\0 o ^% ,0o. .0 o ry «** ' < <$ ■ ^ v^ % •> A^ V s ^ -n. ^ ^ , A RUN THROUGH EUROPE, A RUN UJ THROUGH EUROPE BY Erastus C. Benedict 4 * Quacumque incedimus, in aliquam historiam, vestigium ponimus." Lrvr. Nero-^ork : D. APPLETON & CO., PUBLISHERS, 443 & 445 BROADWAY. LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN. 1860. No,/, n ,T5U Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, By D. APPLETON & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New- York. TO EDWIN BUKK, Esq MOKE THAN TU1RTY YEARS MY PARTNER AND MY FRIEND I DEDICATE WITII BESI'EOT AND AFFECTION THESE SKETCHES OF TRAVEL IN PATHS FAMILIAR TO HIS STEPS. TABLE OF CONTENTS, CHAPTER I Prefatory 13 | CHAPTER II.— At Sea 18 Sea Sickness 20 Icebergs 20 Meeting a Steamer 22 Making the Land 23 Landing 24 The Voyage and the Ship 24 LandBirds 26 CHAPTER III.— England 27 Liverpool 27 London 28 Trafalgar Square 28 Northumberland House 29 Monuments — Nelson 29 Charles I George IV 30 Westminster Hall, 31 Westminster Abbey 32 Parliament 34 The Tunnel 38 The Streets— The River 39 CHAPTER IV— France 41 Folkestone to Boulogne 41 Napoleon III 42 His Revolution 43 Paris 43 Diligence 4G Face of the Country 48 Women at Work in the Fields. . 50 Donkeys 50 Peasant Girls '. . 51 Teams 51 Vineyards 52 Railroads 53 Tunnels 53 Marseilles 54 The People 54 Napoleon Tower 55 Cours Bonaparte 55 Prado 55 Country Houses 56 South of France 56 Drive to Nice 57 Cannes 58 Landing of Napoleon from Elba. 58 PAGE. CHAPTER V— Italy— Nice to Civi- ta Vecchia 59 Washerwomen 60 Nice 60 Cornice Road 61 Ligurian Alps 61 Monaco 61 Tropha;a August! 62 Ancient Towns 62 Painted Houses 63 Peasant Girls 63 Courier Diligence 64 Conductor a Postmaster 64 Distributing his Mails 64 Shrines and Images 65 Genoa in the Distance 65 Cogoletto 66 Columbus 66 Genoa 67 Local Customs 67 Women 67 Palaces 68 Churches 69 Leghorn 71 Pisa 71 Cathedral 71 Leaning Tower 72 Baptistery 73 Campo Santo 73 Steamer to Civita Vecchia 74 Storm 74 Permits to Land 75 CHAPTER VI. — States of the Church — Rome 76 Fear of Brigands 76 Beggars 76 Passports 77 Laborers in the Fields 77 Laborers in the Market-place. ... 78 Roman Oxen 79 Drivers 79 Buffaloes — Goats — Sheep 79 First Sight of St. Peter's 80 Rome 80 French Soldiers 80 Temporal Power of the Pope 80 Till TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE. Priests and Monks SI Princely Wedding 82 Santa Maria Maggiore 82 Column of the Virgin 82 The Wedding Cortege 82 The New Married Pair at St. Peter's 83 Beggars 84 Newspapers 84 Churches 86 Basilicas 86 Pantheon S6 St. Mary of the Angels 86 St. Bruno 86 The Priorato 87 Capuchin Church 87 Guido's Michael 87 Artistic Libels 87 Sistine Chapel 88 High Mass there 88 The Cardinals 88 The Ceremony. 88 ThePope 89 St. Peter's 80 Mosaic Paintings 91 ItsCost 92 St. Paul's 93 Benedictine Cloisters 94 Malaria 94 St. John Lateran 94 Corpus Domini 95 Relics 96 Appian Way 96 Monuments 96 Apostle Paul 97 Columbaria 98 St. Sebastian's 98 Footprint of the Savior 9!) Catacombs 99 Catacombs of the Capuchins. . . . 100 CHAPTER VII.— Roman Education 103 University of Rome 105 Father Secchi 105 Roman College 106 Course of Studies 108 Library 110 Systems of Instruction 110 Vacations 110 College of the Propaganda 110 Other Seminaries Ill Regionary Schools Ill Christian Brothers 112 Their Vows 112 Their Numbers 112 Their Instruction 113 Emperor of Christian Doctrine. . 114 Night Schools 115 Industrial Schools 115 SanMichele 115 CHAPTER VIII. — Excursion to Tivoli 117 Velian Hill 118 Tribunes of the People 119 Slavery 119 PAGE. Virginia 120 Plautian Tomb 121 Lake Tartarus 121 Solfatara 122 Adrian's Villa 122 Adrian 123 The Ruins 124 Tivoli 125 Ancient Villas 125 . Temple of the Sybil 126 The Falls 126 Opening of the Artificial Fall. . . 128 Cascatelles of Tivoli 129 CHAPTER IX Palaces-Museums —Art 130 The Vatican 130 Galleries and Collections 131 Library 132 Gardens 133 Sistine Chapel 133 The Quirinal 134 Election of the Pope 134 Billiard Room 135 Pope's Table 135 His Personal Apartments 136 Gardens 136 Capitoline Hill 136 Statues — Castor and Pollux — Marcus Aurcliua 136 The Capitol 137 The Collections of Art 137 The Lateran Palace 137 The Old Masters 138 Villa Borghese 140 The Bonapartes 141 The Roman Republic, 184S 142 Borghese Family 142 Statue of Pauline 142 Private Palaces 143 Copying Paintings 143 CHAPTER X The Ruins of Rome. 145 The Seven Hills 145 Christianized Ruins 146 Forums 147 Coliseum 147 Palace of the Cassars 148 Wealth of the Ancients 148 Ancient Art , 149 Public Roads 149 Aqueducts 150 Sewers 151 Columns 151 Obelisks 152 Arches 153 Mamertine Prison 154 Scalae Gemonise 155 CHAPTER XI Roman Religion.. 157 Its Characteristics 158 Ceremonies and Rites 159 Imitations of Jewish 161 Traditions and Memorials 1C5 Characteristic Evils 167 The Temporal Power : 168 Unitv of Faith 169 TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE. Quietism 1T0 Idolatry 171 Italian Credulity 1T'2 Loretto 173 Santa Casa 174 Empress Helena 174 Discovery of the True Cross 174 Treasures of Santa Casa 170 Changes in the Church 178 St. Peter's Letter to Pepin 17!) CHAPTER XII Rome to Naples. . 181 Coliseum by Moonlight 1S1 St. Peter's in the Evening 181 Malaria — Maremma 182 Winter in Italy 183 Society in Italy 183 Leaving Rome 1S4 The Campagna 185 Albano — Laricia 186 Tomb of the Horatii ISO Uncertainty of Traditions 1S7 Our Papal Dragoon 1S8 Runaway Donkey 1S8 Pontine Marshes 1S9 Appii Forum 101 St. Paul 191 Terracina 192 Peasants in the Morning 193 Heroic Localities 194 Fondi 195 Gaeta 196 Cicero 196 Marius 198 Garigliano 198 Chevalier Bayard 198 Peasant Women 198 Capua 199 Aversa 199 CHAPTER XIII Naples 201 Hotels— Fleas 201 Chiaia 202 Villa Reale 202 School of Virgil 204 The Citv 205 Villa of Lucullus 206 Solfatara 207 Monte Nuovo 207 Avernus 207 Puzzuoli 20S Sinking of the Shores 208 Posilippo 208 Cemetery 209 Confraternities 209 Museum 210 CHAPTER XIV Pompeii 213 Earthquakes 215 Destru"tion of the City 216 House of Diomede 220 HisFamily 220 Temple of Isi? 220 The Pope at Pompeii 221 The Amphitheatre 221 Gladiators 223 Life in Ancient Italy 224 Vices 225 1* PAGE. The Streets of Pompeii 226 Julia Felix 22T The Pope at the Amphitheatre.. . 228 Vesuvius 228 CHAPTER XV. — Naples to Flor- ence 231 The Bay 234 Our Fellow Passengers 236 Civita Vecchia 237 Martello Towers 237 Elba 238 Leghorn 23S Valley of the Arno 239 CHAPTER XVI Florence 240 Straw Manufactures 240 Flower Girls 241 Agriculture 242 Etruscans 242 Architecture , . 243 Bridges 244 Great Men 244 Churches 245 Cathedral 245 Campanile — Baptistry — Baptism 246 Bronze Doors 246 Santa Croce 247 I.H.S 247 St. Bernardino 24T Gambling 247 TheCascine 247 Toleration 24S Fiesole 249 Valley of the Arno 250 View of the City 250 Procession of Corpus Domini 251 Galleries of Art 252 Uffizii 252 The Tribune 252 Pitti Palace 253 Museum — Nat. History 254 Powers' Studio 254 Court of Cassation 254 Railroads in Italy 255 Excommunicating them 255 Leaving Florence 257 Pass of La Futa 258 Winter in the Appenines 259 Scenery American 259 States of the Church. 260 CHAPTER XVII. — States of the Church— Bologna 261 Music of the Whip 261 Bologna 262 Hotel San Marco 262 Leaning Towers 203 People and Manners 264 Learned Women 265 The University — Degrees 268 Great Men 268 San Michele in Bosco 270 Academy of Arts 272 St. Luke's Portrait of the Virgin. 274 Portico of Monte della Guardia. . 275 Ferrara 275 Prison of Tasso 276 TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE. Calvin 277 Ferry Across the Po 277 Austrian Custom House 278 CHAPTER XVIII.— Austrian Italy. 279 Padua by Night 279 Venice 280 Piazza San Marco 281 Silent City 281 Origin of Venice 282 Grand Canal 2S3 Bridges 283 The Doges 284 Koine and Venice 2S5 St. Mark's Church 2SG Campanile 2S6 Shops 2S7 "Wells— Water Porters— Pigeons 2S7 Palace of the Doge , 28S Prisons— Bridge of Sighs 2S9 Paintings 290 Malice of Artists 290 Fra Angelico 291 Academy of Arts 292 Gondolas 293 Gondoliers 294 Beggars 294 Church of the Frati 295 Monuments 295 Passage to Trieste 297 Beautiful Morning View 29S Kindness of St. Helena 299 CHAPTER XIX.— Austria— Trieste 300 Trieste 200 Hotel 300 Retrospect from Trieste 301 Her Military Disasters 302 Population Mixed 303 Toleration 303 Oxen in the C.ty 304 Departure for Laybach 305 Optschiua 305 View from the East 306 Julian Alps 306 Lumber Wagons 307 Laybach 308 Sir Humphrey Davy 309 Sights of Carniola 308 Lake Zirknitz 308 Grotto of Kleinhausel 309 Congress of Laybach 310 German Railroad 310 Smokers 311 Variety of Scenery 311 Cilly 312 Gratz 313 Transfer to Diligence 313 The Sommtring Pass by Night.. 313 CHAPTER XX Vienna 315 Vienna 315 The Prater 317 Holidays 317 Libraries 317 Collections 318 Church of the Augustines 319 PAGE. Monument to the Archduchess. . 319 Maria Theresa 321 Her Appeal to Hungary 322 Joseph II 323 Education in Austria 323 Toleration - 3-5 Sunday , 327 St. Stephen's Church — Monu- ments 327 Defeat of Cara Mustapha 328 Burial of the Royal Family 329 Mnriazell 329 Wagram 333 Napoleon in Austria 333 Brunn 333 Valley of the Elbe 333 Women in the Fields 334 CHAPTER XXI.-Bohemia--Prague 335 Origin of Prague 335 Libussa — Premislas 335 Hradschin 336, 346 Kleinseite 336 The Bridge 337 1 k fence of it by Plachy 337 Statues 33S Brunslik 33S St. John Nepomuk 339 Bohemian Fashion 339 Jews of Prague 340 Old Synagogue 342 Tein Church 344 University 344 White Tower— Daliborka 346 The Chapter 347 St. Vitus' Church— Tombs and Monuments 347 Tomb of St. John Nepomuk 34S Ziska's Hill 349 John Huss 349 Jerome of Prague 350 Wicklif, Huss, and Luther 351 Ctraquiata 351 Zi f ka 351 Wenceslaus— SigUmund 352 Invincible Brethren 352 Death of Ziska 353 Religious Strifes 353 Valley of the Moldau and the Elbe 355 Houses 356 National Colors 356 CHAPTER XXIL— Saxony— Dres- den — Leipzic 357 Saxon Switzerland 357 Robber Knights 359 Pirna 359 General Moreau 360 Fair in Dresden 361 War in 1313 362 Education in Saxony 363 Religion 363 Dresden 364 Galleries and Collections 365 Frauenkirche 366 TABLE OF CONTEXTS. PAGE. Leipsic 366 Battles of Leipsic 367 Fall of Napoleon 369 Gustavus Adolphus 369 The University of Leipsic 370 Churches — Cemetery 372 Auerbach's Wine-Cellar 373 CHAPTER XXIII.--Prussia--Berlin 375 Situation of Berlin 375 Streets — Statues 376 Museum 377 Library 378 New Museum 378 Gardens 380 Palace 380 Saxe Altenburg 381 CHAPTER XXIV Bavaria — Nu- remberg — Munich 381 Nuremberg 3S1 Siege of 382 Houses— Castle 383 Caspar Haustr — Albert Durer. . 384 Art-Union — Hans Sachs — Li- brary 385 Churches 385 St. Sebald— St. Laurent -387 Fountains 388 Religion 388 Augsburg 389 Munich 3S9 King Lewis 389 Glyptothec — Pinacothec 389 Temple of Fame 391 Statue of Bavaria •. . . . . 391 Library 392 Ludwig Street 392 University 393 Old Palace— New Palace 393 Hall of Beauties 394 Lola Montes 394 Hofgarten 395 Lindau 396 CHAPTER XXV Switzerland.... 397 Zurich 397 Zwingle 398 The Country and People 399 Haying 400 Baden 401 Reliable Diligence System 401 Berne 401 Bears 402 Lausanne 402 Geneva — The Swks 403 Language and Religion 405 The City 406 Calvia 406 Rousseau 406 Local Celebrities 407 Cathedral 40S To Chamouni 408 Anemasse — Alps—Cascades .... 408 Waterfall of Arpenas 409 Sallenches 409 Alpine Horn 410 PAGE. Chamouni 411 Back to Geneva 412 Circuit of the Lake 412 Vilkneuve 414 Chillon 414 Vevay 416 Ouchy 416 Lausanne 416 Cathedral 417 Schools 417 Neufchatel 417 Munsterthal 419 Glaciers 420 Basle 420 Hotel— Three Kings 421 Erasmus — Holbein 421 Dance of Death 422 CHAPTER XXVI The Rhine. .. . 424 Strasburg 424 Squares 425 Jews 425 Cathedral 425 Strasburg Pies 426 Guttenberg 428 Baden Baden 429 Spa Buildings 430 Gambling 431 Heidelberg 431 Manheim — Darmstadt 432 Frankfort — Hockheim 432 Wiesbaden 433 Scene at the Well 433 Gambling 434 Hot Springs 435 Biberich 435 The Rhine 436 Johannisberg 436 Robbers of the Rhine 437 Pet Turtles 437 Cologne 437 Cathedral 438 Rubens — Crucifixion of St. Peter 440 CHAPTER XXVII. — The Low Countries 442 Arnheim 442 Rotterdam 443 Delft 443 Old Church — New Church 444 Van Tromp — Hein — Grotius — William 1 444 Treckschuit 445 Hague 445 Galleries and Museum 445 Palace — Palace in the Wood 446 Scheveling 447 Schools 448 Fishwomen 448 Leyden 449 Amsterdam 450 Jews' Quarter 450 Diamond Cutting 451 Palace 451 Holland 452 Harlem Lake 452 Xll TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE. TheDutch 453 Dort 454 Breda 455 Antwerp 456 Keligiou — Cathedral 457 Rubens 453, 400 Church of St. James 458 " St. Paul 450 Purgatory — Calvary 459 Merchants' Exchange 459 Artists. 460 Matsys 462 Mechlin — Malines 463 Brussels 463 The Gueux 464 Statues 164 Manikin Statue 465 CHAPTER XXVIII.— Paris Revis- ited 470 Parisian Lite 472 Government of Napoleon III. . . 473 The French 475 Pere la Chase 476 Glory of France 47S Versailles 479 Trianon — Napoleon and Jose- phine 4S0 Invalide3 4S1 Tuilleries 482 Luxembourg 482 Churches 4s2 Sights 482 CHAPTER XXIX. -England Revis- ited — Crossing the Channel . . 483 Crazy Woman 483 Dover Castle and Cliffs 484 London Revisited 485 Yankee Doodle 4S5 Growth of London 4S7 Sights 4S8 Javelin Men 4S9 House of Commons 490 Mr. Cobden 491 House of Lords 492 Decimal Coinage 492 Westminster Hall 493 Court of Admiralty 494 Doctors' Commons 494 The Downs 494 Brighton 495 Portsmouth 495 The Royal George 496 Spithead 496 Isle of Wight 496 Osborne House 497 Carisbrook Castle 497 Salisbury 498 Old Sarum 498 Reform Bill 499 Stonehenge 499 Hare-Hunting 500 Wilton 501 Sidney Herbert 501 Oxford 502 PAGE- Political Refugee 505 Old Guide 506 Dr. Whewell 506 Birmingham 509 Derby— Sheffield— Mobs 510 York 511 Newcastle 512 Richard Grainger 513 Lords Eldon and Stowell 514 Alnwick Castle 514 CHAPTER XXX Scotland 518 Abbotsford 518 Melrose Abbey 520 Edinburgh 524 Education 525 Hospitals 526 Glasgow 527 Land of Burns 528 Burns 529 Mrs. Begg 532 CHAPTER XXXI Ireland 533 Belfast 534 Linen Trade 534 Ballymena 535 Face of the Country 535 Dundalk ." 536 Houses 535 Edward Bruce 536 Battle of the Boync 536 James II 536 Drogheda 536 Lady Tyrconnel 537 Oppression of the Irish 537 Dublin 533 Trinity College 538 Parliament House 538 Bank of Ireland 538 Castle 539 Vice-Regal Chapel 539 Other Public Buildings 540 Monuments — Wellington — Nel- son 541 Squares and Parks. 541 CHAPTER XXXII Wales 542 Crossing the Irish Channel 54'2 Holyhead — Anglesea 542 The Welsh 543 Menai Strait 543 Beaumaris 5-14 Bridges — Tubular and Suspen- sion 544 Caernarvon Castle 544 Birth of Edward II 544 Edwardl 546 His Cruelty 546 Llewellyn 546 The Bards 547 Conway Castle 547 Gwrvch Castle 548 Chester 549 Conclusion 549 Progress and Reform 550 Popular Suffrage 551 England and America 552 ^ A RUN THROUGH EUROPE. €\%$ttt first. prefatory. Gentle Reader : THE letters which are reprinted in the following chap- ters, were written for my pleasure and not yours. They are now published for your benefit and not mine. This prefatory chapter is written and published for our common benefit. Yours, that you may know in advance something of the character of the book — mine, that I may say how it came to be written, and answer the pertinent question " Why publish another book of travels over ground made dusty by the footsteps of many generations of travel- lers?" If I had known of another book like it — one covering so much ground, in so few pages — one that might with so little labor remind the returned traveller of his joys abroad, or that might be so useful to many as a preparation for wandering through the same scenes, and so likely to sharpen, without satisfying the desire to see the Old World, this bcok would never have been published. A severe attack of the throat induced me to visit the Old ^ 14 WHERE AVE WENT. World. To double my pleasure, I took my wife with me. The demands of an inexorable profession compelled me to make my absence short, and I therefore determined to make my excursion one of observation, not of discovery. I chose to look at things rather than to make the acquaintance of men — to devote less time to mortal and living celebrities and more to the vestiges of dead immortals. I did not even present my letters of introduction, because necessary civilities would consume my time and restrain my freedom. I chose rather to rely upon the best couriers, valets, and cicerones, and to utilize my time, by adopting the most expeditious, the most open and the least fatiguing modes of locomotion, and to trust to my own eyes and reflec- tions, directed with focal energy to characteristic objects and events. I could thus go farther and see more, and my im- pressions would be deep and lasting, although quickly made. We sought no new and untrodden paths — we hunted no new lions and we penetrated no new jungles. We never once thought of seeking or finding a new ancient ruin, or new works of art by the old masters. With open eyes and pondering thoughts we went where others had been before us — to Eng- land, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and to Holland and Germany, the homes of our ancestors, and to beautiful France and Alpine Switzerland. We hurried forward to great Italy — mother of nations — her ruins, her mosses, her rnouraing weeds and her immortal glories, and then onward to the Gothic and Sclavic peoples of southern, eastern and central Europe, wandering from country to country till we had passed through all these great historic nations of Europe. We can hardly believe our own experience as we recall the distances we have traversed — the modes of travel we have adopted — the cities, the countries, the seas, the rivers — the battle-grounds of peace as well as of war, celebrated in ancient and modern history, and the novelties and wonders of BENEFIT OF THE EXCURSION. 15 nature and art, that we have seen in passing twice over ninety degrees of longitude and sixteen degrees of latitude — be- tween New- York and Vienna, between Pompeii and Edin- burgh, from Boulogne to Marseilles, from Naples to Berlin, from Leipsic to Chamouni, from Geneva to Amsterdam, from the Isle of Wight to Glasgow, and from Lough Neagh to Dublin. We passed through five-and-twenty kingdoms and sovereignties, and all in the genial, beautiful, and luxuriant time of the year. Familiar as this tour is in the literature of travelling, it has nevertheless been to us a wonderful panorama, viewed under circumstances of great advantage. It has filled our whole lives with pleasant memories and interesting associa- tions. I say our whole lives, for it even throws a reflex light upon the scenes which the studies of youth, as well as the general reading and current news of later life, had dressed in imaginary apparel. We see them now more as they are, and we look upon them with a more friendly famil- iarity. Nothing was farther from my mind when I went or when I returned than publishing a book of these rapid and com- monplace travels. I wrote to my family — many hundred miles apart in several States — using the columns of a public journal read by them all. Letters thus written abroad, and printed for the common benefit, and others written from copious notes and fresh memories, with some amplification, have, by my publisher and myself, been here made into a book. This has been done, not merely to show, as it does, what may be seen and done in a summer vacation, nor yet to present, in one small volume, anything more than a running and sketchy account of the great highways of Christian travel. But feeling that my mind had opened to a larger horizon, and my heart softened to a more genial humanity 16 AMERICAN TRAVELLERS ABROAD. as I went on, over the footprints of so many generations of the present and so many more generations of the past, striking in their diversity, yet everywhere the same in the one blood of which all the nations are made, and finding that my prejudices, one after another, were conquered or enfeebled — when I came to look over what I had written I thought, as some others did, that it might be in like manner useful to those who should read it, and that it might well enough be published. By a long and perilous voyage alone, can we visit the historical world, yet what increasing thousands swell the number of American travellers in Europe ! A friend of mine declares he will not go, it is so vulgar. The distinction, he * says, is now in staying at home. I rejoice in this increasing 9 ■ desire to visit the Old World. I see in it inevitable culti- vation and instruction, which cannot come otherwise, and which, if properly gratified, must be of great value to our national character, in opening our eyes wider — in reducing s our pretensions — in moderating our boasts — letting some of the gas out of our conceit and some of the hyperbole out of our vanity, and teaching us that there are other nations which are growing and prosperous, other people that are thrifty and contented, and other forms of government that secure life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, to the peaceable and the good. It seems to me that no right- minded American can return from Europe and its routine — its marks of the collar — without an affectionate lono-in^ to greet again our free and easy shores, nor without a deepened conviction that our form of government is, beyond perad- venture, the best for us — long live the Republic! — nor without being convinced that it would not be the best for the present or even the next generation of any of the great monarchical nations of Europe, even if they desired il, and that those who desire it are in so small a minority that, on AMERICA FOR FREEDOM. 17 our own principles, they are not entitled to change their form of government for ours except by coming hither and adopting congenial institutions — "In one great clime Whose vigorous offspring, by dividing ocean, Are kept apart, and nursed in tbe devotion Of freedom, which their fathers fought for, and Bequeathed — a heritage of heart and hand, And proud distinction from each other land." Cftagiu ^K0uK IT is only those who have everything to do that find time to do anything, so I, having nothing to do, can hardly find time to keep my promise of giving you a letter, from time to time, with such details of description and reflection as may be interesting to you, although suggested by scenes and events that have been described times without number. Our sailing day was one of those pelting and driving northeast storms, which show no mercy to man or beast, yet our large number of passengers (207 in the cabin), drew on board a great number of kind friends and sobbing rela- tives, to give the parting grasp of affection and friendship. All being driven in-doors by the storm, the saloons were crowded to suffocation and misery, till the sharp and con- tradictory cry, " All ashore that's a-going," instead of all ashore that are not going, left us room to turn round and see each other. We, however, went no farther than the quar- antine ground at Staten Island. Note — The familiar, epistolary style has been preserved, though the form of chap- ters has been substituted for that of Utters. AT SEA — OUR COURSE. 19 The storm abated on Saturday evening, but it was not till Sunday morning, after breakfast, that we could go to sea — and then we were so many, already somewhat ac- quainted by sight, and we gathered so happily on the hurri- cane deck like a company bound up the Hudson, or through the Sound, that we could not look sad nor hardly call up the appropriate solemnity of bidding our native land good-bye. As it faded away over the blue waters, came soon the thoughts that we might never again see it, nor those dear ones left behind, who were not cheered in their sad reflections by our hopes of enjoyment in seeing among the scenes of the proud Old World beyond the deep — the home of our ancestors — the home of our language and literature — and the still greater novelties in the Continental World, where a hundred generations of men have wrought out the stories of sacred and profane history, in forms and manifesta- tions unlike those with which our portion of the race have made their marks along the highway of time. At nine o'clock we weighed the ponderous anchor, and carefully winding our way through the channels of the lower bay, we stood out to sea. After getting a proper offing from Long Island, the captain gave the quartermaster the course, east-half-north — as nearly as possible a direct line for Cape Clear — which course we kept till we saw Cape Clear dead ahead, on the ninth day, with only a single de- viation caused by fields of floating ice, which, of course, we would not attempt to penetrate. Floating ice is bad enough in river and lake navigation, but at sea, in latitude forty-eight, the fields of floating ice that come down from the polar seas, no paddle-wheel can encounter without an almost certainty of destruction. The blow of the northeaster that had vexed the waters had subsided before the rain ceased, and of course the pelting of the rain had subdued the sea ; but there was left a majestic 20 SEA-SICKNESS ICEBERGS. ground swell through which our boat reeled in such a style as to make us all sea-sick before the dinner hour. I say all, but there were a few old sea-rangers who were not sick at all during the voyage. Ourselves were sick a little each a part of two days, and nothing more, but many were dreadfully sick much longer. Prof. P lay during the heavy rain and fog of the first few days on the open deck, with his overcoat and umbrella only, being unable to bear the con- fined air of the stateroom or to taste food. He did not Qj come to the table till the day before we got in. Many others were sick till we got inside of Cape Clear. All the ladies were sick, M the least of any. For several days she was the only lady at the table. Indeed, in all things she has shown herself a capital sailor, much better than I expected, walking the deck like an old salt in all weathers with as sure a foot and head as if she had been cradled on the crests of the waves. Many of the others fully determined if they ever returned to America it should be by the way of Behring's straits or the submarine telegraph. On our third day, in the morning, we had the last glimpse of land — the highlands of Newfoundland — and at about eleven a. m., saw the first iceberg, from fifty to seventy-five feet high, and covering, perhaps, some five acres. Soon we saw others more beautiful and awful. One seemed to be two as it were, with a natural bridge from one to the other. Another was cavernous, seeming to present to us the grand entrance to the world of darkness and eternal night. One was a vast amphitheatre of glittering ice — its entrance toward the ship, so that we could look in and see its glassy and placid lake, by which seals and grizzly bears may have made their toilets, and admired themselves as they sat on its benches of ice, or gnashed their teeth at each other across its blue depths. After a while came more, in the fog and mist, pyramids and churches, &c. Soon a little breeze ICEBERGS FIELDS OF ICE. 21 cleared away the fog, and the clouds lifted, and our icebergs had floated far astern, and were seen in this quarter and that, relieved against a fair sky on the very horizon, with an effect surprising, sublime, and beautiful. The imagination rapidly gave them names and charactei's as, looked at in one direc- tion or another, they showed different groups and combina- tions. Now we saw the pyramids in the desert, raising their sharp summits to the skies — now the icy " Summits split and rent, Formed turret, dome, and battlement," and we looked upon some ruined Tadmor in the wilderness, with colonnades and arches and cornice and frieze. At another time we seemed to look into the portals of the celestial city, "with the glimpses a saint has of heaven in his dreams." One, that all had named a Gothic church as it passed us, now took a close resemblance to St. Paul's in London, and seemed to be a grand cathedral temple of the realms above, as its spires; and domes, and towers, were more dimly seen in the pure evening sky. We came upon a field of floating ice, that called to mind the perils of the northern explorers. We ran along to the southward of it for about one hundred and fifty miles. It seemed impenetrable like a rocky ice-bound coast. Some shipmasters on board declared that they could see at a dis- tance, on the other side of us, the reflection on the clouds of another field, so that as the Israelites had walls of water through which they passed on dry land, so we had walls of ice through which we passed on a safe and quiet sea. When we discerned it we were five miles from it, and the ship was immediately put two or three points more to the south- ward, which gave us a considerable southing in the course of the night, and of course delayed us somewhat in getting back to the northward. Had we been in waters abounding in small islands and rocks, not laid down on any chart, how 22 MEETING A STEAMER. we should have slowly picked our way along in the fog and the night, but now, in a sea scattered all over with unknown floating islands and rocks of ice, we dashed on in the darkness and the thick mist, always at the top of our speed ! Having passed this danger we had a clear sky and sea, and if it had not been for our leviathan ship, that made " the deep to boil like a pot," there would have been nothing to disturb the solitude of its desert or the placidity of its lake-like cairn, except the small whales that, here and there, spouted up from the face of the waves their little jets of water as they rose for breath. On Sunday it was so warm, so calm, and so bright, that an awning was necessary in latitude fifty. The ship, however, rolled worse than ever, the wheels were alternately out of water and submerged, by which much of our power was wasted, and we were of course delayed. We had divine service twice ; once by Dr. Stearns, Presbyterian, and once by Mr. Dix, Episcopalian, attended and listened to with apparent interest by most of the passengers. The directness of our course was happily shown by our meeting the Atlantic, another steamer of the Collins Line, on our eighth day out — the two, when first seen, approaching each other in parallels not more than two miles apart. At three p. M. the cry ran through the ship, "The Atlantic is com- ing." All rushed on deck, and there, indeed, she was, almost directly ahead. The decks and paddle-boxes of both ships were crowded with passengers to see the sisters welcome each other as they were promenading the highway of nations. Each vessel ran up to the top of her highest spar a flag rolled up in a small ball, and tied with a slip-knot, from which a line reached the deck. As we were rolling, so the Atlan- tic was pitching. As she came nearly alongside, she rose on the swell, as it were to show with what queenly pride she MAKING THE LAND. 23 walked the seas, and the next moment with a graceful and dignified stoop, she courtesied to her younger sister with affectionate respect. A pull at the line, and in an instant the flags streamed from the mast, and the report of our guns went booming over a sea that sent back no echo. It was a beautiful incident, that you may go to sea many years and not see. I say she came nearly alongside, but she did not come so near that we could communicate. That would take time, and everything must be sacrificed to that on these pas- sages. If this continues so, some invention must be made by which papers can be exchanged without causing delay. In our case we were twenty days behind the European news, and our curiosity was of course very great. Our last day out of sight of land, was beautiful beyond any other we had. A clear summer heaven, clouds of chased silver floating gently in its sapphire depths, a breeze that tipped every wave with white — the sea seemed to be beaming all over with smiles, and the waves looked like so many white-maned horses careering and frolicking over a roll- ing green prairie of boundless extent. In the morning the mate said we should see land about half-past three, p. m. — at thirty- five minutes past three, the shadowy outline of the highlands of Ireland began to be visible among the clouds that skirted the horizon, and when we came out from dinner the whole range of those highlands and the rocky shore lay before us as distinctly as you see the Catskills from the Hudson. The resemblance to the Catskill range in outline is quite remark- able. The strata of the rocks were clearly visible. I do not know the character of the rock geologically. We were soon ruuning under the lee of those highlands with a smooth sea, and our ship on an even keel, with a bone in her ivory teeth, rushed through the water till the wind, fairly distanced, bolted from the course and made no effort to keep up with us. The coast of Wales in the morn- 24 LANDING THE VOYAGE AND THE SHIP. ing, and Anglesea, and Holyhead, and taking a pilot, and learning the news of the bombardment of Odessa, and the constant throwing the lead, as the tide was low, used up the day. At night, by arrangements which were perfectly in- famous, more than 200 passengers were tumbled into a little no-decked canoe steamer, and thence spilled out upon the dock, at the foot of a high wall and a locked gate, two miles from cabs, and carriages, and hotels. The dew on our robes was heavy and chill. At half-past ten at night lodgings were at length secured. We should have been snugly in our hotels at half-past seven, for a comfortable supper. Our voyage has been one of most remarkable calmness. The captain has crossed the ocean more than one hundred and thirty times, and has never had an accident, but says he has never known such a voyage as this — the entire voyage having been without a gale and almost without a breeze — most of the voyage, not wind enough astir to drive its cur- rents into our submarine cyclopean furnaces for cool breath and ventilation, and draught for the fires. It was millpond sailing, as the captain said. We rushed straight on over the swelling and restless brine — our top-gallant masts swaying and swinging through an arc of about twenty, sometimes thirty degrees. If we had been the pets of the storm-king he could not have more kindly hushed his infant tempests and rocked them to sleep than he did. As we had about eleven degrees of northing to make, we went up about one degree a day, and soon got in a very cold latitude and an unfrequented region, where we very rarely saw a sail to show us that we were not alone in the world of waters. I must not forget to give you some idea of our home on the ocean wave and our life on the rolling deep. The ship had comparatively little cargo, yet the captain said he sup- posed her weight could not be less than seven thousand tons. Her usual velocity is about thirteen miles an hour. Think LIFE ON BOARD. 25 of the fearful momentum of such a moving mass ! Meeting any ordinary vessel in collision, she would of course pass through her or over her without feeling the shock. She burned on one day ninety-six tons anthracite coal — four tons an hour ! The dining saloon is on the main deck and seats easily one hundred and fifty, and between decks are the main-cabin saloon, the ladies' saloon, and the forward saloon, all fitted and furnished like a gentleman's parlor in the Fifth Avenue, except that the carved work, and gilding, and the fine ornamental rosewood, satin-wood, and fret work, and tracery, and mirrors, are more abundant, and give an air of almost too much expense and luxury. In the between decks, also on the sides of the ship, are the state-rooms, each with two berths, one fixed settee, one bull's eye window, and the usual toilet conveniences. We breakfasted from half-past eight to eleven, a. m. — each one ordering his breakfast to suit himself, as to time and kind of food, from a bill of fare which gives abundant range and variety. At twelve, luncheon. Dinner at two and four — the regular dinner at four. The bill of fare varies from day to day, and comprises the luxu- ries, variety, and profusion of a first-class city hotel. Sea-sick- ness usually leaves one with a fine appetite, and the crowded table does justice to an excellent cook. Most of the pas- sengers drink wine or other strong drink. The Maine-law is not yet made, and is not likely to be, the law of the main. The wine question is freely discussed. The result is always the same. They put the question to the mouth, and the result may be easily ascertained by the eyes and nose. Between meals there is whist in the dining saloon, but never on deck or in the cabin saloons, and it always ceases at eleven p. m. In the cabin saloon, in the evening, we had concerts, songs, music on the piano, recitations, conver- sations, and lounging, and reading. All about the decks 2 26 LIF& ON BOARD. and saloons, guide books, polyglot-phrase books, and yellow- covered literature, vie with each other in their efforts to kill time. Anything will call off the attention, a porpoise, a black fish, a whale, a stormy petrel, and most of all, the little land- birds, that venturesome curiosity, or a gale of wind, has sent hundreds of miles from shore, and on weary and drooping wing, seek our spars and rigging as a resting-place. Many such came on board and were taken with the hand. It is said that the alarm of their capture, added to their weariness and hunger, is always fatal to them, and that they very soon die if caught. aphr f([ir&. ENGLAND. LIVERPOOL is a second New- York in its active com mercial character. In its externals there is nothing to remind you that it is a foreign city. You are constantly reminded of Boston and Philadelphia. It resembles them more than it does New-York. The houses in the best streets are stuccoed and have finishings of the light gray sandstone, so common in England ; and there, as in all towns where bituminous coal is used as the usual fuel, the whole town has a smoky, dun and dark appearance. In their hotel arrangements, however, they have nothing in common with us ; no public sitting-room, no public parlor, no public or common table. A public eating-room, called the Coffee-room, is fitted up like a refectory, with little tables spread for one or two persons, and here the single gentle- men take their meals, each at such hour as he pleases. A gentleman with ladies must have his sitting as well as bed rooms, and his meals are served in his sitting-room, with such food and drink as he chooses to order, and at such 28 LONDON TRAFALGAR SQUARE. times as suits his convenience. The hotels are much smaller than ours, have much less pretension in appearance, and the expenses to which the traveller is subjected are about twice as much as with us in hotels of similar grade. We ^ were at the Adelphi Hotel, Ranelagh Place, in Liverpool, which I believe is quite the best in that city. It is a capital hotel on the European plan. I do not expect to find a better one in the British Islands, or on the Continent. "We spent but a day in Liverpool, being anxious to com- plete my business in London, if possible, so as to reach the South of Europe before the sickly heats of summer. We took the cars in the morning for London, the greater beauty of the country inducing us to take the route by Chester and Birmingham. We arrived in London in the afternoon. Although I must leave this city before I have despatched all its lions, indeed before having a fair hit at more than a few of the largest of them, and shall defer much that I have to say till I return here later in the season, when I hope to go through this great jungle more at my leisure, I must, nevertheless, say some things about London even now. When I say it is a wonderful place, I do not use the words in any commonplace sense. Every one knows that as a mere city, a great hive of men, a great settlement, London is wonderful. It stands alone. But in other senses and aspects — those in which you and I, and such as we, have been used to look at it — when I enter it and look at it and feel it, how it preaches of the past and prophesies of the fu- ture ! We went to Morley's well-known and excellent hotel, at the West End. It looks out upon Trafalgar square. That is a small square, about as large as Hudson square in New- York, only a speck on the map of the city. From my TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 29 window I look upon Northumberland House on one side of the square — " Still proudly o'er its lofty gate, Their house's lion stands in state, As in his proud departed hours." We shall never again see such times as when Earl Percy went with hound and horn to the Chevy chase. Those hours are departed, but the pride of Northumberland — the power and the bravery of Percy — will never depart from the history and memory of England. " Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt. The Douglas in red herring." But Percy and Northumberland do no such thing. Their names are indissolubly connected in all their relations with the pride, the glory, the bravery, the exclusiveness, the an- tiquity of the highest aristocracy ; and there, in the busy hum of London, their story is told from day to day, and from year to year. Another striking object, which gives the name to the square, is the monumental column to Nelson, reaching to the sky, and surmounted by a statue of the hero. Three of the four sides of the base of the column are sculptured with his deeds of glory, in the bronze of the guns he captured — the trophies and the heralds of his bravery. " England expects every man to do his duty," were the simple words under which he won his final triumph. From the Admiral down to the smallest ship-boy — the sailor between decks at his gun or in the " imminent deadly breach," with his board- ing pike — all thought only of their country and their duty. That battle and its motto, that monument and its story, cannot fail to teach lessons that sink deep into the heart, and do much to form the character of Englishmen. There is an humbler statue, that of George IV., in the 30 GEORGE IV. CHAKLES I. same square. Cicero said he would prefer that posterity should wonder why a monument was not raised to his memory, rather than why one was. I never looked upon that monument to George IV., without wondering why it was reared to one of the most worthless and contempt- ible monarchs that ever reigned, certainly in England* But really the very littleness of commemorating him there helps to point the moral of the whole scene, so full of in- struction- and interest to republican eyes. There is great fitness in placing the man of deeds, no matter what may have been his parentage, above the mere king in the scale of grateful commemoration. And there, at Charing Cross, is the beautiful equestrian statue of Charles I. Blind loyalty, the divine right of kings, pure legitimacy, claim him as their martyr, and have sought to rescue his memory from the degradation of his end. But the English nation know, and most of all, every monarch that has succeeded him has known and felt, as he passed by that monument, that Charles I., was, indeed, a traitor to royalty and to England. He dispensed with the law. He was a faithless coward and an enemy of the people and their lights, and king as he was, legitimately and by divine right on the throne, his head justly rolled from the scaftbld like that of a common traitor ; and since that day no monarch of England would think of walking in his royal footsteps, without instinctively and convulsively putting his hand to his neck, to feel whether his head was safe on his shoulders. What an immense gain for liberty and right. There is no monument to Cromwell, but the time will come, though you and I may not live to see it, when the name of Oliver Cromwell will call up again the spirit of those brave old patriots of the commonwealth, who did so much for England and for freedom. A step down Whitehall from the statue of Charles I., is WESTMINSTER HALL. 31 the place where he was beheaded, the scene of an immense step in the progress of England. At Runnymede the sturdy barons dictated the great charter to King John. With a wisdom not vouchsafed to Charles, John submitted, and the aristocracy, the first class of the people, triumphed over the throne; but the king preserved his life and his crown. At Whitehall, the people — the English people — dictated their wishes to the king and aristocracy. It was too humiliating to submit, and the king and the throne went down together, and the people were, henceforward, a power in the state — a permanent and a growing power. A little further on is Westminster Hall — literally and fig- uratively one of the grandest monumental halls in all English history. How many men of industry, of thought, of study, of action, have come, in Westminster Hall, to the reward of their labors, and the culmination of their honors, in titles, not which they inherited, but which they earned — which depended for lustre, not upon their ancestors but upon themselves — titles which did not descend to them, but to which they rose. What walk of usefulness, what path of glory, what round of laboi*, in Europe or America, is not to-day fenced and fortified by stronger protection because of Westn.inster Hall'? What body of men in the world more fully deserved or received the trustful confidence of suitors and clients, than the long line of great men who, in past ages and up to our day, on the bench and at the bar, have laid the solid foundation of English law and English justice in Westminster Hall ? What a short-sighted view it is, that awards to courts, and judges, and lawyers, only, the narrow and ephemeral usefulness of settling the few controversies that actually come before them — these are nothing in compari- son to th«t infinite usefulness which flows from the moral effect of that highest of all powers in a state, the right administration of justice. The triumph of the baron3 over 32 WESTMINSTEE ABBEY King John was not a personal triumph alone, it incorporat- ed into the law, forever, the immortal words, " Nulli vende- mus nulli negabimus aid diffcrcmus rectum aut justitiam." "We will not sell, nor deny, nor delay right or justice to any one." Edward I., whose bloody nature and more than brutal savagery would consign him to an execrable immortality* by his wise laws and measures for the administration of justice, gained the name of the English Justinian, and induced posterity to overlook the record of his deeds of blood. " Cedant arma togae" — the courts are above the army — exclaimed the Roman orator. So it has always been, so it must always be in all well-constituted communities. And Westminster Abbey, across the street from Westmin- ster Hall cannot be described — outside so venerable and beautiful — inside so full of the truest glory of England. It is not the ostentatious and luxurious monuments of the heroes of war, which ornament the walls in nave and transept, nor yet the venerable graves in sculptured bronze and stone, in the chapels of royal honor, hoary with centuries that, to my mind, best mark the proper glory of this great receptacle of the distinguished dead. " Some men, with swords, may reap the field And plant fresh laurels when they kill ; Early or late They stoop to fate 1 " Death lays his icy hands on kings Sceptre and crown Must tumble down." This would be so morally as well as physically if no one told their story in monuments more enduring than stone or brass. It is in that humbler group, less showy and more sacred, lying in the poets' corner, that more than all the rest inter- ested me. There are the poets, the historians, the dramatists, the essayists, in whose immortal pages the king, and the PARI1AMENT. 33 soldier, and the lord, must live or have no life. The monu- ment of the king and the hero is more costly and triumph- ant than that of the writer, but these prouder monuments are made by kings and heroes, and not by writers, as the lion said of the picture of the lion conquered by the man. I listened to a debate in the House of Commons, in which Lord John Russell, Lytton Bulwer, D'Israeli, and other dis- tinguished lords and gentlemen, occupied the floor till one o'clock in the morning, on the malt tax, proposed to be largely increased by the present ministry. During that debate it was apparent there, as with us, that the people are the real sovereigns, the power to which her majesty and her majesty's ministers look as the ultimate power in the state. The reform bills, the Catholic emancipation bill, and other such modern measures of common justice and rational prog- ress, show that the examples of the past have not failed to instruct the present, and time alone can show whether there is yet to arise a monarch and an aristocracy, that shall make an obstinate and demented stand against church reform, educational reform, suffrage reform, or other popular de- mands, till the great ground swell upon which the throne, and the lords, and the bench of bishops, are sometimes rocked, even now, shall break into an angry sea, and sweep them all away as hereditary powers, and substitute for them an elective monarchy and senate, and a voluntary church. The two Houses of Parliament — I speak of the rooms in which they meet — are fine rooms for their respective purposes, the character, and constitution and idiosyncracy of the two bodies being considered. It is well known that the mem- bers sit on benches — short \ parallel benches on each side of the chamber — rising one above the other, from a broad pas- sage, in the centre of which, at the head of the room, is the speaker's chair, and the tables of the clerks, &c. The seats are well cushioned, and the whole room well fitted up. 34 HOUSE OP COMMONS. There i? also a gallery which is sometimes, perhaps always, occupied by members. What struck me sis exceedingly sin- gular was the fact, that while the House consists of six hundred members, there are seats, taking gallery and all, for only about four hundred, or possibly, with great crowding, four hundred and fifty, it being supposed that about twa hundred will be absent. The administration party sit on the right of the Speaker, and the opposition on the left, the Ministry occupying the bench lowest and nearest to the chair. All sit with their hats on. Spectators are not allowed to wear their hats. They have no tables or desks, and seem very nonchalant and easy. The Speaker of the House does not wear his hat, but sits much at his ease, in his flow- ing wig and gown, converses with those who are near him, and joins in the laugh if anything amusing occurs. All the clerks of the House also wear wigs. The members are in their usual dress. The house opens punctually at the time appointed. At the strike of the clock, the Speaker leaves his room, preceded by the officer bearing the massive gilt mace, the insignia of the speaker's office. The train of the speaker's gown is borne by train-bearers, and he marches rapidly in, and is followed by the members who are there. The doors are closed, a psalm is read, and a short and appropriate service of prayers is performed, at which none but members are allowed to be present. That being finished, the House pro- ceeds to business, if there be forty members present, a rather small quorum, we should think, for a House of six hundred members. Petitions and other formal business are gone through with, and then comes on the more important busi- ness, which proceeds as with us. Members rise and speak, in their places with their hats off, many often rising at the same time, and the speaker assigning the floor to whomso- ever he sees first. DEBATE. 35 Some one has said that England has been governed by- rival factions for the last hundred years. This is so, and the effects of it are constantly apparent. This arranging the members, according to party, on opposite sides of the chamber is one of them ; another, flowing naturally from this, is that after saying Mr. Speaker, the member takes no further notice of the presiding officer, but faces to the oppo- site side of the chamber and addresses his political adversa- ries seated there, and usually speaks to them in the second person. This would be considered, with us, as a great viola- tion of parliamentary etiquette. It certainly must gi*eatly tend to make legislation a matter of party triumph ; and without any such aids it tends rapidly enough in that direc- tion. I think the Senate of the United States has greatly degenerated since the two parties have arranged themselves on opposite sides of the chamber. That, however, may not be the cause of this degeneracy. There are other causes enough. The practice of cheering or discouraging a member on the floor, as he says anything acceptable or otherwise, is striking, and I should think tended greatly to promote the earnest- ness and ability of the debater. The cheers of approval are, '• Hear, hear, hear him ;" — a good-natured and disapproving surprise or ridicule, " Oh, oh !" of impatience, dissatisfaction and weariness, " Divide, divide" — answering to our call of question — that is, " Let us take the vote," which apparently on all really disputed questions is taken by a division of the House. The cheers are often animated, numerous, and dis- tinct, but not noisy or vociferous. The nearest approach to vociferation which I heard was, when Bulwer and DTsraeli rose to speak, when the cheers from their party, the opposition, were general and loud. Tn a full House and animated de- bate, the effect of the cheers was to me very amusing, from its novelty — the call for the question was especially so, 36 division. seeming to be repeated about ten times in a distinct, clear monotone, not loud but rapid, " divide, divide, divide, divide, divide, divide, divide, divide," and running over one side of the House every few minutes. Finally, when no one else rises to speak, the Speaker rise?, and says, " Strangers will withdraw," when all withdraw except those' in the strangeis' gallery. The meaning of the order being, that all those who are within the bar of the House, shall withdraw. Three times in the course of the evening the ceremony of clearing the House for a division was perfox'med, but before the division commenced a member rose to speak, and the "strangers" were again admitted. Finally, the division came. The House was cleared, and a bell was rung through the magnificently vaulted corridors of the Parliament House, the library, the refreshment-room and the lobby, to give notice to the members who were out, to come within the bar to vote on a division ; and in the stragglers came, and the chamber was nlled. They do not call the ayes and noes as we do, nor take a question by rising, but the ayes arrange themselves on the Speaker's right and pass by him in procession, through a passage behind his chair, then wheel and pass clear round the outside of the chamber — where there is* a passage for the purpose — at the corner of which is one of the clerks with a division list of the members, on which he checks every one as he passes through a bar, admitting but one at a time They then pass into the chamber at the usual entrance in front of the Speaker, where they pass through another bar, and are checked by another clerk. In the meantime the noes have passed out of the usual entrance, in front of the Speaker, in similar procession, have been checked there by one of the clerks, have passed round to the left, outside of the chamber, and have been again checked there, and enter PARLIAMENT HOUSE. 37 the chamber at the upper end on the left of the Speaker, as the ayes enter at the lower end, and all go to their seats. They thus never meet, and there is no confusion, but a waste of time which we could never endure. The lists are com- pared by the clerks, and the result declared. It takes quite half an hour to divide the House. These forms, I suppose, have been often described, but they were new to me ; and as an American gentleman, of great intelligence and some legislative experience, whom I met in London, and who had been often at the House, was ignorant of them, I give them to you. The Library room of the House is a large room, beauti- fully fitted up, but there are as yet but few books. No one can enter it except on the order of a member. As the House commences its sessions late in the afternoon, and sits in the night-time, the necessities of the members have de- manded a refreshment-room, which is let out to a restaura- teur, who supplies many of the members with their dinners and other refreshments at their own expense. It is in the Parliament House — a fine room, and finely fitted up — and is much resorted to by the members. It is for them exclu- sively. For many of the foregoing particulars, and for the civility of being shown through rooms otherwise inaccessible, we were indebted to the kindness of Sir James Anderson, one of the members from Glasgow, to whom I had a letter from our very excellent friend, Mr. Kellogg, late American Consul at Glasgow, whom I had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with at your house. Sir James was Mayor of Glasgow at the accession of her present Majesty, and in pursuance of an established usage, was knighted, as were all the mayors in the United Kingdom. It would give me great pleasure to have an opportunity to return, in A.merica, the kindness which was so acceptable to us in London. 38 WESTMINSTER ABBET. Before seeing liim, I had presumed upon my having letters to another member, Mr. John McGregor, so far as to send up my card to liiin while the House was in session, and to his politeness I was indebted for the opportunity to hear the debate in the House, of which I have spoken. The debate was expected, and it was difficult to get orders of admission, • the members having exhausted their privilege. All these things in England are surrounded with form, and ceremony, and privilege. The Parliament Houses are quite fresh and new, having been rebuilt since the fire. The old Westminster Hall, for so many centuries known and occupied as the seat of justice for all England, was not destroyed, and that grand old Hall, from which you enter all the highest Courts, is the entrance to the Houses of Parliament. Westminster Abbey is directly across the street. In that venerable cathedral we attended church our first Sunday in England, and heard Archdeacon Bentinck, the Dean of Westminster Abbey, preach an excellent sermon to a crowded auditory. All the service is chanted, instead of being read in the usual tone. The Abbey, St. Paul's, the Tower, I shall not now de- scribe. 1 can only say that the Abbey quite equalled my expectations, the Tower did not, and St. Paul's fell far below them. They are all interesting, and no stranger should omit seeing them ; but these last have been so often described by glowing and friendly pens, that one can hardly be rapt into a similar admiration, and he is sure to be dis- appointed. I found others expressing the same opinion. The Tunnel under the Thames was very interesting. You descend through long flights of stairs to the floor of the tunnel and walk through it. There are persons con- " tinually passing. The charge is one penny, that is, about two cents, and they take some ten to twenty pounds a day. THE TUNNEL — BUSINESS STREETS. 89 We had been going up and down the weary stairs of St. Paul's, and the Tower, and therefore determined after walking through the Tunnel to the other side of the Thames, to take a steamer up the river to near our residence. Having walked over and up the thousand and one steps on the other side, we found that there was no boat to come on that side, and no omnibus or cab, so we must even walk down and under and up again ; and although we could not perceive that they had been digging since we passed tlirough, we found it a much greater bore on our return than it was before. It is doubtless quite safe, but as the sides are wet in spots, it does not require any great effort of the imagin- ation to hear ''a dreadful sound of water in mine ears." We then took a Thames steamer — a small, low, black, open decked boat — and shot rapidiy through the numerous mag- nificent bridges that cross the Thames between the Tunnel and Charing Cross, thus taking an interesting view of the crowded river and its thronged and busy wharves. It is one of the great views of London. We had already driven repeatedly through the most crowded and beautiful streets, and the large and rural | a k°, and about the squares. Strand, and Cheapside, Fleet and Holborn, are great thoroughfares of trade and business, crowded with all sorts of vehicles and passers, and all their windows are crowded with shop-goods of the most attract- ive display, for miles. So Oxford street, Regent street, Pall Mall, Piccadilly, and the squares and parks, overpower one with their appearance of wealth and luxury in build- ings, in shops, equipages and style of all sorts. London is new every day — it is so large and of such infinite variety. It is so easy to go through the range of a thousand years, and with your own eyes to look in upon the monuments and the manners of thirty generations of Englishmen — England all the time in her glory, yet a portion only of a small 40 THE WEATHER. island — that one is constantly reminded of the greatness and power and glory which has gone on increasing and increas- ing, till the sun never sits on her might. It is impossible not to be proud of such a parentage, and to say, if ever I must cease to be an American, let me be an Englishman. As I went through Westminster Abbey, in the Poet's Cor- ner, looking on the monument of Prior, I repeated a coup- let or two from Lloyd's lines — " The famed Mat Prior, it is said, Oft bit his nails and scratched his head — And changed a thought a hundred times Because he did not like the rhymes." And in the course of some conversation, it was said that I ■>■ was an American. " Yes," said the guide, " and we often find the Americans know more about these men than the English themselves. — That comes, you know," said he, "because . you read so much more." I could not help the conscious feeling that, while, by the blessing of God, we have been permitted to set up for ourselves and open a career of na- tional glory entirely our own — so widely different from that of our fatherland — still we are entitled, in the strictest right, to participate in all the past glories of that most remark- able nation, whose great heart beats in London, and whose great national and social characteristics are there in daily manifestation, in their greatest intensity. "We have now been in England one week, and if half they say about the climate of London is true, we have been sin- gularly fortunate, for we have had uninterrupted fine weather, such as a New-Yorker might boast of in New- York, mild, clear, and dry — no fog, or mist, or rain, or drizzle. The smoky atmosphere of the great Babylon, from its hundreds of thousands of coal fires, is of course always here, and modifies the light and heat of the sun somewhat, but the climate of the last seven days has been delightful. Cfcaphr $0ttrtft. FRANCE. \ 1/E left London by railroad for Paris, by the way of V V Folkestone and Boulogne. At the former place we take a steamer and cross the channel, twenty-nine miles, to Boulogne-s«r-?«er. When we arrived at Folkestone, at mid-day, the tide was out, and the artificial harbor of that old English town was dry as a New- York street after a shower. The vessels, of all sorts, were lying quietly in the mud. While waiting for the tide to come — it rises some ten or twelve feet — we rambled about and came on board of our steamer again about four p. m. The cross seas and currents in the English Channel make it, you know, as uncomfortable a piece of navigation as can well be found. Passengers are always liable to sea-sickness, according to the worst pattern of that ugly disease. Of this we were forcibly reminded on returning on board, where, to our great amusement, we found the floors, as well as the benches and settees, of both cabins, covered with passen- gers, principally ladies, stretched at their length on their 42 BOULOGNE — NAPOLEON in. backs or sides, their heads leaning on Iheir hands, or their carpet bags or baskets, and a common wash bowl by their heads, or in their laps, ready for the well-known contingency — if it can be called a contingency — of sea-sickness. Poor things! they lost all Iheir trouble — just our luck again — the sea was as smooth as a pond all the way. Not one of them was sea-sick, and they got up with looks of mortifica- tion and defeat as we neared the old port of Boulogne. On landing at Boulogne we were surprised to see that the bag- gage porters were women, who carried our heavy trunks, as well as lighter articles, from the steamer to the custom- house. Here we came under the government of his Imperial Majesty, Napoleon III., Emperor of the French, at the very place where — endeavoring, as the result has showed, to anticipate his destiny — he landed with a few followers, and galloped up the streets, scattering gold as they went like madmen, expecting a rising and a revolution like that when his uncle returned from Elba. A few stared, a few laughed, none joined him ; he was arrested, and imprisoned, and set down as too great a simpleton or madman to be shot or guillotined. I do not remember how long ago it was — not long — but he is now quietly and safely emperor of that great, learned, brave, and warlike nation, and has been at the head of it for six years. After his uncle, he is, doubtless, the ablest head that the French nation has had since the days of Louis XIV. The Queen of England reigns but does not govern Louis Napoleon reigns and governs also, both with the hand of a master, with tact as well as talent, and is popular be- cause he governs as well as reigns. The emperor and roy- alty suit, the French love of display. As a nation they like to be governed, if they can be governed well — have peace at home, respect abroad, and prosperity in all the departments of BOULOGNE TO PARIS. 43 industry. These he secures to them — and why should they run after the few who sigh and agitate for the theoretical republic — while a practical one is impossible for the French — or for the ancient and legitimate monarchies of the Bour- bons, which most of the present generation of Frenchmen have been taught to despise. His destiny, thus far, is cer- tainly a most extraordinary one. When it will end, no one can predict. I do not see in it any elements of weakness. We object to the fusilades and slaughters of his prompt and energetic revolution, but revolutions are always bloody, although not always as short and complete as his. Of the numerous French revolutions, his was not the most bloody. Of all the great treasons to free government in France, his was the most pardonable. The question was forced upon him whether, in one week, he should be emperor, or prisoner, or fugitive — living or dead. He chose to triumph by rev- olution, which, in France, is a regular power in the state. The first-class seats in the railroad carriages, in both England and France, are much superior to ours, even when we make especial provision for comfort and sleep. Thus far we have found in all, convenient shelves, straps, &c, to hold the lighter articles that one desires to have at hand. The seats are luxuriously cushioned behind and on the sides to the top of the spacious carriage ; and one can recline the head and sleep as in a chair. Only six persons occupy one room or compartment, which is of abundant widlh. The roads are, thus far, much better than ours — always a double track, which, of course, prevents much of the liabil- ity to collision, and the cars run as easily as on a floor, free from jar and irregularity of motion. Indeed, it seems to be the perfection of rapid land carriage. They have always first, second, and third cLiss cars, differing greatly in price. They always stop half an hour or so for hasty meals. Our route from Boulogne to Paris was an agreeable one, 44 pajus. as was that from London to Boulogne, through a fine open country, scattered with towns, villages, dwellings, and farms, and crops just beginning to look thrifty and interesting. There was little to remind us that we were not in America. The similarity of the landscape was striking, the grand dif- ference being the absence of hedges and fences. Lines of* trees, single and sometimes double, seem to be the only landmarks. The cultivation in France did not seem to equal that of England in neatness and care, nor the better order of good farming in the United States. In commencing this hasty run through the remarkable nations, I determined rather to avoid than to fill my mind with the infinite details which are crowded upon you by the guide-books, the cicerones, and the local lacqueys whose services you are compelled to accept at your places of less- hurried observation ; and, for the same reason, to pass over without particular notice many things that, if they alone could be seen, would be objects of much interest — to hurry on to the great centres of history, and at each of them to devote as much time as may be necessary to look at them with a little care. So, with an eye to the most advantage, and with the least risk to comfort and health, I shall press onward to my most southern points first, expecting to work my way back to cooler latitudes before the summer sun shall make the heavens brass, and the earth powder and dust. My stay, therefore, in Paris as in London, on my first visit, has been very brief, and my passage through France to the Mediterranean as rapid as practicable. An intelli- gent friend suggested the leaving Paris entirely alone, till the last, because being, as it were, the climax of excellence in sight-seeing, even a glance at it, in advance, would cause us to look with less interest upon other cities, and take from them the charm of their proper beauty and novelty — and would PARIS. 45 also have the effect, on our return to Paris, to give it some- what the air of an old acquaintance. Perhaps he was right, but it was precisely these considerations which induced me to give both those wonderful capitals, in the first in- stance, but the brief visit of introduction which should show to me their genei'al manners and bearing, and more obvious characteristics, and to leave the " better acquaintance," the more appreciative knowledge, to the time when we shall have more familiarity with cities and countries of foreign aspect and habits. In Paris we learned something of hotel life there. We looked in upon the shops, we rode about in the voitures, we visited Noti'e Dame, and one or two other principal churches. We looked at the Palace of the Tuileries and its beautiful gardens, at the Champs Elysees, with its infi- nite amusements, and shady walks and seats — at the unnat- ural trim of ornamental trees into stiff angular forms — squares, circles, arches, pyramids — thus destroying the charm, without which nature is not nature. We saw the statues, and arches, and columns which ornament its public places, and perpetuate, in stone and bronze, the great men and great deeds of the nation. We saw its narrow lanes, and mounted to some of its loftiest garrets. We strolled in the gayest streets and promenaded the widest and most thronged Boulevards. We sat upon the sidewalk to see the passing crowds. We took our lunch at the stylish res- taurants, and saw all Paris in these gay Boulevards. The shops were open, with a few honorable exceptions, and the public conveyances running, and the usual occupations of life apparently going on — on Sunday as on other days. After these rapid glances, not careful enough to justify relia- ble descriptions, we took seats in the coupe of a diligence of the Messageries Imperiales for Marseilles, to proceed with- out stopping, except for two hurried meals a day, till, by rail 46 THE DILIGENCE. and steam, and diligence, and horses, we shall have travers- ed la belle France in its longest direction, and seen la grand e nation in some of its best rural manifestations, and most hoary and curious antiquity. The lumbering French diligence, or stage coach, has been often described, and I shall attempt no other description; except to say that the body of the diligence consists of what, some twenty years ago, we should call a good-sized stage- coach. This constitutes the middle part of the vehicle. This is called the interior, and its seats are the second- class, and quite comfortable and entirely respectable. There is then still behind this, another apartment of nearly the same size, containing six seats, less comfortable and desirable, which is called the rotonde, and its seats are the third class. There is, also, in front of the interior, the first apartment of the carriage ; it contains only three seats, all looking forward, and the front and sides of this apartment are of glass, giving to the occupants a full opportunity to view the landscape. This is called the coupe, and its seats are the first class. It is fitted up in a very comfortable and easy style. There is, finally, the fourth class, which is the seat on the top, behind the driver. This is called the banquette, is comforta- bly fitted up and protected by a leather caleche-top, &c. The driver's scat and foot-board are quite clearly above the line of sight of the coupe. Then behind the fourth class, on the top, under a large leather covering, are all the baggage and merchandise, &c, on board. Practically it is a very well arranged, comfortable, capacious, and safe vehicle ; but, ap- parently, a very heavy, lumbering, awkward, and top-heavy concern. It is usually drawn by four horses, sometimes by three, and often by five or six horses, three abreast. We were quite doubtful at first, but soon found it to be a con- veyance — in the coupe — of singular comfort, safely and agree- ableness. PAltfS TO MARSEILLES. 47 We took the diligence at the Rue Notre Dame des Yic- toires, and were rolled through Paris, the whole length of the grand succession of Boulevards to the railroad depot. There we were driven under a grent windlass, and the body of the diligence was lifted up — as a blacksmith swings up an ox to shoe him — and the running part removed. The body is then swung on to the running part of a railroad car and properly fastened ; and thus our carriage, with ourselves and the baggage, by this hasty change, becomes a railroad car- riage filled and loaded, the horses and the running part be- ing left behind. We were then, by steam, whirled rapidly through to Chalons-sur-saone, two hundred and thirty-nine miles. We had the whole coupe to ourselves, and being about ten feet behind the next preceding carriage, we saw, through the glazed front and sides of our little snuggery, the whole landscape spread before us, as distinctly as a clear and quiet atmosphere, and a mild and unclouded sun, could ren- der it. Indeed, the weather all the way to Marseilles, and while here, has been such as to call for our gratitude for that kindness which has so favored us, on this excursion, in every hour of every day. At Chalons we were taken by another windlass from the railroad, and placed upon diligence wheels, six horses placed before us, three abreast, harnessed in the strange manner of the country, and we shuffled, and rattled, and rolled, and scrambled along, each of our six horses occasionally endeavor- ing to find a sort of rest, by running through the whole gamut of his paces — walking, racking, trotting, pacing, gal- loping, running ; but no pair in the same pace at once. It had an odd, belter skelter, scrub-race, dangerous sort of look to us, but it was quite safe, rapid, and pleasant. We might have taken a dirty little steamer from Chalons to Lyons, down the Saone, and another from Lyons to Avig- non, down the Rhone — the passage giving fine views of the 48 THE LANDSCAPE. river sides, and external looks at the old towns that are scattered along ; but I preferred the diligence that carried, us along the highways — through the vineyards, and gar- dens, and groves — in close proximity to the old ruins and castles, and through the narrow, crooked, and rock paved streets of towns — all showing the look, the habits, the cos- tumes, the crops, and the cultivation which, probably, have been unchanged for a thousand years and more. At Avig- non, once the seat of the popes, we were again transferred to a car on the rail track, and rapidly carried to Marseilles, the great French port on the Mediterranean. The whole trip was one. to us, of constantly changing novelty and interest, the details of which, of course cannot, without weariness to you, be put into a letter. From Paris to Fontainebleau was the beautiful cultivation that sur- rounds a large city with gardens, which minister to the various tastes of the people — then the Bois de Fontaine- bleau, where they resort usually for duels, and where is the the palace of Fontainebleau, where Napoleon I. took leave of the officers of the Old Guard, &c, on departing for Elba. The sides of the railroads at each end of the route, are everywhere covered with flower? of various beauty, but usually of the deepest and clearest dyes — the wild red poppy with its single-leafed flower — yellow, red, and white daisies — whole fields of the landscape were covered with butter cups. There were no fences, no hedges, no visible landmarks of any kind but rows of poplars and sometimes other trees, trimmed to a little tuft at the top, that the shadow of their more umbrageous branches may not impair the fertility of the soil about them. This mode of trimming trees, in both England and France, is very general, and produces a singular and rather unpleas- ant effect. The fields, as far as the eye can reach, are divided into narrow strips, varying in width from ten to THE LANDSCAPE. 49 fifty feet or more, and these strips, in inexplicable variety and alternation, exhibit all sorts of crops and all stages of cultivation. One strip freshly ploughed — the next a fine headed growth of wheat, or oats, or rye — then some new crop just harrowed — the next, mowers swinging their scythes, and so on, and so on, as we roll on over the rail or the road. This cultivation extends to the top of the hills, in the middle distance, while the mountains in the far distance, perhaps, show the snow clad-summits and the rugged outlines of Alpine peaks. And occasionally, here and there, on the hills, some gray old ruin nods from a cliff, and seems about to leap into the valley below — and anon you see, on the distant hill which you are rapidly approach- ing, a rocky barren of large extent, breaking in upon the garden which your eye has so long rested upon. It is almost refreshing to look upon the rugged ledges and moss-grown sides, and cool shadows of such a desert, so hoary and deserted ; but before you have had time to get cool by thinking on its trickling fissures and the " shadow of a great rock in a weary land," lo ! a second look, and the thing turns out to be an old French town, gray with centuries, old as the times of Julius Caesar, and it had perhaps its Latin name given to it by the conquering Roman who found it an old fortified town, and took it by storm with catapult and battering-ram. And now you rush by it in the car, or trundling through its narrow streets in a diligence, you wonder at its crooked lanes, its lofty and almost windowless walls — its low and sunken doors which, thrown open, reveal its dark unfurnished rooms, with earth or stone floors, that seem as comfortless and uncivilized as the hut of a savage, and only a little less filthy than the streets, that serve all offensive purposes. In the fields we saw few men, fewer cattle and sheep and horses. We wondered where the men were, but we saw 3 50 PEASANT WOMEN. many women in the streets, on the road, and in the fields. Every human female — from mewling and puking infancy to decrepit age — wears a cap, and nothing else, on the head. Women carry most things on their heads, and they carry everything, and perform all the most laborious labors of rural life. In civilized Boulogne, they carried the heavies* trunks from the ship to the custom-house, and again to the carriage. We saw them working in the fields and carrying home the harvest — breaking stones to macadamize the high- way — and, along the highway, gathering, with their hands alone, into their aprons, the fresh dropped dung for manure. The leader, the driver, the rider, the constant companion and co-worker of the universal donkey, is woman — and of course she shows the effect of sueh a position in life. She is, however, always better and neater dressed than man, and seems not unhappy or discontented with her lot. She seems to be as happy as a galley slave in his song, or a negro slave in her dance. But her premature wrinkles and gray hair, and her ultimate decrepitude, show that her more delicate constitution was not made for such a task. Next after her is the universal donkey. He is certainly a great institution in Europe. We have all of us seen, from time to time, a respectable and wise-looking ass, or the lighter and more graceful mule, but that grotesque little animal — the universal European donkey — has been a per- petual novelty to me. He is but little larger than a goat, and is about as shaggy. His ears are about as long as his legs, and he usually carries them nearly horizontally, and his endurance, patience, meekness, and strength, seem to be without limit. A donkey, costing in London or on the Continent, from ten to fifteen dollars, and a cart about as much more, is a complete outfit for a carman — and without the cart, on the Continent, the donkey himself, with a sort of a pack-saddle, DONKEYS. 51 is competent to anything. They cover him up with sacks many times his bulk — they put a tolerabla load of wood on each side of him, with a strap across the saddle — they cover him all up with fagots and bundles of hay, and straw, and baskets of enormous size, filled with stone or iron, or prod- uce. Often you will see the little animal, trotting along, with six or seven ten-or-fifteen-gallon kegs of beer for a load, three kegs on each side and one on his back, so that his load reaches on each side to within about a foot of the ground. You see a load of hay coming toward you, ap- parently moving by its own will, and not till it is quite near are you able to discover, near the ground, signs of a donkey beneath it, looking for all the world like a mouse under a bundle of oakum. And the peasant girl, going to market, puts her two large baskets on her little gray donkey — one on each side, resting on straps across the saddle — clothes herself in the picturesque dress of her class, and seats her- self on the saddle, using one basket for her foot-rest, and, with her knitting in her hands, trots cheerily on, her broad- brimmed cone-crowned hat — for out of France they wear hats — and her party-colored boddice, trembling under the pit-a-pat pace of her progress, and the ribbons flutter- ing in the gentle breeze that blows her hair about her tawny neck. And the teams for drawing carts and wagons on the great highways, for the transportation of merchandise or produce, were a great novelty to us, although doubtless they have come down unchanged from the greatest antiquity. You will see three or four donkeys tandem, or two or three abreast, or a» horse, a cow, and a donkey tandem, or oftener three abreast, and another donkey for a leader — and, some- times, a homogeneous train of six donkeys, three abreast, or five, two abreast, with a leader. Their harness is the oddest of all contrivances, and with donkey himself and the 52 PARIS TO MARSEILLES. cart, defies all characteristic description. Between the ears is an ornamental little steeple, with feathers, or rosettes of rags, and a bell or two. Then, about the shoulders, is a hame collar, stuffed with straw, about six inches thick, ter- minating at the top in a leather-eovered cone, about fifteen inches high, and about six inches in diameter at the base. About this is a necklace of small bells. Then comes up the wooden hame — fastened at the base of this cone where, with us, it terminates — but in middle France it stops not there, but on both sides of the cone starts off again at an angle of about forty-five degrees with the axis of the cone, and, in a regular curve, branches off eighteen or twenty inches, like a pair of long, slender horns, and on the ends are rings, through which the reins run before going to the bits. Then the cart is loaded, all it will bear, above the axletree and below, between the wheels, to near the ground. Each particular animal has abont as many heads and horns as the beast in the Apocalypse, and the whole thing to- gether might be worshipped by one idolatrously inclined, as the only thing which has no likeness to anything in the heavens above, or earth beneath, or the waters under the earth In the larger and more civilized towns, the lower classes, the common people, find their long-eared servant very useful, under his little saddle or before his little cart, to trot nimbly along on the rural drives and excur- sions, and little airings, which the numerous holidays make available. I spoke of the fields and the cultivated landscape of France, as it passed under my eye for the first hundred miles. Soon the vine made its appearance, anfl at first the vineyards only crept up the hillsides with a warm and sunny exposure. By-and-bye they spread over the plains, and made one of the long strips of alternating crops, and at last they became the principal crop, the vines being planted THE RAILROAD. 53 some ten to twenty feet apart in rows, and between the rows other crops, that would neither shade the grapes nor be shaded by them, nor impede their vintage. And as soon as we approached the shores of the Mediterranean, the olive and the almond tree began to appear. You must not imagine that the beautifully cultivated fields were the only landscape we looked upon. We saw often the beautiful grazing landscape, with its clumps of trees and winding streams, and meadows opened out among the hills, that reminded us constantly of the more beautiful landscapes of Vermont and Massachusetts, but the absence of cattle, and sheep, and horses — except here and there, perhaps, a shepherd with his few sheep, or the cow-pen, with half a dozen cows — always struck us with surprise. The cattle upon the hills, and the sheep in the pastures, were not there as we see them at home. So, too, the general character of the landscape and the country was by no means homogene- ous. We passed through large regions of almost desolation and wilderness. Briers and thorns covered the face of it, whortleberries and blackberries were apparently its stingy crops, and ferns, and brakes, and wild thistles, and other profitless weeds, were the ornaments of valleys between the barren knolls. The railroad was remarkably well made. All its con- structions were of great strength and beauty; and, for the last one third of the route from Paris to Chalons, and from Avignon to Marseilles, there is a constant succession of tri- umphs of engineering, and the masterly skill of the mechanic. It there runs through sections of the rudest, sharpest and deepest hills, valleys, ravines, and gorges, of the most wild, accidental and picturesqe character. Of course, deep cuts, and bridges, and viaducts, and tunnels, succeed each other in the most rapid and irregular succession. We passed through two tunnels of several miles each in length. The painful sus- 54 MARSEILLES. pense of ten minutes in such deep solitudes and awful cells, being unbroken except in one instance, when midway of the tunnel we met another train, and the rattling of the multi- tudinous echoes, the blazing of the torches, and the half illu- minated wreaths of smoke, as the trains rushed by each other in the long subterraneous cavern, gave an air of the most startling sublimity. It was from such a tunnel that we came out into the sub- urbs of Marseilles. This city dates its foundation some six hundred years before Christ, and has always been a com- mercial city. Tradition says that some half a dozen years after the death of Christ, the risen Lazarus with his two sisters came to Marseilles as the pioneers of the new religion. The preaching of Lazarus soon brought him to a second death, and with his martyrdom the progress of the religion of Christ was almost entirely arrested ; and it was not till two hundred and fifty years later, that a Roman officer, with two of his soldiei-s, having embraced the new faith, also suffered martyrdom, and, by their triumphant confidence in the Savior, aroused the sympathies of the people, and intro- duced Christianity among them. At about the same time, it spread rapidly through Greece and Rome. The blood of the original Greek race that settled the city, it is said, may be still traced, so that the population is of two classes, as is the town itself of two different parts, the old and the new. The old race is dark-eyed and a little tawney, brave, industrious and economical, with a temper that " carries anger as the flint bears fire, that shows a hasty spark and straight is cold again," but in its moments of ex- altation, is dangerous. The new race is mercurial, active, volatile and sympathetic, easily aroused and easily led, in- dustrious and enterprising. The old town is dark, narrow, dirty, and labyrinthine. The new is modern, and spacious, and beautiful. The com- MARSEILLES. 55 pletion of the road to Paris, now near at hand, must give an impulse to this old commercial town, which will soon make it, in all its principal portions, feel the invigorating influence of modern commerce ; and if the Emperor be really about to build there a royal palace, as has been suggested in official quarters, Marseilles, after the varied misfortunes of the last fifty years, will enter upon a career of the greatest prosperity, and will rapidly become one of the greatest and most beautiful cities of the world. The old city was built round a little bay or bight — pear-shaped, and of bold shore and good water — constituting a harbor of the greatest safety, from which the city spread around, as it grew, through its long ages of Mediterranean commerce. This little harbor — little, compared with a larger and outer harbor — is now crowded with vessels from all parts of the world, packed as closely together as it is possible to place them ; and in its coffee-houses, and along its wharves, the shipmasters and sailors from England and America mix with those from Greece, and Egypt, and Africa. By-and- bye the new town of Marseilles will stretch farther and farther inland, her old harbor will become a mere dock, and that spacious outer harbor, which is now protected by the hills on her sides and the rocky islets that form a natural breakwater, will be one of the largest and most thronged, as well as one of the safest in the world. We drove to the Napoleon Tower, which terminates the Cours Bonaparte, one of the best streets. It overlooks the city and the harbor, and is surmounted by a covered reser- voir for the water that from the neighboring hills supplies the city. We took a turn through the principal streets and the grand Prado — a street of immense length and about two hundred and fifty feet wide — with two large carriage ways alternating with two broad walks, all planted wilh trees, and now on its sides crowded with beautiful country resi- 56 SOUTH OF FRANCE. dences. It is the beginning of one of the most magnificent thoroughfares in the world. It is now a necessary of life for a Marsellais to have a country house, which is his only " home." It is one of the inevitables of modern progress, that the present two hundred thousand people of the city shall soon swell to a million.* The gray rocks that shut her in from the sea, will be forever unchanged, but when the Prado, with numerous intersecting similar avenues, shall stretch miles into the country, then the graceful, and solid, and fanciful architecture of the rus in urbe, will present one of its most enchanting manifesta- tions, in this modern improvement of the old Phocian city of Marseilles. On our arrival at Marseilles, we found that the steamboat which we had hurried to meet on her appointed clay, had left the day before, so that after a day or two for rest and look- ing about, we took the diligence — which we had found so pleasant thus far — for Genoa, by the way of Nice, through that "south of France," that " north shore of the Mediter- ranean," to whose unknown climate, physicians, who have never been there, have heretofore consigned so many patients to the desolate death of the stranger in a strange land. It is a strip of country which, indeed, looks out upon a southern sun and a usually tranquil sea, but it lies at the base of an Alpine region, from which the wind comes down with an almost polar chill. The balmy and sweet breath of a genial spring morning, that has invited the invalid to stroll in the fields — or the burning heat of the summer sun, which have forced him to seek the deep shades of the groves of the olive, the fig, and the lemon, are, without notice, and with an irregular and accidental suddenness of change, succeeded by the frosty breath of a gale that has swept over eternal snows. These all make this climate so fatal to consumptives, that while we all hear of many who seek health in the south MARSEILLES TO NICE. 57 of France, we rarely hear of one who has returned to meet the friends whose hopes and tears were mingled with his, when he left. This, I believe, has come to be generally acknowl- edged, and the little cities and towns that have owed much of their prosperity and beauty to the many foreign residents whose money and taste have given to the old-fashioned town a modern look and style, are now losing that prosperity, to some extent. Physicians, of course, more rarely advise their patients to go to the south of France for health. The drive from Marseilles to Nice is one of great beauty. A violent rain of an hour, at starting, had swept along tbe coast, laid the dust, and washed the face of natm-e. Im- mense orchards of olive-trees, and fig-trees, and almond- trees, cover the plains and the hills — the cereal plants and the vines are spread side by side in long strips, like the beds and alleys of a garden of boundless exent — and long bines of mulberry-trees stretch along the wayside and the headlands that divide the farms. The choicest flowers of our conservatories, the rarest and rankest cactuses grow wild, and here and there, as you ap- proach a village that strangers have decked with a profu- sion of plants, whose breath is sweet as their hues are beautiful, the whole air is loaded with perfume for miles. The shower had refreshed them all, and the fields seemed to smile with a newly-discovered joy, and gardens to wave a happy welcome to us, as our wheels bore us toward them. The clay was one of those festival holidays, which abound in Roman Catholic countries, and we had the advantage of seeing the people in their holiday dresses. Each disti-ict seems to have its characteristic costume for the peasants, which is, sometimes, as pretty as it looks in a picture. More often, however, while you recognize the original of a pretty picture, you are compelled to pronounce the reality ungraceful and uninteresting. 3* 58 MARSEILLES TO NICE. The town of Cannes, one of the last towns in France as yon approach the Italian frontier, is beautiful in a high de- gree. It has been occupied by foreigners, and about it are modern buildings of great taste and freshness, in the archi- tecture and grounds — a mixture of the Turkish and the Christian styles of ornament. Here the cross and there the Sultan's crescent moons give a novelty and interest, which the severer form of ancient taste would lack. The whole finish and air — light, brilliant and beautiful — of the new parts of this and some other towns, are exceedingly refreshing, and inter- esting — interchanging the frightful and filthy towns that are scattered along the coast, whose dirty and crooked streets run at the base of high and poverty-stricken houses of stone and stucco of the coarsest kind — the streets so narrow that as the diligence moves along, it is only with great skill that the driver avoids hitting the walls on both sides, while the inhabitants rush into the niches and doorways, and stand there trembling, making themselves as small and thin as possible to avoid being crushed by the passing wheels. Just as we reached the frontier we saw, by the roadside, a marble column, engraved, "Souvenir du Mars, 1815. De I'isle d'Elbe, ici debarqua Napoleon." " In memory of March, 1815. Here Napoleon landed from the island of Elba" — and on a small tavern sign, " Chez moi, reposa Na- poleon — venez boire ici, et celebrez son nom." " Napoleon reposed in my house — come in and drink to the honor of his name." Thus indelibly the first Napoleon wrote his name wherever he went. ITALY NICE TO GENOA. IN a few minutes after we saw the records of the great Corsican, we passed the frontier and were in Italy — Nice being the frontier town of the Duchy of Piedmont. It is one of the towns which have been so much visited by inva- lids and their families — one of the watering place of the north shore of the Mediterranean. The old town is like the other old towns which are scattered through France and Italy — narrow, dirty, dingy, and disagreeable — but the new part is open, wide, airy, and beautiful. The court-yards and fields are covered with flowers, and sweet with every variety of pleasant perfume. The streams of water — as we passed along through all this region — are but rivulets that one could step over. Little streamlets wind along their sunny way through wide pebbly channels that are spanned by large bridges sometimes, of many arches. These streams are fed from the Ligurian and Maritime Alps, from the bases of which they issue, and a comparatively light rain swells them to wide and boisterous 60 ITALY-— NICE. rivers, which again, after a few clays, leave their channels dry and dusty, except a small rill. The effect is strange to the eye — wide rivers thus apparently dried up. This little rill of fresh water, however, near the towns, is often lined on both sides with the washerwomen of the vicinity, kneeling at the brink, resting their little wash-boards on stones, and busy at their humble trade — while all the dry stony bed of the stream is covered, in little patches, with the washed linen spread to bleach in the sun. We saw, I should think, some- times a hundred women and girls thus at work together. With their climate they need no fire in their houses, and, of course, use no hot water for washing, while the run of the stream changes the water so often, that their work is per- formed with comparatively little labor. The sidewalks of Nice present an appearance which is quite pretty, that is, in the old part of the town. They are paved with the pebbles from the beach of the Mediterranean, of two colors, white and bluish gray, set in Mosaic style, in various combinations of the regular geometrical figures. But while the effect is agreeable enough to the eye, it cannot be so pleasant to the feet of those who wear light slippers or go barefoot. However, here, as in France, the barefooted peasantry wear wooden shoes, as Sir Terence O'Shaugh- nessy, or some other tauriferous member of the Irish Parlia- ment, once said. Nice is celebrated, in a small way, for the neatness with which the various kinds of woods produced there are wrought into fancy articles. It has its theatre and opera, and public w r alks, and its garrison of soldiers, and has, on some hours of the day and evening, much appearance of life and activity. We here saw a drunken man for the first time since we left New- York. Rags, filth, and beggars, abound. There are drives and views, and all that, in the neighborhood, which we did not go to see, but went joyfully on our way to Genoa, THE CORNICE ROAD. 61 along that remarkable route — forming a sort of cornice to the highlands of the shore — and long known as the cornice road. That road, soon after leaving Nice, by a devious and winding course, among the little spurs of the Ligurian Alps, finds its romantic way to their tops, and then goes from cliff to cliff, round this gorge, and over that chasm, over via- ducts and bridges, and along precipices of uncalculated depths — all those stony mountains being terraced up with stone walls, and covered with the vine and the olive up to the line of vegetation. Here and there a mountain village, solitary and lonely, is planted among their fastnesses, and now and then the torrent that had, for ages, worn the rock of its ragged and precipitous bed, has left, at the bottom, its period- ical deposit till there has grown an oasis of the freshest green that the eye can rest upon. The road itself was smooth and beautiful, and its course is often round two sides of a triangle, in a complete zig-zag, so as to preserve a tolerably level track. On our right and close to us was the Mediterranean, with its towers of the middle ages scattered all along the shore — built there as little fortresses against the African corsairs, and now in ruins — and its here and there white sails on its calm blue water. The sea, and the bay, and the sail, and the tower, and the chasm, and the cliff, and the terrace of the vine and the olive, and the rugged and Alpine summits, and the green fields at their bases, were shut in and shut out, now disclosed and now concealed, now in one form and combination of beauty, and wildness, and sublimity, and now in another, till we were almost dizzy with the mere intoxication of beauty and novelty. Here, among these mountains, is the little monarchy of Monaco, the smallest monarchy in the world, containing about six thousand subjects. Monaco lies at our feet as we go along the hills, and, at one little settlement by the way, 62 MONACO— TROPHY A AUGUST!. there was so much show of authority as to take down our trunks from the diligence and pretend to be about to search them custom-housieally — but this was only that the right might not be lost by non-user. Nothing was actually done, and no money demanded. The Prince of Monaco has his palace at Monaco. Painting, and gilding, and throne- room, and guard-room, and ante-chamber, are there, but decayed and neglected. His majesty spends most of his time at Paris, and we did not delay our journey to look in upon his shabby gentility. Near this is one of those relics which so forcibly show those characteristics of the old Eomans which enabled them to extend their empire over almost impossibilities. The Tropha^a Augusti — an immense tower now in ruins, but formerly of great extent, surmounted by a statue of Augus- tus, and covered with trophies — was built by that emperor to commemorate his ultimate triumph over the tribes of the Ligurian Alps. What perseverance, and strength, and dis- cipline, must have been united in the Roman soldier to have enabled him, with his heavy armor, to follow, and over- take and subdue — on these angular, broken, and precipitous cliffs — the wild tribes, that for near one hundred years success- fully defied the Koman power. Well may Augustus have been proud to commemorate their final subjection by hia arms. After passing along these highlands, we wind a beautiful way down to the seashore, and continue along its plane to Genoa. I shall not attempt to describe the various old towns through which we passed on this interesting journey, of two, three, four, five, ten, and twenty thousand people. Old, gray, dirty, and comfortless — with narrow streets, and filthy lanes — the houses often communicate at the top, or two or three stories up, across the streets, as though it was intended that the population might pass from house to house PEASANT GIRLS, 68 without descending to the street, when defence or escape might make it necessary. We saw in the fields the most admirable husbandry with the rudest and most primitive agricultural instruments. The plants and fruits of the tropics by the wayside, spreading out over the plains, and reaching from terrace to terrace up the hillsides. Enor- mous cactuses — wild among the rocks — the oriental palm tree, and the American aloe mix, here and there, in a land- scape covered with vast fields of lemon, orange, almond, olive and fig trees. It is a singular characteristic of the better and more recent class of houses, that they are painted often in gay and bright colors — of course on walls of stucco, for there are no wooden houses thus far on the Continent. You are pleased as you seem to see that the people begin to know what airi- ness and comfort are. The house in its several stories is pierc- ed with windows, which have sashes and blinds, and a man is smoking comfortably by one window, and a harmless, neces- sary cat is sitting in another. You can almost hear her purr. But when you are near enough to see the cheat, you find that it is all paint, and that the house has but a window or two in reality, and doubtless within is as confined, dark, and comfortless, as the dungeon-like hut that made no pretension to decency. The churches are sometimes painted, from spire to foundation stone, in the brightest and various colors. The peasant-girls are a great improvement upon what we saw in France. Here, when dressed up, they are quite ro- mantic in their look. The broad, straw hat, is set flat on the top of the head, and the crown is a flat cone, of about three inches in height, the base of which, by a graceful curve, sweeps out into the brim, and the ribbons give it a liveliness which is quite picturesque. The girls themselves are more feminine, and you see less of them in the fields, while the rakish way in which the conductor of the dili- 64 MAIL STAGE- gence wears his hat, and the dashing nod and heroic air with which the postillion cracks his whip, as he rumbles in or out of a village, or passes a company of peasant-grrls, and the certainty that every one. of those girls will so tos3 or turn her head as always to give to every man in the dili- gence — and especially to the conductor and postillion — a sight of her face — all show that you are again among humans, who have some regard to appearances, and desire especially to be looked upon with favor. I should have said before that the diligence has always two masters, the conductor who goes the whole route, and directs the postillion when to stop and when to go — it is always with the conductor that the passengers communi- cate — and the postillion, who drives a team out and back, one post as it is called, six to ten miles, and spends the rest of the time in taking care of his horses and lounging. Of course he is a knowing man on his route, and an agree- able one and good company for the girls ; and while the laboring man gets one franc (nineteen cents) a day, he gets two francs, and two cents a passenger each way, usually equal, all told, to four franes a day. He is a nabob. Our diligence was a courier, that is to say, a mail-stage, and having taken a seat for a large portion of the day with the conductor on the top of the coach, I observed his mail arrangements, for he is the travelling postmaster. His packages of letters for each place were nicely tied up and addressed, and when he came to the post-office, he threw them on the ground, and took from the end of a reed the exchange mail which was reached up to him, and the diligence did not stop except to change horses. His mail-bag was a small canvass-bag, without any lock, and his packages of letters, as well as the blanks, paper, and twine, which he distributed as he went along, in the same manner as the mails, lay about GENOA. 65 the banquette in a very careless and unsuspicious confusion, although there were two of us passengers in the banquette with. him, and at every change of horses he left his place till we were ready to start again. He was a native of Savona, one of the nicest villages through which we passed, and was evidently a respectable young man, and a devout one. The little shrines and images of the Virgin are set in niches in the rocks, in the houses, in the walls, and else- where in the villages, and on the highways — whenever he observed one as we passed, he raised his hat with re- ligious respect, which the postillion and the passengers and the peasants did not do. I sa\v in one of the small towns where we changed horses, a sign, in large pretentious letters, " Caffe Democratico," — Democratic Coffee-house. So I stopped to refresh myself, after a thirsty ride, with a drink in honor of Italian democ- racy. I took a bottle of what they call gaseous lemonade, but I found it a poor drink enough, and it took a good while to get its unpalatable, sour taste out of the mouth. I fancy the democracy of the place was no better. Some eight or ten miles before reaching Genoa, a large sweep of the shore inward shows you that city, on a hill- side, in the distance. All along the rest of the way, her lofty light-houses, the long line of her mole, the forts which crown the heights all about her, and the palaces and villas and convents that are scattered upon the hills that sur- round her, grow nearer and nearer, and more and more distinct, as we now and then got new sights of them from the winding of the road. The entrance to the city of palaces — Genoa, the superb — showed the bustle, the activity, and the thrift which belong to a city that has commerce and industry, ships, shipping, and railroads. Its railroad depot, which is on the quay of the harbor, and the harbor crowded with vessels, were refreshing to me again, after my long ride 66 COLUMBUS. through such a district of primitive simplicity and ancient and modern ruins, as lay between it and Marseilles. Tradition makes Cogoletto, a small town through which we passed a few miles before reaching Genoa, the birth- place of Columbus, and there is an inscription which marks the house of his reputed birth. It may be true and it may be false, for in this land of tradition and superstition, it is as easy to fabricate a tradition as an inscription, and credu- lity is ready to believe that it is as old as Adam. The house of his father was in the suburbs of Genoa, as is shown by the deed. He, himself, says he was born in Ge- noa, an expression which may well mean the territory and not the city of Genoa. There is, thei-efore, some color for the tradition, and it is not worth while to dig deeper to find doubts. He was a Ligurian, and nothing could be more likely to sharpen his curiosity, and suggest a life of adventure, than to look out from these rocky highlands, up- on the open Mediterranean, washing the fields at its base, and covered with the little, but daring and enterprising cor- sairs of the Levant, the Grecian Archipelago, and the Afri- can coast. How time sets things right ! Brought home in chains, robbed in his lifetime of his honors and his profits, and the name of another given to his discoveries, time has written his name ''"with iron and lead in the rock forever." His jealous and triumphant enemies, as well as his royal pa- trons and enterprising followers in the path of discovery, are remembered, but when we call them up from the land of shadows, there is always in the midst of them and before them, the great Genoese with a glory about him, in the light of which they shine with a pale ray. So it will be forever. He went on, when every other would have given up in despair. He gave a New World to the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon. But Castile and Aragon, and all the WOMEN. 