureless profusion around
you. Then, again, the dwelling places of the people, — the
village with its nice cottages, and the city with everything
to make it desired. I wandered about Bourdeaux, Poitiers,
and Angouleme, and only regretted that I could not stay
longer. And then the country, — flow^ers, shrubs, fruit-
trees, and vines everywhere, — over houses as well as land.
Comfort, — real, visible comfort comes out of every thing,
and every place. Never w^as fruit so priceless, and never
was it cheaper. I must give you some account of the grape
culture, and the appsarance of a vineyard. The grape vine
grows on short and very thick stocks, produced by annually
JOITRNAL. 461
cutting down the whole growth of the preceding year.
From this dark, rough, and rugged parent, springs upon
all sides the delicate, graceful child, and you can hardly find
anything more beautiful. The young leaf is translucent,
and the passage of the light through it, shows you much of
its internal structure. I know of no leaf which has the
characters of this, and I never saw these so perfectly dis-
played as in the specimens everywhere around me within
arms reach. It was a precious time to see all this wonder
of vegetable life, showing itself in every growing thing.
There were gentle showers ; and then the sun came out, not
scorching hot, but as if he had cooled himself in the rain.
His light was never brighter, and it came to you in diamond
brightness from the moist grape leaf, and in crystal drops
from the roadside trees. The vine, in its natural state, has
a wild, graceless form. The accumulated wood of years
absorbs most of its nourishment, and small and poor is the
product. But give it something which shall support it,
after you have cut its parent stalk down, and you will see
with what freedom and grace it will use the substitute for
the natural, and throwing itself out on all sides as far as
it dare, will produce forms and fruit which will surprise
and delight you. In " my notes by the way," " how
beautiful," occurs too often to allow you to question what
I felt and enjoyed in this beautiful country, — this beautiful
France.
In driving through woodland, the trees demand your
notice. There was one which specially attracted me. The
sycamore, — our button-wood. I was glad to see my old
acquaintance again. It is in perfect health. The disease
which has blasted and killed so many of its brethren in
America, has not reached them here. The new white or
fawn-colored bark is absolutely splendent in its un wrinkled
polish, — while the pale green, or bluish-gray patches were
as clear, and as clean, as a fresh washed vine-leaf. Nothing
you have seen of change in surface and colours of the bark
39*
462 JOURNAL.
of our button-wood can give you the least idea of the appear-
ance of the same here. It is the Merry Andrew, — the very
harlequin of the forest, and absolutely sparkles amongst its
sober neighbours. Many trees were marked, — the soft
wood trees, — not the button- wood, however. This mark
consists in removing a narrow strip of bark high up on the
trunk, and coming down to the ground. But for what I
did not learn. From its manner, and frequency, it evidently
has some special object.
In Clan, if I name the village correctly, and not far from
Poitiers, was a fete in progress. A large number of villa-
gers had collected in a grove, and rarely have I seen a
merrier company. There was music, and dancing, — and
doubtless refreshments, — and a grand time was in hand.
As the train stopped, some of the comjmny took seats, and
among these were nicely dressed persons, and evidently not
of the class of peasants. They seemed to have taken hearty
part in the Sunday fete. You ask, " Why were they not at
church?" They had been there, in the early morning, to
Mass, while you and others slumbered and slept ; and in
the early worship had fulfilled, to their minds, the whole
law, — and now they were making of the Sabbath, a day of
rest, — a holiday.
At another station there was merchandise. Women, of
course, were the merchants, and the articles, were cutlery. It
is illegal to carry concealed weapons. Here they were, with
other things, on open sale. Here were knives of all kinds,
— with forks, and without, — with one blade, and number-
less blades, concealed, and open, — razors, dirks, daggers, —
in short, in little, much of the material of war. They were
highly finished, and, for their appearance and uses, were
cheap. The sellers offered you their wares, quietly, and
courteously ; and not to buy, was not to offend.
Bayonne. Aug. llth. — Here I passed the night at the
Hotel St. Etienne, and was made perfectly comfortable by
JOURNAL. 463
dinner and supper in one, — an excellent bed, and good
water for many uses. Arrangements for next day's travel
were among my courier's most important offices, and at this
point of our journey, required promptness and skill. Rose
early, which gave leisure for a ramble. The Cathedral was,
of course, visited. It is a grand old building, undergoing
external repairs, but which did not at all interfere with the
early service of the church. In America, repairs of churches
always stop worship. A church was closed for the summer
months. I asked why? " To beat out the moths, and to
cover the cushions," was the reply. The sexton was a
humourist. Next to the market. This was perfectly
arranged, and the absence of the owners of fruit, vegetables,
&^^, at Mass, did not lessen the safety of what they had
IdCt for prayer. I saw no police. Yesterday I had a rare
sight, — the wide sea. So near did its waves break on the
beech along which was our road, that the spray almost
reached us. Our morning drive gave us glimpses of the
Pyrenees. At times Ave could make out forms, — pinnacled,
serrated, — rounded. Sometimes a single peak, grander for
its loneliness. We had occasionally rain and mist, — and
then the bright sun, making variety without end, and
from its characters, always welcome.
Spain and People. — My first acquaintance with Span-
iards was after leaving Bayonne, — in my companions of the
banquette. Before I had passed the boundary between
France and Spain, I perceived a marked difference between
the two races. It began to rain, and the windows being not
water tight, the rain soon began to trouble us. I had a
thick overcoat. My companions none. So, instead of
putting on my coat, I spread it over our several laps, so as
to protect the three exactly, but not a word was said of
thanks, or pleasure, and when the rain stopped, and I took
possession of my wet coat, no word, nor intimation of one.
I tried another experiment. I brought some nice chocolate
from Paris, and when eating some, I offered my supply to
464 JOURNAL.
them. They took it, but not a word. I next tried cigars,
with the conductor and a passenger, and repeated the experi-
ment. They took and smoked them, but not a word of thanks,
or sign of being pleased. I have noticed the same thing else-
where in Spain, A writer says, '• He who expects gratitude,
deserves ingratitude." I agree with this writer perfectly.
I do nothing, so far as I am conscious of motives in con-
duct, with a view to return. But it is very grateful to have
your effort to please another, in some way felt, or expressed.
If it affects not you at all, it is well for another to be con-
scious of kindness attempted, or kindness done. I declare that
the manners of France, in this regard, won me at once. I
was glad to be amidst so much courtesy, so much expression,
yes, beautiful expression, of pleasure received. We ap-
proached a narrow river, Bidasoa, and over the middle plank
of the bridge which crossed it, we, having left the diligence,
stepped from France into Spain. The Spanish frontier town
is Irun, a small place with a post-house, where horses were
changed and luggage examined. I was in the banquette
up high in the air, and there I meant to stay. But the gens
d' amies, or customs officer, willed it otherwise, and having
examined my passport, sent Charles to say that I must come
to the office. So down I went, a most perilous descent, I
assure you, and having been seen, got a bow, and a hint to
get up again. I commiserated a banquette companion who
meant to stay in it. He sent word he was lame, one leg
being much longer than the other. Charles kindly carried
his message. " Tell him," said the officer, " I want to see
his short leg." So down he went by cruel instalments, the
last the longest, — and having satisfied Spain, (he was a
Spaniard,) he halted up again. I recollected our White
Mountain trip, when some of the party preferred the top of
the coach, and what a time you had (for I had no such
preference) in getting up and down. If you had been with
me here on the frontier of Spain, you might have indulged
your airy fancies at your leisure. I went into the house
jounNAL. 465
where luggage was undergoing the martyrdom of a govern-
ment search. One had a box of tools, nicely packed to
prevent injury. They were all turned out, envelopes pulled
off, and when all sorts of things were done to excruciate
the owner, a rule was put inside the box, — then outside,
to learn if there might not be a false bottom in which the
contraband were hid. The owner hurried up Lis tools, and
then his wardrobe, for his trunk had been as thoroughly
turned inside out, and in haste huddled tools, and shirts,
&c., &c., back again. There was a woman who deserved a
better fate. She had a very bad cough, — was emaciated,
and very feeble. Her luggage was large. It was all pulled
to pieces of course, and, among other things, certain small
bottles were detected. What were these ? They were
medicines for her cough. The question was of duties. But
after an appeal to her wretched cough, — weakness, — and
pain, — the officer concluded to let her drugs pass without
duty. And now came the tug to get everything back again.
The impossible was at length accomplished, and the poor
thing with her luggage was again stowed away in the ready
diligence. How hot was the day. Many offered and tried
to help the exhausted woman. But she had been harshly
treated, and refused aid.
St. Sebastian. — We continued our drive for this
place. Every hour brought us nearer and nearer to the
city. It lies at the foot of a mountain, on the top of which
is an extensive fortress. It appeared of great strength.
Her3 were the English troops landed in the Peninsular
War. The foot of the mountain is washed by the Bay of
Biscay, and here is built the city very regularly, and painted
white, is in strong contrast with the deep blue sea. We dined
here, and so pleasant was it, that I was strongly inclined to
stop, and at leisure visit the surrounding region. But the
weather was so fine, — the Pyrenees on all sides tempting
one away, that I cheerfully obeyed the powers above and
around, and left for the hard service before us. In the post-
466 JOUENAL.
yard was my old acquaintance, the diligence, but presenting
new features. The principal was the outfit of animals.
There seemed no end to the array. I counted nine mules
and four horses, a postilion on one of the forward ones.
Each mule has a ring of bells. The starting was an event.
I was at my old post, the banquette, and looking down upon
these mules and horses, the prospect was novel indeed. The
starting was an affair. We were to turn a very short corner
of the quadrangle, which the bordering four sides of the
post-house made, and the length of team and coach seemed
endless. A crowd was in the yard. We took the diagonal
of the square, or rather parallelogram, for a sufficient dis-
tance, then the leaders wheeled towards the passage to the
street. As soon as the turn was made, the whip uttered its
voice, and after a manner only known to these foreign
whips. Then came voice of driver and conductor, scream-
ing antar, antar, in every possible variety of intonation.
I never before heard such unearthly noises. I wish I could
give you some notion of the pronunciation of this Spanish
word, which means "go." The whole strain of voice was
upon the last syllable. It seemed that every sound which
uses the tongue and teeth in its utterance, was called into
exaggerated use, — and made you start to hear it. It had
a spiteful intensity, and I really think if those who uttered
it had worn false teeth, the whole pressure of the atmos-
phere would not have sufficed to keep them in their places.
Away went mules and horses at a full gallop. As we
reached the street many boys with long rods joined in
chorus, running fast enough to keep up with the mules, and
beating them as they flew. Everybody took interest in us,
as if such a drive had never happened before, and did their
most and best to press the animals on. You would have
supposed no carriage in the wide world would have stood
such discipline, or could have kept straight. I was never so
excited before, and roared with laughter at the wild scene.
On we drove until the beginning of a mountain pass made it
JOURNAL. 467
impossible to drive further. The long array came down to
a walk, and we began the passage of the Pyrenees. These
are not the highest mountains in Europe. Still they are
high enough to affect you after the manner of the most lofty.
You never see the same twice. Their power is in their
variety, — their number, or extent, — their arrangement.
Each tells its story, and then recedes to give place to another.
The interlacing which comes of such materials produces
grand effects, and infinite confusion. You see no way of
escape, and feel as if you were to be a prisoner there forever.
The road takes water courses, and valleys from which
the water has long receded, or has found new channels.
The effect of your position in such portions of the road is
to add to the apparent height of the mountains, and this
soon is the real one. You are now on the edge of a stream,
and now on a shelf dug out of the side of a mountain. The
danger seems imminent, first, from the number and shortness
of the curves ; and second, from the length, the wilfulness,
or slipping of the team. When the diligence with its
immense length is added to the mules and horses, it seems
absolutely impossible that you can succeed, I sat on the
top of the coach looking with the deepest interest upon the
heights, the depths, and surroundings of the scene. Now
and then, and without our anticipating such a change, the
mountains will separate, — seem to clear away, as do clouds,
and you come to where the earth and sky are again visible,
with vast reaches of mountains before you. Here is smooth
earth, and rich culture, and shrubs, trees, and flowers, cot-
tages, or larger houses, — a perfect oasis in the mountain
desert. You rejoice at all this, but a change comes, and
you again enter an inextricable labyrinth. You have your
life in mountains. You travel days and do not lose them.
It is not like a lofty and wide ridge, separating countries, or
portions of states. They make up, so to speak, the staple
of the country, and which will be its forever. From St.
Sebastian to the Guadarama, which makes the mountain
468 Joun^AL.
horizon of Madrid, you are hourly among tliese mighty
associates, and never escape their power. At first we Avere
no higher than vegetation reached, trees, shrubs, ferns, grass,
&c. This could not last, and then the continued ascent of
the Pyrenees. At first the ascent was moderate. Then
it grew steeper and steeper. The road passed over nearly
horizontal, or rather spiral inclined planes, so slightly raised
sometimes that it scarcely seemed to be ascending, and then
so short, making such perfect horizontal oxbows that you
could see across from one, and down and into another, when
a descent occurred, and now it seemed absolutely impossible
for you to reach it from your isolated position. I asked
again and again, " Is that a part of our road ? Does this
we are on belong to it? How are we to reach it ? " The
effect was curious. It was of travelling an endless circle of
road, always returning upon itself, and, of course, without
end. The progress w-as very slow, mist and rain made the
atmosphere, and at times it seemed hardly possible that the
team could keep their feet, or advance another step. It
crawled on. The diligence groaned, and creaked, heavily
swaying hither and thither as the surface of the road
changed. A summit level w^as at length reached. The
wheels were carefully dragged by the break, and we began to
descend. This was rapid and safe, and we now went on for
a time as before our ascent.
"When things seemed at their very worst in the mountain
passage just described, I thought of you. I thought of you
both. I saw you, Miss , in the coupe close in
the corner with your eyes closed as tight as eyelids can do
it; and then your fingers, in addition, pressing the poor
eyelids tight into your very head. I ask a question. " Oh
don't — don't say a word. I cannot look up. I won't look up,
don't speak." In the other corner is Miss — - — . She looks
pretty white. Her eyes are wide open, seeing all before
her, and a little more. When a wheel horse fell, — heavens !
was uttered with an emphasis, — not a word more. I spoke,
JOUKNAL. 469
— no reply. She never ceased to look, no matter what was
threatened. She was as calm as " hope in despair." And
w^hen it v/as all over, the colour rushed back to her cheeks
again. She covered her face with her hands for a moment ;
then withdrew them, and breathed freely. This was all
in my mind, and I believe would have actually happened if
you both had been with me.
The Mule. — The traveller in the banquette has ample
opportunity to observe the management of the team before
him. The mule, upon whose conduct safety especially
depends, is at all times an object of great interest to the
traveller, to his owner, and driver. From my window here
in Madrid, I daily see how much he is cared for. He is now
undergoing the operation of dipping. Except where the
slight harness touches the skin, every hair is cut off, and a
more naked, wretched looking wight than a recently clipped
mule, I do not remember. There seems to be nothing more
left of him than a most thin skin, and the skeleton frame
upon which it is tightly stretched. How the shears escape
hips and ribs, I cannot imagine. The body of a mule is
remarkably compressed, or flattened laterally, so that look-
ing down upon his spine, he is the flattest or sharpest quad-
ruped going. The disposition, the morale of the mule,
partakes of his physical narrowness. He is never alone on
the draft, among the mountains. He cannot be trusted.
You are never sure from minute to minute how he will
behave himself. To give character to the team, nearest the
wheels we have two horses, and on the lead the same num-
ber, that is, when horses and mules are used in company.
The exception is made, because among these mountains we
saw one day a diligence, — somewhat misnamed indeed,
in this instance, — drawn by eight oxen, and I have rarely
seen that gentle and industrious race, harder worked. We
were constantly at points of descent of most threatening
character. The wheels were as closely dragged as possible,
to prevent rotation, and down we went, scraping as we
40
470 JOURNAL.
went. So steep were passes now and then, that the wheel
horses, loosely harnessed behind as they are, made right
angles with the pole. Upon one of the most embarrassing
spots, one of the horses was brought to his haunches, and
was scraped along with the diligence. From my eyry this
was no pleasant prospect, I assure you. For a time my
eyes left the Sierra, and were painfully bent upon the earth
beneath me. It was in such moments as these that the
mules declared their power. The postilion sat at rest on
his saddle, simply guiding his horse. The mule picked his
way, as if the loose stones, among which was his doubtful
navigation, were eggs. He has a very small, clean, delicate
hoof, and you see that he is putting it down with as firm
and as wise a will as if everything depended on him. And
upon him everything does depend. He is not in the least
governed, directed, or checked, by the driver. The reins
are all loose. The mule pays no regard to the wheel
horses, whether on haunch or hoof, — scraping or walking.