67 progeny of their descendant commonwealths, are dwindling and fading away, and a race, nearer akin to the old Ligu- rian — " the world-seeking Genoese " — is, from year to year, devoting the New World to the great commonwealth of free- dom and mutuality. So mote it be. Genoa, run down in her commerce, and racked by con- tributions, and a siege almost unequalled in war, and its famine, of which 15,000 died, is again rising into more im- portance, under the government of liberal princes. The rise of rents has been enormous, as has been that of the other expenses of living — sure indications of increasing prosperity. The people seem active, industrious, and hap- py. The harbor is crowded with vessels. The shops are rich and attractive, and all indicates a prosperous city. The little navy of Sardinia, in pi-oportion to its size, is un- surpassed in credit and efficiency, and sons of high families are glad to enter the service. Some of the local customs are quite peculiar. Thus, the right to act as a porter, to carry goods, is a monopoly which belongs to a sort of privileged corporation. Those who carry goods from place to place, are called Bergamas- chi, from Bergamo, whence they originally came, and the calling is hereditary in their families. They may, however, sell their privileges, and often do so, to their countrymen, at a great price. They send their wives to the proper neighbor- hood to be confined, that the children may inherit the call- ing of a porter, a bearer of burdens — which to look upon in Genoa, Ave should think the last trade that one would desire his children to be born to. The women of Genoa, those whom we saw in the streets, were neat and good looking in their persons, and quite sty- lish and peculiar in their dress, which is always graceful, even if the means of the wearer cannot make it rich. A short waist, snug boddice, reasonably short skirts, no hat or 68 PALACES STREETS. cap, but the well-arranged hair is covered with a white, long shawl, varying, with circumstances, from plain muslin to the finest lace, which falls from the forehead down over the shoulders and bust behind, and the ends coming over within the arms forward, and reaching to near the hem of the skirt. They seem all to have that beautiful accomplish- ment of walking modestly and gracefully, yet confidently, and with ease and dignity. Genoa is remarkable for its manufactories of gold and silver filagree ornaments, in which three guineas are made to do the work of not only five but five times five. It fur- nishes an interesting illustration of the divisibility of mat- ter. While the quantity of matter, however, decreases geo- metrically, the price decreases only arithmetically. The work is exceedingly pretty. The city rises ■ from the circular shores of a little bay, which, by the artificial additions of wall and rock, is made a very safe harbor. The compact city is close upon the water, reaching, in many places, far up a steep ascent. The streets are exceedingly narrow, five, six, eight, and ten feet wide. You may shake hands across many of the streets. The buildings are very high — six or seven high stories — the effect of which is to make the city cool and pleasant, when, with wide streets, the heat would be intol- erable. Such streets are inacessible to carriages of any con- struction known to us. The little universal donkey, with his narrow wagon or cart, goes up and down them, however, with safety and despatch, and so does the privileged porter. Their newer and more magnificent streets are, perhaps, thirty and forty feet wide. On these streets are built the palaces, which abound in the city and have given it the name of the city of palaces, but which lose much of their architectural beauty and effect by being thus shut in on all sides. The finest and most lux- CHURCHES. 69 urious of these palaces, occupied by the highest nobility, are large, the rooms numerous, spacious, and lofty, and fur- nished in a style of luxury, not exceeding that of our rich citizen?, except carpets — the palaces have no carpets. Pic- tures by the best masters, Van Dycks, and Titians, and Raffaelles, Caraccis, Rembrandts, and Muriilos, and others of great merit but of less fame, ornament the walls of the principal rooms of the palaces which we visited. No mod- ern paintings. The king being, at the time, absent at Turin, we were also permitted to visit the royal palace and its apartments. The rooms were lined throughout with the richest of satin hangings and embroidered tapestries. The floors were of the costliest woods, now simply tessellated, and now inlaid in patterns of beautiful Mosaic and polished till they were slippery as ice. The furniture was of the most tasteful and expensive patterns, material, and finish. In all Catholic countries the churches furnish a princi- pal class of attractions to the attention of travellers. On them the faithful lavish their wealth, that architecture, painting, and sculpture, may there exhibit their highest pow- ers in doing honor to the object of religious adoration. In Genoa, therefore — so long one of the wealthiest cities of Italy — there are several churches well worthy the notice of the traveller. The Cathedral Church of St. Lorenzo, about seven hundred years old, is a pile alike venerable and beau- tiful. It is built of alternate blocks of white and black marble — and within, its architecture and decorations, its paintings, statues, frescoes, and sarcophagi, were interest- ing, alike for their antiquity and for their absolute beauty. Into the richest portion of the church, the Chapel of St. John the Baptist, no female is permitted to enter except one day in the week. But the richest and most beautiful church in the city, is 70 THE ANNOTCIATA. the Church of the Annunciation, a church of the Francis- cans, said, by our guide, to be unsurpassed in all Italy for the richness of its finish and decorations. Within some three or four years past, its gilding has been restored at the expense of a wealthy family of the high nobility. It is a very large church, and its immense ceiling — which is finish- ed in a most beautiful and rich style of architectural orna- ment — is entirely gilded. It looks like a vast mass of solid gold wrought in the best style of art. The altar pieces are paintings of the greatest merit, in the finest style of preser- vation, while its dome and arches are covered with frescoes as bright and clear in every line, and color, and shadow, as though they were the work of yesterday — they are several hundred years old. I was, therefore, struck with the truth of a remark of a critical artist — whose name I do not now recall — who says, in substance, that he took an oil painting of fine color and preservation and placed it beside a fresco, and then retreated till the oil painting was a dim, and faded, and undistinguished mass, but the fresco almost seemed to gain new beauty, and its colors were as fresh as the hues of heaven. So I found it there, in comparing the fine oil altar piece with the beautiful fresco of the dome above it. As we were looking about, an old woman came near us. She was the picture of age — she seemed like one that Death had either overlooked or forgotten. We had seen so many like her as we travelled on — such a vast proportion of old women — that I ventured the question, said to be always an impertinent one to a woman — I asked her age. She was in humble life and took no exception, and said she was sixty- eight. I inferred from that single instance, the truth of what I before said, that the great number of old women must be caused by premature decrepitude brought on by toils and exposures, to which the slender constitution of the woman is constantly subjected, in these countries. LEGHORN PISA 71 We took passage in a steamer from Genoa to Naples, to stop during the day time at Leghorn, then to proceed by night to Civita Vecchia, the port of Rome, and spend a day there, and go to Naples the next night — intending, after seeing Naples, to come back to Rome by land. We had a pleas- ant run down to Leghorn — the great port of Tuscany — in Italian, Livorno, in French, Livourne — where we found ourselves in the morning among a crowd of shipping. We went from the ship's side in a small boat, and were rowed far up into the town to the hotel, San Marco, a capital hotel, kept by John Smith — and, after an excellent breakfast and a run through the city to the great Synagogue of the Jews, which is said to be one of the finest in Europe, to the Cathedral, through the public square and principal streets — none of which present anything worthy of special remark — we took the cars for Pisa, twelve miles inland. Half an hour hurried us through the level plains, dotted with trees of small growth, especially the pine, shaped like an apple-tree with a trunk twice as long, while long rows of smaller trees about twenty feet apart — on which the vines are festooned from tree to tree along the roadside and across the fields — gave a very pleasing effect to the landscape. Pisa is a small town on the Arno, usually a quiet stream — but there had been a rain the preceding night, and it was now a swollen, turbid torrent. The city presents no object of at- traction, except the Cathedral, the Baptistery, the Leaning Tower, and the Campo Santo, which constitute a group of buildings only six or eight rods apart, unequalled, not only as a group, but in detail. The Cathedral, built some eight hundred years ago, is beautiful and grand, in its external pro- portions and finish, beyond anything we have yet seen — and within its walls the eye wanders from Mosaic to fresco, from high altar to chapel, from vaulted aisles, and panelled ceilings, and tesselated floors, to columns, and capitals, and friezes. 72 LEANING TOWER OF PISA. and cornices, and sculptures, in marble, and wood, and gold, and silver, and bronze, and ornaments of drapery, and pre- cious stones, till the mind is weary with the variety and beauty of the objects — which still do not seem to be crowded nor to produce an injurious or ostentatious effect, but rather an harmonious, soothing, and religious one. The Leaning Tower, so well known, is a bell tower for the Cathedral — campanilla, in Italian. Many churches are so constructed that there is no convenient or available place for bells, then a campanilla is erected a few rods distanl. The form and architecture of the campanilla may thus be of its own kind, and appropriate to its own purpose alone. This tower is slightly conical, fifty feet in diameter at the base, and one hundred and seventy-six feet high, and con- tains nothing but the staircase, by which you ascend to the top, and the bells which are found there. From the top there is a wide view across the plain, in all directions. The interior of the Tower has no ornamental finish — simple plain walls. The exterior consists of eight stories of fine arch- itectural finish and effeet. It was built about seven hundred years ago, and one side has settled so that it overhangs about thirteen feet. Some parts of the Cathedral have also settled considerably. Some persons have supposed that the Tower was intentionally built in a leaning position. But it is quite clear that it was not so, and that it sank before it was finished. The lower courses and stories are inclined at the same angle as the tower — but in the upper ones an attempt is made to correct the inclination — the columns and stories on the one side are longer than on the other, so that, I believe, the topis quite level, and the tower has the appear- ance of being a little curved. Engravings and alabaster copies of it in miniature are common everywhere, but they fail to give an adequate idea of the tower itself and the sin- gular effect of the leaning. BAPTISTEEY CAMPO SANTO. 78 The Baptistery is a beautiful little temple, in the form of a simple dome, terminating in a point. It is some forty or fifty feet in diameter at the base, and upon it are lavished the highest efforts of art — to make it a gem, in its way — within and without. In the centre of the floor is a bap- tismal font, or basin, and the sole purpose of the building was to furnish a place for performing the rite of baptism. The Campo Santo is a burial-place. In the time of the Crusades, when Palestine and the Holy Sepulchre Avere the object of so much zeal and devotion, and so many thousands perilled their lives to wrest the possession of that sacred spot from the hands of the infidel, it was a precious conso- lation to the brave and pious crusader that if " He died, the sword in his mailed hand, On the holy soil of the blessed land," his body should lie in the sacred bosom of that holy land, and moulder away with kindred earth to that in which the Savior had been buried. But the faithful who stayed at home were denied the hope of such Christian burial, till one of the prelates of those days — who had gone to Palestine with one of the crusaders — finding that they could not suc- ceed in placing the holy places in the hands of the Church, determined to do something for Chiistendom in furnishing a burial-place, not in Jerusalem, but in a little Palestine, in Pisa. He accordingly caused to be transported from the Holy Land fifty -six ship -loads of the earth of the conse- crated soil, and deposited it near the cathedral, in a proper enclosure, for the purpose of burial. And this is the Campo Santo — the holy field — and in it have been buried countless hundreds of those whom the Church thought worthy of that distinguished favor. It has, however, now no appearance of a grave-yard, and I believe it is no longer used for the purpose of interment. There is built upon it a spacious 4 74 LEGHORN TO CIVITA VECCHIA. building — the walls of which are covered with frescoes, many of them now faded and ruined — in which the history of the Creation, the history of Redemption, of Moses and Job, and so on, are spread out upon the long walls — and the rooms are also filled with sarcophagi, statues, and other sculptures and inscriptions, which, from time to time, during the last few hundred years, have been discovered in the ruins of the heathen world that occupied Italy before the Christian religion had taken the place of idolatry. These four striking objects, thus placed in one group — that magnificent cathedral — that lofty tower for the bells — that temple to baptize in, and that Campo Santo for the banquet of the worms, with the forms and ceremonies which they all are intended to subserve — what an illustration they are of the millions and millions of wealth that have been lavished to maintain a system of ceremonial religion — to my imperfect eye as unlike the religion of the Apostles, as this latter was unlike the worship of Diana of the Ephesians. The early evening found us again in our steamer on the Mediterranean, and bound to Civita Vecchia. About six o'clock the wind began to freshen, and before half an hour it blew a gale which tossed our boat like an egg-shell on as saucy a sea as I have ever looked upon. All were made very sick, not a soul went to the dinner-table with me except the old captain, who tried to eat a little soup. I observed it was twice dashed from him by the sea, as chairs and dishes tumbled down to the leeward. Big drops of sweat stood on his brow, and he ordered the dinner re- moved. He was himself evidently sick and a little alarm- ed at the look of the weather, as the wind was blowing almost directly on shore. We were both very sick. I threw myself on a bed in my clothes and closed my eyes — the best remedy I find for sea-sickness — but I soon fell asleep and luckily did not wake till morning, when I was CIVITA VECCHIA. 75 informed that the vessel had not met such a gale during the whole of last winter, and all mankind on board had been fearfully sick. "When I came on deck, we were in sight of Civita Vecchia, which we reached about six o'clock. Here, as in all the Italian ports, Ave are not allowed to land till the police officers on shore have time to rub their eyes over our passports, and furnish little certificates that we are permitted to land. This took till eight o'clock, and by this time we had learned, by accident, that his majesty of Naples had ordered our vessel to be quarantined ten days, because of rumored cholera at Marseilles, her point of departure. This would detain us in the lazaretto at Naples, ten days before landing, which would make a sad break of my arrangements, so I determined to sacrifice my passage money, which had been paid to Naples. I accord- ingly went ashore at Civita Vecchia, to go to Rome before going to Naples. So after the passports were examined by the police — the baggage examined by the custom-house offi- cers, and duly tied up with strings and sealed with a lead seal — and every man that looked at us being paid a small sum — at ten a. m., we took our seats in a Roman diligence for Rome. STATES OF THE CHURCH ROME. TTTE had been used to French diligences with decent VV postillions and conductor?, and were, therefore, amused as well as shocked at the worn, poverty-stricken look of the diligence and all its appurtenances, and the per- fect brigand appearance of the postillions and conductor. "We trotted on slowly, with every prospect of being detained on the road, till evening, and were consoled by stories of re- cent robberies of the diligence on that route, from one of our passengers, who — while he said there was no danger, and that he, especially, was not afraid — was plainly trembling with dread of robbers as night approached. He carefully put all rings and trinkets out of sight. We changed horses at inns which looked as though they were dens of thieves, and we were persecuted by scores of little beggars that started out, every now and then, and ran by the side of the dili- gence, in sight of the window, for miles with imploring hands and a whining, moaning, undertone, just reaching our ears. It is the practice, when travelling, besides paying your THE ROAD TO ROME. 77 fare, to give to every conductor, postillion, and driver, a small sum, called in French pour boire, and in German trinkgeld, drink-money, and in Italian buono memo, gratification. The conductor preferred that we should allow him to pay them what they had a right to expect, and that at the end of the route we should make him snch allowance as we might think reasonable — an arrangement by which of course he was a gainer, for, doubtless, our payment to him was much larger than he actually paid them. They seemed to think so, too, for at every change of postillions — they change about once in ten miles — we were beset with lackadaisical and be- seeching politeness for the buono mano, while their brigand looks suggested constantly, to some of the passengers, the ex- pediency of paying, lest the fellows should cut across lots and join a band to rob us. However, we paid but once or twice, and crept slowly on, and while the evening sun was still bright on the dome of St. Peter's, entered Rome. Close by the court of that great temple we were stopped an hour to get our passports into the hands of the police, and get our certificates of regularity, right to reside, &c. — for on entering a steamer on the Mediterranean, or any of the towns, your passport is taken from you and kept till you are ready to get it visaed for your departure. We were then trundled along into the heart of Rome, to the office of the diligence, and thence we provided new means of transportation to our hotels. The road from Civita Vecchia to Rome runs through a flat country, tolerably well cultivated, and as you approach Rome, quite well. I observed often along the road — say fifty persons together in a field, hoeing corn or planting potatoes — a long line sweeping across an immense field, all at the same work. The effect was strange, but there might be advantage in having all the seed planted at once, or the whole field put in the same condition at the same time, so 78 LABORERS IN THE MARKET-PLACE. that the crop should be uniform. I afterward passed through the market-place of Rome on Sunday, and such a din of hammering and ringing of iron and steel, as I heard, made me suppose at first that it was a great tin, copper, and sheet iron factory — but crowds of persons were standing around, idle, eating their plain food — and the hammering, I per- ceived, came from many men seated each by a small anvil, and with a small hammer, bringing to a thin edge a scythe. On inquiry I found that in that manner the laborers get their scythes brought to an edge, which is afterward man- ageable with a mower's whetstone. The scythe is short and nearly straight, not more than thirty inches long, and is about six inches wide at the heel, from which it tapers to a point. The snath is also straight and rather longer than with us, and the purpose which we answer by the bold and graceful curve, is here answered by a peculiar arrangement of the handles above and below. The look of the thing is much more awkward and ungainly, but judging from the men at work, it would seem to be better than ours. Mow- ing with us is a hard, back-breaking labor, but here the mower stands almost erect, and seems to walk over the field more at ease, with the command of his muscles and his joints at their full advantage. If I could have found a good op- portunity I should have liked to try the instrument myself, and compare its working with memories now more than thirty years old. The idlers in the market-place were men, waiting to be hired. The farmers of the country around come here to hire their laborers, and thus it is that they have these large numbers in their fields at once. They keep few or no per- manent laborers, but when a piece of work is to be done, go and hire men enough to do it at once. They do it, and then wait for another job. It brought forcibly to my mind the parable of the laborers in the vineyard, where the master ROMAN OXEN BUFFALOES. 79 went out at different hours to the market-place to hire labor- ers for his vineyard. The practice so familiar then to the people of Jerusalem, still exists in its primitive form at Rome. The ox is here in constant use, and the Eoman ox is a beauty — large and well proportioned, always of a mouse color, shaded into a dark line on his back, and with a lighter belly, and with a deep ruffle or frill extending from his lower lip to his brisket— and such a pair of horns — white, with dark bases and tips — starting from his brow and wind- ing in a most perfect uniformity, with a graceful and really majestic spread to sometimes three feet apart at the points ! Such fine looking animals — I never tired of looking at them — such teams, such droves, so all alike, and so clean — they seemed like a noble race of animals, whose blood for generations had never been allowed to mingle with that of any common or plebeian breed — and such a contrast with the tatterdemalion, rascallion, banditti beggars that drive them, in slouched hats, old cloaks, ragged shirts and jackets, trowsers with one leg of sheep skin, wool out, and the other of goat skin, hair out, and all other things to match ! They drive their teams during the day when travelling, and at night turn them out by the wayside, sup on the bread and wine of their own stores, and then wrap themselves in their cloaks and go to sleep on the grass. The buffalo is also a beast of burden here, and we often meet large teams of those black, ungainly, downcast, and sullen-looking animals, hauling immense loads along the great thoroughfares, even on the Appian way, reminding one, of those captured barbarians that marched in chains, in the train of their captors, in the days of ancient Rome. Flocks of goats are in the fields, and large flocks of sheep, with shepherd and dog. At night the sheep are herded in a compact body, in a pen made for the occasion, by running 80 PAPAL POWER. a cord round the tops of small stakes driven at each corner. This forms a visible geographical line, which the sheep and the dogs alike treat as a fence. If a sheep steps outside of it, which he rarely does, the dog immediately drives him back. We first saw St. Peter's about ten miles before reaching Rome — its dome just reaching above the horizon. It was at that time by no means a very striking object, nor did it become so till we were quite near it. When we stopped near the court of St. Peter's, we found the sentinels were French soldiers, very youthful in their appearance, and even more so in their conduct, for they were romping and playing like children. We were thus early reminded that the papal temporal power has passed away as a real power, and that those writers upon the prophecies, who have so confidently looked for and predicted the downfall of the Romish Church during the first half of this century, and have been chagrined to find that Church more prosperous and aggressive now than ever, if they could have confined their scarlet-lady-of- Babylon predictions, to that temporal power whose sacri- legious union with the Church has so long disgraced and abused her, might easily have found the fulfilment of their predictions, in the captivity of Pius VII., under the first N;ipoleon — the slavish submission of himself and his suc- cessors to external domination — the Roman Republic of six years ago — and the constant occupation of the city by French soldiers to the present time. The temporal power of Rome has passed away, and will never return. In substance, in spirit and in truth, it is gone. A shadowy, useless form, is indeed kept up, but there is no semblance even of that tem- poral power, before which the nations trembled in bygone ages. The great initials, S. P. Q. R. — the Senate and People of Rome — stand in great capitals on the public buildings and palaces of the nobility of the present day — PRIESTS AND MONKS. 81 as they did in the days of ancient republican Rome — and they are about as good evidence that the old Roman Repub- lic still exists, as is the present papal power evidence of the existence of that sacerdotal temporal government which, with the sword and the flames of purgatory in one hand, and worldly honors and the keys of Heaven in the other, strode over the rights of nations and the consciences of men, to universal dominion. When morning came, and we commenced seeing Rome, the most striking thing that we saw — although we had trav- elled one thousand miles through Catholic countries, and had seen priests and monks everywhere in abundance — was the immense numbers of them that thronged the streets. The priests are dressed in black gowns, that come to the ground, broad-brimmed black hats, turned up three-cornerwise — not cocked hats. They are well dressed, gentlemanly looking persons — and they are seen at all hours, when not at their religious exercises, singly and in squads, walking in the streets and squares. So the various orders of monks, in the dresses of their respective orders — some bareheaded and some not — some barefooted and some not— some dirty and some clean — some beggarly and ragged — some well clad and gentlemanlike — are also wandering through the streets, and living upon charity or otherwise. As we were taking our breakfast the morning after our arrival, our host of the hotel procured for us a valet of great experience, and modest, good manners, Mariano Zacharia, whose book of testimonials — afterward shown to me that I might add my own — contained the strong certifi- cates of many New-Yorkers of distinction, whom he had served, and of whom he always spoke with delight and affection. I secured his constant services during my stay, and he immediately gave me the private information, known to few except the parties and their friends, that a princely 4* 82 NOBLE WEDDING. wedding was to take place that afternoon, of a happy pair from two of the noblest families of Rome — the Duke of Sora and a Borghesian Princess — the ceremony to be per- formed by Cardinal Altieri, in the chapel of the Borghesian family, in the celebrated Church of Santa Maria Maggiore — one of tire Seven Basilicas of Rome, and one of the noblest churches in the city — and that, if we desired, he would get a carriage and take us there. We were not slow to era- brace the opportunity for so rare a sight. Mariano had selected an open barouche, that we might utilize our time as we rode. He mounted the box with the coachman, and keeping his ears open for us, and his eyes, his hand and tongue ready to point us to objects of interest, we turned from the Lion's mouth — the street of our hotel — into the Corso — the Broadway of Rome — and after a drive in that famous street, we passed the ruins of the Forum of Trajan, and an exceedingly fine and interesting ruin — approaching the church through the via Santa Maria Maggiore. We rested in the open square of the church, on the summit of the Esquiline Hill, at the base of that most beautiful of columns, the column of the Virgin. There we waited, while the few stray carriages like our own, came dropping in, and until the nuptial cortege — the stately equipages of nobles, spir- itual and temporal, cardinals and princes and high-bred ladies — made their appearance in princely but modest attire. I have no eye for dresses, etc., and finding that M has written home to the ladies, giving the details intelligibly to them, I extract her words : " Soon the royal equipage drove up, glittering in the rays of the sun, blazoned in scar- let and gold. Afterward came the cortege of the cardinal, who was to perform the ceremony. His servants were three footmen, in gorgeous livery — cocked hats, trimmed with broad yellow, red and green galoon, the outer edge of the hats being trimmed with a wide fringe of the same THE BRIDAL PAIR. 83 colors — red velvet vest?, trimmed with gold lace — red velvet breeches and high top-boots. The cardinal was clad in scarlet silk robes, with a scarlet cap on his head. The bride appeared on the arm of her father, clad in a dress of Brussels lace, over a white glace silk, and a jacket made of the same silk, trimmed with the same lace. A wreath of orange-buds confined the scarf of the same lace — not an ornament of any kind, nor an attendant, save a few mem- bers of the family, who were simply clad in bonnets and plain silk dresses, with white silk and muslin mantillas. Other equipages were very imposing, varying a little in colors, but quite similar to the cardinal's." By this time there was quite a crowd, and we did not think it wise to dis- mount and mingle with it, as it would be impossible to make our way into the church, strangers as Ave were — so we glanced at the Eternal city from this point, and scanned the motley crowd of Romans of all sorts, from ragged chikh-en, hoary beggars, and mendicant monks, up to the titled nobility of church and state. No one can fail to be struck with the democratic equality of an Italian crowd in and about a church. After a while, Mariano stepped quietly from the carriage to ask of an acquaintance — one of the servitors of a cardinal — if the newly married pair would, as is some- times done, proceed to St. Peter's. He learned that they would do so, and we, apparently alone of all the spectators' carriages, then proceeded quietly to that wonder of the world. It was our first visit there, of course, and we had hardly time to glance through its wonderful arches before we saw the happy couple enter the church, unattended, at a side door, walk to a near chapel, and jointly perform a short act of devotion — then, arm in arm, walk quietly and respectfully to the statue of St. Peter and kiss its foot — then return a few steps, and kneel side by side by the massive railing that surrounds the vault where rest the remains of 84 KCrtlAN NEWSPAPERS. St. Petei', before the high altar and at the base of that most magnificent of all baldachins, whose splendors are disclosed and heightened by the light of one hundred and twelve lamps, that blaze there night and day. There, their heads bowed, they worshipped a few moments, then rose, and de- parted at the door by which they entered. Nothing could be more simple, becoming, and religions, than their whole demeanor. They had no train — no ostentation — no com- panions even — not one — their eyes did not wander and their thoughts did not seem to be diverted from the apparently solemn invocation of the Divine blessing upon that linked life on which they had just entered. Besides ourselves, there were almost no persons — I do not remember any — in that vast temple, except that interesting pair and a pertina- cious small crowd of beggars that dogged their steps from altar to altar, in expectation apparently that they miyht give an alms worthy of their wealth and position. Beggars are so sacred in Rome that no police seems to dare to re- buke them, and their impudence and persistence are exceed- ingly annoying to travellers. Of course they must throng about the churches of a religion that makes mendicity almost one of the cardinal virtues. Nothing strikes a North American in Rome, as more in contrast with our country, than the newspapers — or rather the no-newspapers. The principal newspaper — indeed the only one which I saw — published in Rome, was the Roman Journal, the official gazette. It is published daily except on holi- days — about four times a week. It is a small folio sheet, about twelve by sixteen inches — has no editorial mattei*, almost no advertisements, and is entirely made up of clip- pings from the foreign newspapers — not, however, including ours. I never saw in it any mention whatever of our country. Our republican, Protestant country appears to be entirely ignored in the papal city. And I do not remember CHURCHES. 85 hearing the question asked, "What is the news?" They see and hear so little that no one expects news. And strange as it may seem to an American, this way of the whole community minding their own business — at least, not minding their neighbor's business, nor troubling themselves much about the rest of the world, is very well for a change. It has its good side, and its agreeable side, too. It almost makes one ask himself, is it, after all, quite certain that such an infinite gabble of newspapers as we have — prying into everything, blurting out everything, gossiping about every- thing, blundering to-day and correcting it to-morrow — is a real gospel dispensation ? Which excess is the worst % I am, however, quite sm*e that no amount of fire and fagots, and holy inquisitions, could ever make us believe that the strict censorship of the press which exists here is any better than the wildest license which we ever have in America. The mean between the two is, of course, the hap- py and golden mean — and the newspaper is like everything else earthly, there must be a taste of imperfection in it — the power to do good must bring with it the power to do evil. We do not look at a Roman newspaper any more, it is so absolutely worthless to us — but I preserve', to take with me to New- York, a file of one week's papers of the official Pontifi- cal gazette. I may live to see a regular American news- paper published in the city of Rome, when it will be interest- ing to compare the two. Oh, if I could only be certain of living long enough to make the comparison ! The babe is still unborn which shall see the beginning of such a reform. The shock which the revolution of 1848-'49, gave to Pius IX., who really had some thought of improvement, has extinguished all hope of melioration through the Church. We visited many of the most remarkable churches in Rome, as well without as within the walls. The common parish churches which are scattered through the city — there 86 BASILICAS. are nearly four hundred of them — are mostly objects of no great interest, except as exhibiting the care which brings religion to every man's door, and has all its regular offices and ministrations performed at the appointed times, within the convenient reach of every individual in Kome. Some of these, however, and the so-called basilicas, are objects of extraordinary interest, either from their construction — the objects which they contain — works of art and vertu and relics — their antiquity the spots on which they are built — or the various histories and traditions connected with them. The seven basilicas, of course, we visited. They are the principal churches of Rome. They are called basilicas from their real or fancied, past or present resem- blance to the heathen basilica or judicial forum of antiquity. They are St. Peter's, St. John Lateran, St. Mary the Greater, and the Holy Cross in Jerusalem, in the city, and St. Lorenzo, St. Sebastian, and St. Paul, without the walls. Be- sides these we visited the ancient Pantheon of Agrippa — in the days of the Cassars the temple to all the gods — now a Christian temple to the only God, under the name of St. Mary ad martyres } but visually called, from its form, the Rotunda, and characteristically called by Byron — " Shrine of all saints, and temple of all gods, From Jove to Jesus." St. Mary of the Angels, including the principal hall, the Pinacotheca, of the Baths of Diocletian, is a majestic church in the form of a Greek cross — a form so admirably adapted to a noble temple that this church has often suggested the remark that St. Peter's should have had that form. In the vestibule are tombs of Carlo Maratti, and Salvator Rosa, and several cardinals. The chapel of St. Bruno — one of its finest chapels — has a noble and heroic statue of that saint, by Houdon, of which Pope Clement XIV. said, " It would MALICE IN ART- 87 speak if the rule of his order did not prescribe silence." Like the Pantheon, it is, at the same time, a magnificent specimen of ancient classical architecture of the noblest character, and of Christian ecclesiological art, worthy of the best days of the Romish Church. St. Mary Aventina is on the Aventine hill, and commands one of the best views of Rome and its environs. It is attached to the Priory of the Knights of Malta, and hence, in common parlance, is called the Priorato. In the Capuchin Church, St. Mary of the Conception, with which is connected the catacombs of the Capuchins, is Guido's masterpiece, the archangel Michael. The devil is said to be the likeness of a cardinal, subsequently Pope In- nocent X., who had criticised severely some of the artist's productions. By the way, this practice, so common with the great masters, of introducing into their most solemn and sacred productions the individual portraits of their enemies, of the highest rank in church or state, in some offensive charac- ter, for purposes of malice, revenge, Avit, or satire, is signifi- cantly suggestive, not only of the power and position of those artists, but of their lack of real religious feeling, and of their disgraceful malice. There is a signal instance in the Sistine chapel, the pope's own chapel — in Michael Angelo's picture of the Last Judgment, in which that great man introduces Biagio — a favorite of the pope — as standing in hell with ass's ears, and surrounded by a serpent. Biagio had suggested to the pope that some of the figures were indelicate, as they are, and this was the artist's revenge. The pope requested that the figure might be altered, but the artist said it was impos- sible — that while his Holiness might have released his friend from purgatory had he placed him there, he clearly had no power over him in hell, and so poor Biagio is still in torment. It was on the anniversary of the obsequies of the last 88 SISTINE CHAPEL. pope that we visited the Sistine chapel, and saw the present pope, the same mild, good looking man that he is always represented. Surrounded by his cardinals and other eccle- siastical dignitaries, and in the presence of the secular digni- taries of Korae, and other spectators, high mass was then performed. I should make a blundering display of my igno>- rance of Roman Catholic forms and ceremonies, if I should attempt to describe what no description could make intelli- gible to you. The most distinguished archbishops and bishops officiated in the service — from golden censors incense was burned before his Holiness and wafted about his sacred head — as they flung their censors on high they bowed down before the holy father in acts of apparent worship. It almost seemed as though they were playing, as in a theatre, the scenes of the heavenly city, fast by the throne of God, and that the pope was playing the part of the Almighty Father. The chapel itself is covered on the ceiling and the walls all over with paintings. Michael Angelo's Last Judg- ment is there. They are all in fresco, I believe. The sing- ing is of the highest order, of course — only male voices' — not exactly male, but not female. The profusion of scarlet, when the cardinals are there, gives the whole scene such a scarlet look that you cannot help recalling the scarlatry of the Apocalypse. These details are from M 's letter : " The singers clad in purple silk robes with short white frocks, laid in fine plaits and trimmed with broad lace, take their places in the balcony, arranged as a small gallery on the side of the chapel. The walls and ceiling are covered with frescoes representing almost every scene in the Bible. " Steps covered with scarlet and green cloth, rise all around the chapel. On one side near the altar, opposite the door, is a throne on steps, with a large chair, and covered with scarlet and gold. Ladies are not allowed to enter the chapel, ST. PETER S. 89 so we were shut out, but an iron grating permitted us to see everything from our seats without, and we could see all the glory of the pope. " In the first place, I must tell you that on entering the pas- sage to the Vatican there are arranged a guard of Swiss sol- diers, in the gayest costumes, their pikes on their shoulders — at the entrance of the chapel were a number more, and in the porch were handsome young men dressed in black broad- cloth, with frills about their necks and wrists, of fine cam- bric, bearing large gold and silver maces, stationed each side of the entrance. " Soon the cardinals, in purple and scarlet robes, made their appearance — attended by two others clad in purple, whose business was to bear the trains and adjust the robes of the cardinals Avhen seated, arranging them so as to cover their feet and make them hang well. " The Pope entered from the rear, accompanied by a priest of every order, and clothed in every colored robe of silk. His robe was of scarlet trimmed with gold, and on his head was a large mitre. When performing the service this robe was frequently held open by his attendant priests, and underneath was a robe of white satin garnished with bur- nished gold. It was a gay scene to see so many dressed in all their royal robes arranged about the chapel, but it seemed to us like anything but a religious ceremony." In these churches, the finest of marble, and precious stones, and works of art, and offerings, and vows of the faithful, and the highest architectural taste, give an appearance of great richness — some are in the simplicity of true taste, and some in the gaudy and meretricious display of vulgar finery. St. Peter's has been described by every traveller in his own way — but no one has ever given any adequate idea of it. I shall not attempt to do so, for it is quite impossible to 90 size of st. peter's. exhibit it as it strikes the senses on the spot, in its real im- mensity and beauty. When you first see it, it looks large — when you enter it you see, at first sight, that it is an immense chui-ch, but it is not till you have looked at its parts, and carefully observed the construction and purpose of the details, architecturally a"s well as religiously, and finally embraced the great purpose of the whole, that you are overcome and absorbed by such a work of man ! So great in every sense, so beautiful in every sense ! And then again, no sooner are you away from those details and their distribution, than you find it quite impossible to recall the sense of its proper and actual great- ness, and your first sensations of diminished wonder are forced upon you in spite of your careful convictions. I shall, nevertheless, without any attempt at description, endeavor to give you a few ideas of it, from which much can be inferred. It is approached by a court-yard or esplanade, of circular form, the circle being open at opposite sides of the centre. At one you enter — in the other is the church. This yard contains about seven acres, and the circle on the right and the left is a magnificent covered colonnade, of great height- — sixty-one feet — supported by immense Doric columns of stone, and surmounted by one hundred and ninety-two marble statues, of colossal size, on the top of its massive entablature. When you have walked up this colon- nade, on one side or the other, to the church, you have walked more than one eighth of a mile — and to enter the church itself, and walk straight through it from front to rear, you walk another eighth of a mile, inside the church. If you look up to the ceiling, it is one hundred and fifty- two feet high — as high as the topmost spire of a large church — if you wander through it, you find that the Avails of the church itself cover eight acres. On each side within INTERIOR. 91 are five chapels, with each its altar — each chapel being by itself a magnificent church of respectable size. The dome is one hundred and thirty-nine feet in diameter inside, and to the top is more than twenty-four rods, in a perpendicular line, from the floor— the pillars which support this immense cupola have a circumference of two hundred and thirty-four feet. Beneath this sublime arch, in the centre, is the bal- dachin and the high altar beneath it. It is ninety-five feet high, and of corresponding proportions, and whether you consider them in their general effect, or in the details of their wrought bronzes and rarest and finest marbles and precious stones, and silver and gold — lighted up day and night by more than one hundred brilliant lamps — you may almost say that it is a fabric of celestial workmanship — a portion of the New Jerusalem sent down from Heaven. Be- neath the high altar are the remains of St. Petei", before which a solemn lamp burns perpetually. The interior of the church abounds in monumental sculp- tures in honor of those whom the Eoman Catholic Church delights to honor. Fine paintings, of the greatest masters — their masterpieces — are about the altars of the chapels and elsewhere, and in the vaulted dome, four hundred feet high. You may here study the old masters — as it seems in their best originals — for you are not always told by your guide that these pictures are none of them originals. Nor are they canvas to moulder, or paint to fade or mildew, but they are all imperishable mosaics of inconceivable work- manship — so perfect — perfect are the copies in both effect and detail — and those up in the vaulted roof of that dome, so sharp and clear in their outlines, so fine in their clare- obscure, so matchless in their foreshortening, so delicate in their shadows, so round in their relief, and so mysteriously lifelike in their expression, when, from the floor, you look at them in their dizzy and distant height — are found when you 92 cost of st peter's. come near them to lose all their pictureness and beauty, and are almost like rude walls of cyclopean stones. What a triumph of art, in every sense, is such a structure. It took three hundred and fifty years to build St. Peter's, and it had cost, one hundred and fifty years ago, fifty mil- lions of dollars — and, since that time, large additions have been made to its cost, besides thirty thousand dollars a year in repairs and superintendence. St. Peter's has cost more than all the churches of all denominations in the United States put together. This great Christian temple is really one of the wonders of the world. Still, it is quite impossible, in looking at it, or passing through it, after having done so again and again, to make the mind realize any such apparent magnitude. It seems very large — wonderfully large — but not by any means so large as it really is. There is an inexplicable diminution from the truth, in spite of you, in looking at its vast propor- tions. All things considered, it is vastly more interesting than any other church in Rome, more than all the others put together — while each of the great basilicas is most deeply interesting. St. Peter's seemed a great temple to Christian art — St John Lateran a great temple to the Koman Catholic religion — and St. Paul's, Avithout the walls, a great and worthy temple to the living God. Perhaps the distinction which I make in the impressions produced by the different churches, has arisen somewhat from my own circumstances and feelings when I visited them. In St. Peter's, my attention was more directed to its artistic wonders. In St. John Lateran, our attention was much more attracted by that purely Catholic ceremo- nial — the grand procession of the Corpus Domini — which was moving through its lofty aisles, while we were there — and the decorations of the church seemed to be in harmony with such a display — and at St. Paul's we were the only st Paul's. 93 persons in the church, so far as we saw, and I was in a fit temper of mind to be struck with the majestic simplicity and grandeur of its gray and solemn columns and lofty arches — "when unadorned adorned the most." St. Paul's is especially celebrated as being built on the spot where St. Paul was bui'ied, and his remains are beneath the high altar. It was originally built by Constantine the Great, and was, before St. Peter's, perhaps the most won- derful church in the world — its interior presenting one hun- dred and thirty-eight columns, many of them of ancient fabric — eighty of fine Greek marble, fluted, Corinthian — thirty to forty-two feet high, and eleven to fifteen in cir- cumference — others of Egyptian granite, and thirty of por- phyry. And in other respects the church was of great magnificence, but in 1824, workmen repairing the roof care- lessly set fire to it, and it soon fell in, broke through the vaulted ceilings, and burned with a furnace heat in the midst of those glorious colonnades — and the noblest marble columns and capitals and entablatures were burned to lime, and granite and porphyry were cracked and splintered into fragments. There were, over the grand arch of the nave, mosaics, made in the year 440, representing the Savior and the four-and-twenty elders of the Apocalypse, and the Apos- tles Peter and Paul, besides the portraits of all the popes. These escaped the fire and are still to be seen. By immense contributions of the Catholic sovereigns and the popes, since the catastrophe, the church has been rebuilt, but is not yet quite finished. Instead of the beautiful marble columns that were destroyed, the arches are now supported by eighty-nine immense columns of gray granite, brought from Northern Italy — floated on rafts to the Adriatic and thence brought by ships. Mosaic portraits of all the popes — all but the latter ones, of course, fancy likenesses — now orna- ment the church- — these were made at the great mosaic 94 ST. JOHN LATERAN. works of the Vatican, and of course are productions of high art. Attached to this church are the principal cloisters of the Benedictines. There was some reluctance to admit us to see them, because of I forget what rule — -but the aid of Mariano, and the assurance that we were Benedictines, which he ex- plained, opened the doors with a significant smile from the keeper. Do we wonder whence comes the wealth to build and rebuild these splendid temples'? The contributions to which I have alluded explain the whole. When the tabernacle of the Lord is in ruin — when a temple is to be reared to the Most High — when the Savior and the Apostles and the Saints are to be honored by fitting memorials — faithful mon- archs and devoted millionaires vie with each other — not os- tentatiously, but as acts of religion — in making contribu- tions worthy of national treasuries. The Church of St. Paul is now almost deserted, because of sickly malaria that has made that locality so unhealthy. The air of the night, the evening and the morning, is death to those who inhale it. This pestilential exhalation I believe is gaining strength, and drawing in its parallels nearer and nearer to the city walls. Borne may be depopulated by it, and St. Peter's be deserted — wild beasts may lie there — there houses may be full of doleful creatures, and owls may dwell there, and satyrs may dance there. Who knows? It is not likely that such a desolation will come to pass. So the great desola- tions of the past were not likely. Still hei'e was ancient Bome. "The past has happened — and at last What future shall become the past?" The splendid cathedral of St. John Lateran is called Lateran because it occupies the site of the house of a Boman senator, Lateranus. That house was the episcopal resi dence of the early bishops of Bome, but finally gave place CORPUS DOMINI. 95 to this basilica — Constantine assisted with his own hands to dig the foundations. It is now, and ever has been, the first church in Rome. Here the pope first enters upon his office, and here he is crowned. Here the Jews and infidels are baptized every year, and here the Pope himself, as priest, celebrates high mass twice a year — and here commences the annual round of the procession of the Corpus Domini, the greatest ceremonial of the Church of Rome — and here it was our good fortune to see it. I looked at it as I always do at such things, as one significant ceremony, and I bor- row the brief details : " We were fortunate to be there at the commencement of the ceremonies. The middle of the church was strewed with green leaves, and so was the path around the altar and through the sides to a side chapel. The cardinal arrived, clad in his scarlet robes, and, after kneeling, performed his many evolutions about the altar, waited on by the priests. Then moved the procession of a very large company of priests and boys, clad in white robes, holding large lighted candles, and with silk banners, preceding the host, with its halo of burnished gold like the sun. Then came the figure of the Savior on the cross, dressed with a crown of thorns, and a blue satin scarf tied around his loins — it was so life- like that it was painful to look at. Then came a large, white satin canopy, looking quite like a tent, under which walked the cardinal, bearing the Host, holding it up very high, with his eyes bent on the ground. A band of music, with singing, accompanied them as they marched round the church and passed over the green leaves that were strewn for their pathway, and so out into an adjoining room — all the bells within hearing were tolling during the time." While this church is particularly rich in its ornamenta- tion, and in its palace and museum of art and antiquities, it is richer in its relics. Here is the very mouth of the well 9 b RELICS APPIAN WAY. of the woman of Samaria — it is sculptured with crosses, probably by the woman herself — a cracked column of the temple, split when the veil of the temple was rent — the real slab of porphyry on which the soldiers cast lots for the Savior's coat — here is the stone altar table, with the hole made through it by the falling of the consecrated wafer from the hands of a priest who doubted the real presence — and here is that wonderful holy staircase, the staircase of the house of Pontius Pilate, down which our Savior de- scended when he left the judgment seat, and which no one is now permitted to ascend except the devoutest penitents, and they by creeping up on their knees. There is also a fine portrait, by St. Luke, of the Savior at the age of twelve — a capital likeness, they say — and other relics equally real and true, without number. We asked Mariano if he believed in all these tilings. He said, " I don't know any- thing but what they tell me." If he were a philosopher, and not a poor Italian cicerone, what a depth and significance of wisdom might be discovered in that simple remark ! How truly we can all repeat it ! An excursion on the Appian way exhibits the ostentation of the ancient Romans, in connection with " the longing after immortality," which Addison makes Cato consider the crowning proof of the immortality of the soul. They knew the body would go to dust. How could they be gratified after death in annihilated consciousness, by monumental pride for the gaze of succeeding generations, by the ephemeral grief of the mourning friends, or the idle and heartless honor of contemporaneous crowds °i It was the divinity within them, pointing to a conscious hereafter, which caused them to expend so much on the monuments raised to the dead. It was along the Appian way that travellers went between the Eternal city and Naples, and the voluptuous watering places of the then, as now, justly celebrated bay, and MONUMENTS. 97 waters, and shores, and islands, and villas, always in luxuri- ous harmony with ideas of mere earthly pleasure. It was along that noble road that in spring and autumn, when the Italian scene is in its highest beauty — when the vine, and the olive, the almond, the orange, the citron, the lemon, and the fig, in flower or fruit, scatter their fragrance all around — that the proud patricians, in their chariots, took their daily drives for relaxation and amusement — and along the lava pavements of the same grand entrance to the capital, in the presence of the thronging thousands of the Roman masses, hand-bound captive kings, and conquered heroes with their humiliated troops, and with loads of spoils, and standards, and trophies — and with lictors, and priests, and victims for the sacrifice — and with the clangor of trumpets, and the shouts of the populace — and with eagles, and gar- lands, and crowns, and incense — the successful commander and his faithful soldiers formed one of those magnificent and imposing processions constituting a Roman triumph. Hence it is not difficult to imagine why the sides of that Appian way were crowded with mausoleums and monuments for the dead, in the greatest variety of form and with almost every amount of expenditure. The monuments are there still — with few exceptions — crumbled in ruins and disintegrating in heaps — no longer monuments, nor ceno- taphs, nor sepulchres in appearance. They presume, indeed, to name some of them, but one generation gives one name and another generation changes it for another, for a reason, perhaps, which will demonstrate to the next that it must still be called by another. It was along this road, too, when these monuments were fresh and new, and united their glories with those of the magnificent palaces and villas that covered the Campagna, that St. Paul entered the great capital of the Cassars, a culprit, bound and walking between his keepers, not knowing what should befall him, 5 98 COLUMBARIA. and, doubtless, looking less at the splendors that surrounded him than up to Heaven, and repeating his first Christian aspiration, " Lord, what wilt thou have me to do 1 ?" Along this road have lately been opened some ancient columbaria. These were to me an entirely unknown style of burial-places, and we did not fail to descend into the one in the most perfect preservation. The descent is by a stone staircase into a subterranean house or cellar, of the size of a small house, with a huge square pier in the centre to support the covering roof or ceiling — and the walls of this pier, and the external or sur- rounding walls of the room are filled with little niches — in tiers all around — say eighteen inches square — within each of which is a little urn for the ashes, or a lachrymatory, through which tears might fall on the treasured relics. Perhaps beside it is a little ancient lamp, that has known no oil or light for untold centuries — on the niche or a slab beneath is the inscription. If I had not already learned that copying inscriptions in and about Rome is a laborious waste of time for a hurried traveller, I should have copied many. I could not resist the temptation to copy one, which almost over- came me with its tenderness, its exquisite taste, and un- ostentatious parental grief. "Infanti Dulcissimce " — not another letter ! Not a name of parent, or child, or family, or age, or date — no complimentary description, no epitaph? ian lie — nothing on that stone but the parent's tears and swelling heart, written down in two expressive words. It is this great collection of pigeon-holes for the dead that is appropriately called a columbarium. That locality is full of them. Under ground and on the surface are the recognized monuments of some of the most celebrated ancient Romans. A few steps further on in the Appian way — we are now two miles from Rome — is the celebrated church basilica of St. Sebastian, a modern structure, rebuilt on foundations laid by ST. sebatian's. 99 Constantine. It is mainly famous for its relics — too numer- ous to mention. I believe it has among them a portrait by that most industrious of the old masters, St. Luke — but its crowning relic is the piece of solid" pavement which contains the deep footprints of the Savior. This precious relic, with others, is carefully preserved in a lock-up, with a glazed door, by the altar — but in the centre of the church is a copy of it set among the other stones of the pavement constitu- ting the floor of the church. This stone stands precisely in the spot where the original was when the sacred foot of the Lord rested upon it, and Peter, surprised to meet him there, asked him whither he was going. Of course when the faith- ful discovered it — as they did three hundred years afterward — they knew the sacred relic, and caused a church to be erected over the holy spot ! Just within the entrance to the Church of St. Sebastian is the door by which the descent is made to the Catacombs — the celebrated labyrinth of subterranean corridors, extending over six miles, which were ancient at the time of the Cruci- fixion. The early Christians here hid themselves and their devotions from their persecutors — and here their martyrs and saints were buried — fourteen popes and one hundred and seventy thousand martyrs are said to have been here laid in their unknown graves. The bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul were long concealed there, and were discovered by a miraculous dream or vision of a young woman — as the tradition goes. They abounded in interesting rude sculp- tures and inscriptions, which have been removed to the Museum of the Vatican. We did not descend. I had determined — from the first outset of my travels — to withstand every temptation to enter these cities of the dead, which are scattered all over Europe and abound in Italy. The stifling and musty caverns, where the dead of ages on ages have slept in labyrinthian passages of darkness — never 100 CATACOMBS. penetrated by any light, except that of the flickering and uncertain torch of the rash and curious traveller, who ven- tures into these deep solitudes and awful cells. How many accidents have happened ! how many have lost their way ! how many have been shut out from return by the falling in of earth ! how the light has gone out. by accident ! how the foot has stumbled ! all is unknown, except that they entered and have never since been seen. A whole school of boys from Rome — with their teacher and a guide — entered the Catacombs for a morning excursion of observation and amusement. They have never since been heard of! A young man entered without a guide, with a light and a ball of twine — the end of the twine fastened at the door — so that he might find the way back by following the thread, and then boast of having wandered alone and in safety through those entangled passages. By accident he dropped his twine after he had wound through numerous crooked alleys, and had doubled untold and undistinguishable corners. He stepped forward to take it up but lost both ball and thread. He felt for it, but dared not move another step — he looked with desperate sharpness, and grew nervous and bewildered, but he could not find it. He groped around in a small circle — but no thread ! His light was burning out — he watched it grow less and less, and dimmer and dimmer — his hand trembled, he dropped his light, and it went out. In his desperate panic he fell upon the earth, and his hand fell upon the twine ! He was restored to life, and found his way to the upper earth to caution his friends against such fool hardy enterprises. But the Catacombs of the Capuchins, which we visited afterward, were quite another thing. Mariano had taken us — before we were aware of his purpose — through a small subterranean door into an earthy passage to them. They are several apartments, neatly kept — the floor — earth — -is laid CATACOMBS OP THE CAPUCHINS. 101 out in graves — like the beds of a garden, smooth and level — each grave so marked and numbered that it may be known when it was last opened. There were dead Capuchin monks, also — in the dress of their order — sitting in chairs or standing — the same brown frock and hood, the same girdle with the cross at the belt — and eyeless sockets and fleshless jaws and bones beneath their habitual caps, and even the characteristic beard on the dry and skinless chins, white and bony hands and feet and half exposed to view ! Ghost- ly and revolting images " that showed the dead in their last dresses," were made visible by lights suspended from the ceil- ing in chandeliers, which also revealed the ornaments of the walls and the ceilings — rosettes, and fancy borders, and corner and centre pieces like embroidered handkerchiefs, and picture frames, and chandeliers, and ornaments with their hangings, made of the natural unwrought bones of those bur- ied monks. It is the rule of that locality, that when a monk dies they open the grave of him who has been buried longest, take out his dry bones, and deposit in their place the mortal coil that has just been shuffled off and is hardly cold. Such of those bones as they need for ornamentation and fancy woi k, are used accordingly, and the rest are x'emoved to the common receptacle. You can fancy the nice display of the handiwork — no, you cannot, without seeing it. How, in infinite variety of combination, the larger bones of the pelvis, and the thigh-bones, the shoulder-blades, and skulls, are set off by the slender fibula and tibia — the graceful rib, and collar-bone, the perforated joints of the spine — the knee- pans, and the small bones of the hands and feet arranged in festoons, and flowers, and arabesques ! Isn't it religious, and devout, and godly, thus to profane the relics of the dead — even of the dead monks that were useless in life ? Abraham bought a burying-place to bury his dead out of his sight. Some ages, and some nations have 102 CATACOMBS. burned their dead, others have buried theui — all to put theru out of sight, and in one way or another to fulfil the great proclamation — " Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt re- turn." " Earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes," are the solemn last words to our dead — but here, in the so- called capital of the Christian world, a religious order of great respectability — in the line of religious orders — finds amusement and gratification of taste, in exposing in so pro- fane and ostentatious a manner the remains of their dead brethren ! The earth in which these dead are buried — like that of the Campo Santo, at Pisa — was brought from Jerusalem, that the dead may rest in the consecrated soil of the holy land. As the poor monk moves on through life, and when, at last, shadows — darker than those of his cell — shut out the green fields, and bright skies, and the faces of men for the last time, his narrowed spirit will, perhaps, find conso- lation in the thought that his body will receive consecrated burial in the sacred soil of the land where his Savior was buried — that body, too, whose dry bones, his humility will say, deserve no better honor than to be dug up and rattled about for purposes so puerile, and so disrespectful and shocking to all cultivated religious sensibility. In these Catacombs are, also, small chapels for the devotions of those who choose to worship there. ROMAN EDUCATION. TT^HE educational institutions and arrangements of Rome JL are a subject of much importance and interest — and amid the vast number of matters which attracted my atten- tion, I did not fail to glance at them. Rome is often called the Capital of the Christian world, and the phrase has passed without criticism, because it con- veniently enough expresses an idea which Protestants, as well as Roman Catholics, have sometimes occasion to ex- press. With the Catholics it is a favorite phrase, because it seems to imply what they are so ready to assert, that the Roman Catholic religion is the only form of real Christi- anity. It is the religious capital of the Roman Catholic world — and it is the capital of the Pope's temporal domin- ions. It is his capital, as the soi-disant vicar of Christ, and his capital as king of the Roman States. It is the only capital whose sovereign places upon earth the capital of His kingdom, whose kingdom is not of this world, and claims to sit upon His throne who is at the right hand of God, in 104 EDUCATION IN ROME. the heavenly places, far above all principalities and pow- ers, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but also in that which is to come. In the papal sense — but in no other — it is the capital of the Christian world, and no Protestant should use the phrase even by adoption. But in this, as in many other things, we yield much to the Roman Catholics in seeming to admit the justice of their exclusive claims. We call their church the "Catholic" church, and we leave to their exclusive use that most expressive sign of Christianity, the Cross. In my judgment, every Christian church in the world is a portion of the catholic church, and their places of worship should bear conspicuously the cross, that the worshippers in them should, so far at least, glory in the Cross of Christ. In such a capital of such a dominion, it is quite plain that the education of the people must be always and everywhere in the hands of those who, in being ordained as priests of the church, are, by force of the same ceremony, made officers and agents of the state. There are those who say that such a system as the Roman Catholic religion can only be sustained by the ignorance of those who profess it. There can be no greater mistake. Such a system could never be maintained, except by most careful and constant inculca- tion. If it be not taught diligently to the children, they will inevitably depart from it. It is not the religion of ig- norance. In our country we see so many of the Catholics who are ignorant, that we have transferred their ignorance to the mass of Catholics everywhere. It is, however, true, that in some ages all the learning of the world was in the Catholic church, and that in the most enlightened ages, in- cluding our own, protestantism has produced no men so cultivated, so well educated, so eloquent, or so spiritual and devout, that their equals in these respects were not sincere and faithful believers in the Roman Catholic church, co- UNIVERSITY OF ROME. 105 worshippers and co-believers with the Pope of Rome. We should do ourselves — as well as the Catholic church — great injustice in disbelieving or doubting the sincerity and the piety of Fenelon and Bossuet, and Massillon and Bourdaloue, and Thomas a-Kempis and such men — I name these only be- cause their names are familiar to all. But if these, why may not millions of humbler names be written in the Lamb's Book of Life % If, with their light and intelligence, they were devout Christians in the Church of Rome, shall not the less enlightened many, who listened to their instructions, be per- mitted to sit down with them, and with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, in the Kingdom of Heaven % I think there is some misapprehension of the educational system of the Roman Catholics, as it exists in the catholic capital, where certainly we should expect to see its best manifestations. I am quite willing to confess my previous ignorance on the subject. I had, however, in the hope of procuring some reliable information, written to our repre- sentative at the court of Rome for information, before I had any expectation of visiting Rome myself. He did me the honor to reply to my letter, and, avowing his ignorance, he promised to get the necessary information for me. I have never heard from him again — he is now absent — and I have relied upon my own inquiries on the spot. For my information I am mainly indebted to the civility of Father Secchi — professor of astronomy, and so in charge of the Observatory at the Roman College — and to one of the Christian brothers. At the head of the public educational institutions is the University of Rome, sometimes called the Collegio della Sapienza — the college of Avisdom — because over one of its entrances is the passage, in Latin, " The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." It is near the Pantheon, in the quarter of St. Eustatius. Its large inner court is a par- 106 ROMAN COLLEGE. allelogram, and, as you enter it, on the opposite side is the front of the church, in the form of a triangle, and the other three sides are decorated with two rows of pilasters — one Doric and one Ionic — forming arcades. It has no external decoration — plain walls, with two rows of windows. The beauty and the science, as well as the quiet and seclusion^ are within the squares. This institution is more than six hundred years old, and by the friendly patronage of succes- sive Popes, has been extended and strengthened. In 1825, Leo XII entirely remodeled it, and gave to it and the Uni- versity of Bologna the rank of the two primary universities of his dominions. It has forty-two professors, and all the Faculties — each faculty being called a college — the college of theology, with five professors — the college of law, with seven professors — the college of medicine, with thirteen profes- sors — the college of natural philosophy, with eleven profes- sors, and the college of philology, with six professors. It has secular and lay teachers, as well as ecclesiastics. They are supported by the State, and instruction is entirely free, except that fifty dollars is demanded from those who take degrees. It has a large library and collections of minerals — - of geological specimens of the local formations — of Roman fossil remains — of all the marbles and stones of the ancient monuments — of comparative anatomy and zoology — of gems, and a botanic garden. The University has a large number of students. On the third floor of the University is a school of engineers, not under the special charge of the Uni- versity — and on the lower floor is the Academy of St. Luke, with its eleven professors and its schoolsof the fine arts. Next in importance is the Roman College, established by Gregory XIII — during whose pontificate the calendar was reformed — and after him sometimes called the Gregorian University. It is entirely under the management of the Jesuits. Father Secchi, to whom I was introduced in the ROMAN COLLEGE. 107 observatory — he is professor of astronomy— with his char- acteristic civility, accompanied me through the visible por- tions of the establishment, and was exceedingly communi- cative and intelligent in bringing to my notice such matters as he knew would not fail to be interesting to me. The observatory is reached by a winding staircase, of reasonably easy ascent, which is cut out of the solid walls of the build- ing, two hundred years old — the whole staircase being within the solid wall. This gives one some idea of the stability with which such buildings were erected in the latter part of the sixteenth century, when this metropolitan col- lege of the Jesuits was built. The stairway was cut within the wall at a much more recent period. This College, too, externally, has no pretensions to beauty, and is built round a large square, or court, surrounded by a two-story portico, upon which front the rooms of the professors. The Roman College, or Gregorian University, has seven or eight hundred pupils, divided into the higher and lower schools. Instruction is entirely gratuitous. The students, however, must support themselves and pay for their books. None of them reside in the college. They are taken from the respectable classes only — and admitted only on testi- monials of conduct. They must be Roman Catholics, and must be taught religion in the college. The Government allows the institution twelve thousand dollars towards its expenses, and besides this, it depends upon endowments, legacies and the like, which are so common in Roman Catholic countries. To form a proper estimate of the char- acter and value of this University, it must be borne in mind that of this large number of students, much the larger por- tion belong to the inferior department, answering to the grammar schools or preparatory schools which are sometimes connected with our colleges. It takes the student, as soon as he has learned to read and to write, and has been taught 108 ROMAN COLLEGE CURRICULUM. the elements of grammar — while he is almost a child — and in that inferior department he devotes three years to the grammatical course, and two to the courses of humanities and rhetoric. In these courses the instruction is by text-books and recitations. From the inferior schools he passes to the superior schools, in which all instruction is by lectures. This institution furnishes the most complete idea of the higher Italian education, and I shall, at the hazard of some tediousness, give you some of its details. The Inferior Schools have the following course of study : First Year. — Latin Grammar — selections from Cicero — select fables of Phaedrus — Greek Grammar and Italian Grammar — Exercises in select writers in Italian — Historia Sacra — Elements of Geography — Geography of Europe — Arithmetic. Second Year. — Latin Grammar — selections from Cicero — Cornelius Nepos — selections from Ovid and Phaedrus — Greek Grammar — selections from tbe Greek writers — Italian Gram- mar, with exercises in the Italian writers — Roman History, to the time of Augustus — Geography of Asia and Africa — Arithmetic. Thiid Year. — Latin Grammar — Cicero de Officiis, de Se- nectate, de Amicitia — Caesar's Commentaries — Virgil, Ovid, Tibullus, Catullus — Greek Grammar — selections from the Greek writers — Italian Grammar — exercises in Italian wri- ters — History of the Persian and Greek Monarchies — Ge- ographies of America and Oceanica — Arithmetic. Fourth Year. — Humanity — Principles of Rhetoric — Ci- cero's Select Orations — Sallust's Histories — Virgil, JEneid, Tibullus' Songs — Horace's Select Odes — Greek Syntax — selections from Greek oratory and poetry — Rules of Italian Elocution, with exercises in Italian writers — Chronology — Armillary Sphere. Fifth Year. — Rhetoric, Virgil, Horace, Catullus, Proper- HIGHER LEARNING. 109 tius — selections from the Greek poets — Universal Geogra- phy — Cicero de Oratore — Livy's and Tacitus' Histories — selections from the Greek writers — History of Literature. In rhetoric instruction is given four hours a day, and in the other inferior schools five hours. In the Superior Schools their courses of lectures are — Greek Language — Xenophon and Homer. Elementary Mathematics — Arithmetic, Algebra, Geometry, Trigonome- try, Conic Sections. Introduction to the Higher Calculus — Analytic Geometry, Algebraic Series, Equations. Physical Chemistry — Principles of Chemistry, Experimental Physics. Physical Mathematics — Optics, Acoustics, Hydronamics, Hy- drostatics, Mechanics. Astronomy — Mundane System, Theory of the Motions of the Heavenly Bodies, Spherical Trigonometry. Higher Mathematics — Differential and In- tegral Calculus. Natural Theology — Psychology, Cosmology, Ontology, Logic. Ethics — Decaiology, Eudaimonology. Critical History of Philosophy — The principal heads of Nat- ural and Revealed Religion. Sacred Eloquence — Panegyric, Homiletics. Reading the Scriptures, Religious Discussion, Catechism, Spiritual Exercises. Sacred Rites — Eastern and Western Liturgies. Ecclesiastical History — From the Tenth to Sixteenth Centuries. Moral Theology — Human Conduct, Conscience, Laws, Commands of God and the Church. Topical Theology — The Unity and Trinity of God, Grace. Canonical Institutions. Oriental Languages — Hebrew Gram- mar, Book of Deuteronomy, Arabic, Chaldaic and Syriac Grammars, Portions of Arabic, and Syriac, and Chaldaic Scriptures. Dogmatic Theology — Scriptures, Tradition, Analogy of Reason and Faith, the Church and its Head. Sacred Literature — Introduction to the Sacred Scriptures, of the Literal Sense of the Bible, Selections from the New Testament. Two years are devoted to this course in Philosophy, and 110 COLLEGE OF THE PROPAGANDA. three are required for a degree of Dr. Ph. — and four years constitute the complete course in Theology — the candi- dates for degrees and honors being subjected to examinations, discussions, and other exercises, in public as well as private. And that all the students may hold religion to be preferred before anything else, they are incited to study and practise" it, by exhortations, penance, and holy communion — and to imbue their minds with heavenly wisdom they are to study and to commit to memory the chief heads of Christian Doctrine. The schools open at seven a. m. throughout the year, and continue in session three hours. Then a recess till about four hours before sunset, when the afternoon exercises com- mence, and continue also three hours. They have four short vacations in the year, which, to- gether with the great number of religious holidays scattered through the year, make the days of actual instruction about the same as in American Colleges. The Library of the Roman College is a choice and inter- esting one of seventy thousands volumes — exceedingly rich in Bibles and Commentaries — Theology — Church Fathers — Councils — Canon Law — Civil Law — Scholastics — Ecclesias- tical and General History — Antiquities, and Greek, Latin, and Italian Literature. And it has many curiosities of re- markable interest and of great antiquity — but having lost my memorandum of them, and, not having time to return for another look, I do not venture a description or enumer- tion of any of them. There is also the famous College of the Propaganda, a missionary school, distinguished for its polyglottal exhibi- tion, in which all races, colors, and tongues, are exhibited, to the number of some fifty odd. This occurs at another time of the year, and I only looked at the College a few moments, and bought, at its bookstore, a Roman Ritual, in the beautiful typography of the press of the Propaganda. SCHOOLS. Ill There is the Seminario Apollinario, for clergymen, with seven hundred scholars — day scholars — instruction free. Receiving $(3,000 from the government. It has substan- tially the same course of study as the Roman College, ex- cept that it omits astronomy and the higher calculus. The Seminary of San Pantaleo, a free school for me- chanics, &c. — all day scholars — in reading, writing, and arithmetic, having about four hundred scholars, is another of the public schools. There are also large private and boarding schools — pay schools — of which I did not attempt the details. The beautiful grounds of the Pincian hill in fair weather, at times not devoted to study, are thronged with more or less numerous groups of students in the dresses of their respective schools — exceedingly good looking, well dressed, and intellectual, sometimes accompanied by their teachers, and almost always with the holiday, do-nothing lounge and stroll which sits so well on an Italian. The Universities are State seminaries, supervised by and accountable to the State as State — while the Theological Seminaries are subject to the bishops as ecclesiastics, as officers of the Church, not of the State. The bishops are also the visitors of the public schools, if I may call them so, of which I am now about to speak. Elementary instruction is provided for the people in the three classes of schools, the Regionary schools, the schools of the Christian Brothers, and the night and private schools. The Regionary schools, scaole regionare, are established and supported by the city, in the different quarters or regions of the city, entirely free from charge. There are fourteen of them in as many different quarters of the city, with an average attendance of some forty scholars in each. The schools of the Christian Brothers are more numerous. and constitute an important system of means for public 112 CHRISTIAN BROTHERS. education in Roman Catholic countries, especially in Rome. The Christian Brothers, or Brothers of the Christian doc- trine, are an independent order of teachers, found every- where where the Roman Catholic religion exists in any considerable degree. You and 1 have often seen them irt Canada. I have met them in the St. Lawrence, from Quebec to the lakes, and on the Ottawa, on the steamers, and in the cars, in the cities, and the villages, with their low- crowned, broad-brimmed hats, their plain white semi-cleri- cal bands, and their course and cheap, but comfortable and respectable long gowns. Their vows -are five, Chastity, Poverty, Obedience, Teaching gratis, and Stability, that is, constancy to their vocation or order. Their simple dress — always the same in fashion and material — their habits of quiet virtue, and devotion to their calling, enable them to meet all their wants on their little salary of twelve dollars a month, at Rome. Contributions from the Government, from the City, and from charitable individuals, by legacy or otherwise, provide the small means necessary to procure the plain school- room with its simple appointments, and the books and stationary necessary to keep up the schools. Their order forbids them to accept even the smallest present from their pupils. Their schools are free to all — the rich as well as the poor- — but they prefer to have their schools filled by the poor, because their order is a charitable one, and the rich are able to provide schools. The principal object, the pur- pose, of their schools, is to teach religion, and they teach letters only as necessary and subsidiary to religious instruc- tion. They gave me the latest statistics — 1852 — of the schools throughout the world. The whole number of pupils is 264,249, of whom 221,000 are in France, 4,215 in the Pontifical States, 4,055 in Canada, 4,962 in the United SCHOOLS OF THE BROTHEES. 113 States, 14,026 in Belgium, 6,834 in Savoy, 6,856 in Pied- mont. These figures show how far, very far, inferior the Papal dominions are in this sort of provision for education, to other portions of the Roman Catholic world. The activity of the order has heen evidenced hy the increase in the num- ber of scholars, which from 1844 to 1852 increased from 198,188 to 261.249. It may be interesting to you to know something of the mode of conducting the schools. They have mass every day at eight o'clock in the morning. They cross themselves with holy water on entering the school. The school opens and closes with prayer, said by all, before a crucifix. Every half hour during the day their studies are suspended for a short prayer in Latin, before a crucifix. Half an hour every day is devoted to the cate- chism. They are obliged to attend divine service together every Sunday. They must all confess at least once a month. The confessor comes every Saturday, and such as choose to do so, confess oftener than once a month. They are urged to do so by religious motives. They are bound to take the communion, also, at least once a month, and they are excited to do so oftener, and they do so usually every Sun- day. A great spirit of emulation is excited in the scholars. Their discipline and progress is founded on emulation. They have frequent discussions and exercises, in which they form parties and take sides. There is a sort of throne on which is seated, to preside over the discussion, the one who carried off the palm at the last discussion. Each party has its flag. In the school where I was — and perhaps in all others — the two parties were the party of Rome and the party of Carthage, and the banners of those two hostile na- tions waved over their respective parties during the contest. The successful party takes the flag of its adversary, and 114 CHRISTIAN BROTHERS. plants it, as a trophy, beneath its own. The flag is a party trophy — is awarded to the best party, and there is a cross of honor — which is worn for three or four days as an individual honor by the best one of the best party, who also presides on the throne at the next contest — which is a different contest, with a new construction of parties. There are also examinations during the year in all the schools, at which are ascertained the few very best scholars in each school, and these chosen few, once a year, meet and undergo a grand examination in the pres- ence of the patrons, the visitors of the schools, the chiefs of the order, the friends of education, and the dignitaries of the church — a grand of occasion. The examination is by examination papers, and questions, and specimens of their work. They have gold and silver medals for specific mei'it. At my request I was presented with the prize production in arithmetic of Oreste Bencibenga, a lad of fifteen years, for which he received the first silver medal — and the prize pro- duction in penmanship of Telemaco Vighi, aged thirteen, for which he received the third medal for penmanship. I bring them with me to America as mementoes, and I here add my transatlantic voice in praise of the exceeding correct- ness and beauty of the productions. He who excels all his competitoi's in this grand test of progress and merit, is made Emperor of the Christian doc- trine, and for a short period he is in high honor in Rome. He is presented to the Pope, and is the only individual in Eome, except his Holiness, who has the freedom of the papal palace, to come and go as he pleases. Armed men from the papal service stand at his father's door to do his bidding, and to wait upon him, and a carriage from the Pope, with servants in the papal livery, take him to and fro when and whither he desires to go. This lasts, if I remember, thirty SAN MICHELE. 115 days. The last Emperor of the Christian doctrine was the son of " A poor cobbler that lived in a stall, Which 3erved him for parlor and kitchen and all." And there, at his humble door, for the appointed period, stood the papal servitors — and there the papal steeds pranced and champed their bits, and little Crispin moved in state while his poor father hammered the soles and drew the cord, and sung his Italian shoemaker's songs, with all a father's pride and all a cobbler's humility. For this I have not the authority of the teachers, but it was related to me by an intelligent and most respectable and devout Roman Catholic citizen of New- York, whose faith and whose wealth, and position at home, secured for him civilities and honors at Rome, of which he was justly proud. In addition to these schools, there are twelve or more night schools, of some sixty or seventy scholars each, which are also free. They are supported by private contributions. There is another class of educational institutions, of which I visited but one — a sort of charity industrial school. Of these I have nothing like statistics. The one which I visited — San Michele — is certainly a remarkable establish- ment. It has several hundred beneficiaries, from little children all the way up to middle life. I conversed with one woman, making silk belts or watch ribbons, who had been there twenty-two years. It is a great school of relig- ion, and letters, and industry, and a factory of various works of useful and fine art. We looked through it. The in- mates are fed on the plainest fare, and all the arrangements are on the lowest level of expense. I was curious enough to ask one of the matrons what was her salary — she said, besides her living, twelve dollars a year. I was told that while all its beneficiaries are the children of poverty and 116 ROMAN EDUCATION. want, still the advantages of being there are so desirable, that without being exceedingly devout and faithful Catholics, and securing powerful interests besides, it is impossible to have a child admitted there. How different in all these particulars from the American system of public and popular education ! But while we are bound to say that the provision for education in Home is much inferior — very much inferior — to the provision in most of our States, we must admit that it is also superior to that of some of our States which are intensely Protes- tant. Some of these teachers told me that there were but few of the Roman people that could not read and write. I was, however, told by other Italians quite the reverse. I had no means to verify the statements. We shall be certain to do injustice to the Romans, if we judge them in this particular by comparing the number who attend school with the population of the city. I do not know what proportion the children bear to the whole population, but it must be much less than with us, there are so many thousands — sol- diers, priests, religious orders, male and female, etc. — who are condemned to lives of celibacy, and yet in the census add to the grand total of the people. EXCURSION TO TIVOLI. OF the great number of excursions from Rome, of consid- erable length, I determined to take but one — that to Tivoli — the Tibur of the ancients. One of the first things for a hurried traveller to learn is that at all the resting-places of travel — the ingenuity and interested industry of couriers, valets, hotel-keepers, and livery stable men, have hunted up all places and things that can seem to interest one, and that, unless he be quite careful, his time will be wasted on things which are of the most trifling importance, in compari- son with others quite sufficient to occupy his whole time profitably. In this respect I found Mariano of the greatest service. His great knowledge of all the details of Roman sight-seeing, and his honest desire to render the most valuable service in his power, with economy of time, labor, and money, after a few words from me as to the general character of my wishes, enabled him to consult my tastes and anticipate my wishes, and to show us as much of Rome— ancient and modern, secular and religious — in her most interesting aspects, as our time would permit. He said that Tivoli was 118 SACRED HILL. was worth all the rest of the excursions about Rome, and so we started for Tivoli. We left Rome by the gate of St. Lawrence — Porta Saa Lorenzo — taking a second look as we passed at the ancient and interesting basilica of San Lorenzo, where repose the remains of St. Stephen, proto-martyr, and St. Lawrence. We soon struck the ancient Via Tiburtina, and over its an- cient pavement pursued our course almost due east, through charming landscapes. We soon passed the Velian Hill, three miles from the city, subsequently and more usually called the Mons Sacer, from the oath the people there took never to revolt against the Tribunes. It was to this hill, five hundred years before the Christian era, that the populace of Rome, borne down with hopeless debts — created by the enormous usuries of the richer class — rushed, in un- organized crowds of thousands and with the rage of a mob. The soldiers sympathized with the people, but their oaths to the Consuls — for which the Roman soldier had a never-failing reverence — prevented their taking arms against them. The people proposed to assassinate the Consuls — to cancel the oath — but the soldiers refused to permit it, and finally con- cluded that if they could not attack the Consuls and the Senate they could at least desert them. They raised their standards, and changed their officers, and under a Plebeian leader, encamped on the Velian Hill, by the banks of the Teverone — there to repudiate their debts, and found a Ple- beian city and a democratic nation of working men. After long diplomatic negotiations between them and the Senate the debts were all cancelled by law — perhaps, the first gen- eral and summary bankrupt law of which we have any account — and the venerable Menenius Agrippa made the adroit and touching speech — given by Livy — and closing with the famous apologue of the body and the members, so finely used by St. Paul to the Corinthians, five hundred years THE TRIBUNES. 119 later, to illustrate the oneness and harmony of the offices and gifts in the church, and introduced and bluntly para- phrased by Shakespeare fifteen hundred years still later in Coriolanus. This mollified the resentment of the people, now that the debts were cancelled, but as security for the future their leaders demanded that proper magistrates of their own — Tribunes of the People — should be created, to which the Senators and all but Plebeians should be ineligible — and there, on the mount sacred to freedom, were chosen the first Tribunes of the People, and under them and the commit- tee of the senate, in orderly and rejoicing columns, the successful rebels marched in triumph back to the city — and the Velian Hill was ever after called the Sacred Hill — and was considered as the rallying spot of the friends of liberty — to which the people and the army often threatened to re- tire and thence to dictate terms to the aristocracy — that aristocracy, that in ancient Rome, was always in conspiracy against the people — always combined to oppress them with unequal laws — always ready to plunder them of their property and overwhelm them with enormous debts by the most remorseless usury, and to drive them to despair by holding or selling as slaves those who were unable to pay their debts. It is really only the convulsive spasmodic rem- edies — so frequent and so effectual in .Roman history — that entitles even the Roman Republic to be classed among free states. The so-called constitution of the Roman Re- public was an ingenious and delusive conspiracy against the freedom of the people. As it was the oppression and slavery of creditors that first drove the army and the people to the Sacred Hill, and that resulted in a thorough bankrupt law — so it was the attempt to enforce the fugitive slave law of ancient Rome that a sec- ond time brought to that consecrated spot the soldiers in open rebellion against the Decern vris. 120 VIRGINIUS The beautiful daughter of a Plebeian Centurion was seized in a public school and claimed as a slave, while her father was absent in the army. With much difficulty Avas delay procured to get the father to Rome to defend his daughter, who, meantime, was held in custody of the claim- ant. The father came and pleaded the cause of the darling of bis heart, but all in vain, the Decemvir found the law and the fact clear, and ordered her delivered to the claimant. The father begged a moment for the farewell word and kiss of his child — this was granted, the claimant, however, to be present. He took her in his arms and wiped the tears from her face. " Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside — « » « — Hard by, a flesher, on a block had laid his whittle down, Virginius caught the whittle up and hid it in his gown. And then his eye grew very dim and his throat began to swell, And, in a hoarse, changed voice, he spake, « Farewell, sweet child ! farewell ! 1 ' Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss — ' And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this. ' With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side, And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. Then with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginms tottered nigh And stood before the judgment seat, and held the knife on high. ' Oh, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain ! 'By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain !' " — Macaulay. The Decemvir ordered him arrested — but the lictors dare not touch him, and the crowd opened to him as he rushed through the streets, bent his way to the army, and told the bloody story to his comrades and to the soldiers. They soon marched to the city, where they found the whole people excited to madness by the tragedy that so came home to their bosoms. The bloody corpse had been carried on an open litter through all the principal streets, till temple and palace, and forum and private home, were deserted to join the universal grief and indignation. The army encamped on the Sacred Hill, and never left that threatening spot till every Decemvir was dead or driven from Rome. LAKE TARTARUS. 121 I do not send you these memories of the hackneyed stories of our school-boy studies, as novelties, but to give you specimens of the old memories which are so freshly brought up as we pass the spots with which they are associated. We see and hear but the clues and catch-words of the great dramas of the past three thousand years, and as we take the clue we are foi'ced to repeat the passage that you may see and feel where we are in the play. And how should we get an idea of the state and society and manners in ancient Rome as forced upon us here, if we did not call up these repudiations and bankrupt laws — these vigilance committees and lynch law judgments of the coun- trymen of Brutus — the assassin, regicide — " the noblest Roman of them all." Onward to Tivoli, not stopping half as long to look at the Sacred Mount as it has taken you to read what I have said about it. As on the Appian way, so on this Tiburtine way, are some remarkable sepulchral monuments. That of the Plautian family — which is one of the most noble and best preserved in or about Eome — is some fifteen miles from the city. It stands in the vicinity of Lake Tartarus, and in the sulphurous atmosphere of Solfatara, and near the Lucan bridge, so widely and justly celebrated as one of the most picturesque objects in this land of beauty. Lake Tartarus presents one of the most interesting in- stances of the encrusting and petrifying action of calcareous waters. Spread over a large surface even now, it was for- merly much larger, and has for ages on ages been rapidly depositing a calcareous precipitate, which takes the forms of the reeds and twigs and leaves and grasses — as they have grown — as they have been trampled down or crushed — and as they have died and decayed. Those on the surface ex- hibit these forms, but deeper down it becomes a solid rock, of the usual hardness of such deposits, and constitutes the C 122 SOLFATARA. rock called travertine, which i?, and for ages has been, used so extensively in ancient and modern Rome, and elsewhere, for the finest architectural erections and ornaments. We were constantly meeting powerful teams of those beautiful Roman oxen, and sometimes those downcast, sullen, and malicious-looking black-eyed buffaloes, hauling immense blocks of it toward Rome. The quarries, I believe, are inex- haustible. The little lake and stream of the Solfatara are also inter- esting — taking their name from their strong exhalations of sulphur. When we came to the stream it seemed like a canal of diluted milk. I believe it is really a canal, and always of that color. It flowed with a rapid, but quiet and placid current, through banks of great regularity, and fol- lowing it up a little distance, you reach the lakelet, which is now reduced to a breadth of about two hundred feet, while it is in depth about the same number of feet — and its length only about three times that. You throw a stone into it, and after it has had time to sink and settle into the depths of the poisonous ooze that constitutes the bottom, immense volumes of gas let loose are belched forth with the bubblings of miniature volcanoes. On its surface, the thick matters that are thrown up unite and cohere, and the dust, and perhaps seeds and little plants, settle there and form little isles, that are blown and rocked by the breezes and whirled about by the eddies, as it were in the gambols of childish playfulness. This has given it sometimes the name of the lake of the floating islands. You might stand and watch them till the sulphurous vapors should destroy you — sulphur and beauty and danger, all together, may well remind us of another lake, to which it said that we sometimes are insen- sibly drawn by the pursuit of beauty and pleasure. A few miles further on, we left the road to Tivoli to visit the ruins of the wonderful villa of the Emperor Adrian. Adrian's villa. 123 This emperor, you know, chose this romantic spot to build here his favorite villa. It commanded views of the Sabine mountains, the highlands of Tivoli, and the Alban hills, with their forests, and towers, and temples — the plains sweeping up to the mountains — and, afar off in the west, Rome in all her ancient glory, threw back the beams of a setting Italian sun, from the temples and palaces that sat in such admired confusion upon her seven hills. The Koman Empire was then at its widest extent. He was most pro- foundly and elegantly educated in all the learning of Greece and Eome. His palace was the temple of science and the arts — literary men cultivated their taste and men of science enriched their minds in his conversation. The style of his mind may be somewhat inferred from the reply of the phi- losopher Favorinus, who often disputed with the emperor, but always yielded the argument. He was reproached by his associates for thus sacrificing the truth to the facilities of a courtier. Said he, " It is dangerous to be right with a man who has thirty legions to refute your argument with.'' Adrian had travelled as an emperor but with the simplicity of a democrat — bareheaded, and on foot — through all parts of his domains, domestic and colonial, then extending from the Black Sea to the Bay of Biscay, and from Egypt to Scotland, and on his return, determined in this spot to tax his taste, his learning, his patronage, and his wealth, in bringing together the miniature reproduction of all the places of the highest celebrity and interest in letters, and art, and pleasure, which he had visited, to be grouped in the space of some, four square miles. Here were Helicon, and Parnassus, and the vale of Tempe — the Lyceum, the Acade- emy, the Prytaneum, the Poecile of Athens — the Tartarus of endless punishment, and the Elysian fields of the Pagan Heaven, the Serapion of Canopus in Egypt, the Temple of the Stoic?, the Maritime Theatre, the Imperial Palace, 124 ruins of Adrian's villa. barracks large enough almost for those thirty legions, &c. Adrian's health soon failed and he sought invigoration at the corrupt and voluptuous watering-place, Baioe, on the Bay of Naples, where he died. He was buried in the enormous tomb in Rome, built by himself — now stripped of its ancient characteristics and converted into a fortress — the celebrated castle of St. Angelo, on the bank of the Tiber, and connected with the city by the Bridge of St. Angelo — the ancient ./Elian Bridge. There are no ruins in all Italy to compare with the Villa of Adrian, it is said — we certainly have seen nothing to equal it. While at one period, when ruins were at a discount, large numbers of statues, and marbles, and capitals, and columns of exquisite workmanship, were burned for building-lime, there still have been dug from these ruins, from time to time, great numbers of the statues and works of Grecian, Eoman, and Egyptian art, which constitute now the most precious ornaments of the museums of the capitol, and the Vatican, and of private collections. Fragments of frescoes, are still seen about the ruined walls, and great mosaic floors, and noble colonnades are still there exposed to the outside weather, and arches on arches are in your path as you wander on. Still the architecture has really almost passed away, and like all other ruins it is their suggestions and associations that alone make them so interesting. We wandered across the ploughed field, that lay on one side of the ruins, that we might get a better view of the whole, and as we walked on the soil composed of the debris of ruined temples, it was humiliating to human pride, to see — scat- tered on the surface and in the furrows, in great profusion — wherever we stepped, little fragments of porphyry, and jasper, and sienite, and the precious marbles, while in the paths sparkled the crystals of disintegrated mosaics — even in a farmer's road, through a ploughed field, Mariano scraped TIVOLI. 125 away the soil with his hand a few inches deep, and disclosed a portion of a mosaic floor, old as the time of Adrian, and still solid in its place. Ihe grottoes, and groves, and corridors, and colonnades of imperial luxury, have given place to trees and bushes and weeds. As we stepped about amid the still mouldering piles, the little beautifully-speckled Italian lizards — the only inhabi- tants — started constantly before us and ran rapidly up the still perpendicular walls — and as we were admiring the abun- dant suggestive little forget-me-nots, growing amid the buried and forgotten, a flight of crows, flapping above us, aroused us by their caws, to the exclamation, " And are you, too, still hoping to find the remains of these dead emperors?" We passed out through orchards of venerable olive trees, and drove to Tivoli, only a mile or two further on. This old and decayed town, founded more than two thousand years ago, is nobly situated on the banks of a rocky ravine, of about eighty feet in depth, and sweeps some half a mile around its base. It is eight hundred feet above the sea — while above it, and across the stream, stretches beau- tifully towards the sky the hill of Eipoli, abounding in the most charming views from within and from without. The town itself, and the neighboring highlands, were apparently a favorite site for the villas of the most distinguished of the old Roman literati. Here are the ruins of the extensive villa of Maecenas — of the villa of Catullus, and his summer retreat on the far up hill-side — the villa of Sallust — of Horace, as it is sometimes called — the villa of Quintillus Varus, of great extent, and from its mountain belvideres looking down upon the other villas and the falls, and out upon the Campagna of Rome, even to the sea — the villa of Cassius— -the lean and hungry Cassius— of Brutus, and Bassus, and Propertius, and many others. These ruins were once full of works of art — they were almost quarries 126 TEMPLE OF HERCULES SAXONUS. of sculptures, from which modern research has exhumed treasures of the choicest works, which are now to be found in the Museum of the Vatican and other collections. We had a day worthy of the place — bright, but mild, and balmy and transparent. We drove through the filthy, narrow and dilapidated streets of the dirty, compact town, to the hotel, near the celebrated temple of the Sybil, as it is usually called — the Sybil said to have predicted the Savior — but more recent examinations are said to change its charac- ter to that of the temple of the Hercules Saxonus. May we not soon insist that Hercules was an Anglo-Saxon, and that his many labors and triumphs were but mythic and prophetic foreshado wings of the " manifest destiny " of the Nou sine diis animosus InJ'ans, that now supports the stars and stripes. Our first look was at that celebrated ruin, and at its base — for it stands on the very verge of the abyss — we looked down upon the falls and the ravine, and out and upward to the surrounding hills. From this point the falls present no great attraction to any one, much less to us, who are familiar with the falls of our own country. We agreed with those who have said that they saw little here to justify Byron's poetic extacy in sight of what he calls the "Hell of Waters." We should, however, remember that all has been greatly changed since Lord Byron was here. Two years after his death, an unparalleled swelling of the mountain streams, raised the little Anio to the dignity of a fearful torrent, causing a most destructive inundation — sweeping away the barriers which had confined the water^ and carrying into the chasm below one church and thirty- six houses in the immediate neighborhood of the temple of Hercules Saxonus, and undermining the temple itself, which now stands on overhanging masses of travertine rock — the softer tufa of the rock being washed away. Now, after it FALLS OF TIVOLI. 127 is all over, when I think of our careless lounging about there — we dined in the open air, on the table rock at the base of that temple — and descending through subterranean passes, over little frail and slippery planks and bridges, to see the grotto of Neptune, and the grotto of the Sirens, and what was left of the grand cascade, and to imagine how it used to be, I recur to the peril with a sort of shudder. To save the temple and the rest of the village, the main stream has been directed from its ancient channel, since the days of Byron, but when one sees where that stream went in its full torrent, in the path which is now occupied by only a comparative rivulet, he can well see how it might be called a hell of waters — realizing all the dangers, all the terrors and all the pains which irresistible waters could inflict upon its victims. Those who are at all familiar with the manner in which calcareous hills and cliffs form marvellous winding passages and curious niches, seats of stalagmite and draperies of stalactites, and cells and chambers and caverns and wells, can form perhaps some idea how a river falling down some fifty feet through such rocks — like the whorls of a shattered turbinated shell — would leap and wheel, and dash and toss, and somerset, and finally deliver itself in foam and spray at the bottom. Having finished this descent, and returned to the upper air, we crossed over to get a view of the town and the temples. It is from the brow of the ravine, on the other side, that we best command a view in which the natural and artificial — the new and the old — the modern and the an- cient — the useful and the agreeable and the beautiful — the romantic and the sublime — are blended in most striking combinations. The present grand cascade is a work of art, made by tunneling the travertine rock of the hill on the opposite side of the town, and turning the main stream through that 128 THE TUNNEL. tunnel, from the mouth of which the river in one unbroken sheet, leaps about eighty feet to the head of the river below, and then winds round the town. The tunnel itself — it is in fact two parallel tunnels — is an exceedingly good specimen of engineering. I succeeded in getting so near to it as to look into its very throat. About one eighth of a mile across the arc of the ravine is a sort of terrace-causeway, or bridge, in full view of the falls. When the tunnel of the new falls was finished, and the water was to be let on, here was the central point of the celebration of so important an event. Mariano was there, and he gave me a graphic account of it. There were crowds of admiring spectators — the travellers — the high nobility — the officers of state — the diplomatic body, and the troops and the populace — all eyes bent in breathless and silent stare at the mouth of the tunnel, waiting to catch the first glimpse of the approaching experimental flood, and see it literally leap from the rock. It came, and in a twink- ling was dashed to pieces on the rocks below — thunders of artillery, and volleys of musketry, and the shouts of the people, and the harmonies of a grand Italian orchestra, mingling their various echoes all over the scene. I could not help stopping and falling into a long and quiet reverie as I called up such a spectacle, now twenty -five years passed away, and also studied the objects now in full view — the town, with its cluttered and dingy masses — the ruins of ancient villas, and bridges and cemeteries, first revealed by those recent changes — the modern villas in the bounds of the town, once spacious and beautiful, but now deserted and di- lapidated. To get another view, if possible still more beauti- ful, we followed the ravine more than half round the town. On the bank of the ravine, opposite the town, the road runs along its brow on the external curve — a little below the level of the town, which is on the inner curve. It is on the level of the town that the Anio enters it, and plunges into the ra- CASCATEIXES. 129 vine and winds round the base of the town, while on that side a large portion of the water, instead of following the main steam of the cataract through the tunnel, runs in many streams down the green and inhabited hillsides, turning the wheels of many little mills and shops, and making, as it finds its way into the main stream at the base — charming little cascades — certainly not less than fifty, sparkling and twinkling in the sun, amid luxuriant shrubbery, and fig and olive trees, and cactuses, and gardens, and vineyards. These are the cascatelles of Tivoli — rendered more interesting by running through the ruins of Maecenas' villa, and beneath its broken arches to the main stream which winds beautifully at the base — at once the source and the receptacle of all these cas- catelles. From a position which takes in them all, as well as Rome and St. Peter's in the distance, and the intervening cultivated champaign, it is a scene never to be forgotten, even without its associations — but when Horace, and Catul- lus, and the magnificent Adrian — the great prisoner, the captured African, Syphax, who spent his last days here, and does not seem to have been misliked for his complexion — and Brutus and Cassius step into the scene, and people these suburban villas — who can fail for a while to be over- come with the associations and memories that crowd thick and fast upon him. Farewell to Tivoli — and back to Rome by the way we came, taking a second look at the same scenes and recalling with fresh interest the impressions that had been deepest en- graved on the memory. G* Cftaijhr fhttlj. PALACES — MUSEUMS ART. AS the Mons Vaticanus was in ancient times the place where the will of the gods of heathendom was manifested to those who sought it by vaticination, so it is now the the seat of Roman Catholic vaticination, in being the dwelling place of the so-called Vicar of Christ. The Vatican is but the collection of buildings on the Vatican Hill, occupied by the palace and the vast collections of the Pope. Other palaces have works of art — ancient and mod- ern — and collections of antiquities and objects of curiosity and vertu — there are museums at the capitol, at the Lateran Palace, and at the Quirinal Palace, and at the palace Bor- ghese, and the palaces of the nobles and millionaires of Rome — but all put together, they cannot come in compari- son with the collections of the Vatican. The Vatican — an immense pile of buildings, commenced more than one thou- sand years ago — and by irregular additions and improvements brought to what it is now — covers about twenty acres. It is a palace of about four thousand four hundred and forty- THE VATICAN MUSEUMS. 131 two apartments, through which Art and Learning, and Religion, and Taste and Curiosity, may wander daily, for weeks and weeks in succession, and never tire, and come again and find it fresh and new as at the beginning. It has been a favorite and consistent policy of the popes to add to these wonderful collections. Pius VI. added two thousand statues during his pontificate. The long hall, or gallery of inscriptions, is a corridor perhaps fifteen feet wide, and one fifth of a mile long. It is broken up by mere arches thrown over it, into something like apartments. The walls of it on both sides, to about the height of convenient sight, are covered with original marbles and other stones, with the original inscriptions in Greek and Latin, from the earliest periods. There are three thousand of them, and, counting both sides of the hall, they extend nearly half a mile. Great numbers of these inscriptions are epitaphs of the early Christians, from the tombs in the catacombs — almost, if not quite all of which, I believe, have been re- moved to the Vatican. As the simpleton of Hierocles carried about a brick as a sample of the house he had to sell, so I have mentioned this more than one third of a mile of inscriptions in the Galleria Lapidaria, only to enable you to guess at the quantity of treasures of art and antiquity which may exist in another gallery, arranged by Pius VII., con- taining seven hundred ancient sculptures, in thirty compart- ments — not including another hall, two hundred and thirty feet long, built by the same pontiff, lighted from a roof sustained by ancient columns of the rarest beauty, and filled with the most interesting sculptures — in still another portion containing the contributions and collections of six popes — principally those of Clement XIV. and Pius VI. — constitu- ting by itself the most wonderful collection of antique Sculptures in the world — in the Hall of Animals — the Gallery of the Muses — the Circular Hall — the Hall of the 132 THE LIBRARY. Greek Cross — the Hall of the Bigae — the Gallery of Stat- ues — the Hall of Busts — the Cabinet of the Masks — in the Etruscan Museum, founded by Gregory XVI., and occupy- ing eleven chambers — in the Egyptian Museum — the Gallery of the Candelabra, two hundred and seventy feet, long — the Gallery of Maps, five hundred feet long, in which the maps are painted on the wall in fresco — in the Tapestries ot Raphael — the Stanze of Raphael — ;in the Picture Gallery, containing not more than fifty pictures, yet these fifty, in the judgment of high ait critics, worth in merit all the pic- tures in the world beside — and in the Library. We went through all these, with only a look at the most- interesting objects. In the library, besides eighty thou- sand books, and twenty-four thousand manuscripts, are many exceedingly curious objects, relics of ancient art and ancient idolatry, in all ages of antiquity. There was a great urn, of malachite, presented to his Holiness by the Emperor of Russia — an object of great beauty and rarity, and of immense size. We were struck with a series of paintings, valuable, not for their merit as works of art, but for their subjects. They are historical paint- ings by modern Roman artists, of the principal scenes of the captivity and treatment of Pius VII. tinder the first Napoleon, and of his joyful restoration to his triple throne. The scenes of his sufferings, degradation, and humiliation, are as fully and as faithfully given as the jubi- lation of his triumphant return. This is characteristic of the Roman Catholic system. As they give all possible prominence to the ignominious treatment of the Savior, so do they to that of his servants, and most confidently do they believe that no machinations against the Pope can prosper in the end. Befoie I came to Rome I had been told by my Catholic acquaintances that we have only to wait and we shall find that the republican traitors to the GARDENS AND PALACES OF THE VATICAN. 133 Pope in 1848-9, will come to an end perhaps as humilia- ting and retributive a? that of the great conqueror who imprisoned the Pope — who made his baby-boy not yet born, King of Rome — who was the usurper of the most Christian throne of France, of the Catholic throne of Spain, and, in- deed, of all the thrones that were necessary to give one to each of his family. Yet Pius VII. lived to see Napoleon die in ignominious captivity, and all his family driven into ob- scurity. How such things strengthen the faith of devoted Catholics, and the loyalty of those less devoted ! The gardens of the Vatican are also accessible from the Museum, and are finely laid out, and cultivated, and orna- mented with sculptures, which, were it not for those within the Museum, would be considered almost a museum. The Sistine Chapel, of which I have written in another letter, as the place of worship of the Papal family when in the Vatican palace, is also in itself a gallery of paintings. All its walls and ceilings are covered with the most elabo- rate paintings of historical and allegorical religious subjects, by Michael Angelo and other contemporaneous masters. The Chapel is, in this respect, a most interesting curiosity, but I did not see one painting, one scene, one figure, even, that excited in me the slightest feeling or emotion. I include the master-piece of Michael Angelo — the Last Judg- ment — which covers all one end of the Chapel, and to my mind demonstrates the folly of any human pencil attempting a subject so awful — it can never be fitly represented except by the pencil of the Almighty, to the unobscured vision of the human soul, in the actual revelations of the last scene of human destiny. His Holiness was residing at the Vatican palace, and his royal apartments there, were invisible to merely curious strangers. It is the law or etiquette of all crowned heads, that their palaces can be visited only when they are absent. 134 ELECTION OP THF POPE. The Quirinal palace, so called from being on the Quiri- nal hill, called, also, the Pontifical palace, was, however, unoccupied by the Pope at the time, and we wandered through all the forty-eight rooms of that Papal residence. It has more interest because the conclave for the elec- tion of the Pope takes place in this palace, and the choice is announced from the balcony over the main entrance, to the people, who, in anxious crowds, are waiting to know who shall be their next Prophet, Priest, and King — Vicar of Christ — Head of the Church — Keeper of the keys of Heaven and Hell — and Holy Father. On the death of the Pope the Cardinals are shut up in one room — a bare room with benches, without partitions or curtains — shut in close on all sides except one outlet — no one is permitted to enter or speak to them, or send a mes- sage, or write to them, except one conclavist, or associate, selected by each cardinal. The little window through which their food is handed to them, was shown to us. For three days they are fed well, then if they have not agreed on a choice, they are reduced to one dish at noon, and one in the evening, for five days, and after that, only bread, and wine, and water, till the election takes place. So, even in so sacred and solemn a matter as choosing the Vicar of Christ, as well as in our jury-rooms, it seem that starvation, or short commons at least, is considered a great en- lightener of the mind and conscience. As soon as they have agreed, an established sign is made through the win- dow, to the outer world, and the bells are rung, and the great guns are shot, and Rome is happy. When the elec- tion is long delayed, and they get down to a short allowance of bread and water, they are said sometimes to have stormy times, and richly to deserve the name of the church mili- tant. As the choice must be made from the cardinals, it is said they have always an eye to the succession, and QUIRINAL PALACE. 185 elect the oldest and weakest candidate, in the expectation, if not the desire, that he may soon be translated to the heavenly kingdom. This may have been so sometimes, in other times, but not now I fancy. The present Pope was neither old nor decrepit, but a hale and comparatively young man, when he was elected, and many Popes have reigned for long courses of years. In the days of Papal power and glory, in the days of Hildebrand and Montalto, the triple crown was something more than the bauble of the present day, and ambitious cardinals might fight for it, or cheat for it, as for the dominion of the world. They say that once after the election of a Pope, one of the cardinals whispered in his ear, " Well, you are elected Pope — listen while I tell you the last truth you will ever hear. Flatter- ed by those who will surround you, you will soon believe yourself a great man. But remember that, before your elevation, your were never anything but ignorant and obsti- nate. Good-by — I am now going to worship you." The Quirinal Palace does not exhibit in its apartments any special evidence of regal splendor, nor of sacerdotal mystery or magnificence. As a whole, the rooms showed a great variety of rich furniture and works of art, of taste, and of ornament — each room in its own style — including many valuable and curious presents from kings and princes. The chapel at the Quirinal does not compare at all with the Sistine at the Vatican Palace. We were somewhat sur- prised to find — as one of the regular rooms of the Vicar of Christ — a billiard room. We presumed it was for the use of his guests and servitors, rather than for himself. Yet Ave could not fail to consider it as good evidence that billiards is a canonical game. Speaking of guests reminds me that his Holiness never eats at the table with others — not even his guests, however distinguished — always at a table by himself and in another room — a fact which was quite new to me. 13'j THE CAPITOL. It is a striking instance of many wherein he — who claims to be the Vicar of Christ — differs widely from his Lord and Master. He was not afraid to eat with publicans and sinners. The personal apartments of the Pope — his study, hall of audience, and bedroom — are of becoming simplicity, com- fort, and propriety. The gardens of the Quirinal are very large — a mile in circuit — with abundance of statues and fountains. There is an organ played by water, and the usual ornaments of a great and royal landscape garden — but nothing of special in- terest — nor does it display as much taste as precision, regu- larity, and stiffness. On the whole we were less interested in our visit at the Quirinal Palace than we expected to be. It is used by the Pope as a summer palace for its salubrity, being on high ground, and free from the miasmatic un- healthiness of the lower grounds of the Vatican. From the Quirinal Palace we passed to the Palace of the Capitol and its museum of art and antiquity, on the Capi- toline Hill. The ascent of its spacious and noble flight of steps in the open air is like going up a mountain, almost. At the foot are two Egyptian lionesses in basalt — at the top the colossal equestrian statue — ancient — of Castor and Pol- lux in Pentilic marble — a little further is that most beau- tiful of all equestrian statues, the gilt bronze statue of Marcus Aurelius on horseback — for hundreds of years known as the statue of Constantine, on the best of authority, and now, on better authority, as that of Marcus Aurelius — and if further inquiries should show it to be Caligula and his horse — newly elected Consul on their way to the capitol to- gether, for the horse to be sworn into office — we should only say the people had chosen certainly the best horse they could find. I cannot help feeling a little doubt as to these things, which have changed their names so often- MUSEUM OF THE CAPITOL. 137 though I believe there is no reason to doubt the Marcus Aurelius — and, perhaps, the middle ages, saw as little to doubt that it was Constantine. It is so life-like and spirited, so beautiful in its pose and so majestic in its bearing and action, that one does not wonder that Michael Angelo exclaimed, when he first saw it, " It moves !" I could not imagine bronze so expressive. The square of the Capitol is one of the most imposing specimens of the architecture of Michael Angelo — and within the walls — besides the apartments devoted to the municipal government of Rome — are those containing various collec- tions and galleries which constitute the museum of the Capi- tol — in size and interest next to that of the Vatican, from which, however, it differs in its most striking characteristics and classifications. There is a museum of ancient architec- ture—another of statues and busts of great men of ancient Eome — another of eminent moderns — another of miscella- neous sculptures of great interest, including the real bronze wolf of the time of Cicero, with her immortal cubs tugging at her wild teats — the gallery of paintings, some two hun- dred of the choicest pictures of the various schools. There is a hall of imperial and consular inscriptions — another of ancient statues of the gods and the goddesses, and greater and lesser divinities — the hall of bronzes — the hall of the emperors — the hall of the dying gladiator, &c. , &c. Why should I thus run on with a mere catalogue of museums ? for each apartment is itself a museum sufficient to be the glory of any city but this capitol of ancient and modern art. The Lateran Palace also has a museum of great interest. The Academy of St. Luke — a society of artists, painters, sculptors and architects — have also in their collections many choice works, besides numerous portraits of artists of more or less fame. I have not ventured to criticise, even in general terms, 138 THE GREAT MASTERS. the works of art — Painting, Sculpture, Architecture — which so overwhelm one here. We have at home so little opportu- nity to see the genuine productions of the great masters that we must all come into their presence, on our first visit to Europe, quite ignorant of their characteristic merits, but with general and undefined, but high expectations — and while our disposition is doubtless to fall in with the judg- ment and taste of the ages, quite easily, it is also true that our iconoclastic tendency and national vanity unite to give something of the feeling — " Is this all?" "Are these the old masters?" To appreciate these works as an artist, as a connoisseur, and as a virtuoso, requires training, study and observation, which I lack, and it is in one or the other of these characters — characters so widely different — that critics are most enthusiastic — not always just. The Duke of Wellington buys a genuine Murillo for five hundred guineas. Artists study it with rapturous and almost mysterious admiration of its manner and effect. Connoisseurs gloat over it, and point out to each other its beauties so pe- culiar to Murillo — and the virtuoso envies the hero of the Peninsular war more in his possession of that rare curiosity than in his military renown, and all these sigh to think that they cannot, by the offer of twice its cost, become its fortu- nate possessor. Under the influence of some unlucky star, it is demonstrated to be only an excellent copy made at a manufactory of old pictures at Antwerp — and the Iron Duke lays it a?ide, and artist and connoisseur and virtuoso, never care to look at the thing any more — yet it is the same thing, with the same real merit, all the while. So Michael Angelo intentionally entrapped the knowing ones of his day, who were constantly bepraising the then ancient sculptures as far beyond the reach of such moderns as he. He sculptured a Cupid, and broke oft* one of its arms and buried the statue in Rome, where they were about to dig for THE OLD MASTERS. 139 works of art. It was found, and by the unanimous consent of connoisseurs was pronounced a work of ancient Greek art, and Cardinal St. George bought it for two hundred Roman crowns. Michael Angelo then produced the un- buried arm, to demonstrate that it was his work. The Roman connoisseurs, however, with a just taste, did not change their opinion of the statue — but of the artist — they did not hold the statue inferior, but they held the artist in superior estimation. Do not understand me as intending to intimate that the old masters are not the wonderful artists that they are uniformly held to be. They are so. No one can fail to see the evidence of great genius in their master- pieces — but I am quite certain that it is impossible to feel that real enthusiasm when looking at their works which their contemporaries were compelled to feel — for their works were addressed to, and were in sympathy with, the spirit and tastes of the age in which they lived and painted. They were not imitators or followers of an age then long past. They studied the whole past, but they painted for their present, and if one can in imagination transport himself back to those times, and surround himself with the groups of men and things, and the overpowering sympathies which surrounded and formed the painter, he must cease to wonder at the homage rendered to those men, for he will see them as they were seen by their own public — men of transcendent genius. There was the hiding of their power — that they painted for their own times — for the religion, the sympa- thies, the passions and the follies of their contemporaries. It was thus their works always found a ready sale. How suggestive this to modern artists ! Painting as a mere art is one thing — painting as a language is quite another thing. As an art, you admire its productions, as they conform to the rules of the art of which always an artist is the only expert and judge — as a language, you admire its produc- 140 VILLA BORGHESE. tions, according to the intelligent discourse it holds with you. Of this you may be a much better judge than an artist. The many appreciate the subject — the few, the art — all appre- ciate the perfect union of the two. A drive out to the villa Borghese, a little way outside of the Porta del Popolo, brought us to one of the finest of the many modern Roman villas — embracing a varied and beautiful landscape, laid out and ornamented with great taste — and being some three miles in circuit. Its groves and its avenues — it shady walks and quiet recesses — groves, and clumps, ancl solitary shades of every kind of beautiful trees, and spots of shrubbery in infinite variety — and all in- spersed with beautiful little architectural erections, summer houses and bowers, and even buildings of considerable size, and the ground all peopled with statuary — have made it a great public promenade of Rome for all classes of citizens on their f.stal holidays. In the midst of this charming garden — of miles in extent — is the Casino, a great museum or temple of art — itself a building of great beauty in its architecture — having a ma- jestic portico — a saloon sixty feet long and fifty feet high, with the roof or ceiling finely painted in fresco, and seven or eight chambers or galleries filled with works of art and vertu — antiquities, and sculptures, and paintings of great merit. The villa Borghese was in the range of the guns in the principal cannonading, during the short life of the Roman Republic of 1848. The beautiful villa was much cut up by the shot that were fired into it from the Janicular Hill — where the batteries were planted that vainly endeavored to defend Republican Rome against Republican France. In those days we thought it fratricidal on the part of Louis Napoleon thus to destroy the hopes of Italian liberty, but we have now long ago learned that the republicanism of Na- ROMAN REPUBLIC. 141 poleon had really no kindred with freedom. It was only assumed, the more surely and completely to open his path to that despotism which was the master sentiment of the life of the first Napoleon, and is the sentiment to-day of the great nephew of his great uncle. Roman liberty fell before him that he might secure the favor of the Pope by restor- ing him to his dominions, and to his profane and secular throne. The Bonaparles never had any republicanism or love of liberty — any of them. It is only surprising that any one should suppose they had. They are constitutionally mon- archists of the clearest stamp. The two Napoleons have shown it in adversity as well as in prosperity. And Joseph whom we saw more nearly — while he resided with us — after the Bonapartian dynasty had been swept away with a destructive reverse, as sudden as it was overwhelming and complete, and they had all been returned to the private life from which good fortune took them, and were in prison or in exile — he, Joseph, at his plain home on the Delaware, — while all the world beside called him Joseph Bonaparte — was called in his family and by his friends, " Le Roi,'' the king, because for a few short days he had been, by main force, imposed upon Spain as her king. And the younger members of the family have everywhere, I believe, consid- ered themselves princes. Bonaparte overthrew the first French Republic, Bonaparte overthrew the Roman Republic, and Bonaparte overthrew the last French Republic. I talked a little with Mariano about the Roman Republic, as we saw the marks of the cannonading. He said there was no sympathy with the Republic among the Roman people. Order reigned in Rome, but it was the order of idle submissiveness to the actual state of things. The assassinations, and the flight of the Pope with which it began, shocked the superstition of the Romans, which was 142 ROMAN REPUBLIC. heightened still more by the absolute invisibility of every priest and monk — every one of them considering his life in danger. Business was at a stand. No work, no wages — un- certain future, dangerous present, happy past — all combined to disgust them with the new state of things, which they considered vulgar and plebeian, if not impious and sacrile- gious. They sighed for the good old times, and when Pius IX. returned from Gaeta — to restore to Koine its former self — the universal Roman populace, intoxicated with joy unspeakable, rushed to meet their sovereign and their Holy Father, and with outstretched arms and gushing tears wel- comed him within the gates and crowded around him as his cavalcade moved slowly forward. Those who sigh for the regeneration of Italy and for the return of republicanism, I fancy are not the people but the patricians — not the many but the few — not those who desire to vote, but those who desire to be voted for — men of intelligence and letters, and the secular nobility. These latter classes — outside the priesthood and the government officials — I suppose to be very generally in favor of Italian freedom — but it will be long before they see it again. The Borghese family is one of the most distinguished, if not quite the most so of any in Rome. It was one of them whose marriage we attended the day after we arrived. It was to the Prince Borghese that the beautiful, sensual and heartless Pauline Bonaparte gave her hand, her person, and her contempt — and in the Casino or Mansion of the Villa Borghese is the beautiful Venus of Canova, for which Pau- line sat in puris naturalibus, — and when some one afterward asked her if such an exposure was not very uncomfortable, .she replied, " Oh, no ! the room was warm." The statue is worthy of the great genius of Canova and the great beauty of his model. The collection of ancient and modern works of art scattered through the various apartments, PRIVATE PALACES. 143 though exceedingly interesting, still as a collection, large and excellent as it is, is much inferior to that of the palace of the same family — the Palace Borghese — which latter is one of the finest and richest collections in Rome. These private palaces of Rome, which are numerous, and of which we visited several, are simply very large and fine residences, and are a considerable feature of modern Rome. There is nothing very attractive in them except their size, their usually simple architecture, sometimes very classical and noble, and in some instances their museums of paintings and sculptures. Their collections are usually well arranged in several large rooms on the ground floor, each room furnished with a few seats and a catalogue of the paintings in that room, on a large card with a handle to it. A small douceur is always given to the custodian. This, doubtless, more than pays his wages. There are some fif- teen of these principal galleries in Rome. The celebrated Aurora of Guido, of which there are so many copies and engravings, is a fresco on the roof or ceiling of one of the halls of the Palace Rospigliosi. To prevent the tiresome, break-neck process of looking directly up to study so won- derful a production, there is an arrangement of mirrors now, by which a reflection of the painting is brought down to the horizontal line of sight, where it may be viewed with much more satisfaction by visitors, as well as by artist*, who are constantly there making copies, of which many are sold annually. Making good copies seems to be the princi pal labor of modern native painters in Rome, and of course art is dead. I visited some of the studios — more properly work-shops — of some of those copy-makers. I wonder that modern students of art, who go abroad to study, do not see, in this effect upon Roman art, a warning to them against devoting their time to copying the old masters and con- sidering that as studying their art. It. is doubtless well for 144 COPYING PICTURES. a student to go abroad and study the works of great artists in every possible variety — but nothing sure can be worse than to set down and laboriously copy a picture — about as likely to make an artist as copying a fine poem would be to make a poet — not so much so, indeed. Let him study the finest works, with the deepest attention, simply by looking at them — not a palette or pencil in hand — to fill his mind with forms of beauty and truth, with images and combina- tions, and effects as they have been produced by those wonderful masters, and thus he will find himself cultivated indeed. Let him study nature — not to make mere por- traits of her imperfect productions — but to discover those bits of perfection that are found in her handiwork, and treasure them up in his inner soul — filling it with all forms and elements of beauty — to be recombined and reproduced by his own cultivated genius in new combinations, whose merit shall be that they are more true to Nature than Nature is to herself. Thus, with new and abundant resources, his enthusiasm kindled, his genius awakened, and his ambition looking upward and forward, he can say, " And I am also a painter" — not a mannerized plagiarist of other men's merits. THE RUINS OF ROME. THE ruins of Rome, while they are deeply interesting to those who are able, by the aid of imagination and the lights of history, to restore them, I think, nevertheless, fail to come up to the expectations of any, and to those who know not what to expect, or what the ancients were, the disappointment must be great. Still it is not quite cer- tain but the lack of knowledge may tend to increase the interest, for the reason that the imagination has wider range, as in the case of Etruscan antiquities — of Stonehenge and other Cyclopean orDruiclical ruins — or of those of Palenque, and Copan, and the other ruined cities of Central America, which, in imagination, we may restore, and people, and invest with such variety of purpose as association may suggest. From any good elevated position, it is quite easy to dis- tinguish the seven hills on which ancient Home was built — and there are numerous other hills — some thirty in all — within the walls. They hardly deserve the name of hills, being but the large knolls of an undulating surface. Many 7 146 RUINS OF ROME. of them are, doubtless, heaps of ruins, covered by modern houses, and if excavated would disclose choice treasures of ancient art. Much of the site of ancient Rome — two thirds within the walls — is now a desert, marked only by the scattered ruins, which antiquaries have been able to name with reasonable certainty. In the heart of the modern city — which is built as com- pactly as any city — are found some of the best preserved and most striking ruins of the Romans. Many stand shat- tered, and decayed, and half buried in the earth, while the Church has appropriated others to her sacred purposes, sim- ply changing the name. To many this seems almost pro- fanity. They shudder almost at the thought of taking a statue of a heathen god, and calling it the statue of the highest saint in the calendar — and bowing down to it and kissing its foot. I believe it is not doubted that an ancient statue of Jupiter was, by modern faith, converted into the statue of the Jew Peter, which has had its toes almost kissed off in St. Peter's. But is there anything wrong in it ? Do we object to modern priests preaching the Gospel in the Coliseum — in ancient times the Flavian Amphitheatre — are we at all shocked that the glorious Pantheon is now a tem- ple to the true God % Antiquaries are in doubt whether that interesting church St. Stephen Rotundo, was a temple to Faunus, or to Bacchus, or a market, or an arsenal — does it make any difference which ? and the Pinakotheca of the Baths of Diocletian constitutes one of the most beautiful portions of the celebrated church of St. Mary of the Angels, — and so on, in numerous other instances. It would natur- ally be so when the early Christians adopted the policy — if that is the proper word — of commending the new religion by pointing out and enforcing its analogies to the ancient superstitions. Paul was never all things to all men more than when at Athens he insisted that their altar " to the FORUMS THEATRES. 147 unknown God" was really an altar to the God whom ho preached, and that they — although ignorantly — were fellow worshippers with him of the same living and true God. The ruins of Forums — when they are distinguishable, like those of the .Roman Forum and Trajan's Forum — are wonderfully suggestive — so of temples of the ancient idola- try, which in a city and among a people like the Romans, exceedingly superstitious, could not but be abundant and in every variety — so of the palaces of the great and the rich in a city so opulent and luxurious as Rome — so of the theatres and places of amusement of a people so addicted to spectacles and representations. Of all these there are sug- gestive remains which no one would expect to find enumer- ated in a traveller's letter. The Coliseum — of which all have seen pictures, and none except those who have looked at the ruin itself, have any proper idea — could seat ninety thousand spectators, each one of whom had a clear view of the arena, and of the fights of gladiators with each other and with wild beasts. When it was dedicated five thousand wild beasts were victimized in savage sport. It covers six acres, and is one hundred and fifty-seven feet high. We plucked a few plants among the stupendous ruins — the whole number of species found there is two hundred and sixty. For two hundred years its mighty walls supplied building-stone for the palaces of the city, and yet it remains in its grandeur. The Circus Maxi- mus, now buried and obliterated, would seat two hundred thousand persons, and its arena, of near half a mile in length, gave noble scope for chariot races — once round the circuit of the seats was a walk of only a few feet less than a mile I have thus noticed these large places of amusement only to give a sort of idea of that ancient people in this re- spect. Smaller theatres and amphitheatres abounded also. The smallest — the Theatre of Balbus — would seat eleven thousand and five hundred. 148 ANCIENT PALACES WEALTH. The palaces may not all be judged by the Palace of the Caesars, but the voluptuousness of the people may well be inferred from it — it cast even the Temple of Solomon into the shade. Its affluence of precious marbles, and ivory, and golds, and diamonds, was beyond all parallel — all that art and wealth and luxury could do Nero caused to be done, as he said, that he might have a place where he could live like a man. The number of its chambers and halls was almost uncounted, and one of them — disclosed by digging a hundred years and more ago — was one hundred and thirty-eight feet by ninety-one. There was a portico three thousand feet long, and with three rows of columns — what a colonnade ! — and its vestibule was not less remarkable, while before it stood a statue in bronze of Nero himself, by the first artist of his day. It was a colossus, of one hundred and twenty feet high. The wealth of these old Romans was inconceivable. Seneca — the modest moralist — was worth seventeen millions of dollars. Tiberius was worth one hundred and twenty millions. Mark Anthony's house was sold for two millions. Otho spent five millions in finishing a wing of Nero's Palace — one of Caligula's dinners cost three hundred and fifty thousand dollars — Heliogabalus' breakfast for a few friends, cost one hundred thousand dollars. The villa of Scaurus was burned up. His loss was five and a half millions of dollars. He was not insured, but, I believe, the loss did not effect his pecuniary credit, because he was known to be well able to lose that amount. Wherever you go in and about Rome and for miles around, ancient ruins are con- stantly presenting themselves. The wonderful aqueducts and roads stretching from city to city, and from province to province, are their most remarkable utilitarian works, and they are really worthy of the Empire. Of the state of ancient art you may well judge, by the RELICS OF ANCIENT ART. 149 museums of the Capitol and the Vatican — where statues, and sculptures, and sarcophagi, and inscriptions, dug from the heaps of disintegrated marbles of crumbled palaces and temples, are beyond computation — some of the sculptures are in porphyry, polished to the brightness of a mirror, as though they were finished but yesterday — quite as beautiful as the classical productions in marble. In the museum of the Vatican, everything is collected that can illustrate an- tiquity. Every Pope adds a new chamber or so to the museum, and fills it with what has been discovered or collected during his reign — and his inscription is duly recorded, in letters of gold, over the arches through which you enter his contributions. Each Pope, I beli eve, takes occasion thus to immortalize his pontificate, leaving some worthy work, somewhere in and about Rome, of permanent value, to tell to the ages which shall succeed him, that he was not unmindful of their good opinion. Of all the ruins of Rome, none are more striking, as exhibiting the useful public works of that great people, than their roads, their sewers, and their aqueducts. From the city, in every direction, ran these great public roads — to immense distances. The state of the world, and of the engineering arts being considered, it seems to me that the public roads of ancient Rome are quite as remarkable as the railways of modern times. Some thirty of these roads connected Rome with the surrounding regions. From the Forum, at Rome, they radiated to the frontiers of the empire. The Appian Way was the most remarkable — ex- tending from Rome to Naples, thence to Brundusium — three hundred and sixty miles long. It was paved all the way with hard lava-stones, and it had an elevated side- walk. The road is now but here and there revealed — where it is, the lava pavement, almost as hard as cast iron, is worn with deep ruts by the great number of wheels which 150 ROADS AQUEDUCTS. passed over it. Whenever there is any attempt to explore it, a little digging — sometimes eight or ten feet deep — re- veals the old paved road bed. These roads were as nearly straight and level as possible — and were made by first a layer of stones in cement — then a layer of gravel, then the solid and carefully laid pavement. Curb-stones divided the sidewalk from the carriage way, and mile-stones marked the distance from the Capitol. What an immense system of internal improvements for inter-communication! built and kept up at what immense expense, when at every five or six miles, were public buildings, each supplied with relays of forty horses — that expresses might be sent with almost race-horse rapidity ! The aqueducts, whose tottering piers and broken arches stretch in such long lines across the Campagna, brought wholesome water to the imperial city, in solid and beautiful masonry, from the great distances of thirty, forty, and even fifty miles. The aqueducts were numerous, bringing the water from various springs — some supplying one portion of Rome, and some another. The oldest of these are two thousand four hundred years old. When they passed under ground, as they did for many portions of their route, they were not arched canals, but the top was corered with immense blocks of stone, which supported the superincum- bent earth. Most of them have fallen into cureless ruin, but large portions of them show still what immense works of utility they were. Only three, I believe, now actually bring to Rome the excellent water which she enjoys, and supply the many public fountains, which beautify the various public places — spouting from interesting allegorical sculptures, and falling into beautiful basins of great size, or thrown up into beautiful jets of stream and spray, some- times to the height of sixty or seventy feet. The sewerage of ancient Rome might be well imitated by many a modern city. SEWERS COLUMNS. 151 The Cloaca maxima — the grand trunk sewer, now five-and- twenty hundred years old — still vomits its filthy stream into the Tiber from its cavernous mouth, so large, as Strabo says, that a wagon load of hay might be driven through it. It was more than thirteen feet square within, and diminished to about ten feet square at its mouth, where, also, was a more rapid descent, that by a contracted and rapid current it might be more surely cleared, when the rains should be added to the usual supply of drainage. Eight hundred years after it was built, Pliny wondered that it had lasted so long, exposed, as it had been, to earthquakes and other casu- alties — and when you see it now, you wonder why it should not last forever — till the last earthquake shall break up old marble — for it is built of three concentric courses of blocks of peperino, five feet by three. It is, like all Etruscan walls, without cement. Near the commencement of this grand concentration of filth, is a pure little spring of the sweetest water, pure and limpid — so extremes meet — we did not taste it — and a little further on is another, and a larger one, which is now used as a public washing place. These immense works for public worship, public amuse- ment, public utility, and public ornament, which cannot be enumerated, of the finest architecture, and of the severest workmanship and finish, and sculptures in infinite variety, give us some idea of the great amount of cultivated and in- telligent industry which characterized the social system of those old masters of the world. The columns and obelisks which now ornament the public places — some of which are but noble specimens preserved from the great colonnades or monuments of antiquity on the spot, and others have been transported from abroad — are other striking objects among the ruins of Rome. The An- tonine Column and the column of Trajan, and the column 152 OBELISKS. of the Virgin, are justly the most celebrated — this latter, in front of Santa Maria Maggiore, was taken from the basilica of Constantine, whence it is said to have been brought from some earlier temple. It is a beautiful Corinthian Column of white marble, surmounted by a statue of the Virgin. It is not of ancient Rome — but the column of Trajan and that of Antonine copied from it, are more than seventeen hundred years old. That of Trajan is in the Forum of Trajan, and is the most remarkable column in the world — the shaft, one hundred feet high, of white marble, is hollow, and through the centre, by a staircase, you mount to the top. Its outer surface is its greatest wonder, for thereon, in a spiral band, from the base to the capital, is sculptured in great detail the military history of the reign of Trajan. The sculptures are in fine preservation, and are an exceed- ingly valuable study of costume and military art. From the rude bridge of boats in which he crossed the Danube, to his reception of ambassadors suing for peace, the inter- esting scenes of his campaigns are given with matchless skill — embracing twenty-five hundred human figures, and the necessary horses and fortresses and battles. What a laborious and beautiful — almost sublime — trophied monu- ment ! It is now surmounted by a statue of St. Peter. The Antonine, like all copies and imitations, is not equal to the original. The obelisks can hardly be classed with the ruins of Rome — having been brought by the emperors from Egypt, as antiquities, to ornament the city. They are Egyptian, and not Roman — trophies brought by Pagan Rome from the more ancient and idolatrous empire of the Pharaohs. Modern Christian Popes, commencing with that great man, Sixtus V., less than three hundred years ago, have reared them anew, as proper ornaments of a Christian city — as they are. They are not uninteresting as mere mementoes ARCHES. 153 of the triumphs and progress of the Christian religion. There are eleven of them in the various public places, all of red Egyptian granite, and most of them covered with his- torical hieroglyphics — some of them going back to the time of Moses. They vary in height from thirty to one hundred and fifty feet. The obelisk of St. John Lateran is estimated to weigh four hundred and forty-five tons — that of St. Peter's, still more. This latter was raised to its present place by one hundred and forty horses, six hundred men, and forty-six cranes. Our wonder is perhaps unduly excited when we see these marbles and columns and obelisks from Africa and Asia — from Greece and Egypt and Constantinople — that have been brought here entire, to ornament the churches and altars, and public places of this city of the Consuls, the Tribunes, the Kings, the Emperors and the Popes of three thousand years. We are ourselves so far from these places, and our own green forest land is so fresh and new, that we do not without reflection, realize that Rome is comparatively near to them. A few days sail was all of time that was required for their transportation, but vessels were required of a peculiar construction. One was transported in a vessel of three hundred oars — a large row boat — from Alexandria. All the great structures of antiquity, the Tower of Babel, the massive sculptures of Nineveh, the pyramids, the tombs, and the temples of Egypt and Arabia, seem to show that the an- cients had engineering expedients and contrivances which — if not like our own — were of as great compass and efficiency. The half dozen monumental and triumphal arches, which have been tolerably preserved during all the troubles of Rome, are well counted among the best memorials of the proudest days of Roman grandeur. The arch of Constan- tine, the arch of Septimius Severus, and the arch pf Titus, 7* 154 THR MAMERTTNE PRISON. are unsurpassed in interest by any ruins in Rome. They are covered with sculptures and inscriptions. Those on the arch of Titus represent the taking of Jerusalem by that emperor and the procession of the triumph bearing the spoils of the sacred temple, including the golden table, th£ silver trumpets, and that massive golden candlestick, with its seven branches — between five and six feet high — winch was so conspicuous as a reality in the temple itself, and as a prophetic emblem in the figurative and sublime ec- stacy of the Apocalypse. The arch of Constantine, strange as it may seem, is still of doubtful origin. Some suppose it to have been built by Constantine — others, with more positiveness, and perhaps, probability, insist that it was was built by Trajan and decorated with sculptures of ancient Jewish style and taste, and that Constantine only appropriated it to himself, gave it its name, and added the unclassical sculptures and scenes which belong to his own history, and are easily distinguished by their inferiority from the original sculptures. I cannot pass without a word the Mamertine Prison — a massive subterranean Etruscan dungeon — 41 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome." To it we descended, that we might procure, by actual observation, a correct view of this celebrated state prison of antiquity — for it is now, I believe, conceded that it was a state prison and not a place for vulgar criminals. Amid its terrible filth and darkness Jugurtha was starved to death — the accomplices of Catiline were strangled — and Sejanus and Pleminius were slaughtered. Here, too, it is said, St. Peter was confined. The Church has, of course, given it a distinguished place among the sacred footprints of her patron saint. They show us the pillar where he was bound, and we drank from the beautiful limpid little spring that reflects STATE PKISON OF ANCIENT ROME. 155 the dark shadows of that dungeon and which the Church says sprang up miraculously and mercifully while the Apostle was there, to enable him to baptize his jailors — not the jailor and his household of the New Testament, which was at anoth- er time and place — but Processus and Martinian, who were his custodians in this dungeon. Our Baptist brethren, I am sure, will never believe the tradition, for the little fountain is hardly large enough to immerse a baby in. This dungeon of ancient Rome consists of two chambers, one below another. The upper one — twenty-five feet long, eighteen wide, and thirteen high — is now reached by a de- scending modern flight of twenty-eight steps, through which one may now descend more easily than did the noble wretches who entered it as a living grave. Anciently it was entered — as the lower one now is — by a small aperture, the pris- oners being let down, by a cord, through its two-story depths. The lower dungeon is but eighteen feet long by nine wide, and six high. You enter it by a small hole in the top. The steps or stairs by which you reached the first were called the scalce gcmonice — the stairway of groans — from the groans of those who, as they passed to the prison, saw at the head of the stairs, the stone bridge from which — when death should end their sufferings — their emaciated and sickly bodies should be thrown into the Tiber, in sight of the Forum, as a terror to the people. It has been sometimes said that the ruins of Rome are interesting not because they represent, but because they sug- gest, what they have been, and that, therefore, pictures, and prints, and drawings of them may be as interesting, because as suggestive, as the real ruins — but on the spot we soon learn otherwise. I take pleasure, in my room, in looking at prints of the ruins, but when I stand beside, beneath, above, and among the real works of that wonderful people, moul- dering still before my eyes now, as they have been all 156 RUINS OF ROME. along for two thousand and five hundred years, everywhere disclosing that powerful and cultivated Roman intellect which subdued, and overran the world, and everywhere sug- gesting their great productions of word and deed, in art and in action, as well as in letters, I am lost in the reveries that seem to entrance the senses, and even with my imperfect knowledge, I raise the dead, I restore the architecture, and the public works, and works of art, and I see, as it were in the dusky sky of the past, a mirage of ancient Home, in her power, in her glory, and in her extent. ROMAN RELIGION. THE people are more religious — in their way — here than anywhere else where we have been, and carry their religion into the midst of their business In almost every shop, from that of the humblest cobbler up, is a little shrine — a crucifix or a statue of the Virgin — and a perpet- ual light burning before it. There is hardly a church — nu merous as they are — in which, whenever you enter, no matter at what hour, you do not find devout worshippers, of the various classes of citizens, performing their devotions, ap- parently unconscious of any presence but their own. The poor mother brings her babe in her arms, and before it can lisp or go alone, teaches it to respect sacred objects and to imitate her acts of religion. Crosses are everywhere — they are wrought in the stucco of the walls, at the corners of the streets. The mother in low life, with her babe in her arms, goes up to one of these crosses and teaches the little babe to kiss it. The same care is seen, too, in teaching them, while they are still babies, to cross themselves and to per- 158 ROMAN RELIGION. form the other little acts of religion practised by devout Catholics. It is of course to be expected that here, in the Capital of the Roman Catholic Church, is seen the Roman Catholic religion in its most truthful and various manifestations. It is the fashion, I find, for most Protestants to say that here they are confirmed in their antipathy to that church — that here they see so much of the idleness and looseness of the Roman Priests and monks — so much of the mummeries of their formal religion — so much of the ignorance and vice and beggary of the populace — so much of their absurd superstitions, their unworthy miracles and manufactured traditions, and so much of their bigotry and intolerance, that they really are compelled to look with disgust and hatred upon what they before only disbelieved and disliked. Not so I. Perhaps the rapidity of my movements and of my observations, may have saved me from such impressions, for my mind has been opened to light from so many quarters, that I look upon the Catholic system with more charity than before, though I was never intolerant or bitter against it. I do not believe any more in its formalism and cere- mony, or any less in the purity, simplicity and spiritual- ity of the Protestant faith and worship than before. The winking Madonnas — the liquefactions of blood — the fab- ricated miracles and relics — the portraits painted' by St. Luke, etc., etc., are to my mind as ridiculous in some cases, and as blasphemous in others, as they ever were. And that adulterous union of Church and State, which has produced that Roman government, which sits like the curse of God upon the beautiful Italian peninsula — I am more and more convinced that it is that, and not the Roman Catholic Church, that is described with such terrible words and such fearful emphasis in the Apocalypse. But these are not the Catholic religion. They are not parts of ROMAN RELIGION. 159 it, although they exist in connection with it, and may be said to be parasites of it.* It was forced upon me from day to day by what I saw and heard, that even in these points to which I have alluded, in these accompaniments of that religion and in analogous matters, there is less difference than is sometimes supposed between it and the Protestant denominations. The fundamental characteristics of the Roman religion are what all agree to be the highest graces of Christian excellence — faith — obedience — gloiy in the Cross of Christ. It is the exaggeration and excess of these which offend us — they have too much, of what we have, perhaps, too little. Their faith runs into the weak- est credulity and the grossest superstition — their obedience into abject submission and surrender of conscience which makes a tyrannical and oppressive, and sometimes unscru- pulous priesthood — and their glory in the Cross of Christ into an infinite and constant exhibition of the material scenes of Calvary and the worship of the mother who bore Him and the saints who witnessed his death. The differ- ence is less in kind and quality than in quantity. We all have traditions, we all have miracles, we all have pious frauds, we all have superstitions, we all have idle priests and useless devotees, and the wicked and the ignorant, in the church and at the altar. We all have forms and ceremonies, and commandments of men and traditions of the elders, only less, much less, than they — as much difference perhaps in quantity, and possibly no more in quality, than between a beam and a mote, either of which, in the eye, would ob- struct the vision. That these do not constitute the Catholic religion, and are not part of it, is quite apparent, because one may disbelieve them all and still be sound in the faith. The cassock and surcingle — the gown, and band, and sur- plice, and mitre, and crozier are all inventions of men, as 160 ROMAN RELIGION. much as the chasuble and other articles of priestly robing, which are peculiar to the Roman Catholic priests. The bowing at the name of Jesus, how does it differ from bowing and kneeling when you pass his image 1 Signing the sign of the cross upon the forehead of an infant in its baptism, wherein does it differ from signing the same sign on your own forehead on entering into the sacred temples of the Lord ? And a crumb of bread and a sip of wine, how is it a supper any more than a wafer made of flour and wine % Could all the multitudinous seas of physical earthly water wash out one sin from the guilty soul % Baptism is but a sign, then why is it more baptism to plunge the body in the water than to sprinkle it with the crystal drops ! Is not the mode of baptism as traditional as the sprinkling with holy water, and keeping Sunday as keeping Christmas % In rites and ceremonies, too, the difference is in quantity and not in kind. In fasts and festivals, and saints and saints'- days, still it is in number in which the most of the difference lies. In the offices of the church, in those who serve in the ministrations of religion and in grades of priests, and orders of hierarchical dignitaries and in titles, it is still the number and quantity that cause us to differ. I say ** us" by which I refer to all the classes of Christians who set up for themselves some exclusive privilege, by virtue of divinely appointed orders, ceremonies, successions, and privileges. Some have stopped at one point and some at another in the chain of development, and some have branched off in one direction and some in another, as the inevitable law of ecclesiastical order has made systems of church organiza- tion and sacerdotal power, always to conform nearer and nearer to the characteristic forms and principles of the government of the state and the popular sympathies. In despotic countries the church naturally finds itself officered and ornamented with all the grades of supremacy, termina- KOMAN RELIGION. 161 ting in the Pope as God's vicegerent — the vicar of Christ, the Keeper of the keys of Heaven and Hell. In a pure democ- racy we find the other extreme in Congregationalism with- out hierarchy, or officers, or titles — the people the actual constituency of the office bearers of the church. Between these two extremes are the great variety of denominations approaching more or less nearly to one or the other of these extremes. Each is quite sure that his is according to the Bible pattern, and that if so, then of course all the others are not — quite forgetting that Scripture and tradition alike indicate a similar diversity from the beginning and spring- ing from a similar cause, the fact that ecclesiastial order and ritual — not of the substance of religion under the Jewish system — under the New Dispensation are everywhere the production of human wisdom and human notions of expe- diency applied to that subject. The Bishop of Rome, in my judgment, is quite as divinely appointed as the Bishop of London, or the Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church, or the thousands of Bishops of the Presbyterian churches — and not a whit more so. And the Pope and his Cardinals are quite as " regular" as the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bench of Bishops in England. The spirit of religion — that by which our lot is appointed hereafter — is entirely independent of and separate from all this ■ — and is and must be the same everywhere, and everywhere it is fruitful in Christian charity. The two great Dispensations are two great divinely appointed diversities, appointed to teach us, among other things, that different times, and places, and circumstances, and people, require different systems of ecclesiastical order. While I cannot conform to the Eoman Catholic system, I shall not presume to denounce it for its imitation of the Mosaic forms. When I read of the tabernacle in the wilderness — the travelling church of the chosen peo- 162 THE TABERNACLE EN' THE WILDERNESS. pie as they wandered, by divine guidance, through the deserts of Asia — with its vail and flowing curtains of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen, embroidered with cherubims, and coupled with gold, and its ramskins died red, and badger skins, and lights, and spices, and incense- — with its mercy seat and cherubims of pure beaten gold, and the ark, and its tables with their golden crowns, and the golden candlesticks, with shaft, and branches, and bowls like almonds, and knops, and flowers all of pure gold — and the embroidered hangings — for the doors of the tent — fast- ened by hooks of gold to lofty pillars overlaid with gold, and standing in sockets of brass, and the sacred vestments of the priest, the ephod of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen — each color embroidered with gold — the girdle and the shoulder-pieces, and the breast-plate sparkling with all the known varieties of precious stones — set in ouches of gold, and hung with wreathen chains of gold, and tied with rich blue laces — the skirt or robe on its ample and flowing hem bordered with alternating embroidery and ornaments of gold — a golden bell and a pomegranate, wrought in with curious needle work — and the consecrated vessels — all done as the Lord had commanded, as it was shown to Moses on the mount — and the striking and complicated symbolical ritual, laid out in all its minutest details by the hand of God him- self — when I see all this, how shall I say that all the appointments of the sanctuary may not properly be beautiful and expensive, gorgeous even, and luxurious? And when, five hundred years later, the man after God's own heart, unable, himself, by reason of harassing wars, to build a fitting temple to Jehovah, still laid aside the un- told millions of treasure which were necessary — he died worth four thousand millions of dollars — and left the wealth aud the duty to Solomon his son, who, endowed with a supernatural portion of the Divine "Wisdom, and the Divine THE TEMPLE AT JERUSALEM. 163 favor, built that most wonderful of buildings, the Temple at Jerusalem, whose cost who can compute % whose gorgeous glo- ry who can picture ? whose carvings and sculptures,of infinite variety, in precious woods, and costly stones, and solid gold, who can enumerate? whose sacred vessels, and implements, who can number 1* and all this for the centralization and exhibition of a ceremonial and a priesthood, every way in harmony with such a temple, — how shall I presume to say that the most magnificent of Roman Catholic churches are not fitly ornamented for the honor of God, and how shall I dare to say that the ceremonies, the ritual, and the vestments of the Roman church are mummeries — or ridiculous, or ab- surd 1 How can I say that such a service is not acceptable to Him who drew the pattern in the Mount ? I believe that by the Gospel Dispensation, these forms and ceremo- nies were intended to give place to the simpler worship which seems to me to be everywhere taught in the New Testament — but where shall I find the Divine ordinance or decree, or the positive inculcation of the Savior, sweeping away the ceremonial observances, and striking worship of the Jews ? No one, at all informed on the subject, can fail to see everywhere in Rome, the evidence that the wdiole Roman system is a distant but distinctly visible imitation and ex- aggeration of the temples, the altars, the sacrifices, the priests and Levites, and the rites and ceremonies of the ancient Jewish religion, with that mixture of heathenism which was tolerated at the beginning, to make the new religion acceptable to the heathen nations. And the prac- tical waiving of all conformity to the Jewish ceremonial, *It is said the service of the Temple contained one hundred and eighty thousand cups, thirty thousand candlesticks, one hundred and sixty platters, two hundred thousand vials, one hundred and sixty thousand pots, one hundred and seventy thousand censers, sixty thousand measures, four hundred thousand instruments of music. 164 NON-CONFORMITY. on the part of the heathen converts, which is so conspicu- ous in the Sacred Scriptures, under both Dispensations — what a commentary it is upon inflexible ecclesiastical order and ritual. The men who "feared God" from every na- tion under Heaven — the " devout" men and women so often spoken of — the " proselytes," the " stranger within the gates," were converts to the true God, who lived in good fellowship with the Jews, but disregarded the Mosaic ritual. To these non-conformists was special honor given by Prov- idence. To them it was given to perform the last rites to the first martyr Stephen, and to weep over his remains — and Cornelius, and Justus, and Lydia, were of this class. It is well to notice some simple incidents in the sacred scriptures of which the Roman Catholic Church has made important use in its characteristic practices. — That Naaman, the Syrian, asked the prophet for two mules burden of Jew- ish earth, is perhaps a sufficient warrant for Archbishop Ubaldo to bring fifty-eight ship-loads of earth from Mount Calvary to make a sacred burying-ground. — The whole of their wonderful system of sacred relics of miraculous power, is a not unnatural exaggeration and abuse of the single instance of the bones of the prophet Elisha restoring a dead man to life. — That Micah, on Mount Ephraim, invited a young man to be "a father and a priest," and consecrated him, was perhaps an example which suggested the calling all their priests by the affectionate and sacred title of Father. — In the temple of the Lord at Jerusalem, grateful kings and prophets, and captains, dedicated offerings to God out of the spoils won in battle, which were preserved in the temple, and hence, perhaps, it is that the shrines of the saints and the altars of the churches are clustered round with rich gifts and votive offerings, dedicated by the faith- ful, and hung up as conspicuous trophies — The Labarum may well have been suggested by the misapplied prophetic CHRISTIAN ODDITIES AND MEMORIALS. 165 declaration, " Then shall appear the sign of the Son of Man in Heaven." — The Master sent out the Seventy in humility and poverty, as the preachers of his Gospel, and hence have come the Seventy Cardinals, who, clothed in scarlet, in gorgeous equipages, roll through the streets of Eome, the electors and the grand council of the Pope, or as secular rulers wield the civil power in the Roman Legations. I have often thought of the sensations of a devout and intelligent Koman Catholic, even from our less supei-stitious Western world, when he visits Rome — he sees so much at every turn to make him feel the glory and honor, and do- minion and powei', of the religious system in which he believes. The superstitions and delusive traditions and fabri- cations, he can overlook more easily than we can, because he can more easily see that, as they do him no harm — as they are to him not the substance of his religion, but mere observances, which those who are wiser in such matters, and perhaps holier than he, have, through the later ages of the church, thought useful in preserving the faith of the faith- ful. So he need not presume to criticise either the ostenta- tion and luxury of the scarlet ecclesiastic, nor the humbler worship and the more implicit and universal faith and obe- dience of those simpler and perhaps more pious souls, for whose credulity no miracle or superstition, or tradition or sacerdotal imposture, is too gross to be believed. In many of these traditions his cultivated mind finds the most inter- esting historical truth, and in and about Rome he cannot fail to recognize, not literally the footsteps of the Lord, but literally those of the most distinguished of his sacred family — of those who were with Him in His wanderings in the flesh, and who saw Him on the Cross. Here, the proudest em- pire the world has ever seen, bowed down in deep humility and worshipped Jesus Christ and Him crucified and made the Instrument of his ignominy the Ensign of his triumph. 166 CHRISTIAN MEMORIALS. He died in Jerusalem, but be triumpbed in Rome. The Cruciiixion was on Calvary, but it was at Rome that the Cross was painted in the sky to the eye of Constantine, as the standard under which he must win his triumphs. Why should we say that the vision of the first Christian emperor was any more a frenzy of delirious ecstasy than that of Paul ? Where more than here, was the blood of the mar- tyrs the seed of the church ? The reasonable Roman Catholic does not see any more grounds to doubt the truth and reality of the sacred relics and localities which abound in Kome, than we do those of the English and French per- secutions. The Roman Empire was Christian three hundred years after the Crucifixion, and during those three centuries, and ever after, the intelligence of ruler and people, of priest and lay Christian, was quite equal to that of the time of Cranmer and Latimer and Ridley. We do not doubt our knowledge of the place where these suffered. How many hundreds of pilgrims now visit annually, the houses where such as they, and Knox and Calvin and Luther lived — the pulpits where they preached, and the graves where they lie. Will there ever be any reason to doubt the interesting relics, and localities of the American Revolution ? and as our country shall extend, and our principles prevail, will they not make the assurance of these interesting memorials doubly sure ? How much more surely would religious affection and zeal perpetuate religious memorials. Everything in reli- gious Rome must gieatly strengthen the confidence of those who believe in that religion, and it seems to me profound catholic wisdom which requires the higher Roman Catholic ecclesiastics to visit Rome from time to time. It is because there is so much that is true and real — so much which we cannot bring ourselves to doubt about — that we are surprised and chagrined at the miserable fabrications and pious frauds that have been made to cover up and dis- ROMAN SECTS. 167 figure religion wherever the Catholic system exists, free from the eye of cultivated Protestantism. The old Pagan Romans were an exceedingly religious and weakly credulous and superstitious people, and from them have descended, by ordinary generation, the same qualities which are equally characteristic of the Christian Romans. This Roman in- stinct is not enough considered, nor the homogeneous state of religion in Italy, when we treat, as we usually do, all that we see at Rome as a proper part of the Roman Catholic religion. The Roman Catholics of Paris, of London, and New-York, I take to be quite as true and regular and zealous Catholics, but much less credulous, superstitious, and ridiculous, than the Romans. Outside of forms and vestments, and traditions and relics, however, there is much in the Roman system, which, it seems to me, can never cease to shock all right-minded Protestants — Auricular confession and human absolution — who can forgive sins but God only? — the total absence of Christian charity — there is abundance of Roman Catholic charity — sects and errorists may exist in their own com- munion, and paities of various faiths may be tolerated — there may be Jesuits and Jansenists, and what not, and the Church wrap them all in her ample bosom — but " out of the Church there is no salvation," is one of her cardinal truths, and inquisitorial courts and fagots, and tortures and dun- geons and death, are the charity she extends to the worthiest and purest outside of her pale, where there is no Protestant influence or secular power to keep her in check. Ungodly intolerance and narrow exclusiveness stain her history for hundreds of years. The Pope, as the grand autocrat of the priesthood, we can tolerate — but his assumption of divine attributes seems to me to be blasphemous. " Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty," then how is a shorn priest " His Holiness?'' 168 THE PAPACY. " Thou slialt worship the Lord thy God and Him only" — then how shall we dare to adore the Pope and burn incense before him, and implore his blessing as our Holy Father ? Let him be the Bishop of Rome and the King of the Roman States, but let him not arrogate to himself the authority of the King of Kings as the Viceregent of Heaven and the Vicar of Christ, disposing of earthly thrones and crowns and principalities and powers, and declaring that by him kings reign and princes decree — granting dispensations from Divine law and indulgences to sin, and scattering blessings and curses as a usurper of Godlike infallibility. From the day the Roman see assumed its temporal power, and be- came a secular monarchy, the papacy has profaned its re- ligious office and polluted its priestly vestments — and never till the Pope shall lose the form — as he has already lost the substance of royal authority — in becoming the subordinate of one or another secular power, can the Roman Church go back to its primitive character. Abolish the temporal power of the Pope, make him only the Primate, the Bishop of Bishops — the Archbishop of Canterbury of the World — the spiritual earthly head of the Church, supported by its contributions in such pontifical splendor as you please, but without dungeons, or prisons, or tortures, or inquisitions, or thunders, or terrors, except ecclesiastical — not forbidding to marry — not compelling auricular confession — and how long would it be before the. Greek Church and a very considerable portion of all Prot- estant prelatical churches, would quietly acknowledge him as the Shepherd and Bishop of their folds % In my opinion not fifty years. The Papacy is the natural culmination of the system of prelacy. A natural outgrowth and a necessary defence of the doctrine of universal external ecclesiastical unity. Who shall oversee the overseers is a question always recur- CATHOLIC UNITY. 169 ring in the one-man system wherever a superior grade is composed of more members than one — each supreme in his own jurisdiction. The system must be pyramidal and find its apex in one ultimate overseer or Bishop of the whole. If such a formal and external unity could secure a real unity of faith in the truth, we might all gladly wheel into its ranks and submit to its discipline. But it does no such thing An Armenian clergy, a liomish ritual, and a Cal- vinistic creed, keep step to a nominal unity — as did of old the Pharisees, and Sadducees, and Essenes, and Hero- dians, and as do Jesuit, and Jansenist, and Thomist, and Molinist, and Congruist, and Augustinian, and all the religious orders which constitute the sects of the Roman Catholic religion, and which differ from each other more than do many of the larger sects of the Protestant faith. All the great Protestant denominations have adopted as their creed the Apostles' Creed, which is, also, the creed of the Roman Catholic Church and of the Greek Church. In this there is a unity almost co-extensive with Christendom, but it has little effect in producing harmony and brotherly kindness. The Council of Lateran in 1315, and the Council of Lyons sixty years later, prohibited new religious orders — with true significance called new religions — in the Church. The various religious orders have been well characterized as so many little churches in the universal Church — jealous of each other and practically unfriendly to real universal unity. But this prohibition had no power to prevent the great multiplication of new orders, which, at times, have almost threatened even the visible unity of the Catholic Church. It is quite as impossible to compel universal ecclesiastical unity as universal monarchy and universal empire. Wherever there is thought and study by differently constituted minds — anywhere out of the exact sciences — 8 170 QUIETISM. there men will arrive at different conclusions, and no matter how much power may condemn and prohibit, and build up barriers, and decree punishments, and may even compel recantations and renunciations — still the conviction of the truth is left behind — the opinion remains — and in the secret of the closet in the direct communication with God, and in the religious contemplation of His divine attributes, what the Church has called erroneous, or perhaps heretical, the right soul — the conscience, void of offence — has contin- ued to believe, and enjoy, and still to maintain its visible and real communion with the Church. An instance is the putting down Quietism at the end of the seventeenth century. Archbishop Fenelon was the champion of Quietism, and the attack was led by Arch- bishop Bossuet, each of them a prelate of whose great- ness and piety any age of any church might be proud. The controversy divided Paris and the. Court till it became necessary to refer its settlement to His Holiness. He — not- withstanding his wisdom and power — handed it over to the Holy Office, which appointed a consulting committee of seven, selected from six different sects — one Jesuit, one Benedictine, two Coi'deliers, one Feuillant, and one Augus- tinian. The committee had thirty-seven meetings, and by vote of the majority, condemned thirty-seven propositions of Quietism, and, thereupon, the Pope condemned them for- mally. The good Archbishop of Cambray submitted with a docility that was surprising even to good Catholics, and from his own Archiepiscopal pulpit condemned his own booh, and forbade his friends to defend it. It does not appear that, like Galileo he muttered audibly to himself his individual belief of the point of faith of which he had just renounced the teaching, but the most persuasive teacher of it after him — Madame Guion, though she ceased to proselyte to the doctrine — continued to live in the belief IDOLATRY. 171 which she had taught so long, yielded daily to its seductions, and finally—on its dreamy wings— floated to the realms of light, a devout, regular, and faithful daughter of the Church, all the while a Quietist. What we call idolatry, mariolatry, crucifixolatry, of the Roman Catholics, is a hundred fold more conspicuous in Rome than with us. They, of course, deny the idolatry— the image worship— and insist, with truth, that they do not wor- ship the image, but use it to recall more easily and more viv- idly the spiritual essence which is the proper ohject of wor- ship, and to fix more steadily the attention upon it. This would be, perhaps, a satisfactory answer to the charge were not this the very thing which the scriptures forbid under the name of idolatry. The purpose of images all over the world is simply to represent, under visible and physical forms of human creation,the spiritual powers which control our destinies. The poor heathen does not worship the piece of wood or stone which he carries in his belt, or makes for the temples of his religion. He worships the represent- ed God which the stock or the stone suggests to his imper- fect and benighted mind. And when Aaron melted the jewels of the people, and finished the moulded gold into the form of a calf, it was thus that they proposed to worship the God of Israel— before it Aaron built an altar and pro- claimed a feast to the Lord. And I cannot help thinking that the effect of worship through the representation of images, is everywhere the same— to degrade and belittle the God that should be always worshipped in his divine attributes, and to degrade and belittle religion, by treating it as a matter to be addressed to the external senses rather than the most mysterious and purely spiritual emotions of the soul. The devout adoration with which a really religious Catholic takes the consecrated wafer of the Holy Eucharist, shows that he believes it the proper object of worship— as 172 ROMAN CREDULITY. though the mere body of our Lord were a proper object of that worship which is due only to His Spiritual and Divine Nature. This worship of the Host, of the Crucifix, and of the Virgin Mary, are but instances of their carrying everything to excess till it amounts to perversion. So with relics and traditions — now we all cherish relics of honored and worthy objects — and traditions, the unrecorded history of the past, we all treat with respect — but why every fable and fabrica- tion should be treated with the respect due to truth and reality, does not appear. Catholic abuses should not, however, preclude us from proper uses. We need not discard the Cross as a sacred em- blem of our faith, because the Roman Catholics use it more than we think proper. I think it an appropriate sign upon a Christian church of whatever shade or denomination of faith and practice, and none the less so because the Italians put it everywhere in the houses, the fields, and by the wayside, and make it an object of worship. Neither do I think that the number of fasts, festivals, and saints' days of the Roman Church should prevent Protestant Christians from making the great historical days of our redemption — the birth, death, and resurrection of the Redeemer — the annual occa- sion of appropriate religious exercises. We weaken our position by our exclusion of such proprieties. The credulity of Italian Catholics — marvellous as it is — is of course a principal source of the credulity of Catholics all over the world. What is believed in Italy may well be supposed to be authorized by the Pope, and the Cardinals, and the Bishops, who surround him. What the Pope believes all must believe, and it must be true ! When Archbishop Bedini offers to send to the most faithful of American Catholics a winking Madonna for their worship and wonder he not only does it with gravity, but sincerity. SAINT LUKE. 173 Ho believes in it, and was, doubtless, shocked at the broad grin and guffaw with which the proposition was received by the people. All Italy believes in the winking Madonnas most faithfully, and this credulity does not belong solely to the common people or the ignorant. It is apparently believed as faithfully by the nobles in Church, and State, and men of science, and men of the world, as by the poor peasant that stands agape to swallow its marvels. They all believe that St. Luke was an artist, a painter, and a sculp- tor, and portraits of the Savior and the Virgin by St. Luke are common. The wooden statue of the Virgin at Loretto is said to have been his work. They show one portrait of the Savior at twelve years of age by St. Luke. The principal academy and school of fine art at Rome — the Academy of St. Luke — is named after him, as the oldest of the old masters. The only evidence we have of the profes- sion of St. Luke is that he was a physician — not a maker of images. Then how comes it that the Catholic world believe in the fabricated history. Besides, it was not till the eleventh century that pictures or images were used in churches. There was at that early period an artist born at Florence, named Luke, who painted some pictures for the churches, and like all artists of those days he chose religious subjects. He was surnamed the Saint — Luke the Saint, and it was easy — after a few hundred years — for Italian super- stition and credulity to believe what was asserted, perhaps, ignorantly, that these works were the productions of the Apostle St. Luke himself. And then the statue of the Vir- gin, attributed to him, and said to be carved from a cedar of Lebanon, would come to easy belief from the estab- lished faith in the portraits. That black wooden statue is the precious and holy relic in the Santa Casa — holy house — of Loretto. The story of the Santa Casa and the statue of Loretto is a 174 DISCOVERY OF THE TRUE CROSS. fit representative story of what we call Catholic superstition and credulity, with a vein of romance — I write it for you, though Loretto is wide away from my intended route, and I should not go there if the two hundred thousand pilgrims that in former times annually visited it now thronged the highways that lead to that sacred chapel — but they do not. There are now only a few more beggars there than elsewhere, it is said. You can now see the Chapel, and the Virgin, and a few — but only a few — of the rich votive gifts which kings and emperors vied with each other in presenting at her altar, and, a hundred years ago, were most attractive objects of curiosity. The Empress Helena, mother of Constantine the Great — next after the Virgin Mary, perhaps, the greatest female saint in the calendar — was converted by the influences and example of her imperial son, when she was sixty-four years of age, and her zeal and devotion were of the most exalted character. He placed immense treasures at her command, and she went to Palestine to search out and to honor the sacred places by building temples over them. She discovered the place of the Holy Sepulchre, and finally — by deep digging — she discovered near the tomb three crosses, also the inscription which had been on the cross of Christ, but had become separated from it. She found also the nails, but there was nothing to enable her to distinguish between the cross of the Savior and those of the two thieves — all three having been kept in good preserva- tion for three hundred years. The Bishop of Jerusalem bethought him of an expedient to identify the sacred cross. He had them all three brought to a lady who was danger- ously sick, and after prayer for the Divine assistance, they touched the patient with each of the crosses in succession. The first two produced no effect, but on the touch of the third she was perfectly healed, and rose up and glorified God. This was, of course, the True Cross. Helena built a DISCOVERY OF THE SANTA. CASA. 175 church there in which she left only a portion of the Cross, and transported the residue to Constantinople, and subse- quently to Rome, and built for it the Basilica of the Holy Cross of Jerusalem, where it now is in a subterranean chapel — which no woman is allowed to enter on pain of excommunication. It does not appear whether the sex is thus proscribed in honor of St. Helena or of the Holy Virgin herself! Among the other discoveries by Helena in Palestine, tra- dition says she was so fortunate as to discover the very cot- tage in Nazareth in which the humble Virgin Mary was born three hundred years before, in which — by the Heavenly overshadowing — her Celestial destiny was announced to her 5 and in which she, and her husband, and the "Boy God : ' reposed, as in their old homestead, on their return from the flight into Egypt. She built over that also a splendid temple, and inscribed it as the altar where was first laid the founda- tions of our Salvation — and thenceforward that house — only twelve by twenty-seven feet, and thirteen feet high — was held in the most wonderful veneration throughout the Holy Land. The early fathers and other distinguished pilgrims made the journey to Nazareth to see it and to worship at the holy altar. When the Turks swept into Palestine they destroyed the temple, and would, doubtless, have destroyed this holy house, had not angels taken it by night and transported it bof3ily to Dalmatia without injury, except the loss of the floor, which — by some accident — dropped out as the angels hurried through the skies, which satisfactorily accounts for its pres- ent pretty floor of tesselated white and red marble. In three or four years more the angels transported it to Italy, and in midwinter — December 10th, 1264, at midnight — placed it in an unfrequented spot near Recanati, when all the trees and shrubs bowed with reverential humility, and continued 176 LORETTO. in that posture till they withered and decayed. It seems to me they should have tossed their branches and blossomed in the midst of December snows, to show their delighted sense of the honor — of course they were not trampled down by carpenters and masons. The Virgin herself in a vision having notified a priest that he might inform the faithful, pil- grims soon began to arrive, but the place was infested with robbers, and the angels, therefore, moved it again — nearer to the town of Recanati — to a place owned by two brothers, — who making it a source of profit soon quarrelled — as such sacriligeous men should — about the profits, met each other in a duel, and Avere deservedly both killed. The an- gels then removed the holy house to where it now stands, and the town of Loretto sprang up about it by the resort of pilgrims and the manufacture and sale of pictures, shrines, cameos and medals of the Madonna di Loretto. Pilgrims thronged it from all portions of Christendom — tAvo hundred thousand a year it is said — and the fame of its miracles and relics filled the whole Church on earth. This Avould all have been very Avell as a mere legend, to have been told Avith variations and Avrought into poems and fictions, and never believed, except by the simple, who be- lieve everything. But everybody believed it, and Popes and Cardinals, Kings and Emperors, and men of wealth of high and loA\ r degree, for centuries A'ied with each other in their princely contributions to our Lady of Loretto. Among them Avere a crown and sceptre with rich jewels — a golden cross set with rubies, pearls and diamonds — a crown of Lapis lasuli — a crown of agate — a robe for the Virgin, with six thousand six hundred and eighty-four diamonds — an emerald, four times the size of a man's head, for Avhich ninety thousand croAA r ns Avere offered — a very large amethyst set in gold — a chain of the golden fleece, set with rubies, pearls and diamonds — a golden candlestick, weighing twenty- GIFTS AND TREASURES. « 177 three pounds, set with rubies, opals, emeralds, pearls and diamonds — a crown set with pearls and rubies — a pearl as large as a pigeon's egg — a piece of virgin gold of eleven ounces — a set of altar furniture of amber, set with seven thousand pearls, besides diamonds and rubies, and valued at two hundred thousand crowns — the Austrian imperial eagle, entirely made of diamonds — a ship of gold — the Vir- gin's statue of amber — a large golden crucifix, set with six sapphires and diamonds — many models of cities and citadels in France and Italy, of solid chased silver — and most pre- cious of all, a large pearl, having naturally delineated on it the Holy Virgin, sitting on a cloud and holding the infant Jesus. The treasures of the Santa Casa were beyond com- putation — a most prodigious amount of rich vestments, lamps, candlesticks, goblets, crowns, crucifixes, images, cameos, pearls and gems were among the gifts to its altars. The armies of the French Republic that conquered Italy, were however as sacrilegious and godless as they were rapa- cious and bloody — and the shrine of the holy house was stripped of its treasures, and the statue of the Virgin was carried to Paris as a curiosity — and after that, the sixty-two great lamps of gold and silver — one of the gold ones weigh- ing thirty-seven pounds — and the three precious angels, one of gold and two of silver, and other ornaments, had their places filled with gilt ones, and paste gems took the place of the real ones. Pope Pius VII. repurchased the pearl with the miraculous image of the Virgin and child, and restored it, and to prevent another military plundering, all who enter the chapel armed, are excommunicated. The holy cedar image of the Virgin was also restored in 1801, but the papal commissioner would not allow the sacred relic to* be treated so like a profane and secular thing as to be even invoiced or set down in the list of restored articles. Sixtus V. surrounded the city with a wall, to protect 178 CHANGES OF THE ROMAN CHURCH. from the Turks, Santa Casa and its treasury, then in a mag- nificent church, containing twenty chapels, and noble works of art, and a white marble casing of the holy cottage, with its four fronts sculptured all over in the choicest style of art by the first artists, with the most beautiful traditions, legends and allegories of the church — a work performed under the patronage of several Popes. Ten Popes have made pil- grimages to it in all sincerity. I have written this only to show what the most faithful members and authorities of the Roman Catholic Church, Kings and Priests, Popes and Heroes, will do to dignify, what to us seems to be a transparent fable. So long as this remains, Rome cannot complain if Ave look with doubt and suspicion and disbelief upon anything that she may say or do. Volumes, as we all know, might be written, filled with gross superstitions, degrading idolatries, frivolities, and lying cheats, originally invented to stupefy, bewilder and mislead the people. In most Catholic countries such frauds have had their day, while in Italy and Spain new ones, as gross, perhaps might be fabricated even now. They say the Romish Church never changes. But what has changed more, if it be, as they allege, the Primitive Church established by the Savior and his Apostles, coming down in one unbroken succession ? Come to Rome and sec if you can find anything in the actual state of the Church meretricious, formal and corrupt, to remind you of the Prim- itive Church — simple, and pure, and spiritual. Historically it has been in a state of continual change from the begin- ning. From the Apostolical purity and simplicity of spiri- tual religion, how, by usurpations and changes, it ran up to what it was in the time of Hildebrand, and has since run down to what it is to-day ! In Italy and New-York how unlike! Pope Stephen crowned Pepin, the usurper, and dethroned Hilderic — this was the first papal crowning and ST. PETER TO PEPIN. 179 deposition, more than one thousand years ago, and Pepin then fought the battles of his Holiness, but not till after Stephen delivered to him a letter, written from St. Peter himself in Heaven to King Pepin, directing him to right for the Church. The letter is too long for me to copy here, but it ran in this wise. I translate from the French — not hav- ing seen the original, I cannot say in what language it was written. " Peter, called an Apostle by Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, etc., since by me all the Catholic Apostolic Roman Church, mother of all other churches, is founded upon a rock, etc., to you, Excellent Pepin, etc., etc. If you do not fight for me, I declare to you, by the Holy Trinity and by my apostleship, you shall never have any part in Paradise." This letter was enough for Pepin, and he crossed the Alps with his army to aid the Pope. I think even Arch- bishop Bedini would laugh at such a letter from Heaven now-a-days ! The Roman Catholic constitutions and usages are undergoing a constant but noiseless change, and the time may come when the Roman Church will be only the most ritualistic of Christian churches, and devout Catholics will look back with almost incredulity to the times of pious frauds, devout deceptions, and religious cheateries, which do such dishonor to the cause of religion. The same, too, of its bigotry and intolerance. There are still those of the most faithful who approve of the massacre of St. Barthol- omew's day — as all the Romish Church did in the time of it, and some of its principal actors were canonized, and a medal was struck in its honor — but such a day will never come again. Kings and Emperors will never again stand three days and nights, in garments of humiliation, in mid- winter, in Northern Italy or elsewhere, and chilled, and hungry, and disgraced, beg to be admitted to ask the forgive- 180 INTOLERANCE. ness of a domineering and tyrannical priest — as did the Emperor of Christendom to a Pope of Rome. It is said that Philip II., of Spain — the anecdote gives him too much humanity to be true — looking upon the procession of victims going to the stake of an auto-da-fe, as he saw a young and innocent looking face among them, said to himself, "What a pity ! " This being overheard, brought the agents of the Inquisition to him, to complain of the scandal to religion from such an emotion of sympathy for heretics, and they opened a vein in his arm and took a few drops of his royal blood and burned it at the stake, and the crime was expiated. That could not be done now, thanks to the influence of Protestantism and the progress of civil and religious lib- erty. FAREWELL TO ROME AND ONWARD TO NAPLES. OUR last day in Rome was devoted to Mosaics and cameos, and bronzes in the Corso and the via Con- dotti, for mementoes for our friends and ourselves — memo- rials of the Eternal City. The wearisome day being over, we took the evening stroll, which Ave had deferred to give the Italian moon a fair chance to show her parts. She was now out in placid glory, and we went first to see her give her inexpressible charm to that greatest of all ruins — the Coliseum. It is almost worth a journey to Rome to see those lofty and toppling walls, those ruined arches, story upon story — those almost obliterated seats for eighty thousand people — that great arena — those creeping and sweeping vines and green flowing plants rooted in the fissures and crannies up in the skies, all revealed in the silvery radiance of the queen of night. We remained as long as Ave dared in the night air, and then Avent for an evening look at St. Peter's, to see the effect of the lamps alone from the high altar, lighting up that wonder of the world — that effect upon the arches, 182 MALARIA. the columns, the chapels, and the works of art, and the worshippers kneeling here and there in solemn silence, you may well suppose is quite indescribable. It is these scenes, appealing so strongly at the same time to the senses and the imagination in the most exquisite taste, that make such overpowering religious impressions upon persons of a certain temper of mind and heart. It was not without hazard that we thus exposed ourselves to the evening exhalations. There is a pestilence that lies in wait through all this Southern Italian volcanic peninsula, to catch the inexperienced, the careless, and the daring — when out in the damps of the night in the summer time — when the parched earth calls up from its sulphurous and bituminous bowels the pestilential damps and mephitic gases which constitute the malaria of that immense region on the west coast of Italy — extending from Leghorn to Terracina, near two hundred miles — embracing the Caui- pagna of Rome and terminating in the Pontine Marshes. During the summer this whole tract is unhealthy — almost certain death to those who sleep with the night air upon them — and some portions of it are so pestilential as to be only a refuge for the most desperate and guilty felons, who go and stay where none will dare to pursue them — relying either upon acclimation or upon some preventive or antidote. So, in some parts are flocks of lean and ghostly looking shep- herds, cattleherds, and hogherds, with immense droves of sheep, cattle, and hogs. Scattered over the Maremma are the ruins of ancient cities and villas, and well authenticated sites of others upon which the insidious plague has breathed, and they have fallen and passed away. It is this unhealthi- ness which has reduced the population of the States of the Church from the millions of antiquity to the thousands of the present day. It was unhealthy in ancient times, but has constantly grown more and more so without any well ascer- WINTER IN ITALY. 