His head is directed to the ground, and to places in which
his feet may be the most usefully placed. Down, down, we
go. The danger looks the greater by every step. The
v/eight of the enormous coach increases by every new foot
of descent. We are soon to turn a curve shorter than rail-
way ever knew, and we do turn it. The postilion is lost
sight of. The mules, pair after pair, disappear, till at length
the pass is accomplished. In an instant the wheel brake is
driven back, and the whole team springs into life, a full
gallop succeeding to the long snail-drag by which we had
made the descent. Conductor and driver now scream antar,
antar, again. The whip flies. On, on we go, with an
intensity of life and motion, never, never before witnessed
by me. We take breath, ~ a long breath, — and enjoy to
the fullest extent the change.
It is on level, or nearly level ground, the mule shows his
true character. Here is no occasion for skill or Avisdom in
motion, and he will do and go just as he pleases. There is
JOURNAL. 471
no harmony of action. Each does just what he likes. He
indulges himself with a sluggish, stupid, gravity of motion,
which has in-it not the least care for himself or others. He
gets lashed, and his naked skin feels every touch of the
whip. But you don't hurry him at all. His heels and his
hind quarters maybe jerked upwards into the air ; or he
may protrude himself laterally from his mate, or the two
may s]3ring in a thousand directions at the same time.
They will kick, try to bit 2. In short, the variety of re-
sources to do nothing, is more remarkably possessed by the
mule, than by any other beast of burden or motion in my
memory. He knows every word the conductor says to him,
but sticks up his naked lank tail with a " d — me, I wont,"
which the human brute can hardly equal. But what an
useful creature is this same obstinate mule. He may always
be relied upon, however perverse. How richly does he
deserve memory and gratitude from him w^ho has crossed
the Pyrenees under his unfailing, wise care. Were I poet-
ical, I would sing the praises of the mule. The night
comes, and we sleep as we may.
The morning broke, and brought with it new scenery.
We had passed out of vegetation, and the m.ountains were
naked rocks. Everywhere, but upon the road, the earth
was covered with the debris of disintegrated rocks. I had
seen this process of rock-waste on the Elbe and Danube.
Here are fractures of vast rock, in place, where human
agency could hardly have been exerted. The fracture is as
straight as if the rock had been artificially split and trim-
med. I suppose this may be thus explained. A long
mass of rock is equally supported. Gradually the support
at one end is wasted away. The weight remaining causes
fracture, and separation.
The change in a night, from heavy forests, and lesser
growths, to almost entire nakedness, was striking. Culti-
vation became less and less, until it disappeared. In other
places the earlier harvests were in, or on the way of removal.
472 joirRNAL.
The muzzled ox was treading out tlie corn here, — donkeys
there. Heavy sleds were used in another place. Elsewhere
winnowing was completing the labour of the year. Looking
at the land from which the harvest was taken, it seemed
hardly possible that what was so unpromising, could have
grown so much. Trees were rare. The road-side herbage
was gone. The earth was burnt up, and yellow vestiges of
vegetable life, with sand, gravel, or clay, only remained.
Variety is everywhere. The mountain with its desolation,
— the valley with its culture. The abundant harvest, with
apparently so little growth. Man, and his habitation, with
all social appliances, where a moment before nature in her
nakedness, and barrenness, had nothing for gift, or for hope.
There is an infinite interest in such a region to one who has
lived in the midst and pressure of human conventions, and
artificialities, and whose mind, heart and life, have been all
devoted to their sure preservation. " And what better use
of them, pray ? "
Post Towns, — Houses and People. ^ — After getting
into less mountainous districts, we come upon villages, ham-
lets, people. The appearance of things differs entirely from
what you see in France. The houses are of dark brown, or
dirt-coloured stone, without glass in the windows, or shut-
ters, — with iron gratings, or bars across, more like prisons
than dwellings, for well-behaved families. Pigs, mules,
hens, all sorts of things are in these houses, and with these,
men, women, and children. The streets are just wide
enough for the diligence to pass, if it keep the deep worn
rut of mud, water, and loose stones. Everything was out
of repair. There seemed no reason for repair. There was
no work seen. No use of the hand, but with the distaff".
An old woman with a distaff" was the complement of the
current industry. Poverty was everywhere, and in numbers
unequalled by my observation. These places were like
deserted regions, or inhabited only by those wdio could not
run away.
JOUKNAL. 473
Looking at these places from a little distance, you hardly
know what you are looking at. A mass of reddish brown
somewhat, having a form, lies tefore you. Of its nature,
you know nothing. Not a tree is near. Barrenness is every-
where. Nothing gives the smallest notion of life, and least
of all, of human life. I have seen and walked through,
and around many of these places, but how life endures in
them, I know not. I said there is no glass. Paper some-
times has its place. But a board or two is most frequently
used to stop the window holes in houses. I have passed by
them night after night, but never have I seen a light in one
of them. Charles V., in his progress to the monastery of
St. Yuste, in which, after his abdication, he spent his life,
and in which he had his fun^'al before he died, — Charles
suffered much during his journey from cold, as there was
no glass in the windows of the houses in which he stopped.
He gave orders to have the windows glazed. Now, as I
was not in pursuit of Cloister life, and was not an Emperour,
I took patiently the lot of travel, and found, in departures
from conventions, what I might have lost in slavery to
them. " Why not stay there then ? "
The churches partake of the general decay. They have
little architectural pretension. They are of stone, as are all
other buildings. The stone is often crumbling, discoloured,
— and thus showing indifference concerning everything.
The Crosses by the road side are as much neglected as are
the churches, and in all states and stages of decay. You
pass by and through cities, which strikingly differ from these
wretched villages. Vittoria is one, and so is Burgos.
ViTTOKiA. — This city stands on a hill, and shows to
great advantage. Except the mountain regions, and which
form so much of the North of Spain, the table lands are
remarkably level. I do not think the surface of Russia is
more remarkable for this formation than is Spain. You
see all around you an open country. It is in parts, like
40*
474 JOUEXAL.
our prairies. I have seen a very large, apparently princely
residence, vvdthout wall, fence, trees, or shrubs, stand-
ing out alone upon vast reaches of land, with scarcely an
inequality of surface, as if built in defiance of all the aspira-
tions, or present enjoyments of such establishments. The
roads are as open as if the surrounding region were one
great common. You are much struck with this nakedness on
approaching some large city. A wide waste introduces you
to a large and crowded city. It is naked on all its bor-
ders. There are no suburbs. The dead level enables you
to see much of what it contains, — its highest Avorks, as
churches, — as you approach. There are no inequalities
to obstruct vision. But you get no notion of its extent, so
that you hardly believe you aTe in the close neighbourhood
of a great city, until you are actually in its streets. Yitto-
ria is a striking exception to all this. You are glad to see
a city which is on a hill, and cannot be hid. Burgos also
stands well. Vittoria is seen long before you reach it. Its
white houses under a bright sun show admirably. The
church spires glow with light ; and the dark mountain back-
ground increases the perfectness of the vision. We stopped
to dine, and I had time to walk about the city. As is my
wont, I went to the market-place, or square. The women
were at their baskets of fruit, and I got a store for the
solace of the weary hours the night would soon bring with
it.
Our approach to Yittoria is remembered. It was the
finest day of a Spanish summer. The profound, deep blue,
almost ebony sky, reminded me of Humboldt's description
of the sky of the Andes. It was totally unlike any sky
seen by me before. There was not a cloud upon its mag-
nificent face. It was past noon, and the sun was never
more generous of his richest rays. The road's surface,
slightly curved, was of a yellowish colour, and as smooth as
the approach to the finest English country place. Upon its
whole length was not the smallest loose stone. In the draft
JOURXAL. 475
were six light dapple gray horses, three abreast, — in per-
fect condition, their coats as smooth as silk, and not a hair
turned. Such a team I do not recollect. Their small hol-
low hoofs struck the firm earth in such harmony, that you
might suppose them at drill ; wdiile the sound of each coin-
cident step was as clear and resonant as if from a musical
instrument. They brought to mind that well known Latin
line, which, in its scanning, is an exquisite description of the
sound which came from the hoofs of these noble horses :
Quadx'upedante putrem sonitu quatit ungala campum.
As we drove on, a black object was seen in the middle of
the broad road. We soon saw it v/as a donkey, with his
head towards us, moving his long ears up and down, as if
glorying in these disproportionate appendages. An attempt
was made to check the horses, and, by shouts, to drive away
the devoted donkey. He kept his ground, careless of fate.
The team got to a Vv^alk as we approached him. The horses
parted, passing gently by the side of the donkey, until his
head touched the coach front. It stopped. The conductor
sprang from his seat, loosened the near trace, seized the
prisoner by his long ears, dragged him over the pole, and
with a kick sent him, with as much speed as his gravity
allowed, out of the way. While this was in hand, the team,
careless of fly, and without fear or fret, kept as still as
death. The horses understood that the least movement
would be fatal to the donkey, and stood motionless. His
owners, eating dinner by the road side, roared with laughter
at our care of their stock ; while the conductor, in answer,
gave them a blessing, which was no blessing at all.
ScEXE WITH Childrex. — I have spoken of the wretched
condition of many of the post-towns among the Pyrenees.
But there was compensation for the wide desolation, and
the individual misery, which I have described, and it had
its most grateful and beautiful form. It was found in the
children of these wretched looking places. They were
476 JOURNAL.
healthful, well nourished, often very clean, and neatly
dressed. Their large dark eyes, and other good features, —
their handsome brunette complexion, — and their elastic
step, attracted my attention at once. They often were in
the close neighbourhood of extreme age, infirmity, poverty,
and in the contrast they could not but be gainers. I had in
my pockets things which children love, — as lumps of sugar,
sugar-plums, nuts, and a quantity of small bits of money.
As soon as I escaped from the diligence, I was surrounded
by these "little beings," as Spurzheim used kindly to call
them. They laughed, they talked, they jumped, and came
so near, that you could not but think they had had expe-
rience of the kind offices of the wayfarer. I soon began to
distribute my treasures. Money came first, — then sugar-
plums, nuts, — lastly, sugar-lumps. You cannot tell how
delighted were these children with the slight gifts. They
came and kept close by me, with that natural confidence of
children which so strikingly distinguishes them from those
older and larger children, commonly called men, who so
often most suspect those who come to them with kindness
and gifts.
timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.
In one post-town there was among the children a girl older
than the rest, — say ten or twelve. She was exceedingly
pretty, and had taken most care of her toilet. She was
rather shy, but still came near enough to get her part in the
presents. I proposed to kiss her in return for my simple
but prized wares. She suspected my purpose, and was off"
in a true Gazelle flight. Then she came nearer, and as soon
fled, as I moved. At length I got into the diligence, and
leaving the door open, the children soon surrounded it.
Some of the larger ones took hold of my favourite, and drew
her towards me. There was less reluctance than before ;
and I cannot but believe, that, if the signal for starting had
not just then been given, I should have succeeded. Now
JOURNAL. 477
these adventures with the children were most pleasant to
me. You can hardly understand how wholly different were
these experiences, from those furnished by tie frequent
old women, with the everlasting distaff at door and win-
dow, who made up the human which was generally seen in
these wretched post-towns. Very few young men, or young
Avomen, were seen. Decrepit old men were frequent. They
were seen resting on staves ; or crawling round in the sun,
taking little or no interest in the diligence, or in the stran-
gers, who daily passed by. Sometimes we threaded these very
narrow dark streets at night, or in the evening. But, as
before said, I do not recollect seeing a light in any of these
prison-like houses.
Madrid. — Monday, called at the Legation, and saw the
Charge, the Minister being absent. Was introduced to his
lady, a Spanish lady whom he has lately married. She is
very pleasing, possessing the attraction of beauty and man-
ner, and giving an assurance of a welcome which is always
so valued by the stranger. And now, young ladiss, let me
say here a word of the Spanish lady. I have seen on the
Prado, at different times, thousands almost, in coach, and
on foot, and of the highest classes in the city. The speci-
mens were in numbers for conclusions. I have seen them
since in my walks, at all hours of the day. They are hand-
some, — of excellent manner, gait, dress. They have the as-
surance which good person, fine face, grace, position, always
may have, without the least admixture of that wdiich always
makes assurance, in common parlance, so very disagreeable,
so unlady-like. Self-possession is the better word, —
just so much self- consciousness as gives piquancy or charac-
ter to manner. The face is quite striking. The skin is a
brunette, but is perfectly clear, as if translucent, and full of
light. I have seen it of dazzling brightness, as if the
source of its own illumination, and as if the light lingered
and played in the face before it left it. You may charge
478 JOURNAL.
me with being fanciful. But there are mj^steries in nature
which we may always read. Let me bo understood. The
idea of a brunette is, that it is thick, — not brilliant, — dull,
— as somebody said, might be better for washing. Not so
here. I have seen as much brilliancy, as much lustre, in a
brunette face, as ever I did in a blonde. The colour, if so
to be called, is not obtrusive, and may be to be looked for.
But it is there, and to me is quite as attractive as when it
stares one in the face, out of a pair of full round red cheeks.
In speaking, the whole face speaks, the expression depending
on the mental action. If this be calm, the expression is.
And if excited, the whole story is told. The habitual man-
ner here is calm, quiet, even, — no hurry, no confusion.
None of that beforehand stir to answer a question before
it is half put, and which makes, — I will not say what
foreign company of half a dozen, — a perfect Babel, every-
body talking and screaming at a time. Still you have here
the varied expression which shows you are understood, and
which has in it half of a reply. I sit daily opposite a
Spanish lady at the table d'hote, and though not handsome,
her expression during conversation is very agreeable.
What she says is " Greek " to me, while the universal lan-
guage of expression, which we all understand, makes her
exceedingly attractive. I said the lady is not handsome.
Handsomeness and beauty is not the same. Each may exist
alone. The first may contain beauty, but does not depend
upon it. Beauty is not necessarily handsome. Its elements
are symmetry of feature, and good complexion. It asks no
more, and how often it has no more. Handsomeness comes
of expression, — manner, — of the mind and of the heart.
Sometimes of voice alone. " How handsome is such a
lady," said one, "and yet how un symmetrical is her face,
and her eyes are a little, very little awry. And yet when
she speaks, how handsome, — yes, how beautiful is she."
The Phado. — The traveller goes to the Prado to see
Spanish face, form, and manner. It is very pleasant, in the
JOUKXAL. 479
early evening, before sunset, for this is the walking hour,
to go there, and see the Madrid world pass by. It is an
endless chain, and how various the links. The ladies are in
full dress. If in colours, which may happen, the richest
fabrics are selected, and are ornamented and flounced to the
demands of taste and fashion. Black rules, and the man-
tilla, is univers^,!. This crosses the head at the middle or
crowning of the hair, and fails as a graceful drapery over
the shoulders. It has an affix, which may be let fall over
the face, or so much as may serve. Now, as the Spanish
nose is a very nice one, you can understand how much of a
veil the mantilla really is. It comes in close contact with
the face. The wearer can see through it, and so may you.
You see on the Prado the gait, — the walk of the lady, —
its quiet, dignified, but perfectly easy, graceful manner.
You rarely hear anything said, or so said as to attract atten-
tion, making it probable that loud talking and laughing,
are not in vogue on the Prado. You are constantly so near
the company here, that observation is perfectly easy.
The Fax. This is universal. It is national. Bonnets
being not in use, and the head covered only by the man-
tilla, and the sun of vast power, it was necessary to find
protection in something. The fan was invented, and how
gracefully used. I saw, yesterday, two ladies walking in
the square of the Cortez, when the heat was intense. They
were frequently changing place, and met the fierce rays of
the sun. The fan was in constant motion, and the face and
head always in shade. Now, laugh as you may, this was a
beautiful and most successful experiment in the science of
self-protection, and, at the same time, of graceful position.
The American lady, I believe, has adopted the mantilla, —
would it were the Spanish one. If she give up the bonnet,
let me commend to her the fan. The hair is black, in
Spain, in great profusion, and finely arranged. The Queen
difi"ers from her subjects, in being a blonde, with blue eyes,
and flaxen hair. The peasants braid the hair, letting it fall
480 JOURNAL.
down the back, wearing a coloured headkercliief, the ends
behind. They are handsome women, with splendid eyes,
the national distinction, and excellent forms. You see hun-
dreds of these girls on the road, going to market, with full
baskets on their heads, walking as straight as arrows, with
a step truly regal. Yesterday, I saw a peasant girl with
light hair, curled at the ears, and braided and turned up
behind, and you cannot think how out of place or country
she seemed.
The Prado has a fine course for riders and drivers, and
horses and carriages fill it. A light rail separates these
from the walkers. Social position is readily settled, not
by mantillas, or dress, exactly, though with manner these do
much. You see it in the coach emblazonry, the horses,
liveries. The coaches are, for the most part, open, — on
the Continent they are generally so, as landaus, barouches,
&c. By standing at some point near the railing, you will
see the cortege pass, its motion being slow, and by an
arrangement of the drive, it returns constantly upon itself,
and of course passes before the spectator. The whole man-
ner of the Prado is quiet. No noise, no hurry. You hear,
indeed, the faint cry of " freshwater," " fresh water," which
is of excellent quality, and at the smallest price. To see,
you have only to walk in an opposite direction to others, and
nothing need escape you. There are foreign ladies always
on the Prado, and you can tell them at once. They wear
colours, and bonnets, and are fair, with light eyes. The
student of national physiognomy has an excellent chance
for his calling. All sorts, ranks, and ages are seen.
The m.ass of the people are well-looking, careful, and com-
fortable in dress, cheerful in manner, and give the impres-
sion of comfort, — living without excessive toil. The
women work, but want the hardness and sharpness often so
deeply cut into the very face and form of women in other
places. The human of the face is not burnt out, and up,
by field toil in the hot sun ; nor is expression lost in the
JOURNAL. 481
pressure of neglect and servitude. Spain, in its citj^ and coun-
try, forces upon you the feeling that you are amid the ruins of
a mighty Empire. Not but that in Madrid there are splendid
buildings, in excellent repair, and all sorts of appliances
and provisions for individual and general comfort and pro-
gress. There is refinement for leisure, — and cheap plras-
ures, and time and means. Here are churches, and galleries,
and museums, and palaces, and armouries, and schools, and
charitable institutions, and the Prado ; and they are valued,
and must have their effect. It was in Russia I saw the
reason for vast expenditure upon the external, and in Spain
I read the same story in the manners of the masses, in the
pleasures, the resorts of the people. In AmericPo less in
this kind is done than in any other region under the sun,
and Vv^hich to me has made the attraction of European life.
We in America look for the compensation in the means
of direct education, free schools, ministries at large, &c.
Would that we had, too, those silent but sure educators
which every hour and every day might be addressed to all, —
silently but surely enter into life, — modify character, and
polish society. I see in such external means of culture in
Europe that which tends to bring men into sympathy ; for a
common sentiment concerning anything deserving the name,
will and does bring human hearts into harmony. The Pearl
of Raphael is for the whole eye of Madrid, — of Spain, —
and Murillo's mightiest works, may and do bless all.
The Palace. — I Avent with Mr. P. to the Palace, but
was not admitted. For reason, the Queen had ordered that
no one should enter it. " She is afraid," said my courier,
" that they will put powder there and blow her up. That
is it, Sir." I heard that some articles had been missed, and
that it was believed that visitors had taken them.
Ancient Aemoury. — This is quite worth a visit. Here
in wonderful preservation is the armour of all nations with
which Spain has had successful war. It is as fresh, as
bright, as if made yesterday. Here, too, are arms of various
41
482 JOUEXAL.
peoples, in variety and number of specimens, I have not
seen before. They are as perfect as are those of the armour.
I will refer to one specimen, — the sword of Columbus, —
the emblem of his power, the wise exercise of which has
placed him among the questionless heroes of the race. It
was by this power, moral and intellectual, he controlled men
under circumstances the most unpromising ; and made him
the revealer of a new heaven and a new earth to the Old
World. Spain was the depository of the interests of the
world which he discovered ; and is, of what he has left ;
and though in the land of his home, that has dwindled
almost to nothing, — this little relic has a world's interest,
and a nation's care.
National Galleky of Art. — From the Armoury, I
went to the Gallery of Arts. To visit this was one of my
objects in coming to Spain. Here are the works of Murillo,
which have secured an historical interest to Spain so long
as the highest art interests man. Here, too, are works
of Raphael, of Titian, of Rubens, of Ribera, and of all
others best known to fame. I purpose no description of
these works, nor of the statuary, which fills galleries of
fatiguing extent, but which you always leave with regret.
Let me speak of a single picture. It is a holy family. The
Child Jesus is on Mary's lap. His eyes, or rather his head,
is raised somewhat, and he seems to be looking at some
object of great interest, his face expressing that interest.
John is watching this expression, as if to learn its cause.
Mary is looking at Jesus. She is the most striking for
beauty, of any of her name. It is exquisite. It is as remark-
able for its features as for their expression. In most of the
pictures of her the attempt seems to have been to express,
so to speak, the inexpressible, with less care in the form and
managemsnt of the features, than you see in the ideal of
human beauty in other instances of it. In this there is phy-
sical beauty, as if it had been the purpose of Raphael to
present this form of beauty, and its expression, as devoted to
JOUBNAL. 483
a divine object. The infant is of exquisite beauty also. He
has filled the mother with love ; I had almost said with
pride, as hers, and that it was not out of place to represent
her as a beautiful woman ; filled with the mother, but at the
same time conscious of the divine nature of the object of
her love. I was more in sympathy with the Pearl than with
any of the other works of Raphael. It has none of the
coldness of the virgin mother, in other instances. By
coldness, I mean the absence of the human. On the con-
trary, it is full of warmth, and of feeling. Never has the
external, the objective, become so immediately and wholly
subjective, — so incorporated into my own intellectual being,
as did this vision of beauty. I rejoice that I have seen
this work. Raphael has before never so moved me. I have
never seen a copy, or an engraving of the Pearl. How
poor, how ineffectual are copies in every kind of such pic-
tures, — of such a mind as Raphael's. Is it not a sacrilege
to attempt such a work? It is the author's soul expressed
by visible signs, which is before you. Who shall dare to give
us the sign, who has not the author's soul for its seal ?
Who shall enter the sanctuary of another man's mind, to
say for him what he himself has uttered, — live again his
outward life? Who shall attempt to copy such works?
We arrest the counterfeiter, yes, send to prison the man
who, f-ov money, copies and uses another man's name.
Which is the greater, the worser counterfeit? I have
spoken of this before. But the very day, or rather days
devoted to this noble gallery, there was a person actually at
work copying the Pearl to order ; and what a tJiirig he has
made out of an idea ? I could not refrain recurring to this
wretched business.
Murillo's Infant and Sheep, — Jesus the Pastor, — is a
perfect treasure ; and John, near to it, another. Rebecca at
the Well, is as fresh and as sweet as is the water she hands
to the Patriarch. There is a Conception here by Murillo dif-
fering somewhat from that in the Louvre, but his ; and with
484 jouk:n'AL.
all his beauty and power. An exquisite Boy wearing his
hat, often engraved. I do not mean to give you a catalogue.
How fresh are these works of Murillo. Time has gone
smiling by them, as if he had said, " For me, they may live
forever."
In a room somewhat private are pictures by Titian.
These are, for the most part, Venuses, and not one repre-
sentative of this goddess has had time for her toilette.
There they lie as they were born, with the simplicity, and
I suppose, innocency of all other children, grown or other.
In these works, form and colour have entered into a limitless
copartnership for the creation of beauty, and all the world,
the critics, and amateurs say, the firm has succeeded.
In another room are the Venuses of Rubens. These
also have no companions. The colouring and the drawing
are perfect. But, as to form, out of which much of art and
beauty come, to me they are splendid failures. Bubens'
models must have been of Flanders, for the goddess, as
given to us of old, is no relation of theirs. I never saw
such exaggerations of flesh on any human being, — no, not
even excepting that four hundred pounder in our K.'s Mu-
seum. These Venuses present themselves to you in every
possible attitude, front, back, side, oblique, and every muscle
is as deeply marked as if the models had been flayed after
being undressed, and that the artist's sole object had been
to present every individual muscle in action in all the atti-
tudes given. Now nature does no such thing. True, in
the living, surface shows where muscles are, and you feel
that the action is true. But there is no dissection here, and
yet everything is as if naked before you. Truly may we
say of high art, —
Causa laid, vis est notissima.
I am a physician, you know, and it has been said, and as
I think, truly, that our preliminary studies in the anatomical
theatre may make us somewhat indifferent concerning many
JOUHNAL. 485
things that disagreeably move others. Now I do declare that,
notwithstanding the influences of these studies, I could not
look upon these extravagancies of Rubens with indifference or
insensibility. They were to me absolutely caricatures of
humanity. To be sure they were designed to represent the
divine of Paganism. But were I to be called to worship
such heathen goddesses as these, I would spare the Mission-
ary Society the trouble of my conversion, and instinctively
look for objects of worship elsewhere. Seriously, why are
such monstrosities in being a moment longer ? Why in such
near proximity to Titian, to Murillo, to Raphael ? Go to
these and learn eternal lessons in purity and in beauty.
Look on the Mother and Child, — look at the Last Supper,
— look at the Pearl, — look at High Art where you may, —
in its true objects, and sincere accomplishments, and come
away and say as you must, if you have a soul, that you
have been in the temple of beauty and of love, and have
come from that divine service a better man. I despise pru-
dery, nor would I place the moral, the intellectual, the phy-
sical together, and strike the balance of their separate claims
in Art. They make one, and should only be seen and used
as such by the artist. I saw a young lady in the Louvre,
very pleasing in appearance, and, as I thought, the best
copier there. She was copying a picture of a perfectly naked
female of exquisite beauty, by a master in the Art. I looked
at the original, at the copy, at the copier. Do you suppose
for a moment that a question arose of the work or of the
artist ? Do you suppose for a moment that the idea of pro-
priety or impropriety, — delicacy or indelicacy arose ? No.
Here was an attempt, a fruitless one, as I thought, to copy
the exquisite work of a master, by a mind and a hand which
had not and could not approach to the conception of such a
thought, and of such a fact. It was simply a question with
her whether she should attempt to imitate such perfection
in x\rt. The obvious failure answered the question for me.
In a city in America is an Academy with a gallery, and in
41*
486 JOXJKNAL.
the last, is statuary. I remember tliat this was opened to
men and women on different days. It was not thought to
be well for the sexes to look npon such works, though of
the best in their kind, together. If there were any truth
in this, it would have been better that neither should have
looked at them at all. There is coarseness, and indecency
in Art sometimes which should shut it out of all decent
society. In many of Teniers' pictures is a figure which
should never be in public, and which a statute of our
decorous State would surely punish. But Teniers is tolerated.
He gives us life, you say. I say, no. He gives us conditions
of living, which some conventions have settled should not
form topics of common conversation, nor matters of exhibi-
tion. If not to be talked about, they should not be exposed
to public view ; certainly not in a work of Art.
Mi:s"EiiALOGiCAL MusEUM. — This is a large government
building devoted to natural history. The collections of
minerals fill many rooms, and are of great interest. In
crystals especially, do the riches of this collection declare
themselves. They are very large and perfect, reaching to
the crystalline forms of all known minerals. The arrange-
ment is such as to aid the student by furnishing, in place
and relation, the sjDecimens he needs. They are contained
in close cases, with glass all round, and look as fresh as if
just broken from the parent mass. American specimens
are few, principally of the precious metals. One mass of
muriate of silver, luna cornea, is enormous, and is of im-
mense value. It seems to consist entirely of the muriate.
Fine specimens of platinum are here. The greatest care is
shovved throughout this extensive Museum, and you cannot
but feel grateful to Her Majesty for the liberal appro-
priations which are made to increase and preserve the means
of good science. The Museum is open to the public with-
out fee. The same is true of the Picture Gallery. Thanks
to Her Majesty, strangers are admitted daily and freely
from ten to two or four, upon showing their passports.
JOUENAL. 487
The natives twice a ^Yeek, having obtained tickets for that
purpose.
In speaking to one after this visit, I alluded to the mis-
management of the American colonies of Spain, which had
led to their independence. It seemed very strange to me,
I said, that so small a State as Portugal should retain its
American colonies, while Spain should have lost hers. I
added that the near neighbourhood of the Republic might
have had an influence, but could not be the sole cause. He
said the colonies were lost by being treated as enemies
rather than friends. Why, said he, Cuba is governed in the
same way at this moment. Not an otficer, from governor-
general to the lowest, but is sent from Spain. A Cuban is
not trusted v/ith the smallest public service. This is enough
to alienate any colony. It requires many soldiers and ships
to keep the people down, and this enormous expense, with
salaries, uses up most of the Cuban revenues. The gover-
nor's salary is five or six times that of your president, and
with fees, he goes home in a year or two, a rich man. He
said that there was an under current in Spain ready at any
moment to declare itself, and involve the State in ruin. The
speaker seemed a well informed man, and this is what ho
said.
A moment more in the Museum. My description of the
grand specimen of the muriate of silver, may lead you to
suppose that other specimens of the previous metals, from
the old colonies of Spain, are of like proportion. No such
thing. For the most part they are hand specimens of fair
size, — of gold, platinum, native silver, in crystals, arbo-
rescent, &c., &c. The thought came at once of the changes
which had taken place in all the relations between the
mother country and her ophir colonies. Once Spain owned
them all, and much of the business of her marine was in
bringing home their precious metals. But now some hand
specimens in glass cases, most carefully guarded, are all that
remained to remind her of what she once had. The best
488 JOURNAL.
gold to a State is that which is dug out of, as well as by,
the good muscle and good spirit of a people. National
decay can never come of such mining as this. It cannot be
wasted, for the sure laws of a certain nature produce and
preserve it. It is the good patrimony which every father
gives to his child, and he has ever been the best man who
has succeeded to such childhood. We are making the ex-
periment of gold-digging, money-making, without mind, —
the muscle, but not the spirit. The result is not yet, unless
it be the hundred millions of foreign debt which our gold,
dug and to be digged, is standing godfather to, — and which
it peradventure may pay.
Butter. — There is no butter in Spain, as far as I have
been. What do you mean ? Just what I say. I did not
see butter from Irun to Madrid on any table, at any meal.
Oil replaces it in cookery. I once saw what seemed a ball
of butter in a closet, and asked the waiting-girl to bring it to
me. She did not understand. My courier was told to ask
her for it. He asked for some hm^ro, the Italian for the
article. She shrugged her shoulders, and went on cutting
Tip, and handing about. He then said, the gentleman wants
some mantica, the Spanish for butter. She had none. I
told C. there was some in the buffet, and he got it. The
girl saw him put it on the table, and came out with an
antico, which settled its character. They have in Madrid
what they call butter, but it did not remind me of the
article. Now this want of butter, like ours of June, with
its golden hue, its exquisite flavour, making one's breakfast
an event, and giving to the dinner so much that a dinner-
wants, — the want of this, makes foreign travel a trouble to
the traveller of taste. It has its place, with bad taste,
however manifested, and almost makes one yearn for his
green fields and herds. A traveller had stopped at a place
among the Pyrenees, — a solitary house, — exhausted with
fatigue, and dripping wet. He had ridden, — the demand
of the time, — and his horseman's boots were top-full, —
JOUEXAL. 489
OYeiTimning with water. As he sat hy the fire he asked for
dinner. A soup was in the orders. The pot was soon in
place. The vegetables in and boiling, when the good
woman, taking the lamp from the mantel-piece, poured its
contents into the pot. Horrour struck at this, he asked what
it meant, and learned with comfort that olive oil was used
alike for soup and for illumination, and in due time had an
excellent dinner, and delicious soup.
Wateh. — Madrid is supplied with excellent water. It
is brought from a distance in pipes, and is served at foun-
tains. In the evening, water vessels of w^ood are brought
and are carefully placed, so that next morning they may be
easily filled, and found. I did not understand this as I saw
one evening these arrangements. Early in the morning
men are at hand with tubes of various length to reach every
W'ater vessel, and fill each with perfectly fresh and nice
water as it issues from the various mouths of the fountain.
In the morning they carry them to each house with the day's
supply. The price of the service being, I think, about two
francs a month. Now this is a nice method. The quantity
is limited, and this prevents waste. I can vouch for the
excellence of the water. Beside this supply, Vv'omen come
in great numbers, bringing earthen vessels shaped not unlike
tea kettles of large size, which are filled by the bearers, and
carried away on their heads. The women of the Continent
do great head work. The water is soft. In other countries,
or cities, I have found it hard. For those who have taste
and time for daily ablutions, the Madrid fountains are great
blessings. Another use of water here is the watering of
streets, and of trees. You cannot tell how great is this
luxury, for at home you have it not. I mean watering
trees. The leaves are thoroughly wetted with fresh water,'
and the wind through them is cool, and singularly refresh-
ing. I was once asked if Madrid were not a nasty place.
This epithet is common in England, for the most part, phy-
sically used,— as nasty weather, — a nasty person, is either
490 JOURNAL.
morally or physically so. I think the word is a nasty one,
and enough to break a contract of marriage, if used by either
party. I answered the question about Madrid, saying that
it was a very nice, clean place. The streets are wide, and
shade trees have room to grow. They are both faithfully
watered. You see with what care the trees are washed and
dressed every morning. Women take part in this process,
and you think of the Hamadryads of old, the guardian
angels of the trees. The dirt is brushed np, and removed
at once. The paving here favours cleanliness. The stones
are symmetrical, of the shape and size about, of bricks, and
wedge shaped. They are laid with as much care as brick in
the walls of a house. Nay, 1 have seen them laid in mortar
to secure firmness. The edges thus remain in place, and
the pavement being, as we said, wedge shaped, a series of
arches is formed which not only aid each other, but produce
a smooth road, a monstrous comfort to horse, carriage, and
the carried. I looked at these means of comfort in their
sanitary bearings, and you see at once how much health
may be promoted by the pure air of streets. Sometimes
the gutter stones are round. These are laid with special
care. They are in precise lines, and the grade is secured by
constantly using the spirit level, — or rather, uniform de-
scent is produced by inclined j^lanes, and the water runs
freely off. I notice with pleasure the firmness of European
paving, and this under loads of merchandise, — of wagons,
and of horses, of the weight of which we know nothing.