183 tained cause. In and about Rome it is still fatal in summer to the laborers, and teamsters, wayfarers, and homeless ones who — when night overtakes them — seek no lodging but on the turf and under the serene and beautiful sky, amid the night dews loaded with death. They wake in the morning with ineradicable poison in their vitals. We had with us on our passage across the Atlantic a dis- tinguished medical professor of New- York, and in answer to my inquiry why he should not visit Italy, he said — " I am afraid of those paludal fevers in the summer time." He was doubtless right not to run the risk, but nevertheless, I kept on, and have not regretted it. The more usual course, we all know, is to spend the winter in Italy — but I am quite sure that the spring, and early summer, and the autumn, are the more pleasant seasons in Italy — for then Northern and Southern Italy are all in their glory. Then flowers of every fragrance and the luxuriance of vegetation — the vines in festoons, and grapes in clusters, and the almond, the olive, the lemon, and the orange in the valley and on the hill-side, lend their charms to landscapes that even without them would present an infinite variety of beauty. Rome is temperate and Naples mild in winter, but further north the winter is bleak and comfortless. A friend of mine was snow-bound in Florence so as not to be able to get away from it, or get about in it, or to be comfortable in doors. We do not seem to be aware till we get there, that Rome is in the same latitude as New- York, and that Florence, and Ge- noa, and Milan are further north than Boston, and — although the European climate is milder than the American in the same latitude — still the perennial snows of the Alps and the Appenines must make all Northern Italy rather dreary and comfortless in winter. Many travellers spend the winter in the Italian cities, for the society, as they call it — and they do not always tell us that the society is only the society of 184 ROMAN SOCIETY. each other, at their hotels and temporary homes — if hoines they can be called. Roman society — as I am informed — is quite impenetrable as society. The more eminent, and wealthy, and fashionable Italians, give parties or balls dur- ing the winter, to which the travellers may be invited, as they would be to a ceremony — or as in England they are presented at the Queen's drawing-room — but all visiting is substantially confined to the travelling or foreign residents, interchanging with each other. Protestants and democrats are treated civilly, but are not loved, courted, or caressed in Rome. The monuments are the same at all seasons, and the more striking ceremonies of the Roman religion are scattered throughout the year, and some of the most attractive spectacles are in the warm months, so that if I were to spend some time in Italy — and were left to choose my time — I think 1 should devote the late winter and the early weeks of spring to Naples, and then work gradually up to the north- ward and thus find an agreeable temperature, and a constant variety of most beautiful scenery at every step. For, after all, to be agreeably situated — a continually changing variety of agreeable objects and situations — is the perfection of travelling. We must encounter many accidents and hair- breadth escapes, and they tell well in travellers' stories, but they are only pleasant to look back upon, as ended — got through with safely. " Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit," is the desolate and only joy that springs from them. After an early breakfast, we took our seats at 7 a. m. in the diligence, for a two days' journey to Naples, by the way of the Pontine Marshes, notwithstanding the heats of sum- mer. As in ancient times, the journey from Rome to Naples was the most interesting in the Roman Empire — so now DEPARTURE FROM ROME. 185 nowhere is the mind more absorbed with the reflections, which it cannot escape, than when borne quietly along from the best part of modern Rome over the Capitoline Hill, you see blazoned on the walls of the modern capitol the S. P. Q. R. of ancient Roman freedom, and soon find yourself crossing pavements deep worn by the chariots of King and Consul, and triumphant General and Emperor and Tribune — oh, how many centuries ago ! You rattle through the old Roman forum, where the eloquence of Cicero and of Hor- tensius once echoed — you pass under the Avails of the Coliseum, and take your last look of that vast ruin — and as always the last, as well as the first thing forced upon your mind in Rome, is the Roman Catholic Religion, so here your last steps in Rome are under the very droppings of that real Metropolitan church of that religion, the parish church of which the Pope is pastor, St. John Lateran — omnium urhis et orbis Ecclcsiarum Mater el Caput. You drive past its beautiful facade through the gate of St. John, and you are outside the walls which encircle ancient and modern Rome. We are now in the common highway, across the Cam- pagna. After a mile or so we take the old A.ppian way, and we are rapt into the ancient glory as we see the long lines of broken arches — the dilapidated aqueducts of an- tiquity relieved against the low horizon — the" broken monu- ments — the mouldered piles of what were once the Mausole- ums of we know not whom — which border the wayside for miles and miles all the way to Albano. How idle it would be to attempt any description of such a scene, such objects, such memories, and such imaginings. " Out upon Time ! who never will leave But enough of the past for the future to grieve ! Out upon Time 1 he will leave no more Of the things to come than the things before 1 " Shall the time come when the long line of the now tot- 186 HORATII AND CURIATII. tering and timid religious Cassars shall pass entirely away f When future generations shall dig out statues and marbles from the buried ruins of St. Peter's, the Campidoglio and the Vatican — and the antiquarians shall find all the Komes from Romulus to Pius, and the shrines of all saints, and the temples of all gods, from Jove to Jesus, only distinguish- able by " Two or three columns, and many a stone, Marble and granite with grass o'ergroTra." Here, close by the wayside, between Albano and Laricia, before you descend into the valley of the little stream, spanned by the beautiful bridge of Laricia, stands a re- markable monumental tomb, known for ages as the tomb of the Horatii and the Curiatii. It was originally a central tower, with four smaller surrounding towers, one on each corner of the great base, as though the whole monumental pile, with its central tower, was erected in honor of that most interesting event in ancient history, the deciding the destiny of two powerful nations by single combat of in- dividual champions, and its smaller towers were fitting memorials of the individual prowess and patriotism of the heroic soldiers who assumed so glorious and so bloody an arbitrament. How many have sat under the shadow of that cenotaph and looked out upon the plain, and fancied that they saw the frowning and excited hosts resting upon their arms in safety, while their national independence was thus the prize of a strife of those champions ! How one who has seen Rachel, with a powerful associated cast, play in the mighty drama on the stage, with a little imagination might revivify those plains with the classic manoeuvres of Roman strategy. But modern inquiry has changed all that. The charm has passed away. It is now conceded that tha battle between the Horatii and Curiatii was not there at all. The monument has no relation to the event or the men — THE BRIDGE OF LAEICIA. 187 but is the sepulchral memorial of Aruns, the son of Por- sena, King of Etruria, sent by his father to take Aricia. Such is monumental and traditional history. A remark- able pile like this, near to what has always been, through all its wonderful changes, one of the most intelligent cities of the world — Ancient and Modern Rome — standing close by its greatest thoroughfare, has nevertheless lost the tradi- tion, and memory, and record of the event which it was erected to commemorate ! After standing centuries for one memorial, it suddenly sets up with the same confidence for another — and after a few hundred years more, who shall say it will not, in the few stones that will then be left in the earth, be exhumed as still another'? How the foundations of human belief tremble as the best established traditionary facts are jostled and overthrown in such a country as this — so made up of ruins, traditionary fabrics, and fabricated traditions, and vouchers to match. It seems to mo, that it would not be impossible that if an earthquake should topple down this magnificent bridge of three stories of superposed arches, in a few short years thereafter the ruins would, by universal consent, be established as a relic of the first age of Roman taste — perfect, classic, masonry and engineering. M. and I crossed this bridge on foot, and left the diligence to dash down into the ravine and tug up its precipitous sides — some temporary reason preventing its crossing the bridge It is a wonderful bridge — there are three tiers of arches, one above the other — the top one for carriages — the next below presents a fine covered foot-way, formed by arched openings through all the piers of the arches. It was on this that we passed over. The whole structure has a regularity, beauty and finish, which seems almost beyond the art of masonry. It is new. It was to this place that we were accompanied by a papal guard — all the way in the high and bright morning— all the 188 PAPAL DRAGOON. way, as it were in the suburbs of Rome, and under the very eye of His Holiness. What a commentary upon the govern- ment of his triple crown ! All the sanctions of arbitrary power, civil and religious, in his irresponsible hands — with the keys of Heaven, Earth, and Hell in his belt — yet he cannot make it safe to travel in his dominions! All the roads about Rome are infested by banditti, so that no one would think of travelling after nightfall. Our guard — he was but one — soon left us. I presume he would not dare travel with us except in the broadest day time, for fear of robbers. He was a finely dressed and caparisoned dragoon, soldier-like, and every way respectable in his appearance. His cap was after the style of a Grecian helmet, with the universal papal device — the keys — in embossed gilding on the front — and his white dress, arms and accoutrements, were exceedingly becoming. He was really an ornament to us. We had not travelled far on our journey, before we had a specimen of his power and utility. We saw before us one of those characteristic donkeys to which I have often alluded, loaded all over, up and down, and round about, with nobody- knows-what variety of traps and things. From some unknown cause, whether from mischief or fright Ave could not see, he started suddenly and ran away from his master, at the top of his speed. His little trotters, beneath his bulky load, played with all the rapidity and undistin- guishable confusion of drum -sticks beating the roll-call, and ever and anon, one piece of his load would fly in one direc- tion, and another in another, till finally freed from all his load, he found himself headed off by our friend the guard, who, as donkey was about to pass him, wheeled his horse across his path. The little quadruped seemed to suppose that he was interrupted by some vulgar Italian, and was evidently raising his ears to take the attitude of lofty indig- nation, when, lifting his eyes, they apparently fell upon the PONTIXE MARSHES. 189 keys on the dragoon's cap. In an instant he was meek and subdued, and trotted quietly back. I think I mentioned that he was an ass. As long as we could see him, his master was reconstructing his load. All this region is full of traditionary localities and monu- ments, but we did not wander from our path to see them. We were too anxious to complete our day's journey before night fall — our route leading through the Pontine Marshes, described before the time of Augustus as pestifera Pontina Lacus. Before the building of Rome, Pometia was a large and populous city in this vicinity, and the marsh originally took its name from its being near that city, and it is indis- criminately called Pometine, Pomptine, and Pontine Marsh. It is about thirty miles long, and two wide, and not very far from the sea coast. Lying about on the level of the sea — the streams from the mountains, when swollen with rains, pour their torrents into and deeply overflow the banks of the sluggish canals that traverse the low grounds. The burning heats of summer exhale from those marshes a malaria so dan- gerous that it has been sometimes said to be the cause of the bad air of Rome, which is forty miles distant. It was, doubt- less, once a healthy region, for it was spoken of as one of the most fertile portions of Italy, and it was covered with cities, and villages, and villas. Pliny says there were twenty-three cities there. As they became more and more swampy and unhealthy the ancient Romans endeavored to drain them. Three hundred years before Christ, Appius Claudius — in building the Appian way through them — made canals, and sluices, and bridges. By the way, the Appian way is now some eight or ten feet below the surface of the beautiful road which has been since constructed. Much was done one hundred and fifty years later by Cethegus — and Julius Cresar would, doubtless, have completed his vast plans for draining these marshes, had not his death prevented. Since 190 PONTINE MARSHES. that time emperors and popes have, from time to time, endeavored to accomplish what has never yet been done— the draining of these unhealthy swamps — although the passage through them is made safe and beautiful. It is, indeed, a great curiosity — the road through them being per- fectly straight and perfectly level for thirty miles, bordered with a row of fine trees on each side, beyond which is a canal — close on each side — with a lazy and imperceptible current tending steadily to the sea. This has drained the marshes so as to make them cultivable by a sickly race of people. In these marshes predatory banditti have their homes, and rush upon the traveller from their swampy recesses. The vegetation is of course luxuriant and beauti- ful, exceedingly, and the cattle that feed on the luxuriant and juicy grasses are fat and sleek, and the birds leap from festoon to festoon of wild and — for aught I know — poison- ous vines, and sing cheerily and happily as if they were in the garden of a queen. We had two fellow passengers who were Englishmen, and nothing could make them believe that the Pontine Marshes were unhealthy, since cattle, and birds, and plants grew so finely there. Herds of buffaloes run wild there, and you sometimes see a drove of tame ones driven by a tall Italian on horseback, with his brigand hat, and cloak, and long cudgel, which at a distance — as he rushes on, darting in and out of sight — seems like a gun, and you cannot help thinking of brigands and robbers, and how unfrequented and uninhabited the place is, and how easy to throw you into the canal, or draw you off where none will think of following or searching for you. These buffaloes are only used for work, like oxen — their flesh is said to be hard, and dry, and coarse, and not good for food. "We saw them more frequently after we had passed quite through the marshes. Off at the right, just after entering upon the marshes, is APPIX FORUM. 191 the site of Appii Forum and the Three Taverns, where the brethren from Rome came to meet Paul — whom they had heard to be on his way to Rome. What a weary time the great Apostle must have had in his long journey to Rome — a prisoner — bound, on voluntary appeal, to a heathen Roman emperor, to whom he preferred to submit his right as a min- ister of the new religion, rather than to the Jews — his countrymen — who sought to kill him. He well knew that there were proselytes of the new faith at Rome, for he had written to them from Greece his masterly Epistle to the Romans. In corrupt, but elegant and gifted Corinth, it was as an orator and a man of letters that he preached the pure doc- trine of a spiritual religion — in curious Athens it was as a freeman and a philosopher, as well as a Christian, that he disputed with the philosophers, and harangued the intellec- tual populace — but at Rome he was one of a gang of pris- oners, in custody of a centurion, and his guard of soldiers, and he might well have supposed that the Roman converts would publicly avoid him, or at least refrain from associating with him while he was thus a culprit and a prisoner. When they came to meet him and to welcome him to the city of the Caesars, in his bonds and imprisonment, how his heart opened to them and to God, and how significant the simple record of the event, " Whom when Paul saw, he thanked God and took courage." Who shall say that, notwith- standing his never-failing boldness and proper Christian pride before men, and his humility before God, he may not sometimes, in his wearisome voyages of months and months from Cesarea to Puzzuoli — now struggling among the islands of the Archipelago — now wind-bound — now tossed by the tempest for two weeks, till all hope was taken away, and they were on the point of starvation — when at midnight they sounded and found twenty fathoms, then fifteen ! per- 192 ST. PAUL. baps tho next moment the rocks ! — the sailors stealing over the sides to run away in the boat — then the proposition to kill Paul and the other prisoners, lest they should escape — then the ship going to pieces — then cast ashore on broken pieces of the ship among barbarous and venomous vipers ! — who shall say that even he did not at times feel his spirit sink within him, fearing that Divine Providence was frown- ing on his unnecessary rashness in appealing to Caesar! Not he. In that darkest night of so many days' duration, he alone was of good cheer, for there stood by him the angel of God, and told him that it was the purpose of God that he should be brought before Caesar. It was Paul's words of encouragement that prevented the sailors from running away with the boat — he made them all take nourishment before the final catastrophe, and over the hurried and peril- ous meal he gave thanks to God in presence of them all. There his trust in God was contagious, and they were all of good cheer — and so not a man was lost. Paul's faith never failed him — but we may well suppose that even after those most remarkable deliverances — after spending a week with unexpected brethren at Puzzuoli, he might still look forward to his reception in that voluptuous and idolatrous city as perhaps the beginning of his severest trials. It is hardly imaginative to say that it was from a doubting and anxious reverie of this sort that he hailed as a happy premonition the welcoming smiles of unknown brethren thus openly coming a day's journey to meet him in his bonds. It was nearly dusk when we were through the marshes, and our postilions trotted us up to the hotel at Terracina — the Anxur of the Volscians of old. We were weary with our day's journey, and I did not — though one of our fellow travellei-s did — go out to look at the ruins, which, if we had not been at Rome, we should doubtless have found worth looking at, There is a temple to Jupiter Anxurus — a palace TEKRACINA. 193 of Theodocia, on a hill overlooking the town and the sea — and an ancient port, or harbor, constructed by Antoninus Pius — the rings in the stones are still there — and the cathe- dral contains some interesting scraps of ancient art. Ter- racina is the last town in the present Roman territory — it is the frontier town between the Roman and the Neapolitan kingdoms. We had a mean supper and poor sleep in this only tavern at Terracina. The hotel is situated on the shore of the Mediterranean — its foundation stands in the water — and the pleasant and soothing dashing of the wavelets beneath our window could not prevent me from thinking of the brigands that are known to infest the woody hills — small mountains — that rise rapidly from the opposite side of the street in front of the hotel. Indeed, when we retired, men that it required no imagination to suppose to be robbers, were lying about, stretched out apparently for their night's repose on the ground all about the hotel — but as I passed near them, I could see their sharp, black eyes, darting, as it were, from their swarthy faces, as though they would pierce me through. Without being at all alarmed or nervous, we slept poorly, and long before early dawn we were up for our early start, and after a cup of the vilest coffee, and nothing to eat that we could eat, we again took to the road. The peasants were out, however, before us, going to their work in the early dawn. There was the buffalo -drover-, also, on horseback, with his flowing cloak and steeple hat, and long pike, keeping his herd together, as the land opened out into a bushy plain. There were the residents of the wayside stirring about, with the tame pet pigs following them about like dogs — and there, in the running stream, stood the washerwomen, with their clothes clewed up to their middle, and washing and rinsing, without soap or fire, or other wash-board than a smooth stone. From every 9 194 HEROIC REGION. house rushed out at us swarms of beggars, and sent their plaintive moans to us with uplifted and imploring hands, as they kept up with the free trot of the diligence, and followed us till we passed out of their beat, and another detachment rushed upon us. It being quite plain that it was not want that made them beg, but a habit, or rather a trade, we of course did not feel called upon to give them anything— though sometimes, to get rid of them, we threw two or three coppers on the ground for them to scramble for, while we got out of their reach. All classes that we saw, if we judged by their dress and appearance, we should consider abject beggars, clothed in rags, and pieces of skins bound to their limbs and feet with thongs, barefooted women, clad— if you can call it clad — in tattered wrappers, patched with every color, and with a coarse white cloth on their heads. These are the successors of those brave old races of anti- quity—those great leaders in the triumphs of peace as well as of war— whose heroic deeds have made so celebrated this small portion of earth which lies between Rome and Naples. Here Latinus, and uEneas, and Ascanius, reigned. Here were the Volscians and the Rutulians, and the Albans. Here were born Juvenal and Cicero and Marius— here were in exile Coriolanus, Camillus and Caius Marius— here was the scene of many of the bloodiest battles in history, and the site of renowned cities without number — now all gone. The Eoman Empire covered all Europe, but here are the footsteps of its greatest men. " The waters murmur of their name, The wooda are peopled with their fame — The silent pillar, lone and gray, Claims kindred with their sacred clay— The meanest rill, the mightiest river, Rolls mingling with their fame forever— Despite of every curse she bears, That land, is glory's still, and theirs ! " FONDI. 195 Fondi is the frontier town of Naples — and we, of course, stopped for the usual custom-house ceremonies. It had been suggested to us that if all the passengers would con- tribute a small sum each, the conductor would arrange the matter with the Dogana — custom-house — much more reason- ably than for each man to pay his particular douceur to the office. As our whole journey now lay in the Neapolitan Kingdom, it would of course be but one contribution, and we readily agreed to it, and made up our little purse, and things went on smoothly enough. But to our great surprise we had the same thing to do over again four times more before we arrived, and after I was quietly in the Hotel de FUnivers at Naples, the conductor made his appearance for the sixth contribution, which I of course paid. Fondi — the ancient Fundi — is beautifully situated in the midst of a fertile but unhealthy plain — its muddy, stagnant waters producing the paludal fevers so fatal in these regions. The town itself was filthy and loathsome beyond all my experience. Its principal street is part of the Appian way, with the original pavement, but a sort of public square, on which was the church, and the principal shops, and the custom-house, was filled with cattle, donkeys, goats, sheep, and dogs, and their filth, for which the people seemed to be fit companions. We had been riding long and were hungry, but nothing to eat could be procured which we could eat. For a while in the morning — till we passed Fondi, drag- ged slowly through the hills to Itri, and began to descend — we were shut out from the sea by the land, but afterward again for a long period the road ran along the shore, giving us a view of the Mediterranean as far as the eye could reach. We looked up upon the cities, and out upon the plain, the shore, and the sea — taking in the balmy breath of the breeze, which brought a little rippling sea to break on the beach in a miniature surf, exceedingly beautiful — nothing 196 GAETA. like the roar or even the voice of many waters, only the whisper of that midland tideless sea — " Where the wildest of waves, in their angriest mood, Scarce break o'er the breadth of the land for a rood." "We thus passed along the shore of the Bay of Gaeta, which sweeps round a curve of most exquisite beauty to the high promontory where stands the castle of Gaeta, about which lies that magnificently situated city which was the city of refuge for the exiled Pope Pius IX., tendered to him by that faithful and exemplary saint, the King of Naples. As -the road runs, our view of Gaeta is across the bay, with a full view of all the shore. We were all enraptured with the scene, and did not wonder that His Holiness, should in the midst of such scenery, be as contented as it was possible for him to be in exile, while his Zion mourned that the voice of freedom should be heard within her gates, and the ban- ners of political regeneration should wave upon her ram- parts. It was while here in captivity, that His Holiness vowed a vow that if he should be restored to his temporal kingdom, he would make a pilgrimage to the Santa Casa of Loretto, and pour out his soul in gratitude to the Holy Virgin before the Sacred Cedar-of-Lebanon sculptured by St. Luke, which I mentioned in a previous letter. It was on this beautiful beach that Scipio and Loelius used to stroll and study conchology as the amusement of their otherwise idle hours. The cape has its name from Cajeta — the nurse of iEneas — who was buried here, accord- ing to Virgil, in the opening lines of his seventh book — " Tu quoque littoribiM nostris, ^Eneia nutrix, jEternam moriena famam, Cajeta, dedieti. Et nunc servat honos sedem tuus." As we pass, at a distance, the locality of the Formian villa of Cicero — and, close by the roadside, what is now called the CICERO. 197 tomb of Cicero, the mind is forced to dwell for a moment on the memory of that great Pagan — the noblest Soman of them all. I know it has been the fashion of some writers to speak of Cicero as timid and cowardly, but in my judg- ment, with the greatest injustice. If there ever was a mere civilian who never shrank from the post of duty, it was Cicero. In the most perilous times, his firmness and virtue more than once saved his country from the most wicked and determined traitors, and when his enemies were known to be seeking him, he determined to await his fate in this very Formian villa, declaring that he would not flee from the country he had saved. When, at last, hurried by his servants to the fields, he was overtaken by his assassins, he did not even ask his life, nor make any appeal to their humanity, their justice, or their patriotism, but nobly and silently bowed his head to the sword that struck it from his shoul- ders. The tomb is said to be on the very spot where he was killed by a tribune whose life he had saved by his eloquence. In the time of his later life, men and principles were so vacillating that it would be strange, indeed, if he had never been charged with weakness and indecision — but he never hid in a marsh, like Caius Mari us, nor joined the external enemies of his country, like Coriolanus — two of the greatest and bravest Roman captains. He was great and heroic in all his qualities — a man of science and literature — a states- man, and a philosopher — a patriot in public life, and a true friend in private life — an orator and a writer — unequalled in all. I will not let pass this opportunity to say, that, take him for all in all, he was, in my judgment, a greater ornament and honor to the race of man than any other uninspired man who lived before the birth of Christ. Here again we saw stretching across the plain, and finally crossing our road near Garigliano, the long line of ruined 198 CAIUS MAKIUS. arches of an ancient aqueduct — the most striking of all ruins are these aqueducts — and there, too, were the ruins of Min- turnae, near which, in the marshes, Caius Marius was found concealed in the mud — and which are made immortal by his celebrated exclamation to the slave who had been sent, to kill him in his disabled condition — "Man, dare you kill Caius Marius !" and he looked the wretched kern so sternly in the face that he slunk away to those who sent him and told them he could not kill Marius. The bridge across the Garigliano is forever famous for the wonderful defence of it by the chevalier Bayard " without fear and without reproach" — by his single arm, against an attack of two hundred Spanish cavalry — and effectually checking the victorious enemy so as to save the French army. For this miraculous feat of bravery he well deserved the coat-of-arms which his royal master conferred upon him — a porcupine,with the motto vires agminis unus habet. This, perhaps, as much as any one feat, exhibits the prodigious bravery, strength, and military skill of some of those knights of the middle ages, who, clad in the heavy dress of steel armor, with inconceiv- able dexterity, did such execution with their blades alone. After passing Garigliano, we left the shore and bore inland for Capua, passing through what would be called in Italy a fertile and rich agricultural district. The corn was about receiving its second hoeing, and I counted the laborers in two fields — in one there were twenty and in the other twenty-three, of whom in each field sixteen were women. Think you, with — " Love-darting eyes, and treeses like the morn ? Without a shoe or stocking, hoeing corn." Oh, no! but coarse Italian women, in looped and windowed raggedness, pursuing their usual daily avocation of field laborers, hoeing corn, with the few men, who seemed to be CAPUA A VERS A . 199 exceptional cases. We saw one man tending a drove of hogs — a hogherd — pastorally, if not poetically, reclining among his grunters, and utilizing his moments with knitting. »' Formosum pastor Corydon ardebat Alexin.'' Who knows but this attachment may have been suggested by the ' ' knitting-work" of the handsome Alexis? As we approach more nearly to Capua we were much amused by the modes of transporting the products of the fields, and the odd combi- nations which were presented in all the varieties of teams that could be produced by the little donkey, the great ass, the horse, the cow, the ox, and the buffalo, single and combined, in every possible congruous and incongruous union, abreast and tandem, and carrying their loads in every possible mode — so grotesque and so ungraceful — so unlike anything we had seen before. It gave certainly an appearance of indus- try and thrift, but contrasted oddly with the scenic beauty of the fields by the wayside and the graceful trees, all wound with luxuriant vines, which pass from one tree to the other in long and leafy festoons. In the streets of Capua we first saw the chain-gangs of prisoners at work under the care and drive of their keepers From Capua we took the route by Aversa — anciently Atilla — celebrated among the Romans for its witticisms and pleasantries as well as for the grossness of its spectacles and its debaucheries. It is now a new and handsome town of some twenty thousand people, in the midst of a most picturesque and fertile country. Here is the celebrated Lunatic Asylum established by Murat — able to accommodate five hundred patients — conducted on the principles of modern reform. I should have been glad to stop and look at it, but was not able to do so. The ingenuity of the little beggars that beset the diligence while we stopped was exhibited in a new form — one of them mounting on the shoulders of another so 200 CAPUA TO NAPLES. as to be brought in the closest contiguity to us, to moan at us face to face, unless we bought our freedom with a few coppers. Along the journey from Capua to Naples, cactuses of great size run up their bare poles along the wayside, fifteen to twenty-five feet high, looking for all the world like tele- graph posts, and here and there a palm tree lent its beauty to the fertile plain, now in the freshness and luxuriance of its loveliest dress. The rags, wretchedness, and beggary and filth, that were constantly before us — the bad look of the stragglers by the wayside and in the bushes — and the paltry official cheating at almost every post, all the way from Rome, gave us anything but an exalted opinion of the salutary influence of the in- fallible King of Rome and Lis pious son, the King of Naples. (SCffaptM ^ftiriMiitft. NAPLES. "T~Y~TE arrived at Naples after nightfall, and wended our V V way to the Hotel de V Univers, where, having se- lected our rooms, commanding a full view of the Chiaia, the Villa Reale, and the bay and the islands, we took to our bed, and sought rest from a weary day's travel. We slept without waking till the morning light lit our chamber to the broadest day, which enabled us to see the multitudinous fleas that hopped about our sheets, ap- parently in convulsive gratitude, for the quiet and luxurious feed which they had enjoyed during the night. They are so numerous that one does not think of killing them except when caught in the very act of biting. Do not believe that we found these vermin in an ill-kept house — not at all. The Hotel de C Univers is one of the very best hotels, in situation and in keeping, in Naples, and quite equal to any one we found in our travels — large, airy, and well -ventilated and neatly furnished rooms — wide and open, and well-dusted stairways — a fine and spacious dining saloon, and a public 202 villa ream; — chiaia. table for dinner, comparing favorably with tbe botels in our own large cities. The best hotels of Naples are said to be all deserving of the high praise usually accorded to them, and the presence of fleas is an inevitable nuisance, like mos- quitoes and gnats in some localities of our country. Our hotel, and two others of the same class, are situated on the Chiaia, looking across the Villa Reale, and out upon and far down the bay toward Capri and the open sea, as far as the eye can reach. The Chiaia is a broad street, say one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet wide, and some two miles or so in length, on the margin of the most westerly of the two smaller bays from which the city rises up the slopes more or less steeply. Its northern side is built up with fine hotels and palaces, while its southern side is open to the bay — but between it and ihc water lies the Villa Reale — Royal Villa — a fine public place or garden, with its grottoes and little groves of small trees, its walks and seats, and recesses and fountains, and shrubs and flowers and sta- tues without number, arranged with taste and variety. This spacious and agreeable promenade and place of repose and evening recreation, about a mile and a half in length, is pre- served and kept in order at the royal expense for the gratifi- cation of citizens and strangers. Before the political out- breaks of 1848, the royal military bands played in the even- ing in the Villa Reale, and sent their echoing harmonies through all the scene and its surroundings, while crowds of listeners thronged the romantic grounds. Fear of the people has now discontinued so interesting an entertainment — for it brought so many together. Music is no longer permitted and these public pleasure gi ounds have lost most of their value. The Villa Reale is open to only well dressed and well be- haved persons, except on the great festival of the city, when it is free to all — and of course few then enter except the CHIAIA VILLA REALE. 203 vulgar crowd. The Chiaia is about wide enough for six carriages to drive abreast without crowding or inconveni- ence, and in the afternoon, in fine weather, especially or. Sunday, it is thronged to its utmost comfortable capacity with the wealth and fashion of the city, mostly in open car- riages, fine equipages, driving at a moderate and dignified rate, coming in at one end of the sti-eetand going out at the other, in an endless chain, round and round, seeing and be- ing seen by each other, and by the pedestrians walking and sitting in the shades of the Villa Reale. It was from our windows an exceedingly novel, striking, and luxurious sight. If the eye chance to wander from the gay cavalcade, it rests with unsatisfied delight upon the vessels, and waters^ and islands, and shores of the bay — no surf breaks upon the shore, no roar echoes from the hills or the rocks — but a gen- tle and laughing ripple dances along the beach, and its whis- pers arc borne to you on the balmiest and gentlest of breezes, while on the bosom of the bay fit here and there the numer- ous little Mediterranean water-craft, with their picturesque build and rig, as easy and indolent, apparently, as the wa- ter upon which they float, and the lazy Italians that lounge about the decks. Let every traveller, if he can, have his rooms fronting on the Villa Keale. When you rise in the early morning, and when you lounge after weary sight-seeing — when in the cool and hush of the early evening, or in the starry and stilly night, or when the landscape, the land and the water, the ships and the islands, shine with the silvery lustre of the moon — at any time, and at all times you love to linger about your balconies, and you never tire of the scene. The morning after our arrival, we took a cicerone and a barouche, and set out for the lions. I surrendered myself to Lorenzo, not doubting that I might rely upon him with as much confidence as I had done upon Mariano at Rome. He 204 SCHOOL OF VIRGIL. proposed to take me to the School of Virgil. I had not the slightest idea what it could be, but the name had a good sound, and so I went on submissively a mile or two or three on the main road, called the Margellina, till coming to a nar- rower and less beaten road, he told us to leave the carriage, as it would go no further, assuring us that it was only a step. We followed him till M. ceased to feel the magic of the name of the School of Virgil, having given out with weari- ness — she determined therefore to sit on the grass of the wayside till we should return, as it was only a step. On I followed Lorenzo over precipitous rocks, and through com- fortless ravines, heated and tired — the thermometer at about 80°, till we reached the School of Virgil, a few ruins and re- lics, which doubtless would have been interesting, had we not just come from the ruins of Rome — but to me not worth going to see, and for aught I know, it might as well be called anything else as the School of Virgil. I began to feel impa- tient and anxious, as I was dragged further and fui ther along and away from M., on a path which, left to myself, I could not retrace — and I became more and more anxious for her, exposed as she was to I know not what alarms. I soon, therefore, insisted upon being guided back again without de- lay. We had not however returned far, before we came to a dwelling with a sort of a museum, with a bolted and bar- red enclosure, through which we had passed, and there, shut in, we found M. Tired of waiting for us, vexed at our delay, and alarmed for her own safety, wearied as she was, she had determined to follow us, trusting to luck to lind us, and had entered this place. They had let her in without hesitation, supposing that she wanted to see the antiquities — but they could not undprstand a word of English or French, nor she of the Italian, neither had they apparently studied the same language of signs. Having let her in they would not let her out without pay, which she beginning to understand THE STREETS AND THE PEOPLE. 205 found, that of all the days in the year, she, for the first time, was without money in her pocket. She now feared that by some other path we might come out at her original resting- place, and not finding her there, go to the carriage, and still not finding her, think her lost. The more she was anxious? excited, and imploring, the more they did not understand each other, and when we came she was the image of despair — convinced that she was perfectly powerless. The most of a day had been thus spent in a toiling search for nothing worth looking for. The only thing that had really pleased me, was a mere outline sketch in fresco, on the wall of a fountain now dry and dusty, which was ancient, and had been brought to light fn some comparatively recent excava- tions. It was the figure of a water nymph of exceeding beauty, and grace and spirit. A drive about the city showed us its well-known charac- teristics. Every one apparently out of doors, at work or at play, cooking his macaroni or plying his trade — the streets thronged with mechanics at work — with idlers — with Mer- ry-Andrews and Punch and Judy — and all sorts of fantas- tical — showing an idle and a merry people. A few pence a day for the poorer classes, quite suffices to supply all their wants — hence it is that begging pays so abundantly, and is a large and prosperous profession, and idleness and pleasure occupy so much of the time of those who do not beg. The city is, in many portions, very well built — it is irreg- ular and uneven, like Boston. Its principal street is To- ledo-street, a long street of reasonable width, full of shops, exceedingly small, compared with those of New- York, but well filled with handsome merchandise. The street is thronged with people of all classes, on foot and in carriages and omnibuses, almost all well dressed, and all seeming hap- py. Out of London, Paris, New- York, and Philadelphia, I do not know such another street. The King's palace, the 206 VILLA OF LUCULLUS. grand mole, and all the military constructions, are very fine, massive, and royal. Naples is a large city, of some 450,000 people. It has history, ruins, works of art, aqueducts, &c, and fine churches without number, but all are inferior to those of Rome, and, of course, we sought them with less interest than we should have done had we come to Naples before visit- ing the Eternal City. Indeed, we did not enter a church in Naples, except on Sunday, and then only when we at- tended church at the little chapel of the English consulate, which maintains the service of the English Episcopal Church, for the benefit of residents and strangers. All persons who attend, that is, all strangers, are expected to pay, on entering, half a dollar, as a contribution to the expenses. Being two weeks later in Naples than I intended, and the heat becom- ing great, I determined to shorten my stay — why, then, should I devote any part of that time to running from church to church and chapel to chapel, only to encumber my memory with more details of the same class, but inferior in character and interest to those of Rome? We took a drive to the ruins of the villa of Lucullus, on the shore, and extending out under the water, nearly oppo- site the island of Nicida. It is this running out of ruins into and under the water on these shores, of which there are instances here, and at Baia? and Pozzuoli, which, I fancy, has given rise to the fabulous slories of sunken cities swal- lowed up by earthquakes, or suddenly submerged in the heavings of volcanic destruction. I believe the shores have slowly settled away for centuries and risen again as slowly, but not to any great extent — for it is always the ruined foundations that Ave see under the water, not the higher chambers nor yet the lofty spires and towers, which would be the evidence of still deeper ruins, and suggestive of sud- den and dreadful disasters. A son of Lucullus had a manes, amoves adulteria Baias actas. Roman matrons, who went there with the reputation of Penelope, left, with that of Helen. Dancing girls made their midnight orgies in the grottoes along the shores — " Littora, qua facrant castis inimica puellis." 10* 226 THE STKEETS. Capri, on the other side, in the mouth of the bay — washed on all sides by the pure waters of the sea, and always fanned by its balmiest breezes — was no less polluted by the Spintrian and Scillarian abominations, which made Capri the sales arcanarum libidinum, and which were sent down to future generations in all the loathsomeness and infamy of the Spin- trian medals. Pompeii, and Baiae, and Capri still skirt that beautiful bay, but how the footsteps of an angry God seem to have trodden them down, even as Sodom and Gomorrah are set forth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire. Bai«, and Pompeii, and Capri, were in their glory and their shame in the midst of the cultivated intelligence and refinement of the glorious Augustan period of the Koman Empire. So true it is, that the mere cultivation of the intellect does not necessarily bring with it true moral cultivation. The streets of Pompeii are very narrow — the widest perhaps thirty feet, most of them much less — deeply cut in the pavement by the wheels which, in streets so narrow, ran pretty much always on the same track. They are paved with lava stone. The road of the street is much lower than the side-walk, and at the crossings high blocks of stone, eight or ten inches high, are placed to step upon — indicating that at times the streets ran deep with water. These blocks are so placed that they did not interfere with the wheels of the carriages. Along all the business streets are the blacksmith shop and the bakery, and the pie shop and the drug store, with pills, powders and plasters still there, and the soap boilery — and the tavern and the drinking shop, with its brazier for hot drinks, and its glasses, and the stable, with the head bones of a mule, with the bit still in its bony jaws — and the studio of the sculptor, and the shop for art- ist's colors, etc., etc. — all sorts of shops for daily wants — including a shop for phallic amulets — their use indicated by JULIA FELIX. 227 unquestionable signs. The houses are not numbered, but the name of the occupant was on the entrance of each house. The commercial character of the place, and the riches of the citizens, appears from a bill, on a wall, of shops to let — -" Julia Felix, daughter, of Spurius, offers to let, for five consecutive years, the following portion of her property ; A bathing room, a venerium, and nine hundred shops, with show balconies — pergulm — and upper rooms." Nine hundred stores to let ! This notice was followed by the usual initials, probably an ancient form kept up after its substance had become a dead letter. S. Q. D. L. E. N. C., being the initials of the following woi'ds: "Si quis domi lenocinium exerceat non conducito" — if the house be used as a place for prostitution, the lease will be void. The house of this Julia Felix must have been one of great beauty in its structure and ornament, as well as in its fur- niture. It was discovered in 1756, in the earliest excava- tions. She was evidently a worshipper of Isis, as her house contained a little temple, or chapel to that divinity. The liberality of wealthy citizens is shown by inscriptions on some of the public edifices. Numerius Popidius Celsius rebuilt, at his own expense, the temple of Isis, which had been destroyed by the earthquake, A. D. 63. M. Holconius Rufus and M. H. Celer built, at their own expense, the Crypt, the tribunal and the theatre to embellish the colony. Eumachia, a priestess, built at her own expense, the Chal- cidicum, the Crypt, and the porticoes of Concord. Marcus Tullius built from its foundation, at his own expense, the Temple of Fortune. So through modern Italy, private munificence has done much to add to the public edifices of religion and of superstition — a hereditary characteristic — coming down from heathendom. We commenced, as I have said, at the Amphitheatre, and the Pope ended his visit at the same place. It would have 228 THE PAPAL BENEDICTION. been one of rny most interesting sights in Italy had I been present then to see that striking papal scene. The news of his visit had brought together the people from all the region round about, and when he arrived at the Amphitheatre a great multitude was there to receive him and to implore his blessing, and the air rang with the shouts, "Long live hi3 Holiness ! " — '• Long live the King ! " as he descended from his chariot, with the cardinals who were with him. The view from that Amphitheatre is one of the most magnificent in the world. He is said to have been rapt with the won- derful panorama, embracing Vesuvius, the far off city of Naples and its environs, and the bay and the islands, and with the associations of his most wonderful situation — the High Priest of Christianity — standing amidst thousands of his faithful worshippers, seated upon the same seat in that resurrected heathen circus which the idolatrous and bloody Pompeiians had occupied two thousand years ago, when they shouted in their murderous sport. " Profoundly moved by the unexpected and wonderful scene," says the Secretary of the Royal Museum, " the sacred Vicar of Christ, all ra- diant with glory and majesty, mounted quietly to the highest seat of the Amphitheatre, and appearing suddenly on the summit, saluted the people affectionately, then composing himself for a brief look to Heaven for divine assistance, he gave to that immense assembly his pontifical blessing ! " To devout Roman Catholics, to the unprejudiced and chari- table of all denominations, who could look upon it as an ab- stract Christian scene — a comparison of points of history — in powerful contrast — two thousand years apart — exhibiting the triumph and the progress of Christianity, it was surely a scene long to be remembered — probably never to occur again. Farewell to Pompeii ! I had determined that the season was too late to think of toiling to the crater of Vesuvius, but being desirous of seeing ERUPTIONS OF VESUVIUS. 229 something of the mountain, and the paths and the deposits of some of the later eruptions, finding that that could be done more easily on this side of the mountain, where you can ride in a carriage far up, over the indurated fields of what was once liquid fire, rolling its deep and majestic tor- rent down the mountain sides, I hired a carriage to take us up to the lava of the eruption of 1850, one of the most striking which has ever occurred — numerous as they are and wonderful as they have been. Vesuvius is one of the few volcanoes that seem to be immortal and inexhaustible. Its recorded eruptions are in the following years : A. D. 79! which destroyed Pompeii— 203, 472! 512, 685, 1036, 1049, 1139, 1306, 1500, 1631! 1660, 1682, 1694, 1696, 1698, 1701, 1707, 1712, 1720, 1728, 1730, 1737, 1751, 1754, 1758, 1760, 1766! 1767, 1770, 1776, 1779! 1784, 1786, 1787, 1793-4! 1804, 1805, 1809, 1812, 1813, 1817, 1820, 1822, 1828, 1831, 1834, 1838, 1845, 1847, 1850! The most remarkable being those designated by exclamation marks. In 1850, on the 7th February, the southeast side of the cone of the mountain opened and poured out a body of lava which separated into three streams, and thus descended the mountain-side. The principal stream was a mile and a half wide, and twelve feet deep. When it entered a forest, as the fiery stream swept around the green trees, soon steam hissed from every possible orifice, till, unable to find sufficient vent, the trees exploded with a loud noise, and w r ere finally entirely consumed in a stream of flame, shooting up like spires of fire. The stream of lava covered an area of about nine square miles, and during the whole night the mountain was enveloped in a shower of red hot scoria, and large stones shooting up and falling in various curves, and producing the effect of fireworks of almost infinite range and splendor, in the midst of darkness only made more 230 Vesuvius. visible and striking by those flaming projectiles and that nine-miles lake of fire and brimstone — what a sight ! I was driven over bad roads, with poor horses, in a rickety carriage — the best I could get at Pompeii — and by a rascally driver — tugging along up till we got to about the middle o£ the nine miles of lava, now cold and desert and barren. Here our horses seemed to take a look around, as their feet sunk into the sun-heated sand up to their fetlocks, as much as to say, "What is the use? It is all just like this for miles further up, and we won't go any further " — I thought it was a contrived plan between them and the driver — they would not go a step further — so we alighted and walked about the lava to examine it, and to take a view from our elevation of the landscape stretching off below and around us. Those fields of lava are now fields of volcanic sand, lying in knolls and hillocks, and winrows, and little valleys, and consist of sand and small gravel, quite small and angular, the whole having a yellowish -greenish-grey color, much re- sembling in appearance weather-beaten and disintegrated or crushed serpentine. After half an hour or so, our horses heads were turned down toward the bay, and they trotted us comfortably down to Torre del Annunciata, where we took the cars for Naples. NAPLES TO FLORENCE. AFTER a few hours drive about the shops of Naples to look at the beautiful fabrics of Neapolitan art, in lava and jewelry, terra cotta statuary and charming little sketch- es in oil colors, and laying in what little purchases we chose to make as mementos of the city, we determined to leave Naples and set our faces to the north, by the steamer to sail in the afternoon. We had looked at the Bay from our hotel — from the rear of the city — from the low level of the Mergellina and the bluffs of Posilippo — from the shore all along to Pompeii, and from the arid slopes of Vesuvius, and we did not regret hav- ing reserved our panoramic look at the surrounding shores from the water, till we should survey them from our steam- er as we should pass out on our way home — for when we double Cape Miseno, Ave shall have reached our most south- erly point, and shall henceforward be continually bearing to the northward and generally westward, and nearer and nearer to that home from which Ave have hitherto been de- parting from day to day. 232 LEAVING NAPLES- Early in the afternoon — our early lunch finished — our bill paid — and our douceurs all bestowed — we took our car- riage to depart, with a polite and affectionate perfunctory bow from the old porter, and passing by the Royal Palace and the Castel Nuovo, we were set down on the molo grande — great wharf — at a suitable distance from which lay the Bosphore, in which we were to embark and take our last look at Naples. After more multifarious and troublesome forms and exactions than I had encountered anywhere else — being called back several times — we were set on board the steam- er in a small boat, and were soon under-way down through the bay, to take a panoramic view of whose beauties, Ave kept on deck. The afternoon was as clear and transparent as we have ever seen it in Italy — the water was glassy and mirror-like as far as the eye could reach, and, as we looked back, the tremulous shadows of the city, the Castle del Ovo and of Vesuvius, reflected in the bay, seemed to darken the green water, and as we skirted along the Mergellina, down toward Nicida, and passed that small tower-like is- land — its sides and the bluff shores of Posilippo and the villa of Lucullus, close on our right, were painted almost as sharply and truly in their shadows in the wave as in their reality in the upper air. All the various and beautiful shore on the left from the Chiaia and the Villa Beale all the way round to Cape Carena was in full view — five-and-twenty miles — taking in the smoking summit and the slopes of Ve- suvius quite down to the Bay — Portici — Resina — Torre del Greco — Torre del Annunciata — Castelamare and Sorrento and the mountains beyond, and Capri, with their bays and their promontories, and their settlements and villas. In the low and far-off horizon, directly in our path, lay Procida and Ischia, becoming more and more distinct in the agree- able haze which lies upon an Italian horizon and into which NAPLES. 233 we seemed to be floating. We deviated from our course to pass more closely Pozzuoli and Baiae and other objects on the western shores of the Bay of Pozzuoli, emerging from which we doubled Cape Miseno, ran through the strait of Procida, and were now outside of the islands and on the open sea, and we made our parting bow to Naples, with gratitude for its pleasant memories for all our remaining years. Naples, older than Pome, called by Horace otiosa Neapo- lis — by Ovid in olio natam Parthenopen — in all ages the abode of repose and pleasure, has been, along through the ages, illustrious as the birth-place of many eminent men, and the residence of many others. Cicero and Seneca both characterize it as the mother of studies — Virgil and Seneca and Boccacio and Pontanus and Varro and Dio and Porta and Colonna and Fontana made it their home. Paterculus the historian Statius the Epic, Majus the philologist, San- nazar the poet, Borilli the mathematician, Gravina the jur- isconsult, Salvator Kosa the painter, Bernini the architect, Pergolesus, a great musical composer at the age when others go to school, who died at the age of twenty-two as he finish- ed the last verse of the Stabat Mater, his masterpiece — these were all natives of this voluptuous and idle city. So much more their glory that they resisted the tempting charms of the sirens that chanted their choruses and spread their beauties all abroad on the shores and islands of that bay, renowned for its natural beauty thousands of years ago as now, and for the patrician and imperial villas, then in all their perfection, now hardly discoverable ruins, the lofty temples of sensual, yet intellectual heathenism, and the luxurious and voluptuous watering-places, looking out from the shores upon the quiet waters of that almost land-locked basin, described in miniature by Virgil as the Lybian port 234 THE BAY OF NAPLES. where iEneas entered with his shattered fleet in the familiar passage — Est in secessu longo locus, * » * * * Hie fessas non vinculo, naves UUa tenent, unco non alligat ancora morsu. . wander o'er her, And quite forget their jurisprudence." 12 266 LEARNED WOMEN. Laura Bassi, LL. D., was a female Professor of Mathe- matics and Natural Philosophy, Avhose lectures were at- tended regularly by classes of learned ladies from France and Germany, as well as Italy, and also by men who were members of the university. Her monument, conspicuous among others in the university, records, in Latin, her pro- fessorship, and that, having emulated the Bolognese ladies of old, who were illustrious by their learning, she had there renewed the ancient glory of her sex and greatly increased it, and that the matrons of Bologna had, by their contribu- tions, raised that monument to her honor. She died in 1778, aged sixty-six. Another fine monument perpetuates the fame of Clotilda Tambroni, chosen a professor among the doctors of the university, for her distinguished ability as a teacher of the Greek language, and as a pattern of every virtue. Her colleagues and her pupils honored her with that monument in 1818. She was the friend and predecessor of the great Polyglott Cardinal Mezzofanti. These two monuments are among the monumental marbles that are reared in the uni- versity to the celebrities that have been connected with that celebrated seminary. Madonna Manzolina graduated with great eclat in sur- gery, and subsequently was professor of anatomy. As we stood in the anatomical theatre — seats for about two hun- dred — we could not help thinking how strange it would look to American or English eyes to see a lady demonstrating from the cadaver the structure of the human body, to a mixed class of medical students, gentlemen and ladies. Poor Propertia de Kossi! She began by sculpturing large figures in wood. She passed from that to the beauti- ful and delicate art of sculpture upon nut-shells, and finally to sculpture in stones and marble. She painted beautifully, and engraved on copper and on wood, and she was a charm- BOLOGNESE WOMEN. 267 ing musician. Smitten with love for a young man, who rejected her affection, she immortalized them both and her story in her master-piece of sculpture, a bas-relief of Joseph and Potiphar's wife. What a parallel chosen by herself! It was her last work. Determined to transfer to the marble that likeness of her heart's idol which existed in her exalted imagination, combined with the divine purity of the alarmed young patriarch, the effort overcame her, and her heart- strings broke. Pope Clement VII., had just performed the coronation of Charles V., in the church of San Petronio, and was admiring that marvellous monument of her genius, and requested her to accompany him to Rome, as a fitter place for the display of her powers. The poor, love-sick maid, who had achieved the most brilliant success in every- thing but her unfortunate love, replied to His Holiness, that in that church must be her funeral — and she died as the words fell from her lips. The higher classes of women in Bolognese society are said to possess great intelligence, masculine vigor, and terseness of thought and expression — more ease than grace, and more art than humor — more of the gems of literature than the flowers of fancy — more of the persuasiveness of intellectual ability than of the gentler influences of delicacy, dependence and sympathy. Beautiful, cultivated, tasteful, and artistic, in body and mind, they seem to have all the substantial of female excellence from principle, and choice, and habit, rather than from impulse and instinct — and they enjoy and deserve more freedom, and more of the confidence, and less of the surveillance, of their husbands, than anywhere else in Italy. The society of Bologna is not, I believe, like that of Florence, the refuge and asylum of the damaged reputations of high life. This, perhaps, might be expected, where the sex enjoy such honors, and are so cultivated and utilized in literature, science, and art. 268 UNIVERSITY OF BOLOGNA. The University of Bologna — where these distinguished women figured as professors — is the oldest in Italy. Six hun- dred years ago it was the largest that had ever existed then, and was larger than any whicli has since existed — number- ing at that time ten thousand students, from all parts of Europe — whose studies were principally confined to civil and canon law. It was by this great array of students, going out, from the lectures of old Irnerius — called Lucerna juris — lamp of the law — that the Roman law was carried forward in its triumph over the nations. It was here, too, on his suggestion, that the academical degrees, Bachelor, Master, and Doctor, were invented and conferred, as the hon- orable distinctions of real merit — in the first place the degrees in the Civil Law and in the Canon Law — subse- quently those of Medicine, next, and finally, those of Theol- ogy and the Arts — the seven liberal arts — Grammar, Dialec- tics, Rhetoric, Music, Arithmetic, Geometry and Astrono- my. Here the taliacotian operation was invented, and the operation for the cataract also, and here galvanism took its name from Galvani, the philosopher, who discovered it. Here, also, in its medical school, anatomical dissection, which had been confined to the bodies of animals, was first practised upon the human body. It must, now be a fine place to study surgery, as it is said there are five hundred cases of stabbing brought to the hospital annually. The university has now only some five hundred students. These, however, do not include the medical students, who are five hundred, or thereabouts. The lecture-rooms are, many of them, quite small — only room enough for some fifteen or twenty students to sit around a table and be in- structed by a professor at the same table — a mode of study which seems to me exceedingly confidential, familiar, coach- ing, and thorough. Some are somewhat larger, and the anatomical theatre will seat about two hundred. This is a EMINENT MEN. 269 great falling off from the ten thousand students, six hundred years ago. There is an exceedingly interesting and useful practice here, long in use, of painting the arms or names of the most distinguished graduates on small escutcheons, and placing them on the walls and on the lofty and spacious corridors and staircases of the University, as memorials of honor. The walls are covered with them. They seemed to me almost innumerable. This cannot fail to be a power- ful incentive to emulation and industry. The University has fine libraries and collections for the study of science and Natural History, and its bodies of professors in the great faculties of instruction, all along through the ages of seven hundred years, have been among the most able and distinguished men of their generations. The Bolognese school of art is as unsurpassed for its level of merit as for the great number of its native artists of the highest class. A list of the greatest names among her juris-consults, her philosophers, her men of letters and science, her scholars, her discoverers and inventors, would not be interesting — but I cannot omit to say that the three Carracci, Guido, Dominichino, Albani, Guercino, Tiarini, Cignani, and the most eminent of their immortal pupils, were natives of this little city. Eight Popes — Honorius II. , Lucius II., Alexander V., Pius V., Gregory XIII., Inno- nocent IX., Gregory XV. , Benedict XIV". — sprang from Bologna, and cardinals without number. Her meritorious distinction as the Mother of Studies, was, at the same time, the cause and the effect of her bearing proudly on her arms and on the banners of her glory and of her triumphs, " Bononia docet," Bologna teaches. These words are em- broidered in the waving borders of the flag, while in the centre, in golden letters, and radiant with glory, is blazoned the single word Libertas — liberty. These are the source of her power, and these are the 270 EDUCATION AND LIBERTY. glory that she emulates — " Bologna teaches," and it will always be true that Bologna teaches. She will never cease to teach — her university may cease to exist — her long line of learned men may end — her temples and institutions may have no present name or life — still she will teach — hef schoolmasters of art and science and letters, seated in glory all along through the ages — in their works and their pupils, will teach forever, the highest and most useful lessons. Education and Liberty — these have given her her solid prosperity — that elastic life which, in her destructive wars with her neighbors — and in the sackings and massacres of civil strife, have given her self-reliance and internal re- sources, sufficient for the day of her distress and desertion, as well as the day of her dependence. Faithful to her sacerdotal King of Rome — yet always with a difference — with a consent and not a submission — nothing has been able to prevent her men or her women from studying and teach- ing and doing as they pleased. Faithful to the Roman Catholic Church and the Pope of Rome, it has been from an intelligent and devout religious attachment, not from any slavish fear of the thunders of the Vatican nor any ignor- ant and blind submission to mere priestly demands. Here, as elsewhere, I had no time to seek society, and did not desire it — and what I say of the state of society, and of the intellectual characteristics of the people, I take from the observations of others, and allude to them here, only as the natural and desirable results of those educational and political arrangements and intellectual tastes to which I have given my hasty glance, and as a striking instance of such results. On a hill, commanding the city and a large horizon, is the church of San Michele in Bosco, and the suppressed monastery of the Olivetans — order of Mount Olivet — once one of the finest and richest specimens of monastic splen- SAN MICHELE IN BOSCO. 271 dor. It is now the villa of the Pontifical Governor of Bologna. "We drove out to it to see it in its present condi- tion. It was the French invasion that desecrated this beautiful spot, consecrated to religion. Its cloisters and halls were occupied as barracks and hospitals and prisons — its halls were stripped of their paintings, which were carried to Paris, and the numerous and beautiful frescoes of the Carracci and Guido, and their schools, are water -soaked and cracked, and streaked, and gone to cureless ruin. These frescoes are still shown as specimens of these masters, but to my eye they seemed of no account whatever. We were, nevertheless, much interested in our visit to the place itself, in view of its transmigrations, and much also in the beauti- ful view of the city and the plains around and beyond it, and the Appenines in the distance, piercing the skies and sloping down into the plains. I shall not attempt to de- scribe it to you, and shall only say that it unites all the beauties which we consider characteristic of the best Italian views — the luxuriant plain, the hill and the mountain — the grove and the forest — all lighted up by the Italian sun — mellowed and softened by that translucent haze which you see in the pictures of Claude — while in the near distance lies the beautiful city, with its palaces and towers, and churches and walls, and bridges and canal, and the river washing the walls — all clear and fresh, and sharp in their outlines — and in the foreground is spread out, green and delicious, the luxuriance and fragrance of Italian vegetation. There are many celebrated excursions in the environs — which were recommended to us — but we were compelled to forego them for want of time. Let me say again, come to Italy in the genial and beautiful season of flowers, and fruits and luxuriance. Within the walls, the public places, on which are situated most of the public buildings, are very noble. The only 272 ACADEMY OF ARTS. promenade making any claim to rurality is the Montagnuola, quite a spacious and a little elevated sort of park, or place of recreation, prettily enough laid out and furnished with seats — connected with it and a portion of it is the Piazza d'Arrni, or military parade ground. The Academy of Fine Arts in Bologna, has a collection of modern paintings, justly celebrated as one of the first in Italy. If, instead of a hurried glance at the immense gal- leries of Rome, Naples, and Florence, I could have studied them carefully, I should, even more than now, have regret- ted that I had not time to give a like study to the treasures of the Pinacothek of Bologna, in which are now collected a large portion of the chef-d'ceuvres that were liberated from convents and monasteries and churches on the suppres- sion of religious houses, some sixty years or more ago. In the seventy-five churches of the city, and in the palaces, and in the religious houses still maintained, are still to be found great numbers of the choicest works of the Bolognese artists, as well of marble as on canvas. These are so scat- tered that it was impossible to think of visiting many of them, and we gave what time we could to the public collec- tion of the Academy. This embraces three hundred and sixty-four paintings, besides the best modern productions which are there collected. There are prizes awarded annu- ally for the productions of the highest merit, and the prize paintings are added annually to the collection, where they are preserved with the name of the successful competitor- The whole arrangement is one, it seems to me, very well calculated to excite and keep up a worthy spirit of emula- tion, and I was greatly pleased with many of these works of modern artists. In spite of myself, I admire the fresh- ness of the new more than the smokiness of the old, other things being equal. While I can well see that there is a cultivation and a knowledge of art and of its rules, which OLD AND NEW MASTERS. 273 will sometimes turn from the modern to the ancient, there is, more often, an ignorance and cockneyism which admires the old only because it is old, and turns away from the fresh and untarnished because it is pure and unspotted. We ought to be more ready to admire the works of modern art- ists, where they possess great excellence, because they are modern, that we may by our approving voices encourage the attainment of the highest excellence by the men of our own generation, and, if possible, destroy that false and dwarfing impression that the excellence of the ancients is impossible to be reached. For myself, other things being equal, I should greatly prefer a modern work of art to an ancient one — one by my neighbor and compatriot, to one by any old pagan heathen, of Greek or Roman fame. We have only to do as the ancients did — paint for the tastes, the philosophy, the religion, the history, and the social in- stincts of the times in which we live, with careful industry and profound study, and we shall go on from strength to strength and rise from one degree of excellence to another, as they did, and, perhaps rival them as much in the fine arts, as we do in the useful arts and in practical science. It is with the sculptures of Thorwaldsen and Canova, and Powers and Crawford, as it is with the fine paintings of modern artists, their newness and freshness of color and finish, contrast so with the colors, mellowed by age and soft- ened by time, of the old works of the great masters, that in spite of yourself you almost consider their excellence as a sort of parvenu and upstart aping of what all have so long considered the unattainable beauty of the old masters — forgetting that the works of the old masters came from their hands with the same freshness and newness, and re. ceived the stamp of perpetual admiration, in part, because they were thus fresh, and would now be really more striking and beautiful if that freshness still remained. This obvious 12* 274 MADONNA PI SAN LTJCA. thought was forcibly presented to my mind, not only here but in Florence, as I admired the very excellent works of those living artists to which I have referred, and compared them with the works of other older and more celebrated artists. The genius of the old masters and the glory of the Bolog- nese school of art make an exceedingly interesting display in the galleries of the academy — I have never seen old paint- ings that seemed to me more worthy of admiration and study than some of those which I saw there. In the collection are eight specimens of Guereino — two of Augustin Carrac- ci — six of Annibal Carracci — thirteen of Louis Carracci — eleven of Guido — eleven of Tiarini — three of Domenichino — and here is the original of St. Cecilia, the masterpiece of Raphael. Bologna is also quite distinguished for the excellence of its copies of pictures. A copy by Louis Carracci of one of Saint Luke's portraits of the Virgin is on the walls of the Academy, which leads me to say that had I known when in Rome of the Church of La Madonna di San Luca and its Portico, I should have withheld what I said of St. Luke as an artist till I had arrived at a city that does so much honor to one of his pictures. The church is on Monte della Gu- ardia, about three miles distant, and specially honored in possessing that dark and smoky old portrait of the Virgin, said to be painted by the accomplished apostle himself, of which Carracci made a copy. There is a painting — not there — representing St. Luke painting the portrait of the Virgin and Child. The Virgin, in the ripeness and sweet- ness of early womanhood with the baby Savior in her arms, is standing for her portrait, while the Evangelist is seated, without an easel. His canvas, resting on his knee, is held by his left hand while with his right he holds his pencil. By the side of the Virgin is a table on which is a richly bound, THE PORTICO. 275 open volume of modern form — possibly a presentation copy from the artist, of his Gospel and the Acts. I mention this picture with its composition and accessories, only as evidence that Saint Luke, the beloved physician, painted the Madon- na de San Luca now at Monte della Guardia ! In honor of this ancient specimen of evangelistic art, in 1674, was commenced the portico leading to the church, which is the depository of the sacred relic. This portico is twelve feet wide and fifteen feet high, and extends from the Porta di Saragozza to the church, a distance of about three miles. It consists of an unbroken series of arches and chapels, not on a straight line nor on a dead level, but adapted to the sur- face of the ground. There are six hundred and thirty-five arches. It was finished in 1739, and cost two hundred and sixty thousand dollars, in a country and at a time when la- bor and materials were at hardly more than nominal prices. The action of the Senate, the donations of the city authori- ties, and of the religious houses, the voluntary contributions of the people and benefits at the theatres, all along for more than sixty years, concurred to furnish means to build this magnificent passage to that little dingy portrait. Once a year, even now, in enlightened Bologna, the picture is borne in triumph through the long arches of that portico, to the city, and all Bologna is delirious with joy at the honor and blessing of such a visit. It is a grand festival occasion. We left Bologna about eight in the morning, in the coupe of the diligence, for Padua, whence we go by rail to Venice. From Bologna to Ferrara we jogged industriously on through a level and fertile country, covered with luxuriant crops of hemp, grain, rice and hay, with nothing of special interest to notice, and arrived at the old city, Ferrara, in time for an early dinner, which we took at our leisure, and we also had time to take a stroll through the city, once so magnificent 276 FEKRAR.4. and prosperous, now so deserted and decayed. In its best days it contained one hundred thousand people — now per- haps little more than thirty thousand. Its streets are wide, spacious, and light — built up with lofty and noble palaces — but the streets are solitary, the grass actually grows up green upon its pavements, and the palaces look neglected, forgotten, and crumbling. With the exception of a small central portion of the city, the population is exceedingly sparse — here and there an inhabited house, in compactly built streets. In the days of its glory, its Ducal court was- equal to any in Europe for its cultivation and taste. Its university was one of the largest and most celebrated in Europe. Its art and artists were so meritorious as justly to be raised in history to the dignity of a school of art, and the great names that adorn its history are of those who are justly considered as immortal. It would require a stay oi days — instead of a mere rest for dinner — to go over its lo- calities and admire their proper beauties and objects of interest, and associate them with the once living celebrities that at different times made Ferrara their home for longer or shorter periods. We went into the dungeon prison of Tasso, and wrote our names on its low brick arch — lighted only from the door — tempted to do so by the great multitude oi names already there, among which we saw the autograph of Lord Byron, and those of other celebrated travellers. There are those who insist that the imprisonment of Tasso, in this dungeon, is a fabrication, because of ils incredible cruelty, and because this prison, if prison it was, was so dark and unwholesome that he could hardly have lived in it for the long period mentioned in the inscription, much less could have written there, as he is said to have clone. It is easy to believe any such tradition in Italy to be fabricated, but I wonder that one who knows anything of the prisons and cruelties of the middle ages, can find in any rigor or in- FERRY ACROSS THE PO. 277 humanity, any reason to doubt the sufferings of Tasso, or the barbarity of Alfonso. "We took a hurried look at the cathedral — seven hundred years old — and we went through the courts and gates and passages of the old ducal palace, and took a look at the room which John Calvin occupied, while, under the name of Charles Heppeville, he resided here, and received the dis- tinguished protection and favor of the royal Duchess, who did so much to favor the cause of the reformation. Ferrara may, one day, be whelmed by the waters of the Po — the bed of which is on a higher level than the roofs of the houses. The country is low, and the river, in its rapid course of four hundred miles, brings along a great mass of earthy material, which, deposited in sediment, has constantly raised the bed of the river, and as constantly the people have raised the banks of the stream to prevent its overflow — so the great and rapid river runs between artificial banks, like a gi'eat aqueduct, far above the level of the surround- ing country. If, in some time of great flood, these banks should burst away, Ferrara, as well as the plains, would be entirely buried beneath the water. Some three or four miles from Ferrara, on the southerly bank of the Po, is the papal frontier custom-house, at Ponte Lagoscuro — the Po divides the Papal States from Lombardo- Venetian Austria — and here leaving Cispadan Gaul, we crossed the Po and found ourselves at the Aus- trian frontier station — a solitary building, a few rods from the river. We crossed the Po at Ponte Lagoscuro, in a rickety old rattletrap of a ferry-boat. After I got aboard the boat, seeing no horse-power, no steam engine, no strong-armed oarsmen to row the large, scow -like contrivance across, I waited with some curiosity to see how we were to be pro- pelled, and before I had observed that we had begun to 278 AUSTRIAN FRONTIER. move, we quietly struck the shore on the other side. I then, for the first time, observed that we swung at the end of a long rope hawser, fastened to something in the middle of the river, some five hundred feet up the stream, and the mere force of the current, by the means of a rudder, had quickly taken us across. In like manner, in the course of the after- noon, we crossed the Adige, soon after passing Rovigo. We debarked from the diligence and waited, I don't know how long — an hour or two. The custom-house was open and airy, windows up, officers and clerks at their desks — open rooms on each side of a wide hall, from front to rear. I looked about to while away the time. I walked the cool hall. I looked in on the right hand and on the left — look- ing up and down and round about wherever a window or door permitted. I observed that I was eyed askance by the officials, and I thought the head man looked at me impa- tiently. Finally, I stepped inside the public office, where they were busy writing, and glanced around an instant, without saying anything. This brought matters to a crisis, and the chief man, in a rough and peremptory manner, suddenly asked me " What is your profession ? " I gave promptly and positively, but respectfully, the answer that I was a lawyer. This seemed to account for my impudence, and to silence and to content him. I thought he suspected me of being some dangerous person, some conspirator, or brigand in disguise, taking note of his two-and-sixpenny little frontier custom-house, with a view to a revolution or to plunder, and put his sudden question to entrap me into an answer which should betray me. We were at last properly vised, and we moved onward over the plains of Transpadan Gaul. The face of the country is flat, sometimes marshy, and always monotonous, which reconciled us to the neces- sity of travelling in the night, to get on the more quickly to Venice. AUSTRIAN ITALY. "TTTE arrived at old Padua, Italian Padova, the Patavi- V V um of the ancients, an hour after midnight, and the cars for Venice were to leave at half-past three in the morning. The city Avas still lighted and the Grand Coffee house — not a hotel — near the Diligence office was brilliant with lights, and full of people sitting and moving in its bril- liant arcades, like a fabulous temple of fairy land, in strik- ing contrast with the quaint and obsolete look of most of the streets of the faded old town. We decided not to seek a hotel, but with a porter and a guide, to relax our cramped and weary limbs by a walk to the railroad depot, which took us the whole length of the city, a long mile, I should think, perhaps more. We started in the gleam of the lamps, which revealed the architecture of the old city and lighted up the arcade sidewalks, and sent an angling and diminish- ed ray into the narrow side lanes and streets, and while this lasted, the walk was not only interesting but agreeable — but soon light after light went out and the streets became dim and shadowy, and darker and darker and finally, dark — black-dark. How use doth breed a habit in a man ? In 280 PADUA. days bye-gone, when I had only heard of Italy and its sti- lettos and robbers and assassins, I should have shuddered to think of this unnecessary groping with my wife, and my baggage, and, of course, some money, in the depth of a dark night through an Italian city, with every part of which* and eveiy one of its inhabitants, I was totally unacquainted. But we had no fear, so far and so variously and so safely had we travelled. We were, however, all the while con- scious that we were not afraid, which, perhaps, is proof that unconsciously we had a feeling of danger. All went well with us, however, and once arrived at the depot, we gather- ed our traps about us, fell into a cloze and waited quietly for the early train from Verona for Venice. There is much that is interesting in Padua — the burial- place of Antenor, its founder — the birth and burial-place of Livy. I should have been glad to look through its ancient University and its other celebrities of art and genius. It would be well to spend a day there — two or three, if one had leisure — half a day would have been something — for the city has less than forty thousand inhabitants — but I could not stop even to look at it by daylight. How long should I not stay in Italy, if I stopped to see everything de- liberately 1 We took the cars at about half-past three in the morning, and arrived at Venice as the morning sun was just glancing on its liquid streets, and gilding the tops of its palaces and temple?. The cars approach the city in a southeasterly di- rection, over a causeway or bridge across the lagoon, about two and a half miles long. This bridge is composed of fine arches of brick and stone, the foundation for which is laid upon piles driven into the muddy bottom of the lagoon, in an average depth of about thirteen feet water. There are two hundred and twenty-two arches, of about thirty-two feet span. The arches are circular. It took an average of VENICE. 281 one thousand men, laboring daily four and a half years, to build it. A portion of it was badly shattered by the Aus- trians in the siege of 1849. During the few moments occupied by our train in running over this bridge, our eyes rested upon the waters of the la- goon on either side, and we were forced to form from the hurried fancies of the moment, a Venice — a city in the sea — such as maps and pictures and stories and descriptions had constructed in our minds, when we had no dream of ever looking upon the world-renowned reality. It is needless to say that we had formed no correct idea of its appearance or its characteristic peculiarities. Our luggage and passports attended to at the railway station, we took a gondola and silently and softly glided through the whole length of the Grand Canal, which in the serpentine form of the letter S passes quite through the heart of the city, and presents a succession of the most striking and beautiful views — full of Venetian peculiarities. We were landed at the piazza San Marco, and took our lodgings at the excellent Albergo — hotel— San Marco — fronting on the public square, so celebrated as the centre of Venetian elegance and public resort — the Square of Saint Mark. We had rooms looking upon the square — our floors were of beautiful marquetry and our bedsteads of light and graceful polished brass, and other furniture to match. As it was still an early hour in the morning we took an hour or two of sleep before our breakfast, that we might have fresh- ness and vigor for the sight of the Silent City. Not quite silent — but silent by comparison. To citizens of New-York nothing can seem more silent than a city, where no rattling omnibus — no monotonous railroad car — no lumbering wagon — no loaded and tugging drays or carts — no stylish equipages — no fast men with 2:40 horses — not the rolling of a wheel or the foot-fall of a hoof, shall strike 282 ISLANDS AND LAGOONS. upon the ear from morning till night — where the men go to and fro to their business and the ladies to make their visits and do their shopping in boats ! Old as the scene is — celebrated for ages as Venice is in the history of wealth, of commerce, of war, of art — familiar as we are with her as she stands out in history — still to every stranger, Venice — a city with- out horses or carriages — is a novelty of the most striking kind. No wonder that — " From all days and climes She was the voyager's worship." There are, indeed, narrow lanes and alleys and passages and bridges, by which, it is said, you may pass to every house in the city by land, without ever entering a boat — but these are not the streets. The streets are of water — the carriages are gondolas — and the drays and carts are boats. The rapid rivers that ages ago brought, as they do now, the swollen torrents and the abraded debris of the ranges and spurs of the Alps and Appenines, into the head of the Adriatic Sea, shoaled its harbors and dotted its littoral wa- ters, bays, and deltas, with sand-bars and islets, which form la- goons and channels of varions depths. Fugitives from the sword of the barbarians who rushed down upon the Italian cities fourteen hundred years ago, sought shelter in the al- most inaccessible midst of these islands, lagoons, and chan- nels, and there commenced to build this wonderful city, which now — built upon piles — covers seventy-two of these islands and shoals. " A glorious city in the sea, The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets Ebbing and flowing — and the salt sea-weed Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men — no footsteps to and fro Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the sea." GRAND CANAL. 283 So Rogers wrote before the railroad had bridged the wide lagoon. The Grand Canal is broad and deep — the great thorough- fare of business and fashion and pleasure — the Broadway of Venice. It is spanned by but one bridge — the bridge of the Rialto, crossing the Canal at the famous Eialto, " where merchants most did congregate," and where Antonio, rated Shylock about his moneys and his usances. The island of Rialto was the largest and the first of the islands on which the city was built, and, centuries ago, was considered the city proper — was the centre of commerce, manufactures and exchange — and, in the days of Venetian glory, was crowded from morning to night with her royal merchants. Its com- mercial glory is gone. It is neglected and dilapidated, and the merchants come there no more. Besides the Grand Canal there are one hundred and forty- six other and smaller canals running through the city in all directions, like the streets of a city on the land, and these canals are crossed by upwards of three hundred bridges. The bridges are all very steep, that they may be so high as to allow the gondolas and boats to pass. The bridge of the Rialto, by a single segmental arch of ninety-four feet span, crosses the Grand Canal at sufficient height to allow boats to pass. It is twenty-one feet above the water. It, of course, is very steep. These bridges are cut in easy steps, as they are only to be used by foot-passengers. The Rialto Bridge is seventy-five feet wide, divided into five portions — a path- way twenty-one feet wide through the middle, on each side of that is a row of twelve shops or retail stores, extending the whole length of the bridge, and outside of the stores, on each side, is another pathway eleven feet wide. The little shops on this grand bridge are greatly in the way, as they prevent the fine panoramic view which might otherwise be taken from the bridge — as it is, we get two fine views, one 284 PAST AND PRESENT. from each side of the bridge, taking in the beautiful water views, lively with gayety and business, on the water, and, magnificent with palaces and other noble piles of imposing architecture, coming down to the water's edge. When Venice was in her glory and prosperity, this only bridge over the Grand Canal was so thronged with passen- gers that it was almost impassable — but now you will never, on ordinary occasions, be elbowed or jostled by a crowd. So it is with everything else here. Venice, in her glory, her power, her wealth, her commerce, her art, was Venice in her freedom. Venice dilapidated and worn, with little com- merce and no power — no artists but in their graves — no glory of the present — no dawning twilight of hope for the future — no honor but in history — is Venice conquered and subdued and humbled — the vassal of a tyrant ! * * * * " Thirteen hundred years Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears — And every monument the stranger meets, Church, palace, pillar, as a stranger greets." The Doges, in portraits, hang in the magnificent old pal- ace halls, where, in the days of their life, they were the equals of the proudest monarchs. The portraits are the trophies of the conquerors of Venice, left hanging there as the most striking record of her humiliation. A simple red lozenge of marble in the floor of the vestibule of St. Mark's is the monument of one of her proudest triumphs of peace, placed there almost seven hundred years ago, when, by her mediatory intervention, Pope Alexander III. and the Em- peror Frederick the First, after their bitter hostilities were reconciled at a personal interview. The Emperor prostra- ted himself in submission, on the spot marked by the lozenge, and the Pope placed his foot upon his head and repeated the PRIDE AND HUMILIATION. 285 prophetic words of the Psalmist, " Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder," — words of humiliation to the Em- peror — perhaps of warning to the proud lion of Venice. When Pope Julius II. asked Donato the Venetian embas- sador at Rome, to show the right by which Venice claimed the sovereignty of the Adriatic, the witty diplomatist replied, " If your Holiness will be so good as to bring the original grant of Rome and the States of the Church, made to Pope Sylvester by Constantine, you will find written on the back of it the grant made to Venice of the Adriatic sea !" Nei- ther of them had any title but power. Sannazar of Naples, some four hundred years ago, ex- pressed his preference of Venice to Rome in these beautiful lines — " Viderat Adriacis Venetam Neptunus in undia Stare urbem, et toto dicere jura mari : I nunc, Tarpeiaa quantumvis Jupiter arcea Objice, et ilia tua moenia Martis, ait, Si Tiberim pelago confers, urbem aspice utramque Illam homines dices, banc posuisse Deos." As Neptune looked on Venice in her pride, Seated upon the Adriatic sea, Giving her laws to every sea beside — " Come, Jupiter," he said, " I challenge thee Bring hither Rome in all her pride, and see Her boasted Tiber, by this restless brine — Compare the cities and thou shalt agree — This queenly city, by the side of thine — That built by men — this by the Gods divine." When Sannazar wrote Austria was unknown, even as an acknowledged monarchy and Venice and Rome could each stand up against the world — now, who does them reverence? The Eagle of the Hapsburgs flaps its black shadows over an immense Empire, and Rome and Venice are permitted to tremble in her presence. Venice, as a State, has no exist- ence — and Rome, as a State, has no independence and no 286 CHURCH OF ST. MARK. power. When Manini, the last of the Doges, was compelled to swear allegiance to Austria, the shock was too much for him, and he fell to the ground. On the Place St. Mark is the church of St. Mark— for the last forty years the cathedral of Venice. It is unlike anything we have before seen, being in the Byzantine style of architecture and enriched by the plunder of St. Sophia of Constantinople — five hundred pillars of oriental marbles, verd antique, porphyry and serpentine — two of translucent oriental alabaster, fluted in spirals, from the temple at Jeru- salem — ancient Armenian and Syrian inscriptions — old mosaics and sculptures in bronze and marble, are the various tributes which were levied upon the East by the then proud republic for the ornamentation of her favorite chapel — for originally it was only the Ducal chapel. While it was building — it took about two hundred years — every vessel that cleared for the East was compelled to bring back pillars and marbles for the growing pile which was to cover the last rest- ing-place of the bones of St. Mark. It is badly lighted, and within, there'is but a dim religious light, which gives only a dusky visibility to the interior, whose vaulted roofs are cov- ered with mosaics in a gold ground, whose walls are veneer- ed with precious marbles whose tesselated pavements and quaint curious marquetry are filled with arabesques and sym- bols and allegories. In niches and in brackets and on pe- destals about the baldaquin and the altar and elsewhere are — too dimly seen — the statues of God and man and beast — angels and patriarchs and saints and artists — lions and eagles and horses and chariots — strange, beautiful and interesting — tranquillizing and sacred in its repose and in its dusky and even light. Near the cathedral stands the Campanile, a lofty tower which you ascend by a winding path within its walls, not stairs, but a smooth pathway of so gentle ascent that you SQUARE OP ST. MARK. 287 might go up on horseback. The view from it, taking in the city with its towers and palaces and canals and the sea and the land and the lagoons and the islands and the vessels is said to be — it must be — of great interest. I did not go up, I was always too weary. On three sides of the square and in its immediate vicinity are the fashionable shops of Venice. The buildings pro- jecting over the sidewalks, shelter them, and make of them arcades, brilliant with showy fancy goods of the city retail trade, many of which are manufactured in the city and are very tasteful. In a court which communicates with the square are two public wells from which the Venetian water porters of both sexes are continually carrying water all through the sur- rounding houses. They are a unique and peculiar race, de- voted to this occupation, with a costume adapted to it, and with their two buckets, one on each end of a bow hanging over the shoulder, fore and aft, from the wells they pass to and fro the livelong day, from cellar to garret of those lofty dwellings, distributing the water where it is wanted. If they did not carry the buckets fore and aft, the stairways and passages would of course be obstructed and their own pass- ing might be difficult. In their ceaseless and unwearying routine they contribute their full share of the diversity in that public square which is so agreeable to the traveller. Another object there is a flock of pigeons that with sur- prising tameness fly and hover and alight, now on the ground^ now on the cornices and roofs and window caps and sills — you might almost stoop and pick one up in your hands, so tame are they, yet they are not tame — they have never been caught and tamed — but forages untold — the memory of man runneth not to the contrary — they and their hereditary ances- tral flocks, from generation to generation, have been fed at the public expense — no one knows why — and the Venetians 288 DUCAL PALACE. look upon them with a veneration almost as superstitious as they would if they divined by their daily flights, and seem to love them with as much affection as if each particular bird had been hatched in the cages of their drawing-rooms — had nestled in their bosoms — cooed in their alcoves — and picked its daily food from their open hands. This has given them an impunity and familiarity which have become a nat- ural tameness, seeming intelligent, confidential and affection- ate, on the part of the birds themselves. The Ducal palace or palace of the Doge, is an architectu- ral pile of great extent, and embracing within its walls and in its accessories more than all Venice besides, to remind you of her glory in arts and arms — of her power, her tyranny and her cruelty. Here is the great council hall, one hun- dred and seventy-five feet long, eighty-four wide and fifty- one feet high. This was finished more than eight hundred years ago. It now contains the library of the government — an immense library — ranged in cases around the base of the room, while above the book-cases the still great spaces are devoted to paintings, which in themselves are remarkable mementoes of her riches, her taste and her pride — paintings by Titian, the two Tintorettos, Paul Veronese, and other great masters, of every variety of subject connected with the glorification of Venice. It is this great hall, that is border- ed with the portraits of the Doges in succession — except that of Marino Faliero, the place of which is supplied by a black veil. Large as this room is, it does not give room for the whole series of Doges. It is continued and finished in the next room, the hall of Scrutiny. This room is also adorned with characteristic paintings of the striking scenes of Venetian history, as are all the rooms of this spacious palace, except the judicial rooms — the prisons and the cham- bers of judgment and execution which significantly shadow the cruel tyrannies of that despotic Aristocracy which PRISONS AND TORTURES. 289 tolerated no voice of freedom, and no murmur of complaint against its patrician power — the Senate Chamber — the hall of the Council of Ten — ten tyrants— the Lion's Mouth — who was safe from its fearful utterances % — the Tribune — the Council-room of three inquisitors — at the same time ac- cusers, judges, and executioners. In their small apartment secret, silent, and unknown, they sat wrapped in black satin and masked, and there they passed their unannounced and unrecorded condemnations to death — then from before them, by a short cut, a private and dark passage, a short and pre- cipitous stairway, their victims were hurried into their dun- geons below and there without notice or shrift they were decapitated, or perhaps were ordered to sit down in what seemed an arm-chair, but in which, as soon as they were seated, by concealed and resistless springs they were strang- led. And so from day to day — during the long ages of Ve- netian glory — in the pozzi, the damp dungeons below and the equally terrible sotto piomli, under the leads — the low roofed garret prisons — with nothing between the victims and the sky but the thin lead of the roof — blistered by the heats of the summer, and frozen by the frosts of the winter, the poor prisoner sighed and prayed for the day of his final con- demnation and death, long after his family and friends had feared what had become of him and wondered how he had been spirited away from among them. Sometimes they were allowed to look out for the last time upon the canal and city, and sigh as in their last moments they' passed over the bridge from the tribunal to the execution, and hence called the bridge of sighs, like the stairway of groans, Scalce gemo- nice, of ancient Rome. We went, ourselves, with shudder- ing, through this awful and now exploded and harmless round of dungeon and tribunal and room of execution, and we handled the instruments of torture and death that seemed almost impossible to have been made by man for man. 13 290 VENETIAN ARTISTS. Venice contains immense treasures of paintings. Here is the grand centre of Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, and Titian^ and great collections of other artists. I do not stop to enu- merate or to criticise what I have not time to study. Paint- ing is to me only a language. I never look upon a paint- ing with the eye of an artist to see how more or less per- fectly the rules of art are obeyed, and I look upon it only to learn what the artist has there said and how intelligibly and beautifully he has said it. I forget the artist and his art, and look only to the subject — the story that he tells. Sometimes I am forced to look at the artist himself, when traits of his own personal character are constantly visible in his work, or are suggested by the anecdotes of his personal his- tory or character which inevitably come to mind as you stand before the work. In one of my letters from Rome I spoke of the singular wickedness of artists in making their best works the vehicle of private malice, an evidence, not only of their evil and malignant disposition, but also of their great estimation, in- asmuch as they were permitted to do so with impunity. It is no less strange, that such men should not only choose the Last Judgment as a subject for their powers, but use that very subject for purposes of malice, as did Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. So here — in an immense picture, sixty feet by thirty — of the same subject, Tintoretto intro- duces his own wife three times, it is said, in three stages of her progress, commencing with the happiness of their first love, and ending with pitching her headlong into hell. So the Judgment, by Giotto, at Padua, is made the vehicle of the bitterest satire upon the Roman Catholic clergy, he himself being, of course, a Catholic. And Andrew Orcagna — in an altar piece, in Santa Maria Novella at Florence — has indulged in the same satire, and has mingled with demons on the left hand, bishops, abbots, monks, and nuns, and also PAINTINGS OF THE JUDGMENT. 291 grotesque fiends, one of whom is dragging from his grave a corpse that seems determined to make the grave his final rest- ing-place, notwithstanding the judgment trumpet is breaking up old marble — the repose of princes. The same artist, in Lis " Judgment" at Pisa, allows a Franciscan monk to rise among the blessed on the right, but he is politely walked over to the other side by the archangel. In another place, an angel and a demon have a fat friar by the legs and arms, each tugging with might and main to secure him. In this respect, there was, doubtless, more freedom in those days than in these, for now no artist would be allowed thus to deal with the religious orders, and the fool-hardy artist that should attempt it, would be likely to be handed over to the tender mercies of the Inquisition. It is, indeed, possible that, in this particular, some of them only designed to teach the great solemn, religious truth, that not the outer garb of priest or monk, but the inner sanctification — not the religious order, but the truly religious life and heart were necessary to secure an entrance into the New Jerusalem, as the pure minded and deeply religious Fra Angelico da Fiesole, in his treatment of the Last Great Day, taught, with beautiful and striking emphasis, the equally solemn truth, that the sinner, even if he should steal into heaven, would, in its holy light, find his character so transparent and devilish, that no con- cealment could save him from being thrust out. That artist has placed among the blessed, a group of an angel dragging out a sinner who has, apparently, hoped to pass in the crowd, a group powerful in truth and feeling, and striking in con ception. As there was not in the mind of the artist, so there cannot be in that of the spectator, any feeling of the ridiculous, or the profane, or the frivolous. All these at- tempts, however, show how much that scene is above all human art. Speaking of Fra Angelico, an anecdote or two will exhibit «• 292 FRA AKGELICO. his character in some of its most interesting aspects. Pope Nicholas V. called him from Florence to Rome to paint the finer miniature paintings for the churches, and he offered at the same time as a recompense and as a compliment to his distinguished merits, to make him a bishop. He was a Dominican monk. Brother Angelico declined from sheer humility, which habitual virtue is said to have induced him always to leave some striking defects in even his best com- positions, that no one should be able to give him unmixed admiration and praise. An anecdote is told of him as evi- dence of his child-like simplicity. Being invited by the Pope to dine with him, the artist declined on the ground that he could not eat meat, because he had not the permis- sion of his superior, not considering that as he was invited by the supreme earthly Head of the Church to dine with him> no dispensation or permission could be necessary. I do not interpret this as evidence of his simplicity, but of his conscien- tious and high principled sense of personal integrity and duty. When he took the vows of his order he took them to keep — not to be flexible and yielding to his convenience and pleasure, even on the request of the Pope himself. He rarely painted anything but devotional subjects. He never commenced painting till he had fully performed all his monastic religious duties, according to the rules of his order and whenever his subject required him to paint a crucifix, he could not do it without his eyes streaming with tears. In the Academy of Fine Arts are the greatest treasures of art. The Assumption and the St. John, the masterpieces of Titian, are there, besides many other of his works which, as I have before remarked, with those of Tintoretto and Paul Veronese, constitute the solid artistical capital of Venice. About their works hang numerous others which, highly meritorious though they are, serve really to heighten the excellence of those greater masters. Here, as elsewhere, I THE GONDOLA. 293 have been compelled to confine my look to the few greatest works. "We spent a day in a gondola, on the canals that we might fully realize the characteristic travel and street scenery of such a city. A gondola is a long, black, narrow, slender, and light boat, with a high bow and stern. It is about thirty feet long and four wide in the middle, whence it tapers to a very sharp point at the bow and at the stern — the bow being armed with a broad, thin, and sharp piece of iron, cut with four big teeth below and a sort of broad-axe blade above, which gives to the approaching bow quite a bloody-minded look. The bow is plainly a bastard de- scendant of the prow of the ancient Roman galley. About midway-way of the boat — a little nearer the stern — is the cushioned, seated, and curtained cabin for the passengers. This looks some like the body of an old-fashioned coach, and more like a modern funeral-hearse, the whole thing — boat, canopy, seats, curtains, and all being of a dead black color. The gondola, in form, and color, and appointments, I believe has not changed for centuries — except, that in a few in- stances, are seen colored curtains and trimmings to the little cabin. On festal occasions, too, I believe, they deck them sometimes with much elegance, giving to the Grand Canal an appearance of great variety and liveliness. They are now much less numerous than when Venice was in her pride. Where there are now only a few hundreds, there were for- merly as many thousands. An old historian — Philipe de Comines — says that in his time, three hundred and fifty years ago, there were thirty thousand. If that be half true the canals must have been crowded like Broadway on a public day. The gondolier stands erect in the stern of his gondola, and with a single oar, which he uses as a paddle, manages his boat with great adroitness. There are no sails of course. 294 GONDOLIERS. The gondoliers partake something of the character of their boats and their employment — being gentle, gliding, and graceful in their manner- 1 — they are tasteful and sometimes fanciful in their dress — in this respect differing from the race of drivers and coachmen, everywhere proverbially coarse, ungraceful, and graceless. I never heard from a gondolier, anything but words of gentleness and politeness, so far as manner was concerned, even to his companions and fellows whom he passed as he floated along. They exercise much care and attention, too, in landing their passengers with safety. The ebb and flow of the tide keep always wet and sometimes slippery, the flag-stones upon which the passen- gers are to step ashore, and unless the gondola is properly brought alongside the step, and kept there, and unless the pas- senger wait till the proper time, and step with care, he may get a dangerous fall. Lord Byron was once thus slipped into the Grand Canal, between the gondola and the shore, to his great chagrin and mortification. You often find at these more public landing-places a poor beggar, quietly stationed there, and always offering his aid to secure you a safe and easy landing, for which, of course, he expects a small gratuity. I shall always remember, with regret, repulsing the well-meant offers of assistance of an old mendicant on such an occasion, before I knew the cus- tom, supposing his offer was only an officious and imperti- nent attempt to levy a small black mail on me by demanding as a right, a compensation for an imaginary service, instead of asking an alms like a straightforward and honest beggar. I looked upon this attempt to make themselves useful, in the Venetian beggars, as giving a respectability to beggary in Venice, that I had not before seen in Italy. Although we had become somewhat familiar with Venice, still, gliding about all day in a gondola, in the heart of a large city, and hearing no noise but the dip and the drip of CHURCH OF THE FRATI. 