Now, how difi'erent from the perfect smoothness of these
streets, are ours, and how clean the first are kept. Nothing
can exceed the annoyances of our streets. Everything suf-
fers but dyspepsia. This may be helped by jolting, which,
however, the dyspeptic can find amongst us without any
painful inquest. Then of street cleaning. We summarily
brush the street dirt up in heaps in the side gutters. Then,
as if to please them, they may be left a day or two in their
new residence, to be blown away, it may be, to be collected
JOURNAL. 491
again. If the dust cart comes, how slovenly the job is
done, generally by the foreigner, who has had but little
culture beyond peat cutting, or potato growing, and a very
little work about the dirt heaps is sufficient. '^ Oh, the
powers," said one to me, " and how nice are ye, to boLher
about a shovel or so of dry mud.''
I entered Spain with anticipated starvation, or to be bled
to death by night enemies, more industrious and inexorable
than leech, or sangrado. As to the starvation, it was all
humbug. I did not attempt every dish, but I got as much
food as was convenient for me. The table was always neat,
and, amidst the mountains, silver or plated forks were as
plenty as in the city. I know nothing of the sleeping
facilities in post houses, but in Madrid they are excellent.
The beds are of cotton, the bedsteads of polished iron, the
linen, linen. As to fleas and bugs, they are all in your eye,
notwithstanding the rebutting testimony of guide-books and
travellers. The service is excellent. There are things
which the Anglo Saxon, and the Anglo Yankee, might ask
to be reformed. But as most of them are for personal con-
venience, I hardly think such a sacrifice to our prejudices
will be entertained.
The Escokjal. — This is the burial place of the Kings
and Queens of Spain. Here are the children of royalty,
and there, in the centre of this vast tomb, which occu-
pies a subterraneous vault, or room of great extent, lies the
Infant, — the body of the son of the reigning Queen, in a
coffin, made rich with gold, and if my vision be true, with
a crown upon or near it. Around the wails of this vast
catacomb of royalty, are arranged, on shelves, the coffins
of a long race of monarchs. The guide named them, I sup-
pose in their order, but with a rapidity which made it im-
possible for you to follow him, had such been your wish.
The spaces are now all filled with coffins, so that the good
sacristan who accompanied us with three candles, so ar-
ranged in cluster as to allow him to carry them in one hand,
492 JOURNAL.
was quite puzzled to know how to dispose of the next king
or queen who might die. We ascended from the place of
the dead, made but little wiser, and no better by our visit.
The Escorial was built by Philip II., and he is buried here.
It is a convent. It consists of a palace, a church, and
houses for the monks. It contained, formerly, between five
and six hundred' monks ; now, as I was told here, only
twenty-five. The destruction of the Inquisition was fatal
to Catholic Spain. I was told, on my voyage from America,
that Catholicism was reviving here. But I should think
there is no truth in the statement. Don Carlos is the right-
ful heir to the throne, as I am told, and who could even
now reign, is absolutely prevented doing so because of his
Catholic zeal, and because he would restore the Inquisition
should he obtain the crown. Everything shows here the
decay of religion. The churches are dilapitated. Their
appearance is wretched. The Crosses by the way side are
neglected and rare. I saw them broken, — deprived of one
or both arms, and the least injured, most miserable things.
They are now hardly met with. The churches have but
few worshippers, and report makes the lives of the clergy
utterly scandalous. You see how these reports are likely to
be true, in the simple fact, that the rightful heir to the
crown cannot get it because of his severe religionism. The
subject seems determined to be no longer under the rule of
the church. He is very likely to be entirely destitute of
all religious feeling, in his apostasy from that which was, to
the Catholic of Spain, the soul and substance of religion
itself. I was struck with the mutilated, tumble-down con-
dition of the houses formerly inhabited, in the Escorial, by
monks. This is not the effect of neglect or decay only, for
when the French were here, they destroyed these buildings
by cannon. Ruins belong to just such a place. It is about
twenty-four miles English from Madrid. It is surrounded
by mountains, and being reached by a long and most tedious
ascent, through the passages among mountains, stands in a
JOUHNAL. 493
very commanding position. Nothing can exceed the deso-
lateness, and utter stillness of the place. The mountains
are perfectly bare, not a green thing is anywhere. Rocks
and stones are on every side, and what might have been
once green, is burned and parched iip. It looked like a
place accursed, as if men did not live here, while the undis-
turbed lizard was running wild beneath your feet. I have
rarely, if ever, been so impressed with the entire failure of
so much human pow'cr and effort as have been used here.
Philip II. — This King lived here years in mortal
sickness, to watch over and bless, or to sanctify the mate-
rials which were employed in building the Escorial. Here
are the stools on which he rested his diseased limbs, and
the chairs in which he placed his diseased body, and here
are the boards, covered with velvet, which were placed in
his lap, and on w-hich he wrote. These tables, if such they
may be called, w'ere in two leaves, connected by hinges,
and they said up there, that the minister would have one
part resting on his knees, while the other was on the King's.
The guide desired the company to sit in the King's seat,
w^hich, in turn, some did. I was one of these, and took
out my tablets and recorded the important fact. The apart-
ments are very simple. The royal accommodation was far
less than w^ould satisfy many of my republican friends.
The rooms are very small, royal closets rather than regal
chambers. I should think, in so hot a region, for the Esco-
rial is nearer the sun than Madrid, that Philip must often
have suffered by the heat. They showed us supports for
his diseased legs, cases made to fit them, and which w^ere
placed on stools. For winter use these cases are padded,
and made to be warm. For summer, they are made of
wire work, which will allow the air to pass through the
meshes. I was glad to see this slight arrangement for com-
fort, made for one who found his felicity in the severest
penance, and his anticipations of heaven in his continuous
sufferings on earth. 1 can understand w^hat such felicity
42
494 JOUENAL.
was, and how sucTi a heaven was in prospect, loved. There
are thnes in every man's experience, in which sorrow is
without woe, and suffering without pain, — moments in
which the relations between the spiritual and the physical
are so loosened, that their entire separation would be wel-
comed instead of dreaded. Why may not Philip have had
his best joy in his self-imposed, or patiently endured
misery ?
You see arrangements everywhere made for the unob-
structed enjoyment of religion by Philip. His closet opens
near to a private half-glazed door into the church. This
door is so placed, as to allow one behind it to see the chan-
cel, and the services there, with perfect ease. The door is
panelled, but the panels are moveable, and the glass is so
placed as to allow perfect vision of what is within to the
person who is in the closet, and without his being seen.
At least this is the impression which I received from the
apartments referred to, and the relations of each with the
other. The panels were slipped aside, and this with per-
fect ease, and without noise, and I immediately and jjer-
fectly got full sight of the service v/hich was then
proceeding at the altar. I know precisely what is the rate
of Philip with Catholics and others, friends and enemies.
I can understand how terrible might have been, aad were,
the cruelties of such a man, — of how little account the
sufferances of others for recusancy might have been to him,
who died daily in his self-martyrdom for his own sins. I
can understand all this. And how unworthy was such a
course, how false to religion was such a life, in the regard
of truly pious Christian men. But when I stood in the
Escorial, surrounded by the memorials of a life devoted to
what was thought to be duty, — and now that centuries had
gone by since that life, and those acts, I confess the moral
arose along with the bigotry, and I felt how the martyrdom
for heresy, in declaring a truth on both sides, was to the
martyr the ascension to heaven. I have not had time to
JOIJENAL. 495
analyze tlie process by which changes, and quite striking
ones too, are made in opinions which have been confirmed by
time ; and the adoption of others which, at one time, it
seems hardly possible for me to have adopted. I stood
there in the Escorial, or sat upon a stone staircase, each step
of which, the guide was careful more than once to remind
me, was one solid bit of exquisite and most costly marble, —
and thoughts came, not only of my distant home, and of
the strange fact that 1 was actually here, but of the people
and times, out of the deep convictions of which this con-
vent had been built, and that he who built it, who lived in
it, who died in it, and now lies buried in it, might have
played his part in the great drama of life, and have done
for duty, which comes to us in so awful a livery^of unmixed
cruelty. Philip's father left a throne for a cloister ; and
his son passed much of the last years of his life in a con-
vent. Was there not something in the condition, if not in
the constitution, of the moral nature in each, which the
mighty agency of an uncontrollable instinct directed ; and
which gave character to their religious life ? There is cer-
tainly something quite extraordinary in the religious expe-
riences, and powers, of these remarkable men. And now,
after the flight of centuries, in the place of their lives, and
of their burial, we can, so to speak, afford to look on the
other side of the picture, and learn what may be traced
there. Instances of the power or tendency of the religious
sentiment to tyranny, and in its most terrible and cruel
forms, are scattered over every page of history. Charles
and Philip were religionists. Their function was to pre-
serve, in its purity, what to them was the true church. In
that church, the earliest faith, we are told, was daily and
hourly manifested. In unbroken succession the apostolic
order had come along with the ages. The Imperial father and
son were to see that, as long as they lived, it should pre-
serve its earliest parity. " On this rock I build my church,"
had a literal significance. The Puritan came to America to
496 JOURNAL.
found a true churcli. He left one which for centuries had
claimed the supremacy, because of its truth. The Puritan
could not, and would not, tolerate any but his own. To
differ from this was the highest heresy. He was true to his
conscience. He banished heretics. Philip II. did not
establish a new church. He found one ready made to his
hand ; and with a terrible zeal he pursued heresy to the
death. The smallest modification of faith, — the smallest
departure from the truth, as he held it, — the only truth to
him, — was punished with death in its most fearful forms.
And with what indomitable firmness, yes, cheerfulness, Avas
death welcomed. The heresy was a greater truth to the
martyr, than was his faith who sent him to the stake. He
paid the dearer for it. And what a price, in personal sufifer-
ing, did not Philip pay, and in so much of his life, for the
church. We have seen something of this. In his room,
referred to, are the visible signs of his painful and loathsome
diseases. To the popular mind these exhibitions may be
disgusting, but they are not the less j^iroofs of the sufi'erings
which he daily and hourly endured. They present our sub-
ject in a phase which deserves to be considered, — the spirit
of self-sacrifice for the faith in which Philip lived and died.
That faith hath in it penance, the physical, and self-inflicted
punishment of sin, — the element of self-sacrifice which is
its own, — and then with what readiness has it carried this
principle into its works of charity, of doing good to others.
The Puritan was a man of sacrifice. Not that it was an
article of his faith, but because he could in no other way
declare and extend it. He did not come to America for
freedom to worship God, but to establish a true worship.
He denied this freedom in his first banishment, and for, to
his mind, good and sufiicient reason. The territory he
inhabited here was his own. He held it under the authority
of a royal grant. He said that he had a right to his own,
and that it was for his own uses. Nobody had a right to
come into his possessions but by his permission, and if by
JOtrnNAL. 497
any conduct, lie distiir"bed the peace, — and tlie civil magis-
trate was to settle this, — he might be, and he was, driven
forcibly, if force were needed, out of the colony.
I have said to you, for wdiom I write, of what most im-
pressed me in the Escorial. I have spoken of Philip just
as I was moved to speak in and by his desolate home, — of
his sacrifices and of his sufferings. A commentary is truer
than a history, not truer in regard to what its subjects
have done, — their out-door public acts what they or their
agents have done, — but truer to the intellectual and
moral conditions of such actions. A man is not in his
hand, but in his heart. In the solemn and deep conviction
of duty, men have killed themselves, or have lived in the
midst of a daily death, — the acutest sufferings. And such
men have to answer the whole demands of conscience, —
especially the religious, — have done things which should,
as we think, make the angels weep, and yet they may have
done them under the most solemn and responsible convic-
tions of diUi/. A commentary may be truer than a history.
There is a wise direction of an Apostle, " Look not every
man on his own things, but every man also on the things of
others." I quote from memory. How short had been his-
tory, had this short sentence been the rule of the life of the
world. How strange was the life of Charles V. What a
chapter of contradictions. He was the defender of his
faith, and at any cost to himself and to others. Yet Luther
travels with Charles's safe conduct in his pocket, though
his visit was to answer for a heresy which was hurrying
thousands to the stake. Charles leaves palace and diadem
behind him, and wanders through the wild Pyrenees, with
sacrifices and sufferings which the stoutest could hardly
endure. He shaves his head and puts on the cowl, though
on that head, just before, were resting the crowns of many
Empires. The soft purple is replaced by the coarse hair-
cloth. He could starve for penance, even to danger to life.
And yet he could eat, and did eat, more than any other man
42*
498 JOURNAL.
of his time. The crowning antagonism of his life was his
funeral, which he celebrated while alive. He enters his
coffin, — hears, in his own funeral, the service of the
dead, — is left alone, as if in his tomb, and rises, as if
from the dead, to the duties of his monastic life. The man
is a bold one who does not shrink from his own very self,
in reading the words of what men of the " one spirit" with
his own, have done.
The church, or what might seem to be the chapel of the
Convent, resembled in form a Greek Cross. The place of
the chancel is in one of the equal branches of this
Cross. This form answers very well for preaching, and the
people, you see, may be in any part of the church, and still
hear and see what is proceeding. They occupied the space
opposite the chancel. I thought them, as I saw them
through Philip's window, at an inconvenient distance, but
as much of the service was at the time ceremonial, this was
really of no consequence. When you first look through
this panelled and glazed door, you see nothing but the
chancel, the altar, the priests, and attendants. You only
see the audience by looking in a direction opposite, and
there you see them clustered together, on their knees or in
chairs, as is usual in Catholic churches, there being no pews.
I listened to the service. It was low chanting, wdth the
organ accompaniment, and its effect was certainly as deep
and as solemn as any service could be. Not to interrupt
the service, the panels were closed, and we went to see
the palace. There was nothing which I saw which much
attracted attention, except some paintings by Ribera, — by
Murillo, — and two or three alleged originals by Raphael,
and many copies from him, and other masters. I did not
go up a long flight of stairs to see other wonders, and so
lost, as I was told, the "best of the whole," viz., a Christ
in marble. Now, as I have been told this pretty often
before, I felt, in some recovered strength, able for a new
campaign. "Renewed strength," so early in the day?
JOURNAL. 499
Yes, for I rose at three, to get ready, for tlie diligence,
■which was to start at five, was some distance off, and to
which I was to walk, — and add to this twenty-four miles
of hard jolting, without breakfast, for five or six hours, and
then to start off on " sight-seeing." From the palace we
entered the church. It is a very noble building, with less
of gilding than some, but more of it than taste demands.
In what strong contrast do the two churches in Munich, and
the more remarkable one in Strasburg, stand, in their sub-
lime simplicity, when compared with these, — I will not say
gilded sepulchres, — but these elaborately ornamented inte-
riors. It was, withal, grand in extent, in its vast pillars,
— its roof or ceiling, — its profound repose. It was grate-
ful to be here. This was the farthest limit of my wander-
ings. Every new step would be forward, towards home,
and rest. The daily preparation for travel, itself a labour,
would soon be one toil less, and the weary mules would
have no cause to complain of me more. I should soon be
where was spoken my mother tongue, and the ever-coming
" I do not understand," would not be the hourly answer to
my question. So you see in this old chapel was cause of
gratitude, and sure am I that I rarely fail to feel and express
it. There are hours in Catholic countries when all the bells
of the city begin to ring, just as it is with us when a fire
happens. It is just that hour here in Madrid now, and such
a din must be heard to be felt. What it means, I know not.
It may be it is to summon the faithful to prayer. It is, I
assure you, a painful process to the prayerless. An inter-
mission, — and then a tenfold powerful peal.
Casino. — I had not finished my service at the Escorial,
for the Casino, the Little Palace, was next to be visited.
Our guide in the church was a blind old man, but quite
remarkable for his memory of places. His son guided him,
and he us. He knew when he passed holy places, and bent
his knee when he reached them. He has guided many
Americana, and said he was always happy to do so. He
500 JOITRNAL.
asked of Mr. Calderon, and said he had married an Ameri-
can lady. Washington Irving is a favourite. He spoke of
others, Americans among the rest, and was evidently quite
happy in his reminiscences. His name is Cornelius Burgos,
as nearly as I could gather from the courier, and I think I
shall long remember the plaintive tone, and the very
pleasing countenance, of the blind guide of the Escoual.
We reached the Casino after a mile's walk or so, through
a broad coach-road, or approach, with linden, elm, and
other trees on its borders. But for the intense heat, the
walk would have been very pleasant. At the Little Palace
we were consigned to a new guide, an old soldier in his
uniform, but having very few teeth left, his Spanish seemed
more uncertain than any before heard; but it answered.
As its name imports, this place is minute in all its charac-
ters. Especially is this the case with its inside. The
rooms are without number. I soon ceased the count.