295 oars, the dash of the little wavelets on the walls, the low hum of voices in conversation, with here and there the cry of a waterman, and now and then the sound of the artisan's tools, never ceased to be striking and beautiful, and when we took in at one thought, the whole thing, it was sublime — those palaces, and temples, and towers, rising out of the water like a growth, the hoary old Tuscan and Doric piles of a thousand years ago, and the graceful and florid Corin- thian palaces of more modern times, interchangeably planted and rooted in the sea ! Venice would be an impossibility if it did not exist. In the church of the Frati, the burial-place of Titian, we were more interested than in any other church in Venice, after St. Mark's. It is principally interesting for the many fine sepulchral monuments which it contains. The monu- ment to Titian, first opened to view last year, and reared to his memory by the Emperor of Austria, is a striking and fit memorial of the great Venetian artist, in the church where his remains have mouldered away. For centuries a simple slab was the only marble in his honor — it is now replaced by a noble and graceful Corinthian canopy, under which is a sitting statue of the artist, crowned with laurel, surrounded by allegorical statues. The statue of Paolo Sarpi, with his canons of the Council of Trent, and that of Trevisano, in complete armor, are beautiful and striking for their sim- plicity. It was this Melchior Trevisano, who brought from Constantinople, and presented to this church, its choicest relic — some of the real blood of the Savior ! A triumphal arch is the appropriate monument of General Benedetto Pesaro. The statue of the unfortunate Doge Foscari is a noble columnar monument, surrounded by statues. It is three hundred and fifty years old. The monument of the Doge Nicolo Trovi rises to the height of some seventy feet in six stories. It is fifty feet Avide, and is adorned by some 296 MONUMENT TO PESA.KO. twenty full-length statues of semi-colossal size, besides other sculptures. A monument, rich in oriental marbles, com- memorates Jacob Pesaro. A most striking, singular and stupendous monument is that erected to the Doge Giovanni Pesaro. One would think it was as much a monument in honor of negro slavery as of the Doge, although I am not informed that he had any connection with slavery. The tomb is supported by brawny and gigantic negroes, sculp- tured in black marble, dressed in white marble, ragged and rent, through the tatters of which their black knees and elbows stick out, and their ebony skins are exposed. The monument rests as it were upon cushions, like pillows, on their woolly heads, and within sits the Doge in white marble. The contrasts are novel, and the whole aspect is striking. The most interesting of all is, however, the monument to Canova, pure, chaste, graceful, and beautiful, as his own masterly genius. It is a pyramid, some twenty-five or thirty feet high, of white marble — into its huge door, thrown open, a funeral procession, in statues of white marble, as large as life, is just entering. Art, Genius, etc., bearing an urn, with the ashes of the dead, are the mourners, and their arrangement, attitudes, and expressions, are exceedingly interesting and solemn. The design was by Canova him- self, and was intended for Titian. In searching out some of the antique laces, which are found in this venerable city, we saw another portion of Venitian life and trade. What narrow lanes we threaded, what crooked and dingy stairs we climbed, what dusky and shady shops we entered, ai»d how we chaffered and bargain- ed with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, who professed to keep them as hidden treasures. On our way to our lodgings we stopped in at the consul's, and there encountered a number of our New- York acquaint- ances and neighbors who had left America after we did. CROSSING THE ADRIATIC. 297 From them we learned that the rains were still abundant in Switzerland, so I abandoned the idea of going by the way of Milan, to the land of torrents and glaciers, and avalanches, and determined to leave Venice by steam, crossing the Adri- atic sea to Trieste. I soon learned from my valet that a steamer left late in the afternoon and another in the morning. He thought I would prefer the one in the morning — but I sup- posed he thought so because it would be pleasanter to travel in the daytime than in the night. I, however, preferred not only to have a departing look at Venice by daylight, but also a daylight approach to the Austrian shore, instead of arriving there in the evening. We went to the office of the boat, and I took my passage in the evening boat, though it was quite plain that all thought it strange that I should do so. An hour later than the time appointed to sail, we were taken with our luggage in an open boat — a mile to reach the steamer — and for the last half mile in a most pelting and pitiless rain. With awkward and dangerous arrange- ments — for it was now dark — we were lifted on board, and our small boat started hurriedly back for the city. We worked our way through a crowd into the cabin — low, small, and dark. The steamer was filled with at least a battalion of Austrian soldiers — no cabin passengers but our ourselves — no state-rooms — no berths — no beds — no supper — no tea — no English language — no French — "no nothing" but sol- diers. It was now plain why they thought I would have taken the other boat. The heavy and confused tread of the sol- diers on deck, mingling with the raging of the storm, were all that interrupted our solemn imaginings in the dark and dingy littly cabin, as we waited — oh, how long — for them to get under way, almost wishing that we might not move till morning, and a hundred times regretting that we had not waited for the other steamer — but we could not go ashore. 13* 298 MORNING AFTER THE STORM. We were at last started, and by signs and a few words that 1 could stammer out, I succeeded in persuading the steward to let M. take temporary possession of a little state-room be- longing to the captain, and I followed her in, and we both threw ourselves down in our clothes, without any light, hav*- ing arranged my traps so that no one could enter without my leave. While I encouraged M., my own mind could not fail to wander over the possibilities of that stormy night — those rude Carinthian boors, turned soldiers, if accident should loose them from their discipline — that light and complaining boat — that sea, of which I knew nothing — those, perhaps, unfriendly Austrian shores, whose language I could not speak ! and — in the midst of such thick-coming fancies — I fell asleep, and M. and I slept quietly and safely till morn- ning; — no sea engulfed us — no storm wrecked us — no SOl- diers plundered us — no angry surf had thrown us upon sandy beach, or craggy rook, or made our final bed in the sea- weed. We arose and went on deck, and while the evidences of the night's sea-sickness made the decks loathsome, what a scene burst upon us! The storm had passed away — all the hazy vapors of the atmosphere had been condensed, and had fallen during the night, the air was transparent, and the eye seemed to peer far into the clear blue depths of the sky, which only here and there, for beauty, showed a floating cloud of chased silver. On the left lay Aquileja and Montefalcone, and on the right Capo dTstria, and in the near distance lay beautiful Trieste, nestling at the foot of the hills in the little bay form- ed by the promontories that jut out into the sea — and all around lay the various snug crafts of model build and rig, so different from our own — and as we neared the land, the de- tails of the landscape were revealed — rock, and tree, and ST. HELENA AND THE ADRIATIC. 299 dell — freshly-washed verdure, and spire, and roof, and battle- ment, and palace, and temple, and shops, and sails — and the lofty mountain-hills behind the city, nearly two thousand feet high — stretching off to the right and left — and the ter- races that cover their sides, and the highways that wind zigzag up the steep ascent, and the houses, and villas, and hamlets, that dot and enliven the mountain slopes. The contrast with the night was so striking that it doubtless heightened the real beauty of the scene — but it seemed to me that, without that, it was one of the most beautiful sweeps for the eye which we have yet looked upon in Europe. I trust we are grateful to the Power that protected us during the night, but it never occurred to us that we were indebted to the far-seeing and holy kindness of Saint Helena. Before her time the Adriatic was the vorago naviganlium — the vortex of sailors. " The legend says that when she dis- covered the true cross, she found also the nails that had pierced the hands and feet of the Savior. Buried in the ground for ages, they were not tarnished with rust, while those which had held the thieves were wasted with corrosion. On her voyage home from the East, as she entered the then stormy Adriatic, she was touched with compassion for the poor sailors so often tossed on its chafed and angry bosom, or buried beneath its waves, and to make it calm and safe forever, she threw into the sea one of the sacred nails, and ever since, the grateful seafarers have it found free from storms. AUSTRIA TRIESTE TO VIENNA. TRIESTE — pronounced Treest — I had expected to find a beautiful place, but the present reality far exceeded my anticipations. I know not where you can go and find more to admire, in so small a city, than in this. Its streets are so wide and beautifully built up — the public buildings and pub- lic squares so really tasteful and distinguished in appearance, its compact streets of shops and its exhibitions of merchan- dise so showy, enterprising, and attractive, and all — I speak of the new and larger part of the town — so new, so fresh, so bright, and cheerful, and prosperous, and happy in appear- ance, as to surprise me hei-e in the Old "World. It is the Austrian seaport and is an interesting instance of the effect of favored commerce in fertilizing what must otherwise be a barren spot. The hotel where we stopped had spacious and airy bed-rooms, its floors of beautiful marquetrie, its dining- room spacious and beautifully frescoed and furnished, and its table furnished with rich plate and porcelain — -in all its appointments quite the finest hotel Ave have met since we left America. It is owned by a joint-stock company. If my RETROSPECT. 301 plans would have permitted I should have made quite a stay here, to rest and refresh ourselves in its balmy breezes, its beautiiul surroundings, and its dreamy and quite outlook toward Italy — retracing my earnest and curious steps in the land of the Gaul and the Italian, in a contemplative, analyt- ical, and comparative mood, and drawing more pleasure and profit from the reflection which such a retrospect could not fail to suggest, than I had derived from isolated and local observations on the spot, as I travelled. Certainly there is no place where one could seem naturally to look down through so many, and so various, and so long vistas of the past, all crowded with everything that the world knows of the eighteen centuries of our era, to say nothing of the more ancient ages of pagan civilization and glory. Look back over the trail of the Huns and of the Goths, the greatest of all conquering and commanding races. Here for the first, I enter their vast dominions, for although Trieste has been by turns subject to France, Ven- ice, and Austria, and may properly enough be called an Italian city, still she has always been ethnologically, as she is now politically, a portion of the great Gothic Empire. In their old poems, says Tacitus, they give it out as a high point that they are the direct descendants from the god Tuisto — hence called Teutons — and his son Mannus — hence man — as though they united in themselves the great charac- teristics of God and of man — hence, perhaps, Teuman, the name of the great Hun of two thousand years ago. What a story is that of their sweeping over Europe from the Baltic to southern Italy, and from the Black sea to the Rhine — and how the Avild savages have grown into the great Ger- man family ! Look back upon the growth of ancient pagan Rome, in the Italian peninsula, yonder, spread out before you. She planted her eagles all along the Mediterranean and the Atlantic coast, and colonized the British islands, 302 TRIESTE. while — throned on her seven hills — she ruled the world. And the Italian republics of the middle ages — you seem here to be looking right at them, and to see their strifes with the Gaul, and the Guelph, and the Ghibeline. And Papal Rome — you can hardly raise your eyes without seeing her triple crown, her priestly power, her armies, her armor, her knotty scourge, and her keys, as she passed up through ages to the culmination of the power of the Pope as king of kings, under Hildebrand, and down again to the vassal- age of Pius Ninth — all the time, as her temporal power increased her spiritual graces failing, and vice versa. It was the lust of her temporal power that placed in the chair of St. Peter ambitious, corrupt, and blood-thirsty men, and took to the battle field ambitious sons of her church, even bishops, to mingle in and direct the bloodiest carnage. It was a Gothic king, I believe, who having taken in battle a bishop in armor, kept him prisoner-of-war, and in reply to the Pope's demand of the privilege of the church for the dis- charge of his son, sent the bishop's armor, with the pertinent and cutting question — " Know now whether this be thy son's coat ?" His Holiness now sits in meekness and sub- mission in his sacerdotal palaces, and says his prayers with Christian humility and forgiveness, while I have just now seen conscript youngsters of the French army of surveillance skylarking under almost the eave-droppings of St. Peter's at Rome, and the cavalry of the Austrian army of occupation galloping insolently round the Montagnuola of Bologna. The Goth and the Gaul are again masters of Rome — kingly Rome. Trieste is the Tergeste of the ancients. She has been the victim of I do not know how many destructions, and has been sacked and plundered by the great conquerors, all along through the ages. The Huns, and the Goths, and the Francs, and the Lombards, and the Turcs, have in their PEOPLE OF TRIESTE. 303 turn, treated little Trieste — wnen nardly more than a vil- lage — as of great importance, and have conquered her and levied military contributions upon her. The days of her affliction ended Avith her last military ransom to the army of the first French Republic. During all these centuries she has seemed to be buoyed up by the prophetic hope of her destiny, which she is now enjoying in her beauty and her commercial prosperity. The Austrian sovereigns, for two hundred years — especially Leopold I., Charles VI., Maria Theresa, and Joseph II. — have looked to her as the great commercial maritime port of the Empire, and have always seconded the bright hopes of her people. Leopold I. made a special visit to Trieste two hundred years ago, which is commemorated by a noble column surmounted by his statue in bronze in front of the Exchange — and a monumental column of Charles VI. is in the great Square. She has been a free port about one hundred and forty years, and she per- mits the free exercise of religious worship. This freedom has attracted to her enterprising merchants of all countries, whose rivalries and successes have given to her her solid prosperity, and all her characteristic attractions, with now about one hundred thousand people — a little less. " Traders of every nation — Turks and Jews, Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles and Hindoos," have been permitted to meet on the level of the highest com- mercial equality. On the days and at the hours of public worship, the Lutheran, and the Calvinist, the Greek, the Jew, and the Roman Catholic, as in our own country, seek their own several places of worship, and in their own way worship the God of their fathers, saying to Him in spirit and in truth, " There is none to molest or to make afraid." The Catholics are about ninety per cent, of the population. 304 RELIGIOUS TOLERATION. The Lutheran Church, with its inscriptions and monuments, was purchased by the Lutherans of the Catholics. On the opposite side of the street to the Catholic Church, Santa Maria Maggiore, is the Calvinist Church, purchased of the Jesuits. There is, also, a beautiful little English Episcopal Church, two Greek Churches, and three Jewish Synagogues. Enlightened commerce is a great preacher of Christian tol- eration, if not of union or unity. This religious freedom was commenced by Maria Theresa, and established and per- fected by Joseph II. In the Exchange, in the streets and along the wharves, you see the various picturesque costumes of the Turk and the Egyptian, the Armenian and the Syrian, as well as the Greek. The ship " Socrates " I saw there. For the convenience of business as well as^society, the better classes speak fluently three to six languages, the Italian, the Ger- man, the French, the Greek, the English and the Sclavic, and their dress uniting the best characteristics of the various costumes, is almost romantic in its richness, its exquisite taste, its graceful bearing and its spotless and dazzling neatness. I noticed here what I do not remember to have ever seen in a city before. I had seen oxen used more variously than with us. In crossing the Appenines a yoke of oxen was added for an extra pair of leaders to take our diligence up the mountain steeps, which was a little odd. In Italy I had often seen an ox harnessed sometimes with a horse, and sometimes with a donkey — but here in Trieste oxen appear to be the usual beasts of burthen for the dray service of the streets — and, what struck me as a useful economy for the drayman of small means, was the practice of working a single ox, as we work a single horse in the cart or dray ser- vice of our cities. A single ox hardly costs a quarter the price of a good horse, will draw quite as large a load — is even more reliable and trustworthy — is maintained at less STARTING FROM TRIESTE. 305 expense — is more hardy and patient, and when his life ceases to be useful his death brings back, in the price of beef, all his original cost. Here they have the Roman mouse color, and are often crossed with the buffalo. You see them lying down at their drays and chewing the cud all about the pub- lic wharves. The single ox is harnessed between the shafts of his dray, and in solitary usefulness moves solemnly through the streets and along the wharves, dragging his four- wheeled dray, the wheels not more than eighteen inches in diameter, and his wagon body, often a vast wicker basket of unpeeled willow twigs, light and strong and capacious. So, too, a pair of oxen is worked in a long, low, narrow wagon. I saw, also, many men harnessed to smaller drays with basket bodies and wheels not more than fifteen inches high — and one or two men on each side of the pole or tongue, tugging away with ropes or other tackle over the shoulder. It struck us as strange, perhaps slavish, but after all, it was only a little change of form — in substance not differing much from our porters with their handcarts, so numerous in all our own cities, tugging at their voluntary loads. In a pleasant afternoon, after an early dinner, our bag- gage all leaded — sealed with leaden seals — that it might go without further molestation, we took our seats in our favor- ite coupe of the diligence for Laybach, and commenced our long and toilsome journey through the wild, steep and rocky spurs of the Austrian Alps. We wound up the cultivated side of the steep mountain behind the city, in a zigzag course which seemed endless — for two hours, at every turn of the road Trieste was in sight, and at Optschina, on the top, two thousand feet high, and only five miles off, the beautiful town, diminished by the distance, seemed actually to lie at our feet, at the foot as it were of a precipice, so near that we could almost throw a stone to it. Here is a custom- house, at which we were all compelled to debark from the 306 VIEW FROM THE EAST. stage for an examination of the carpet-bags and other little packages, which being in our rooms at the hotel, had not been looked at and sealed at Trieste. Perhaps some of the passengers had not been sealed as we had. All the pas- sengers left the stage, and the opportunity was taken by the officials to explore the numerous pockets of the diligence for the chance packages of valuables that the passengers might have quietly stowed away, after being, as they sup- posed, fully franked by the seals at the city below. They found nothing in our sacks, and were not at all troublesome to us — but when we returned to our seats it was quite ap- parent that every cranny had been explored in our absence. Beautiful as I had found the view of the city and its sur- roundings, when seen from the steamer on the Adriatic looking eastward, it was no less so from the top of the moun- tain, looking westward, embracing a wider range and ex hibiting in its variety more striking contrasts. I can well imagine how rapturously this scene must strike the traveller from the east, when, after wearisome days and nights spent in the wild, barren and desolate regions of Styria, Carinthia, Carniola and Istria, he comes to the brow of the mountain overlooking Trieste, where suddenly bursts upon his sight the beautiful city, its harbor and its shipping, the bright sea receding to a maritime horizon at the southward and west- ward, its northern shores sloping up to an Alpine hoiizon and its eastern shore jutting out in the numerous beautiful promontories that shoot sharply out into the glassy deep. "We had hardly left the custom-house before we entered upon the great wilderness, embracing the Julian Alps lying between Trieste and Laybach. It is a barren, stony, moun- tainous region. Steep and ragged hills and mountains^ sharp in their summits, narrow in their valleys and precipi- tous in their winding defiles. The rock is a lightish gray limestone, which in its usual disintegrations has formed a MOUNTAIN REGIONS. 307 lighter, almost white, limestone sand, which occupies the place of a soil and forms the bed and banks of the road. — We were riding with our backs to the sun, bearing all the while to the northward and eastward in the afternoon — or we should have found the reflections of a summer sun from the white particles, as oppressive as other travellers have found them. To us it was only a monotonous curiosity. This is the outlet for the immense lumber forests of Aus- tria, and over these rugged, steep and narrow roads, the lum- ber is hauled by teamsters from mountains far inland, to the port of Trieste, and merchandise for the people is hauled to the scattered towns and settlements of the interior in return. The only thing to enliven our weary journey was these loads of lumber — hoop-poles and hoops, and spars, and merchan- dise, tugging along without intermission — sometimes drawn by oxen, sometimes by horses, in immense wagons with tires a full foot in width, drawn by eight huge horses. Sometimes a single spar of immense length and size would constitute the full load of a full team, and sometimes loads of smaller spars, all driven by shaggy and bearded boors, unkempt and Avild looking, in slouched hats and coarse dress, such as abound in the sketches of Moritz Retsch. We had no op- portunity to make their acquaintance. They are reported to be filthy, rude and repulsive. As in Trieste so here I was struck with the narrowness of the wagons — I suppose there must be some reason for it besides the narrowness of the roads, but I can think of noth- ing but inconvenience to result from reducing the width of a wagon to not more than two feet and a half between the wheels, which is a common width here, the capacity being made up in length. To my eyes they had a very awkward appearance; The wagons of the farmers along the way are of the same singular pattern. We saw several capsized ap- parently by accident along the road, and others that were 308 LAYBACH. capsized purposely, to unload the products of the farm. The farms and buildings, like those in all wild mountain regions, have a sort of wild and semi-civilized look, but still an ap- pearance of thrift and comfort, such as come only from honest and prosperous industry and general contentment. The first town of any importance on our route was Lay- bach — Laibach — Laubach, the JEmona of the Romans. At Laybach we left the diligence and took to cars. We had only time to glance over the little city, which has nothing striking except the fine old castle on a hill, in the middle of the town, and looking proudly down upon every part of it. Indeed, the town consists of only about fourteen thousand people, who are clustered around the base of the Castle Hill. It is on the river Laybach, a rapid stream that, when swol- len by its tributaries from the mountains which rise imme- diately from the town, has covered the plain to a great ex- tent, with a bed of barren gravel. Circumstances have given to Laybach a nominal immortali- ty. Sir Humphrey Davy, so deservedly eminent in Scienti- fic Literature, in his repeated journeys to these regions of mountain purity in search of health, often made this his resting-place and point of departure, on his little excursions for his favorite sports of shooting and fishing and scientific inquiry — and on one occasion he was detained here several months by sickness. Here he finished " The Last of the O'Donahoes," and the second edition of " Salmonia," on his last excursion to these his favorite resorts, only a few months before he died. _The great sights of Carniola are seen by short trips from Laybach, which is the capital of the Province. The quick- silver mines of Idria would have been interesting to me, but I did not to go there. The Lake of Zirknitz — ancient Lu- geus — containing some ten or twelve square miles, with vil- lages, churches and castles on its shores, is remarkable only SIGHTS OF THIS REGIOX. 309 for the fact, that at irregular intervals, sometimes once a year, and sometimes once in five years, the lake springs a leak and runs entirely dry, leaving its bottom to be cultiva- ted long enough for some short crops to mature, and the people sometimes catch fish one year and cut buckwheat the next in the same spot. It takes three to four weeks for the water to run out, and often as long for it to return — but sometimes, after long and copious rains, the water rushes in from below and fills the lake in a day. The mountains are all of cavernous limestone, and these sudden fillings doubt- less arise from the overflowing of some higher mountain lake communicating with this by an immense subterranean syphon. The grotto of Kleinhausel which has been explored for three miles, and out of which a river issues, is another of the local curiosities, and the great grotto of Adelsburg, of world-wide fame, and the grotto of Magdalen, with its sluggish rivers and blind amphibious lizards — Proteus Anguinus — are also close by, but I had no time to devote to any of these sub- terranean lions. They are all full of dangers. The time has been when I was bold for such excursions, but later years have made me wiser and more timid. I have men- tioned my narrow escape at Tivoli — I can recall others. The travelling companion of Sir Humphrey in the grotto of Cor- neale, near Trieste, after he had descended along by nar- row, slippery paths and rotten stairs or rather ladders to the farthest explorations, returned to make some sketches and incautiously rested upon a wooden hand-rail placed there for protection, which gave way and he fell backward from rock to rock, twice heels over head, and landed with his head downward and his feet in the air, on the verge of a smooth rock, beneath which was a dark impenetrable abyss, into which his next fall must have plunged him. It was some minutes before he could be extricated, and when he was re- stored to the upper air, the ghastly paleness of his guides 310 CONGRESS AT LAYBACH. told almost as plainly as their fearful shriek when they saw him go, of the dreadful danger of his fall. I now avoid all such places. Laybach has an historical or diplomatic interest from the congress of the allied sovereigns held here 1820 -'21, and which proclaimed as incorporated into the public law of Continental Europe the right of intervention in the affairs of other nations. Russia, Austria and Prussia united in it, but England refused to acquiesce. It was during this con- gress that the Emperor of Austria, in addressing the profes- sors of a college at Laybach, directed them to be careful not to teach their pupils too much — he did not want, he said, learned or scientific men, but obedient subjects. It was this congress and those which were so frequent during the time of the Holy Alliance, which gave occasion to Beranger's sa- tire on the death of Christophe, the bloody negro tyrant of Hay ti. The poem is called the ' i Death of King Chris- tophe — or a note presented by the nobility of Hayti to the three great Allies, December, 1820." The sting of the sa- tire is in the refrain — " Vite un Congres ! Princes vengez ce bon Christophe, Koi digne de tous V03 regrets." and in this couplet of the last stanza — •* Ce nionarque etait votre frcre Les rois sout de meme couleur. " " Quick call a Congress ! Princes avenge this good Christophe, A King so worthy of your tears — ^ * » * * « A King, your brother, we extol, Of the same color are ye all." At Laybach we took our places for our first experience in a German railroad car. They gave us instead of a ticket VALLEY OF THE LAYBACH. 311 a long receipt for our fare, with ten paragraphs of notifica- tions and travelling directions in three languages, German, French, and Italian, in parallel columns. Baggage was by weight, and weighing it and getting our tickets was a long process^ exceedingly tedious to our American habits. We took our seats in a long omnibus car, like those of our own railroads, and were trundled along only at the comfortable rate of some twelve or fifteen miles an hour, giving us a fine opportunity for such observations as the cars permitted. We had hardly time to read through our long and instruc- tive ticket, and to be specially pleased with the by-law that " it is not permitted to smoke in the cars except in pipes well closed, and under the express condition that all the pas- sengers consent to it," before we discovered that, apparently as a matter of course, most of the passengers had taken out their pipes and were filling them for a social smoke, and in good time the car was so full of smoke that we could hard- ly breathe. We concluded that the prohibition was only intended for the benefit of the smokers themselves, and was to be interpreted to mean that all should smoke. So we did not object to the smoke that strangled us, any more than to the gutturals which made our jaws ache from sympathy. The ride was, however, a delightful one, through con- stantly changing, and always interesting landscapes — on one hand rose lofty precipices of rock, whose bases were washed by the Laybach, and on the other, velvet lawns of wonder- ful greenness and freshness . and smoothness and beauty. Now the road and the river, compressed into the narrowest space, find their way together through notches between lofty and sharp peaks, towering into cones, and rent by fissures and chasms — and now, between us and those peaks, intervene lower ranges of hills, cultivated to the top, with now and then a ruined castle, and dotted by peasant houses here and there, while the villages are on the intervale below. On the 312 STORM CTLT.Y. tops of those hills, as far as we could see, away from any villages, a little church would here and there point its spire to heaven — a novelty which called to our mind the worship- ping in the high places of old, and suggested the possibility of their being placed there that altars and temples might be- less liable to attack, and more easily defended in troublesome times, when the Protestants were hunted like wild beasts through the mountains of Styria. Women at work in the fields with men has ceased to be a novelty with us, but here for the first time we saw women mowing and reaping, and it seemed still very odd to see women, young and old, at- tacking in fair earnest broad fields of grass and grain, with the scythe and the sickle. In the midst of these scenes a terrible storm of wind and rain — a perfect tempest — swept over us, and — many as I have seen of them at home — it seemed to me as novel as it was sublime. Its mighty columns of water seemed higher and bolder, and more life-like, as they stalked like giants across the plain, and seemed to stride along the mountain-sides, dashing across the chasms and leaping from peak to peak, swaying and turning and wheeling in the gusts of the hurri- cane, which made everything bow in apparent homage as it passed. At Cilly — Claudia Cilleia of the Emperor Claudius — we strike the Saar. The mountains now open broadly, and the plain spreads out into a cultivated vale in the midst of a rolling country, and at Mahrburgh, on the Drave, this plain becomes immense and of great beauty. Thorough cultiva- tion, good husbandry, and unostentatious living and man- ners, have here their usual accompaniments of thrift, pros- perity and comfort. There were no beggars visible, and I did not see a person that looked poverty-stricken and in want. Nor did I see any priests or monks, so far as I knew. This was not, however, because the people were not GRATZ. - 313 religious. If we could judge by the crucifixes, the people were very devout — we often saw, by the wayside, and in the fields, crucifixes as large as life. Gratz — Graiacum — is the capital of Styria, and is a beau- tiful city of some fifty thousand people, situated on the Mur. It has a university and is the seat of a bishop. The Emperor, Frederick II., was born and buried here. It is the place of meeting of the Styrian Parliament — has its nobility and gentry — its officials and men of letters. Von Hammer, the Orientalist, was born here. Its libraries and museums, and gardens and theatres, and beautiful prome- nades, are exceedingly agreeable, and living is cheap. It is the starting point, also, for many interesting excursions. All these attractions make it a place of considerable resort, and a halting place for travellers of leisure. I had, how- ever, only time to give it a hurried glance, in the brief half hour allowed by the stop of the trains. From Gratz we were whirled along the valleys of the Murz and the Mur, through scenery of the same varied and beautiful character, passing several small towns, and the larger ones of Bruck and Kapfenberg, each of which, according to the guide-book, has some story of in- terest, connected, perhaps, with the frequent old castles, and here and there a modern chateau, which were the principal objects that attracted our attention. Early in the evening we arrived at Murzzuschlag. When the cars stopped, we kept our seats, determining not to go out, with what we sup- posed was a hurried rush for refreshments. One of the passengers, however, seeing we were strangers, informed us, in French, that we were to find our way into an omnibus — and then we first learned that the railroad was not com- pleted over the mountains, and that we were to go over the Sommering pass in omnibuses — a slow, dragging journey of four or five hours, in the night time. The delay on our 14 314 CROSSING THE SOMMERING PASS. part was very fortunate for us, for had we been among the first out, the road-agent would, doubtless, have innocently thrust us into a crowded omnibus with the only other woman, apparently a lady, in the company, but who was really an impudent, brazen-faced courtesan, on her way from Grata to the wider scope of Vienna. She cast her beauties all abroad, and, by her allurements, had at the same time re- vealed her character and fired up the blood of the fierce Goths and Scandinavians, who were our fellow passengers, and who elbowed their way to get in the same carriage with her. Our tardiness saved us from that painful and perilous companionship, and fortunately put us into the coupe of a diligence which was, I believe, the last conveyance filled. We were comfortably seated, but M. was nervous, and alarmed — she had been uneasy ever since she had discovered that the only other woman in the car was such a creature, and the transfer to the carriage was so unexpected that she could not quiet her nerves. The darkness would have been total, but for the feeble lights which each carriage bore, and which revealed to us nothing but the desolate wilderness of that mountain pass. When Ave arrived at the summit, we stopped, and I went into the tavern there, to get, if possible, a piece of bx*ead for M., and 1here I found seated around a dimly-lighted room, a few of the wildest and roughest looking boors that I had ever seen in picture or reality, and they glared at me with a wild and sullen stare, which really made me inwardly shudder. However, I got a drink of water, and a piece of black bread for M., and in the coupe again we hurried more rapidly and roughly down the wind- ing roads of the mountain side to Gloggnitz. Every circum- stance conspired to make that a night long to be remem- bered. VIENNA. "TTTE looked with interest for our first sight of Vienna, VV Vindobena, the capital of the great Austrian Em- pire—a proud and powerful nation, ripe with the growth of many centuries, with a worthy imperial capital. I am compelled to say that I had no knowledge of what Vienna was like — I was indeed surprised on turning my thoughts to it, at my ignorance of everything connected with it. When, therefore, I entered this noble and beautiful city, I looked with avidity and earnestness heightened by the novelty and feeling of surprise at the unexpected pleasure. Its lofty and ornamental architecture — its streets so finely paved with a flat surfaced stone, and clean as a floor — the neatness and thrift of the busy people — the absence of beg- gars — the few priests, enough for the spiritual care of the people, but not enough to excite injurious remarks or un- worthy epithets — the many soldiers, in time of war perhaps too suggestive of villanous saltpetre to be agreeable, but in time of peace certainly ornamental — its public grounds o ( 316 GLACIS AND SUBURBS. such great extent, with drives for carriages and walks for pedestrians, groves for shade, and flowers for fragrance and show, all united to make our first impressions of this great capital exceedingly agreeable, and they were heightened by the longer and closer, but still rapid observation which our haste permitted. The city proper is small in dimensions, and is like an island in the midst of its suburbs, which are as thickly peo- pled as the city itself. The city is separated from the sub- urbs by a glacis or open space a thousand to fifteen hundred feet wide, which once constituted a part of the fortifications of the city, but is now planted with trees and laid out into walks, and drives, and pleasant places. It is a sort of park, embracing the city within it like a belt, except a small space on the northeast, where the city is separated from the suburbs by only the narrow and sluggish little branch of the Danube, which resembles, and is sometimes called a canal and which gave its own name, Vien, to the city. On the city side of this glacis, is the wall of the city with its bas- tions, which is a little more than two miles in circuit. It is now used only as a public promenade, and looking down, as it does, on the old city on one side, and the glacis on the other, and out upon the suburbs all around it, it is a most popular walk — I should think it must be the most striking public walk in Europe. "We are struck everywhere with this converting of the fort and the battery into the quiet and peaceable luxuries of social life, even in those great centres where the political heart of arbitray power has, till more Recently, always felt the necessity of being protected by the iron ribs and rocky defences of war. Slowly as peace dis- mantles the breastworks of war, if the thousand years of the millenium are to be measured as geologists measure the six days of the creation, the happy period may be already begun, at the end of which all swords shall be beat into ploughshares, and men shall learn war no more. THE PRATER. 317 Within the city, are the Royal Palace and the residences of the high nobility and officers of State, the museums, gal- leries, public places, and churches of most distinction. It is old, aristocratic, respectable, and often magnificent. It contains, however, only about one twelfth of the inhabitants, while the other eleven twelfths occupy the thirty-four suburbs. The houses that front upon the glacis on the suburban side, are among the best in the city — and here are to be found the new man, the self-made man, the rich man, with the ostentation of the parvenu. There are twelve hundred houses in the city, and thirteen thousand in the suburbs — the numbers run from one to twelve hundred and odd — each of the thirty-four suburbs being separately num- bered. Outside of the suburbs is another wall surrounding the whole five hundred thousand people of what, in com- mon parlance, is the city of Vienna. This gives, you perceive, about an average of thirty-five persons to each house — some houses are said to contain many hundred tenants. Outside of the city — on the east — is the famous Prater, or common, for drives or walks and amusements, and for the great gatherings — omnium gatherum — of great holidays. It is of immense extent — say fifteen or twenty miles in circumfer- ence — and on public occasions all Vienna is there, in that free and easy, miscellaneous and democratic freedom and equality, which I supposed existed nowhere except with us- All ranks, conditions, and classes of people — from king to cobbler, from peasant to peer, seem to be entered for a grand miscellaneous race of enjoyment. In those portions of the Prater more especially resorted to by the common people, booths, and tents, and shanties, and fires, and temporary lktle kitchens for cooking, abound, and sports, and plays, and fun, and frolic with old and young, make the scene one of great liveliness and novelty to a stranger — and to the native 318 HOLIDAYS LIBRARIES. looker-on, who understands the languages, and usages, and characteristics of the people, it cannot fail to be infinitely amusing. When Joseph II. was requested by the select classes to allow none but their equals to mingle with them in the Prater, he replied — " If I would only live with my equals I must go to the tomb of the Emperors at the Capuchin Church, and there spend my days." The many holidays and places of public recreation and amusement, which are provided for the people in the aristo- cratic countries of Europe, though perhaps too numerous, are still very suggestive to every reflective mind of a great want of our nature — diversion and relaxation. How it rec- onciles people to their lot. What a friend to law and order is good nature and social pleasure. Where, as with us, there is no sovereign but ourselves — no government to bear heavily upon us — no chains to rattle on our hands — no baubles of nobility, so instinctively desired by man where- ever we find him — these amusements and recreations should be encouraged perhaps more than they are, to break up the sordid routine of competition and cupidity — to smooth the knotted brow of care — to lengthen life and plant its way- side with flowers. A little guidebook for the city and its environs shows that Vienna is rich in libraries. The Imperial Library contains more than three hundred thousand volumes — that of the University, one hundred and six thousand — Military Arch- ives, near thirty thousand — Oriental, about twenty thousand — Medical, six thousand — the private library of his Majesty, fifty thousand — of the archduke Charles, twenty thousand — Prince Esterhazy, thirty-six thousand — Liechtenstein, fifty thousand — Schwartzenberg, forty thousand, &c, &c. — M. Castelli has ten thousand dramatic works, theatre bills for two hundred and fifty years, and seven hundred portraits of dramatic persons. Its Museums of Antiquities, of Art and PAINTINGS. 319 of Nature, arc large and interesting. One is greatly sur- prised at the collections of Art. The Royal Gallery has two thousand five hundred paintings — Academy of Fine Arts, eight hundred. Prince Liechtenstein, one thousand two hundred — Esterhazy, eight hundred — Count Czernin de Chudenitz, four hundred. In engravings, Vienna is not sur- passed in Europe. The collection founded by Prince Eu- gene, and noAV attached to the Imperial Library, contains one hundred and seventy-five thousand engravings, besides seven hundred and fifly volumes of engravings — a collection left by Francis I. contains ninety-two thousand portraits — twenty-two thousand sheets collected by Lavater, while de- voting himself to the study of physiognomy, are in this col- lection — the Archduke Charles has a collection of fifteen thousand — Prince Esterhazy, fifty thousand, and two thou- sand designs. The musical collections of books and pieces are exceedingly rich. There is no charge for visiting the collections of Vienna. The public monuments, fountains, &c, by Launer, Marches!, Raphael, Donner, Schwanthaler, Fischer and Canova, are perpetual open-air, free exhibitions of the finest sculptures. The churches, too, are, some of them, noble works of art in themselves, and rich in altar- pieces and monumental statuary. In the church of the Augustines is Canova's masterpiece of monumental composition- — the tomb of the Archduchess Christina, of Saxe Teschen, the favorite daughter of Maria Theresa. It is the same idea as the monument to Canova, in the Church of the Frati at Venice, which I mentioned in a letter from that city. The design of Canova — his great genius, is here. The original design is said to have been in- tended by the great sculptor for Titian. How eminently fit — what a laudable and modest monumental self-glorification it was for Canova to tax his wonderful powers in a monu- ment for Titian — a monument of his own genius in honor of 320 CANOVA AND TITIAN. Titian's glory. But failing — I do not know why — to devote it to Titian, and having first applied it for the Archduchess, it was exceedingly appropriate that, after his own death it should he produced in the hest style then possihle, for his own monument, in the same church where he had designed to place it for Titian. It is now there, and none the less a monument to Titian by Canova, although in the same church is another monument to Titian, and this is called a monu- ment to Canova. So here, in Vienna, it is really another monument to Ti- tian and to Canova, for the memory can never be lost that the design was for Titian by Canova, and when the Arch- duchess shall have passed away from memory, except as she shall be preserved by this monument — when a heap of dust alone remains of her, a blaze of glory will shine around the memory of Canova and Titian, and their names will be as fresh as to-day. Much as I was struck with the monument in Venice, the impression here was much more striking. The composition is substantially reproduced in the Venetian copy, and if that were the only copy, it would de- serve all the admiration which it receives — but seeing this, I seemed to look upon the living scene, of which that was but the cold and stony counterfeit presentment. Perhaps it was because it was the second look — perhaps, to some ex- tent, the surroundings may have influenced me, — but never, before or since, have I so felt the power of genius over life- less mai'ble. ' Here the pyramid is of grayish marble, against which the white statues are mildly relieved, and take a sharper outline. The pyramid is approached by two steps from a long and massive base. The door of the sepulchral vault opens in the centre of the pyramid, and toward it groups of mourners are ascending. How slowly they seem to move, and how sorrowful and solemn they seem to be. They can't be stone ! Virtue leads the procession, carrying the urn and TOMB OP THE ARCHDUCHESS. 321 the ashes of the departed, and by her side two little girls bear torches to light up the darkness of the grave. Benev- olence supports old age, feeble, tottering, and down-strick- en with affliction, and by his side childhood folds its little hands, and hangs its head in childish sorrow. An imperial lion, couching, subdued and sorrowful, is there, and beside him the genius of despondency. Over the door, in a medal- lion in low relief, is the Archduchess upheld by happiness, while a genius presents to her the palm of heavenly triumph. All these figures are as large as life, and I may say even more truthful to the scene than life itself. The truth and feeling of the whole composition are beyond description, and they grow upon you till its mute eloquence overpowers you, while if you abstract yourself from the scene, and study it in detail, each particular statue proves to be a work of art worthy of the chisel of Canova in his best days. In one of the chapels of the church of the Augustines, are the tombs of the Emperor Leopold II., the Austrian Gener- al Daun, and of Dr. Von Swieten, physician to Maria The- resa, and the great educational reformer of Austria. To him, under the protection and encouragement of his royal patient and sovereign, the nation is indebted for the present system of universal public education. Well might she build him a tomb among those whom she most delighted to honor. So, too, among the tombs of the imperial dead in their vault in the chapel of the Capuchins, with the coffins of Maria Theresa herself and her son Joseph II. — the two monarchs who have done most for Austria — are found the mortal re- mains of the governess and instructress of that great Em- press — placed there by her imperial pupil, who in gratitude for her instructions, thus gave her royal burial. No country could have more patriotic or devoted sover- eigns than were Maria Theresa and her son Joseph II. Her firmness amounted almost to obstinacy, and well nigh ruin- 14* 322 MARIA THERESA. ed her Empire in her wars with the European Powers — but it also secured to her people the reforms which she intro- duced, from which she could not be driven. It gave the hardness of bigotry to her religious zeal and enthusiasm and persistence to her constant war with abuses in church and state, and it gave great and commanding influence to her solid common sense and practical tact. The familiar account of the mode in which she rallied the dissatisfied and alienat- ed Hungarian nobility when her cause was almost desperate — her dominions reduced — her allies withdrawn — her troops unpaid — her minister disheartened and her treasury empty — furnishes a good illustration of her courage, her greatness and address. In 1741, on the Mont Royal in Presburg, after the custom of Hungary, on horseback, she had drawn the sword of St. Stephen, and, turning its naked blade toward the four quarters of the earth, had called the universe to wit- ness that she would defend her people against the world, and it was a Diet at Presburg that she determined to retrieve her fortunes. Dressed in royal mourning, in the costume of the country, the crown of St. Stephen on her head, the same sword at her side, and bearing in her arms her infant son, Duke Joseph, not a vear old, wearing " Upon hla baby brow the round And lop of sovereignly — " she walked into the Diet with that quiet majesty which so exalted her beauty, and in the living Latin of the country told her desolate condition — said she had nothing left to rely upon but her brave Hungarians, and committed herself and child to them. Instantly every sword flashed from its scabbard, and on their naked blades they swore " Moriamur pro Maria Theresa" — " We will die for Maria Theresa." They furnished troops — they fought like demons — and the armies of her enemies were overwhelmed by them. She Joseph ii. 823 reigned forty years — in those days a period of nearly two generations — and her policy grew to maturity. She was succeeded by Joseph II., more enlightened and liberal than she, and quite ready to start from her vantage ground on even a more patriotic course — but he lacked the iron nerve of his mother, and in his last years, retreated fatally from his lofty eminence, and revoked some of his most patriotic decrees. But he was a great man, and a good one. He said to the historian of the empire — " Spare no one, not even myself, if you come down to me with your history. Let posterity judge of my faults, and those of my predeces- sors." Frederick the Great said of him — "Joseph is an Emperor such as Germany has not had for a long time. Educated in splendor — his habits are simple — grown up amidst flattery, he is still modest — inflamed with the love of glory, he yet sacrifices his ambition to do his duty." He travelled through his dominions with no more ostentation than a private man — indeed, in the assumed character of a count, he visited the great Frederic in his camp, who the next year returned the visit, and those two matter-of-fact men threw aside regal ceremony, and courtly forms, and in the unrestrained freedom of familiar and friendly inter- course, formed a better opinion of each other's character. In like manner, he exchanged visits with the Pope — and he spent six weeks in Paris. Everywhere, at home and abroad, he was admired, and his people adored him. Many of the nobility, however, and the priests generally, were unfriendly to him, because of his reforms, which often were directed against some of their too exclusive privileges, and almost always looked to the elevation of the people, and the promo- tion of their welfare and happiness. In the matter of public education, Austria holds a pre- eminent rank. She has, excluding Hungary, nine prosper- ous universities, having an aggregate of about fourteen 324 PUBLIC EDUCATION. thousand students, eight thousand of whom are in the two universities of Prague and Vienna. Besides universities, there are numerous lyceums and other higher* seminaries, normal schools in all the principal towns, and about thirty thousand common schools with forty thousand teachers and about two millions five hundred thousand pupils. The Aus- trian system of public education is thoroughly organized and developed under the regulations of the government. The schools are gratuitously open to all, and a system of indirect compulsion has a most salutary effect in securing the attendance of the children. No one is permitted to exercise a trade, to be employed as a workman, to hold office or enter the army or even to be married, without a cer- tificate of having attended school, and of a certain amount of educational improvement — a large employer, in one of the provinces, was fined for employing a workman who had not the proper certificate of education. Nor is the system, except in its latest improvements, new. It is the growth of nearly one hundred years. The system of Normal schools, for the supply of teachers, without which no system of common schools can prosper, was introduced by Maria Theresa in 1771, and the generous encouragement of edu- cation has been a favorite policy of the enlightened mon- archs who have succeeded her, till public education has given, and will hereafter, in an increased degree, give to the Austrian empire productive industry, strength, and influ- ence, far beyond what she could ever have attained without it — a hundred fold above its cost. We sometimes hear of the despotic bigotry of Austria. As a nation she is intensely Eoman Catholic — her sovereigns have always been among the most devoted and faithful sons of that church, and perhaps we Protestants are. too willing to believe and apt to exaggerate, causes of complaint against Roman Catholics, and as Republicans too ready to look upon RELIGION IN THE SCHOOLS. 325 despotic power as necessarily all evil. But one cannot travel through her great dominions without seeing, every- where, the evidences of an enlightened government, securing the happiness and prosperity of the people — which is the true end of government. I have now travelled seven hun- dred miles under the protection of her black eagle, subject to her strongest police, and under her rigid passport system, without an annoyance — seeing everywhere prosperity, and contentment, and attachment, to their institutions — every- where religious toleration. Of course there is no religious equality, for that is quite impossible with an established religion — but Protestant places of worship are open and fully protected. There is a Protestant Theological Seminary in Vienna, of some fifty students. There is a Normal School for Jewish teachers in Prague, supported by the govern- ment. The religion of every child is respected in the public schools, and he receives in the school, or in connection with the school, religious instruction from teachers of his own faith, while in secular studies the Catholic and Protestant are educated together. Under an absolute government, and the system of indirect compulsion to which I have alluded, this is managed without difficulty. And with religion and learning, taught systematically and thoroughly in the com- mon schools, by religious and secular teachers, appointed and supported by the government, and under its supervision and control, through its public officers, who can fail to see that the people will grow up, generation after generation, thoroughly grounded in the existing state of things, and in obedience and in attachment to the government. What a lofty, reliant, and human policy it is, thus to strengthen a government by a people universally intelligent, religious and industrious, knit together by an attachment to the throne, inculcated as school instruction, from infancy to manhood. What shall Ave say, then, of ourselves 1 ? If universal 326 SOCIAL MORALS. public education can fortify and make acceptable to people, the systems of arbitrary power in church and state, which exist in Europe, what then can it not do for us 1 And how, with one accord, every State of the American Union should fortify itself with systems of public schools, against which the enemies of Freedom can never prevail ! Austria is tasting now but the first fruits of her educational policy. One hundred years ago, Maria Theresa began the great educational reform in her dominions, by a thorough revolution in the University of Vienna — and when, a few years later, in the Convent School of St. Stephen's, was begun the imperfect and experimental Normal School for improving and multiplying the class of teachers, even the hopeful Empress could hardly have foreseen half the results which the century has produced, much less those which the lapse of three generations more shall produce. Those who labor for the reform of national habits and customs, always seem to hope against hope, for although the force of habit, as a positive and active force, is entirely overlooked and ig- nored in the plausible fallacies of political economy, it is still altogether the most powerful resistance ever encountered in measures of national improvement and reform — and hence such measures at first move slowly, and it is not until, by the lapse of generations, the force of old habits is overcome, that the hopes of progress are fully realized. Another hundred years and what will not the Austrian Empire become by the mere force of education operating directly upon the people, and indirectly upon the government ! I am not ignorant that Austria is a despotism in church and state, nor that the state of morals among her people is in many respects deplorable, in some almost hopeless. Sexual licen- tiousness, the most degrading of popular vices, the most pernicious in its effects upon society, and the most difficult to arrest, is a bold, widespread, and dreadful evil among the SUNDAY. 327 Austrian people. About half the children born in Austria — in Vienna, and some of the other large cities, more than half — are born out of wedlock. Difficult and slow of cure such an evil always is, and much more so where a standing army of soldiers in the state, and of monks and priests in the church, are compelled to celibacy, and the confessional and priestly absolution, and foundling hospitals, and lying-in asylums, with arrangements of the most pernicious secrecy, are in existence, still, I cannot help thinking, that education will help to cure it. The same government that so wisely seeks to introduce universal education to strengthen its hold upon the attachment of the people, will one day see that interest and duty unite in teaching, theoretically and practi- cally, that the strongest bonds of union and strength in a nation are the lawful ties of family and kindred, the sacred unity of the domestic circle, and the protected and favored " Sacred lowe of weel-placed love " and its legitimate and enduring mutuality. When the Austrian monarchs shall feel this conviction then reform may be certain and rapid. We spent a Sunday at Vienna and were very agreeably surprised to see business suspended — the shops closed and the day made a day of quiet and rest apparently — probably more a day of relaxation than of religious abstaining from labor. Though business was still and the noise of traffic hushed, the good wives, sitting in their doors and vesti- bules, were knitting with great industry. We attended High Mass at the Cathedral — St. Stephen's — a cardinal officiating. The church was by no means crowded, and the ceremonies were such as are usual on such occasions — diversified only by the greater richness of the vestments and the more stately pomp of the ceremony. We lingered to take a better view of the interior of the church, and were well repaid. Notwithstanding our recent look at the churches of Rome, and Florence, and Venice, this ex-* 328 THE CATHEDRAL. cited our admiration in the highest degree, as one of the most mngnificent specimens of the richest Gothic — worthy in its architecture and in all its appointments to be the cathe- dral church of so proud and so wealthy a city — the capital and residence of so faithful sons of the Roman Catholic Church as the haughty and absolute Hapsburgs. It is five hundred to seven hundred years old, is three hundred and fifty feet long and two hundred and twenty feet wide. Its tower is an object of wonderful beauty, rising four hundred and sixty-five feet, regularly tapering from its base to its top, and all the way on all sides wrought with the most beautiful style of Gothic ornamentation. Within the church a dim religious light reveals a corresponding richness in precious stones and burnished silver which is exceedingly imposing. It contains some ostentatious monuments of royal and noble personages. That of Frederic III. has sculptured upon it two hundred and forty figures and forty coats-of-arms and a motto, " To Austria belongs the empire of the world." In that beautiful tower is a look-out which commands the surrounding approaches to the city for a great distance. Here the brave Governor Stahremberg placed himself to re- connoitre the Turkish besiegers, in the last great siege of the Turks, under Cara Mustapha, made two hundred years ago — and here, on the sixtieth day of the siege, he saw in the distance, the waving banners of Christian Poland coming to his relief, while all Europe besides, looked tamely on, and not a sabre was drawn, as on the spires of a famished Christian capital the Crescent was apparently to take the place of the Cross. Sobieski halted his legions for a brief repose, and from the heights looked down upon the parallels and strategy of the Turk with a smile, and exclaimed — " We shall beat him — oh, how we shall beat him !" The 14th of July, two hundred thousand Turks — in MARIAZErX. 329 the form of a crescent — had taken a position about the city, and Mustapba had issued his proclamation of peace and pro- tection to those who would submit — "but in case you re- sist," said he, "and oblige us to take the city by force, we shall spare no one — and furthermore, we swear, by the Creator of heaven and earth, we will put all to the sword — we will take your property, and we will carry into captivity your wives and children!" The city, with only thirteen thousand defenders, held out against hope. On the 12th of September, Sobieski, with sixty-nine thousand half-naked Poles, swept down upon the gorgeous camp and the magnificent columns of the two hun- dred thousand turbaned Turks, and at half- past seven in the evening, they were scattered and flying, and he was at ease in the tent of Mustapba, and master of his million of trea- sure. The principal bell of St. Stephen's — which weighs three hundred and fifty-seven hundred-weight — was cast from one hundred and eighty cannon taken from the Turks. The bodies of the imperial family are buried in the Ca- puchin Church, their hearts in the Church of the Augustines, and their bowels in the Cathedral — St. Stephen's. What a strange custom ! Maria Theresa went every Friday for thirteen years, to weep beside the consecrated and heartless remains of her dead husband in the vault of the Capuchin Church, instead of by the urn containing his heart in the Church of the Augustines. I could not wait to see the great pilgrimage to Mariazell, which would move on its way in less than a week, and which I should have been glad to see, as one of the charac- teristics of the Christian civilization and intelligence of Eu- rope. But what is Mariazell and its pilgrimage ? I gave you some account of the holy house of Loretto, its image of the Virgin sculptured by St. Luke, its crowds of worshippers, and its costly gifts — and of the Madonna de San Luca, and 330 PILGRIMS TO MARIAZELL. its dingy portrait of the same queen of the Catholic heaven, painted by the same versatile apostle, approached through a portico three miles long at Bologna. Mariazell is a similar object of adoration in the heart of Austria. Away down among the mountains of Styria, in the sharp and angular fastnesses of the Styrian Alps, some seven hundred years ago, tradition says, a solitary and devoted priest built him- self a cell, where he might minister his sacred offices to the rude mountaineers and ignorant peasants of the valleys of that wild region. He found in the fields a little image of the Virgin with her Divine infant, carved in wood, all as black as ebony. Consecrated according to the rites of his religion and very sacred and holy, he placed it in his cell for his own devotion and those of his more ignorant parishion- ers. In process of time it wrought miracles upon those who came there to worship — and rapidly the fame of Mariazell — Mary-in-the-cell — was spread throughout Germany, and all classes of the faithful thronged to her rustic temple — and noble and royal persons vied with each other in the honors Ihey paid to it, till now the finest church in all Styria em- braces within its walls, beneath its sacred arches, the little stone chapel which royal gratitude, for a miraclous cure, and royal devotion, built over the original cell. It is still the scene of many a miracle — and votive gifts and offerings of immense value from imperial, royal, and noble personages, and others, have been poured out in rich profusion at the shrine of the "Black Virgin, "and still load its treasury. A place and im- age so sacred have been the resort of multitudes of pilgrims all along for hundreds of years. Now, between May and Sep- tember annually, some seventy-live to a hundred different com- panies of pilgrims, amounting, some years, it is said, to one hundred thousand, resort to Mariazell from various parts of Austria. There are only a few houses — some nine hundred inhabitants, in a, wild and dreary wildnerness. I did not ADORING THE IMAGE. 331 get any very distinct idea of the order of the pilgrimages. It is somehow regulated by the government, so that all may not go at once. These pilgrims in their turn climb up the rock and enter the church in pairs, male and female together, and on their knees, upon the floor shuffle along " with the sun" around the little old chapel which contains the sacred image, Mary-in -the- cell. As it is quite impossible for one tenth of them to find anything like even sleeping accommodations with the inhab- itants of the village, they herd together — both sexes — in the neighboring woods, and make the night vocal with their mis- cellaneous songs and revelry, not always religious nor always bacchanalian, but always noisy and joyful in their Gothic harmonies, notwithstanding their privations. Those who have been there speak of the beauty of the evening scene. At the sound of the vesper bell, there is perfect silence — each one uncovers his head and says the appointed prayer, then suddenly from the midst of this silence rings out the wild and harmonious chant of all the pilgrims, which sometimes breaks up into responsive singing — one company responding to another like sublime reverberating echoes, in those primitive scenes. Years ago — when the two great pilgrimages from Gratz and Vienna usually came there together — it is said severe fighting between those rival bodies of saints, diversified the scenes till the government directed the Vienna pilgrims to come on the 2d of July, and those from Gratz on the 12th of August, to prevent the scandalous scenes which disgraced the sacred locality when they met there. It is some seventy or eighty miles from Vienna. These processions move in organized columns or files, in detachments headed by men bearing ban- ners of the cross. The men are dressed in a peasant's dress, with broad straw hats, and the women in their best apparel, white linen caps and laces, in their usual costume 332 VOTIVE OFFERINGS. — and the music to which they march is now some gentle and soothing melody, and now some more powerful and stirring harmony, that in unity and variety, forms one swell- ing strain, to which these tramping bands keep time, in their march over hill and dale. The sovereigns of Austria have always been among the most zealous devotees of the shrine of Mariazell, and have left there the most costly offerings. This was especially true of her greatest monarch, Maria Theresa. In 1741 she made to this holy image a present of sixteen pounds two ounces and a half — weight — of silver as an offering of grat- itude for being safely delivered of a son of precisely that weight. She thought him worth his weight in silver at least. I have thus jotted down a notice of another of these larger and more striking local superstitions which are parasites of the Roman Catholic religion. Everywhere, where that church has grown up through the lapse of many centuries, these almost includible fables have easily — in a dark age — fastened upon her, or rather sprung from her. Did I not pick up in every country of Catholic Europe some striking representative legend of the same great family, planted in the midst of intelligence — patronized by the rich, protected by the government, sanctified by the priesthood, and appar- ently believed in by all — I might, perhaps, be open to the allegation that I had mistaken a characteristic of a local peo- ple or province, for a trait of religion. To show their universality, I record them everywhere, and I call them par- asites of that religion, because they are no necessary part of it, and yet strike their roots into it, and draw their support from its vitals. Will they do so in our country, and flour- ish with the same exuberant and perennial growth in the midst of free thought, universal education, religious equality, and no sacerdotal secular power ? I think not — I think that WAGRAM- 666 church is to be spread in our country more by whatever it has of reasonableness, simplicity, and intelligibility, than by the traditional absurdities which hang about it in Europe. Leaving Vienna for Prague, the train passes over the bloody battle-field of Wagram, where — in the first days of July. 1809 — Napoleon, with Bernadotte, Davoust, Massena, Marmont, Oudinot, and Vandamme, and one hundred and eighty thousand troops, fought the Archduke Charles with half as great a force and defeated him after a loss of twenty- seven thousand killed and wounded on each side, which practically ended his war with Austria. In a few short months he repudiated Josephine, and married Maria Louisa. He yielded himself up a willing sacrifice to the legitimacy which had been the enemy of his power and glory, and over which he had triumphed in every victory. He threw away the opportunity and the power of building up, fortifying, per- petuating, and glorifying during his whole life a Napoleonic France — an empire such as the world had never looked upon — and leaving it to that France to choose his successor. When we think of what Napoleon might have been, and might have done — and what he did, and how he dragged out his last years, a poor and desolate prisoner, his own heart corroded and wasting by disappointment and repining, we cannot help thinking that — " In these cases We still have, judgment here." After passing Brunn, the thriving manufacturing town — which is the capital of Moravia — we soon rose to the summit level of this part of Europe, where the streams take a northerly direction, and our journey lay for a while along the valley of the Elbe, which rising in these highlands keeps on its way to the North sea. The valley is a plain of im mense extent, and of beautiful cultivation, and of great fer- 334 OUT-DOOR WORK OF "WOMEN. tility, and seemed to be divided among a few large landed proprietors, who here and there at a distance of a mile or so apart,- seemed to be living in a sort of manorial style, with their retainers or dependents clustered about them in humble peasant cottages, giving to the whole scene the appearances of small villages scattered all over the great plain. All the hardest of the out-door work is done by women, who seemed to far outnumber the men. We saw few men and fewer cattle, while the fields and roads swarmed with labor- ing women, young and old. They were spreading manure in the fields — was a house being erected, it was women who carried the hod of brick and mortar, while the mechanic laid the walls — men sometimes loaded the wheel-barrows with heavy stones, but it was women that wheeled the stag- gering load to its destination — they receive almost no wages, and the coarsest fare — four or five cents a day, and an allowance of coarse fish and black bread enough to sustain life and position in a class from which there is no hope of dlmttx % iMttig-first. BOHEMIA — PRAGUE. PRAGUE, like so many of these old towns, has an early history, in which it is quite impossible to discover the line which separates fact from fable. More than a thousand years ago, says tradition and legend, Libussa, an Amazon- ian heroine, who united in her person the character of soldier and priestess, selected this place for the beginning of an em- pire. She cut away the forest and established her residence on a rocky precipice, which she fortified. Sensual and ca- pricious, she selected her lovers from among her followers and dependants. She soon tired of them, and as soon as her fancy changed, she caused the discarded favorite to be thrown from the rocky height of her castle to the rocky base below, and immediately installed a new candidate in her favor. The rocky base goes even now by the name of Li- bussa's bed. Finally her fancy chose a young peasant, after- ward called Premislas, who knew how to fasten her affec- tions and curb her wandering fancies. He made himself her master, as well by the skilful management of her affec- tions as*by the force of his will — and in her name and os- 336 PRAGUE. tensibly by her, he laid out the beginning of Prague on the rocky height?, which now form part of it — and she in his presence, surrounded by the subordinate leaders of her peo- ple, in the double character of Queen and Priestess, with sybilline frenzy and stirring eloquence, prophesied the fu- ture greatness, fame and glory of the infant city, which she then called by its present name Prag, said to be significant of its position and rocky grades. She and Premislas devot- ed their united energies to establishing and extending their power — and from them were descended the early line of the Dukes of Bohemia, whose capital was Prague. They are said to have built first the Hradschin, the roy- al palaces, and the Kleinseite, which lies about the foot of the Hradschin. Next was built or began what was then called the New Town, on the other side of the river, and which now is known as the Old Town, and embraces the Jews' town or Jews' quarter, occupied by some eight thousand Israelites. Subsequently has been added the modern new town, the whole forming a city of about one hundred and twenty thou- sand people, and ten or twelve miles in circumference. It contains about three thousand six hundred houses, and sixty places of worship besides nunneries and monasteries. It is in latitude 50° — three degrees farther north than Quebec, and yet enjoys a tolerably mild climate, though said to be subject to sudden changes. It was exceedingly agreeable and pleasant while we were there. The Hradschin is the royal quarter of the city — stretching along the brow of a high hill. It is the palace, and the towers, and the prisons, and the cathedral, and the other institutions of the sover- eignty of Bohemia, now absorbed in the Austrian empire. The Kleinseite, lying on the bank of the river at the foot of the palace hill, is the residence of the higher nobility. These are on the left bank of the river. On the right bank are the old town, the quaint old home of the people, the*priests, THE BRIDGE OF PRAGUE. 337 the men of letters and the burghers, embracing the Jews- quarter — and about it is spread out the new town, bright, airy, modern and thrifty, with its commerce and manufac- tures, its railroad depots and useful activity. Prague — Praga — proud, venerable, old Prague, the capital of Bohemia, is one of the most interesting capitals of Eu- rope. Although united to Austria, and no longer an inde- pendent sovereignty, one cannot help looking at it as still the capital so famous for near a thousand years, and as the scene of events, political, religious, and literary, so stirring and wonderful. It rises in irregular and rocky heights from both sides of the Moldau, which are covered by the finest buildings of the city, and are connected by a massive stone- bridge seventeen hundred and ninety feet long and thirty- five feet wide, consisting of sixteen arches. This bridge is a striking object, but more for its solidity and strength than for its beauty. From it, in various directions, the eye takes in Prague and its environs ; and standing on its side-walks you have but to ask the history and meaning of the strange objects which seem to cluster about you, and stories of ro- mantic and legendary lore, of history and fable and fiction might while away the livelong day. Its history suggests the history of Prague and subjects for a library of romances — for Prague has a history which, written with the pen of a mas- ter, should be as attractive and as spirit-stirring, without de- parting from the sober truth, as any great chapter of the story of the world. On its towers are inscriptions and bla- zonry which declare the past glories of Bohemia. The de- fence of the bridge of Garigliano against two hundred Span- ish cavalry by the chevalier Bayard alone, does not equal the valor and civic devotion of the great Jesuit, George Pla- chy, who, when the bridge was about to be crossed by two thousand five hundred Swedes, victorious thus far, rushed out of the college, and with three soldiers and a handful of 16 338 THE COLUMN OF BRUNSLIK. students and the port-cullis, which he instantly let fall, de- fended the bridge and saved the town. The bridge is surmounted by statues in great numbers, each of which had its history and traditions — and there are also inscriptions, historical and religious. The statues ar% almost one hundred and fifty years old, and some of them have considerable merit as works of art. They are the sub- ject of a folio, published in 1714, entitled Statuce Pontis Pra- gensis. The river sweeps through the town in the form of a crescent, which, while it leaves in sight from the bridge all the islands, brings into the panorama most interesting views on both banks. It is not without a show of truth at least, that the citizens of Prague insist that, seen from the bridge, especially, it is unequalled by any city in Europe. Had Bo- hemia maintained her separate independence, and preserved a throne and a court, whose royal memories and national glories had centred in Prague, and fertilized it by regal munificence and courtly splendors, it must have been with- out a parallel. Besides ' ' The Bridge," there is a suspension bridge, and numerous ferries. An old saying it is, that you cannot cross the bridge with- out meeting a priest, a student, and a Jew — priests and stu- dents and Jews having been in all periods remarkable char- acteristics of Prague. In the immediate vicinity of the bridge are the university, the theological seminaries, the great churches, and the great quarter of the Jews. With them and the bridge and its sights and sculptures and in- scriptions, ai*e connected all that there is or has been of Prague. There is built into one of the piers of this bridge a trun- cated statue, with its base, representing in the sculpture of the middle ages, an armed figure and a lion with other acces- sories. The statue was broken off by a cannon shot of the Swedes in 1648. This is the statue or column of Brunslik. ST. JOHN NEPOMUK. 839 Brunslik was an early and warlike King of Bohemia. He was always accompanied by a tamed and affectionate lion who followed his steps, and watched and defended his person like a watch dosr. Brunslik had also a wonderful falchion which, when he extended his arm and commanded the sword to strike, would strike, of itself, blows that would cleave his enemies in two. Notwithstanding such defences, the chan- ces of war drove him from his kingdom, and he wandered through foreign parts, always finding protection and safety in his faithful lion and his mysterious scimetar. His lion died and he cast his magical sword into the Moldau, by the bridge near where this column is now seen. After this, from time to time that scimetar rises to the surface, but sud- denly disappears, and all attempts to find it have been un- availing, though there is some prophecy about its being ulti- mately found. The two most interesting of these monuments on the bridge, are the huge statues of St. John Nepomuk and the bronze cru- cifix with stars. They have always had a way of their own of settling difficult personal questions in Prague, which has been resorted to so often that it is called the " Bohemian fash- ion " — it is to pitch your adversary out of the window, or off a precipice or a bridge — a kind of quickstep, extempore, Tarpeian end to controversy — perhaps derived from the mode in which Libussa disposed of her lovers. A little less than five hundred years ago, King Wenceslaus had, or fan- cied he had, some reason to doubt his young and beautiful queen, and so, as a short way to learn the truth, he sent for John Nepomuk, her confessor, and ordered him to reveal the secrets of the confessional. The priest, of course, at first remonstrated with his royal master against the sacrilegious demand, but the king was positive, prompt, and inexorable, and John as positively and inflexibly refused to be guilty of such an act of infamy and treachery, and so the Lord's 340 THE ANNUAL FESTIVAL. anointed pitched the poor priest headlong off the bridge into the river. Tongues of flame were observed to stand and tremble over a spot in the river, and they remained there so long that the river was dragged to satisfy curiosity and fath- om the mystery, when the body of the murdered ecclesiastic was brought to the surface. In due time, hundreds of years afterward, a statue was raised to him on the bridge, and finally the present bronze statue, eight feet high, and weighing two thousand pounds, was cast at Nuremberg, and placed on the bridge, at the cost of seven thousand florins. He was canonized in 1726, and his annual festival is a curiosity even in Europe — so immense is the crowd of people from all parts who throng the bridge and its vicinity, to do honor to the saint on the spot of his singular martyrdom. A chapel enclosing the statue is erect- ed for the occasion on the bridge, the bridge is blocked up with people, carriages are forbidden to attempt to pass, and persons on foot almost peril their lives in mingling in the crowd. Eighty-four thousand pilgrims are said to have been there in one year, mass was said from the temporary chapel to this immense multitude — and twenty-four priests were constantly occupied, for I don't know how many days, in hearing confessions and administering the holy sacrament. St. John Nepomuk, is the patron Saint of bridges. In 1696 some Jews were charged with an insult to the Christian mass, and on conviction were mulcted in heavy penalties. The money was invested in a beautiful crucifix cast at Dresden and placed on the bridge. It is surmounted by five stars, representing those supernatural flames which stood on the water on the spot where the saint was thrown into the river. The Jews are thus, by one of the most conspicuous monu- ments on this remarkable bridge, reminded of their humilia- tion. It is but a step from the bridge to the Jews-quarter, THE JEWS-QUARTER. 341 and as the proverb says, you will always meet them on the bridge. I understand there is not in Europe a more venerable and interesting Jews-quarter than in Prague. There is no pos- sibility, I believe, of fixing the date of the settlement of the Jews here. The oldest chronicles, and the earliest tradi- tions speak of them. The Jews-town is part of the old town. Its thirty-two streets are narrow and angular, and the two hundred and seventy-nine houses, high and of several stories — and a single house belongs in part to several owners. There is an average of more than thirty persons to one house. Indeed it is said that this ancient people are stran- gers to neatness wherever they are found in Europe. It is however, true, that when the cholera swept so fatally over Europe, in Prague the Jews-quarter suffered less than the more open, airy, and neater portion of the city. They live longer also, and are more prolific. It was one of the characteristic reforms of Joseph II., that first secured to this peaceable and thrifty but persecuted peo- ple, a considerable relaxation of their restraints, and relief from the oppressions which before his reign bore so heavily upon them. It was a common accusation against them that they insulted the Host in its processions, and such charges were the signal for terribly extortionate fines, — sometimes murderous slaughters well nigh exterminated these defence- less and patient citizens, whose principal characteristics are peaceable long-suffering, patient and persistent minding of their own business, and conscientious and consistent but fearless worship of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, after the manner of their fathers. There is no dark- er stain on the character of Christian nations than their treatment of the Jews, and nowhere was that treatment more cruel than in this city. This may, in part, be attrib- uted to the fact that here is the oldest Synagogue in Eu- 342 THE ANCIENT SYNAGOGUE. rope, — here they have their own city-hall, where the Elders of Israel transact their peculiar business — here they follow more strictly than elsewhere the customs of their ancient re- ligion and polity, and here, of course, they are almost en- tirely a city of themselves. They have nine large ana 1 twelve smaller synagogues, a hospital, an orphan asylum, charity schools, and the most unique and interesting ceme- tery, whose antiquity is unfathomable. There is a Jewish brotherhood for the care of the sick. The oldest synagogue of all looks within and without as though it might be as, they say it is, one thousand years old, — old Methusela, who showed it to us, said thirteen hundred years old. I should not think it had been swept or dusted in as many years as that. The dust and filth are in situ, evidently antedating the soap period, and you would no more expect to find the remains of a brush or a broom in its alluvion than you would a set of sculptor's tools imbedded in primitive granite. It is a small Gothic building, with narrow windows, giving hardly light enough to see to read its parchment-books of Moses, six hundred years old ! Its heavy gold embroidered draperies, " a golden bell and a pomegranate," are eleven hundred years old ! They have a flag presented by Charles TV. , five hundred years ago. The women's apartment is entirely shut out from the men's, and is much meaner and shabbier. There are only small crevices for windows, through which they hear the prayers and music, and join in the singing, but can neither see nor be seen. The Jews have their traditions and relics and fabulous tales, and if we un- believers doubt some of these high numbers of years, we cannot doubt the very great antiquity of this venerable little sanctuary, and its internal appointments and ornaments. It is an object of great attraction to a most reasonable curiosi- ty. It is certainly the oldest building I have ever seen, kept up and still used for the purpose for which it was built. It is now used only, on occasions of extraordinary solemnity. THE JEWS. 343 In old times the Jews were confined to their quarters — now the wealthy Hebrews often reside in fashionable houses in the fine streets of the town. Here, as well as everywhere else, the prejudices and severities which have oppressed them are much relaxed, and we may reasonably expect, before long, to see them raised to the level of equality with other races and religions. How extraordinary are those preju- dices and severities. There are, say, six millions of Jews in the world, descended from the remnants of the most cele- brated nation ever known — scattered in large bodies through- out all the nations — everywhere maintaining their exclusive Abrahamic pedigree, and their peculiar religion, and under no matter what disabilities, and what oppressions, yet never, for nearly two thousand years, making any effort to come together and reconstruct a national existence. With a religion, which is the divine foundation of all true religion — its ecclesiastical ceremonies and appointments, prescribed in detail by God himself, in the midst of the sub- limities of Sinai — with a literature of poems and songs, and tales and histories, older by hundreds of years than Homer and Hesiod, and Herodotus and Thucydides, and superior to them all, and always preserved and cherished in all its purity and power, in all their dispersions — in every sense a great race, yet always despised and trodden under foot by the nations to which, at the same time, they were furnishing councillors and ministers of state, and money lenders, and the divinely inspired books of their religion. "We wonder at the prejudices which pursue them everywhere, and we wonder still more at their own prejudices, which cause them to disbelieve the prophecies, while they profess to believe the prophets, and at the blindness which shuts their eyes to the prophecies in which they have the deepest interest, and of which their own condition is, in Christian judgment, the most striking fulfilment. Here, as elsewhere, they have proved their sincerity and their faith. 344 THE TEIN CnURCH. In the Tein Church — which is near the Jews' -quarter — among other monuments is one of Simon Abel, a Jewish martyr, of twelve years of age, sacrificed by his father for having become a Christian. The Tein Church is a celebrated church. Its early his- tory is connected with the introduction of Christianity into Bohemia. It has passed from one side to the other of the great religious strifes which have distracted the country, and its distinguished dead have been torn from their graves and burned, and their ashes scattered. It has good pictures, and sculptures, and many monuments. Tycho Brahe, the great Dane, was buried here in 1601, and over his tomb is written his own motto — Esse potius quam haberi — "Let me be reputed only what I am." In this church, the Utraquists worshipped in the days of their prosperity, and two of their bishops were buried here. After the battle of 1621, in which Protestantism wa3 prostrated here for the time, the vengeance of Ferdinand was pacified by the exe- cution of nobles and high officers, and councillors and in- ferior persons without number, and their heads that con- ceived and their hands that wrought the opposition to him, were stuck upon the gate-towers of the bridge. A subse- quent triumph of the Protestants took down their bleaching bones and buried them in the Tein Church. The Clementine College, and the University, are not far from the bridge in the old town. The Clementine College is the Arch-Episcopal Theological Seminary. The Univer- sity is the oldest in Germany, having been established in 1348, and it was at one period the largest in the world. Its fame, and its privileges, attracted students from all parts of the civilized world in immense numbers, which, for con- venience, were divided into four classes, the Bohemians, the Bavarians, the Poles, and the Saxons — each of which classes embraced the students of several other nations. The whole THE UNIVEKSITY. 345 number at this time is said to have amounted to the almost incredible total of forty thousand. At the hours of depart- ing from the lectures, they swept through the streets of the city like a pursuing army, so that finally they rang a hell a quarter of an hour before, to give notice to the inhabitants of the coming rush, that they might leave the streets free. In the days of the power and influence of Huss, the students from other nations so greatly outnumbered the Bohemians, that he thought that the natives had not their appropriate influence, so he adopted measures by which Bohemians were to rule Bohemia — at least so far as the University was con- cerned. By the law of its organization, each nation was io have an equal vote, and his discriminations against foreign- ers were so unacceptable, that twenty-five thousand (?) stu- dents seceded in one week, and several of the more celebrated European universities are said to have sprung from this dispersion. It left, however, the University of Prague under the influence of Huss, who was its rector, and made it the school of opinions so powerfully taught by himself and Jerome, and which were maintained there, and made it the headquarters of protestantism — the radiating point of the Utraquist sect for a long period of the Hussite con- flicts. The scenes of tumult, and strife, and hlood, which disturbed and disgraced that part of Europe, could not fail to bring, to the corridors and lecture-rooms of the university, the agitation and disorder of the tide, which ebbed and flowed without, as the one party or the other seemed about to triumph. Finally, the battle of the White Hill decided the question in favor of the Roman Catholics, and abolished the Protestant faith in the university. Two hundred years have wrought a great change. The Archbishop of Prague is still Chancellor and Protector of the University, but the measures of Maria Theresa, and her son Joseph n., have so greatly improved Austrian education, that the universities, 15* 346 HRADSCHIN. as well as colleges, for Lutherans, Calvinists, Unitarians, and Jews, furnish reasonable advantages of education to the nonconforming sects. We went through the royal palace of the Hradschin, and found it more imperial and magnificent than anything we have yet seen. In style and air, in position and out-look — in its artificial as well as in its natural surroundings, it seems almost the beau ideal of a royal residence. It is said to contain four hundred and forty apartments. There are connected with it the towers and dungeons of mediaeval tyranny and cruelty — the white, or round tower, in which criminals were thrown and starved to death — the square, or black tower, where criminals, after having been tortured, were, without trial, forced into the embrace of the iron girl — an image in the dress and appearance of an agreeable maid, which, as soon as touched, threw out arms and clasped the victim to a bloody death upon the sharp spikes which bristled beneath its dress — and the tower of the Daliborka, in whose two dungeons above ground the sun never shines, and whose walls are furnished with only chains, and bars, and ring-bolts. The trap door, raised by a pulley at the ceiling, is the only ingress — there was no egress except to die — to a subterranean dungeon ninety feet deep, to the bottom of which the criminal Avas lowered by a rope. It takes its name from Dalibor, a knight who was immured there and was allowed to take with him his violin. It was his only resource and amusement. An accomplished performer, when he entered that dreadful pit, his soul was soon wrap- ped up in the instrument, and what strains, says tradition, sent their floating echoes from that dungeon depth ! His constant and solitary practice seemed to give a divine power to his violin to discourse in heavenly harmonies. We stood beside two stone monuments just under the palace walls, which proved to be landmarks of the spot CHURCH OF ST. VITUS. 347 where, in 1618, two of the high nobility who were members of the imperial council, and were supposed to have advised certain unpopular decrees of their imperial master, fell, when tossed by the assembled nobility, out of the palace window, thirty feet high. Falling on a dunghill they were not killed. This indignity and the causes of it were the beginning of the thirty years' war. The palace chapel is a beautiful Gothic church with a gem of a statue — St. George and the Dragon — in the court. We were very much interested in the Chapter, a nunnery for noble ladies. It is connected with the palace, and was established and endowed by Maria Theresa in 1755, as a re- ligious retreat for thirty ladies of quality not under twenty- four years of age. The unpretentious, modest style, and aristocratic humility of all its appointments, were in the highest taste. In the immediate vicinity of the Hradschin are the grand palaces of some of the highest nobility, and there are museums, and galleries, and libraries which — if one were to spend a week in Prague — would repay a visit, as we were informed, but we had no time to devote to them, and after our visit to the Cathedral we left the Hradschin. The Cathedral or Church of St. Voit, St. Veit— English, St. Vitus — is more than five hundred years old, and is remark- able for many objects of interest besides its monuments. It is the Westminster Abbey of Bohemia. It has its various chapels — ten of them — each of which has its peculiarities, and its numerous monuments. The chapel of St. Wenceslas is thickly set with the precious stones of Bohemia, ame- thysts, chrysoprases, jaspers, &c. The statue of the saint himself was cast by Vischer of Nuremburg from cannon taken from the Hussites. The armor which he wore in battle is there, and the strong and heavy ring, with a lion's head, like an immense old fashioned knocker, to which he cluna; to 348 TOMB OF ST. JOHN NEPOMUK. save himself from the fury of his murderous brother, more than nine hundred years ago, is fastened in the wall for all that choose to handle. The Martin itz family has a chapel. The hero of the family was one of the ministers of state who were tossed out of the window by the nobles. The family of Count Wald- stein have a chapel also, where the counts of the last two hundred years are buried. There is the tomb of St. John Nepomuk, all of silver. The weight of silver is three thou- sand and seven hundred pounds. The body of the saint, taken up after three hundred and thirty-six years, reposes in a coffin of solid silver. It is covered by a baldaquin, supported at the four corners by angels, also of solid silver. Silver candelabra stand by it, and the hanging lamps which light it, are all of silver. The whole constitutes a very striking monument — one of the most remarkable in Europe. The tongue of the saint which would not reveal the queen's confession, is kept in a cut glass vase, and is now as fresh as it was three hundred years ago ! The shrine of this saint is one of the richest and most showy in the world. About it are also some very interesting monumental sculp- tures, and the tombs of many royal and noble persons. In the middle of the church is the magnificent tomb of the kings of Bohemia, reared by Rudolph II., at an expense of thirty-two thousand ducats. It is of white Carrara marble. There are also on the high altar four figures — St. Wenceslas, St. Adalbert, St. Cyril, and St. Vitus, the patrons of Bohe- mia — in solid silver, weighing one thousand pounds. Here is the picture of St. Luke painting the holy Virgin. It cost three thousand ducats — about seven thousand dollars. The church is not only a temple of fame for the great Bohemian dead, but is quite an old curiosity shop besides. There is here a curious representation of the whole city of Prague, with the triumphant entry of Maximilian, all cut JOHN HUSS. 349 from one piece of wood — there is a model of the original tower of the church before its destruction by the great fire of 1541. There is a representation in sculpture of the sacking of this church in 1619, by Frederic. Its most val- uable relic of antiquity is a portion — a triangular foot — of a candelabrum, which, they say, was originally in the tem- ple of Solomon at Jerusalem, brought thence by Titus, taken to Milan by the Crusaders, and on a division of the plunder of Milan, seven hundred years ago, taken by the king of Bohemia and presented to this church. It is an exceedingly interesting relic, certainly of great antiquity, and of eastern origin, if not in reality what tradition says it is. The Ziskaberg — Ziska's hill — in the suburbs of the new town, suggests passages of history of the deepest interest. John Huss, the learned, the eloquent, the devout, and the fearless, was found f=o dangerous a champion of reformed opinions, that he was invited to defend his opinions before the Council of Constance. King Wenceslaus granted him a noble escort, the Empei'or Sigismund guarantied his safety and gave him letters of safe conduct, and, after he arrived at Con- stance, the Pope also promised him personal safety — but his arguments were too strong to be tolerated by the assembled delegates of the Church, and, notwithstanding all their guaranties, he was seized and finally burned at the stake, and his ashes were cast into the Rhine. The manner of his death — his saintly bearing and joyous pi'ayers, as the flames curled around him excited the admiration of his enemies. His friends at Prague were maddened to frenzy by the treachery and falsehood of the Emperor and the Pope, and the cowardly and bigoted tyranny of that immense Council, in which the Emperor, and twenty-six princes, and one hun- dred and forty counts, the Pope, and twenty cardinals, and more than six hundred other clerical dignitaries of the highest order, and four thousand priests, stooped to the 350 JEROME OF PRAGUE. meanness of murdering an exemplary, pure, and learned divine, who had presented himself before them on their in- vitation, trusting to their honor. Jerome of Prague, the associate of Huss, and greater than he, hearing of his imprisonment at Constance, in viola- tion of the pledges for his protection, was indignant, and hurried to give him the aid of his own greater learning and eloquence — but he was seized and carried in chains to Con- stance and thrown into prison. Worn down with sickness and confinement, in a moment of weakness, he consented to recant the heresies alleged against him and Huss. He was, however, kept in prison, and with returning health, his soul came back to him, and he repented and wept bitterly over his apostacy, as the greatest of all his sins. He declared that he was ashamed to live, and they consigned him to the flames. On his way to the stake he chanted the Apostles' creed and sacred songs, and prayed with a cheerful voice. Poggio, the Pope's secretary, who was present, says that Mutius Scccvola did not burn his arm with more firmness than Je- rome did his whole body, and that Socrates did not drink his hemlock with more cheerfulness than this martyr suffered the flames of the burning fagots. When the lictor went behind him to light the pile that he might not see it, " Come here," he said, " kindle your fire before my face — if I were afraid of it I should not be here to be burned." His ashes, too, were thrown into the Ehine to blot out his memory for- ever, but as long as the Rhine shall run to the sea, so long shall the earthly fame and the glory of these two great Chris- tian martyrs grow brighter to the eye and dearer to the hearts of those who love the Lord. There is in one of the libraries here a Hussite liturgy splendidly illuminated. On one of its pages, occur three striking and significant miniatures suggesting the sublimest of moral views. They are Wicklif striking a light — Huss THE UTRAQUISTS. 351 blowing it to a, flame — Luther holding the blazing torch. — Five hundred years ago, in what a darkness, Wicklif struck that light — it was forty years after his death that Huss, in the centre of learning and of civilization, blew that light into a living flame — one hundred and twenty years after he died at the stake, Luther waved that torch aloft, till all Europe was enlightened by its rays, and now, wherever has been heard the glad tidings of great joy to all people, there the torch of Luther sheds a light, in which the nations rejoice — for where it is held in the greatest abhorence, all but its ene- mies see that it modifies and meliorates that system of Chris- tianity with which it is in the most irreconcilable antag- onism. One of the alleged departures of the Roman Catholic Church from the commands of the Master, and from the practice of the Apostles and primitive Christians, was the denying to the laity the use of the cup in the Holy Eu- charist. It required but a feeble eye directed to the Gospel, to see that the bread and the wine were alike offered to all by the Savior — indeed, of the wine especially, he said, " drink ye all." In Bohemia, the beginning of the reforma- tion turned upon this as a principal point, and the reformers took the name of Utraquists, from their insisting upon the communion in both kinds. On the death of Huss and Jerome, their multiplying friends — at Prague and in other portions of Bohemia — made no secret of their wrath, which was, however, restrained till private griefs called to the field — as their military leader — blind Ziska — then blind in only one eye. He was a noble Bohemian who had enjoyed life at court — had seen service under the Teutonic knights — had fought the Poles and the Turks, and had just returned from the English service at Agincourt, to learn that his sister, a nun, had been dishon- ored by a monk — and his sympathy with the Utraquists, and 352 ziska. their need of a leader, gave him an opportunity of revenge — not upon the guilty hypocrite who had wronged his sister, but upon those who held the same faith. He armed the people and led them. The first outbreak was caused by a Utraquist priest being struck by a stone*, while walking in a procession, when the people, set on by Ziska, surrounded and stormed the City Hall, and threw thirteen of the city magistrates out of the window upon the pikes of the soldiers. They rushed through the city, and in the fury of iconoclastic fanaticism, with fire and force, mutilated and destroyed churches, and altars, plate, and robes, and vestments, and sculptures, and paintings, and stained windows — whatever their adversaries held sacred. King Wenceslaus died of fright on the occasion, which gave the throne to his brother, the faithless Sigismund, the Em- peror who had been so treacherous to Huss. He soon be- gan to execute the Hussites. The blood of the Utraquists was now up, and Ziska swore he would never acknowledge Sigismund as King of Bohemia. The Emperor made his appearance at the head of thirty thousand troop?, to extinguish the little band of four thou- sand ill-armed and undisciplined troops, commanded by Ziska and entrenched on a hill bristling with stockades and barricaded by wagons — since called Ziska' s hill. The little garrison of these extemporaneous fortifications sustained re- peated assaults, and finally dashed down the hill and put to flight the army of seven times their number. He soon had arms and cavalry. He organized his desperate legion called the Invincible Brethren. His army swelled rapidly. His movements had the rapidity of magic. He won thirteen pitched battles, and more than a hundred lesser fights, and was never defeated. His cruelties were barbarous and bloody beyond parallel. The bigots of the Council of Constance who burned Huss and Jerome were gentle and HIS BLINDNESS. 353 merciful, compared with this bloody Utraquist soldier. The cries of those whom, without mercy, he sent to the burning fagots, he called the songs of his sister's bridal day. During his later years Ziska was stone blind, and he was carried on a car to the field of battle — but he was none the less the life and power of his army than before. It was a sublime exhibition of human power, as he sat on his car, in the presence of his army of forty thousand — nothing daunt- ed in the encounter of one hundred and fifty thousand — and as they brought him the state of the fight, from different por- tions of the field, he rolled his sightless eye-balls, as though he saw where to order his archers where to send his forlorn hope armed with that terrible Bohemian flail, heavy with knots and iron bands, and bristling with spikes, which no shield could withstand, .and no skill in fence could parry — and where the Invincible Brethren swept down upon the advancing foe, and scattered them like sheep. This wonder- ful general died of a sort of plague at the little town of Czaslau — and his spirit and that of his army may in some sort be judged by the fact that his followers — maddened by his death — stormed the town, burned it to ashes, and killed every one of its inhabitants. The Protestant religion became the religion of a large majority of the people of Bohemia, but after the battle of Prague, the House of Hapsburg visited upon the Protestant population a terrible retaliation of earlier Protestant barbari- ties. Executions, banishment, confiscation, and other oppressions, wielded by the hand of absolute power, estab- lished the Catholic religion, to the exclusion of all others, and forced ministers, and people, nobles, and knights, artists, manufacturers, and farmers, to the amount of near forty thousand families, of the most valuable classes of subjects, to flee their country, and to leave the Roman Catholics in quiet 354 THE CHUKCII MILITANT. possession — and only a few years later, the country was desolated and depleted by the thirty-years' war, to an extent almost unparalleled in the history of war. Under the reign of Maria Theresa it again rallied, and its mines are now productive, and its manufactories prosperous. The Bohe- mian glass is unequalled, and few travellers leave Prague without carrying with them specimens of its fabrics in glass, so curious and beautiful. Till the time of Maria Theresa, Bohemia seems to have been the centre of religious strifes and fanatical cruelties. Who was it — Madame Roland, I believe — that said, " Oh, liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name !" How easy to say, too, of our holy religion, what crimes are com- mitted in her name ! What wars and battles, massacres, and blood, in the name of the Prince of Peace. "My kingdom is not of this world," said the Master — " if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight." How it would look to see the rival hosts of Christians, glitter- ing in armor to establish their faith — defying each other a Voutrance — fighting and giving no quarter for a question in the catechism — and as the volleys rattled along the lines, and the cannon boomed over the field, and the bayonets dripped with blood, to see the banners that waved over them all, inscribed with the Beatitudes ! But wars and fightings, with their blood and crimes, are not more opposed to the spirit of true religion, than the fagots and the stake of persecution — the dungeons and the tortures of the Inquisi- tion, and the terrors of the holy office — not more than the intolerance and sectarian cxclusiveness and hostility of our own times, and of some of our own Protestant champions of the right of private judgment, free thought, and universal investigation. Substitute for the ruin and desolations of fanaticism the productiveness of peace on earth and good will to men — and how different would be the condition, not only of Bohemia, but of the human race. PRAGUE TO DRESDEN. 355 Leaving Prague, we descended the Moldau till it empties into the Elbe, and then the Elbe to Dresden — a distance of one hundred and twenty-eight miles, diversified by much that is sti iking in its novelty as well as its beauty. The rocky and pent-up banks of the Moldau — the magnificent plain into which they subside, like an amphitheatre, and which they seem to encircle like a breastwork — then coming near to the river again, almost shutting it in — and then sweep- ing out into another plain — then this plain breaking up into hillocks and peaks — some surmounted with castles — in the distance one peak apparently fifteen hundred to two thousand feet in height — cultivated to the top — the only ob- ject on its top a cross one hundred feet high, visible to all the country round, and all this country finely cultivated — these can only be hinted at without any attempt at descrip- tion. I noticed, on that journey, what seemed to me a case of what I should call architectural development. Somewhere about midway between the two capitals, a humble popula- tion seemed to predominate, dwelling in cottages of the most simple and rustic character, with roofs often thatched and always steep. Through these the light was admitted by little horizontal elliptical port-holes for windows, seeming to have been punched through the roof and then to have been pryed a little wider, and looking like eyes in the roof — two being the usual number. As we approached nearer to Dresden this rounded form gave place to two narrow panes of glass arranged horizontally. Soon four arranged in a square made their appearance, and at last a triangular top with a roof completed the regular dormer window of higher civilization, and more architectural perfection. So the trunk of the tree became a column — so the basket of acanthus be- came the Corinthian capital — so the arches of the interla- cing branches of the grove of lofty elms suggested the sharp 356 COLOKS OF THE HOUSES. Gothic arches, and the sounding aisles of the dim wood — God's first temples — were developed by art, and taste, and genius into the columns, and canopies, and groined vaults? and spacious aisles of the lofty cathedral. The houses of the middling sort are painted in two and sometimes more colors — red and white, and maroon and blue, &c, being used on different portions of the same build- ing. The frame timbers of the house are visible externally. The outside boards — the clap-boards or other siding — do not cross or cover the timbers, which are more numerous and light- er and differently arranged than they are with us — and the people seemed to be proud of the timbers, for they are osten- tatiously painted in some strong and striking color, quite different from the adjacent boards, so as to be visible at a considerable distance. We noticed in one locality, that not only the houses and out-houses, but the fences and bridges were painted and pied quite ostentatiously, in two of these colors, and by a sudden transition two other colors were quite as ostentatiously displayed, and on inquiring we were told that the line of transition was the boundary line between Austria and Saxony, and that the colors on the different sides of the line were respectively the national colors of those kingdoms. SAXONY DRESDEN LEIPSIC. The interesting and peculiar region known as the " Sax- on Switzerland," lies between the Bohemian frontier and Dresden, reaching to within eight or ten miles of that city. Our journey lay through it, along the valley of the Elbe, on both sides of which are cliffs of sandstone stretching in vari- ous directions, and of huge cyclopean, columnar structure — sometimes rising up like the wall of some immense castle — sometimes like a colonnade of lofty pillars — sometimes a bridge of this rock still unites two or more of these columns like a great entablature — sometimes a single column stands like a column of triumph. Often the appearance is that of a vast and wide-spread ruin of castles and towers — here a pyramid and there an inverted pyramid, and, strangely, two truncated pyramids seemed to stand with the truncated apex of the one, resting upon that of the other — now apparently a long wall of hewn stone and now another of hoary brick — and all of this the work of disintegration of the rocky cliffs — except that here and there a real castle or fortress, centuries old, mingles its real ruins with these imaginary ones, and is in singular keeping and harmony with them. 358 SAXON SWITZERLAND. The Elbe is here navigable, and the river, with little double-headed sailcraft fifty to seventy-five feet long, and eight to ten wide, most agreeably diversifies this singular view, which reaches some thirty to forty miles. A large portion of the Saxon Switzerland is inaccessible except dh foot, and we therefore contented ourselves with what was visible from the higher points of our route. Perhaps the most interesting portion — certainly the most interesting of what we saw — was the Bastei or Bastian, which rises ab- ruptly from the Elbe. I shall copy from Murray a brief de- scription of a view which is obtained only by wearisome and dangerous climbing, that we would not undertake. " The Bastei, from which is obtained by far the finest views in the whole district, is the name given to one of the largest mas- ses of rock which rise close to the river, on the right bank. One narrow block on the very summit, projects into the air. Perched on this you can view a prospect which, in its kind, is unique in Europe. You hover on the pinnacle, at an ele- vation of more than six hundred feet above the Elbe, which sweeps around the bottom of the precipice. Behind, and up along the winding river, on the same bank, rise similar precipitous cliffs, cut and intersected, like those already de- scribed. From the farther bank the plain gradually ele- vates itself into a regular amphitheatre, terminated by a lofty but rounded range of mountains. The striking feature is, that, in the bottom of this amphitheatre — a plain of the most varied beauty — huge columnar hills start up at once from the ground, at a great distance from each other, over- looking in lonely and solemn grandeur, each its own portion of the domain. They are monuments which the Elbe has left standing, to commemorate his triumph over their less hardy kindred. The most remarkable among them are the Zilienstein and Konigstein, which tower, nearly in the centre of the picture, to a height of about nine hundred feet DRESDEN. 359 above the level of the Elbe. These stiff bare rocks, rising from the earth, though now disjoined, show that they once formed one body, all the softer parts of which have mould- ered away and left the naked, indestructible frame-work. Behind, and at one-side of the Bastei, numerous gigantic pinnacles of rock, separated from the main body by rents and chasms of tremendous depth, shoot upward to a great height in every variety of fantastic forms. So slight and slender are these natural pillars and obelisks that it is diffi- cult to understand how they maintain themselves upright at a height of several hundred feet. A band of robber-knights, hundreds of years ago, set up a nest-like castle upon some of the loftiest and most inaccessible of them. The entrance on one side was through a natural arch and over a draw- bridge — the approach on the other was through a cleft three feet wide, and was closed by a port-cullis formed of a slab of the stone which ran in grooves in the rocky walls. The narrow planks with which they bridged the chasms around them were easily drawn in when danger threatened, and rendered their place impregnable — and from this lofty look- out they watched the approach of vessels, and dashed down for pillage. It was destroyed four hundred years ago." At Pirna, twelve miles from Dresden, the cliffs and hills retire and give place to a rich and diversified middle-distance, through which we enter Dresden, the beautiful Florence of Germany, as it has been called. For the last twenty miles our route has been through localities made famous by the military manoeuvres and occupations of those great armies that in 1813 desolated this portion of Germany. The King of Saxony was then an ally of Napoleon, and Dresden was the head-quarters of that great Captain while it was invest- ed by the allied forces. How in our early days our minds were stirred with the news of those great Napoleonic battles and strategetic movements ! Now nothing of them is left but 860 GENERAL MOREAU. their memory. The arts of peace now enjoy their quiet and useful triumphs where blood and carnage clothed the ground in crimson forty-five years ago. A striking monument of those military glories and transitions is the monument to General Moreau, a little distance across the plain to the southward of the city. An early rival of Napoleon — one of his greatest rivals in military ability — his rivalry perhaps ran into unworthy jealousy — and counterplots and intrigues not quite consistent with patriotism, may have been the con- sequences. He was condemned by a military tribunal and his punishment commuted for banishment — kindly called travelling abroad. He came to our country and purchased an estate — but his restless ambition was not content, and in 1813, at the request of the Emperor Alexander, he accept- ed a command under him and near his person, in the allied forces then investing Dresden. He arrived on the 29th of August, and received the welcome of the three sovereigns of Austria, Russia, and Prussia, then combined against France. That very evening, in the midst of flying balls and falling bombs, he reconnoitred the hostile columns of France, with a rashness that seemed to give to his bravery a hot and heedless zeal, and to indicate that strong and conflicting emotions occupied his breast. The next day he continued the same fearless course, and reported from time to time to Alexander. "While thus conversing with the Emperor, a cannon shot from the city, two thousand yards distant, shattered his right knee, passed through his horse, and carried away the calf of his left leg. Amputation was immediately necessary. For a brief period hopes were en- tertained for his life* but in the night of September 1st, his mind began to wander and to manifest his ruling passion — incoherently and continually he sounded his repeater and called his aid-de-camp. Toward morning, in a lucid inter- val — the morning often brings back also the inner light — he HIS MONUMENT. 361 began to dictate a letter to his new master Alexander — the thirtieth word had but passed his lips and he was dead. His amputated limbs were buried at Dresden, but his body was interred with the honors of a Russian marshal, at St. Petersburgh. A pile of rough pieces of granite, sur- mounted by a simple four feet cubic die of polished rose granite, on which lie the warrior's sword and helmet, and the hero's crown of laurel, in bronze, marks the place where he fell, and bears the inscription in German — " Moreau, the hero, fell here on the 27th August, 1813, by the side of Alexander." Napoleon considered it a happy omen, that an almost spent ball should have so soon struck down one who seemed a renegade, but from that 27th August the tide of Napo- leon's success continued to ebb — and while doubts have always been admitted as to the real and ultimate purposes of Moreau, I think all must agree with the French writer who says that the fatal ball was fortunate for his fame, and a just retribution for the mere beginnings of his new career. It is, however, possible to suppose that Moreau, during the years of his exile, while he had been a mere looker-on of the wonderful game that his great rival was playing — like other careful spectators of a game in which they are not engaged — saw with that eye of greatness, which sees sooner than the actors, the result of combinations converging to dis- aster, and believed that the cause of the allies was the cause of France. When we entered Dresden, it was in the midst of one of those great fairs, so common in Germany. The city is thronged with dealers and buyers, as well as sellers, from without, bringing here their manufactures and merchandise to sell — and everywhere the products of the useful arts from far and near, filled every vacant space and corner, and occupied every spare room — stalls everywhere, in the streets and in 16 362 FAIR AT DRESDEN. the public squares — everywhere a crowd — every person you met had something in hand, which had just been purchased at one place, and he seemed to be hurrying on to buy some- thing else at another. There was everything, from child's toys at a penny a dozen to fine woolen and cotton goods, Bohemian glass, ready-made clothing, prints, pictures, fine china, coarse pottery, beautiful hardware, etc., etc., in end- less variety, and in lavish profusion, while the proper shops of ihe city wee filled more abundantly and dressed more showily to attract strangers. The fair usually lasts about two days, and occurs two or three times a year in each city. When it is finished, the merchant or manufacturer puts up his unsold goods and starts for another fair in another city, and so keeps on — replenishing his stock, and selling year in and year out. How this present Dresden contrasts with Dresden the seat of war, and the headquarters of the great man of blood, and surrounded by hostile armies ! Heavy booming cannon *' And the rockets' red glare, and bombs bursting in air," clothed it night and day in solemn sublimity. In the in- vested city, famine, disease, and pestilence, swelled the num- bers of the dying, and two hundred to three hundred corpses a day from the military hospitals, showed how death was decimating the army, while an equal number weekly, swelled the bills of mortality of the citizens. It was to sustain the French empire that Saxony, a large and prosperous king- dom, consented to be the theatre of the great and bloody battles of 1813 — at Leipsic. at Leutzen, and at Dresden — which in their rapid consequences sent Napoleon to Elba, and made the King of Saxony prisoner, and stripped him of all his conquests and half his kingdom proper. When he was permitted to return to his humble throne and his dimin- ished kingdom, with a wisdom that misfortune does not SAXONY SINCE THE AVAR. 363 always bring, he devoted himself to paying his debts, and relieving his kingdom from the consequences of the war, and to adding to its strength, and honor, and resources, by im- provements in the education of the people — with what suc- cess may in part be seen by the following statistics, taken from Barnard — " With a population of one million eight hundred and nine thousand and twenty-three, in 1846, there was one university, with eighty-five professors and eight hundred and thirty -five students — six academies of the arts and mining, with forty-three professors and teachers, and fourteen hundred pupils — eleven gymnasia — colleges — with one hundred and thirty-one teachers, and one thou- sand five hundred pupils — six higher real schools, with eighteen teachers, and two hundred and seventy pupils — three special institutions for commerce and military affairs, with forty-three teachers, and two hundred and forty pupils — nine teachers' seminaries, with forty-one teachers, and three hundred and sixty-two pupils — seventeen higher schools of industry, or technical schools, with seventy-two teachers and seven hundred and seventy-nine pupils — sixty- nine lower technical schools, with six thousand nine hundred and sixty-six pupils — twenty-four schools for lace-making, with thirty-seven teachers, and one thousand nine hundred and twenty-eight pupils — two thousand one hundred and fifty-five common schools, with two thousand one hundred and ninety-five teachers, and two hundred and seventy-eight thousand and twenty-three pupils — one institution for the blind — one for mutes, and three orphan asylums, besides in- fant schools and private seminaries." And Saxony is stronger ^o-day, in all the elements of national worth, than ever before. In this connection, it is proper to advert to the fact that Saxony is a Protestant kingdom — strongly and uniformly so ever since the reformation — but ever since 1697 the King and royal family have been Roman Catholics — the 364 SITUATION CP DRESDEN. king at that time having changed his religion to ohtain the crown of Poland. The price of their apostacy has been lost to them, but they are faithful to their adopted religion, and in all that immediately concerns the honor find prosper- ity of the country, the king, the estates, and the people, are as harmonious as they could be if all of the same faith. Dresden — Dresda — is in some respects a beautiful city. Its streets are wide, its houses lofty, and its public edifices noble — but its only resemblance to Florence, that I could perceive, is that it is on both sides of a river, and has ex- ceedingly interesting and remarkable collections of nature and art. The Elbe sweeps through the city in a fine curve, and is crossed by two fine bridges — the new railroad bridge, with carriage-way and sidewalks, and the old massive stone bridge, which was originally built with funds raised by the sale of papal indulgences, or dispensations from eating but- ter and eggs in Lent. It has fine sidewalks, which command exceedingly good views of the whole city, on both sides of the river. Situated in latitude fifty-one degrees — four de- grees further north than Quebec — it of course suffers the rigors of a long winter, and the snow of the mountains through which the Elbe winds it course, when melted by sudden thaws, swells the river to an almost resistless torrent. It rises sometimes sixteen feet in tAventy-four hours. A bridge built to withstand the ice and water of such floods must needs be of such solidity and strength as to make it in- teresting and respectable. From the bridge, by broad steps, you reach the Terrace of Bruhl on the old-town bank of the river — a place of great resort for promenades, and lounges, and refreshments, and music in the cafes, and halting places along shore, all commanding good views of the river, the bridges and the opposite bank. These and the other similar places of resort are thronged by the citizens in the fine summer evenings, and also by the many strangers who COLLECTIONS AND MUSEUMS. 365 make Dresden a summer residence for a longer or snorter period. The galleries and collections are the great attractions. Its picture galleries are the finest collections of paintings in Ger- many, it is said — in the principal gallery there are one thousand live hundred paintings. They certainly contain some of the greatest pictures by the greatest masters, and there are specimens of most of the great masters. There is a collection of two hundred and fifty thousand engravings, one thousand of which are framed. There are fifty portfolios of drawings by the old masters. There is a gallery of four hundred and fifty portraits of eminent men, of great merit in that line of art. Frederick the Great, while he battered the churches, gave special orders to spare the galleries — Napoleon did not steal works of art from Dresden. The celebrated Green Vault is the most remarkable collection of its kind in the world — being made up principally of precious curiosities in bronze, in ivory, mosaics, porcelain, enamel, gold and silver vessels, goblets and other vessels cut out of agates, and other half precious stones — sapphires, emeralds, and rubies, and pearls, and diamonds of astonishing number and value. This collection is estimated to be of the value of many millions. It has been collected by the sovereigns of Saxony during the last one hundred and fifty years or more, apparently without regard to expense. The Historical Mu- seum is exceedingly rich in armor and arms of the greatest interest and value, and the Museum of Natural History is good, but strongest in the minerals of Saxony. The Museum of Antiquities, the library of four hundred thou- sand volumes, the collection of porcelains and terra cottas, in the Japanese palace, are interesting. There are two churches which are worth looking at. The Catholic church in which the royal family worship, if it was not the Court church would not attract much notice. 36G leipsic. It is connected with the royal palace by a covered bridge or passage over the intervening street. To us the Fraueukir- che — the Church of Oar Lady — was much more interesting. It is the Protestant cathedral— Lutheran. It is built of stone from the foundation to the dome, and is so solid in its construction that when bombarded by Frederick the Great, shot and shell rebounded from the walls and the dome, and did no injury. Within it is fitted up like a theatre with four tiers of seats or galleries. The first tier consists of private boxes, the others are common rows of seats for a promiscuous audience. The seats in the body of the church are for ladies, each having her own seat with her name and number. On the right of the desk, on the front of the lower tier or gallery, hangs a portrait of Luther, of life size, and on the left, one of Melancthon. From Dresden to Berlin, the country is flat and uninterest- ing — r sandy, piney, and unproductive, abounding in wind- mills, often placed in a cluster — and when all are going at once, the effect is singular. We had hoped that when Ave got into the Protestant countries we should find less of the hard out-door tillage and drudgery done by women, but the fields are still tilled by them, while the men seem to be quite out of sight. Great events have made Leipsic — Lipsia — immortal in history, although some of its importance has been lost since the Kingdom of Saxony was so greatly reduced in size in consequence of the King having adhered to Napoleon. The city has now about seventy-five thousand people, and some two thousand houses, showing an average of thirty to forty persons in a house, a populousness which is characteristic of many of these old continental cities. It is about eight hun- dred years old, and has, almost all that time, been famous. Situated on the great highways which unite France and Turkey and Russia and Italy, its importance has always BATTLE OF THE NATIONS. 367 been acknowledged, and its possession has always been an ob- ject of great importance in the great wars which have ravaged Europe. Its great fairs and markets have made it celebra- ted in the history of commerce and manufactures. There are three of these fairs annually, and sometimes the stran- gers, there to attend the fair, out-number the resident popu- lation, and the business of the year has amounted to eight millions of dollars. The book fair, once a year, has no equal in the world. I remember well, as you and I — in our boyhood — read the first news of the battle of Leipsic, how we wished we could have been on the tower in the city, and looked out upon that sublime and bloody field, as the battle raged from the 15th to the 19th of October, 1813. It was from that tower that the narrator had watched the scene. So with almost the same boyish curiosity — so many years later — I went to the tower. I could look out upon the fertile and smiling plains and villages scattered here and there, and the lazy streams that glistened in the sun. That plain, verdant in a northern summer, I could easily change to the dun and quaker landscape of sombre October. I could take the charts and make out the positions of the great captains who were manoeuvring to decide one of the greatest issues — per- haps the greatest — that ever depended upon ball and bay- onet. I could place the three hundred thousand men of the allies, and the one hundred and seventy thousand of Napo- leon — but I seemed to be fully conscious of my inability even to imagine the thunder of the captains and the shout- ing — and the smoke, and the fire, and the thunder of lines of two hundred heavy cannon at once, such as the oldest veter- ans had never before heard — and those desperate charges of thousands of cavalry, led by Kellerman and Murat — and the columns of the bayonet-charge, so solid and so solemn in their tread — fit image of the march of fate. From nine in the 368 THE RETREAT. morning till night-fall those columns fought, all the live-long day — and the dead, and the dying, and the disabled, the horse and his rider, lay on the bloody ground through the silent and solemn night. The next day — from sheer necessity — both armies reposed through a cold, rainy, autum- nal day. On the 18th, at eight o'clock in the morning, the two armies were again in motion, and another day — till darkness shut down upon the field — was devoted to the thundering shocks of those great masses of men of superhu- man bravery, each fighting in desperation, as it were, for his own dear life, and as if conscious of the great political con- sequences which hung upon the issue. During the night Napoleon saw that ruin or retreat was his only alternative, and he accordingly ordered a retreat, covered by Poniatowski and Macdonald. Slowly — during the night — the retreat went on. In the morning it contin- ued through the city. Napoleon gave orders to have the only bridge across the river blown up on a signal, to prevent pui-suit. He bade good-bye to his ally — the King of Saxony — at his lodgings in the city, and crossed the bridge. Soon after, by mistake, the bridge was blown up, too soon. The news of this mishap ran back along the retreating thousands, and the wildness of panic seized them, and the little city, its streets and squares presented an awful scene of confusion and fright as the army rushed along. They reached the river, plunged in and endeavored to reach the other bank, but were swept away, and twenty thousand were drowned. Macdonald and Poniatowski threw up a temporary bridge which proved too weak, and, while Macdonald was saved, the brave Prince — the last of the Poles — was precipitated into the stream. The charger that had borne him so proudly in the battle, now — weary and worn by the fatigues of the day, and disheartened, perhaps, by the chagrin of defeat — had not strength enough to carry his noble master across the stream, BATTLES OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS. 369 and they sank together and were drowned. A monument in a public garden now marks the spot. With Napoleon, his Russian campaign was the beginning of the end. His successes after this were but the occasion- ally crested waves of a continually ebbing tide. His first great challenge to fate, after his return from Moscow, was decided also on the plains of Leipsic, in the great battle of May 2d, 1813. It was fit that he should call it a victory, because it was not a defeat. It was, at best, a draAvn battle. The allies took courage from it and hemmed him in for the sublime days of October. October 19 he fled from Leipsic, after losing the " Battle of the Nations." On the 4th of the next May he entered the Island of Elba, a prisoner. What a fall from what a height ! What a twelvemonth of history ! But the battles of 1813 are not the only great days of Leipsic — for Breitenfield and Lutzen, as well as Grossgorschen, are all in the plains of Leipsic — and the battles of 1631, 1632, and 1642, were in their day quite as important as those which have succeeded them. The thirty-years' war — the great conflict in which the Koman Catholic powers endeav- ored, for a generation, to suppress by force of arms the growing principles of Protestantism, was really decided here. In 1631 — at the village of Breitenfield — the Catholic forces under Tilly and Pappenheim were totally routed by the Lion of the North, Gustavus Adolphus, the immortal King of Sweden. This victory really settled the question, but the next year Pappenheim, and Wallenstein the great Bohe- mian, invaded Saxony with forty thousand men to bring the question again to an i?sue. This brought the great Swede again to the field with twenty-five thousand men and one hundred cannon, with Marshal Kniphausen and the Duke of Weimar as his generals of division. The battle raged with a fierceness characteristic of religious strife and of such great captains fighting the battles of the Lord. In the 10* 370 UNIVERSITY OF LEIPSIC. midst of the fight — when the fate of the day was yet unde- cided — Gustavus Adolphus was killed. ■ This would proba- bly have lost the battle to the Protestants, had not the Duke of Weimar, with great address, caused the report to be spread that he had fallen into the hands of the enemy. This roused his Swedes to a bravery which nothing could with- stand and which gained the day. Wallenstein on his return to Prague with his Bohemian army, after the battle, caused a large number of his officers to be tried for cowardice at this battle. They were condemned to death. Eleven nobles had the poor choice of the sword or the gallows. The many of inferior quality were hung and then beheaded with the axe. In 1642 at Breitenfield, the Swedes under Torstensen again defeated the imperial forces under Piccolomini. At the time of the breaking up in the University of Prague, a portion of the seceders established the University of Leipsic, which, after that of Prague, is the oldest ia Ger- many. It was formed in 1409, and has now eight hundred to one thousand students, and about one hundred professors, besides a large number of private teachers. The private teach- ers, I believe, are a characteristic feature of the European Uni- versity. The endowment of the university and the annual appropriations of the state are applied to keeping up the ap- pointed and routine-teaching of the curriculum by the pro- fessors. This gives to the professors a small stipend, and they look for further income to extraordinary lectures, given for pay, to those more ambitious and industrious students, who desire to push their inquiries far beyond the mere rou- tine of the university course. Such students also resort to able and learned men, who, in the character of private teachers, render their service for hire to such as desire to employ them, and also deliver lectures on their own special- ty. From this class the corps of professors is often recruit- THE ATJGUSTEUM. 371 ed. It seems to me that these arrangements are almost the perfection of a system of university instruction. The teaching rooms are of exceeding plainness — rude al- most as a country school-house — the seats in some instances ranged round the room — in some cases the simplest long benches and desks of plain boards with holes for the ink- stands, in front of the teacher's desk, which is quite as plain, on one side of the room. Some of the rooms have seats for not more than twenty-five, others for one hundred and fifty. They open from long corridors. The buildings, in external appearance, have little to interest the traveller. Modern reparations and re-constructions have deprived them of the venerable, ancient look which their years would sug- gest. In one, is a common hall, or convictorium, for two hundred and forty students, where, on certain foundations, they are fed gratuitously. The Augusteum is a modern building, and has much more pretension. Within, it is full of interest, being really one of the pleasant sights of the city. It was built in 1836, and finished from designs by Schinkel. It contains, besides the library of one hundred thousand volumes, and some other collections, a large and beautiful hall, in which the degrees are conferred, and all the grand ceremonies and receptions of the university take place. The door-way is ornamented with statues of Calliope and Polyhymnia. The frontispiece represents the four faculties of the university. It contains some fine statues, and in front of the President's seat is a noble bust of Liebnitz, who was a native of Leipsic and educated here, principally — but being denied his degree, LL. D., on account of his youth — twenty years old — he took it from the university of Altorf. His fame is, however, a great glory of his native city, and his bust well deserves the place it occupies. Under the lofty cornices of the hall are 372 CHURCHES CEMETERY. bas-reliefs of life-size and full length, illustrating the prog- ress of education. The observatory and the chemical laboratory of the univer- sity are in the citadel of Pleissenberg, from which we looked out upon the battle grounds. * The churches of Leipsic are not very interesting. The only Catholic church is a neat modern specimen of the Goth- ic — it has four chapels or altars, but lacks, of course, the works of art which abound in the great temples of the Catholic cities. The Protestant churches are large and ancient, and have some things worth looking at. St. Thomas' is the largest and oldest — about four hundred and sixty years old. St. Nicholas — three hundred and thirty years old, has a beautiful interior, and some good paintings. This church was in existence in the thirteenth century, but has been rebuilt. We were told it would seat five thousand persons — I should not have supposed so many. In an out- of-the-way and half-sunken room, we were shown a beauti- ful Gothic stone pulpit and baptistry, said to have been often used by Luther. I did not think any better of the Luther- ans of Saxony, that such a beautiful relic, so closely asso- ciated with the great reformer and his ministerial functions, should thus be shoved into a dark corner. St. Paul's, be- longing to the university, is interesting principally for the tombs of distinguished men. The cemetery is an interesting one. It is old, and has the graves and monuments of many honored men. Denkstein — German for grave-stone — think-stone — seems to me a very suggestive and beautiful name. And they have modes here, which I do not remember to have seen elsewhere. The mar- ble stones do not, as with us, stand erect, planted in the ground, or lie horizontal. They lie at an angle of some twenty degrees, with the one end resting upon a support at the head, the other rests upon the earth at the foot. These auerbach's wine-cellar. 373 are the simpler grave-stones. There are many others of the usual sepulchral forms — old graves, moss-covered and solemn — newer ones, fresh and ostentatious — almosi; all the new modern graves covered with evergreens and flowers and turfs — wreaths of flowers freshly hung upon the stones, and scattered upon the turf, showed the still open sorrow — but mellowed and softened by time, the great soother. While we were there three ladies in mourning came and strewed fresh flowers on a grave two years old — about the older ones the planted and waving flowers, and the trimmed and tend- ed evergreens, showed the hereditary grief which made the monument a Denkstein indeed, from generation to generation. I saw there, however, what jarred harshly with our Ameri- can tastes — women with Avheel-barrows were wheeling through the alleys of the cemetery, heavy loads of turf, sus- tained by broad straps over their shoulders, and doing the la- bor of the cemetery. So, as I passed through the old, civil- ized, cultivated, literary Leipsic, I saw a woman bowed down over the sawbuck sawing the wood, while a man sat at his ease, splitting it as it fell from her saw. Auerbach's wine-cellar fronts on the market-place, oppo- site the end of the quaint and venerable old City Hall. We stepped down into it and took a glass of selzer water, cool, foamy and refreshing — seated for the moment at a table, the same table at which Goethe and his crony fellow-stu- dents are said to have caroused in his youthful student days, and which his genius has raised to immortality in the first characteristic scene of Faust and Mephistophiles, in his great dramatic allegory of Faust. Their first experience was in Auerbach's wine-cellar, where Mephistophiles exhib- its his powers to the bacchanals who are revelling there. — lie offers them their choice of finer wines than they are drinking, and he bores gimlet-holes through the spread leaf of the common-wood table, about which they are carousing, 374 auerbach's wixe-cellar. and draws for each the wine of his choice, Rhenish, Cham- pagne, Tokay — they, astonished at this diablerie, spill some of the wine on the floor. It turns to flame, and in the midst of their bewilderment and rage Mephistophiles and Faust leave the cellar. There are rude drawings on the walls — * the table is there — diablerie and magic are gone — it is only a plain drinking-cellar in the market-place — but the magic of genius has written the names of Goethe and Faust on that humble caveau, in letters that will not soon be obliterated, and travellers perhaps all along down the ages will drop in there as we did, and in the gratification of mere curiosity keep it fresh as a monumental honor to the great poet. Had I not desired to make some small purchases in the middle of the day I should not have observed the singular custom which seems to prevail of shutting the shops during the usual dinner hour, so that master and servant, principal and clerk, may all take their dinner at the same time. — ■ Their shops are fine, showy, and well supplied, but small. PRUSSIA BERLIN. BERLIN, Berlinum, the capital of Prussia, is a large, beautiful, and interesting city. It is a striking instance of what a royal residence and a court will do for a town, otherwise destined to insignificance. In the midst of a sandy and desolate plain, so level that the surface water will not run off, and incapable of proper sewerage, in high lati- tude, above 52°, no fertile fields about it, and no maritime commerce, it has still grown to be a city of little less than five hundred thousand people, and bears the evidence of ac- tive and increasing prosperity. In one hundred and fifty years it has increased from forty thousand to four hundred and fifty thousand. The houses are not high, and the streets are wide, so that the city covers a very large space in pro- portion to its population. Its circumference is about twelve miles. Our first impression of it was exceedingly favorable, for we Avere set down at our hotel in the grand street of Berlin, and in the neighborhood of the palaces and other public buildings. This street is very wide — I should say two hundred feet — planted all along the middle with rows of 376 BERLIN UNTER DER LINDEN. beautiful lime trees, on each side of which is a public car- riage-way. It is called by the beautiful name Unter der Linden — under the lime trees- 1 — from the groves of limes under which the people enjoy the delightful walks. It is a place of great resort— on it are the Academy of Fine Arts,. opera-houses, guard-house, arsenal, the library and several palaces, and most of the' gi*eat hotels. At one end it termin- ates in front of the Royal Palace, at the other it is crossed by the celebrated Brandenburg gate, one hundred and ninety- five feet wide, surmounted by the Quadriga of Victory, so justly admired as an embodiment of the idea of victory — so life-like, spirited, noble, buoyant and glorious, that you al- most seem to hear the thunder of the captains and the shout- ing, the earthquake voice of victory, and the neighing of the steeds, and to see their prancing. It was taken by Napoleon, in the time of his triumphs and carried to Paris, but restor- ed to its place here, in the days of his humiliation. Beyond the gate, the broad road to Charlottenburg stretches on three miles, forming with the Unter der Linden a straight line — at the other end the magnificent and solid royal palace, stand- ing diagonally across the street, shuts in the view. In the street opposite the Academy of Fine Arts, is the colossal equestrian statue of Frederick the Great, said to be the greatest and most worthy monument in Europe. Its granite pedestal is twenty-five feet high, and on its sides are commemorated in sculpture, one hundred and twenty-seven heroes and statesmen — celebrities of the times of the great royal captain — thirty-one, by life-sized sculptured portraits, and the residue, by inscriptions. There are beautiful alle- gorical figures — Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temper- ance — to represent the striking characteristics of Frederick, and bas-reliefs, representing him in various well-known scenes of his individual as well as his royal life. Above all this, on the granite pedestal, is the statue, seventeen feet high. STATUE OF FREDERICK THE GREAT. 377 It is Frederick himself — the greatest monarch of the eigh- teenth century — with his three-cornered hat, his queue, and his stick — all true to life — no naked neck — no shirtless body — no helmet and shield — no toga — no folds of Roman drap- ery to disfigure the great modern soldier — but clad as he lived — and looking as when he led his columns to the victories of modern warfare. Thanks to Rauch, and every great artist, that gives us Gothic truth and Teutonic force instead of the feeble and borrowed imitations of the classic periods. Who knows but it may yet come to be believed, that the secret of the admiration of the great artists of old — the hiding of their power — was their marvellous truth to the scenes, the costumes, the faiths, and even the follies of their own times. There are other statues in bronze and marble, in the fine public squares and places about the city, which show that Prussia has not been unmindful of the great men to whom she is indebted for much of her historical and military glory. This open-air, visible history — this union of art and history in the public streets — is a great cultivator of the people. Just commemoration is a great virtue in a nation, and a great economy. The Museum of Historical Collections is a place one may look through with interest. While there is much which a stranger would not care to look at, there is also much that must be exceedingly attractive to Germans — Relics, trophies, and mementoes of their historical progress, and of the great men of the kingdom of Prussia, as well as of others famous in European history — Royal and princely dresses — stars and garters, and orders, and decorations of historical interest. After the battle of Waterloo, the Prussians took the car- riage of Napoleon — from which he had fled, leaving all the orders presented to' him by the various sovereigns of Europe — England alone excepted. They are all here in a glass 378 MUSEUM LIBRARY. case. Blucher's orders are here also near by. A fantastic dress of the brave fop Murat, is exceedingly characteristic of his jaunty and flashy taste. There are two swords, famous only for the number of distinguished heads they have cut off on the executioner's block — some striking casts in wax, in-' eluding the face of General Moreau, taken after death, and one of Frederick the Great, taken also after death. There is also a wax figure of the rusty and miserly old hero, of life- size, dressed as he was in life — his flute, and books, and cane, &c, about him. We saw there two cannon balls, each flattened on one side, said to have been fired by opposing armies at Magdeburg, and to have met point-blank in the air and to have fallen together, thus flattened — the drinking cup of Baron Trenck, engraved by him while in prison at Magdeburg — a beer mug of Luther's, of so large capacity as to justify the belief that the great reformer was as fond of beer as modern Germans are. The Royal Library contains five hundred thousand vol- umes, and five thousand manuscripts, and has many curiosi- ties in the way of books, manuscripts, &c, among them Guttenberg's Bible, being the first book in which moveable types were used — thirty-six volumes of engraved portraits of distinguished men of all times and countries, with their autographs. Here are kept the two hemispheres with which Otto Guericke experimented upon the air, in discovering the air pump. The Museum is one of the great attractions of Berlin. Its collections of paintings, and sculptures, and antiquities is very remarkable and every way worthy of a great, flourishing, and famous kingdom. Such great national museums, establish- ed and kept up by the government are, in my judgment, among the most interesting and useful surroundings of a great me- tropolis. In these great national collections, profound science, high art, historical and antiquarian learning, unite with PICTURE GALLERY. 379 natural history in gratifying the curiosity of cultivated minds, and in adding to the stock of useful knowledge the practical teachings of all ages and countries, in one great school. I have nowhere been so much struck with this as in this vast museum. You see as you are about to enter it the great vase of polished granite, which stands upon the left of the entrance. It is twenty-two feet in diameter — made from an enormous boulder brought from about thirty miles distant, and cut and polished here by steam power. On the right of the steps is the original of the mounted Amazon attacked by a tiger, by Kiss, of which copies are now so common. The grand col- onnades of the "front are frescoed in myths and allegories in the highest style of modern art, by Cornelius and Schinkel, and within the walls everything is on a scale of great afflu ence — a collection of sixteen hundred vases — gems, two thousand eight hundred and upward — a large collection of the household gods, and arms, armor, and domestic and war- like instruments of Rome The collection of sculptures, in their arrangement and in the approach to them, produces a striking effect, beyond the merits of the individuals works. The picture-gallery is exceedingly large, I should rather say, is exceedingly numerous, for it is divided by screens hung full of paintings, into a very large number of small galle- ries. The number of pictures I have forgotten — it is very great, and one is almost bewildered in moving about in search of the great works of the first class, in each of the great schools of art, according to which they are clas- sified. Passing on into the New Museum, we find its northern antiquities — Sclavonic and Teutonic — its ethnolog- ical collection, and its vast collection of Egyptian antiquities, to be of wonderful interest. Other portions of the New Museum are not yet finished for occupancy. When the whole is finished and furnished, may I be there to see. 380 PUBLIC GARDENS. When shall be seen such collections in our great demo- cratic metropolis ? Never till the people shall learn that it is for their interest and for the interest of the city — in a pe- cuniary point of view — to say nothing of municipal pride and national glory — thus to collect worthy objects of attrac-* tion and curiosity in the great centres of popular resort. There can be no wiser or more economical use of a portion of the public funds, nor one more acceptable to the people. The public gardens — the winter gardens — are great coffee houses under glass, houses filled with choice plants and flow- ers — with fine dinners, choice music, and everything to make them agreeable, fashionable, and intelligent places of resort. Kroll's winter garden is the largest, and the only one we visited. The building contains a dining and concert hall, three hundred and thirty-six feet long and about one hun- dred wide, besides a theatre, reading-room, &c. It is in the great park of eight hundred and eighty acres. In the sum- mer time, there and in many other gardens, the people lounge and take their refreshments about the garden. The confec- tioners' shops, the restaurants and the wine and beer houses are also thronged places for lounging and refreshments. So- ciality — beer drinking, wine drinking, smoking, and music, are the characteristic enjoyments of the daily life of the Berliners. The gorgeousness and luxury of the Royal Palace exceed- ed anything of the kind which we have yet seen. Its gold and silver and precious stones, its rich embroideries and tapestries, its lofty frescoed ceilings and its furniture of untold cost, seemed to come up to our republican notions of what was to be expected in royal palaces in the proudest and richest empires. The palace is four hundred and sixty feet long, and two hundred and seventy-six in breadth. I did not find time to enter the university. Chapter %totnt%-fBixxt\* BAVARIA NUREMBERG — MUNICH. LEAVING Leipsic, we turned our faces again south, passing through the Duchy of Saxe Alfenburgh and its little capital, Altenburgh, and made our first stop at the quaint old town of Nuremberg, Noreniberga — old, veneiable and full of striking sights and interesting memories. Some of the guides speak of ruins and antiquities two thousand years old, but I believe there is no authentic record of the existence of the place older than about eight hundred years — but even then it was a considerable place, for those records are the grants of the rights of tolls or customs and coinage. Three hundred years ago it was the proudest and gayest and most re- nowned city in Germany. Its commerce with the east and the low countries, and its manufactures, gave it great wealth and luxury. It had risen to this eminence through long ages ot prosperous commerce and royal favor. Ever since A. D. 1030, its castle has been a royal residence, and more than thirty Kings and Emperors have, during that time, for longer or shorter periods, made it a favorite resting-place, although 382 NUREMBERG. it was a free city, and enjoyed its own municipal govern- ment — which being essentially aristocratic and patrician, harmonized easily with royal sympathies and imperial pro- tection. So long as the German Empire remained, the im- perial regalia and jewels were kept in Nuremberg — perhaps because of the great strength of its walls and fortifications, which have more than once withstood assaults and sieges which are celebrated in the annals of war. Its greatest strength is perhaps in its ditch of great width and depth surrounding the city. Nuremberg was in some sort the stronghold of Protest- antism at the time of the religious wars. Gustavus Adolphus, when likely to be overwhelmed by the Catholic troops, under Wallenstein, took shelter here and was for a long time besieged, till famine and consequent sickness com- pelled these two great captains to withdraw after an unsuc- cessful attempt by the Swedes to storm the camp of the Austrians. Ten thousand citizens and twenty thousand Swedes perished in the siege of a few weeks — a siege in which the art of war was exhausted. The causes which carried the trade of the east around the Cape of Good Hope, were the cause of the great de- cline of Nuremberg. Before this, however, she had expelled the Jews, not allowing them to sleep within the walls under pain of death. At a later period, when the Protestant weavers were driven from France and Flanders, and would gladly have brought their skill and industry to Nuremberg, the short-sighted city shut her gates against these " foreign immigrants," and drove them to the neighboring towns, Avhich were thus strengthened for a more successful rivalry. The Protestant faith was adopted without that iconoclastic fanaticism which characterized it in some other places. — Their churches, now Protestant, stand with their images and ornaments as they were when they were the temples of CASTLE BRIDGES. 383 the Catholic religion, yet they would not allow a Roman Catholic to hold property in the city. All of these causes conspired to take from Nuremberg her pre-eminence, and she has not now half the population which she had three hundred years ago. Instead of her heavy and useful manu- factures, she devotes herself to the making of toys and of fanciful gimcracks, for which she is famous throughout Eu- rope. The town, the streets, the squares, the monuments, bear the record of the former prosperity of the city, and they bear now the evidence that she is humbled and vulgar- ized. Her hundred thousand people are reduced to almost half that number. It was said in the days of her glory, that any burgher of Nuremberg was better lodged than a King of Scotland. Her lofty houses with their deep bay- windows, which seem to indicate that street-sights and street- gazing were instincts of the people, and that luxurious lei- sure was the habit of all the citizens, now look time- worn, dilapidated, and antique, and the streets and public squares have hardly people enough visible to give them life. The castle occupies a lofty and rocky spot, from which the surrounding country, as well as the city itself, is brought distinctly in panorama. The circumjacent plains — for the country is low — presents a good view of the characteristic German landscape, through which crawls the sluggish and dirty river Pegnitz, which divides Nuremberg into two parts, united by seven bridges, one of which is built after the pattern of the Kialto in Venice — a single arch, of about one hundred feet span. It is fifty feet wide, and the arch is four feet thick — is two hundred and sixty years old, and is very noticeable, from its strength and beauty. There are besides the seven stone bridges, six of wood and one of wire. Another small stream, the Fischbach, also runs through a part of the city, which turns some machinery for the factories, and supplies the Avater for the fountains. 384 ALBERT DURER. I do not know where else you can get so fine a view of so fine an old city of the middle ages. It is not inaptly called, by Murray, a sort of Pompeii of the middle ages. From the town and the country — from castle and tower, and spire and square, and monument — from feudal towers and gate*, with portcullis and drawbridge — from antique gates of im- memorial dwellings, and from chefs (Vceuvres of architecture — from workshops and studios — from engravings and paint- ings, and bronzes and marbles — and from the graves of great men, spring up associations and reflections, in which it is easy to lose oneself in dreamy musings and suggestive mem- ories, ranging through centuries of rise and fall. We left the castle, and passed again into the streets, and as we passed a high, dark, tower-like building, our cicerone in- formed us that it was the tower in which Caspar Hauser was kept in Nuremberg. Till this moment, I had entirely forgotten poor Caspar Hauser, since his death, more than twenty years ago, and the fact that he had ever been in this quaint old city of Nuremberg, now struck me as one new to me. The conjectures about him were innumerable, but they threw no light upon the mystery. There are those who always believed him an impostor — strange impostor, poor fellow! Did he grow up in ignorance, that he might excite compassion — did he kill himself that his imposture might not be discovered ! In the birth-place of Albert Durer, the greatest of Ger- man artists, we did not neglect the opportunity to look at such of his works as are to be found here. There was no extravagance in the deliberate opinion of Vasaic, that had Durer been a Tuscan, and had he had the opportunity of study at Rome, he would have been the most celebrated painter of Italy. I have seen nowhere clearer proof of tran- scendent genius, and solid greatness, than in the life and works of this immortal artist. Well may Nuremberg, as she does, HANS SACHS THE LIBRARY. 385 honor and almost adore his memory, and well may they have placed a worthy statue of him, in bronze, by Rauch, ia the public place which bears his name — Albert Durer Place — and well, too, may they preserve the house in which he lived and painted. This house has been altered, but it is still the same house which was occupied by him. They showed us through it, from his kitchen to his painting- room, where he could shut himself from the tongue of his vixen wife, and in a world of his own creation, enjoy, unmolested, the images of beauty, and feeling, that, born in his own fancy, combined by his own imagination, were wrought out in solemn truth by his masterly skill. The Albert Durer Verein — Art Union — appears to hold its distribution here, for in one of the rooms, we came upon the two wheels for the drawing — the great wheel for the names, and the small wheel for the numbers — let me not name the profane and wicked contrivance in the hearing of the rigid-righteous, who could not endure the American Art Union, and destroyed it in the height of its unselfish and prosperous usefulness ! The house of Hans Sachs also gives his name to the street in which he lived. Hans Sachs was a capital working shoemaker, who lived three hundred years ago — a native and resident of Nuremberg. Ne sutor ultra crepidam, should be translated for him, " Beyond his last he was not a shoe- maker^ for besides drawing the cord, and hammering the lapstone industriously, he was the most voluminous poet Germany has ever produced, and his songs were even better than his shoes, and had a wonderful success and popularity. He wrote six thousand eight hundred and forty, which are still extant, in thirty-four folio volumes, written with his own hand. You can see it in the library. The library is not large, but valuable, containing many manuscripts, and for so small a library, is rich in incu- 17 386 CHURCHES. nabula, of which it contains about two thousand — containing among its seven hundred bibles, a copy of the first, printed by Faust & Schafter, at Mayence, in 1462. The churches to which I have alluded are five hundred or six hundred years old. They were erected in the days of Roman Catholic power, and wealth, and pride — apparently built by that Church-building guild, which seems to have been omnipresent in those centuries, and to have built all over Catholic Christendom — out of Italy — those numerous Gothic temples of such wonderful beauty — resembling a great scattered family of beautiful sisters, all resembling each other, yet no two alike. For three hundred years the pomp and masses of the Roman Church were celebrated in them, and for the last two hundred years the simple Protestant worship has sent its echoes to the same vaulted ceilings, and instead of the incense of odorous woods and gums, the incense of the new dispensation — more acceptable, as we be- lieve — has risen from around the same altars. While one could not but rejoice that the hand of destruction had been stayed, I am compelled to say that there seemed to me to be a jar between the spiritual and the material — between the Protestant worship and the Roman Catholic surroundings — the altars — the paintings — the statues — the stained glass Avindows of wonderful beauty and richness, inwrought with the legends, the fables, the allegories, and the sacred histo- ries, which are intended to keep alive and active that faith which we sometimes calls credulity, and that worship which, perhaps, without sufficient consideration, we call idolatry. It is no longer given to men to build and finish such churches, says some one, in substance. Such master- pieces have passed away with the religious enthusiasm that excited the genius and guided the hands of the great artists of those times. The Catholic faith built the cathedrals but it also raised the gibbet, and lighted the fagot. We have no CHURCHES. 387 more such theological hatred and cruelty. No gibbet, and no burning stakes, and also no new cathedrals. The two most remarkable churches are those of St. Sebald and St. Laurent. These saints are the patron saints of Nuremberg. St. Sebald is said to have been a German hermit of great sanctity and benevolence. Tradition says of him, that one night he met a peasant in search of his lost cattle, who implored his aid in the darkness, and the kind- hearted saint made each of the ten fingers of the poor peasant give light like a candle to guide his steps till he found his lost oxen. This may not be literally true although it is currently believed, and the saint is certainly held in high repute. This church has ninety-five windows of stained glass, and is in other respects loaded with orna- ments. Its greatest attraction, within, is the tomb or monu- ment of the saintly hermit himself. Peter Vischer and his five sons were thirteen years building it. This magnificent casting is fifteen feet high and in the rich Gothic style, with figures of the twelve apostles — twelve fathers of the Church — and seventy-two other figures. In artistic excel- lence few bronzes surpass it. Compared with St. Laurent's St. Sebald's has been said to resemble a shop lady in her Sunday clothes, while St. Laurent's is all purity and simpli- city, like one of Raphael's virgins. You see much to admire in St. Sebald's, and you express your admiration with free- dom. It is a florid and showy discourse, where the solid truth is covered up with flowers. In St. Laurent's the idea of admiration hardly presents itself — you are absorbed — the spirit of the place comes over you — you stand still, and your eye wanders in silence and solemnity over the whole — you take it all in, in its unity, and it is not till you are thus im- pressed with the united effect, that you draw closer to the details and you see that they, too, are but the parts of the same grand expression — not put there for ornament, but for 388 RELIGION. emphasis and force — not for admiration, but for religion. They are the appropriate melodies of a solemn harmony — The holy unction of a devout, and earnest, and eloquent sermon. The fountains are an interesting feature of the city — the most remarkable of which is five hundred years old. It is sixty-feet high — a pyramid of stone on an octagonal base — and around the lower compartment are sixteen statues, four feet high, of the seven electors of the German Empire, the three Christian kings, Godfrey de Bouillon, Clovis, and Charle- magne — three Jewish heroes, Maccabees, Joshua, and David — and three heathens, Julius Caesar, Alexander, and Hector — and in the middle compartment Moses and the seven prophets. If all these principal objects of interest which I have thus hastily mentioned, should be taken from Nuremberg, those much more numerous of which I have made no mention would make it still an object of deep interest to the traveller, for he would still find here a sharper, and clearer, and fuller mediaeval picture than anywhere else in my knowledge. About one tenth of the people here are Catholics — the nation is Catholic, and the Court is Catholic — and they see here some of the noblest temples ever reared for Koman Catholic worship now devoted to the service of the Protes- tant Church, yet I do not learn that difference of religion interrupts the harmony or mutual respect of the people. Wonderful effect of time ! exclaims one of their writers, in speaking of the last great battle between Gustavus Adolphus and Wallenstein in 1632. Wonderful effect of time ! two hundred years had not rolled away after this bloody battle fought for difference in religion, when, in 1824, twenty thousand Bavarian troops of both religions — holding a camp for exercise near Nuremberg — united in the celebration of a solemn religious service for their common benefit! More AUGSBURG MUNICH. 389 wonderful to me that two hundred years of the mutualities of a common citizenship should have still left it a wonder that two classes of Christians should unite in the same religious ceremony ! We left the old city with the people thronging the streets in their holiday dresses — the houses hung with garlands and wreaths, and the streets strewn with flowers, while flags were waving and banners fluttering all along our way for miles — for the King was that day on an appointed visit to Nuremberg, having come by a special train with much less than what we should consider usual royal display. "We again crossed the Danube and arrived at Augsburg, that immortal city of Protestantism — wdiere, more than three centuries ago, was adopted the Augsburg Confession — drawn by Luther, in hard dogmatical and violent language, and re-written in milder and less offensive phrase by the gentle Melancthon. On the twenty-fifth day of January, 1530, it was presented to the Diet, and being signed by the representatives of the Protestant States, became the creed of Protestant Germany. A small majority of the popula- tion are now Catholics, but all are said to live together in peace and harmony. We hurried on to Munich — the beau- tiful capital of Bavaria, and the headquarters of modern German art. Munich — Monachium — is on the banks of the rapid Isar, and it is a fine illustration of what maybe done by a gener- ous, protecting, fostering, and encouraging policy. Origin- ally a station and depot for the salt-trade — carried on by the monks, whence its name Monachium — it came to be the homely capital of an Electoral Duchy, and arose to no dis- tinction till it felt the influence of the late King Lewis while he was but Crown Prince. From his early years addicted to art and letters, his taste was highly cultivated in a critical point of view, and, as an appetite, he fed it with the choicest 390 THE GALLERIES. gratification, and it grew by what it fed on, till it became a habit with him and seemed to be an instinct, to devote his purse and his influence, with his taste, to the creating or erecting great and useful palaces for learning, for art, for taste, and for letters, as well as for royalty — something to build up and beautify his capital, and raise it to the first rank of European capitals — and he was successful. When he voluntarily resigned the throne to his son he handed over to him a capital, in all respects, worthy of great admiration, and in all those to which his direct attention had been given, one quite unsurpassed in Europe. More than doubled in terri- torial extent, it has multiplied a hundred fold in beauty, and its attractions have brought back to it a rich return in works of art — in resident artists, and men of science and letters — in enlightened visitors and travellers — and in consequent national pride and glory. The Glyptothec — the Pinacothec — the Academy of the Fine Arts — the Temple of Fame for illustrious Bavarians — the colossal statue of Bavaria — the University — the Library — the New Palace, are all of them in size and in excellence every way worthy of royal effort and munificence. The Glyptothec is a vast museum for sculpture. Its external architectural effect is that of a great work of art. It is of the Ionic order. It contains ancient and modern sculptures, classified according to epochs, in twelve separate apartments — exhibiting sculpture chronologically — Egyp- tian — Etruscan — Eginctan — these latter fortunately pur- chased for $30,000, while there was an offer for them, not then known, of $40,000 for the British Museum — Phidian — Praxitclian — Mythological — Heroic — Roman — Colored sculp- ture — Modern sculpture — and the walls and ceilings are themselves great works of art, in fresco and stucco — artistic back grounds heightening the effect of the marbles. Taken all in all, the collection is not surpassed in northern and central Europe — nor anywhere out of Rome, it is said THE STATUE OP BAVARIA. 391 The Pinacothec, the great gallery of paintings, is equally remarkable, and I believe is, by universal consent, the finest picture-gallery in the world, containing fifteen hundred pic- tures, nine thousand drawings by the old masters, thirty thousand engravings, enamels, chinas, mosaics, several thousand vases and rural paintings, including eighteen hun- dred Etruscan vases. The ceilings and walls ai'e decorated by the first artists in the severest taste. The building is about five hundred feet long, of brick, finished with stone, and with wings on both sides at each end, giving it the form of a double T, joined at the bottom. The corner-stone was laid April 7, 1826 — the birth-day of Raphael — and it was first opened in 1836. This is the old Pinacothec Besides this, there is the new Pinacothec, with its frescoes outside, and its modern paintings inside, a most magnificent and appropriate temple for modern art. The Temple of Fame, for illustrious Bavarians, is an immense building, constituting three sides of a parallelo- gram, of the Doric order. From a lofty situation it looks out upon an open field toward the city, from which it is distant and quite distinct. The city will doubtless soon stretch out to it, and sweep round the parade-ground or meadow, in which it is erected upon an elevated plateau. In front of it stands the bronze, colossal statue of Bavaria, by Schwanthaler — a female figure, of noble and dignified bearing, holding a sheathed broadsword in her hanging right hand, the hilt and hand resting on the head of the Bavarian lion, at her side. Her left hand, raised above her head, holds a civic crown. She wears a helmet, from be- neath which, her hair, in wavy ringlets, hangs upon her shoulders and back, while heavy but graceful draperies, in- cluding a lion skin, envelop her to her sandals. The char- acter, the pose, and the effect of the figure, are dignified and Rational. It is, I believe, sixty four feet high, besides the 392 THE LIBRA.RY. pedestal, which is large and lofty. We entered the statue by an invisible door, and by an internal stairs and ladder ascended to the head, within which ten of us were assem- bled at the same time, a fact that perhaps gives a better idea of the colossal size of the statue than does an outside lodk at it — for the artistic details, and the life-like proportions, and look of the whole, withdraw the mind from the mere size. In the squares and public places are other statues and modern monuments, which contribute much to the embel- lishment of the city. Ludwig strasse — Lewis street — is the great street of the city, and is indeed a royal street. It is one hundred and fifty feet wide, and upon it are many of the principal public buildings — including the library and the university. The library building is an honor to letters — I believe the largest library building in the world. I know nothing of the sort more imposing and magnificent in its beauty than the en- trance to this princely establishment. The broad and lofty grand staircase, with its colossal statues of Lewis I. and Albert V. , by Schwanthaler — its vaulted ceilings, and rich frescoes — its dedication to Religion, Science, and Art — its vast extent, two hundred and sixty feet wide, and five hun- dred and twenty feet long — its seventy-six rooms, with one and two galleries, by which the books are accessible to the top of the lofty walls — all combine to impress the visitor with the best feelings of respect and admiration for its royal patron. The library — books — thus worthily housed, is itself well worthy of its noble palace. It is, I believe, in richness and numbers, the second, if not the first, library in the world. I shall not transfer to my letter the memoran- dums which I noted from its great analytical catalogue, and fi'om its shelves and the glass cases of its bibliographical curiosities and gems — in manuscripts — papyri — waxed tab- lets — old illuminations and ornaments — curious and jewelled THE PALACE. 393 bindings — rare autographs, etc., etc., etc. Its incunabula are said to reach the great number of twelve thousand. The University, nearly four hundred years old, as an in- stitution, was removed to Munich only in 1826, by the same royal authority, and is a prosperous institution. It has also a library of its own, of which Munich, the capital, might well be proud, if it were not for the great library which so far transcends it. The King, who has thus devoted his attention to glorify- ing his capital, has not so far forgotten himself and his royal line, as not to provide them a residence — a palace — in fitting harmony with these other monuments — in building and ornamenting which, he has utilized those arts and artists that the sunshine of his favor has clustered here. In the old Palace are many curious sights. There is a royal bed-room, in which the bed and hanging, cost one hun- dred and and sixty thousand dollars — forty persons having devoted seven years to embroidering it. There is also a cabinet of mirrors, a small room finished with arches, etc. , in the style of Louis Fourteenth, and lined with mir rors, and furnished with vases, and porcelains, and orna ments, which, with the architecture and furniture of the room, are reflected in the mirrors, and thus repeated almost infinitely, giving the little room the appearance of a fairy palace, of vast extent, filled with shapes and hues of beauty. Chandeliers, and other articles of ornament and use, carved in ivory, by royal hands — ancestors of the present king — are shown and a cabinet of ivory miniatures — the walls being covered with miniature copies from the old masters. The New Palace, however, built by Lewis, in imitation of the Pitti Palace in Florence, contains much more to interest and surprise the visitor. I think it is entitled to bear away the palm from all the palaces I have seen, in sim- plicity, beauty, and richness. The throne-room is especially 17* 394 THE HALL OF BEAUTIES. worthy of note as exhibiting — in a remarkable degree — the simplicity, the wealth, and the exquisite taste, which have always characterized King Lewis. The floors of precious woods, are of alternating squares about an inch square — a remarkable and beautiful specimen of marquetry, whosS equal cannot be found I believe. A banqueting-room, hung round with paintings by the first masters of the modern German school, from patriotic subjects connected with the history of Bavaria. The ball-room was covered with paint- ings of ancient dances, and ornamented with Pompeiian scenes and styles of decoration. The hall of beauties is thickly hung with portraits of modern female beauties. The King — who, in so many ways, has shown his appreciation of beauty — has in this hall shown his admiration of the sex. The collection has gradually grown on his hands, for during many years, whenever he has seen a remarkably beautiful woman, he has commissioned some one of his favorite artists to ask her to . sit for her portrait for the King. Of course the flattering compliment has never been resisted, and artist, and sitter, and King, have been at the same time gratified. His Majesty is guided solely by the mere fact of beauty in his selection and, of course, his hall of beauties is hung with a collection of miscellaneous angels — royal, and noble, and plebeian beauties, together. There is the noble and beautiful wife of a British ambassador, and the pretty daughter of a shoemaker, and the handsome wife of a baker, and so on and so on, and conspicuously among them — in a place of honor — is the counterfeit presentment of that wild Irish girl, of many names and titles, but best known by that of Lola Montez. She retains her place among the beauties although she cost the beneficent King his crown and throne. Beauti- ful, sparkling, and reflective — cultivated and well improved — as sensible as she was beautiful — as wise as she was brill- iant — in her humor, her wit, and her wisdom, adopting the PUBLIC GARDEN. 395 maxim of Miss Chudleigh, the celebrated Duchess of Kings- ton of the last century, to be "short, clear, and surprising," she took such strong hold of the old King's admiration and fondness that she became his favorite, in the sense in which that word was used a hundred years ago — in short she was the State. He ennobled her by the title of Countess of Landsfeldt, making her the fit associate, in rank, for the aristocratic ladies of his court — but a court and a city — often said to be the most licentious in Europe — professed to be scandalized by the King and his favorite, and in the course of a brief period, under advice, he abdicated in favor of his son — who is now the reigning monarch — of course the Countess of Landsfeldt was dismissed from court. They assumed, and it cannot be denied that the history of royalty gives color for the assumption, that an old king and a pretty woman — constant companions and fondly attached to each other — would not be confined to state affairs in all that they said and did. It is, however, I believe, fair to say that both King and favorite solemnly aver that mutual and well- founded admiration of sterling qualities — generous and earnest attachment' — unsensual sympathy and respect, and unbroken confidence — the proper endearments of the highest order of Platonic attachment — were all that passed between the royal admirer and his little Venus. Would she call witnesses to prove that the King respected as well as admired beautiful women, she might summon all the fair originals of the portraits of the hall of beauties to testify that so cautious was he, lest his admiration should throw suspicion upon them — that it was by the intervention of a third party that the complimentary request for a portrait was made. The free public garden — or place called the Hofgarten — is a remarkable contribution to the public gratification. It is surrounded by an open arcade of two thousand feet long — its corridors arched and frescoed with fine historical paintings of 396 LINDEN — LAKE CONSTANCE. the striking scenes in Bavarian history from early periods, as well as true landscapes and views of celebrated places in Greece and Italy. The exterior wall of these majestic and beautiful arcades are the broad, low-windowed trans- parent rears of the richest and gayest shops, cafes, and restau* rants in Munich. This mode of spreading the patriotic history of the nation before the people cannot fail to have a powerful and excellent eifort. Louis I. deserves the immortality which his creation of this beautiful capital will give him, so long as shall be admired the union of high royal qualities, with thorough intellectual cultivation, literary and artistic taste, and munificence more than princely — for some of his greatest public enterprises, have been the gift of his private purse to the public gratification and improvement. From Munich we went back to Augsburg and down to Lindau — Lindavia — on Lake Constance, where the grateful Sabbath brought us a day of rest. The situation of the little city is exceedingly beautiful, commanding the lake and the Swiss shore — and everywhere the foreground and middle distance enjoy a beauty and repose which are rarely surpassed in quiet and loveliness, while in the far horizon the snow- topped mountains are relieved against the sky. I strolled from my hotel by the lake into the venerable old town, and found two churches near together — one Catholic, the other Lutheran. I entered the Lutheran church, but being unable to understand what was said or sung I soon left and returned to the hotel, and enjoyed the charming outlook from the windows. €\n$ttx %totntu-fift]i* SWITZERLAND. FROM Lindau we entered Switzerland, crossing the lake diagonally to Romanshorn — Cornu liomanorum — in the canton of Zurich — some fifteen miles — and there we took a diligence for Zurich — Tigunm — the beautiful little capital of that canton. We spent but half a day there, but that was quite enough to enable us to go through its prosperous streets, to purchase some souvenirs in its pretty shops, and to stroll through its romantic promenades, asd from a lofty observatory to look out upon and enjoy one of the most lovely of landscapes — composed by nature with all the per- fection of artistic taste, as a composition. Situated on both sides of the Limmat where it empties into the lake, and on the lake — you have the city, and its streets, and spires, and towers at your feet — the river and its valley on the one hand and the lake and the basin in which it lies on the other — on the margin of both, the rural residences, and farms, and cottages, and the fine cultivation of thrifty husbandry. Still beyond are the rude and broken mountain scenes — ■ while stretching far across the horizon, the white summits 398 SWITZERLAND — ZURICH. of the Alps, mingle with the silvery cumulous clouds, from which it is not always easy to distinguish them. Far off as these summits may be — say fifty miles — they seem to be comparatively near. I have often noticed in prints and pictures this effect, and supposed that it was to bft attributed to the difficulty of transferring to a drawing the truth of the scene. But that effect is the truth of nature — and it is doubtless to be charged to the sharp and distinct outlines, and the pure white — the effect of which is natur- ally to bring the object forward. We visited the house of Zwingle — the great Swiss reformer — who was contemporary with Luther, with whom, however, he could not agree in all things. After long and earnest conference and efforts to agree they found it impossible — in some cardinal points — and gave up the effort, agreeing to one thing, however, which really made them one — they agreed that — notwithstanding their differences in points of belief — they could live in Christian charity with each other. Zwingle had unbounded influence over the Zurichers, and it was through his influence that the canton became thorough- ly Protestant as it still is. In the hot zeal of religious fanatical animosity, a war broke out between Zurich and the neighboring Catholic canton, and, as was sometimes the custom in those times, the feai'less and eloquent pastor took the field as a standard-bearer, and bore aloft in the fight the banner of Protestantism, and with prophetic frenzy urged the soldiers to trust in God, as they met double their num- ber — But God wrought no miracle that day in their favor — the strong triumphed over the weak. The Zurichers were defeated, and Zwingle was found among the slain. His followers were always characterized by liberality and charity to other reformers — and by a milder spirit and gentler per- suasives to a devout life and works of goodness, than some of those whose abstractions and rigid faith failed to touch the sympathies of the general mind. THE FACE OF THE COUNTRY. 399 The early championship of reform and religious freedom, gave to this canton and its capital a sort of pre-emi- nence which have always been maintained, being now and ever unsurpassed in thrift and husbandry. In town and country, in village and hamlet, in the field and by the way, wherever your cast your eyes, you see that nature is sub- dued by intelligence and industry — you seem to be always passing the fields of the same beautiful farm, where house, and barn, and tree, and meadow, and planted field, acknowledge the same kind master, and smile with the same joy in the sunshine and the showers. The farm-houses, the cottages, the chalets — while there is diversity in their form and construction — as in our houses — are nevertheless char- acteristically alike, and in some particulars and usages strike us very strangely. Their low appearance — their broad roofs, with heavy stones on them to prevent their blowing away — with eaves projecting three to ten feet and sometimes almost reaching the ground and their balconies and outside stairs, have a novel and agreeable effect — while the barn, and stable, and house under one roof and entered from the same wide hall, and the immense heap of stable and barn manure ostentatiously made regular and showy, directly in front Oi the house — half way between the door and the road — at first sight suggested offensive and unnecessary filth, but on inquiry, utility and comfort became agricultural beauty. In this country of long and severe winters and drifting snows of insurmountable depth, it is quite important that the cattle should be comfortably housed, where they are always conve- niently accessible, that they may receive that constant care which the best husbandry always gives to its dumb and faith- ful servants — and their proximity, instead of begetting habits of filth in the people, enforces upon them, on the other hand, habits of the most watchful neatness — and that heap of manure is really a matter of ostentation with the farmer, 400 THE HAT HARVEST. for while it is in a place most convenient for him, by compost- ing and proper care he makes it more valuable and prevents its being either offensive or unsightly. He makes it large and adds to it as fast as he takes from it, so that he need never use any part of it, till — mellow and purified by age — it is an ino- dorous and perfect fertilizer — and its quantity is evidence of his thrift and his ability to make provision, for years in advance of his need. He is as proud of it as he would be of well-stored granaries in view of a scarcity. The farmex'S were in their hay harvest — the season had been wet and the crop was heavy. The weather was now fine, and the meadows were perfectly alive with hay-makers — a great many more women than men — the women neatly dressed — in this respect much superior to. the German women. I noticed, however, one instance which seemed to far outdo what I had seen in Germany of women at field work. It was an old woman, gray and wrinkled } seeming to be bowed and tottering with years, yet carrying a burden in a large tub, like a wash-tub, strapped to the shoulders like a knapsack. As we passed her, I thought I could see, in the look which she turned upon us, that, like me, she was marking the great contrasts between her situa- tion and ours. We noticed a few instances of goitre and cretinism. There was one peculiarity in the hay harvest which was novel. In extensive meadows we noticed that the hay was all loaded upon wagons, which were standing in different parts of the meadows. I counted twenty, thirty, fifty, and once, I think, a hundred wagons at the same lime standing loaded, in the fields in sight embracing several farms — and not a team, horse, ox, or mule, attached to any of them. I neglected to ask the cause of a practice which seems to me to require, on a farm, an extraordinary supply of what, in railroad phrase, is called rolling stock, but I concluded that something in the climate or weather rendered BADEN — BERNE. 401 it best to put up the hay, as soon as cured, on wagons — in- stead of in hay-cocks, as we do — and to let all stand, till they are all loaded, and then, with one or two pairs of horses, drive the loads into the barns as fast as they can be unloaded by many other active hands, who do nothing but unload the hay and run out the empty wagons. From Zurich, toward Berne, we went some twenty-five or thirty miles by railroad to Baden, a watering place. We reached the depot in an omnibus, and after I had taken my seat in the cars, I recollected that I had left my hat — one of those folding hats on a frame of steel springs — in the pocket of the coupe of the diligence at Zurich. I usually travelled in a cap. I called the conductor of the train to know if I could have time to drive back to the diligence station, to seek my hat — he said no, but if I would give a description of it, and a memorandum where it would reach me, he would send it to me. He assured me it could not be lost. I hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper the necessary direction, and gave it to him. The third day after I arrived at Geneva, on inquiring at the post-office, I received my hat, safe, carefully wrapped up with paper and twine — post- age ten cents. I had other more surprising illustrations of the completeness, the precision, and the reliability of all their travelling arrangements in Switzerland. The whole is one connected, intelligent, and sympathetic system — the parts and the whole mutually responsible for each other. Baden is a popular watering-place, which was celebrated for its warm baths in the time of Tacitus — called Thermce Helvetica, and Thermae Saperiores. We hurried through Berne — Berna — with even less stay than at Zurich. We had only time to see that it is a well- built, beautiful, and interesting city. A mere sight-seer might spend a couple of days here with pleasure and profit, among its fountains and statues, its libraries and collections. 402 LAUSANNE. and museums, and curiosities, and buildings, and institu- tions, and views. It is called Berne, from ber, said to be the vernacular for bear, in primitive bernese, and therefore they keep, at the public expense, a few bears, which may be always seen in the ditches of the fortification, as thte Venetians keep their pet pigeons about San Marco. The sidewalks of the city are covered by arcades, or a projection of the second story, while also the Swiss broad eaves pro- ject beyond that. There is thus a protection from the deep snows, which might otherwise render the walks impassable. It is built on the Aar, the outlet of Lake Thun. The city is seventeen hundred feet above the sea, and more than five hundred feet above the lake of Geneva, and about four hundred feet higher than Lake Zurich, and Lake Thun is still near one hundred feet higher, so that the Aar has a rapid current. It runs through the city in narrow canals, one or two feet wide and deep, through the centre of the streets, being an exceedingly convenient scavenger to hurry out of the city whatever might offend the eyes or the health of the people. This neatness, together with the high level of the city, makes the city one of the healthiest in the world. It is said, that of every four children born, one reaches the age of seventy years — and that, among every one hundred deaths, you are sure to find twenty or twenty-five, seventy to one hundred years old. The whole chain of the Alps is in view here. At Lausanne — Lausanna — Lusonium — we came to the shores of the beautiful Lake Leman — Lake of Geneva — in the time of the Romans, Lacm Lausannus — over which we go by steamer to Geneva. Our breakfast finished, an omnibus took us from the hotel to the landing, or port, Ouchy, a distance of a mile or so — a pleasant drive, through a fine portion of the city, and its lake suburb. The city itself rises abruptly from the lake, and is seated on several GENEVA. 403 steep hills, and their intervening valleys. The rich foliage of clustering vines, and luxuriant vegetation, and various flowers — on those south-looking hills — in the courts, and gar- dens, and grounds — the broad and beautiful lake sweeping oiFon either hand — the further shore rugged and precipitous, and beyond it the peaks — appropriately called " teeth" and "needles" — like silver spears piercing the very clouds, was a delightful panorama, as we sat on the deck of the boat and moved down the lake amid the shifting scenes. On the ever memorable and blessed Fourth of July, we welcomed ourselves to the famous republican city of Geneva. The entrance from the lake is beautiful. We took lodcin^s in the excellent Hotel des Bergues, situated on the quay of the river Rhone. Our rooms were as beautiful in situation and out-look as they were in finish, and furniture, and comfort within. From our windows we looked down upon Rousseau Island — a charming little island in the Rhone, approached by a small foot-bridge — taking its name from a bronze statue of Jean Jacques — the island and the monumental statue, both dedicated to the memory of that strange philoso- pher. In the near distance are the precipitous calcareous blutfs — Mont Saleve — with naked strata — which shut out the low horizontal prospect, but over and beyond them are the vast and heaven-daring chain of the Alps, making a horizon of great beauty, grandeur and sublimity. Our letters, accummulated here, took us back to the delights of home, while everything about us forced us — by an easy analogy — to turn our thoughts to this remarkable country — in some respects not unlike our own. The country takes its name from Schwytz — one of the small Catholic cantons — yet they are all Swiss. The Gallic race, from France, so mercurial and versatile — the Gothic, from Germany, so speculative and persevering — the Latin, from Italy, so superstitious and indolent, and all so aristocratic 404 LIBERTY — PATEIOTISM. and monarchical, have combined to make the Swiss -what they are — so passionately patriotic — so simple and true- hearted — so intelligent and faithful — such pattern republi- cans. Nowhere else, as here, are liberty, equality, and fra- ternity so instinctive and unchangeable. " Les hommes soht nes pour Vordre et non pour la servitude, Us doivent elire leurs magisttuts, mais non romper sous des maitres," said the Appen- zellians four hundred and fifty years ago — " Men were born for dominion, not servitude — they should elect their magis- trates, but not cringe under masters." There is diversity in the constitutional organization of their governments, but the declaration of Appenzell is the fundamental principle of them all. The scenery of their Alpine country does not differ more from that of the sur- rounding countries, than their society, their character, and their government do from those, surrounded by which, they have maintained their morals and manners, and have always been the garrison of a great fortress of freedom. It would not be uninteresting, hackneyed as the stories are, to bring together some of their striking histories and incidents of their heroes, their patriotism, and their freedom, and of Melchtal, Faust, Stauffacher, Winkelried, and Tell, as their representative men. How they have been educated in self- defence by their great festivals, and competitions in target shooting, and all the practice of hunter's life. How they have multiplied their power by universal education and intelli- gence — by universal good morals and religion, and the invincible mutualities of the family relation — altars, and hearths, and household gods. In peace they have prepared for war — in their primitive times — not by exhausting and expensive munitions, and fortifications, and demoralizing armies, but by making every man a soldier, with the devo- tion of a patriot, with the fierce and stubborn bravery and self-reliance of a mountain hunter, and the intelligence RELIGION. 405 and address of a commander. These things are familiar, but you cannot realize, without being on the spot, how they take possession of your reflective moments — and suggest political, and social, and moral truths and speculations, which absorb you, and which you cannot, if you would, drive away. Deeply interesting to all intelligent travellers, it is doubly so to citizens of the United States, to travel through this wonderful country. This love of liberty has of course brought with it free thought and universal education, and has brought great intellectual activity, so that while Switzerland con- tains only about one per cent, of the population of Europe, it boasts of long lines of great and distinguished men in all the walks of literary and scientific eminence, rarely equalled in nations ten times as large. Zurich, and Berne, and Vaud are much the largest and most populous cantons, containing about half the population of Switzerland — and in them the Protestant population is tenfold greater than the Catholic. The canton of Lucerne is also a large canton, and the Catholic religion predomi- nates as largely there. Of all the cantons, Geneva is much the most thickly settled, and Grisons much the most thinly settled. About two thirds of the Swiss speak the German language, about one fifth French, and the residue Italian and Romanish. The aggregate number of Protestants is much greater than of Catholics. They are mixed in most of the cantons, and in some pretty equally. Everywhere, I believe, they live peaceably with each other, but have as little sympathy or disposition to coalesce as they have else- where. In the Catholic portions there are religious houses, of several ordei-s, but so far as we saw, they do not here, as elsewhere, fill the streets with mendicant monks and ragged beggars. We have seen none, but our journey has been — much of the time — in the more Protestant cantons. 406 GENEVA. Fable says Geneva was founded by Lemanus, a son of Paris, soon after the fall of Troy — hence the name of the lake, Leraan, called after him. Reliable and recorded his- tory makes it a considerable town in the time of Julius Ceesar. It was the seat of a Christian bishop fifteen hun- dred years ago. After ages of strife, and bloodshed, and change of dominion, in the early part of the sixteenth cen- tury, romantic instances of patriotic devotion, of suffering and martyrdom, so excited and strengthened the people, that, with the aid of the reformation, which spread rapidly in Switzerland, Geneva assumed her political and religious independence, and in 1535 became a free State, with a ter- ritory less than ten miles square, and with less than fifty thou- sand people. One can hardly believe that in the stormy times of political and religious revolution, so small a com- munity would have presumed to set up for itself, and, perhaps, it was a consciousness of their weakness that induced them to invite John Calvin to lend his counsel to the little republic. During twenty-eight years that great man ex- ercised vast influence in church and state, and laid so well the foundation of the infant state as justly to meiit the character of its founder. There is hardly a city of the size of Geneva in Europe so justly celebrated. It has been the birth-place of so many — an asylum for so many — the chosen residence or the resort of so many great men — that it is as beautiful in its history as in its situation, and surroundings, and institutions. Rousseau was born here, and always added to his name— as a title of honor — citizen of Geneva. From having been the idol of his native city he became an exile — his most elaborate and famous works were burned in the City Hall place, by a decree of the public authorities. Banished from France he sought an asylum here, but found the gates shut against him, and he never returned — but after his death, the generations LOCAL OELEBRITES. 407 that never knew him have given to his name and memory all the glory which he deserved. We visited the house where he was born, and the square where his books were burned, and the beautiful little island, whose great attraction is the bronze statue in his honor. This little island — reached by a small suspension bridge, and beautifully planted and kept — is one of the most exquisite and charming little spots I have seen in Switzerland. In and about the city, other celebrities, still holding their places in the temple of fame, have dwelt for longer or shorter periods. Voltaire, and Milton, and the Empress Josephine, after her divorce, resided here. Lord Byron — at his Maison Deodati — now a water-cure — wrote Manfred and the third canto of Childe Harold. Side by side — in the beautiful Protestant burying-ground — are the graves of Sir Humphrey Davy and De Candolle. Bayle, Necker and his daughter — Madame de Stael — enjoyed a quiet, literary, and philosophical repose at Coppet, a village hard by. I might fill a page with the names of theologians, publicists, histor- ians, naturalists, mathematicians, engineers, and artists, whose European eminence is part of the local glory of this little city — and the academies, and seminaries, the museums, collections, and libraries, to which many of them have con- tributed their labors — are among the interesting objects to visit. These have also done much to make it what it has long been — one of the best and most frequented resorts for common, useful, elementary education. Its excellent schools are resorted to by many who come from abroad to enjoy the healthy atmosphere, the quiet scenes, the gentle influ- ences, the thorough instructions, the simple republican man- ners, the good morals, and the freedom from temptation, which have characterized it for ages. The public library — of forty thousand volumes — was founded by Bonnivard, the prisoner of Chillon, three hundred years ago — and is an 408 GENEVA TO CM AMOUNT. excellent library, containing a large number of exceedingly rare and valuable bibliographical and literary curiosities. The Cathedral of St. Peter — some six or eight hundred years old, the date is variously fixed — is an object of great interest. Situated on the highest part of the city, it ie externally lofty and majestic — within it is striking and solemn in its simplicity and severe gravity — having been stripped of all its Roman Catholic ornaments by the icono- clasts of the reformed religion. It is the mother church of Calvinism, and it is a noble temple of that faith. We started on our onward course to Chamouni, and so across the Alps. It was a morning of great beauty, and our horses and conductor seemed to feel the spirit of the weather, and dashed on in the finest spirit, along the banks of the Arve, which empties into the Rhone, a little way from Geneva. At Anemasse we crossed the line which separates Switzerland from Savoy, and again enjoyed the luxuiy of being overhauled by a frontier custom-house, for here we entered the kingdom of Sardinia, in which are situ- ated the valley of the Arve, Sallenches, and the lofty moun- tain valley of Chamouni. On our way, almost always, the snowy Alps, and often Mont Blanc, are distinctly in sight — seeming to be close at hand — cliffs, immense and lofty, overhang the road. At Cluse, a village which had been burnt up and rebuilt, the needful supply of fire-buckets, probably provided at the pub- lic expense, were hanging in the public square. Here am- monites and other petrifactions abound in the rocks, and near here, up the mountains, more than seven thousand feet above the sea, are also marine petrifactions. On these overhanging cliffs, cascades sometimes start out, as it were, from a hole in the rock, leap from rock to rock, and finally spring over a dizzy precipice, and reach the bottom in spray and foam, with a wonderful and beautiful effect. The re- WATERFALL OP ARPENAS. 409 markable waterfall of Arpenas is near to Cluse. A small stream pours over the brow of a precipice, eight hundred feet high, and long before it has made half the descent, the stream of water has been turned to many beautiful inverted cones of mere snowy spray, which, still lower down, seem to vanish entirely, and a fine and foggy vapor is all that is left of the stream that leaped over the brow of the moun- tain. It finally condenses, and collects below in little milky streams. The beauty of the whole cascade is quite indes- cribable, and the rugged rocky summits are no less striking — some of them are like nothing that I have ever seen before — huge points of rock, sharp and angular — in form, and structure, and arrangement, like a cluster of crystals of dog-tooth spar, quite as distinct and characteristic, only in- finitely greater. These scenes are on the left, while on the right, from the valley, stretches a rising and rolling culti- vated hill-side, dotted with chalets and divided into farms, about which are nibbling and browsing cattle and sheep and goats. Arriving at Sallenches, there is a noble view of Mont Blanc and his skyey neighbors, well worth stopping in that beautiful spot to look at with awe and wonder. St. Martins on one side of a bridge, and Sallenches on the other, and the scenes of the valley above and around are charming. Our spanking teams dashed across the bridge and whirled us up to the hotel, where all snatched a hasty dinner which stood ready for us, during which our capacious diligences had given place to small light wagons, with seats for five besides the driver, and then I first learned that we were to find our further way in those wagons, over steep and rugged roads, which are impracticable to the diligence. We had formed a travelling acquaintance in the diligence with an English party — a gentleman of much intelligence, and unusual vivacity for an Englishman — a lieutenant, 18 410 ALPINE HORN. who had served in India, and his wife. They were our wagon companions also, and contributed much to the pleas- ure of the tugging ascent. At Servos — half way between Sallenches and Chamouni — we stopped to hear the sur- prising echoes come back from the surrounding mountains and valleys. An Alpine horn is kept there, a blast of which, after a moment, comes back from every direction — repeated successively, with great distinctness — and finally dies away among the valleys in the crisp and curt, rattling, repetitious volley of a distant feu clejoie We crept slowly up the mountains, always following the run of the Arve. Sometimes our road was along the bank and on the level of the stream, and sometimes it was in the side of the mountain, a narrow and fearful highway, from which you look down one hundred to three hundred feet upon the tops of the mountain evergreens — which only imperfectly conceal the narrow and rocky ravine, through which the milky torrent mutters and frets and raves among the obstruc- tions of its Alpine descent. As we came out into a clear- ing and passed over an outlooking elevation, Mont Blanc still rose before us, and some of the glaciers seemed to be close upon us. Over the more steep and difficult spots the gentle- men surrendered the carriage to the ladies, and walked up the steep ascent, with a freer look and a freer talk. My English companion, who had the most years, was quite sure that Mont Blanc was not so much of a sight as he had supposed. He had no doubt that the English mountains — some of them — were quite as high as Mont Blanc. He was sure it was not higher than Skiddaw. I told him that in the presence of Mont Blanc, England had no mountains whatever. He could not tell me the height of Skiddaw, and the lieutenant had never before heard of that mountain. Skiddaw is three thousand feet high, and Mont Blanc more than fifteen thousand feet. CHAMOUNI. 