They are, of necessity, very small, and pass off in all
directions, without any apparent order. Sometimes you
w^ould come upon a room of some size ; but then its height
was so wholly below all proportion, that length and breadth
told for little or nothing. I have never seen such a box in
so wide fields, lawns, parks. It seemed the very plaything,
baby-house of royalty, but here in Spain may answer every
purpose equally well as another. But as if aware of its
moral element, — if a little or a large palace has any such
thing, — the Casino is utterly deserted. Beds, bedding, all
w'hich goes tow'ards house-keeping, except a few show things,
have been removed, and as I understood, its Royal Mistress,
and only rightful occupant, visits it no more. The old
guide is its only inhabitant, and a pretty dull time must he
have of it. Speaking of furniture, I must not omit the
pictures. They are in perfect proportion to the apartments
they occupy. Most of them, certainly many, are of strictly
miniature size. The frames are out of all proportion large,
as if to give some character to that which they surround.
JOURNAL. 501
There was much that was curious in art here, and doubtless
much that was valuable. Thus, minute works in ivory
abound. Some of these are very beautiful, and well worth
examining. Whole scenes are in ivory, — the Judgment of
Solomon, for instance, Abraham offering Isaac, Xoah leaving
the Ark. The r/wther, in the first, is done admirably ; its
efiect is excellent. In another room, or, I think the same,
are landscapes, said to be in ivcry. These are very small,
and everything, leaf, thorn, the most delicate things pos-
sible, of a hair's diameter, are beautifully displayed, and
bear the examination of a glass. I had not seen these
long before I began to suspect what they were, and to
doubt if they were the work of a knife or tool at all. I
thought of softening ivory, and of then by compression
in a mould, getting these exquisite forms, and I asked of
what these were made. Our principal spokesman was a
very intelligent courier of an English gentleman who lives
in the same lodgings with me, and is infinitely better informed
than is the Madrid man I had taken instead of my own
courier, who' cannot speak Spanish. He talked to the old
soldier, and after a time said that " Chineses peoples made
it." The mystery was at once solved. I remembered at once
precisely similar things which came from China, which I had
seen at home, and in making which sculpture has not the
least place.
The tapestries in this and the large palace are exceedingly
fine. They do not, I think, equal the Gobelins in the per-
fect manner of execution ; are less smooth, less like the finest
painting. But they are full of spirit, full of character, and
do infinite credit to their authors, if such a word be properly
applied here. I was perfectly delighted with these speci-
mens of a rarely used art, and which in France is a govern-
ment monoply, so close that not the smallest specimen can
be obtained. These tapestries are ver>^ large, covering the
entire walls. Their subjects are very strangely selected, being
frequently from Teniers, and are full of life and fun. I think
a day may be usefully given to the examination of these
502 jour:n'AL.
works. Embroideries are here of silk and gold from royal
hands, and others, — and inlaid ^yOik, by one of the kings, —
which are exquisite in their kinds. He seems to have had
the mechanical turn of Peter Veliki of Russia, and to have
put it to as practical an account. Woods and gold, the
latter especially, are employed in this inlaid work. Oak
being the wood which gives form to specimens of the work
here, and this is generally the wood employed. Doors,
linings of rooms, &c., are thus ornamented. The time
spent in these works must have been very great, and per-
haps royal time has been rarely more innocently employed.
While in the closet of Philip, I made the following record
of my visit, sitting at his simple table, in his simpler chair.
The matter recorded shall be yours in private.
An English gentleman whose acquaintance I had made at
the Fonda, was my companion at the Escorial. He was
travelling with his servant, and having entered Spain from
the Mediterranean, gave very pleasant accounts of that part
of the country opposite to that by which I had entered it.
He seemed to be a thoroughly educated man, and of excellent
manners. We sat upon a lov/ stone wall under some Linden
trees waiting for the porter of the gate to the grounds of
the Casino. We fell into talk, and by accident America
was mentioned. Something was said which led me to talk
about home, and I gave a sketch of our government, — that
of the general, and the state governments, — of the powers
yielded and reserved by the latter, and the harmony which
was preserved, where there might be supposed to be antag-
onisms to disturb relations or operations. Religious, judi-
cial, and educational systems and interests were alluded to.
Mr. — — was much interested in all this, and at length
asked, and with some emphasis, how I had got all this
knowledge of a country so remote from home, and about
which his knowledge was so very vague. I answered, that
it was in the most natural way in the world, for I was born
in America, and was now a traveller in Spain just as was he.
JOURNAL. 503
I was sorry to lose an acquaintance so accidentally made, and
which had become so pleasant to me. I sat next him at
table in ]\Iadrid, and had already talked with him, and was
soon to leave him forever. It is one of the most agreeable
accidents of foreign travel to make just such companionships
as these. It is one of its most unpleasant experiences,
almost daily, to see them dissolved.
The time to leave the Escorial was at hand, and the dili-
gence at the gate. It was crowded full, and I was forced to
take a seat behind the banquette, unprotected from a sun of
burning power. The road is horrid, and such were the
plunges, pitches, and lateral tiltings, that I thought it would
"be a gone goose" with me soon. And much talk was
there as to the best course if the centre of gravity of the
diligence should fall out of its base. At length the sun
went down. And what a twilight. The sky grew ebony
dark, overhead. The stars at once appeared. The twilight
reached a short distance from the edge of the horizon, per-
haps a sixth from the zenith, and instead of being diffused,
made almost a line at the blue-black of the sky to which it
reached. It was a bright yellow, and the deep blue instead
of making a clean line of demarcation, seemed as if shaken
down into the twilight, still not becoming diffused in it, but
preserving its form and colour perfectly. It was the most
beautiful as well as the most novel meteorological phenom-
enon to my experience. You may not understand me, but
believe me when I assure you that I have never witnessed
such a vision of departing day. With what a grace did it
say farewell, — with what a prophecy of " good night." I
am conscious of very little, if any, imaginative or descriptive
power. And I assure you in the midst of so much truth,
so much fact, I look upon my work of description poor
indeed. Nay, I should feel ashamed at such times, and in
such memories, to think of myself, or mine, at all. In
silence, in the utter absence of all active or acting power
w ould I live in the presence of such manifestations of out
504 JOURNAL.
ward power and surpassing beauty, until I had made it all
my own. If you would make a man humble, place him in
the midst of nature, — inaccessible mountains, — the cataract,
— the outlet, the by-way of a lake or sea. Place him in the
midst and presence of the infinite, — to him, the impossible.
He may be in his aspirations an angel, — in his conscious-
ness, only a man. Two men, one very tall, one very short,
were wandering afoot among the Alps. They were in a
region from which rose a mountain, almost perpendicularly,
to a very great height. They reached a spot from which
they could see this mural mountain in its full elevation.
They stopped. They were silent. At length said W. the
short to R. the tall, '" R. I do not know how you feel, but I
feel — very small ! "
About nine, we reached Madrid, having passed the whole
day at the Escorial. The city was alive with its crowds,
and glaring with its lamps. The cry of " Fresh water,"
was on all sides. We walked the tired mules to the post-
house, and walked our tired selves to the Fonda Peninsu-
lares. Got dinner at ten, and went willingly to bed.
Having made my arrangements, I left Madrid Aug. 25th.
After passing through mou.ntainous regions, we came, one
afternoon, to where the mountain sides were wooded, with
wide valleys of well treated soil. Where we were, was not
a cloud, — the sun shining with full but not burning bright-
ness. At a distance there was heavy rain. At length we
got very near to it. It was not moving clouds, but the
simple condensation of the atmosphere's moisture, into an
universal mist, or heavier rain. Our distance from it grew
less and less, and at length our region of sunshine trenched
upon that of rain at our right side. Here a novel appear-
ance showed itself. A rainbow of perfect form and colours,
with one limb resting among the trees of an orchard one
field only from us, and near a farm-house, the other obliquely
stretching till ending in the near horizon. It was thus seen
in ijerspective. Understand now that this beautiful bow was
JOURNAL. 605
so close at hand that I could, in a minute or two, have
reached its nearest limb, — stood in the midst of its gor-
geous colourings. The effect of the trees was very curious.
In their motions they broke up the portion of the bow near-
est them, and the different colours were thus showered
among the leaves and branches. You cannot tell how' grand
was the effect. The bow was very large. It lay upon, or
rather against the mountain- side, which was covered with
mist or rain as with a garment, — dark, almost black, — the
bow itself in the purest light, declaring itself in all the
colours of the ray. I examined it with my glass, and was
struck with the strong line of demarcation of each colour.
I was looking into the secrets of nature, and was seeing
her at work in the most exquisitely beautiful recess of her
vast laboratory. It was all new, and left an impression
which I have tried to sketch in my description. With me,
few things of the external world are so vivid and lasting as
are the effects, or better, the creations of light. The light,
in its livery, — colour, — reaches the brain by the shortest
passage. It is not, as is hearing, a vibration of the atmos-
phere, which at length strikes the drum of the ear, and
which, like other drums when struck, makes a noise in the
head. It is the light itself, — if I may so say, —
" br-ffht effluence of bright essence,"
which passes straight into the brain, and there tells its own
wondrous story. It has to me more of the spiritual than
has any other thing around me; and now past one, A. m.,
in Paris, these dim candles of mine sustain me in relation
with the universe, as no other medium of intercourse
with the outward can, or does. I hear now and then the
carriage-wheels below in Rue Kivoli, and the uncertain voices
of men, and the near and the distant clock. But all these
are fragmentary, — broken, — accidental. The light is con-
tinuous, — always the same, — a bright cheerful spirit which
turns all things into itself. With such a strange present
43
506 JOURiS-AL.
before me, I love to pay my allegiance to that which gives
to me that present as it is. Would that in my fealty I had
a pleasure as pure as is the object itself.
Retukn to Pakis. — When I left Paris public activity
was manifesting itself everywhere. Streets were changing
in surface and extent. Rue Rivoli was on its way to the
Place Bastile, which reached, would make it four or five
miles long. Three hundred houses or more had been
pulled down to make room for finishing the Palace, and
this work was at once to proceed. Private houses were
changing, by new fronts, or by raising roofs. Great public
sewers were in hand, and repairs to public buildings. In
the streets were stone-cutters at work under sheds, j^repar-
ing materials for various and new enterprises. I asked a
friend, with whom I was walking one day, what this all
meant. Paris seemed to be undergoing a revolution. Said
he, I have been told that the Prince has addressed a note
to owners of real estate, calling upon them to make work
on their houses, to give employment to crowds of people in
Paris, who, if not so employed, might make appropriations of
property, and some things beside, which might put them to
much trouble. Now, of the truth of this I know nothing.
But I do know that in no city, even in St. Petersburg,
where a vast amount of out door work is always in hand,
have I seen anything like the restless activity everywhere
showed here. I think, yesterday, in driving to a place, the
drive was lengthened full half a mile by turns out and
round, in consequence of the broken state of the streets,
and the great masses building of materials. Now, I was told
this state of things had reference to one great point, the
establishment of the government. Keep Paris emjDloyed,
and France is employed. When no longer needed, — the
object being attained, — these crowds will be employed else-
where, upon railways, and other public works, and thus
Paris will be relieved, and the public peace secured. Em-
ployment identifies the employed with his work, and makes
JOURNAL. 507
sympathy too, between the employed and the employer. A
man will not willingly destroy the work of his own hands.
A government which, by any means, brings different classes
at all into sympathy, secures itself ; for it thus makes itself
the expression and the fact of the widest mutual interests,
and has availed itself of the best means of public and of
individual safety. At what small cost is not important work
done ? I asked the wages of a common labourer. A franc
a day, I was answered. You may think this a very small
outlay for the public safety, — one fifth of a dollar. Yes.
But you are looking at the subject from a point which
should not be assumed for comparison, namely, the pay of
an American labourer, for while that may exceed that of
the Parisian five times, it will go no farther in the market
than does the single franc.
Come with me into France. Come with your eyes,
your mind, and heart open, and look upon one of the most
extraordinary portions of the universe. Go north, — go
south. Go where you v/ill, and tell me where is better
soil, better cultivation, larger or better products- Come
into the city, — come into Paris, and tell me where is
industry more industrious, labour more abundant, and the
returns of which do more, or better for its support? I
know it is said the government is the source of all this, and
that it does it to secure stability. What better can govern-
ment do than to establish itself in the comfort, the satis-
factions, the present, and remunerative energies of its
subjects : "What may come, time only can show. A stable
government is not necessarily a despotism, and there may
be occasions in wliich an admixture of despotism would
be better than the semi-anarchy of so-called free states.
True conservatism is an expression of power. Here in
France, are about forty millions of people, trying the ex-
periment of a republican form of government, with a con-
stitution, — representatives, — an elective President, In
the success of such a government, in the central power of
508 JOIJENAL.
European civilization, the world might rejoice. If the time
for it have not come, — if the experiment fail, men and ages
may have to wait for what the present was not yet ready.
It is a strange thing this experimenting on government, —
this instability in the action of the very heart of society, —
the source and organ of a nation's vitality. None of us
know what a day may bring forth. It is a harder ignorance
which knows not if it will bring forth anything. Experi-
ments concerning government have uncertainty attached to
them, from the very nature of things ; and are, hence, the
very worst Avhich can be attempted. In America stability
is looked for in popular education, universal equality, and a
written constitution. And in America there is a revolution
every four years. The whole working j)ower of the State is
changed, and the constitution used according to its con-
struction by the temporary head. It is a written constitu-
tion. It was the product of the time, — made for the
occasion. Now the slightest degree of human progress
must carry the State beyond a rule which suited an
earlier ,time. A state, like a man, may, and should be,
wiser to-day than it was yesterday. In a country of an
unwritten constitution, government is the adaptation of
rule or law to the present condition of the State, in regard
to everything which enters into the idea and fact of a State.
That which has been deliberately settled, and by the high-
est judicial power, becomes a part of the constitution, — a
member of the Common Law, which has its perpetuity in
the principle out of which it has been evolved, and which
it has brought into living action. The unwritten consti-
tution of England is in mind, and which is so admirably
and beautifully unfolded in the history of England, by Sir
James Mackintosh, to whom the present age owes so much,
and who will be the teacher of times long to come. You see
in this work how the English constitution has kept equal
step with the political and social developments of that great
State. I was reminded while reading it, of the growth of
JOURNAL. 509
England's own majestic oak, which, springing from the acorn,
becomes the monarch of the trees. So does that unwritten
constitution, the growth of precedent, spread itself everj^-
where, — reaching to every interest, and sheltering and
protecting everj-thing it overshadows.
But the American constitution is a compromise, — a bar-
gain, — a contract. A compromise is not a principle.
There are pay'ties to it, and interests are of course diverse,
or compromise would be as unnecessary as absurd. There
must be sacrifice in the adjustment and operation of such
an instrument. Let now a contract be made, as perfect
as language can make it, and we are told a skilful lawyer
can, and if need be, will, drive a coach and six through it.
The American constitution, we are told, with what truth I
know not, has been desperately treated in this way, — that
coaches, not with six, but with fifty horses, have been driven
through it in every direction, till the ruts have become so
wide and so deep, that one can hardly see the original sur-
face anywhere. What is the foundation of this assertion, it
is not necessary to ask, or to discuss.
It will be conceded that what is wanted in every govern-
ment is power. The only questions are of its amount and
use. Said one to me in France, " A slight infusion of des-
potism is useful in any government." There is an instinct
in the recognition of true power, and in submission to it.
There comes of it moral safety, — the feeling, that come, what
come may, there has been a preparation for it in government,
whatever be its origin, growth, or form. Somebody, or
something, is answerable for your well being, — whether a
limited monarchy, an irresponsible despotism, or an other-
wise, reckless republic. He is the happiest child who, in his
personal relations to others, has exercised the least will, —
or who has learned that in duty, — in obeying others, — he
has his best freedom, and pleasure. The absolute, the felt,
and the acknowledged supremacy of a government acts upon
the State, just as does the same thing upon the family. Its
43*
510 JOTJBNAL.
products are public order, — the general, and individual
prosperity. I
The civil or social life of Paris, at first sight, so nearly
resembles that of every large city, that you may not be
aware of the difference. But look at it in detail. Here is
a million, more or less, of people, living on a surface hardly
large enough for their business, and dwellings. But there
are no conflicts, noises, confusions. Everybody attends to his
affairs, without troubling others in theirs. Here is heavy
work, — large wagons, and horses, but the streets are wide,
well paved, and so collision and injury prevented. The
universal order attracts you, and so does the co-extensive
courtesy. This last must be atmospheric. Nothing that is
less universal than light and air could produce it. There is
no necessary discomfort, if rules are not broken. People
yield unimportant points, and thus is compensation made
for the accidental, and, it may be, unavoidable breach of
custom. A stranger feels this. He has not the rule by
head, or by heart, and may get into a thousand snarls ; but
he is gently put right, or rights himself, and there an end.
The sidewalk is everybody's property. There sits a man
near a cafe door. He takes a chair. He sips his coffee,
and it may be something else, and stronger, and he goes his
way, I have no doubt, rejoicing. You see these chairs and
tables often. Suppose you are tired. There is the chair.