411 When we opened into the valley of Chamouni the scene changed. The glaciers which we had seen at Sallenches, and occasionally since, were now near us, and finally by the roadside — while on the other hand was high and precipitous hills, fifteen hundred feet high — gray and perpendicular rocks, of rugged and beautiful outline, speckled with spots of snow, and interspersed with green fields, and gardens, and chalets — a scenery of striking contrasts, and of sharp and distinct outline and of great beauty — more than three thous- and feet above the sea. This valley was unknown to travellers before 1741, when it was discovered by the Englishmen, Pocock and Wind- ham, and by them revealed and described. Its convenience as a resting place, and point of departure — the beauty of the valley — the great glaciers, which come down there to the very valley, and the greatest and most remarkable of all of them so easily accessible there — the merde glace — the fine outlook Montanvert, accessible on mules in three hours — the sub- lime and indescribable view of Mont Blanc in its greatest glory and all the dangerous pathway up its icy and fearful stages — have all combined to make Chamouni known to all trav- ellers in Switzerland — and to build up there a smart little settlement, with very large, commodious, and well appoint- ed hotels, and the largest and best supply of guides and all the appliances necessary for safe and convenient travel to the points of great attraction. The beautiful weather with which we left Geneva, and which had continued till we retired to rest, induced us to make arrangements for an early start on horseback over the Tete Noire. We were waked in the morning by the passing of our horses past our windows, ready saddled and led by our guides. But before we were dressed, it thickened up, and before we were through our breakfast, a fine and misty rain, such as had obscured the scene so much during this 412 BACK FROM CHAMOUNI. season, commenced its drizzle. There was of course no going that day, and there could be no reliable opinion when we should have an opportunity to cross with good weather so Ave changed our plan on the instant and determined to return immediately to Geneva, and leave our further Alpine excursions till we should come again, when a drier summer should make the narrow ways, the steep ascents, and the mountain gorges, less slippery and dangerous With rainy and misty weather, Montanvert and the mer de glace are im- practicable, and the passage of the Tete Noire and the Col de Baline undesirable as well as impossible — and unless we could afford the time to wait upon Providence, our only way was, with a good grace, to be reconciled to the disappointment. So we returned to Geneva by the way we came — but the scene was changed and the view different — clouds and mist hung over and sat upon portions of the scene — the streams were swollen and angry — the cascades and little streams of the cliffs looked wild and savage, and sometimes seemed to come out of the clouds — the Alpine horn gave back no echo, and the snowy Alps concealed themselves behind the dusky curtains that shut in the horizon. As we passed one of the dreariest spots, near a small hamlet, the diligence stopped, and from a humble chalet came a young woman without a hat. Her trunk was put on. She was evidently leaving her wretched goitre-cursed home for beautiful Geneva. But her eyes did not see the homeliness of her home, nor the goitre of her mother, nor the folly of her cretin sister. She only saw them with the eyes of her heart. She wept and sobbed almost to death as she convulsively kissed them, as though it were her last good-bye. It was a scene that might hap- pen in any country, but here it brought forcibly to mind that characteristic attachment of the Swiss to their home, of which such striking anecdotes are told. From Geneva we went the grand circuit of the lake by CIRCUIT OF THE LAKE. 413 steamer. The lake is forty-five miles long, in the shape of a crescent, and eight miles broad in the broadest place, and it varies in depth from three hundred to twelve hundred feet. On its concave northern shore is Switzerland — on its convex southern shore is wild, rude, rocky Savoy. All along the Swiss shore are beautiful little towns — little ports, thrifty,prosperous, and active — cultivated fields,and vineyards — smiling and beau- tiful landscapes stretching back from the lake. Morges — about half way up the lake is one of the principal ports of the Pays de Vaud — as we passed it, it was alive with the banners and crowds of one of those target-shooting festivals, which bring together the sharp-shooters, and the frolicksome, as well as the graver people from all the neighboring cantons. On the Savoy side here and there, among the cliffs and on the beetling shore, are several pretty and interesting little villages, from be- hind and about which, precipitous rocks, and unfriendly and impracticable hills rise toward the higher mountains, whose peaks and glaciers give such grandeur to some of the views. In the dry and steady heats of summer the Swiss lakes and streams are more swollen than in other portions of the year, because the burning summer sun melts more pi'ofusely the Alpine snows, and ices, and glaciers. This lake rises thus about six feet. There are other singular phenomena that I should have been glad to see. In stormy weather, in the presence of a thunder cloud, the middle of the lake suddenly rises five or six feet, leaving the sides low and sometimes bare, and as quickly subsides. The harbor of Geneva is said to have been once laid dry in this manner. The effect, I believe, is considered to be electrical. Sometimes, in a calm, something like the little sea of a tide is visible — and sometimes the lake blossoms, as it is called — the margin being covered with a thick body of almost indistinguishable insects. We had a smooth summer day on the lake, but the storms are very violent and dangerous in spring and 414 CHILLON. autumn, when the winds come with a violence and sud- denness which can neither be foreseen or resisted. Byron and Shelley narrowly escaped being lost in a storm, near Meillerie, on the Savoy shore. At Villeneuve — Pennilucus — the Rhone enters the lake through a large delta. In its rapid course from its rise, in the Upper Valais, it receives the waters of eighty minor streams, which it empties into the lake — and at Geneva, in a rapid, and deep, and beautiful torrent, it bears the waters of the lake through the city of Geneva, and constantly increases by large tributaries, till it unites with the Saone, at Lyons, and thus becomes a great navigable thoroughfare from interior France to the Mediterranean at Marseilles. The boat stopped at Villeneuve long enough for us to go ashore and visit the castle of Chillon, made so interesting and famous by the poem of Bj'ron and the sufferings of Bonnivard. The castle stands on a small island connected with the main land by a draw-bridge, which is always open at night. This little island — a breakwater island — and the precious little islet with three trees, mentioned in the poem, are the only islands on the lake. The castle of Chillon is a venerable old fortress on the very shore of the lake. The poem of Byron has made every part of it deeply interesting, although the scene of the poem is confined to one room. The poem itself derives its most in- teresting thoughts and descriptions from facts which are the pure creations of his genius. There were no three brothers con- fined together there — of course no dying one after another — but there is a dim, low vaulted chamber, low as the level of the lake — there are the low and stumpy columns bearing the heavy oppressive arches — there are the tyrannical ringbolts — there is the earthy floor trodden hard and smooth, as though the poor prisoners had just left their weary little circuit and their worrying fetters. But there was but one prisoner — Bonni- BONNIVARD. 415 vard — the hero, the scholar, the man of letters — was there alone — no brothers, no fellow-prisoners — He struck for the freedom of his country, and was made a prisoner, and was kept there, in a dungeon, six years, simply by the will of the tyrannical Duke of Savoy- -never leaving his dungeon — not even for fresh air or light. The breath of air and dim rays of light came only through a crevice window, in a wall of immense thickness — through which, when released from his chains, he might look a straight look upon the water — eight hundred and thirty-five feet deep — that dashed against the wall. In 1536 the Bernese and the Genevese combined to capture the Pays de Vaud from the Duke of Savoy. Chillon held out to the last, but while the Bernese, closely invested it by land, the Genevese attacked it from the lake, and it surrendered — when Bonnivard and the other prisoners were set at liberty. When tyranny chained him to that dungeon-column, Geneva was a Roman Catholic canton, sub- jugated to Charles V., of Savoy. When his fetters were knocked off and he was hurried to the free open air, his own liberty was not more welcome to him than the news that Geneva was rejoicing in the independence of a free republic and the free worship of the reformed religion. One is so wrapped up in the Bonnivard prison that the other places, and modes, and instruments of torture are passed more carelessly by — the little chapel for bigoted worship — that black and dingy beam in the gloomy shades of a vault, where some were murdered on the gibbet — and below them those absolutely rayless dungeons of cruelty, where others were bur- ied — and that fearful well, through the trapdoor of which the victim was hurried down three steps as to the floor of a dungeon, but the fourth step was to the bottom of that well, ninety feet deep, where he was dashed to pieces on the rocks — and the place of execution where — five hundred years ago, 1348 — twelve hundred Jews were burned alive on 416 LAUSANNE. the cruel suspicion of a concerted plan by the Jews to poison all the wells of Europe. A large portion of the castle is now used as an arsenal for the arms of Vaud. From Chillon and Villeneuve we steamed down the Swiss shore of the lake to Vevay and thence to Ouchy — the port of Lausanne — where we left the boat, having now, with our first voyage down to Geneva, completed the circuit of the lake. It was at the Anchor Hotel in Ouctry, in 1816, that Byron — kept indoors by bad weather — wrote the Pris- oner of Chillon, whose beauties will make the mere inven- tions of the poet take the place of history, in the mind of the general reader, in spite of himself. At Lausanne, our hotel occupied the site of the house where Gibbon wrote the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It is the great hotel of the town. The town itself has about sixteen thousand people. It is approached from the lake by a laborious ascent, so steep as to occupy about half an hour in reaching it, although the distance is very short — and it is built irregularly on hills and valleys, which are steep and wearisome — no where less than five hundred and thirty feet above the level of the lake. The town is very old — dating back to the sixth century, and it was at that early period that one of the bishops made it the seat of his bishopric, and brought hither the holy relics — a piece of the true cross — one of the ribs of Mary Magdalen — a lock of the Virgin Mary's hair — a piece of the holy cradle in which the infant Savior was rocked — and a rat which had snatched up and devoured a consecrated wafer. These drew such crowds of pilgrims that the town grew with precocious rapidity — and in the year 1000, the Cathedral of Notre Dame, one of the finest Gothic churches in Europe, was commenced, and fin- ished in 1275. It is situated on the top of one of the hills which commands the whole city. It has inscriptions without and within, and has many remarkable tombs, ancient as well CATHEDRAL SCENERY. 417 as modern. Lausanne, like Geneva, is Presbyterian — having, about as early as that city, cordially adopted the principles and practices of the Reformation. The cathedral was, of course, reduced to Presbyterian simplicity, and adapted to the usages of the republican government. It has its seats for men and seats for women — a place for the officers of the church — another for the regents of the university — another for the court of appeals — and another for the council of state. Near the old statue of Notre Dame, holes are worn in the stone pavement by the feet of those who bowed to do her honor. There is also a small chapel for catechising the children. While there was more to interest us in Notre Dame, at Lausanne, than in St. Pierre, at Geneva, I thought the Geneva cathedral was more solemn and religious, in its aspect, than that of Lausanne. From the lofty site of the old cathedral, one realizes the magnificence of the site of Lausanne. It is unequalled in Switzerland, and for its characteristic beauties must be un- surpassed in the world — taking in the chains of the Jura and of the Alps, and the intervening valley — the lake of Geneva, and both its shores — and every variety of scene — from the sublimest mountain chains of barren and glistening ice to the loveliest valleys of tropical beauty and fertility. "Water and land — hill and valley and plain — town and country — bay and promontory — sailing and steaming craft — ravine and ledge and cliff — and terraced and trellised vineyards — all seemed to be combined in every form of beauty. No won- der that it has always been a favorite resort for travellers and resident strangers of distinction — that its schools and semi- naries should be among the best, and its society distinguished for intellectual and social cultivation and polish. Its schools may well be spoken of as the fair representation of public education in Switzerland, although each canton — each com- mune, indeed — manages its schools in its own way. I made 18* 418 POPULAR EDUCATION. no specific, detailed, inquiries except at Lausanne, but all are believed to be substantially alike. No one can travel through the cantons which we traversed- — Zurich, Argovia, Lucerne, Berne, Fribourg, Vaud, Geneva, Neufchatel, and Basle — without being convinced that their power is derived from their system of popular education. Ample provision is made for the free education of the people — in religion, reading, writing, linear-drawing, grammar, arithmetic, book-keeping, geography, history of Switzerland, natural philosophy and its practical applications, composition, and the rights and duties of the citizen. These schools are established and sustained by the votes of the people, and the people are by law compelled to send their children to them, from the age of six to fourteen, under penalties. The schoolmaster has a roll or list of all the children in his district within the school ages, and with military precision he calls that roll and marks the absentees daily. There are also in the larger towns higher seminaries, such as we call normal schools, academies, colleges, and universities — which are free to those who choo?e to resort to them and to provide their own books. I should have said that in all the schools the pupils who are able to do so, provide their own books — the poor are supplied at the public expense. At Neufchatel — Novum Ca&trum — we were compelled to wait a few hours for the diligence to Bienne, where we should intersect the line from Berne to Basle. This short period I embraced in hastily looking through the little old town. It is situated on the shore from which it rises up the hillside. It has its old part and its new part. The new is modern in style as well as new in time, and the old is ancient, dilapidated, and venerable — sometimes quaint and odd. There is the old chateau of the exploded princes, and the old cathedral of the Catholic religion, both wholly perverted from their original purpose — for graves and mon- NEUFCHATEL. 419 uments are all that are left of the princes, and the simple forms of the Reformed Church have taken the place of the Roman ceremonies — the arches of the old temple echo only to the severe doctrines of the Reformation, and before it stands the monumental stone of the fierce, fearless, and fanatical reformer, William Farel, the contemporary and friend of Calvin. His success as a preacher was great — his intense zeal and boldness, in the midst of his enemies, while hostile swords were flashing around him — did not permit even those who hated him, to doubt his sincerity or to deny his power. Some of the suburban villas and houses are in themselves very fine, and in situation and outlook they are exceedingly beautiful. On the borders of the lake the view is charming, for the Alpine chain, one hundred miles distant, seems to form the eastern shore of the lake — but from the higher ground of the castle and the cathedral, the Alps seemed to rise, in the distance, to their appropriate majesty. As the morning sun rose in the heavens, and tipped peak after peak with silver, you can imagine how striking it must be, and always how beautiful, even to those who look upon it every day. Our route to Basle was by Sonceboz, Tavannes, Malleray, and the Munsterthal — Moutiers-Grand-Val. Several cas- cades of the most beautiful and romantic character are on this route, and here, through this celebrated valley, was the only place in Switzerland where I saw anything from which I could suppose had been taken the name of the Saxon Switzerland, of which I gave some account in a let- ter from Dresden, The rocky cliffs and precipices of columnar structure, which we passed, more than anything else, reminded us of the banks of the Elbe, although really there was no great resemblance, and the rocky beds of the stream, in wild, deep, and ragged ravines and gorges, had no 420 BASLE. parallel that I saw in Saxony. Here and there an old castle helped to diversify the landscape and make it more suggestive and agreeable. We have thus traversed the length and breadth of Swit- zerland, from Lindau, by Zurich, through that vast valley lying between the Bernese Oberland on our left, and the Jura on our right — to Geneva and Chamouni, and then again from Chamouni, in the south, by Neufchatel and Bienne, and the Munsterthal, to Basle, in the north. We have not seen the greatest and most wonderful sights of the country. We did not climb Mont Blanc, nor yet the Rhigi, nor the Col de Baume, nor the Tete Noire, nor any of the great summits, to look outward and down upon those beautiful sublimities which call so many to visit those Alpine regions. The weather was unpropitious for such excursions — but we had many opportunities to look up to all those mountains of snow and ice, which the summer sun has never melted, and which we might suppose formed a portion of the sights at which the sons of God shouted for joy among the morning stars of the creation. And the glaciers — I never had any clear idea of them till I saw them. They seem like frozen rivers in the Alpine valleys. Masses of ice, that seem in fact to be great river torrents, twenty- five, seventy-five, and five hundred feet deep, frozen, in an instant, into a solid mass of ice, and even now by melting below, by the warmth of the earth, a little stream ripples out from below, and the superincumbent mass of ice creeps slowly a few inches a year down the hill — resting its lower mass sometimes on the cultivated plains, among the green fields, at the foot of the mountain, and giving its chilly shudder to the farmer-peasant, at his summer labor among his harvests, and giving him, to drink, its melted ice, which fastens upon him the loathsome goitre. Basle — Basilea — is our last resting-place in Switzerland, ERASMUS HOLBEIN. 421 and nowhere can one rest more at his ease than at the spa- cious, convenient, and finely kept hotel of the Three Kings, where we stopped. The hotel fronts on a small triangular public place, and in the rear it has another fine front on the bank of the Khine. Its long and noble balconies, into which you step from the dining-room and the reading-room, overhang the river, in full view of the bridge, seven hun- dred feet long connecting the two parts of the city, which lies on both sides of the river. It has ten parlors, and two hundred bedrooms — a fine reading-room, and a chapel for English divine service — all fitted up with much style and elegance. Basle has long been a principal city, although not a large one. Four or five hundred years ago, war, pestilence, and earthquake, in rapid succession, desolated it, but soon there- after, as a free city, it rose rapidly into importance. Situated, as it is, on the spot where the Bhine, after winding and leap- ing through Alpine defiles, and gliding with a gentle current through the beautiful Boden sea — Constance — and dash- ing down its last precipice at Schaflfhausen, takes a short turn, and in a straightforward and business way, sets out through the great valley between the Blackforest and the Vosgian mountains, on its way to the North Sea — a great thoroughfare for Eastern France and Western Ger- many. It has been the seat of one great ecumenical council of the Boman Catholic church, and of several treaties of peace between the great powers of Europe. Tire Spanish treaty, from negotiating which, Godoy received his title of the Prince of Peace, was negotiated here. From being the seat of a Boman Catholic bishopric, it has become a Pro- testant city, and it has been a great seat of learning, and the birth-place and residence, and burial-place of great men — among whom Erasmus and Hans Holbien stand pre-eminent, and the memorials of them are cherished with great care. 422 DANSE BIACABRE. There is here, in the library, a copy of the Praise of Folly, illustrated with pen-sketches by Holbein, in the margin. Holbein was born here, but died in England, where Henry Eighth said of him, " I can, if I please, make seven lords of seven ploughmen, but I cannot make one Holbein even of seven lords." Many of his works are here. Erasmus was buried here, in the cathedral, which we could not enter, it being closed for repairs. He was contemporary with Luther, and himself a reformer, but had neither the zeal nor the boldness for a leader, and his cautious self-preservation — which kept him away from danger — was not a little cen- sured, but he said frankly that he had not the gift of mar- tyrdom. He had not really any relish for the radical and revolutionary reforms of Luther. Basle is now a Protestant city — the old Catholic cathe- dral is a Protestant church. It is ancient, odd, and quaint, in its outside look. The university, once so deservedly eminent, has dwindled to a handful of students. Its library is the best in Switzerland, and contains much that is curious. Here are preserved the remaining fragments of the Danse Macabre, or Dance of Death, sometimes attributed to Hol- bein, but really of an earlier period, though retouched and greatly improved by him. The whole series was painted on a wall of a cemetery, which was destroyed fifty years ago, and only fragments are preserved. These sermons in paint- ing or sculpture have been found in cemeteries all over Europe. The oldest was that of Minden, in Westphalia, about five hundred years old. There was one in Paris in the year 1424 — there is one at Dresden, a hundred years later — but this at Basle was the most celebrated of all, uniting more fully, and exhibiting more forcibly, the most beautiful and solemn morality — the most biting satire, the most genial raillery, and the most genuine wit. The idea — every- where the same, although very differently treated — is to THE APPROACH OF DEATH. 423 exhibit the approach of Death to all classes of mankind — in a great series, constantly varied in characteristic attitude and expression, like the scenes of a dance. Each is accom- panied by verses, which sharpen the wit and point the moral. The higher classes — the popes — the kings — the gen- erals — the professional men — are the subject for satire and wit, while in the humbler walks of life is exhibited a more touching and beautiful solemnity. The grim master of ceremonies tells his Holiness that there is no dispensation or indulgence for him. Armed cap-a-pie, he defies the hero to his last fight. He tells the lawyer that he can make no more delays. He offers his own dry and rattling skeleton to the medical man, for his last course of anatomy. As the poor blind beggar passes an open grave, Death cuts the string by which he is led, and takes hold of his staff to guide his steps aside. The artist stands with palette and pencil in hand, while a young Death grinds his colors, and old Death, with a garland on his brow, touches him on the shoulder and beckons him away. He snatches up and shoulders the spit with the roasting joint upon it, seizes by the wrist the fat cook, with napkin and spoon in hand, and leads him off with a manifest feeling of property in him. The whole has a point and expression, in each case adapted to the particular subject, which would seem impossible, in the frame and fleshless bones of a mere skeleton. Basle is a German city in appearance, and the German is the language spoken. It contains about twenty-five thou- sand people, mostly protestants. From the high ground on which the cathedral stands, near the river, the view of the town, the river and the bridge, is good. From the bridge the view up and down the Rhine and its shores, including both portions of the city, is exceedingly various and beauti- ful. THE RHINE FROM BASLE TO THE SEA. STKASBURG— Stratohurgum— was called by the. Ro- mans Argentoratum, and by them written in Greek Apx eVT0 ? a i which is somewhat suggestive of the consonant sounds of the two languages. It is a large and famous city, situated on the river III, in latitude ASh°. The 111 divides the city into many parts, united by fine bridges. It is a city of France, but is really a German city — German in its appearance and architecture, and German in its lan- guage and costume. It contains about seventy-five thou- sand people, one third of whom are protestants. There is besides a garrison of several thousand soldiers. In a military point of view, it is an exceedingly strong place. By means of sluices it can be made unapproachable, by being flooded. The gates are shut at night, after which there is no going out or coming in. We took our quarters at the hotel La Fleur, which boasts of having entertained Napoleon I, in the days of his glory. It was the head- quarters of Louis Napoleon's partisans in 1836, and is now THE CATHEDRAL. 425 a tolerable hotel. The city has several fine public places. The Parade platz, a military square, in which is a bronze statue of General Kleber, who was a native of this city, and of whom they may well be proud. His great military ability and success, united with great kindness and justice, made his character one of the highest excellence. There is also the Guttenberg platz — Guttenberg square — so called from the noble statue of Guttenberg, the inventor of the art of printing, by David. He was a native of Mentz — Mayence — but in Strasburg he made his invention of the art of printing, and this city enjoys the glory of being the first place in which printing, by movable types, was put in prac- tice. In one of the streets here is shown the spot where — five hundred years ago — two thousand Jews were burned up in a bonfire, like the holocaust at Chillon — being charged with having caused the plague by poisoning the wells and foun- tains. After that, for centuries, no Jew was allowed to live within the city. They were allowed to remain and traffic during the day, but at evening, by a public signal, every one was compelled to quit for the night. Now they have within the walls a magnificent s} r nagogue, and reside there in large numbers, enjoying wealth and respectability. This is but one of the indications of the general drift of the world toward that tolerant and charitable religious faith and practice, taught by the Master, and which in the end will make the lion and the lamb lie down together. The celebrated cathedral of Strasburg is one of the finest and most elaborate in Europe. We were careful to time our visit to it at high noon, for then the world-renowned clock makes its most remarkable manifestation. It is within the church. In a quiet and every-day way it constantly and visibly records the hour of the day, the day of the week, the day of the month, the rising and setting of the sun, the 426 PATE DE FOIE GRAS. phases of the moon, the signs of the Zodiac, and at the hour a cherub strikes the bell, and another turns an hour-glass. Death strikes twice, and an old man comes out and strikes once with his crutch and hobbles on, a child then comes out and stands till the next hour. At twelve, noon, the twelve apostles come out, and pass the Savior, and bow to him, and pass away, and a cock crows three times. This clock was made by a wealthy and ingenious citizen of Stras- burg, with many years' labor, and was presented to the city and set up in the cathedral. It is as great a wonder of in- genious complication as it is of inutility. It is his monument. In a cuiiet corner of the church is a little unpretentious stone statue of Edwin of Steinbach, the architect of the masterly temple, which he seems to be surveying with a master's eye, while, perhaps, from his unobserved retreat he listens to the admiration of the spectators. The spire of the minster is the highest in Europe, being about thirty feet higher than St. Peter's at Rome. Its pro- portions are beyond the reach of criticism. Its effect is worthy of a temple to the Christian God, and the marvellous tracery and fret-work, the carving, the chiselling, the open work, the laces — all of stone — are miraculous. While it seems to be a great heavenly temple of lace, it seems also none the less an imperishable pile of stone, reared by human genius and con- secrated to God. It is itself more than nine hundred years old — being the successor of older ones. The view of it by the inner light, the stained windows, the lofty columns, the font, the pulpit, the choir, the high altar, the tombs, the composite effect, are all in keeping with the architecture. It is three hundred and fifty-five feet long, one hundred and thirty-two feet broad, and the spire is four hundred and thirty-seven and a half feet high — French feet. We ordered — as a side dish for our dinner — one of the Strasburg pies — pate clefoie gras — so famous throughout the STRASBURG CELEBRITIES. 427 eating world — that Ave might eat one here in the place of their invention. We did not see that they were different in any- excellent quality from those which reach our "Western World. Those pies, as all the world knows, are made of the diseased liver of the goose. The poor animal, with his feet nailed fast to a plank, is placed before a hot fire and cram- med with food, and deprived of drink. This treatment soon gives the bird a morbid appetite and a bad liver complaint. The liver grows to an enormous size — sometimes even to the weight of three pounds — when the goose is killed and its diseased liver is made into a pie to gratify the delicate palates and pampered appetites of the luxurious. This cruel treatment of the goose I have seen denied, but the following paragraph which I translate from the Almanack des Gourmands — gives at the same time a history and the poetry of the process — " But that which entitles the goose to the gratitude of true epicures, and which gives her a very high rank among the winged tribes, are those livers from which are made, at Strasburg, those admirable pies, which are the greatest lux- ury of side dishes. To procure these livers of a proper size, the animal itself is sacrificed. Crammed with food, deprived of drink, and fastened near a hot fire — nailed by its feet to a board — it must be confessed this goose passes a life miserable enough. It would be, indeed, an inhuman tor- ture for her if she were not consoled by the idea of the lot which awaits her. But this prospect makes her bear her troubles with fortitude, and when she thinks that her liver — grown larger than she herself and larded with truffles — shall go in that masterly pie, and bear through Europe the glory of her name, she resigns herself to her fate, and does not allow a tear to start." The four masterpieces of genius of Strasburg — the mechanical clock, the pate de foie gras, the cathedral, the art of printing ! how they all represent classes of men — 12S JOHN GFUTTENBERG. — aims of ambition — paths to fame "Who can fail to bo forced to the reflections which are suggested by them? Years of time devoted, by one man of great ability, to uselesfl labor, to produce a useless and complicated contrivance for the mere sake of producing it — showing that it could be done. By another, the most barbarous and incredible cruelty to animals is made the basis of an invention, only for the purpose of ministering a dainty morsel to a fastidious appe- tite. "While a third devotes a life of genius to fitly raising harmoniously stone upon stone of that great temple of reli- gion, with its lofty spire, age after age, and age alter age, to point the soul to the cross, and through it to heaven. There Erwin of Steinbach forever, after his body shall have mouldered to dust beneath the pavement that he laid, shall still preach in this place, his great sermon, till, in the last earthquake, the minster shall be a part of the last ruin, or per- haps, be deemed worthy to remain as a place to worship God after the final change — if, as some suppose, " the new heavens and the new earth" are but to be the present heavens and earth purified and glorified. And the fourth discovers and labors to perfect the art of all arts — the art of diffusing knowledge — the art of universal education — the art by which he who has anything to say worth saying, may say it to all the world. Four hundred years ago John Guttenbcrg died at threescore. We sometimes say of the dead that they only sleep, but Guttenbcrg is neither dead nor asleep. Go to the great libraries— millions of books in every language — the more numerous millions of books afloat, and books of instruction, and public journals. Go to London, to Paris, to Leipsic, to New-York, to Printing-house square, to every composing room, to every press — from the oldest Kamage to the latest Hoe's Double Power Press — Guttenbcrg is at the bottom of the whole of it. He was never so active as now. The compositor does not put a single letter in his stick, without a BADEN-BADEN. 429 bow — docs he not bow to single-type Guttenberg ? That man with his sleeves rolled up and standing before his little furnace in the foundry, with a matrix in his hand — how he pours in the metal, tosses up his matrix, and drops from it a single type at a time — is he not Guttenberg himself? Clock, and pate, and religion, and literature, and science, »nd art, and politics, all look to Guttenberg as their herald and glorifier. He of all men deserves a statue. It should be of gold. I saw here, for the first time, teams of cattle — cows — driven with reins, bridles, and bits — which seemed to me a great oddity. An hour or two from Strasburg brought us to the cele- brated watering-place, Baden-Baden — properly Baden, but called Baden-Baden to distinguish it from other places of the same name in Switzerland and elsewhere. As the Swiss Baden was called by the Romans Thermae superiores, this was called Therrnce inferiores — these waters being also warmer and farther south. The little city or village is beautifully situated among the hills, and is exceedingly beautiful in itself, and in all its appointments and surround- ings. We took lodgings at the Hotel de l'Europe — a spacious hotel, looking most agreeably upon the public grounds and public buildings — much like a hotel at an American watering place, with a spacious dining-room, where, at a grand table (T/iote, the guests assemble for dinner. The public grounds are aside from the town, from which they are separated by a little stream, which, clear as crystal, runs rapidly between walled banks, and contributes its share to the beauty of the landscape. On these public grounds are the public spa-buildings, and all about the grounds are showy shops, evidently occupied only during the " season" — dry-goods shops of every variety, and old curiosity shops and new curiosity shops abounding, especially 430 THE SPA-BUILDINGS. in carving in wood, and ivory, and bone, and brick, here of exquisite skill in workmanship, and taste in form and pattern — walks and drives in every direction, and of every variety of beauty, from the quiet dell and the charming valley to the rocky ravine and mountain cliff, and frowning and top* pling ruins of castles, old as the dark ages. The public spa-buildings are the new Trinkhalle — drink» ing house or pumproom — and the Conversation Haus, or society house. The pumproom is over the hot springs, whose waters are drunk from a fountain that rises in the centre of a large hall, where all resort to drink — the waters are also carried in pipes to the various bathing-rooms. The water is of a temperature about one hundred and fifty degrees. It is clear, smells like a kind of broth, and has a saltish taste. The Trinkhalle hall is open from five to twelve a. m. — with a fine band of music from half-past six to eight — and from five to seven in the evening. The building is two hundred and seventy feet long and thirty-six broad, with a front colonnade of sixteen Corinth- ian columns. The effect is noble and beautiful. The ceiling is painted in fresco, with scenes from the many legends which the German mind have invented connect- ed with the various localities in the neighborhood, and there are also some excellent sculptures. The Conversation Haus, and the after-dinner prome- nades, and lounges, and music, on the public square, are the great features of the place — for here are exhibited the fashion and the fashionable vice of the place. The Conversation Haus is a great dancing and gambling house. There is dancing three times a week, twice in the morning dress, and Saturday in full dress. There is a theatre, a restaurant, library, and a reading-room connected with it. There is a room for roulette, and a room for rouge ct noir — a grand room also for spectators — two dressing rooms — a hall of cards, for GAMBLERS. 431 card playing — a hall of reunion for dancing and general social intercourse, with pianos, &c. — all furnished with royal magnificence, and every object multiplied by large mirrors. It is let out by the government to a company with the exclusive privilege of gambling tables, at a rent of thirty thousand dollars a year ! Here — in those gambling houses thronged with players, sometimes for the deepest stakes, — this maddening sport is kept up day and night — open to all that choose to stand by and see the sport go on. The gamblers are seated around a table perhaps five and twenty feet long, and four or five feet wide, loaded with rouleaus and piles of gold. Not a word is spoken — silent and grave — almost solemn — men and women are there — patrician and plebeian — one puts down a ducat, another a Napoleon, another a hundred or a thousand, and the play goes on with- out interruption, without even a lull in its activity — all you see is, each putting down his money on his favorite spot — the hazard of the play is cast, and with an unerring eye and hand, quick as thought, the banker with his little silver shovel, slides out upon the table his losses to the winner, and with his little silver rake, draws into the bank, from all parts of the table, the losses of the players. This is repeated every minute during the live-long day and night. A player leaves his seat and another takes it, and no one asks or thinks whether he left to return — whether richer or poorer — whether desperate or buoyant — whether he be gone to dinner, or to bed, or to blow out his brains. From Baden-Baden to Frankfort-on-the-main by rail — with only the usual railway stoppages — gave us little opportunity to note any more than the obvious beauties and topography of this interesting portion of the Rhenish coun- tries — Heidelberg with its associations, and sights, its ancient and famous university, and its battered and ruined 432 FRANKFORT HOCKHEIM. castle — Manheim, beautiful to look upon, and Darmstadt, which also would have well repaid a longer and more appreciative look, and Mayence, lying in quiet and majestic beauty. Large fields of poppies, as a regular crop — which we passed frequently through the day — were a novelty to us, and being now in full bloom, they gave a gay and flashy appearance to the landscape. Frankfort, the capital city of the German confederation, and the residence of many ambassadors, is a place of note — historically — for more than a thousand years, and of much beauty. The new part of the town has a fresh and modern look, and all the style and finish of a first-class city of to- day, while the old part, with its narrow streets and houses of projecting gables, look as though it had been built before the flood. I hardly know where we bave seen a city drive more beautiful and distinguished than through the best parts of modern Frankfort. The residences of the foreign ministers, of the rich merchants, and bankers, and politicians — which are numerous — are in every sense worthy of their position and wealth. The monuments and statues — the public places and public buildings — the Paul's place — the Theatre place — the Parade place — the old cathedral five hundred years old — St. Paul's Church — the Palace of the Diet — the exchange — the town-house — the museum, and galleries, and library, are all well worth the observation of the traveller. A few minutes in the cars took us from Frankfort to Wiesbaden — passing Ilockheira, where the celebrated Rhenish wine, Hockheimer — called Hock for brevity — is manufactured in the greatest perfection. Indeed that par- ticular wine is made nowhere else. The vineyards cover the whole land, but the best wine is made from a little tract of eight acres, which is of enormous value. There are four thousand vines to an acre, and each vine is worth two dollars. WIESBADEN. 433 Wiesbaden is an older and moi'e thronged watering-place than Baden-Baden — having some seasons twenty thousand visitors — but far inferior in style and rank of company and in the luxury of furniture and other appointments. The city is much larger than Baden-Baden. It is the capital of the Duchy of Nassau, and the residence of the Duke. The streets are wide and finely built. It is said that almost every house is a hotel, or boarding-house, or lodging-house. The Kur- saal is the great public place of entertainment. There is the roulette, and rouge et noir, and cards, and dancing, and conversation — there is a grand table d'hote, for several hun- dred persons. Then in front of the Kursaal is a spacious promenade, on two sides of which are the shops for curiosi- ties and fancy goods — then in the rear is the garden with tables and seats, and the refectory, and light refreshments, the ices, and creams, and drinks. It was the height of the season, and all these places were crowded with people of all ranks and conditions, yet with no rank and no precedence, but mingling, if possible, more democratically and equally than we do at our watering-places. The Drinkhall here — instead of being a palace like that of Baden-Baden — is a shanty with an awning covering, under which is a large sort of well or basin, some ten or twelve feet across — the water boils hot and steamy like a pot. Each drinker comes at the proper time for drinking the water, brings with him his own tumbler or cup, and fills it at the well, and then walks slowly and cautiously away, or back and forth, holding it in hand with great care, as though he were afraid of losing a drop, and sips it till it gets cool, and then drinks it. There are many invalids here, and the scene about the well is exceedingly odd. The poor and the rich — buxom youth and tottering age — and decrepitude and sickness, all meeting in democratic equality — and one with his plain cup — another with his 19 434 GAMBLING. common tumbler — another with rich gold and silver — another with costly Bohemian glass — all so carefully and steadily walking back and forth to cool the broth by mere lapse of time — a very odd scene. The gambling-room is plainer and more thronged with mere spectators. Besides those seated at the table we noticed that often the mere spectator of the game — the bumpkin who has brought his chickens to market and the fashionable miss in her teens — half in sport and half with a serious desire to see whether they might not be lucky — put down a coin larger or smaller, and the little rake or little shovel of the banker in a moment reveals the truth of the result. Perhaps I should say that such was the force of temptation and the contagion of example, that almost all who came to the room, before leaving, sported, for once or twice, a small stake. The delusions of gamblers are inexplicable. It is not easy to see how in games of skill the loser should hope at last to win against the same adversaries, for repeated defeats should be considered as establishing a real inferiority. And in games like those of cards, in which skill and chance are combined, how men play on against what they call a run of bad luck, in the apparent certainty that the luck must change! whereas the run of such result shows that there are causes at work — whether skill or chance — which they do not perceive, and which render such results continually probable—and in games of mere chance, when thei'e is no antagonist but fate — when gaming is but a mere bet on a throw of dice — a roll of a ball — a whirl of a table — or any event which is fortuitous — why should men notsee in their ill-luck, the evidence that some law of the game — some inevitable tendency — some constant discrimination is working against them ? How can a sane man believe that one of two independent throws should in- fluence the other? The throws of to-night are no more WARM SPRINGS. 435 dependent upon or influenced by each other, than they are dependent upon and influenced by the throws before the flood. Every time the dice are thrown, and every time the ball is rolled, is a new and independent adventure — none the less likely to be this or that, than if the previous one had never happened. In all those public games when you play against the bank, the chances are always against you, and it is that which is their gain and your loss — so that the bank is ready to play against all the world, and inevitably gets rich, under a rent of thirty thousand dollars a year. These watering-places in Europe are almost without number. One might spend almost a life in visiting them and not go to any one more than one season — and almost all of them have warm or hot waters, of various temperatures — indicative, I suppose, always of volcanic origin — yet where is the volcano? — where are the spiracles of these subterranean forces ? — where are the furnaces that heat these boiling currents in every direction bubbling up from the lowest depths'? .ZEtna, and Vesuvius, and Hecla, all are on the margins of different seas, and separated by the width of the Continent — from Italy to Iceland. Are they the chimneys of the same great fire over which Europe is but a crust, through which ascend these healing waters ? — The volcanoes that were smothered before recorded history or tradition, and are only known by their traces — the seven hills — the highest mountains of the Rhine — are volcanic — are they still active in their depths? and will they again burst forth — or will they sleep till that final day when the elements shall melt — " And like a parched and shrivelled scroll The flaming heavena together roll ?" From Wiesbaden a run of a few minutes on the rail brought us to Biberich, to take the steamer to Rotterdam. Our steamer was reasonably well appointed, and our 436 JOHANNISBERG. progress comfortably fast, even for Americans. The view from the deck — where we spent our time — was a rapidly moving panorama of shifting scenes — the first few miles of the river being full of islands — then came the peculiar scenery of the Khine, which it is quite impossible to com- pare with anything in our country, for all the elements of the scene are quite unknown to us. What first attracted our attention was the estate of Prince Metternich — Johan- nisberg — where is produced the most famous and expen- sive wine of Europe. There is the castle or mansion, which is not ancient nor ruined — there is the vineyard of seventy acres — a peculiar kind of grape — a peculiar soil — a peculiar treatment — the grapes being allowed to hang till they are nearly decayed. The vineyard is divided into small parcels, and the wine kept separate, as differing in value. The vineyard sometimes yields a profit of two thousand dollars, and the wine sometimes sells, at the vine- yard, at five dollars a bottle by the quantity — George IV. and the King of Prussia bought at about that price, and divided their purchase between them. The river here becomes much narrower than it is at Johannisberg, where is, perhaps, its greatest width — say two thousand feet — here it is but little more than half that. It would be vain, in letters like these, to attempt any detailed description of the river and its banks — High lands, in every variety of form and structure, rise up from the river on each side — covered with vineyards, terraces, and trellises, and castles, and ruins, and forts. And forts, and ruins, and rocks, and castles, and churches, and vineyards, and beauti- ful fields, and thrifty towns, and bridges of boats that open to let you pass, and rope-boat ferries — called flying-bridges — too numerous to name — present themselves in constant succession and alternation, keeping the eye and the mind in constant transition from one old novelty to another. THE ROBBERS OF THE RHINE. 437 The robbers of the Rhine are dead, and their castles are in ruins, and we were sailing down between their graves. The robbers of the Rhine — how easy it is to call names. They only levied duties on the commerce that passed that way — their castles were custom-houses. There were thirty-two of them in the middle ages. They were collectors, and had their tide waiters, and night inspectors, and revenue cutters — which they wore at their sides in a scabbard — their duties were ad valorem or specific, by a sliding scale, always slid- ing upward, or in any direction in which they would pro- duce the most revenue — theirs was strictly a revenue tariff. They were robbers — what are we Avho seize by the throat — figuratively — every merchant that brings us what we want, and will not let his goods pass till he has paid us a tribute of often one third their value ? We had among our fellow passengers an English lady. Like us she had been to Italy, and among her souvenirs de voyage she showed us in a box some pet turtles, which she had fed and cared for all the way from Venice. They were only about two inches long — dear little loves which she worshipped ! I suggested to her to complete a family of pets, by adding some spiders and lobsters, but she evidently was not disposed to divide her affections, or withdraw them from her turtles. The only stops, to go ashore, that we made were at Cologne, Colonia Agrippina, and Dusseldorf, the seat of the justly celebrated modern school of painting. We stopped at Cologne, and went by rail to Dusseldorf, by which we saved an hour, to look at Dusseldorf, which otherwise we might have passed in the boat. At both these places there is a bridge of boats, which opens like a draw, to allow the commerce of the Rhine to pass. This commerce is carried on by the means of tow boats, or tugs, which drag along immense tows, like those on the Hudson. On one of these 438 COLOGNE. boat-bridges we passed from Cologne to Deutz, to take the cars for Dusseldorf. Modern commerce has renovated Cologne. New, and broad, and beautiful streets, have been opened, sometimes to take the place of old German houses, such as those in the ancient part of the town, which give it still the appearance of an ancient city. It is an ancient city. We do not know how old it was at the beginning of our era. There are many Roman remains here which establish its antiquity. Its name — Cologne — is but an abbreviation of its Roman name, Colonia Agrippina. In the middle ages — five hundred to seven hundred years ago — it was called the Rome of the north. It had a church for every day in the year — three hundred and sixty-five. Now, there are twenty. It had two thousand five hundred priests, and more than five thou- sand beggars. Then it had its persecutions, that drove away its most industrious, enterprising, and thrifty inhabi- tants, by thousands, thus inflicting a double injury on them- selves, first, by diminishing, absolutely and fatally, their own numbers and resources, and next, by building up and strengthening the neighboring cities, which welcomed, with open arms, the exiles from their infatuated rival. This suicidal course, with its consequences, arrested the construction of its wonderful cathedral, which, finished on its original plan, would be, if it be not now — less than half done — the most remarkable and perfect specimen of Gothic archi- tecture in the world — exhibiting more fully than any other specimen the flexibility, adaptability, and infinite variety of that great style of architecture, which the more I see of it, the more excites my admiration. It is now six hundred years since this church was commenced, and it is not the least singular fact connected with it, that the name of the architect who planned and laid its foundations, and superin- tended its early progress, is entirely unknown. They name TIIE CATHEDRAL. 439 one Gerhard as the master-builder, who took charge after one hundred years of labor had been devoted to it by his predecessors, and his name is all that is known of him. It is in the form of a cross, five hundred and eleven feet long, and two hundred and eighty-one feet wide. Its twin tow- ers and spires were to be five hundred feet high — much higher than any other in Europe. One of them is only begun, and the other has risen to about one hundred and sixty feet, and on its top now stands the crane, or derrick, used centuries ago, to raise up the materials from below. It has stood there ever since. I say ever since — it is said, however, that it was once taken down, but a thunder storm, which happened soon after, and frightened the people, was attributed to this taking down of the venerable derrick, or crane — so it was carefully restored to its place. The effect of that crane up there, on the top of the unfinished tower, and relieved against the sky, connected with its cen- turies of idleness, is peculiar. In this tower is the great bell, of twenty-five thousand pounds, which requires twelve men to ring it. To support the arches of the body of the church, includ- ing the portico, are one hundred columns, each surmounted by a different chapiter. The four columns in the middle are each thirty feet in circumference. Within the church, aloft, are the timbers and scaffolding, placed there ages ago, but below are tombs, and altars, and statues, and chapels, and shrines, and pictures, including behind the grand altar, the chapel of the three kings, or magi who worshipped the Savior, and here are now preserved their bones, as relics of the greatest value and sanctity. I was so ignorant that I had never before known the names of these three wise men who, having seen the star in the East, came to worship the infant Messiah. I did not even know that their bones were preserved — but here you see their names inscribed in rubies 440 KUBENS. on the place of their skulls. You may be as ignorant as I was, and I therefore send you their names — Gaspar, Mel- choir, and Balthazar. Their shrine is among the richest in Europe, estimated to have treasures worth one million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The appearance and effect of. the exterior is wonderful. The cathedral at Strasburg seemed to be made of lace — this seems more like a temple of the grandest proportions, and of the noblest and richest architecture, to which the carv- ings, open work and tracery on its buttresses and spires, and pinnacles, give the effect of a rich veil of lace, thrown over the whole, and hanging in long parallel folds. They are at work at it now with considerable activity. I inquired how many men were employed, and was told about two hundred and fifty, and to my question, how long it would take to finish it, was answered, if they had the necessary means to go on with it, as fast as practicable, it might be completed in fifty years. It is estimated that the cost of finishing it will be about four millions of dollars — about half that sum has been expended upon it within the last fifty years. There is a Cologne-cathedral-building-asso- ciation, with branches throughout the continent, to collect subscriptions for completing what will be, when fully fin- ished, almost another wonder of the world, and whose un- finished condition has been so long a reproach to those whose easy and docile faith finds high religious enjoyment in con- templating the monuments and relics, and offerings, and legends, which sanctify the magnificent pile. Kubens was born here — his mother being at the time not a resident, but casually here — and in the church of St. Peter is what he considered his best picture, painted just upon his death, and presented to this church, in which he was bap- tized. It is the celebrated large altar piece of the crucifixion of St. Peter, with his head downward. I believe that CRUCIFIXION OF ST. PETER. 441 artists, and those who judge of works of art, rather by the rules of art than the effects of nature, find some fault with the picture, and criticise some portions of it rather severely — ■ to me, however, it was a wonderful picture. I am not at all surprised that he should have considered it his best and greatest work. The difficulty of the subject, and its strik- ing and peculiar character — both of which would recom- mend it to Rubens — would be sure to provoke criticism, because few — none, indeed — would have studied the subject so as to be able to pronounce a reliable judgment upon the success of the artist. 19* THE LOW COUNTRIES. AT the thrifty little city of Dusseldorf we resumed our places in the steamer for Rotterdam. The banks of the river are low, with here and there a village — some with the ancient look of decrepitude, and some with a look of modern life and growing vigor. Arnheim and its suburbs are charming specimens of regular, precise, Dutch prettiness. All our fellow passengers left the steamer at Arnheim to take to the cars, leaving us alone for our voyage on the Rhine, through the delta of the Low Countries, which — dull and monotonous as it was — was still a novelty to us which we were not willing to forego. The houses are now of brick, stone being obtained with difficulty and expense, and clay for brick being cheap and plenty — windmills, in every direction, stretch out their brawny arms — for the country is so low that there are no running streams for water power, and wind is plenty. From the deck of our steamer we looked over the dyke-like banks of the river, and could just see the eaves of the houses. It ROTTERDAM — DELFT. 443 is easy to imagine the loss of property and life when the river overflows its banks. Our first look at Rotterdam was under favorable circum- stances. It was the day of a quarter-centennial musical festival. Banners, and flags, and streamers, were waving and floating from houses and ships. The whole town was thronged with strangers — many of them as curious as we, and apparently as great strangers. Take away the canals through the streets and there is little to distinguish it from an American city, in its general appearance. A well-built commercial city — the windows are very large, and in many of the streets they have mirrors projecting from the wall, and so placed as by reflection to offer to the ladies — who sit demurely and modestly within their rooms — a full view of the street and sidewalk, up and down the street. Erasmus was born here, and a fine statue of him in bronze, by Henry de Reiser, is worthy of notice as a work of art, and as an historical and biographical monument. The principal events of his life are recorded in its inscriptions. The statue is a little more than two hundred years old. From Rotterdam we went to Delft — Delphi — not Delft Haven from which the pilgrims of St. Jonathan set sail in the May Flower — a little port two miles below Rotterdam — but old Delft, famous all over the world for its beautiful pottery, till England and China monopolized the market and ruined Delft. In Ireland crockeryware is called " Delft," as we call porcelain " China." Delft is a dark and solemn old place of fifteen or twenty thousand people, well built — two or three wide streets, with canals bordered with trees — but it has no business. The grass grows literally green and fresh among the stones of the carriage-way in the streets, and the sleeping waters of the canals are so rarely disturbed by a boat, that water-mosses cover the whole surface like a carpet. 444 MONUMENTS. We visited the fine " Old church," where are some inter- esting monuments — one of Admiral Van Tromp, who won more than thirty battles, and after beating the British fleet carried a broom at his mast head, to show that he swept them from the channel. The battle in which he lost his life is sculptured on his tomb, and his epitaph closes, " Tan- tum non victor, eerie invictus, vivere et vincere desiit." " Not victorious but unvanquished, he at the same time ceased to live and to conquer." Another of admiral Peter Hein — it was of him — he rose from a fisher boy — that his mother, when she heard of his death, in the arms of victory, said — " Fiet was always an unlucky dog, I was sure he would come to an untimely end." Pie was born at Delft Haven, which is the port of Delft. In the " New Church," which stands in the public square, we admired the simple and beautiful monument to Hugh G-root — Hugo Grotius, the great, and the learned, and the good, who was a native of Delft. This monument is a medallion head of the publicist, with a child leaning on an urn, bearing an inverted torch — the emblem of death — with the simple inscription, Ilugoni Grotio sacimm. But the greatest object of attraction in the " New Church," is the celebrated monument to William I., Prince of Orange, who was assassinated here by Girard, an agent of Philip II. and of the Jesuits. His life had been often before attempted. Some assassins had, on one occasion, determined to murder him in his bed in his tent, in which he slept with his favorite dog beside him. The faithful pet heard the stealthy creep of the murderers and instinctively leaped upon the bed, barking loudly and tearing off the covering from his master, whom he thus alarmed in time to save his life. When the Prince was finally murdered, the poor dog starved and pined to death. The monument is said not to be exceeded by any piece of sepulchral magnifi- cence, of that age, in Europe. On the tomb William's THE HAGUE. 445 statue reclines in full armor, with the sword of the hero, and the sceptre of the king, and at his feet is the figure of his affectionate dog — while a lavish display of exquisite sculpture in the accessories, completes the grand design. That we might have an experience of all respectable modes of travel, we went from Delft to the Hague in a trekschuit — a canal passage-boat — which we found pleasant and conven- ient. The boat is about thirty feet long and six feet wide, with two cabins — one forward for the baggage and thirty or forty second-class passengers, and one in the rear for eight or ten first-class passengers. The little boat is towed by horses about four miles an hour. These canals are the streets and roads — and the houses, villages, and country seats are along the canals — and on them, like the common highway, you meet all sorts of people with all sorts of loads. The market boats, of full size, are sometimes drawn by two men instead of horses — tugging along with a strap over the shoulders. We noticed one drawn by a man and a dog, the dog being leader. There are many beautiful country seals between Delft and Hague. Windmills abound and are used for power for all sorts of necessary and labor-saving machinery — flour mills, snuff mills, pumps, &c, &c, are all worked by windmills. There are no hills and vales — no running streams — no up and down — all flat. At first the novelty of such a country was not uninteresting, but it soon became flat in all senses. The deck of the trekschuit is not high enough for a good view of so flat a country. The Hague — Haga Comitis — is a beautiful little city — a gem of a capital. Its principal street — the Voorhout — is a series of palaces, and its great square — the Vyvenberg — is magnificent, with its trees, its basin of water, and its palace, and public buildings. The picture gallery and the museum are also here. The 446 PAINTINGS — PALACES. gallery is well worth a visit for its fine collection of Dutch art. The best artists of the school are here represented by some of their best works. The celebrated Bull by Paul Potter, is alone sufficient to attract the attention of every traveller, and well deserves its fame. The animal itself has all the life and fire, all the truth and spirit, of the most perfect nature, and the whole picture, in the sky, the landscape, and accessories, shows also the hand of a great master. The gallery is not very large, but nowhere, I am quite sure, can the Dutch school be studied with such advantage as here. Rembrandt's Surgeon or Anatomist lecturing to his Class from a Dead Subject, which he is dissecting, is a wonderful picture. The royal library has more than one hundred thousand volumes and many curiosities. We went through the rooms of the King's Palace. They are plain, and neat, and well furnished, but did not seem to us very royal — not even very stylish. Parliament being in session we took a look at the legislative dignitaries and the place of their sittings — an exceedingly respectable-looking body, individually and collectively — all their surroundings are best characterized as respectable, dignified, appropriate. The seats and desks were furnished in plain green broad- cloth, except the throne and seats for the princes, which are crimson and gold. I heard but one speech. The member who was speaking seemed to secure general attention, while his manner was a pattern of the deliberate, the quiet, and reflective. The room is small and admirably easy to hear and, of course, to speak in. The Palace in the Wood, or the House in the Wood, is a royal rural residence, some two miles from the city, in a wood. The grounds are a great place of resort for the people, especi- ally on Sundays — only, however, for walks. In the palace we first entered the dining room, which was SCHEVENINGEN. 447 painted in fresco in black and white, by Dewitt a hundred years ago and more. While the imagination and the taste are worthy of the power of that artist, the mere art — the imitation — seemed tome to be perfect. I was about to ask my courier whether the figures, which I supposed were statues, were stucco or marble, when I discovered that they were paintings. The ante-chambers are furnished with Chinese paper hangings, Dresden porcelain, Japan vases, Gobelin tapestries, family portraits, and furniture in gold and yellow. The drawing-rooms are furnished throughout — the standing furniture, the hangings of the walls, and the curtains — with Japan needlework of great richness and beauty — landscapes, with birds and fruits, wrought in gold and silver, with the greatest truth. These embroideries were presented to the grandfather of the present king by the emperor of Japan. The ball-room — an octagon room, sixty feet high to the dome — is covered on all sides, from the floor to the top of the dome, with the finest paintings painted in fresco. Nine eminent painters — including Rubens and Jordaens — it is said, were twelve years, painting that room at the royal ex- pense. The floors are beautifully inlaid, and the room is lighted by chandeliers of the greatest richness. The whole is a worthy royal summer-house — in its best portions, truly magnificent. The city receives its supply offish from Scheveling or Sche- veningen — a little fishing-place on the North sea, about two miles distant. All travellers visit this peculiar little settlement which is, at the same time, a fisherman's station and a fash- ionable watering-place. It is reached by a beautiful avenue, perfectly straight, thickly bordered with oaks and limes. It is a little village of some three or four hundred houses, inhab- ited by a fishing population — peculiar in custom, in manners, and in usages. Between the streets and the water is a dune, or sand hill, thrown up by the wind and the waves — such 448 PUBLIC SCHOOLS. as are common on the coast of Holland — hiding the water from -view till you reach the top, when there opens to view — with a surprise which startles you with delight — the broad ocean, crowded with fishing craft, and the hard and beautiful beach and the curling and foamy shoals, perhaps* thronged with bathers, or, perhaps, a heap of fish just being sold at auction to the villagers — some of whom get their stock at such public sales. The Hague is supplied with fish, carried fresh every morn- ing, from this place, dressed and cleaned, fit for cooking. At the early hour you see the Scheveling fishwomen throng- ing to the city, as soon as the citizens are astir, and trav- ersing all the streets with their baskets of fish on their heads, to be retailed to the housekeepers — they, and the baskets, and the fish, all neat to a wonder. So at Schevel- ing we were greatly surprised at the marvellous neatness of street, and house, and person, and apparel, of old and young of both sexes, poor as well as rich — if there be any poor or any rich there. The public-school house was a beautiful edifice, such as would be rarely seen elsewhere in such a village. In Holland the public schools are mainly for the poorer classes. In the country all goto the same school, but in the cities the Jews have their own schools, the Protestants theirs, and the Catholics theirs — all, I believe, have prayers at opening and closing. They are supported by the State. The dress of the Scheveling women is a great wonder. Only two miles from a fashionable city and a royal court, with which communication is constant, half hourly — itself a fashionable watering place, and constantly visited by the people of the city and by travellers — still, in dress and cos- tume, it is as unlike the Hague as it could be, if separated from it by the widest ocean and peopled by a different race. FACE OF THE COUNTRY. 449 Their bonnets, and dresses, and aprons, are all peculiar, but the greatest peculiarity is the metallic ornament about the face — rich according to the condition of the wearer, from tin-plate up to gold. It consists of two large planished plates, one on each side of the head, on the line of the eyes, and projecting out cpjite as far as the line of the face. This gives sometimes a brazen-facedness, which is not agreeable, but it is quite easy to see that taste may so manage these ornaments as to make them harmonize with a graceful head- dress and heighten its beauties. At JScheveling, Charles II., of England, embarked on his return to the throne of his ancestors, to bring back to Great Britain the principles which, a few years before, had brought his father to the block, and a few years later de- prived his brother of the throne — and at Scheveling William I., of the Netherlands, landed on his return to the throne of his ancestors, refusing, however, to accept the crown unless he " should be restrained by a constitution, which should guarantee the privileges and liberties of the people and secure them from every encroachment." From Hague to Amsterdam we passed through the old cities Leyden — Lugdunum Batavorum — and Harlem — Har- lemium — and the intervening low flats — a country of ditches, and swamps, and meadows, skirted with willows and alders — altogether common and vulgar in its appearance, except here and there a country seat, with true Dutch grounds, for a portion of the ten miles between Hague and Leyden, and again near Harlem. While the general appearance of the country is dull, so far as the landscape is concerned, in other respects it is novel and interesting. The immense number of windmills enlight- ens and enlivens the scene. Don Quixote himself would not have dared to face an enemy so formidable in point of numbers. The houses are of red brick, with everywhere a 450 AMSTERDAM. remarkable air of neatness, comfort, and industry. Every house looks as if it were really a home — an abode of thrift, and comfort, and affection. No priests — no beggars — no donkeys — no women in the fields at work — flocks and herds are abundant — large sheep — cows mostly spotted black and white. The common classes of the women are dressed in short gowns and petticoats, with aprons tied round the waist, and heavy wooden shoes. They are neat and snug, and many of them are very bright and pretty in the face — in human look and appearance, surpassing those of any other country on the continent where we have travelled. Amsterdam — Amstelodamum — a fine old city of two hundred and twenty-five thousand people — is divided by canals into ninety-five islands, united by two hundred and ninety bridges. It is built on piles. Erasmus wittily said, the people, like crows, live on the tops of trees. The canals are wide, and, unlike those of Venice, there is on each side a quay, or street, and a side-walk, so that there is no travelling in gondolas, but carts and carriages, with the usual activity of commerce, bring here the noise which is the voice of thrifty and active business. In most of the streets the houses are lofty with sharp gables to the street — often making considerable pretension to architectural ornament. The stores are also good. All the town is neat and agreeable to the eye, except the Jews' quarter, which is large and very filthy There, in crowded and dirty streets, all sorts of tatterdemalionery and chiffonery are sold — pressed upon you with almost insulting pertinacity. To the nose, the neatness, it is quite another thing. Those broad canals filled with stagnant waters are often exceedingly offensive, and are always anything but agreeable to the smell — and to the many well-defined and distinct smells of the canals, are to be added, in the Jews' quarter — " The mixed odors — the commingled throng, Of salt, and sour, and stale, and strong," DIAMOND CUTTING. 451 ■which — to the great scandal of that "peculiar people" — are so usual in their quarters. The business of diamond-cutting is the great business of the Jews here. It is carried on in many large and lofty factories — five and six stories in height. They are worked by steam power — the stone being cut and polished by dia- mond dust — hence the phrase of diamond cut diamond. The diamond is cut in three styles — the brilliant, the rose, and the table — and it is cut in one or the other style as it will be most valuable in the market. They take their names, not from the quality of the stone, but the style in which it is cut. The brilliant may be an inferior stone, yet cut with the 64 facets, it is a brilliant, and the rose, or the table, may be a stone of the first water, but from its shape and size, being cut in the rose or table style, it must bear the name appropriate to the style. The cut with 04 facets is called brilliant, because that mode of cutting most fully reveals that wonderful inner light, which gives the stone its great value as an ornament. Hence the greater price of bril- liants. In the days of the bitterest religious animosity Amsterdam allowed freedom of religious worship, perhaps, however, not so much for any other reason, as for the prosperity of her trade. We walked through the rooms of the Palace, which, by the way, I believe the King rarely occupies. It is a large and massive pile with many spacious apartments. The furniture is good and tolerably rich, though somewhat worn. The more public corridors are carpeted with a kind of coarse carpet — of very plain and common kind — and all the rooms are warmed in the winter with iron stoves. The throne-room is royal — being ourselves sovereigns in New Amsterdam we thought it no harm to take a seat on the throne of Old Amsterdam. The grand hall — the dancing 452 HOLLAND. hall — the assembly hall — is really magnificent, more so than any other I have seen — its vast proportions being con- sidered. It is one hundred and fifty two feet long, sixty wide, and one hundred feet high — lined with white Italian marble, and sculptured in bas-reliefs. It is hung with ban- ners and trophies, and has some fine statues. Through all the rooms were some pictures by the old Dutch masters, worthy of princely admiration. After all, that which is most worthy of admiration — the greatest curiosity in Holland — is Holland and the Dutch. A country reclaimed from the low marshes of the seashore by human hands — from which the infinite and mighty ocean is shut out only by dams and dykes which must be constantly watched by human eyes and tended by human care, or the sea will break in and whelm a nation, the most populous on the face of the earth, which has had its dwell- ing place there for long ages. It is a sort of basin, liable at any moment to be over- whelmed by a crevasse of the ocean-dykes — which may be caused by carelessness or by the violence of an invader. Much the largest part of the national expense is the care of these dykes, which must be constantly watched and con- stantly repaired. They cost about three millions of dollars a year. Sometimes a little lagoon begins to show itself in one of these broad sweeps of flats. It spreads from day to day wider and farther — one near Harlem extended till it became near forty miles in circumference, and contained about seventy square miles. No one could tell where or how far it would extend. Some ten or twelve years ago, private en- terprise, as a measure of defensive protection, as well as of profit, proposed to pump it out. They threw up an em- bankment, or dyke, and dug a canal of sufficient depth around it — they constructed a number of large wind-mills, and planted them along the shores of the lake, and set them to THE DUTCH. 453 work enormous pumps to pump out the lake. Four years these wind-mills labored, till the lake was pumped dry. The land of the bottom of the lake was sold, last yeai - , in lots, and brought an immense price, and the bed of the lake is now devoted to agricultural purposes. Such an enterprise as this might well be set down as remarkable for any people but the Dutch. It is easy to say of this or that wonder, that it " beats the Dutch,'" but after all, what is there that beats the Dutch ? What is it to reclaim seventy square miles from the lake of Harlem, for the people that has reclaimed the whole of Holland from the sea ? There are those who speak of the Dutch as a heavy and sluggish people — indeed, it is told as a characteristic anecdote, that once a terrible gale wrecked so many of the Dutch fishermen, that the shores and beach were covered with their corpses, which were found to have each a pipe in his mouth — neither the tem- pest, nor the waves, nor the peril, nor the instant death, nor the final struggle, having been sufficient to disturb their slug- gish inactivity. Voltaire, and Beckford, and Washington Irving, and no one knows how many other popular writers, have derided the Hollanders, but what nation has better reason to be proud of their character and history ? Who but the Dutch have made the most populous country in the world of a vast marsh, reclaimed from the sea and fortified and garrisoned and successfully defended it for ages against the ocean % Who but they have drained their whole country by navigable canals, as frequent as roads, and used for the same purpose ? — who but they have built city and town, and palace, on piles, driven seventy feet down into the mud and sand % — who but they have utilized the wind, and made it the greatest of labor-saving powers for all the great purposes of machinery, till their country seems alive with this atmo- spheric machinery — what nation has suffered like them for conscienca and for freedom ? — what sieges, what slaughter, 454 DORT. what massacres, what persecutions, they have endured — who but the Dutch have successfully planted their colonies in every portion of the known world ? — who but they have swept the English fleet from the channel ? In education, in freedom of speech and of religious worship, in commerce, in arms, and in an interesting and wonderful history, the nation is unsurpassed on the continent. From Amsterdam we returned to Rotterdam, and went thence by steamer to the old city of Dort, or Dordrecht. As we left Rotterdam, I counted seventy-five windmills in sight at once. I saw, too, a boat-load of passengers crossing the river in a large row-boat, rowed by women alone. It was at this ancient city, that the first assembly met which de- clared the independence of Holland of the Spanish yoke, in 1572, and declared the Prince of Orange the only rightful governor of the country — and here sat the synod of Dort, which, after one hundred and fifty-two sessions, devoted to the consideration of the doctrines of Arminius, and their opposites — the high-toned Calvinistic doctrines of predestina- tion, the election of grace and justification by faith — or- dained the canons which are still the creed of the Dutch Protestants, and their ecclesiastical descendants in our country. Dort stands on an island, which is a memento of the perils of this country. That island was formed by an in- undation of the Rhine, which burst a dyke, and overwhelmed more than seventy villages — sweeping away every vestige of thirty-five of them, and destroying one hundred thousand lives. One almost wonders that between the river and the sea — the wind and the tide, which rises twelve to fifteen feet — such accidents are not constantly occurring." Through a low, sandy, and barren country, of apparently no good husbandry and little tillage, except of a few fertile spots, and through deserts of pines and stunted oaks, and the BREDA. 455 alders that skirted the few canals and ditches, and through marshes and barrens, we trotted along our monotonous journey through Brabant, with a brief rest at the old forti- fied town of Breda on the Merk, of which the fortifications seem to be very strong and in good condition. The little city is not without its interesting historical memoirs and monuments. Here Charles II. resided when the death of Cromwell opened the way to his restoration, and here he was invited to return to England and re-establish the throne of the Stuarts. During the time of the Spanish dominion, Breda was considered impregnable. It was taken by strategem — sug- gested, doubtless, by the taking of ancient Troy and ancient Babylon. In 1590 an old captain in the army arranged with the master of a turf barge, to take him and seventy picked soldiers, in mid-winter, within the fortress by the channel of the sluice-way. So the captain put a false floor in the hold of his barge several feet from the bottom, and below it stowed the armed forlorn hope, and filled the space above them with turf peat, to sell to the garrison, and started for Breda, only a few miles distant. A series of un- lucky accidents seemed to indicate that the trick would fail. First a strong head wind — next a sudden cold snap covered the river with ice — then they got on the rocks, and the barge sprung aleak, and the poor imprisoned braves stood knee deep in the cold water, and their provisions were almost gone — then came the mutinous despair. The old veteran leader aroused them to new energy by declaring that if they abandoned him he would go on alone and succeed or perish — then, almost miraculously, the leak stopped, and the barge stretched rapidly forward to the gates of Breda. But just as they were passing the gates one of the soldiers was seized with a violent fit of coughing. The least noise would, of course, betray them, and the noble fellow smoth- 45 & ANTWERP. ered his cough, and by signs besought his comrades to run him through with a sword — they refused and his cough ceased. The citadel gates were open, and the garrison themselves helped to drag in the welcome barge through the ice, and the gates were again shut. The garrison came rapidly for the peat, and long before night would have taken it all and revealed the place of concealment. The captain then declared that the fatigues of the last two or three days had exhausted him and his men, and they must all take a drink and a little rest and start fresh the next morning. He went to bed and in the dead watches of the night, arose and let out his little band of warriors, who quickly overpowered the guard, and — under cover of the night — passed for an army already within the fort, and the affrighted garrison fled precipitately, without even an effort to destroy the drawbridge by which they reached the town, and the Dutch army soon entered in triumph. The Spaniards in vain en- deavored to dislodge them, and it was not till thirty-five years after this capture by the Dutch that Spinola at last recaptured the fortress. He found the old barge there laid up, as the most fitting memorial of the great service it had rendered. He burnt it that he might destroy the reminder of such defeat — he did not want it as a trophy. As our diligence rolled its winding way through the the outer parallels of the strong fortifications of Antwerp— under portcullis, over drawbridge, across moats, and in the range of solemn and frowning batteries, I realized more than ever before the character and strength of a strongly fortified place, built up according to the best lights of military science. The city is walled quite round with double fortifi- cations. They are now building the third parallel. You may see the marks of the terrible bombardment of 1832 — the balls are still sticking in the walls. Antwerp has now near one hundred thousand people — less THE CATHEDRAL. 457 than half what it had two hundred to three hundred years ago, when it was the richest and most commercial city in Europe. Its commerce is now small, and aptly represented by a few vessels lying in the Scheldt, where, then, two thousand five hundred were clustered together, freighted with the best productions of all the world. Its streets, its quays, its stores, its shops, speak the same language. Our hotel was on the Place Verte, on which also the old cathedral rears its slender and beautiful steeple more than four hundred feet high. Antwerp is strictly Roman Catholic, and I do not remember to have seen in Europe more striking and interesting evidence of sincere devoutness. I arose very early in the morning, before the people were much astir, to look round in the morning silence — hardly any but the servants were visible, and in the doors and pas- sages around the square were the servant girls — their brooms, and dusters, and wash-cloths by their sides — on their knees, with their faces toward the cathedral, apparently in deepest devotion, unconscious of all the world besides, whispering their early morning prayers to Heaven. The carving and the tracery of the Cathedral steeple was well described by Napoleon as seeming to be made of Mechlin lace. The church itself was originally wholly exposed to view, being bounded on all sides by streets. Then, the unity of effect must have greatly added to the beauty of the parts. Now, between the towers and buttresses on the streets, shops and houses are built against the cathedral walls, thus covering up the base of the church with the most vulgar, cheap, and tasteless buildings, devoted to the profanities of trade. The only answer I could get to my inquiries why such a sacrilegious abomination had been permitted or was tolerated, was that when the Spaniards were in possession of the city, these buildings were erected to protect the body of the church from being destroyed by the accidents of war, or desecrated by the 20 458 RUBENS. Protestant soldiery should they, by the fortune of war, get possession of the city — hardly a sufficient reason for allowing such a temple to continue to be surrounded — under the droppings of the sanctuary — by the tables of the money-changers, and the shops of vanity fair and the pride of life. The inside is spacious, majestic, and plain — what there is of ornament is modern. The width is two hundred and thirty feet, and the length five hundred feet. There is a broad central aisle, and six side aisles — three on each side. The principal attraction of this and the many other fine churches, is the great pictures of Rubens. His master- pieces, the Descent from the Cross, the Elevation of the Cross, the Assumption of the Virgin, and the Resurrection of the Savior — are in this church. In one of the chapels is a picture, by Frank, of Christ disputing with the Doctors — among the learned doctors Avhom the infant Savior con- founds with his questions and godlike logic, are recognized Luther, and Calvin, and other reformers. The Descent from the Cross embodies a conceit of another kind on the part of the great artist. It is said to have been painted for a company or guild, whose patron saint was Saint Christo- pher, or, as Rubens interpreted his name,Christo-fer — Christ- bearer — so in the several pictures of which it is composed, the bearing or carrying of Christ is the leading idea. In the salutation of the Virgin, she bears the unborn Savior — in the presentation in the temple, he is borne as a babe — in another, St. Christopher bears the infant Savior on his shoulders — in another, Simeon bears the holy babe in his raised arms,and his grateful eyes are directed to heaven — and finally in the de- scent from the Cross, the body is borne by Joseph of Arima- thea, St. John, Mary Magdalene, and others. There are sepulchral monuments also in the Cathedral, but not so many nor so fine as those in the Church of St. James, MOUNT CALVARY AND PURGATORY. 459 which is exceedingly beautiful in its interior — its marbles, and statues, and groups — its railings — its balustrades — its waving columns — its three high altars — its carvings — all are most exquisite in their finish, pose and general artistic effect, as well as their specific and individual effect. In the Church of St. Paul is that dreadful picture by the same master, the Flagellation of Christ. The truth of the scene is indescrib- ably shocking — the bruised and lacerated flesh — the swollen and torturing stripes, and the trickling blood, make one really shrink away from the painting, as one would from the reality. The greatest attraction, however, for the faithful of Ant- werp,^ this church — above all the Rubens and the Van Dykes — is outside the church, at the right of the entrance — it is a representation of Mount Calvary and purgatory. In rude rockwork, not badly arranged, is reared a miniature Calvary, covered here and there with the statues of patriarchs, and saints, and angels, such as may well have thronged Calvary on the day of redemption — beneath the mountain is the Savior, when he descended into hell, and there he lies tran- quilly in state, richly shrouded in silk, while around him is purgatory, full of the souls of the semi-damned, ghastly and writhing in imploring agony, in the midst of the flames, that send their burning glare on the walls of the dreadful pit. All these rocks, and mountain, and cavern, and statues, and flames, are rude and cheap in their construction, but impres- sive to all, and deeply so to those who see in them but a truthful lesson of the most, solemn truths of their religion. The beautiful Merchants' Exchange, with its fine old arched arcades, extending all round — antique and tasteful, shady and cool — and the open space, or grand room, with its crystal-palace roof, light as day, and spacious and free- seemed in all its appointments worthy of the best days of commercial Antwerp. Over the arcades are the ample 430 RUBENS. rooms of the tribunal of commerce. It is worthy of special wonder that in New-York the merchants have never estab- lished a tribunal of commerce of liberal jurisdiction, and with simple and intelligible arrangements for the prompt, speedy, and just decision of the numerous questions of real and honest dispute in the current affairs of commerce, where the law's delays, and the technicalities of legal practice are a denial of justice. The quays and stone docks built by Napoleon I., are noble specimens of solid reform, as are the streets, which are now built on arches over the canals. Posterity will accord that great man the merit of being a great reformer. One of the greatest destructionists that ever lived, we must agree that he destroyed to substitute a better order of things — he drove the ploughshare through the hardened crust of old abuses, and in the soil which his destruction had mellowed, he planted many a seed which will bring forth in due time a hundred fold. Few would visit Antwerp were it not for the opportunity of studying the great Flemish school of painting, of which Rubens is the greatest master. At the time of the birth of Rubens, at Cologne, his father was the mayor of Antwerp. The city has never ceased to worship him and his works. His bronze statue in his robes as ambassador to England is in the Place Verte— the Cathedral Place— His chair, his easel, his palette, his old clothes, are preserved as the choicest relics and memorials — and his great masterpieces justly fill the highest places of honor in palaces, and temples, and gal- leries. The churches and the museum of Antwerp alone, without resorting to those of the other cities, furnish enough of his works to convince the connoisseur, and the artist, and the student, of the great genius of Rubens and of the natural sympathy of the Teutonic and Saxon mind with his great THE MUSEUM. 461 qualities. He is to the great Italian masters as Homer to Virgil, as Shakespeare to Milton, as Scott to Richardson — Truth and nature — truth to the qualities of the highest possi- ble excellence in nature — are his real aim and his great suc- cess. Doubtless much of his characteristic excellence comes from his wonderful familiarity with the mechanical skill, belonging properly to his art. The ease and facility which are so striking in Rubens, and so apparent in his pictures, came from that early discipline in the art of painting, which enabled Sir Joshua Reynolds to say — ' ' Rubens was, perhaps, the greatest mas- ter in the mechanical part of the art, the best workman with his tools that ever exercised a pencil." This, to the artist, is what a thorough and familiar knowledge of language, a ready, copious, and various command of words, is to the writer — giving a facility of expression — a dexterity — which brings to the thought, as soon as conceived, its appropriate clothing without effort, or search, or delay. This, obviously, gives a freshness and vigor and an idiosyncracy of expression which transfers to the canvass of the artist, or to the page of the writer, a daguerreotype of his mind, lifelike and striking. It is this which makes attractive so many productions which are, nevertheless, subject to severe criticism, on the applica- tion of the formal rules of conventional law. The museum is strong, also, in the other celebrities of Flemish and German art — Teniers, Durer, Holbein, the Van Eycks, Mending, Mabuse, De Vos, Franck, Schut, Seg- hers, Heneyns, De Backer, Van Dyck, Matsys, Floris, Jor- daens, Snyders, Wouvermans, &c, &c. There are, also, some fine works by the Italian masters. I confess to a greater admiration for Flemish, Dutch, and German art than for Italian — not meaning to say, however, that I consider the northern masters greater men — men of greater genius, or higher cultivation, or more careful 462 QUENTVN MATSYS. students, but more in harmony with my own tastes and instincts. In the Cathedral Square is a wrought-iron well-cover, of ex- ceedingly beautiful proportions,and graceful pattern and finish in its light and airy openwork. It is surmounted by an iron statue of a knight in armor with a glove in his hand — the whole of the fabric including the statue and the beautiful vines that twine their tendrils about it, made by Quentyn Matsys, a blacksmith. This iron well-curb, shows Matsys to have been, even then, while leaning over his anvil, an artist, as well as a mechanic, of taste and cultivation. According to the tradition of three hundred years, the young blacksmith fell in love with the pretty daughter of De Vriendt, more usually called Floris — a painter of reputation in those days, and since called sometimes the Flemish Raphael — He was so called, because he was the best Flemish painter of his time — certainly not because he approached in merit the great Italian, for I do not perceive that they had one quality in common. Well, Floris forbid the blacksmith his house, declaring that his daughter should not stoop to Tnarry a blacksmith, but that he intended her for a painter's wife — whereupon Matsys secretly devoted himself to the study of painting, and in due time manifested the same genius in that art as in his original trade. When sure of his skill, he stole into the studio of Floris, who had in hand his Descent of the Fallen Angels. The blacksmith then painted a bee conspicuously on the thigh of one of the angels and left it there. When Floris resumed his work he could not fail to notice it, supposed it was a real bee, and on discovering his error, was so delighted with the masterly execution of the little insect, that he demanded of his daughter the name of the artist who had thus honored his studio, and learning that it was the repulsed blacksmith, whom she had permitted thus to plead his cause, he gave him his daughter, and BRUSSELS. 463 Matsys soon became a painter of whom not only De Vriendt but all Flanders was justly proud. The picture of the Fall- en Angel with the bee on his thigh, has a conspicuous place in the collection of the museum, and is always referred to, to vouch for the pretty love story. Murray calls the tradi- tion of the bee being painted by Matsys, "a foolish story," and says it was painted by Floris himself for the admiration of the vulgar — which seems to me a much more foolish story. It is not easy to see why an artist worthy of the title of the Flemish Raphael, should thus inappropriately court the admiration of the vulgar, in a picture certainly of great merit, and of much greater pretension than merit — Better let the old tradition stand I think. From Antwerp — through a low and uninteresting country via Malines — Mechlin — we went to Brussels. Brussels, the beautiful capital of the modern kingdom of Belgium, well deserves the reputation of being one of the finest capitals in Europe. It has many wide and beautiful streets, and is surrounded by boulevards, after the manner of Paris. The streets are finely paved and clean. The houses are usually lofty, and of an agreeable style of architecture, and painted in light colors, which gives to the city an air of lightness and freshness, which to me was quite as agreeable as any city I have seen in Europe, and I do not wonder that it has been so favorite a residence for English families residing abroad. Its facilities for education are of a high character, while the expense of residing here is quite moderate com- pared with other capitals of the same grade and equal advantages. I found English as well as French spoken everywhere. A Protestant government with a Catholic people, produces a tone of liberality similar to that of Dresden, where the government is Catholic and the people are Protestant, and doubtless this necessary liberality con- tributes to make both these capitals favorite resting-places for foreigners. 464 STATUES AND MONUMENTS. Like Antwerp, the city abounds in tine old mansions, with the lofty and ornamental fronts, rich gables, pediments, and windows, that we find in all the cities of Europe, which, three to four hundred years ago, united the luxury and splendor of a court, or of high nobility, with the more ostentatious and pretentious display of the wealth of great commercial prosper- ity. In many of these towns — long stationary or retrograde — these aristocratic edifices are contrasted with only the hum- bler ones of coeval plebeians, now crumbling in decay, while in Brussels they contrast even more strongly with the light, airy, and regular constructions of modern taste. The city is full of historical associations and heroic memories. Here was the grand ball which was disturbed by the cannon of Waterloo, celebrated by Byron in the well-known passage — "There was a sound of revelry by night." Here Charles V. abdicated the throne — here the Protestants, who had determined to drive out the Spaniards and Philip II., voluntarily adopted as their name the Gueux — the beg- gars — which had been applied to them in contempt. Some of them, the same evening in which they had been con- temptuously called beggars, appeared in the balcony of their hotel with a beggar's wallet over their shoulders, and a small cup in their hands, from which, with an air of satisfaction, they drank to the success of the Gueux, and the name was their watchword and war-cry, as they went on from strength to strength, till they triumphed and drove the bloody bigots out of their country. There are fine statues, and monuments, and cenotaphs, in the public places, in the venerable churches, and in the mag- nificent public buildings. Among them is a fine statue in bronze of Godfrey de Bouillon, the brave old crusader — there is one to William, Prince of Orange — the monument STATUE OF THE MANIKIN- 465 to the martyrs of the revolutiou of 1830 is here. The bloody battles of that civil war were fought in the heart of Brussels, and one of the public squares is called the Place of the Martyrs. It contains the buried dead who fell on that spot, in the last desperate strife of September, 1830, which established the revolution, and the separate political and national existence of Belgium. Honi soit qui mal y pense — As we strayed along the streets, hardly knowing whither we went — at the corner of Oak and Stove-streets — Rue du Chene, and Hue de l'Etuve — we lit upon the celebrated statue of the oldest inhabitant and the most faithful citizen of Brussels — the Manikin. When he was born who knows ? His age is a greater secret than that of the most discreet spinster. For aught I know he has lived forever. Recorded history says that under the dukes 'of Burgundy he was a Burgundian — under Maxmilian he was a German — under Charles V. he was a Spaniard, and he was a gueux in the time of Philip — in the days of Maria Theresa he wore the uniform of the black eagle. He was a republican under the Directory — an imperialist under Napoleon — a Dutchman under King William, and he is a Belgian under Leopold — always true to nature, he enjoys the admiration and affection of his fellow citizens. There stands the graceful little bronze, about twenty inches high, at the corner of the streets. If it would not injure the reputation of Misses the Graces, you might say he was born of one of them. If he had wings, and a bow and arrow, you would be sure he was Cupid. Elevated on a pedestal — enshrined in a beautiful niche — shut in and pro- tected by an iron grating, and being the outlet of a fountain, he makes water into a vase, day in and day out, and has done so century after century, whatever king has reigned. He is said to have been once summoned to court, by a policeman, whose zeal was beyond his knowledge, for a vio- 20* 466 MANIKIN — HIS "WARDKOBE. lation of the ordinance against using the streets instead of the public urinals. They sell in shops a print of that " Arrest of the oldest inhabitant of Brussels." Those who are familiar with the galleries of high art, well know that nudity — absolute nudity — is one of the principal charms of high art, and little Manikin is therefore in puris naturali- bus — not even a fig-leaf — stark-naked — while apparently yielding to one of the most imperious demands of nature. Pie is not, however, naked on great public occasions. Then high art must yield to high display, and he wears sometimes one dress and sometimes another — always covering up his art, but always leaving uncovered his most striking touch of nature. His vase is always running over, from a constant supply, no matter how he may be dressed. His ward- robe consists of ten suits — the uniform of the present Bel- gian dynasty — the blue blouse uniform of the civic guard of the Belgian revolution of 1830, and eight suits of full- dress uniform, for processions and grand displays, when he wears his orders, crosses, stars, and cockades of nobility — and the Court, the people, and the army, do him honor- The Belgians almost worship him as the palladium of their prosperity. He has been several times stolen by private thieves, and once or twice carried into a sort of public captivity. In 1747, the English army took him, and the people of Grammont stole him from them. The French army, under Louis XV., took him — and once, during this century, he was stolen, for which the thief was convicted and sentenced to hard labor, as a destroyer of public monu- ments. On all these occasions of public loss, the whole community is astir and buzzing like a bee-hive, when the queen bee is missing — and when the little image is again restored to his station, universal shouts and congratulations testify the general joy. There is a public house inscribed to his honor, "To the Manikin recovered, to the general HIS HONORS AND INCOME. 467 satisfaction of his fellow citizens." They recovered him from the French while the army was still in the city, and after he was put in his place, a French grenadier insulted him, when, to atone for this insult, and to ingratiate him- self Avith the people, Louis XV. conferred upon him the right of personal nobility, gave him the dress of a knight, with the right to wear a sword, and decorated him with the cross of Saint Louis. This compelled the troops not only to respect him, but to give him the military salute. The Emperor, Maximilian, decorated him with his orders — In 1789, when the Austrians were driven out, the cockade of Brabant was added to his decorations. Napoleon gave him the key of a chamberlain. A few years ago, a lady of Brussels left him, by will, a thousand florins, which only increased the income that had before been given him by princes and men of wealth. His valet — a public appoint- ment — has a salary of two hundred florins, for which he cares for his wardrobe and makes his toilette. The funds of the Manikin are well invested, and administered by a distinguished lawyer of Brussels. While there is nothing positively known of the early his- tory of the Manikin — those early days, which are hazy and dim, and finally vanish in the thick mists of fabulous antiquity — still there are traditions, which, to some extent, account for the religious and romantic attachment of Bel- gium's capital, her beauty and her chivalry. There are religious traditions — patriotic traditions — classical traditions, and parental and monumental traditions, the variety of which may well justify us in looking with some little doubt upon all of them. It is said that in the thirteenth century — the city was doubtless at that early period very combustible — the public enemies had thrown a lighted match or torch, or bougie, to fire the city, and a little fellow, three or four years old, seeing it, ran — wasn't he bright? — and put it 468 TRADITIONS OF THE MANIKIN. out, and saved the city, for which, patriotic gratitude reared to him this statue as a monumental representation of the boy and the deed. The classicals insist that it is but a statue of Cupid, because there is in the Greek anthology an epigram on Cupid lost, and there is an ancient sculpture which represents the little blind hunter in very much the same situation and function as the present statue — Besides, it is well known that Cupid and the Graces were almost inseparable — now in ages back, there was another fountain, at no very great distance — in the street called, from it, the Troispucelles — composed of a group of statues of three young girls — which might well represent the Graces, if the Manikin was Cupid — although the usual classical position of the Graces has not been a sitting posture. Notwithstanding my respect for classical antiquity, I must consider the classi- cal solution inadmissible. The faithful may be more satis- fied with the tradition which makes it an expiatory monu- ment. On the return of an army of erusadei'S from Pales- tine, there was a grand procession, it is said, of the clergy, with the Holy Sacrament, and the banners, followed by the returned crusaders. A little prince of Brussels, five years old, led by his governor, marched at the head of the pro- cession, bearing a taper. The little fellow's princely blood was, however, human, and a long walk affected his loins — he was too young to feel the duty of mortifying the flesh, and did not feel enough sensible of the sacredness of the occa- sion, perhaps — and so — indeed he could not help it — he stopped at the corner of Oak street for relief and — as a chastisement for the irreverent act — his royal highness was not through, when the procession, which lasted an hour, had passed — and this monument was erected to commemorate that miraculous expiation of his fault. Strong as the proba- bilities may be in favor of this, I do not consider it to rest upon a stronger probability than that other tradition which TRADITION OF THE MANIKIN. 