You sit down. A servant comes out and asks your want.
You say nothing. He goes in. Another comes, and if
you do not take the hint, the whole of Banquo's line may
succeed. In short, the chairs are for eaters, drinkers, and
smokers, not for simple useless sitters. Go upon the Bou-
levards after dinner, or in the evening, and you will see
Paris out-door life more declared. You may see family
parties everywhere. This out-door life I first saw in Ger-
many. But there it is in gardens, in city, or suburbs, not
as in Paris in the streets. To be sure all classes partake in
these pleasures. So do they here, and as courtesy is the
JOUHNAL. 511
rule of social life, there is no inconvenience in the gene-
rality of the custom. It has not had its source in accidents,
and is hence permanent. Fashion has not dared to inter-
fere with it. There is freedom, ease, in the daily intercourse
of life. A Frenchman does not so stand upon his dignity
as to make himself disagreeable. The direct patronage of
the government, as seen in the distribution of honours,
whether scientific, literary, or military, lessens distance
between classes and orders. A celebrated surgical instru-
ment maker wears a red ribbon at his button-hole ; and
so does Baron Louis, the most renowned member of his
profession ; and how largely are Eagles distributed among
the military, may be seen everywhere. Just keep your eyes
open, and Paris will reveal to you all its mysteries. Paris
has no mysteries.
You may hear of uneasiness as to the state of things.
But I fancy this does not reach very far down into society,
and there are arrangements by which to prevent trouble.
Thus the sale of gunpowder is guarded. A certain quan-
tity only can be sold to one and the same person at one
time, nor can the sale be repeated till a fixed time after. A
registry is kept of every purchase, when bought, by whom,
where residing, for what purpose, quantity. In short, every-
thing is done to prevent the accumulation of gunpowder
in the hands of the people. Its sale is free elsewhere.
Farther security is found in the organization of the National
Guard ; for it embraces men of wealth, business and charac-
ter, who serve for limited periods, and for the reason that
they have the deepest interest in the public order, as they
have most at stake. In the siege of New Orleans, large
quantities of cotton, in bags, had been taken by order of
General Jackson, and used for defence. An owner of some
of this cotton complained of this use of his property, thus
taken by eminent domain, saying that it was in danger.
" Take a gun, then," said that commander, iclio was one,
" and stand by, and defend it." I remember that in Ham-
512 JOURNAL.
burg the militia system, or annual or triennial service in the
Guards, was required of every citizen. A gentleman from
whom I learned this, told me that he was at that moment
in that service. The government patronage of the business
operations of private individuals, is another security to
property. The government comes to have an interest in
those operations. Thus, at Didot's establishment the other
day, I was showed volume after volume, of enormous and
splendid folio editions of most important works, in the pub-
lication of which the government is directly concerned.
This connection of the government in such enterprises,
secures the uses of them throughout the world, as the price
is brought within the means of individuals, as well as of
colleges, universities, states. Nay, I was told by one who
knew, and with whom I went to, and examined Didot's
great establishment, that these books may be purchased as
cheaply, if not cheaper, in America than in Paris. How
much is it the direct interest of Didot et Freres, that there
should be quiet, public order in Paris, and how reasonable
that they should be, as they are, among its direct agents ?
The government, then, does not go beyond or behind the
record. Abroad the law is made, and must be obeyed ; and it
is clear, that the men on whom every State depends, both for
its permanency and present well-being, and doing, are here
perfectly well satisfied. They know too well at what a
hazard have been placed both life and property by experi-
ments, for a so-called higher good. They, or some of them,
have lived through these, and have invariably returned or
been brought back, to the tried, in full knowledge of its im-
perfections, nay, of its wrongs, being willing to wait for a
progress which shall be a true growth, and better, perhaps,
because it is slow ; rather than make a leap in the dark, for
that which is not, and which, under the circumstances, can-
not now be, or which would not endure. When Talleyrand
gave in his oath of allegiance to Louis Philippe, he said,
" I have done it so many times, that I hope this will be the
last." What a comment on revolutions.
JOUKNAL. 513
When looking at the attempted revolutions of other
countries, the American is apt to see them in the light of
his own. But there is no parallelism between them. The
fathers of America, the U. S. A., were intelligent, educated
men, — officers, soldiers and all. They understood the
whole mystery of the various relations which keep a true
society together. They came from England, or remained
a part of it, — America, the richest jewel in its crown.
They knew when they were oppressed, because oppression
had not been the rule, and the exception could not be
tolerated. Everybody saw and felt this ; and when such
a people says " No ! " the " Yes " of a whole world's
despotism, means, and can do, nothing. And who in Ame-
rica made a rebellion, which became a revolution ? Every-
body. Did not the mechanic, and the farmer, do as much,
in that world-renowned work, as did any body else ? What
were Franklin, and Greene, and Revere ? Mechanics, work-
ing mechanics, in those days and years of every man's life,
which are years, — which give growth to the mind, and
character to the man, and which especially prepare him for
the highest, noblest accomplishments. The American should
remember so much of his nation's history when he would
compare its revolution with attempted imitations abroad.
The latter have failed, not because there was not occasion for
such sublime efforts, and aspirations, — the rising of nations
for freedom. O, no. There was occasion. But the appre-
hension, — the knowledge of individual or national wrong,
however great, does not always bring with it the means of
removing it, or such uses of them as will surely accomplish
the object. Hence failure. I have instanced the expe-
rience of France. How easy to show the like result in the
experiences of other nations. In America, the possibility
of a nation's governing itself, was an experiment, as it was
with them. There are thinking men, at this moment, who
doubt if the solution of the problem is yet reached.
You cannot understand my feelings, when walking about
514 JOURNAL.
Paris, and when what I have heard of apprehension, and
of preventives of outbreak, recur to me. The peace is per-
fect. The life of efficient action, — the variety of occupa-
tion, and its serious pursuit, — tlie wealth, the comfort, —
whatever I see in these walks, gives the lie to reports and
fears with which there is no outward harmony, and of Avhich
the real, — the existing, is no prophecy. The thought
has occurred to me, that there is something deeper in all
these guards, — these attempts to prevent danger, than
appears. They sometimes strike me, when compared to the
actual state of things, to be the expressions of useful power,
rather than of fear. They are the evidences of just so much
active power as may be thought needful for the permanency
of things ; and in directions, and by means, wdiich secure
personal comfort, pleasure, safety, and which, at the same
time, by regulating use, may prevent the abuse of important
privileges. I said expression of power, and not of fear.
My argument for this is found as already stated, in the
actual state of things, — the regular, uninterrupted pursuit
of the ordinary avocations of every-day life, — labour and
its products, — content everywhere, — the ends of govern-
ment answered.
Among other calls was one on Baron Louis, who has
done so much for his profession, which has been for his, and
its perpetual honour, and by which the world has been
daily blessed. I was showed into his parlour, or recej^tion
room. Here were some pictures, and on his table a few
volumes. I was curious to know what. Among them were
Fontaine's Fables, — a work on the habits of animals, —
Montesquieu on the Causes of the Greatness and Fall of the
Romans, and a new book, of which the title has escaped
me. After a time, in which I read among others, the fable
of the visit of the Country Rat to the City Rat, in Fontaine,
and which, for a moment, seemed to have a parallel in some
late personal experiences, I was called in to see Louis.
He met me at the door in a most friendly manner, and with
JOURNAL. 515
an expression that satisfied me at once, that if the world had
been benefitted by his discoveries in medical science, those
who came within the sphere of his personal influence, must
have gained even more. It is not possible to describe a smile ;
nor to write down what it is which wins you to a man at
first sight. I knew that my old and most kind friend, Dr.
James Jackson, of Boston, had, in a letter, recommended
me to Baron Louis, and his reception of me, I have no
doubt, had derived its character from the letter. But
there was, aside from, and beyond all this, the native cour-
tesy and kindness, which have their sources deep down in
the nature, and which declare themselves, as does the voice,
the walk, the whole manner of the man. Dr. Johnson
said, that should any one meet Mr. Burke under an arch to
protect himself from a passing shower, he would say he had
seen the greatest man in England. Is it not a pleasant, is
it not more, a grand, a noble thing, to carry yourself always
about with you, — yes, to live so much in the truth, as to
afibrd to show what you are ? I felt that I was in the pres-
ence of such a man, — whose smile was a benediction, and
whose welcome, %velcomed me. I found that Baron Louis
did not speak, or understand, a word of English, and my
poor French was not so good as his whole ignorance. But
we began to talk. He in a very quiet, slow manner, and
with such precision of enunciation, that I understood him
quite well, and the inspiration of his whole manner seemed
to enlarge my vocabulary, and not. only so, but to arrange
the words also, and thus to enable me with some facility to
talk. I am sure that a very little more time and talk here,
would make me a much better understood companion than
at present I am. Baron Louis spoke of Dr. Jackson, and
rose and went to a drawer, and brought from it a daguerreo-
type likeness of him, which, after wiping with great care,
he placed in my hand. It was clear how glad he was to
possess this likeness of his valued and distant friend. I
was very much struck with Louis' whole manner and face.
516 JOURNAL.
I said to him, " Baron, your portrait in America does you
no justice." He has a fine manly head. He uses it and his
face in talking, and there is so much kindliness in his
expression, and at the same time so much force, that you
are wholly won by it. In his portrait there is, if I mistake
not, a stoop in the shoulders, or the head is bent down, or
forward. His glasses are, I think, on, and the expression,
if not of sadness, is certainly not at all of the opposite.
Now in his presence you discover nothing of all this. He
is active in his manner, not noisy, or rapid, but still discov-
ering promptness in his movement or action. I should
think he is not a slow thinker ^ He will get the evidence,
and use it, but wisely. He will not let his judgments be
overlaid by it, but still the evidence of well ascertained
facts will always be justly valued by him. I did not won-
der at the popular confidence in Baron Louis' professional
opinions. I have no doubt, as a physician, he affects the
patient most agreeably. He shows how thorough is his
knowledge, and secures confidence before he has declared
his judgment. I was sorry to leave Baron Louis. But I
knew how valuable was his time, and that now was his
hour of visits, or consultations. I rose to leave him. He
asked if I had seen any physicians, for I told him I would
thank him for a line by which to visit the hospitals. He
most kindly gave me the addresses of Jobert and Dubois,
and ofi'ered me his services if they would in any way aid
me. I am truly glad to have seen Louis at home. I had
seen him with my mind's eye, through his works, and in his
picture owned here. Let me not diminish the value of this
portrait one particle. I had only the memory of it, when
in the presence of the original, and I am fully aware of the
error into which such means of comparison may lead. I
highly prize a portrait made by a good artist, as an attempt
to represent the sitter himself, though it should fail to give
his habitual expression. It would, after all, give the whole
impression of the painter; and this, as far as it is truly
JOUKNAL. 517
given, would be a true portrait. Louis must have altered
in the years which have elapsed since his was taken ; and,
as a distinguished friend once said to me, that time always
improves moral and intellectual expression, where the mind
and the heart are developed by its discipline, I might now
be looking at a wiser, and hence a more truly social man,
than was he many years before it was my great privilege to
see and to know him. Thus this Paris day has had much
in it for present satisfaction, and for grateful memory. In
this vast city, — the queen city of the world, — where are
such crowds of men, and such diverse interests, I have
not felt that I was a stranger. I have felt what I have
so often experienced in my wide and strange rambles, from
Moscow to Madrid, over so much of Europe, that where
man is in his truth and simplicity, — beyond the tyranny of
cold conventions, — we may always find hearts to love, and
intellects to reverence ; and where they exist together, and
act in a true harmony, we ourselves cannot but be made
wiser, happier, and better.
Dieppe. — Left Paris August 8th, a. m., for Dieppe,
by rail, with some Americans, on the way to London. We
got into different carriages, and my companions were now
all foreigners. I never regret this, as my chiefest interest
abroad is in the society of those who are native to the
regions I am visiting. The company to-day was excellent.
We just filled the carriage, and had neither loss nor addi-
tion through the route. There was an English lady, a gov-
erness, with three very pleasing girls, who had just finished
their Paris education, — an English gentleman attached to
the government, with a younger one, his companion, — and
another gentleman, who said not a word all day. They, the
talkers, were pleasant and intelligent, full of interest in
everything they saw, and largely endowed with that spectacle
vision which sees everything, and fits them to know every-
thing at sight, as well as if grown up in it. One who sat
44
518 JOUKNAL.
next me had passed much of his early life in Paris. I
asked him of the schools. He said they were good. Chil-
dren are fitted in them for the more advanced studies of
college. The expense is small. The system of primary
instruction, he said, is excellent. In the advanced ones pre-
paration for the professions is made. " Any young man,"
said he, " who faithfully studies there, will leave his college
with intellectual habits formed and fitted for the important
business of life." He spoke as one who knew that about
which he was talking. It was clear he had been in good
society, — of literary men, and especially artists, of whom
he spoke with great interest. The lady governess said
much of the Paris schools, of their increasing numbers, and
of the thoroughness of their discipline. A great many
English girls, she said, were educated in Paris, and the
number was constantly increasing. The care of English
parents was seen in this provision for an accomplished com-
panion for their children in their foreign education. The
impression left by this conversation, with competent v/it-
nesses, was, that the schools in Paris were well adminis-
tered, offering excellent opportunities for accomplishing
their objects. There is another class of teachers. These
are of the church, — sisters of charity, nuns, and mem-
bers of various religious orders. You see these with their
scholars in nice uniform, and looking in perfect health,
going about in procession, for exercise and amusement.
One of these especially attracted my attention in Castiglione
Street, the morning I left Paris. It is to me always a mat-
ter of interest and of pleasure, to see religion, no matter
how formal its expression, or what may be its creed, when
it thus enters into external and out-door life ; and if not
exactly lifting up its voice in the streets, showing itself in
one of its chiefest offices, — the teacher, — the companion,
— the friend of the young, and often of the poor.
Early in the afternoon we reached Dieppe, and went at
once to the pier for the steamer. She had not arrived, and
JOUEXAIi. 519
for our farther comfort, learned that it was of all things the
most uncertain when she would come, and the very certain
one, that the later her advent, the sooner would be her
departure for England.
At length the steamer was reported in sight, and off we
all started to welcome her approach. We were soon aboard,
and the craft under Aveigh. The breeze was getting stronger,
and very respectable waves were dashing against the piers.
Upon getting aboard, my instinct was to go into the saloon,
and select and mark a place upon which to pass as much of
the time as sickness and fatigue might make desirable. I
did this, and my umbrella was left to represent me. Again
upon deck, and at sea. The wind was most refreshing, and
over the waves went our boat, hardly keel deep in the brine,
and making every sort of movement, as if wooing the sea
into kindness for her. It was bowing and courtseying, —
affectedly sideling, — in short, as full of life and play as a
very child. I stood my ground pretty well, resolved not to
go below until it was not possible to keep on deck any
longer. Upon the deck was the stairway to the saloon, and
a covering to it to protect the cabin from seas which might
be shipped, and making a convenient centre about which
passengers might collect and talk, and smoke, and drink.
This last occupation interested me in its present example.
Among the passengers were some Englishmen who joined
us at Dieppe. They formed a distinct group, and took their
station, which they did not leave while I was on deck.
They were representatives of their order, in the fullest use
of the word ; broad, stout, heavy, with most rubicund faces.
The blood seemed so near the surface, that you almost stood
aside lest it should burst out upon you. They smoked and
drank. The drinking was novel. They had provided
among their small stores for the voyage, a very large and
tall black bottle with an ample mon.th. One would take it
in two hands, having removed the easy cork, and raising it
to his mouth would take an exceedingly " long pull," then
520 JOURNAL.
with the palm of his hand or wrist he wiped the bottle's
mouth and his own clean, and handed the lighter bottle to
his neighbor, and he having had his drink to ttie next, till
the circle was complete, — a very short cycle, I assure you.
What was in the bottle I know not ; but it was easy to see
that under its influences the laugh, and of course, the wit,
grew stronger and stronger, and the complexion lost none of
its colour.
The wind grew fresher and fresher, and the sea rougher
and rougher. The spray began to fly, until it was impossi-
ble for me to weather it any longer, and I partook myself to
the saloon. The prelusory notes of sickness had been
pretty intelligibly sounded on deck, and it was with stagger
and plunge I reached my " reserved seat," and stretched
myself out for rest. Soon after, the ladies of the railway
passage came in. They had found their own apartment so
close, so uncomfortable, that they were forced to try the
freer air of the general cabin. Then came down the tall
young man, the companion of the older gentleman before
spoken of. He was the sickest looking person I ever saw,
for I never look into a glass when I am in like strait. He
was soon provided with a sea bucket of unusual height, and
sitting down, put it between his knees, resting his elbows on
them, with his head between his hands, " meditating the
deep profound below." And then such unearthly sounds
as came from him, as of rushing mighty waters through a
narrow channel, and roaring to find themselves free. I am
conversant with the sounds of sickness, death-like in every-
thing but its interposed groans. To me its effect was
strange. I was cured at once of my own threatenings,
showing how much sea-sickness has to do with the mind,
according to the theories of certain medical dreamers, who
were never sea-sick in their lives. In the midst of this
scene, our Knights of the Order of the Great Bottle came
down. It was dinner-time, and the table had been laid in
the saloon for them and all other would-be eaters. The
JOUHJSAL. 521
tall young man was not one of these. Our rosy friends
looked round at their fellow passengers, standing in a group
just at the door of the saloon, as if struck death-still by the
scene before them. Here were the ladies and others, lying
about as best pleased them ; and there was the tall sea-
bucket, and the tall young man. Said one, " Johnson, a
fever hospital I " " Wilson," said another, " a fever hos-
pital ! ! " more emphatic. The soup was put on the table,
when there came from the bucket more appalling sounds
than ever. " For 's sake," cried one, " what, what is
hat ? " He almost looked pale. And I did not wonder.
I thought that case was over ; though I saw there had not
been the least change of place in that strange group, —
bucket and company. I do not exaggerate, but the scene
went on without interruption. I thought of the camel, and
of his many stomachs, and how carefully he fills them to
serve him across the desert. But the tall young man beat
the camel all hollow. There was no end to him. Said I,
he must have soma mysterious connection with the Channel,
and yet surely he is not a sea nymph !
But our Englishry--' were not to be driven from a dinner
in this way. They took their seats. These were sofas
with moveable backs, — the backs being only used at meals.
Everything was going on well. The soup was duly dis-
cussed, and other courses followed. All of a sudden the
boat made a most marked change in her position. A sea
had struck her, or the wind, and over she came. I really
think so far was she from horizontal, that her keel must
have been out of water. The back of the sofa, which was
towards me, was taken in an instant out of its place, and
with it went two of our Englishry with an accompaniment of
dishes and their contents, which attracted general regard.
The scene "was irresistible, and except the hero of the bucket,
everybody screamed with laughter. The red faced men
* See Macaulay, passim.
44*
522 JOURNAL.
absolutely roared in chorus. The fallen soon picked them-
selves up, and the servants did the same for the dishes.
Order ^vas restored, and on we drove for England.
Newhayen. — It was late before we arrived at Newhaven,
and the older and the younger gentlemen, with myself, con-
cluded to rest there, and take an early train for London.
At some distance, in the more settled part of the town, we
were told was a good hoi^se. But there was another near
to the steamers' and the railroad station, and we stopped
there. The place was impromising and desolate. It was
the jinisterre of the island in this direction, and close
upon the sea. The house was so small that the broad sign-
board which announced it to be the London Hotel, almost
covered the front. We engaged the only two rooms which
were devoted to travellers, and went into the saloon. It
was for many purposes, — eating, smoking, and drinking.
I wondered our stout friends of the voyage had not learned
these particulars before we did. It was pleasant to get at
rest, — to be relieved of that sickness which nothing but the
sea can make, and in my case at least, nothing but the land
can cure. We sat down. We took our ease in our inn.
We had tea. We talked till after midnight. Said the
gentleman, he with whom I had talked in the carriage and
in the steamer, " I have passed so much time with you, sir,
and have had so much pleasant talk, that I hope you will
pardon, and grant the request I am about to make ; it is to
learn your name. Mine is C. W." I gave him mine,
when he very slowly rose and said, " Were you acquainted
with the late Rev. Dr. Channing ? " I said yes, — that I was
his brother. Mr. W. now advanced towards me, offered his
hand, and asked the honor of mine. He spoke of the pleas-
ure and instruction he had derived from your uncle's writ-.
ings, and many more things with which I will not burden
you. Said he finally, " I wish it were in my power to man-
ifest my respect and regard for you; but in this house I
JOURNAL. 523
know of nothing I can offer you, not even a glass of wine.
Will you do me the favour to drink a glass of ivhiskey
punch 1 I promised, you know, in the beginning, that I
would be "an honest chronicler," and if after this voyage
from Dieppe, and my night at Newhaven, you question my
claim to that character, I promise never to keep a journal
for you again.
The next morning found me early on the beach near the
hotel. The night had been passed very comfortably, the
bed was excellent, and its furniture as white and as perfectly
clean, as you always find them to be in English inns. The
breakfast was excellent ; and at seven, we left in the Parlia-
ment train for London, at one penny a mile. Reached
London, and stopped two or three days to attend to some
business before I turned my face northward. This matter
being dispatched, I started from Euston Square in the train
for Edinburgh, where I duly arrived.
How different everything in Great Britain from everything
I had left across the Channel. Here is my native language,
my ancestry. I am at home again. Yes,
Cliatliam's language is my mother tongue.
The faces I knew at once to be of my own race. They
were the same, and the manners, and the dress. Well
dressed people dress alike everywhere. The French, the
German, the English coat fits the American. In many
respects is England like home. You go from place to place
without asking leave. Your passport rests quietly in your
pocket. You came into the country without let or hin-
drance, and so you may leave it. You hear the old noises
in the streets, — the heavy rumbling of the overloaded wain,
and the noisy persuasions of the weary horse, — the loud
talk, — the frequent oath, — the occasional drunkenness, —
home everywhere. In half a century things had changed,
but men and women, — an entirely different generation, —
were the same, as that of near fifty years ago. London and
524 JOURNAL.
Edinburgh I hardly knew, so changed were they. Streets,
squares, bridges, — yes, London Bridge is not in its place.
It has floated off down stream, and in Edinburgh the Old
Town has become as the New.
Edinburgh. — September. — Here am I in Edinburgh. I
have always held this ancient city in cherished remembrance.
Thought I, it is almost half a century gone since 1 lived at
Steedman's Lodgings in College Street, opposite University
Gate. I was then a young man, a student of the University.
As I drove on towards Gibbs' in Prince St., I saw the Castle,
and at once I felt I was at home again, — the home of our
youth outlives the memory of all other homes.
There, watcliing high the least alarms,
Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar ;
Like some bold veteran, grey in arms
And marked with many a seamy scar.
The Castle was as I had seen it so many years ago. But
everywhere else change had done its work. There was still
the valley between Prince Street and the Old Town, which
I remembered as a rough, ill-looking place used for the city
refuse in various kinds, — a nuisance which everybody
wished abated, but for doing which nobody was prepared
with a plan. One use I well remember it was put to. The
keeper of a caravan of wild animals had selected it for a
temporary stopping place for the exhibition of his strange
charge. How altered now. It is a fine walk, — a garden,
— a park, — with trees, and shrubs, and greensward, and
flowers, — as carefully kept as a gentleman's private
grounds. Trees were here which many years had matured,
and which, in their vigourous life, promised for many, many
years to come, to ornament and bless the city. Then, what
adornment of the city on all hands with statues, monuments,
public buildings, with all the means by which to address the
heart and mind, — to develope power and taste, and thus
JOURNAL. 525
to give to tlie whole people an interest in what is worthy
their care and reverence. You see everywhere, in this Old
World this rejuvenescence by an uninterrupted progress in
art ; and in the estimation of what is produced, and which
is daily and hourly before the public eye. You mark the
progress of the individual and of society, and rejoice that
means of great cities and great states are wisely used. I
took rooms at Gibbs', — got out my portfolio, arranged my
table, and my drawers, and at once felt at home. After
an early dinner I went out for a stroll, and to leave a card
and letter, and in due time got back to my new quarters.
My call was on Prof. S. I had been back an hour or
two only, and was at work, when a knock at my door
attracted my attention. The door was opened, and Mr.
Gibbs himself, not his butler, came in with a gentleman
who was introduced to me as Prof. S.
I rose and said I was very, very glad to see him. He
begged me at once to put my traps into my portmanteau,
and to go immediately to his house, as I was, as he added,
to be his guest. I said I should be most happy to visit him,
but to bestow my tediousness upon him in the character of
a guest was a matter to be thought of. He said it must not
be thought of, — that his carriage was at the door, and that
I must at once go with him home. But, said I, I have just
taken rooms here, have arranged my affairs to stop here
some days, or weeks. What am I to do, Mr. Gibbs, ad-
dressing my host, who stood at the door with the Professor.
You certainly have some voice in this matter. " Oh, Sir,
said he, " we, here in Edinburgh, do pretty much as the
Professor says, and I do not see but you are to go." So I
rose, did as I was bid, and was soon at No. 52 with half my
lu^ga^e, the balance being to follow me in the morning.
CO O ' CI
The Professor's house is very large, and has a succession oi
rooms admirably arranged for family, friends, library, and
the vast amount of daily consultations, which from half-past
one to half-past five occur in it. Everything was on a gen-
520 JOITKNAL.
erous scale. The library is very large, — the book-cases of
oak, in Gothic, are in excellent taste. Everything here as
elsewhere being evidently arranged by a man of taste, and
for entire convenience. Professor S. finds time to give to
other matters beside the strictly professional. Archaeological
inquiries are favourites, and his hosts of friends furnish him
constantly with cui'ious relics of the former days in Scottish
and other history. The Roman period, which is still marked
by prominent Roman remains in Scotland, as walls, &c.,
furnish him excellent means for the study of the history
of that early time. He is constantly getting contributions
to other favourite studies, and his large wealth gives to him
the means of making the most of them, in drawings, en-
gravings, monographs, &c., of both curiosity and value.
His house is filled with presents of all sorts in nature and
art, — in books, pictures, engravings, — plants, animals, &c.,
&c. The books are of great value, — among them folio
copies of important works, — old books, or new ones,
— late editions of the curious in various departments of
literature. These are all read, — marked, — noted, — writ-
ten upon and about, as if their owner's life was one of purely
literary leisure. And all with ample time for making ex-
periments relating to the most recondite inquiries in physi-
ology, for the gratification of his ardent desire to advance
the domain of that noble science. I cannot tell where he
has failed to look, — to seek, to find, and you discover it all
in ways so pertinent to something in hand, or talk, and yet
so natural, so simple, that, as I said before, it all seems
purely accidental, — as having diverted him from no other
and permanent interest. And it has not. Look at his pro-
fessional life, — see how full of work, hard work, it is, —
which is not abated night or day, — in storm or shine. See
him with the daily crowds of patients, filling rooms, and
occupying him from noon to six, dinner time, and then see
him leave you without a word, and no matter how late you
sit up waiting for him, you must not go to bed without get-
JOURNAL. 527
ting his hearty good night, and to find him at breakfast at
half-past eight next morning, the first at table, unless he has
been called from bed, and has not yet got home. With
^ every sort of interruption, — apparently in the midst of all
confusions, you see a method running through it all, and
that he has a time, as well as a place, for everything, — and
that he is never in a hurry. It makes no odds who is the
person. If he is wanted, and another engagement is not on
hand, off he goes, as if the most important interest demanded
his time. And just such an interest is seen in what he has
in hand. What is fit to occupy him, is always with him
an important affair, and he treats it accordingly. I came
to his residence towards evening. I had just returned
from a journey of four hundred and fifty miles, most of it
by night, the whole night. He asked me to accompany
him to a professional consultation in the case of a poor
woman, which of course I did, and with great pleasure. It
was about twelve, midnight, w^hen we got home. W^e w-ent
to bed, but though I found he had been called out at night,
he was at breakfast as usual, and at noon we took rail for
Glasgow, fifty miles, — open boat to Ellensburg, six miles,
— coach to Luss, nine miles, — steamer to Tarbit, on Loch
Lomond, making about one hundred miles by all sorts of
conveyances, and over various ways. At Tarbit we re-
mained all night. Got good accommodations, though the
house was full, and a sort of double bedded chamber was
assigned us if we would take it. It w^as soon understood
that Prof. S. was in the house. At once he was consulted
about the hotel keeper's daughter's case, and then about the
keeper himself. He asked me to attend the case as con-
sulted physician. This of course I did. Everything now
changed. It was found there were two bed-chambers empty,
and these were now assigned to us. We were punctually
called at six, — got breakfast, and had our carriage at the
door before eight, and were on the way to Ardarroch, the
seat of , Esq., most splendidly and beautifully situated
528 JOUKNAL.
on the eastern side of Loch Long. Before leaving, we
called for our bills, and were informed that there were no
bills against us. We had been professionally consulted, and
of course, as was said, there was no charge against us. ^
" There," said the Prof., " that is the first money you have
made since you left home." I said it was so, and that I
was much pleased with it, and especially v/ith the manner
of making it.
Before going to bed, we wandered down to the shore of
Loch Lomond, and saw it in the darkness and silence of
night. The hotel boats were on the shore, and we took our
seats in one of them, looking for the moon which seemed
rising above the mountain, Ben Lomond ; but a heavy
mass of cloud heaved itself up faster than came the moon,
and like prudent men after a hard day's work, we returned
about eleven to the inn. I say day's work. The day you
remember had its night.
Ardahkoch. — Our way to Ardarroch, {the e7id of the
point,) lay through scenery which has been celebrated in
song and story, and which arrests the attention of all travel-
lers. We were most of the way on tSe borders of a lake,
on a road quite above it, which gave to it and to its sur-
roundings, just that indistinctness which is an element of
the picturesque. The heron could be seen skimming its
waters, but too far down for perfect vision. The bordering
mountains varying in direction, height, distance, and mas-
siveness, — these constituted the objects of paramount inter-
est in this Highland morning drive. There were clouds
above the mountains, and on the highest a mist now and
then veiled them. But the early sun was declaring his
power in the broad bright light he would now and then shed
upon some salient point, or over a broader surface, producing
effects of exquisite beauty. I was glad again to be among
these brother mountain groups,
" rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun."
JOUEXAL. 529
This is the last mountain passage in my rapid, but varied
travel over Europe. Nobody but he who has for a time
lived among mountains, can understand how sad is the last
look which rests upon them, and the latest word which says
to them farewell.
My Highland Sunday was a marked day. The air, the
moderate sunlight, the place, were all fitted to make such
a day. Locb Long communicates with the Clyde, and is a
tide lake. Its salt waters are perfectly clear, and reflect
mountain and sky without loss. The mountains lie along
its whole length on both sides, and are constantly changing
the prospect. You look up and down the Lake, and may
study the scenery under the greatest variety of aspects. At
the termination of the scene, you have farther ranges of
mountains, rising one above another, till the last and the
highest is reached. Mr. 's place is on a table land, a
few feet above the tide water, with a sea wall. This, how-
ever, does not always prevent the encroachments of the Lake.
He showed me places where the wall had been broken into
by the winter sea. The house is strictly Elizabethan in its
style, and is the best style for such a j)lace. Its various
fronts, roofs, pointed gables, are in harmony with the sur-
rounding variety. The lawns are deep green, and are kept
in the true velvet softness and smoothness. His grounds are
covered with trees of all the kinds -which will bear the cli-
mate, and are in excellent health and rich growth. He has
a grapery, flower conservatory, and as fine vegetable and
flower gardens as I have seen anywhere. The surface of the
ground is necessarily varied by the mountain character of the
region. But so slight are the changes in elevation, that the
place seems like a resting place in mountain manufLicture, so
to speak, and these splendid acres to have been the product
of the repose. The holly, — the heather, — the fir, — are
here in every variety. I have nowhere seen finer hedges.
They are absolutely grand in their height, breadth, massive-
ness. Care has been taken to introduce here foreign trees,
45
530 JOURNAL.
from, almost all climates, and they do perfectly well. The
Rhododendron is luxuriant beyond its best growths else-
"where, and there is room for all its varieties, and all its de-
velopments. I cannot omit to mention the success of the
fruit gardens and orchards. The pear, the plum, the apple,
the peach, do excellently well. Here my most kind host
and hostess pass most of their time. He made his fortune
in China, and remembered Mr. J. P. C, Messrs. S., and
others, and was very happy to hear of them again. He left
with a sound liver, twenty or more years ago, and came here
and planted his stake, and seems perfectly contented with
his lot. His lady is a most agreeable person, and wears her
shining silver hair with as much grace as does our .
She said that Mr. did not consider gray hair to be in
the bond, but as he has kindly adopted her livery, the
change does not disturb him. I was very much struck with
the persistency of expression, voice, manner, under circum-
stances calculated to change them all. Mr. is a per-
fect Highlander. He wears the bonnet with its button, and
moves and speaks as did the loftiest of his clan. I was
wholly delighted with him ; not because of his hospitality,
which is boundless, but for his manly, courteous manner,
and his strong, excellent native sense, and his good cul-
ture, which in the most unaffected way constantly manifested
themselves. Our party was a rare one. It consisted of
medical men, all attached to the Edinburgh University but
one, who is of the London University.
With the exception of the gentleman of the London LTni-
versity, who left us at Hamilton on our way back to Edin-
burgh, I have seen these gentlemen almost every day. I
have seen them in their several callings, practically showing
their power. With one I am living, and am constantly
gaining much useful knowledge in my profession. It may
seem strange to you, when I say I have read his books, his
honoured gifts, at home, again and again, that I had not got
a fuller idea of what he was doing for the relief of human
JOURNAL. 531
suffering, — "how large, I may say how vast, arc his con-
tributions to medical and general science, and with what a
spirit he does all that he is called on to do. It was past
breakfast hour when we reached Ardarroch, and we had
breakfasted at the inn two hours before. But the host or-
dered another for us, and the mountain air and drive
gave us an appetite for this second morning meaL Noon
brought lunch, and six brought dinner.
After breakfast, it was arranged that the n>ountain called
the Fairy should be ascended. I declared off, as did Mr.
. The rest of the party went. It was a cool, fine day,
with occasional sun. With a glass we saw our friends on
the top of the mountain, from the 23lace which Mr. and
myself traversed in every direction, and with the greatest
pleasure, speaking for myself. We passed most of the day
together, until dinner hour approaching we separated to
dress. The mountaineers soon returned, and a rapid toi-
let brought us together a short time before dinner. We
were much occupied with each other's day's occupations.
Mr. and I reported our " whereabout," * and showed
how pleasant the day had been. Our friends from the
mountain gave their experiences. At dinner, a very pleas-
ant conversation was continued, new ones were started, and
after this way the evening slipped away.
Bright and early were we up. Breakfast was soon an-
nounced, — was dispatched, — the host's carriage was at the
door, and in and on it five Professors, who had just said
farewell to as hospitable, excellent people as any of them
knew, and to a place as beautiful and grand as any reasona-
ble person could wish to see, and took up their return to
Edinburgh. Our road was to the Gareloch, and there we
found the steamer in which we were to make way to
*I say "whereabout"' because Shakespeare says so. American
quoters always say " whereabouts." Whereabout is au adverb, and
knows no plural. We used to say, "Whereabouts are you going ?" The
word was popular, but was not, and is not, English.
532 JOUENAL.
Greenock. This we did all in good time, and a crowded com-
pany did we make. We took rail at Greenock for Glasgow,
and tlience to Edinburgh, where at about twelve, noon, we
safely arrived. How pleasant had been these days, Saturday,
Sunday, Monday. Prof. S. at once went to work in his
carriage, taking me with him to see all he could show me of
his practice, while I read in his carriage when I did not
visit with him, and this I did every day of my visit to him.
At half-past one his consultations at home begin, and last
till nearly or quite six. This is his least busy season, but
as many as between forty and fifty have been counted ;
on one day more. His patients are arranged in two classes,
— those who pay, and those who do not. This prevents much
embarrassment, which would necessarily arise in learning the
condition of each patient, and hence much time would be
lost, and it is very important to prevent this. When he
began this system of home clinics, for such they strictly are,
his house was filled at all hours, so that it was impossible to
keep any order. People would come at seven, A. M., in
order to be first. They would get breakfast at six, or
earlier, and disturb their own families much. To prevent
this, he fixed the hour at half-past one to half-past five.
The patients of the two divisions are in difi'erent, but
equally large rooms. They draw lots for priority, have
tickets, and come in as called, and so the most perfect order
prevails.
Everybody knows what are Prof. S.'s hours, and every-
body observes them. He has an assistant, who writes
prescriptions to his dictation, directions, letters, &c., and
also attends to cases. He examines cases daily when there
is occasion to do so. From long experience, and constant
observation, — the habit of recording cases, — and of dis-
tinguishing them with all the accuracy in his power, he is
able to arrive at conclusions in the cases before him, in a
very short time, or to make his diagnosis. I see most, or
many of his cases, — examine them after him, and I have
JOURNAL. 53,3
again and again been struck, in new ones, how true is his
diagnosis. He proceeds at once to the treatment. If an
operation is to be, he does it at once. Applications of reme-
dies are made, and prescriptions given, with directions, and
the patient is desired to call in a week, fortnight, in two
days, &c., as circumstances may indicate. At times the
case is written down from the answers of patients to ques-
tions. This is always the case if it be a new case, or it is
probable that changes may be required in treatment, or
the effects of treatment noted. Some notion may be got of
this portion of Prof. S.'s in-door, or home professional life.
He goes through this great labour quietly, and methodically,
and with as gentle, kind, cheerful spirit as man ever mani-
fested. The moral character of the daily service in disease,
is quite as striking as is the professional. The moral pre- -
sides over the whole, and renders it one of the most inter-
esting matters for observation that can occur. I have been
utterly surprised at its executive patience, its efficient
activity. Here are the poor and the rich together, with no
other distinctions than such as will best accommodate both.
And I can say, from a long and wide observation, that there
is no difference in their treatment. The great fact of each
in Prof. S.'s regard, is the fact that disease exists, which
it is the physician's business to investigate, and to try to
remove. He knows what is the prospect of success or of
failure, and makes his prognosis accordingly. But even
when the worst is announced, it is not spoken of as utterly
hopeless, and something is done, all is done, for present
comfort, when nothing may be done for cure. I am sur-
prised again at the variety of disease which congregate at
No. 52 ; and of the number which is presented in each
kind. It is this which gives character to the whole, and
makes these clinics the very best schools. I have been
every day a pupil here. I have every day learned much ;
yes, a great deal, which will aid me in all my future profes-
sional, yes, moral life. I had designed to visit Ireland.
45*
534 JOTTRNAL.
But so few days remained to me, that I was sure that the
visit could amount to nothing important, and I concluded to
remain at Prof. S 's house, in the midst of his home
practice, and to visit with him abroad such patients as he
could show me.
Wherever we went the Professor was received with the
same bright welcome, the same cheerful face, and I thought
this made the beauty of his professional life. One was glad
to see him so soon again. Another had been waiting with
such patience as could be commanded for a visit. But with
all was the appearance, and the consciousness, that some-
thing good was to comxC from the call. He had time for
everything. Took his seat, and with his " come along
now," " how are you," — "how have you been," &c., &c.,
and which was always answered to satisfy perfectly the
various objects in view. There was directness in his ques-
tions, or directions to the patient, but it was so quiet, so
easy, that though time was pressing on new engagements,
it seemed that the present one only occupied his mind.
There was persuasion with command, or demand in such
proportions, that the patient was only anxious to do the
very best for himself, or for herself, and for the Doctor.
In this way, or by this manner, which seems no manner
at all, Prof. S. is able to do a great deal in a short
time. His coachman understands by a hint where he is to
go, and goes rapidly through his various service. As we
pass along some object of interest is at hand, the Botanic
Garden, — a ruin, — a hill, — a beautiful prospect. He
pulls the string, opens the door which lets down the step,
and " come away," tells you there is something for you to
see, — something to please you, — and there is time enough
to see it. " I visit here, and for ten minutes I will leave
you, — go down there, and you will find something." OS
he goes to his patient, and off I go to see what he has indi-
cated. The Professor is well made for dispatch. He is
short, stout, — with small feet, and his step is short and
JOXJENAL. 535
very quick. He is of excellent age for vigour, — about
thirty-nine, and " goes ahead " of all walkers. I have almost
to run somewhat, not to lose him. Let me finish his picture.
You have his length, but not his full length. His head is
large, — covered with a profusion of black hair, which
obeys its instincts, and more strikingly so when he thrusts
his very small hand into and all over it. His forehead is of
good height, but the hair grows low upon it ; and to me this
is the most becoming manner of its growth, and the antique,
the Apollo, the Clyte, &c., support my taste. His face is
broad, of fair length, and its expression just such as such
mind and heart as his always produce. His eyes are sin-
gularly loquacious, and always begin to talk before he utters
a word. His knowledge is more various than I have before
met with. Nothing escapes him. Science and literature
are his pleasures. Archaeology is a favourite pursuit ; and
his friends frequently send him books, and specimens,
which help his studies. I never saw so many presents.
I went up last night late. " I must make some visits,"
said he, " say at eleven." Off drove his coach. This morn-
ing, before anybody else was up, I went below for my spec-
tacles. On the side-board was a basket of fine peaches,
" which was not so before." In the morning bouquets
came in. I could fill pages with a list of such off'erings as
are daily poured in. He has game at every meal. " Our
friends," said one, " keep us supplied with game." His
family pass the summer in a very pleasant place a few
miles from the city, but his house affairs go on by them-
selves very much as of themselves, and knew how, and
are all in perfect order. Said he to me when he car-
ried me bodily from my hotel, "I am a bachelor, — no
women, — but ' come away,' you shall have the best I have."
Night before last he was called into the country. I found
him at table in the morning, and with a heavy, but hearty
yawn, said he, "I had a hard drive last night, over a stony
road, in a carriage without springs. I changed it, but was
536 JOUKNAL.
no better off, and I feel well pounded." This was not a
complaint, but an experience, and as soon as breakfast was
over, eaten as it was with all sorts of interruptions, he was
ready for his visit to the Duchess of , and every body
else. He eats little, and as if almost unconsciously of
the function. In this he constantly reminds me of
. He receives a great deal of money, I have heard.
But he seems wholly regardless of money, and, as I have
farther heard, it is only lately that he has begun to accu-
mulate property. He is paid at the visit, or consultation,
which saves him from one of the most inconvenient offices,
charging and collecting fees. We feel both the inconve-
nience and loss in America. I have seen fees paid him. It
is when the patient is leaving him, and by offering the hand
for farewell, the fee is deposited in his. I really think if
he were subjected to our system, he would get no money at
all. " At night," said a patient of his, whom he sent to
me when she came to America, " his pockets are emptied.
He knows nothing of their contents before ; and so his
money is cared for." I said his meals are often inter-
rupted. His butler brings in cards, notes, letters. " There,"
says he, and lays by note after note. Then two or three
ladies come in. If he be not in, down they sit on the sofa,
and take up books, or newspapers. Then gentlemen, with
or without ladies, appear. They are always asked to table
by Miss , his sister-in-law, or somebody else. When
the Professor is at table he places them. But he is reading
and eating, — or giving bread to a spotted JDanish coach-
dog named Billy, of fine size, and a universal pet. I feed
him always. Professor S. talks to the comers. Then learns
of strangers what they want, gets their residence, if visits
are wanted, or goes into a room hard by and sees them
alone. His house is very large, and full of rooms, — and
always seems inhabited. At length he gets ready to go
out. " Come away," says he to me. I run up to put on a
different coat, to get hat, &c., and always find him hat on,
JOURNAL. 537
at the door, ready to run down the steps for the morning's
work. This is the way every day. He wears a narrow-
brimmed hat, and puts it on, well back, and so shows his
whole face and part of his head. His dress is always black,
with a remarkably nicely arranged white neckcloth, with a
very carefully made bow in front. So you see he is always
dressed. I think, M., you would want to give the hat a
different set. You could not improve the rest of the toi-
let.
Now, is it not a great privilege to be the inmate of such
an establishment as this. Is it not a thing to prize, to be
the companion of a man so wholly devoted to others, and
yet who is so cheerful, so constantly happy himself? You
are admitted by such a man into the society of his thought,
and of his act. He always talks to the purpose, and yet he
is the least of a formalist of any man with whom I have been
acquainted. He has large information, for he is habitually
an observer, and a student ; and yet he has no pedantry, no
tobtrusion of learning for its, or rather his own sake, but
that his companions may be helped by what he knows. He
is almost daily making new observations, discovering some-
thing new, or using the known in a new way. And yet he
is not in the remotest degree a dogmatist. It is not to sup-
port a doctrine that he talks, but to afford you an oppor-
tunity to speak more fully of it, to get knowledge from
you, or to aid you by the knowledge he commvmicates. I
have been chiefly a questioner in the society of Prof. S.,
and I always have got good answers. If he has no answer,
— if he cannot explain the unexplained in my own mind,
he turns himself round in his coach, for it is in driving I
have the best of his society, and says, " 1 don't know, — I
cannot explain that." He will add, " I have had the same
difficulty you have, — and cannot clear it up." One ad-
vantage has arisen out of this intercourse with Prof. S.,
which declares itself to me every day. I am conscious of a
daily review of my own professional life, — of thought, of
538 jornNAL.
reading, and of study. I speak constantly of books, of cases,
of results of treatment. Professor S. has read all, and infi-
nitely more than I have, and yet how small is his study*.
" Here is my study," said he the other night, as I was pass-
ing his sleeping room, on m.y way to bed, " come along."
In I went. The room was small. There was his bed, and
in place of a night-stand, there was at the head of his bed
a book-stand, or case, with two or three shelves, about a
foot and a half wide, filled with books. The filling took
but few. Taking hold of a moveable gas burner, he brought
it forward, so that he could easily read on his pillow.
" Here," said he, " is my study. Here I read at night."
I only said, " What a privilege it is to be able ta read in
this way. I never could," — and then, " good night." I
heard his night-bell almost every night. When I recollect
how much work this man does, how his days are filled and
crowded with all sorts of professional duty and service, I
am surprised that he should make his study of his bed ;
and yet this simple incident had in it an explanation of the
wide knowledge which is acquired under difficulties. I saw
in it how intense was his interest in all which was before
him ; and did no longer wonder at his success ; and more,
I no longer wondered at his unconsciousness of his own
acquisitions, so that when he gives them to you, you almost
think that he is speaking for another, rather than for, or out
of, himself. Among his other labours, he edits a medical
journal, and is himself a constant contributor. This review
of one's professional life, in the intercourse of such a
man, I confess, is singularly attractive. You ask if he has
read such a book. He says he has. You now speak of
something which strongly impressed you at your first, and,
may be, only reading of it, describe a case, or dwell on a
doctrine, and ask if he remembers this or these, and if his
experience supports the doctrine. I suppose that in many
cases our distinctness of memory regarding some point, or
points in a book, may be because what impressed itself
JOURNAL. 539
SO strongly, was the only novelty, or important fact in the
book. How rare is it, even in books of much size, to find
a page, or a sentence, which will " stick," as somebody
says, or hold its place in the mind. The reading of mere
repetitions of what others have said, and which we already
know, makes no addition to knowledge. It is nothing more
than putting upon another, so to speak, its exact fellow, —
piling up the same things, — a most useless species of
overlapping. But the book of which we have so little
recollection, may have a great deal for another mind. When
that mind is addressed on that book, much will often be
brought before us which had scarcely been noticed, or only
to trace its resemblance to that already acquired. It is now
presented under new aspects, and may be to us as new or
original knowledge. In these works of very early study, the
gray fathers of medicine are again with us ; and in talking
of, and with them, the former days return, and age feels
again the warmth, and the vigour of early manhood. I do
not know when I have had more of that enjoyment which
comes of study, and its gifts, than when, with this living
Professor, I was looking back for nearly half a century of
my own intellectual effort, and in this way consulting again
the earliest sources of knowledge.
I was admitted to the hospitalities of Edinburgh. We
had a dinner at Prof. C.'s. He has a foremost name among
those who have extended the limits of his branch of medi-
cine, by laborious investigations. I had long read his
books with deep interest, and owned one of his principal
writings. He is of exceeding gentlemanly bearing ; and in
some reserve, which sometimes attaches to men of that
class, may, for the first, be thought distant and cold. But
I had seen him at Ardarroch ; passed a part of two days
with him, and had abundant opportunity to correct the im-
pressions of the first bow. I found him social, agreeable,
alive to the ludicrous, and to its expression. His opinions
were always valuable, and extended to many sciences.
540 JOUBIfAL.
Geology has occupied his attention, and much very useful
information was gained from him, concerning the formation
of the Highlands. The dinner at Prof. C 's house was
perfect in its kind, and the company embraced many of the
distinguished men of Edinburgh. The medical life is very
pleasant here, especially as it has so much of its charac-
ter from the position of its members. All who are attached
to the University, or have a public position, by reputation,
or place, are prosperous, and live in very nice style. Much
of their time is passed in consultation engagements, which
are both lucrative and important. Some have town and
country house, and drive coach and pair.
The next day I dined with Prof. S..,. This gentleman
has great reputation in surgery, both as a science and an art.
His power is thus alike in diagnosis and practice. 1 have
seen him when both have been in requisition. He is very
simple in his methods, — entirely without show or bustle,
— you see that he is doing an every-day work, and that he
does it admirably. A Avound of some inches length was
left after the removal of a tumor, a strictly local degene-
ration, for which an operation was done. Sutures, eight in
number, were used without adhesive straps. The patient
has done well. Prof. S , , . lives a mile or two from the
city. He has a very fine place, and is very fond of it. His
garden in all its departments is in high order. He spares
no money in its management. He lives here, but has a
house in town to which he comes about ten, A. m., attends
at the Hospital, and to such other professional engagements
as are in hand. The country about Prof. S. . . ,'s place is
among its attractions. Hills, or moderate mountains, sur-
round it, and are well wooded, giving variety to all its pros-
pects.
At a dinner one day, our company was various.
Among them was the Principal of the University. He is
always addressed as Principal. He asked me if I knew
Rev. Dr. Lowell, of Boston, and spoke of him very kindly,
JOURNAL. 541
and with much respect. He knew the late Rev. Dr. Cod-
man. I was very much pleased with the Principal. His
manner was quiet, grave, without dulness, and as conversa-
tion was, so was he. We had a very lively guest, an En