469 says that an old Jew, finding a beautiful little Christian boy, son of one of the high nobility, performing the same natu- ral function, at the corner of Stove street, during one of the city processions, stole him, and took him to his house to crucify him. The father of the child, however, not knowing what had become of him, addressed himself with so much zeal and devotion" to the Holy Virgin, whose church of Bon Secours was hard by, that the old Jew became alarmed, and at evening took the little lord back to the corner of the street whence he had taken him, and there his parents found him, and in gratitude to Notre Dame de Bon Se- cours, made a gift to her church, and reared this monument on the spot where the son was lost and found. What gives color to the story is, that the street where the old Jew lived, was immediately called the street of the Little Christian, which it retains to this day ! There is still another tradi- tion, which finds equally ready credence, stating that a sorceress once lived at this corner, and that a little child — it does not appear whether playfully or maliciously — wet her door, and she fixed him in the act and place perpetually — but a holy man of the neighborhood, cheated the old hag by slily putting this statue there, in place of the little boy. I have given, perhaps, more space to the Manikin than it might be deemed to deserve, but it is really one of the old institutions of this old and beautiful city, and to an American, even after he has gone the grand rounds, exhibits a novelty in European characteristics. PARIS. FROM Belgium we entered France at Valenciennes, where we were compelled to give up all our news- papers, purchased on leaving Brussels. What a cowardly and distrustful policy it seems to an American, for a great and powerful nation like France, so cultivated, so intelli- gent, and acute, and so Avarlike and triumphant, to be afraid of a newspaper in the pocket of a traveller entering her dominions, or of the traveller himself. It is quite clear .that nothing is gained by the system of passports and police examinations at the frontier. There is nothing of it in America — nothing in the British islands — next to nothing in Switzerland, and the condition of all those countries dis- proves the necessity of the system. Quietly back in my old quarters in Paris, after all my wanderings, I have come back into my early track and it seems as though I had got home — Strange as it looked here when I first opened my eyes upon this great Babylon, now it has really a home look. Royal equipage and donkey cart — RETURN TO PARIS. 471 the Boulevards — and the old streets of la cite, grotesque and ancient, quaint, crooked, narrow, and lofty — the Gardens of the Tuileries — the Champs Elysees — the Madeleine and the Flower Market — the Rue de la Paix — the Place Vendome — the Rue Rivoli — the Place de la Concorde — how I greet you all with the friendly welcome of old acquaintance ! After wandering monthly and daily from one strange place to another — from novelty to novelty — from antiquity to antiq- uity — never relieved by a return — never coming back and starting out again — how it refreshes one to get into an old place, and, on the same spot, to call back, as familiar memo- ries, as souvenirs de voyage, the fresh surprises of the first look. If you have never tried it, it is well worth the experi- ment of crossing your track at interesting localities, to get the delight of so interesting an experience. Ye grand old domes and towers — my landmarks — the towering Invalides — the double towers of graceful St. Sulpice, and of venerable Notre Dame, will ye not rise in my memory, longer and fresher, for these smiles of recognition with which I meet you 1 II faut s'anuiser, seems at first sight to be the beginning, middle and end of life here, so far as the more open and visi- ble life, in the fashionable Paris, is concerned. It is said that the Seine divides Paris into two great classes — the fair dealers and the jockeys — On the one side you cannot fail to see that the shopkeeper is not a cheat, but is worthy of con- fidence — on the other side you always feel that, unless you are wide awake, you will be taken in and done for. So a sec- ond and more serious look at the great French capital com- pels us to admit the truth of what an American, long resident here, said to me — that there is a real life here — that here, as well as in the provinces — in the city as well as in the country — in the Boulevards as well as in the homelier streets — the great drudgery of life is constantly and usefully going its 472 PARISIAN LIFE. rounds — toil plods on — labor earns his daily wages — poverty begs a brother of the earth to give him leave to toil, and thrifty industry accumulates his gains. There is a sobriety and reality in the real currents of Parisian life which do not suffer in comparison with London or New- York. So, too, of other often repeated characteristics of Paris — its immoral- ity and licentiousness — it is a surface view and inconsider- ate speech, that classifies all Parisians, and sometimes all French, as voluptuous and sensual, dissolute and infidel. The character of some monarchs, and many courtiers — of the idle class — comparatively not a large one — has been attributed to the more moral many. In every large city — especially in every gay capital, large or small, vice and irreligion, gallantry and social immorality, take the most agreeable manners, and press themselves for- ward into the best circles and the most conspicuous places. With the same sort of romancers, and feuilletonists, and ephemeral scribblers, and letter-writers, London and New- York, and Boston, and Philadelphia, would easily furnish materials for a character as loose as that of Paris. While these latter cities boast of a greatly preponderating staid, religious, moral, and worthy population, which saves them from the reputation of dissolute cities, so the vast majority of the inhabitants of Paris and of France arc not justly chargeable with the character which the vices of the few, have, in most minds, thrown upon them. Neither, on the other hand, must we forget that much of the vice and sensual immorality of Paris, is not exposed to public view. Being subject to the license, regulation, and supervision of the government, it is shut in and confined to its own place. In Paris, and, indeed, in all the cities I have visited on the Continent, no flaunt- ing courtesans and brazen-faced prostitutes, or mock- modest women of easy virtue, as in London and New-York, throng the streets to solicit or tempt the street- walking men. That class must be sought. FRENCH GOVERNMENT. 473 This should always be borne in mind as we look upon Parisian life and habits, and move about in the thorough- fares and saloons, the shows and amusements — high and low — of Paris, and in the quiet residences of the sober citi- zens, who mind their own business, and I fancy that Paris was never more in its normal condition than under Napoleon III. — Never was more perfect than now, as I understand, that complete and jarless routine which the Parisians, of all classes, love so much — No fear of bloody fusillades, or of popular outbreaks, when there are plenty of work for the trades, plenty of customers for the shops, and plenty of amusements at the theatres and gardens — Then any one may govern them that pleases. The French — a few tetes exaltees excepted — have no desire to govern themselves. The revo- lutions that have come and gone in our day, like the scenic changes of the theatre, have not shown, on the part of the French, a determination to govern themselves, but simply a desire to throw off what bore heavily upon them — they have always thrown it off, and they have always taken it back, or taken up, with content and satisfaction, whatever has been offered instead, provided that it only promised relief. The maddened People — the Republic — the Directory — the Con- sulate — the Empire — the Bourbon — the Orleans — the New Republic — the New Empire, have each, in its success, with its promises, called forth the shouts of welcome — and as one after another has become burdensome, its failure has brought the curses of the same people. No government has ever been more popular than the pres- ent. I often employed the same coachman — I talked much and freely with him. I said the Emperor was not popular at first, but now he seems to be very popular. " Oh, yes," said he, " he is just the man — we needed but him. He knows how to hold the reins of government as well as I do to manage my horses. We don't want a repub- 474 THE EMPEHOK. lie — we have not been brought up to it, and don't know how to make it go — Ave have tried it and always failed." As we drove past the Invalides, on the chapel front, where some new gateposts had just been surmounted with gilded eagles, which he had not before seen, he exclaimed, with de- light — " Voila nos aigles revenues.'" He pointed to the Macadamized streets about that great hospital — and said, "The managers applied to the Emperor to Macadamize the streets, to prevent the noise, and he did it. He does all that is asked of him." By the way, others say that the Emperor is so ready to Macadamize, because paving stones are so conve- nient in revolutionary barricades. This man, say fifty-five years old, was one of the many thousand licensed drivers, and he assured me that all hold the same opinion of the present government. This Avas, doubtless, in some degree to be attributed to the fact that these many thousands enjoy a complete monopoly — not another license Avould be granted on any consideration, and any enterprising man Avho desired to go into the business — for the supply Avas greatly inade- quate to the demand — was compelled to buy out one of the numbers already existing. My man said his number could be quickly sold for ten thousand francs. This, among many others, seemed to me a characteristic measure of tact and policy on the part of Louis Napoleon — by securing a prosperous and steady business, to make fast friends, of these ten thousand talking and busy men, who pass through the streets of Paris night and day, serA-ing the better classes and the strangers, and constantly associating, as equals, with the common and middle classes. Napoleon First did much for Paris — Napoleon Third, if his life be spared, will do more. They jeer at his improve- ments in the Bois de Boulogne — but he can Avait — it will not be long — to see all Paris as proud as he will be, of the great success of that princely enterprise. Indeed, one of FRANCE. 475 his striking characteristics — one that marks him as a man of real greatness — is a silent trust in his own convictions — the easy confidence with which he can wait, till his thought becomes action — till his plans are accomplished — till the fullness of time shall come — till others, as well as himself, see the connection of the beginning with the end. When he was a fugitive and a vagabond, he never doubted his destiny — he was biding his time — at Strasburg and Boulogne his mistake was that he had not waited long enough, and in the prison of Ham he was only waiting with the same confi- dence in his glorious future. He is considered mysterious. It is because he is waiting. What a nation is the French — what a country is France — what a histoiy, from Charles Martel to Napoleon III. — what science — what letters — Avhat art — what war — what diplo- macy — what statesmanship ! Is there a man that has risen to immortality anywhere else in Europe, no matter in what line of distinction, that France does not furnish another that stands at least on the same level with him, and is his rival in his characteristic excellence ? What fields of real glory make up the story of her triumphs ! Scenic and showy — tasteful and apropos — melodramatic and startling — mercurial and lively, in personal chai*acter and social in- stincts — the same characteristics on the grander scale of national life, and in the longer vistas of history, stand out in almost sublime manifestations. Paris is France, is a proverbial truth. In nothing is it more fully illustrated than in these characteristics of indi- vidual, social, and national life. The capital is at the same time the cause and the effect of that truth. As nowhere but in a great capital could be fitly shown at once all such great national characteristics, so in Paris are they all shown, and there do they make it what it is. They make Paris — and Paris declares their glory to all the nations. Paris is one of the national glories — a principal glory — in having 476 FERE LA CHAISE. there reproduced, in detail, all the glories of her ages. Is there a man of Avhom France has been proud, you will find him now in Parisian monuments and memorials of the most enduring and worthy character. So of the glories of her history, literary, scientific and heroic. Always a power of the first-class, always has she maintained that position, by the lavish expenditure of her treasures, to sustain the glory of her arms, and her arts, and her learning. The three great cemeteries — Pere la Chaise, Montmartre, and Mont Parnasse — in different portions of the city, tell the story of French commemorations in one way. Pere la Chaise — the largest and most interesting — contains sixteen thousand monuments, in almost all possible forms of marble, and granite, and bronze, which taste or the vanity of sorrow could suggest — costing, it is said, twenty-five million dollars — scattered over one hundred and fifty acres, with every variety of charming seene and labyrinthian walk. In one moment you feel the solemnity and silence of the place, in a se- cluded dell, whence is shut out all but the quiet of the grave and from it you mount, in the next moment, to an eminence which presents the finest view of the whole city, with its temples and towers — so grand and interesting, that in the view }'Ou would forget all the proprieties of the place, and be lost in the grander scene, were you not compelled to feel even more solemn in the midst of these sepulchral acres, as you look out from them, upon that gay and crowded, and heedless capital — seeming to see vast generations, in every succeeding whirl of their great dance of death, coming nearer and nearer to the place appointed for all living. Looking out from Pere la Chaise at the east, with Mont- martre on the north, Mont Parnasse on the south, and the whole city before you, it is easy to consider the great city as but the place of more central and lofty monuments, around which the cemeteries are but specks of suburban green. MONUMENTS. 477 Paris is all monuments. What noble piles have been erected during the past ages, for palaces of kings and princes, and for the many public institutions of benevo- lence and utility. The triumphal arches and the lofty columns, are but monuments to the multitudinous dead of the battle fields — and the Invalides, the Pantheon, the Madeleine, and Notre Dame, are but the monumental labors of dead kings. The column of the Place du Chatelet — the column of the Place Vendome, and the column of July, are the records of triumphs when the old monarchy was hurried to the grave and the legitimate race was buried in exile. It is said that by the end of this century most of the present marbles of Pere la Chaise will have fallen to indistinguishable ruin, yet the first body was interred there just fifty years ago — a short commemoration. Not so with the monuments of Paris. They are built with more solidity and watched and cared for with more solicitude. Every traveller has visited Pere la Chaise — there is noth- ing new to write about it. It has, of course, many things in common with the cemeteries of large cities, which have been so long occupied for their solemn purpose. They are all too crowded. The monuments seem in some cases hud- dled togethei\ We only rambled in it for a short time, and as our attention was arrested with this name or that, we gazed for a moment upon it, plucked a flower or a leaf, if one was to be found, to serve as memorials of the immortal dead, who in death, as in life, found the common lot of humanity. Every one loves to stop about the dwellings of the dead — especially to look for a moment upon the graves of the great or the famous. Our human sympathy demon- strates our brotherhood with all the silent sleepers — our human pride silently claims kindred with those who are deservedly honored in life and in death — and our personal vanity asserts our superiority to many of those who, without 478 THE GLORY OF FRANCE. any just claims to pre-eminence, are forced into a distinc- tion which does not belong to them. We gathered flowers from the graves of Moliere, Lafontaine and Moratin — About the grave of La Place, the undevout astronomer — he was an atheist, and fitly enough not a green thing grew upon his grave any more than hopes on the death-bed of an atheist — a few poppies threw off their sleepy odors near by the foundation of his monument, and we plucked them as a fitting memento of one whose genius and learning made him immortal, notwithstanding his atheism had consigned him to annihilation. Coming suddenly upon the monument of Abelard and Heloise— the learned, the frail, the penitent — it was a beautiful surprise to us. A Gothic Baldaquin covers the tomb, upon which are images of the two lovers side by side. It is quite the most beautiful sepulchral monument I have seen — deeply religious in its tone and ac- cessories. The whole is surrounded by a fence or railing, within which, but out of ordinary reach, were some beauti- ful flowers, in fresh bloom. There are many votive offer- ings scattered upon Ihe tomb. One, inscribed " To my sister," was suggestive. The glory of France is never an idle word on the lips of a Frenchman. Her national strength, and union, and unity, is her glory. In her arts, her arms, her letters and her science, her history is radiant. Through ages of ages her great men shine out — differing in glory only as one star differeth from another star in glory — and all along, while they have labored for their own love of their particular pursuit, and for a high-toned but selfish ambition, the master passion of their souls has seemed to be the glory of France } and France accepts all the glory, no matter how revolution- ary and irregular may have been the particular agencies which have added to her triumphs. Had Cromwell done in France what he did in England, canvas and stone, and PALACE OF VERSAILLES. 479 bronze, would glorify and perpetuate his great deeds, as she does those of Napoleon and the first Republic. Such a nation must bo always irresistible. Such a nation must everywhere preserve and exalt the memorials of her great- ness, as she has done — as you see it in the Palace of the Louvre, in story above story, in hall after hall, in gallery after gallery, in cabinet after cabinet — as you see it in the Palace of Versailles,, a few miles from Paris — itself a most wonderful monument, in the mere pile of buildings, and the grand garden of surroundings, but more so in its more than a thousand historical paintings of grand achievements, and its more than a thousand portraits of historical men, and its long galleries of historical sculptures. The hall of the Kings — the hall of the Royal residences — the hall of the Admirals — the hall of the Constables — the hall of the Marshals — the hall of the great Warriors — the galleries upon galleries of statues and busts — the galleries of battles — the galleries of the crusades. In these paintings — covering all French history from the time of Pharamond to that of the latest canvas hardly yet dry — they seem to follow the footsteps of the hero — did he distinguish himself while an ensign, in the heroic defence of his flag ? — there is the picture — As a captain, did he lead his company into the imminent deadly breach ? — there is another picture — and so, as he rises, from glory to glory, from the ranks, all along up to the baton of a marshal, there are all the pictures, in their appropriate chronological place. You can form some idea of the vastness of this collection when I say that, if you should give but five minutes to each room, it would take you three days, of five hours each — it is open only from eleven to four o'clock — to pass through the rooms — if you give but a glance of one minute to each work of art, it would take seven days, of five hours a day, to go through them — and still there are rooms where you would like to 480 LITTLE TKIANON. devote a day, and then come again — such is the hall of Constantine, with its pictures of vast size of the siege of Constantine, in 1837, and other grand battles of our own times — eight pictures by Horace Vernet, and others by other artists of renown — and the grand gallery of battles is three hundred and ninety-three feet long, forty-two feet wide, and forty-two feet high, and full of pictures of the grandest subjects, by the greatest of French artists. This great collection is open free to the public on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and on Thursday and Friday, strangers with passports, alone are admitted. What an historical and French education this gives to the people! How it publishes and repeats to every land the glory of France. As we were walking through the great gallery of battles, and looking upon one French triumph and another, an English lady, whom we met there, and who walked on with us, said to me, with becoming modesty, but with a face radiant with satisfaction, that there was no vic- tories there over the British. The words had hardly passed her lips before we came upon five pictures of the siege of Torktown and the capture of Cornwallis, by the allied armies of France and the United States. She did not make a remark about them, nor did I to her. The Little Trianon, a favorite little royal chateau, is within the grounds of Versailles. It is a charming little spot. It was here that is said to have occurred the re- markable scene furnishing so striking an instance of great events taking their direction from the smallest of causes. Napoleon and Josephine were playing at a favorite sport of idle hours — the Chinese game of rings. The Empei-or had great skill in the game, and felt sui'e to win — and he had resolved in his own miud that it should depend upon that game whether he would repudiate Josephine. For a wonder he missed, and Josephine was likely to win, and he could TOMB OF NAPOLEON. 481 not conceal the chagrin of his disappointment. Josephine observed it, and, unconscious of the cause, with her charac- teristic affection, allowed him to win — fatal mistake for her — perhaps a fatal mistake for him — for soon after that the tide turned with him, and soon he was a prisoner. Was there ever such a meteor life ! Such a rise, and such a fall! — such power, such glory — such fear upon the nations! and yet he was not Emperor ten years. In May, 1804, he took the imperial title — he was not crowned till Decem- ber — and in April, 1814, he abdicated the throne! The nephew of his uncle will profit by his example. The triumphal arches of St. Denis and St. Martin record the glories of Louis XIV., and those de la Place du Ca- rousel, and de l'Etoile, are covered with monumental records of the great Corsican and his great contemporaries — all ob- jects of pride and affection for the whole of France. The Invalides, always in sight, proclaims from its lofty dome that France takes care of those who suffer in her service. Now there are about three thousand veterans there, furnished with a home for the final years of the crippled and the maimed, and the superannuated. There have been there as many as fifteen thousand at once. There hang the flags o e all their triumphs, and there, at last, after Elba and St. Helena, sleep the remains of Napoleon, in such a mausoleum as honors no other modern. When we were looking upon that wonderful vault, the vertical sun sent its rays through the dome, and the colored glass, giving to the catafalque, the sarcophagus and the whole scene, a pale, mild, and tinted lustre, like a summer twilight, while a beautiful strain of music came soft, and low, and tremulous, from the choir of the chapel— which is separated from it only by a grating — and filled the whole place with heavenly harmonies. It was like the fame of the hero himself — subdued and soft- 21 482 PALACES AND CHURCHES. ened by his misfortunes — even more interesting in a paler light — and fitly chanted by a grateful posterity. The Palace of the Tuileries and its garden for the rec- reation of the people beneath the windows of Royalty — and the delicious garden and grounds of the beautiful palace of the Luxembourg — that palace itself with so much to in- terest the traveller — its collections of modern paintings, waiting the death of the artist, to be transferred to the perpetual fame of the Louvre — the appropriate senate chamber, its grand entrance and staircase — and the throne room, so gorgeous — How imperial all ! If one had not formed his taste by studying the chaster forms and ornaments of the Christian temples of the graver nations of the continent, the churches of the French capital would well excite his admiration, and the Madeleine and St. Genevieve — formerly the Pantheon — those great expressions of the modern French taste, would be objects of his special study and wonder — but to me old Notre Dame, so grand, so solemn, so historical, so religious, leaves no room in my memory for the showy mixtures of heathenism and Chris- tianity — of melodrama and mythology. The details of sight-seeing, in Paris, cannot be written in hurried letters of travel. Its public buildings, and its pub- lic institutions, in Paris and its environs — its education — its science — its letters — its arts — its industry — its courts of justice — its libraries — and its amusements, are innumerable, and always new to the cultivated and appreciating mind — and its frivolities, for the frivolous and trifling — its grossi- eretes, for the coarse and the sensual, and the gross — its hant ton, for the stylish — its grace, for the tasteful — its fashion, for the fashionable — its luxury, for the extrava- gant — its oddities, its novelties, its drolleries, its sorrows and its despairs, are always in new manifestations and in infinite variety. ENGLAND. FROM Paris we returned to England, by the old histori- cal city of Calais, crossing the channel again, but not with the mill-pond sailing which we had before from Folke- stone to Boulogne. It was dark and rainy as we picked our dangerous way across the quay at Calais, to the low and crowded little steamer, which was to bear us over. The boat was filled to every berth, and settee, and bench, and plank upon the floor, and no sooner were we out at sea than we began to feel the roughness of the night — a thun- der-storm had come upon us, and brought the short chopped sea for which the English channel is so famous. This made us a little sick, and many others were dead sick, and to crown the cheerlessness of that crowded and tossing little craft, a crazy Avoman — sorrowful crazy — religious crazy — kept up her moanings the live-long night. That she was deserted by God was the key-note of her madness. The cabin would, for a while, be all still, except the pelting of the rain upon the deck above — the dash of the waves, as they 484 CROSSING THE CHANNEL. broke against the sides, and the rapid sputtering buzz of the paddle-wheels, as the roll of the boat threw them nearly out of the water, first on one side and then the other — the flashes of lightning that rushed in and out through the little windows of our*ports, and the long roll, or the sudden peal of thunder that followed, made the contrasts desolate enough — but the finish to the scene was the Godforsaken moans of that poor thing, as ever and anon she exclaimed, " God is gone, I shall never see him again," and seemed to break down into crushed and quiet despair, till perhaps another peal, or another flash, aroused her to another throe. The early morning dawned upon us as we neared the cliff's of Dover and Dover Castle, embracing within its walls thirty-five acres, on " the dread summit of this chalky bourne," and, after such a night, it was impossible not to recall old Lear, and Cordelia, and Gloster, and Edgar, and the mimic scenes of madness to which the elder Kean gave such fearful reality. After a clambering and dangerous landing from a rough sea, on the pier at Dover, slippery with the morning drizzle, we took the express train for London, which whirled us over the eighty-eight miles in two hours and a quarter, and we took our comfortable breakfast at our old quarters — Morley's. Good-by, French — Good-by, Italian — Good-by, Ger- man. Welcome, English ! That noblest of tongues — the language of freedom, and popular supremacy — " The liberty of unlicensed printing" — you can't say that in any language but the English. Freedom of speech — freedom of the press — freedom to worship God — freedom to come and go without a passport — freedom to receive, and protect, and cherish the hunted exiles of despotism, are phrases of our mother tongue alone. Since the settlement of America, no despot has been permitted to prostitute the English language YANKEE DOODLE. 485 to his iron rule. Charles I. tried it, and the people cut off his head — James II. tried it, and the people drove him from his kingdom, and he became a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth. In the quiet of the evening, as I sat in xwy room, looking broadly out upon Trafalgar Square, my thoughts ran back over my rapid zigzag run through Continental Europe, and naturally and inevitably compared the free constitutional popular monarchy of England with imperial France, impe- rious Austria, and bigoted Italy. I thought of the great battles of modern times — those terrible days of slaughter that have taken their names from the fields soaked with human blood — not one of them was fought on British soil, though in some of them the British soldier was in the thickest of the battle, and, under British leaders, covered their arms with glory. The statues of George IV. and Charles I. were fading in the twilight, and the lion of the Percy's high born race, and the lofty column and sculptured monument of Nelson, whose greatest achievement gave its name to the square, were duskily relieved against the sky. I was in that dreamy mood in which the will seems to give up the mind to the control of association, and images come and go with as little sequence as the the phantasma- goria of actual dreams— Arms and literature — Chevy Chase, and Bannockburn, and Marston Moor — and the Boyne, and Wellington, and Cromwell, and Marlborough, and Nelson, came and went, till arrested by the strain of a strolling musician, who, with a gentle instrument like a flageolet, whose tones were quite in harmony with my thoughts, struck up the air of Yankee Doodle. Let any one, who for months has been absorbed with scenes so unlike anything American, judge how, for a moment, everything European would vanish even more quickly than a phantasmagoria, and home, and friends, and country — the success of our arms, and 4S6 YANKEE DOODLE. the pride of our national glory, would fill his heart with the joy of affection, and his eye with those waters that well up from the deepest springs of the soul — I was entirely over- come by it. I remember freshly when it was fashionable to laugh at Yanke» Doodle, as a vulgar air, written to make fun of our extempore Yankee soldiers of olden time. How it was written by Dr. Shackburgh, or some one else, and given to the Yankee soldiers as a celebrated European air, to ridicule their fondness for European fashions. Notwith- standing all its simplicity, our troops have kept time to its measures on all their fields of glory — and it is quite im- possible to imagine an air more perfectly fitted to the national tone of such a people as ours. As we have grown stronger and greater — as the stars and stripes have floated higher and higher, over more and more fields of triumph, so Yankee Doodle has risen in the scale of meritj and, I believe, it is at last discovered to be not a new, nor an American air, nor a burlesque, nor a musical drollery — but it is found among the most precious musical archives of I do not know how many musical nations — preserved, and separated, and selected for immortality, by the sifting of ages of traditional popular harmony. It is, indeed, among the music of the nations. Its chords have vibrated with the heartstrings of the people in all ages. The Alpine echoes have repeated its strains — it has more than once broken out among the ariozo trills and graces of emasculated Italy — the Suliote has rallied to it in the forest glades of Greece — France has been made insane by it — Cromwell led his troop- ers to its resistless quickstep — blind Ziska's Invincible Brethren strode to his miraculous triumphs in the spirit of its rebellious measures. One writing from this city to New-York, in 1848, said— ' ; Oddly enough, the staple air of the ' Grand Quadrille of all Nations,' at the Opera House, is Yankee Doodle, which pervades the entire composition and gives it LONDON. 487 most of its character." In 1848, how all the nations at the sound of its key-note struck off into its harmonies. Let no one say with a sneer or a sardonic smile that the strains of 1848 were short and the music evanescent. The instru- ment is not broken — the music is not losfc — the right soul knows that it will yet burst forth — no one knows whether in years or in ages — in more swelling and universal sympho- nies — and in the great contra-dance of nations they will take their measure from Yankee Doodle, and constitutional liberty will marshal the sets and call the figures. London — Londiniau — in ancient Latin Londinium, is now, as some one has well said, a province covered with houses. It en- joyed something like its present pre-eminence in ancient times. Tacitus, eighteen centuries ago spoke of it, as il copia negociato- rum ac commealuum maxime celebre," andlater, Marcellinus pre- dicted its greatness, " Londinium, veins oppidum quod Augustam posteritas appellabit" — "An ancient city which posterity will call imperial." It has now a population larger than all New-England — larger than New- York, Philadelphia, Brook- lyn, Boston, Baltimore, New-Orleans, St. Louis, and Cin- cinnati united. The mind is really bewildered in attempt- ing to take in such a wilderness of human beings — the tastes, pursuits, monuments, institutions, celebrities, and utilities of such a growth of two thousand years — all that time the great heart of a great nation — on a small undefend- ed island — all things considered, the most remarkable nation that has ever existed. I shall not attempt to sketch the details of that growth, as the little city of London has drawn to it and incorporated with it the villages and cities that were in its environs, and — one after another fused and flowed into one grand mass — have made up the vast London of to-day. In the " City" you see narrow, and crooked, and inconvenient streets and lanes, and ancient architecture of its early periods and tastes, and 488 THE SIGHTS. in the west end, in Belgravia, and Tyburnia, and all the new parts of the town, you see the characteristics of modern progress. It is sometimes supposed that the Lord Mayor of London is the mayor of this great province of combined cities and villages called London — but this is not so, he is Lord Mayor of only the " city" of London, which is but a little spot in the oldest part of London, and contains only about one hundred and fifty thousand people, and within this " city" there is comparatively little to interest the traveller. The great lions are in other portions of London — Westminster Abbey, Westminster Hall, and the Houses of Parliament, are in the city of Westminster. The Tower is in the Tower Hamlets — the great commercial docks are still further down the river — and Greenwich Hospital on the opposite shore, quite below London — the Crystal Palace is at Sydenham — the great parks are all far away from the City, and most of the monuments and all the statues are, also, outside the city proper. We went the grand rounds of the sights — the Parliament Houses, the Abbey, the parks and squares, the British Museum, the Bank, the Mint, the Crystal Palace, Green- wich Hospital, the Tower — every one of which is worthy of so great a metropolis of such a nation. Every one of them is full of the history of England — which is, also, our history — and they are, all, great and characteristic illustra- tions of the English mind, and the British nation. Every- where, form, and ceremony, and punctilio, have the respect and honor of great utilities. As you go to the Tower you soon find yourself in the midst of men in the dress and arms of the time of Henry VIII. — slashed and many-colored in striking contrasts. I supposed they were thus dressed for the occasion, as a sort of oddity, but I soon found that they were of the essence of the scene — apparently quite as important as the Tower itself. So, in another instance in England, JAVELIN MEN. 489 there were stationed at the door of our hotel — for the high sheriff of the county had his rooms there — certain strange look- ing officials, in the parti-colored slashed dress, and trappings, and arms of some hundreds of years ago. I am not enough skilled in that sort of antiquities to say of what precise date. On inquiry I found that they were javelin men — they were armed with javelins of the same ancient date, and attending upon the sheriff. When I went into the court, which was at that time in session, I perceived these javelin men here and there — odd, stiff, and stately — about the court room. This prompted further inquiry, and I found they are considered as necessary to the administration of justice, as the wigs of the judges and the lawyers. They attend upon the sheriff and upon the judge — and when the judge on the circuit arrives in a county, the sheriff, with an array of javelin men, meets him at the county line or the railroad station, and with so much of the pomp and circumstance of glorious war, escorts him to his quarters. All this is done at the expense of the sheriff, who maintains this body of uniform- ed modern antiquities, for the purpose of doing honor to the judge and making justice respectable. In one or two of the counties the gentry and solid men being aware how exceedingly ridiculous this mock-heroic display was and how onerous it was to the sheriff, in a pecuniary point of view, associated together for the purpose of giving some weight to their measures of reform, and proposed that the javelin men should be dispensed with, and that they themselves, the gentry, and men of influence — without expense to the sher- iff, and with more honor to the judge, and more respect for justice — should form an escort, and body-guard, and calva- cade of honor, to the majesty of the law. They did so. To this honor the judge bowed in dignified acquiescence, but with ill concealed dissatisfaction. The sheriff politely said that he hoped the court would believe that he was quite 21* 490 JAVELIN MEN. willing, himself, to conform to ancient usages, but the asso- ciation of which he was a member had in a measure com- pelled him to this course. The judge, however, was deter- mined not to do nor to say anything hastily, and it was not till the next morning, at the opening of the court, that the countenance of the judge revealed the subject of his mid- night cogitation and sorrow, as he proceeded to express his astonishment and indignation at the manner in which the representative of her Majesty had been received by the sheriff, without javelin men, and that so dangerous a prece- dent might not be followed in other counties, he promptly fined the sheriff one hundred pounds — five hundred dollars — and concluded by expressing the hope that the association who had thus led the sheriff astray, would save him from pecuniary loss by paying the fine which had been imposed upon him. The world has many javelin men, but nowhere are they so respectable and long-lived as in old England. They are an English characteristic — no one knows England and the English who has not observed and studied the javelin men — they are everywhere — Church, Army, Physic, Law. The man that ties up the papers with red tape is a javelin man — so is he who turns the crank of the routine in the circum- locution office — attempt to touch them, and power and precedent will almost curse thee to thy face. This is most striking in and about the arrangements of the government. You meet at every step some old form, in ages past useful as well as agreeable, but now neither one nor the other, yet preserved and persisted in, as though the safety of the nation depended on it. No woman is allowed to enter the House of Commons — no man can get even into the gallery without an order from a member, and each mem- ber is allowed to give only a very small number of orders — I think only two — in any one day, and these only for his MR. COBDEN. 491 own house. On presenting your order you are always told the gallery is full to overflowing, but you always find room enough — almost no one there. We were indebted to the characteristic civility of Mr. Cobden for admission to both houses. His own orders had already been exhausted, but he procured others for us. He did the same, on another occasion, for a young American, whom I met and who was lamenting his inablity to get into the House of Commons. We shall always remember — with the hope of being able to show our sense of it — his great politeness in personally escorting us through the Parliament Houses, the Chambers of the Lords, and the Commons, the Library, the corridors and the lobbies, and committee rooms, with personal explanations and descriptions so necessary to strangers, and from him so agreeable in manner as well as matter. It is quite easy to see why he is so popular and so efficient. The simplicity and straightforwardness of his character — his gentleness and freedom from pretension and from everything like exclusiveness — his putting one entirely at ease in intercourse with him- — that great practical sense which shows itself in every word, and that inner light of thought and reflection — which is constantly shining out and revealing his real ability — could not fail to give him that strong hold which he has on his constituency and on the nation. The ladies' gallery of the House of Commons is separated from the chamber by a close ornamental grating, so that the ladies cannot be seen from the chamber. For some reason, which 1 do not know, this exclusion was ordered ages ago, and is continued in this new building — and in this age when there is no reason for it, and when it seems only rude and ungal- lant to the sex which, in generations past, has furnished and is now furnishing to the throne monarchs of whom the nation will never- cease to be justly proud. The original exclusion, 492 DECIMAL COINAGE. I believe, was total, and the grating is a characteristic English mode of reform — evading what they might better repeal. The rule of exclusion is still enforced by allowing the ladies to enter and putting a grating before them, so that they are not there. In the Lords, on the other hand, the ladies are openly admitted, while the gentlemen are kept out. M. was escorted to a seat in the gallery, while I had a tol- erable look from the lobby — as we listened to a debate on a modification of the Sunday law, proposed by the Bishop of London, and advocated by him, the Duke of Argyle, and others. The Lord Chancellor was on the woolsack, and Lord Brougham lounging beside him. In the Commons we listened to a debate on the Oxford University bill. We had no occasion to be ashamed of the comparison with our debates at home. I saw in what is called the members' gallery a tipsy member — stretched at his length on the bench — muttering to himself and likely to become noisy ; lie was, however, promptly brought to order by the proper officer. The practice of examining witnesses before the Parlia- mentary committees — on the subject of proposed measures — is carried to a greater extent here than with us. The ex- pense of getting a railroad charter through a committee here, is more than the whole expense of making the road with us. The committee-room which I saw, had its tables, its benches, &c, for a crowd. For a copy of the Report on the Decimal Coinage I was indebted to the politeness of Mr. William Brown, the mem- ber for Liverpool, who was chairman of the select committee on the subject. The testimony taken fills one hundred large parliamentary folio pages. Thirty witnesses were ex- amined, embracing noblemen, eminent men in the army, members of Parliament — the chairman was examined before his own committee — scientific men, bankers, and bank COURTS OF LAW. 493 directors, and men of various classes of scientific and theo- retical or practical judgment on the question. So intelli- gent and practical a committee could not fail to report in favor of reforming the currency by adopting a decimal currency. It remains to be seen whether the javelin men are strong enough to defeat it. It seems to me that England, France, and the United States, might so modify the sov- ereign, the napoleon, and the eagle, and the subordinate coins — without changing their names — as to make them decimal and of corresponding value in all those countries, and thus reform the currency of the world — to the great convenience of all, especially of commercial men. The difficulty in introducing a change in the currency is greatly overrated. I dropped in at the House of Lords on a law day — the House sitting as the High Court of Appeals — a cause being on argument. There was no one there but the Lord Chancellor, and theclerks, and the counsel in the case. His lordship was not on the woolsack, but in a chair some twenty feet from the counsel. Mr. Fitzroy Kelly was arguing — he spoke exceedingly low, in a conversational tone and manner. I could not hear what he said, although within twenty feet feet of him — behind him. The courts of law were not in session, and I lost the op- portunity of seeing them in Westminster Hall. They are entered by several plain and unpretentious doors from the great Westminster Hall, so famous — said to be the largest and finest room in Europe without pillars — two hundred and sev- enty feet long, and seventy-four feet wide, and of proportion- ate height-*-furnishing easy standing room for more than six thousand persons. King Henry n., six hundred years ago, is said to have entertained in it six thousand poor persons, as a New Year's benevolence — King Richard II. entertained ten. thousand persons a day for several days — his supplies for 494 COURTS OF ADMIRALTY. each day's luncheon being twenty-eight oxen, three hundred sheep, and fowls, &c, without number. The Court of Admiralty is held at the Doctors' Commons in the city, in a retired place among narrow and crooked streets. I looked in to see its men and its usages — Dr." Lushington was on the bench. There were first, motions and orders in Prize causes, and then hearings in Instance causes. I heard Sir John Harding and Dr. Spinx argue for the libellant and Dr. Bayard for the defendant in a case of materials. Their manner was not very loud, but earnest and emphatic. I noticed that they addressed the judge as "you," not "your honor," as with us. The advocates, in wigs and gowns, sat on each side of the judge — on the same level with him — their seats and desks before them being but a horseshoe extension of the judge's seat and desk. On the floor below, the proctors sit round a long bar table — at the end of which farthest from the judge, sits the register, who calls the causes distinctly and talks, loudly to the judge, who is about twent}' feet from him. The advocates ai*e doctors of the civil law and called doc- tors. They have a good public advocate library adjoining the court-room. Their own chambers or offices — which are quite small — are clustered around the court-room. We left London for Brighton, to take a glimpse of that celebrated watering-place, which is reached in less than two hours by rail — passing through the South Downs. The Downs are large tracts of rolling and bare land, with a comparatively light pasturage, and devoted mainly to the feeding of sheep. The South Down mutton is deservedly famous for its excellent quality. In maritime language — as in Black-eyed Susan — "All in the Downs the fleet was moored'' — the Downs means the extensive and excellent roadstead for ship?, extending from Dover north. BRIGHTON PORTSMOUTH. 495 Brighton looks out south upon the sea. The stretch of the beach is long and uninteresting, to those who have seen the striking and beautiful beaches of our shores. From the beach inshore is a fine strip of " England's fadeless green" — then the road along the shore — then beautiful terraces and squares, and courts, and crescents, and places, and streets of lofty Grecian and Italian architecture — done in stucco of light color. Much as the Oriental Pavilion, built by George III., when Prince Regent, has been criticised, all must agree that the building and grounds are a great ornament to the town — which is otherwise very attractive. The noble sea-wall — twenty or thirty feet high — stretch- ing a mile or so along a portion of the beach, and from which runs out into the deeper water, beyond the shoals, a long suspension pier, adds much to the beauty of the grand view, which takes in the Isle of Wight in the western dis- tance. The view from the water, landward, must be ex- ceedingly fine. We did not leave the shore — requiring all our short stay to take the agreeable drives and walks along the sea — among the carriages, sedan chairs, donkey rides, and goat drives. The baths are off the beach, but while we were there, we saw nothing to compare with the bathing scenes of Newport and Cape May. The town has tho freshness of a modern town. From Brighton, a short hour and a half brought us to the old naval station of Portsmouth. The cliffs of chalk of this part of the country, furnish nodules of flint in such quantity that houses are built of the dark balls, laid in courses in mortar, and sometimes the nodules are split and laid with the fractured side out. These buildings have a novel but pretty effect. Portsmouth is strongly and beautifully forti- fied. Its streets are irregular, narrow, and old-fashioned — soldiers and sailors at every turn, and the waterman's cry, "Want a boat?" hails you at every landing. Gosport is 496 THE ROYAL GEORGE. just across a little strait, a few rods wide. It is all forti- fications, of the most beautiful and the strongest character. Buoys, in every direction, give their warning of shoals and dangers. One — the buoy of the Royal George — mai-ks the place of that terrible accident, which sent her to the bottom without notice. It warns of the danger of the sunken wreck, and of the danger of the carelessness which pro- duced an accident that sent a shock through the three kingdoms. A noble three-decker — a tall admiral of one hundred and eight guns, Justin from a cruise — was heeled over a little, for repairs, on her side. It was a fair day and a smooth sea. Her crew and her officers were all on board. She was the Admi- ral's flag ship, and the brave old tar, Admiral Kempenfeldt, was writing in the cabin. The ship was filled with women and children from the shore,come on board for the visit of welcome and joy to their fathers, and husbands, and sweethearts — no thought of danger entered the mind of any one. The ship was heeled a little too far over — a flaw of wind struck her, and heeled her a little more — her heavy guns ran down to leeward and heeled her still more, and, before any one dreamed of danger, the sea poured in to her open gunports and siie filled, and went down in a twinkling, taking with her the admiral, his officers and men and visitors to the number of about one thousand, all of whom perished, except a few who were on the upper deck and were picked up by boats from the neighboring fleet. Between Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight is Spithead, the great naval station and anchorage of the British Navy, and where the grand royal naval reviews take place. During our stay, there were comparatively few vessels here, and all was plain, quiet, and unostentatious. An excursion of a day to the Isle of Wight, gave us a returning look out upon Ports- mouth, Portsea, Gosport and Spithead. The green fields ISLE OF WIGHT. 497 and rich foliage of the island shores — Osborne House, the rural summer palace of the Queen, with the royal flag flying, to indicate that her Majesty was now residing there — Nor- ris Castle, built by the proprietor of Bell's Weekly Messen- ger — its ivy-mantled battlements — its roads, winding through broad and beautiful lawns, and its grand effect in imitation of an ancient castle, presented a delightful succession of scenes. We had a charming drive out past Osborne House, to Whippingham, where is the humble little church in which the Queen and the royal family go to church, and to the pic- tux-esque old ruins of Carisbrook Castle — twelve hundred years old — embracing within the fosse and outer walls some twenty acres of land — its towers and battlements — hoary with centuries, rising loftily from a hilltop — contrast beau- tifully with the ivy green that clings so tendrilly to its walls. This is the castle in which Charles I. was confined, after his flight in 1647. From Portsmouth, my associations of Stonehenge and Salisburg Plain, urged me irresistibly to visit that celebrated locality. Leaving the railroad at the old city of Salisbury, we were glad to take a deliberate survey of the fine old Salisbury Cathedral, around which are situated the finest modern buildings in the city. If we had not had a surfeit of churches during our travels, we should have counted greatly upon the pleasure of studying this pile, reared un- mistakably by the wonderful old cathedral builders, and as it was, we enjoyed highly the pose and symmetry of the whole, as well as the beauty of its details. It is, I believe, conceded to be the finest in England, and its beautiful spire is one of the highest in the world, being more than four hundred feet high. The length of the church is four hun- dred and eighty feet. It contains a large number of inter- esting sepulchral monuments. I looked for that familar 498 SALISBURY — OLD SARUM. epitaph — the finest ever written — by Ben Jonson, on the Countess of Pembroke : " Underneath this sable hearse, Lies the subject of all verse ; Sidney's sister — Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another, Fair and wise and good as she, Time shall throw his dart at thee." My guide-book says it is to be found here — I was curious to see it, and after looking the cathedral through two or three times without finding it, I asked the verger, an intelli- gent looking man, in black coat and white cravat, for the tomb of the Countess of Pembroke, on which was Ben Jonson's celebrated epitaph, repeating to him a line of it. He said there were tombs of many of the family there, but they were without inscriptions. I showed him the book — he said that his attention had been called to it before — that the book was in error — he knew the epitaph well, but it was not there, and he closed with the interesting informa- tion that many supposed the epitaph was not by Jonson j but by Thomas Moore ! From Salisbury to Stonehenge, up the Avon, across the South Downs, is a beautiful drive, which no curious trav- eller should fail to take. Large flocks of South Down sheep roam over the downs, under the care of their shepherd. These sheep are a peculiar breed. They have small heads, which are black. Their feet are also black. On the way we passed by old Sarum — Sorhiodunum — the venerable head of rotten boroughs, up to the time of the Reform Bill of twenty years ago. In ages now forgotten, Sarum was a corporate town, of considerable size, entitled to send two members of Parliament. But Sarum dwin- dled and crumbled, till, ages ago, Sarum was no more — but not so her representation — as her population diminished, ROTTEN BOROUGHS. 499 and finally went out entirely, and walls, and streets, and houses vanished away — the representation was kept up to the old mark, and the "last man'' sent his two members to Parliament as before. There was no longer any borough — any town — any houses — there was a tree, under which the voting was done, while voting there was, and finally the two members were sent by a nonresident nobleman, owner of the estate. As the reformers attacked the rotten boroughs, of which Sarum was only a perfect specimen, the imagi- nary javelin men bristled up, and declared that the constitu- tion was in danger, if you touched their slashed doublets and breeches, or presumed to shut them out from sending their two members to Parliament — but Sarum and fifty-four other boroughs, together sending one hundred and twelve members, were offered up a sacrifice to appease the bloody demon of reform, while nearly all the real evils of the un- equal representation, were still allowed to exist. This, however, is English reform — slowly, surely, considerately — the first step is rarely more than to show that the abuses are not absolutely sacred. After another round of years, another step further forward to a more real and substantial reform, will show that the first step, after all, was one of great importance and significance, for there will then be no cry of a violation of the constitution — the questions will be those of justice and expediency — and in the train of that first nominal reform, accomplished after defeats, dissolutions, and prorogations, will come, at some futui'e time, a repre- sentation nominally equal, just, and popular. The Stonehenge ruin is altogether the most solemn ruin which I have seen. In majestic silence, in the midst of a vast plain — yet not a plain, but rather a rolling prairie — covered with thin and short grass, without house or tree, lie now in cyclopean grandeur those vast stones of rude and simple workmanship, betraying plainly the form and 500 STONEHENGE. outlines of an ancient and mysterious druidical temple — stones, weighing seventy tons, more than twenty feet high, terminated in rude tenons, and surmounted by equally large stones pierced with rude mortices, by which the vast cir- cular frame was locked together. Some of these transverse beams and upright pillars have fallen — in some cases pros- trate, in others at various angles of inclination to the horizon. The larger stones are of a light gray, firm, com- pact sandstone, hard and impracticable, while the smaller ones are of a bluish hornblende granite, a still more ditfi- cult material. Where did those stones come from ? — how were they brought here ? — how were they wrought, and with what tool % — how transported and lifted into the frame-work of that vast masonry ? — are the first questions to which there is no answer. What were the form and purpose of the structure is perhaps more easily divined, for the work can be restored in the mind's eye and upon paper, but the details of its uses, and what has mouldered away in the unknown ages that have swept over it, there is no ruin or record to tell us. The double door-ways — the grand ex- terior circle — the smaller concentric one within, and the ap- parent place for a grand central altar, suggested their bloody rites. Mounds, of various sizes, are scattered about for miles. I thought I could see, in the plain around this temple — commencing at a great distance, and winding nearer and nearer in concentric spirals, a sort of raised path — per- haps it was all in the imagination, as was certainly that long, and winding, and mysterious procession that, in my imaginary thought, seemed to be drawing nearer to that central temple, as they bore along the human victims for a vast druidical holocaust. On and about this great prairie hares are in great abun- dance, and gentlemen resort here from all parts of the three kingdoms, to hunt these timid and defenceless little animals. WILTON. 501 This is one of the manly sports of old England, which, we are truly told, do much to form the English character. Bear- baiting, dog-fighting, and sparrow-mumbling, are the kin- dred manly sports of the lower classes, and the teachings of such sports, show their proper effect in the brutalities which have too often disgraced the Army, the Parliament, and the Throne of Great Britain. The bull-fights of Spain — the fighting with wild beasts in Rome, have been often the sub- ject of severe criticism, but there may be something noble in a strife between noble beasts and noble men of savage na- tures, but I can hardly conceive anything less worthy of a civilized man, than riding in steady hot haste, all the day, day after day, to enjoy the torment of a terror-stricken hare, fleeing for dear life from dogs and men. We returned by way of Wilton — the place of Wilton carpets and Wilton House, the beautiful seat of Sidney Her- bert. At Wilton this gentleman has erected, at his own expense, a stone church, which is a gem of ecclesiastical architecture and furniture. It is well worth a visit to see done here, in miniature, what is done on a grand scale in Italy. The external walls are of cut brown stone, and the interior is finished up with Caen stone, finely cut, in fitting or- namental finish, of considerable variety and of simple beauty. About the altar are spiral columns and mosaics from Italy, and precious marbles from Palestine. Appropriate passages of scripture are cut, in Saxon letter, in various places about the interior — on the front of the gallery are the simple and significant words, inscribed upon the base, " All things are thine, and of thine own have we given thee." It is not easy to imagine a more beautiful offering to God, than such a temple for his worship, and it reminds one of the grander gift of the greater wealth of Solomon, in the days of his highest wisdom, and his purest devotion. Perhaps Sidney Herbert, when he dies, may find, in this church, his grave a 02 OXFORD. and his monument. Should this be his last resting-place, what a legacy he will leave, not to his heir-at-law, but to all those who, in the lapse of future time, shall look back to him as their kinsman — especially if, when they read, " Here lies the body," they may look round and take in the spirit of the place, and say, with truth, "and here is the soul of Sidney Herbert." Oxford well repaid the two days that we gave to looking at its many objects of interest. A city of only thirty thou- sand inhabitants, yet in buildings and grounds — the ancient and hoary, and the modern and fresh in long and lofty piles — the Gothic arches and crypts — the Grecian colonnades, and the Italian facades in elaborate beauty — have been combined, in the growth of ages, to add to the attractions of this remarkable little town. All along through the last six hundred years have the various colleges, which constitute the University, been founded and endowed by kings, and lords, and commoners, who desired to devote a portion of their property to the promotion of sound learning and higher education. Each college was in the beginning, according to the taste of its time, made a temple of science and religion — and modern taste has used the 'wealth of more recent donors in building the new colleges and in improving the older ones in a style and finish worthy of so proud a monarchy, and made them fit memorials of their founders, their teachers, and their pupils — great men scatter- ed along through the history of the three kingdoms — the lustre of whose names returns to this seat of learning some of the glory which they owed to her teachings. Its public institutions, its monuments, and architectural attractions, are enough to be the boast of a metropolitan city. Twenty- four colleges — colleges, and halls — and the other buildings connected with the University—scattered all over the city — each one a great public monument — are occupied by about six thousand members, all nominally and a large pro- THE COLLEGES. 503 portion of them really devoted to the pursuits of high letters. There are seventeen parishes in the city and suburbs, and the parish churches are an important addition to the beauty and interest of the city — and the numerous libraries, museums, and other public buildings, are all of them worthy to con- stitute an integral and harmonious part of Oxford, and make it the greatest monument to learning in the world. Had all the University buildings been erected together in one vast connected building or cluster of buildings, it might have been in some respects more striking, but I think the variety of the actual arrangement is to be preferred. From Magdalen College to St. John's College is about a mile and a half, thence to Christ Church is about a mile, and thence to Magdalen again is about half a mile, and within a triangle of these dimensions — in the heart of the city — are all the University buildings. Wherever you walk, and at every turn, and on either hand, rise before you the towers, and domes, and venerable walls of these various colleges and halls, diffusing thus their sacred glory over the town, entirely blinding your eyes to the commoner build- ings of the streets, and giving a greater and more adequate idea of the great purpose and the vast perennial achievement of Oxford. Each of these colleges is a separate corpora- lion, on a separate and different foundation or constitution — and they all form, also, together one great corporation, with a constitution and charter of its own. This double government and constitution easily reminds us of a similar characteristic of our State and National governments, and is suggestive also of similar advantages. It is quite easy to see that six thousand members of the same college, all sub- mitted to the same routine of government, and the same details of college life, might be subjected to difficulties which would not be so likely to occur if they were divided into four-and-twenty subordinate yet independent corpora- 504 THE UNIVERSITV BUILDINGS. tions — each with its own esprit du corps — its own routine of daily life, and its own local ambitions — individual rivalry and corporate rivalry, being subject to the ultimate decision of the examinations, prizes, and degrees of the grand imperium imperiorwn. This grand corporation has also its buildings and appliances for the purposes common to all — the University Printing Office — a grand and beautiful pile, such as the successors of Faijst and Guttenburg have never before seen elsewhere, occupied with the common labors of their trade — the Schools, an ancient and exceedingly in- teresting quadrangle, or suite of buildings and rooms — con- taining the Examination Plall, where are conducted the examinations — one room for the paper examinations, and another for the viva voce — Convocation Hall, in which are held the sittings of the Convocation which is the grand council and executive committee of the University and elects the member of Parliament — the Congregation Hall, where are held the sittings of the Congregation, the literary senate of the University, which grants degrees, and graces, and dis pensations — and the Theatre, in which the great occasions are held — exceedingly imposing and beautiful — the Theatre of Marcellus at Rome is its model, and it will seat three thou- sand persons. His Royal Highness, on his first visit to Oxford, with Her Majesty, was worthily received, with all tho honors, but on a later occasion, I was told, he evaded the crowd that thronged to see him in the passage, by which he was expected to enter, and made his entry by_ a more pri- vate way, and in consequence, when the degree of D. C. L. was conferred upon him, he was hissed by some of them in the Theatre — at which he and Her Majesty took offence, and have never visited Oxford since. In the Schools also are the great museums and galleries — the scientific and artistic collections belonging to the University — not embra- cing those of the colleges, each of which has collections of its POLITICAL REFUGEES. 505 own. Each college has, also, its library in its own building, but the grand library of Oxford — the Library of the Uni- versity — is in the Schools— the Bodleian Library— through which we walked in company with our reverend escort, who pointed out to us its" various departments and some of its rarer curiosities. He pointed to a quiet gentleman, pursuing his researches at a reading desk in one of the alcoves of the library — he was one of those powerful political con- spirators who are so often compelled to seek refuge in the den of the British Lion, when the failure of their schemes reveals their purposes, and the brotherhood of despotism pur- sues them through all its diplomatic arrangements. I look with pride upon this pertinacious and dogged independence of the British nation in this respect. No alliances, offensive and defensive — no political arrangements or associations with other nations — no prospect of commercial or political advantage, and no threats, or fears of the cold shoulder, or the scowling brow of outsiders, has so much as tempted her to entertain the proposal to drive from her protection or to surrender up the political offenders of other nations, who have sought shelter upon her open and accessible shores. There have been men enough in public stations of authority, in Great Britain, whose despotic natures would have led them to do it, but the people would allow no rulers to do it. This is one of the many things which show the weight of the English people in all her statesmanship — they are the nation — they are the real rulers. If this were destined to reach Oxford, I should take more pleasure in expressing my obligation to Mr. B., one of the fellows of Queen's College — eminent for his great learn- ing — for his personal civilities in showing us through that venerable establishment, and to Bev. Mr. H. , who in like manner accompanied us to St. Peter's in the East, the most venerable church in Oxford, with its curious and 99 506 TABLE TALK. interesting crypt of the time of the •Saxons — to Trinity walks and the Bodleian Library — and whose politeness and information will long rest agreeably on our memories. We made his acquaintance accidentally, in the Charity School of St. Peter's in the East, and after stepping to his room and putting on the regulation university cap, he was our voluntary guide and companion for a considerable portion of the day. Our only other guide was one whose services we procured immediately after our arrival — a simple and garrulous old man, whose desire to flatter our national vanity may be judged from the following specimen of his talk, as he led us around : V One thing 1 can say — I have been guide here near forty years — I have all kinds of persons to serve in that way — a great many Americans — but I never found one of them to lie — Frenchmen will tell fifty lies to one truth, so will Por- tuguese. The greatest traveller you ever had in America was Sir Christopher Columbus. Oh, he was a wonderful fine man. I never found him wrong in any of his writings, or what he did." In the Colleges reside the officers and students — the stu- dents in small college rooms — the fellows also — and they dine together in the long dining hall — the fellows and higher officers and instructors at a table across the end of the room, raised above the level of the main floor, and the students at tables down each side of the hall. An anec- dote — told, I believe, by Bristed — of such a table at Cam- bridge, illustrates the character of the place and the style of conversation at a university table. When Dr. Whewell came to the head mastership at Cambridge, he brought with him his reputation for knowing very well a good deal of almost everything, and he did not fail to show this supe- riority in the topics introduced at the table. Many were exceedingly vexed, and they combined to cram specially, for INFLUENCE OF THE UNIVERSITIES. 507 an out of the way subject, not likely to be familial- to the reverend doctor of divinity, and to introduce it at the table, and enjoy his embarrassment at not being able to take the lead. They selected the game of chess, and each of the conspirators studied the subject, ransacking the encyclopae- dias in the library, and finally, fully and freshly prepared, the subject was introduced, and, one after another, the con- spirators — scattered about the table — took part in an inter- esting and learned discussion of the history, anecdotes, and character of that ancient and beautiful game. Dr. Whewell was silent, and their triumph was complete, till, as the sub- ject flagged, the doctor quietly remarked, " Gentlemen, I see you have been studying an article on chess, which I wrote for the Encyclopaedia when I was a young man.'' The effect can be imagined. I have sometimes thought that the English universities could hardly, with propriety, be considered as universi- ties, in comparison with the Continental universities. I think differently now. For the English people — English in- stitutions, habits and modes of thought being considered — they seem to be as near perfect as possible. It seems to me, that their operation and effect being to bring together large numbers of students, who have been fitted to enter one of the colleges, and of course have a large amount of knowl- edge and of cultivation in higher learning, all of whom are to go the round of university life together, residing within the college walls, and all constantly subject to the influences which must pervade such a seat of learning, and which must strike into even the least susceptible, all must inevit- ably take in, by mere absorption, an amount of cultiva- tion, of the greatest value to them and to the society in which they are to be cast, and a very large number will make the most of all the facilities for learning, and become really so learned and accomplished as to confer lasting honor 508 MODE AND AIDS OP STUDY. on the university and the country. There never was a nation whose institutions were more admirably framed to accomplish their characteristic purpose and perpetuate themselves, than the English nation — that purpose is the elevating the few above the many, and then fortifying them in their elevation. Such is the character and tendency of her universities. All study as much as they please, and no more — there is no calling to account for idleness, and there are no recitations. Every one is judged by his examina- tions — both by his extempore written answers to written questions, and afterward by viva voce examinations. The teacher is not a mere hearer of recitations, nor a lecturer, but he is an instructor, a teacher, an aid. No one can at- tain the position and honors of high excellence but by a course of the most laborious study, and that, too, aided by the private teacher, who in no sense corresponds with the tutor in our institutions — he is the private hired assistant of the student — he is an accomplished and learned man in the courses of the university — he sits by the side of the student in his room, and by his personal assistance — his direct incul- cations and his friendly and well-timed explanations, elucida- tions and reiterations — carries forward the student with the acceleration and certainty of their united ability. Those who thus strive for the highest excellence, and its prizes and rewards, are of course few, very few, compared with the whole, and their scholarship and cultivation are such as are never approached in our institutions. But these few — aris- tocratic as England is — let it not be supposed that they belong to the favored classes alone. If " Their ancient and ignoble Wood Have crept through plebeians ever since the flood " — or if it can be traced no farther than to parents, the most ignorant and obscure of the " down trodden and toiling mil- BIRMINGHAM. 509 lions " — if in personal scholarship the student outstrip his fellows, he will bear away the academic honors from his less meritorious, but more titled or nobler competitors — although in the common routine of social and even academic life, they may enjoy, as they do, many peculiar privileges and dis- tinctions — and if, in after life, he make good the promise of his early distinction, he will be certain to be invited to the high places of national honor. On our journey to the north, the pleasant memories of Oxford left us little relish for Birmingham, and Derby, and Sheffield, to each of which we devoted half a day, and each of which furnish abundant subjects for observation, and historical association and reflection. Birmingham has two hundred and fifty thousand people, and is the seat of eight hundred different manufacturing trades. It has also its his- tory of centuries, from the battle of Evesham — six hundred years ago — to the great conservative riot of 1791. Bir- mingham, all along inclined to liberty and reform, had at the time of the French revolution of 1791, its distinguished reformers, who celebrated in a dinner their sympathy with the triumph of liberty. The conservatives — the friends of Church and State — determined to show their indignation at such a manifestation of the rights of free-born Englishmen, and made Birmingham the scene of such a riot as would not be equalled by all the riots in all the United States during three quarters of a century, if embodied into one great scene of destruction and outrage. Libraries and works of art, and choice manuscripts, and houses and churches, with their smoke by day, and their flames by night, for several days, added to the desolation of the town, made frightful by the excesses of mobs of rioters of both sexes. Troops of horse from London finally restored order. Birmingham, however, is most interesting as a manifestation of that vast creation of capital and power which is the result of mechanical and manufacturing thrift. 510 DEKBY — SHEFFIELD. Derby, too, has its history of near a thousand years. It is now little more than a thriving manufacturing town of forty thousand inhabitants — better known for its horse races than for its history. Sheifield is humble, in dwellings and streets, as are all the manufacturing places, because, as a whole, they are but great aggregations of operatives and industrials, who have multiplied as manufactures prospered, and filled new streets with unpretentious and low framed-dwellings, as the town has developed and spread to one hundred and forty thousand souls — but, aside from its manufactures in metal, it has little to repay a halt of half a day. It has its historical memories, but the monuments are obliterated. Here is the prison where James Montgomery was confined for publish- ing harmless political squibs, and here he died last year at the age of eighty-two. I take from an old English news- paper of a few years ago, the following in relation to this region — " Every newspaper we open is full of the symptoms of a feverish state of the country. If a civil war raged in the land we could hardly receive from the seat of hostilities more alarming accounts than such as the newspapers daily supply from the disturbed districts in the north of England. Tumultuous risings — not mobs of an hour or two, easily put down by a magistrate and half a dozen constables — but riots of two or three days' continuance — take place in defi- ance of strong bodies of armed police, and dangerous mobs have been charged by infantry with fixed bayonets, yet have returned to the attack reckless and infuriated. Attempts have been made to rescue prisoners — to set fire to public buildings, and to stone magistrates and police to death. Gangs of men, women, and children, have forced their way into factories, stopped the works, and compelled peaceably disposed persons to turn out with them. Policemen with their truncheons are mere sport for a populace becoming TOKK- 511 familiar with bayonets and daggers, and these scenes have occurred in many large and populous places and districts — Manchester, Rochdale, Bolton, Stockport, Bury, Heywood, Middletown, Macclesfield, Nottingham, and Sheffield. The judges on the circuit are guarded by regular troops — special constables are appointed by thousands, and the yeomanry are called out, but the main reliance is on hussars and dragoons." I have noted these disturbances in the social history of our venerable mother not with any malicious purpose to detract from the deserved glory of her great name. It is only in free running streams that such ripples becomes so conspicuous and troublesome — they are evidences of life, not of death — of recuperation, not of destruction. They are the whiz of the steam as the safety valve opens — no country of popular power is entirely free from them. I have referred to them only to show that in the matter of mobs and riots the precocious daughter that flaunts her stripes and stare beyond the seas, has not even approached her great pro- genitor, who sits so proudly and firmly on her four thrones — England, and her first annexations, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. York— ancient York — the Roman Eboracum — was our next halt. Seventeen hundred years ago it was a principal Roman station, and it is said to have been then more than one thousand years old. The Emperor Severus lived here in a Roman palace with the appointments of a Roman court, and died here — here Caracalla murdered his brother — Con- stantine the Great was born here — and as a sort of sacred capital it bore its share in the civil wars of England — many of its old walls and other ruins are still seen, and those in good preservation are used as public promenades. The city prison is an old tower supposed to have been built by the Romans. There are numerous and interesting old churches — the Cathedral— the world-renowed York Minster — being 512 NEWCASTLE. of course, the most interesting of them all. York has had ninety-two archbishops, commencing with Paulinus, a. d. 625. The present Minster is about five hundred years old — some portions are older — it was founded twelve hundred years ago, and through ages has becdme what it is — the largest and noblest church in the three kingdoms. Free from the characteristic ornaments and finish of a Roman Catholic church, and in keeping with the greater simplicity and less ceremonial observances of the English Church — its great dimensions — its lofty groined arches, its majestic col- umns, and beautiful Gothic finish, are exceedingly grand and solemn — it is five hundred and twenty-four feet long, two hundred and twenty-two feet wide in the transept, and ninety feet high. Our approach to Newcastle was in the dusk of the early evening through Gateshead, crossing the bridge to Newcastle — over Stephenson's stupendous bridge, one hundred .and twenty feet high. The dusky landscape was one of the most striking I had ever looked upon — numerous fires were burning all around — furnaces, coal pits, and coke ovens, sending up flames of fire, and lurid, sulphurous smoke — thirty of them, perhaps, in a row, then as many more scattered around — tall chimneys, and steam engines, and long lines of coal and coke cars, and windmills here and there tossing their giant arms in the air — and the city beyond the smoke and fire, with its spires, and towers, and castles, and flags, made the whole exceedingly striking. After our evening refreshment in the hotel, we started out for a walk in the beautiful and bright northern moonlight, which now added its silvery lustre to everything — the venerable old tower of the time of the Conqueror, if not of the Romans — the old Church of St. Nicholas, with its ven- erable spire, its cupola like a coronet, and its illuminated RICHARD GRAINGER. 513 clock dial — the old parts of the town, very old, narrow, crooked, subterranean, and dark, in the strongest contrast with the new portions, which are of unusual beauty. Kicbard Grainger — a charity boy — has here reared to himself — in the improvements of his native town — a monu- ment worthy to commemorate his remarkable qualities and his unexampled success. He served his time as a house- carpenter's apprentice, and as soon as he was out of his time, 1819, took upon himself the responsibilities of a master, and began to realize the object of his early ambition — which was no other than to improve and embellish Newcastle. First, two houses — then a side of a street — then Eldon Square, after Lord Eldon — then Leazes Terrace, of one hundred and thirty houses — then the Arcade and the Corn Exchange — then he purchased twelve acres, at twenty thousand dollars an acre, and other property of about the same value, and cleared, excavated, and graded the whole, and within five years laid it out in broad streets — nine streets — and covered it with private and public buildings of great individual beauty and of general harmony — streets of palaces of cut stone and rich Grecian architecture. The principal of these streets — Grey street, after Earl Grey — about a quarter of a mile long, eighty feet wide, and laid out in a curve — is one of the finest streets I have seen. At the end of it, opposite the Exchange, is the lofty column with a statue, raised by subscription in honor of Earl Grey, the persevering and vic- torious champion of parliamentary reform. Newcastle thus honored reform for the sake of the principle, for her own representation was not changed by it, and her two thousand and five hundred voters had no more members of Parliament by the reform bill than did each of twenty others, which had only from thirteen to seventy voters each, and of all the one hundred and eighty-six boroughs in England, out of London, only ten had more voters than Newcastle. 22* 514 ALNWICK CASTLE. John and William Scott — sons of a coal-fitter — were born in Newcastle. Both of them — the one as Lord Eldon, and. the other as Lord Stowell — have left behind them names of which England will never cease to be proud. Akenside and Collingwood were also born and educated here. So, however, it has long been in England, her noblest names, her most useful great men, those destined to live longest in the memory of posterity, have been those who have started from plebeian extraction, and by the force of native energies alone, have earned titles as proud as those that have come down from the Conquest. Newcastle is practically, although not geographically, the centre of the great coal field from which most of the coal of England is mined. The field extends some sixty miles north and south, some twenty or thirty miles inland, and how far under the sea, is unknown. The pits or shafts are of various depths, according to locality, from one hundred and twenty feet to sixteen hundred feet — from these deepest shafts the galleries and diggings run directly under the sea. About three millions of tons of coal are shipped annually from the mouth of the Tyne — the port of Newcastle. Newcastle was a Roman station, and through it passed the great Roman wall of Adrian, crossing the island to Carlisle. Alnwick Castle — so beautifully celebrated by Halleck — is reached by a short stage from Newcastle. The home of the Percys — Dukes of Northumberland — all things considered, it is one of the most striking of the many old castles which unite the palace, the castle, the fortress, and the fortification in one great pile of strength — almost impregnable a few cen- turies ago. It was allowed to go to decay after several military misfortunes, but it has been fully and finely re- stored, and is said to be hardly surpassed by any of the old lordly castles of England. The original castle is said to have been the work of the Romans. On the gentle hill — "Lovely in England's fadeless green," ALNWICK CASTLE. 515 described by the poet, in the midst of the grounds of the estate — are the five acres enclosed by the walls of the castle court. We crossed the drawbridge and entered the enclosure beneath the portcullis and the castle was before us. The outer wall, massive and turreted, on an irregular line, encloses the grand court, and on the outside is a moat. It has lofty towers at the angles and gateways, and its majestic battlements have the air of great strength, while the grand castle itself, in the middle of the court, rears its lofty battlements and dizzy towers — some of which seem almost to reach the sky. There are sixteen towers, sur- mounted by statues of the various classes of armed defend- ers, who frown in stone on high — these are spearmen, and slingers, and arquebusiers, and musketeers, and swords- men, and stone-throwers, and archers, and bowmen — without number, about the battlements and towers — each in the arms and attitude of his peculiar attack. Nothing could be more suggestive of the lordly independence of the old feudal state. In the armory we had a nearer view of these weapons, offensive and defensive. There were pistols, swords, guns, and spears enough for a little army, and cross- bows, helmets, headplates, &c, to show the ancient arms. A little swivel wall-gun was worthy of notice — it had a rifle bore about one and a quarter inch, and was mounted on a small carriage— all so light that it might be easily shifted from place to place on the walls, wherever the enemy should make his appearance-^-a miniature flying artillery. In the little museum were Roman, and Saxon, and Celtic remains of arms, and arrow-heads, and stone axes like those found in our country. A battle hatchet or small axe weighing, per- haps, a pound, with a short handle of twelve to fourteen inches long, also called to mind the Indian tomahawk. The courts of the castle are all matted with turf — that velvet so common in English ornamental grounds and so perfectly beautiful. 516 ALNWICK CASTLE. The grounds of the estate are of immense extent and great beauty— an undulating and rolling landscape, diversified by lawns, and dells, and clumps, and groves, alive with flocks, and herds, and tenantry. A monument to the Duke's liberality is called the Farmers' Folly — His Grace very generously reduced the rents on his estate, and the farmers memorized it by erecting a column, surmounted by the lion of the Percys — He disliked it, and told them they might have better saved their money, and threatened to get out his guns and batter it down — He thought better of it, with reason, and allows it to stand as a monument of their thanks if not of his generosity. On the walls of the beautiful little chapel was the family pedigree from Charlemagne to the last earl. The library, not large, contained many of the most expensive illustrated works, and portraits by Kneller and Lely, said to be very excellent specimens of those masters in portraiture. The furniture of the various rooms was characterized by the unpretentious and tasteful richness which so well becomes the old nobility, without the slightest approach to parvenu luxury and show. A plain boudoir — the saloon furnished with simple embroidered furniture — the drawing-rooms with gilt and scarlet satin, embroidered with yellow — dining and breakfast rooms, with oak and maroon, in harmony with the substantial and grave old freestone castle. The grand bowl or ewer, prepared at an expense of thirty pounds sterling, for George IV. to wash his sacred (!) head in, on an ex- pected visit to the Duke, failed of that honor. Before reaching Alnwick the suicide of Castlereagh called his Majesty back to London. In the midst of such a scene, are we not taught to wait with more patience for the passing away of " every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled V These towers and battlements, now simply ornamental, and BERWICK UPON TWEED. 517 these armed stone warriors on the walls, in their habit as they lived, now nothing but ancient curiosities, here in the midst of so peaceful a scene, remind us of the private warfare of our ancestors — of Chevy Chase so fatal to the proudest border chivalry — of the daily street fights of knights and gentlemen who, on the slightest provocation, whipped their rapiers out and murdered their associates — of the prize-fights — often so fatal — of the tournament and the lists where beautiful and noble ladies partook of the spirit of the fight, smiled on the victors and bestowed with pride the rewards of the bloody strife. All gone ! Greater changes are to follow, and are now begun. The old border town, Berwick upon Tweed — in old times a sort of little independent principality — has a thousand memories of the bloody days of border warfare and brutality. The town itself has nothing worth stopping an hour to look at, but from its half-obliterated and grass-grown forti- fications the view out upon the German ocean, with the sweep of the land, is exceedingly broad and fine. The railway viaduct, finished four years ago and opened by the Queen herself, is a marvellous work of its kind — twenty-one hundred feet long and one hundred and twenty-five feet above the river, on twenty-eight stone arches, sixty-one and a half feet span, and supported on piers eight feet thick — it is a magnificent termination of a solid embankment of about a mile long, and in some places sixty feet high. As the heavy English trains thunder over these lofty arches, the effect is sublime. Cfcapttr %§ntt*th SCOTLAND. WE made our first stop in Scotland at Melrose, in the afternoon, and immediately drove to Abbotsford. The keeper was absent — his wife, from her little cottage, said we were too late, and could not be admitted — a small douceur, however, opened the gate, and through the court, set around with ancient relics, Roman as well as Scottish, we were shown into the study, the library, the dining- room, the armory, etc. Abbotsford is like its author and his various literary productions. He was the first who, with great success, out of the odds and ends of unremembered history, and unrecorded tradition, created a series of historic tales and characters, and by the wonderful force of his genius, elevated the sorrows, the sufferings, the sympathies, the joys, and the hopes of humbler life, to the highest level of romantic interest. It was not humble readers alone that swelled his admirers to millions all over the world. It was those of the highest cultivation and those of the proudest nobility, in church and state, that seized with the most ABBOTSFORD. 519 avidity the first editions of his thick-coming volumes. It was not tales of their peers that so wrought upon the highest classes of the most artificial, aristocratic and ex- clusive circles in the world, but it was almost always the romance of humble life that gave to the tale its most ab- sorbing interest. Everything, everywhere, was character- istic of the man. — his noble library of twenty thousand volumes, and the little study, with its narrow stairs and gallery, by which he reached his bed-room — the quiet and beautiful look-out upon the river, and the grounds from the dining-room — his little armory, with its " routh of auld nick nackets" — Rob Roy's gun, purse, and all sorts of arms and antiquities — the family portraits, and those of their friends, and other pictures on the walls of the drawing- room, dining-room and library — a caricature of Queen Elizabeth dancing was capital — another, the head of Mary Queen of Scots, in a charger, the day after her execution ! What romance and history of cruelty and blood are sug- gested by those two pictures ! Curious relics not only lie upon the shelves, and stand in the corners and recesses, but are incorporated into the walls of the building witbin, as well as without. "The entire composition of the edifice is made up of quaint and curious fragments of the antique, with modern imitations woven into an indescribably picturesque assemblage of masonry. The fantastic groups of its chimneys, gablets, projecting windows, turrets, and balconies, are combined in the true revelry of Gothic exuberance, which it would be impossible to reduce to order, method, or consecutiveness. The general effect is at once pleasing and surprising. Almost every celebrated antiquarian building throughout the country has contributed something to Abbotsford — even the palaces of Holyrood, Dunfermline, and Linlithgow, and the churches of Melrose and Roslin^ which might be supposed exempt from 520 MELROSE ABBEY. all kinds of spoliation." Many of these ancient stones set in the walls have still visible on them the quaint old inscrip- tions in which some moral or religious truth — a passage of scripture or a stanza of verses is sculptured in the type and dialect of the time. Perhaps these are all genuine antiques, and perhaps some of them are the production of the same mind that produced the beautiful mottoes of many of his chapters, and credited them to " Old Play." The volume of those old plays is not found in his library. Many times as Melrose Abbey — the most beautiful of monastic ruins — has been described in prose and verse, it is still left to every new visiter, I believe, to say that he had no adequate idea of the delicate beauty of its architecture and ornaments even now — desolate and shattered as it has been left by the fury of fanatical zeal, and by the impartial but remorseless destruction of Time. I went all through it — above and below — while the west- ern declining sun revealed all the beauties in their highest literal perfection. I remained till the northern twilight softened and beautified everything, by throwing its even and mellow light over the whole, without the shadows of the sun or the moon — and remembering Scott's lines in the Lay so often quoted — " Wouldet thou view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight ;" after the rest and refreshment of our tea. in an evening without a cloud, and while the moon was shining, silver bright, I went out to take another look — and rising early in the morning, I went again to see the effect of the risinw sun, throwing his horizontal rays through that magnificent east window, down the length of the nave, as he did four hundred years ago, when the old Cistertians said their matin prayers beneath its tranquil arches. It seems to me that, fully to appreciate Melrose, it should be seen thus in various MELROSE ABBEY. 521 lights. The details, which can be seen only by clear day- light, are the wonder of the abbey — without them it is not remarkable — and he that has not seen them carefully need not say that he has seen Melrose aright. Having seen them thus by daylight, their impression goes with him in spite of himself — and in the mellow twilight, 1 am not quite sure that the impression is not really heightened by the conceal- ment of some of the tooth-marks of time, that garish day thrusts into sight. So, too, when the pale moonlight view supervenes, upon a careful look, the novelty of the effect adds to its interest, perhaps to its beauty — so strong are the contrasts between the lights, so silvery, and the shadows, so black, " When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white, Where the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the central ruined tower ; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory." But much of this very beauty — most of it — really depends upon the previous knowledge that none of it is black, or white, or ebon, or ivory, or silver, but the same beautifully cut brown stone. And the charm of the sunrise view de- pended, doubtless, upon some accidental or extrinsic circum- stances as well as upon the sun — which, certainly in its contrasts of light, gave a new and magical effect to the details of the chancel and nave — hundreds of swallows darted in and out of their nests in the groined arches and dim recesses, and chirped, and twittered, and sang their jo}- in the morning ray — solemn jackdaws — what personifications of perfunctory solemnity, and monotonous platitudes — sat on the walls, and slowly and gravely stepped along the crumbling arches, and almost seemed to yawn like lazy monks waked early from last night's late cheer on the beef and ale of their neighbors, while flocks of rooks and crows 522 MELROSE ABBEY. — -just starting out on their morning flights — helped to diversify the scene. There is a nave with side aisles — north and south tran- septs — and the chancel. The recessed windows and doors and the groined arches of the stone ceiling are cut in stone, and seem to retain the sharpness and perfection which they had when first cut. Hundreds of rosettes, and flowers, and plants, and figures, are scattered over the arches, the niches, the mullions, and the tracery, yet — like the beautiful variety of nature — no two are of the same pattern, though all have a generic likeness which gives the grace of har- mony to the whole. You get close to the beautiful tracery — out of reach, and out of sight, and out of use — and you are more and more surprised at the perfection of the work. The beautiful figure of Scott — that magic had twined the slender osier twigs in freakish knots about the poplar shafts and then changed the whole to stone — is hardly a figure — The plants, and flowers, lilies, ferns, grapes, house-leaks, oak leaves with acorns, palms, holly, fir cones, scallops, &c, on the mouldings, and capitals, and friezes, are chisel- led with such artistic skill that you may thrust a straw, through and through, beneath the twigs, and among the leaves, and behind the stalks — some of them fresh and sharp as they were when, four hundred years ago, they came from the sculptor's hand. The great east window, thirty-seven feet high, and sixteen feet Avide — its stone mullions straight from top to bottom, and, in the upper part, interwoven with the most graceful ornament — is only the most beautiful and magnificent of the many windows that pierce all the walls. There are sixty-eight niches for statues, most of which — and why not all, 1 cannot say — were destroyed — a few are left — there is a Paul, and a Peter, and a Virgin and Child. The caryatides and corbeils, with their inscriptions, remain. Within the Abbey these are graceful and becoming the MELROSE ABBEY. 523 sacredness of the place, but without, it is far otherwise. The gargoyles of the corners of the roofs and towers, are gro- tesques of the drollest conceit, which cannot be described, except by drawings, and the nature or characteristic of them has been variously conjectured. Some have supposed them fiends or evil spirits, exorcised by the holy spirit within — to my hurried look they seemed a satire of the music of the outer world, with which the Abbey was sur- rounded. All were quaint and humorous, and some biting and severe. I took the clue from one on the south roof — a sow playing the bagpipes as an harmonious accompaniment to her own squealing — which, I thought, pointed directly at the national instrument of Scotland — another, I should suppose, intended to represent, in burlesque, a psalm-singing follower of John Knox, if the statues are of so late a period. The Cistertians had their head in France and, doubtless, French taste as well as French wit, had a hand in cutting these gro- tesques, as well as in the plan and finish of the building. It is finished in every corner, in the highest point as well as below, front as well as rear, in the same masterly manner — which is said to be usually true of the religious edifices of the Catholic Church. The temple is a place for God to dwell in, and to His all-seeing eye every part is equally visible — it is an offering to God and should be without blemish. The walls are so thick as to allow a narroAV passage, about eighteen inches wide, within them — in which, by narrow steps, one might pass above and below, invisibly, and com- mand a view of the whole interior, through windows for the purpose. It is said that the monks of Melrose needed watching, and that their fastings and mortifications were sometimes more theoretical than practical — that they did not always observe the ancient rules of their order, which required them to assemble for their devotions at two o'clock 524 MELROSE ABBEY. in the morning, and at six, and at nine, and at twelve, and at three, and at six, and again before the hour of resting, which was at eight in the evening. They were not allowed to walk abroad alone, but in pairs, to watch each other, and to suggest pious reflections. Neither did they always confine themselves to soupe maigre even on Fridays — they were exceedingly sociable and neighborly with those who had well- supplied cellars and larders. The old lines are familiar — " The monks of Melrose made fat kail On Fridays, when they fasted — And never wanted beef and ale So long as their neighbors' lasted." To our eyes it seems strange that such temples should be reared, at such a vast outlay of wealth and skill, for the mere routine worship, of men useless to themselves and useless to God and his works — companies of idlers who lived in cloisters, and who wrought at no useful labors — who neither taught nor pi-eached for the benefit of others — and we do not wonder that, in some Roman Catholic countries, sometimes their property has been confiscated and their establishments broken up as inconsistent with the public good. The number of religious houses that existed in England and Scotland are a sufficient evidence of the abuses to which they are liable and of their tendency to encourage poverty and idleness. Edinburgh — the modern Athens of the North — was a most agreeable surprise to us. We had heard of the old town, and the new, and something of the characteristics of each, and of the beauty of the whole, but we were wholly unprepared for the sights which it offered us — familiar and truthful prints notwithstanding. We did not look for such exceeding beauty in every respect. It is quite without a parallel — in its variety of situation, high and low, on both sides of a ravine, with hillsides, and crags, and cliffs, and EDINBURGH. 525 precipices, in their original state, in the heart of the city, and also rising wild and rude in the near environs — in its ancient, narrow, and precipitous streets, and its lofty many- storied ancient, and antique, and vulgar looking houses, and filthy alleys, courts, and closes of the old town. And on the other hand, in the new town, I do not remember where are excelled its wide, clean, and well-paved streets — one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet wide — with palatial mansions, street after street, and mile after mile — its squares, and crescents, and circles — its monuments, and public buildings — its ruins and antiquities — its associations, historical, religious, and romantic, political and literary, and its public institutions. I am happy that I have seen it, and that I have seen it after wandering many a thousand miles over the best portions of adult Christendom. I would that this great capital of letters, and of political and reli- gious reformation may always maintain, in my recollection, the high place which it deserves in the memory of all who honor the land and the city of Knox, and Chalmers, and Mackenzie, and Scott, and Burns, and Stewart, and Playfair, and of the Edinburgh Review. The first and most striking object that meets the eye is that gray, lofty, and rugged castle on a rocky cliff — the Acropolis — which has justly given this city the name of the modern Athens — a name which it has, doubtless, retained with more ease because in genius, and wit, and social glee, in high intellectual cultiva- tion, and in literary production, in constellations of genius, it is quite as Athenian as in its physical conformation. In education — in the universal spread of rudimental educa- tion and the great diffusion of high intellectual culture — is to be found the foundation of the real glory of Scotland — and it is in Edinburgh that all these exist in their greatest perfection, and hence their light is spread abroad through this ancient and remarkable nation. Here public educational institutions, 526 EDUCATIONAL HOSPITALS. established by private munificence, are called hospitals, as though the ignorance and helplessness of poverty were a disease. Such institutions are among the most interesting and striking lions of the Scottish capital — Gillespie's Hos- pital, the Merchant Maiden Hospital, George Heriot's Hospital, Donaldson's Hospital, the Orphan Hospital, John Watson's Hospital, Stewart's Hospital, are now in succes- ful operation — and they are got up in a style of magnifi- cence which shows what it is that Scotland delights to honor. " Edinburgh," says- one of the local guide-books, " is overrun with these educational charities, so much so that of several large bequests not yet brought into operation, it were well could some more urgent necessity be benefited by their application.'' Is there any other place in the world where private munificence has given, for educational pur- poses, such princely sums that Charity builds her houses with royal grandeur and magnificence, and still is really- overstocked and plethoric with money 1 Heriot's is the oldest hospital, and was established by a bequest of George Heriot in 1624, given for the "Mainten- ance, relief, and up-bringing of so many poor and fatherless boys, — freemen's sons of the town of Edinburgh — as the same shall be sufficient for." A sticking and beautiful edi- fice one hundred and sixty-two feet square is the central institution, where one hundred and eighty boys — between seven and fourteen years of age — are instructed in the elements of a thorough English education, and in drawing, French, Latin and Greek. A surplus income of about fifty thousand dollars supports " Heriot schools" in different parts of the city — in which three thousand boys are taught. Donaldson's Hospital, one of the more recent, was establish- ed by the bequest, in 1830, of one million of dollars — of James Donaldson, proprietor of the Edinburgh Advertiser, for the education of three hundred poor boys and girls. It clasgow. 527 is one of the most showy and graceful buildings in Europe — two hundred and seventy feet square — its lofty towers, and battlements, its beautiful enrichments and decorations, are in the finest style of palatial splendor — its grounds are in keeping with the building. It has rooms for one hundred and fifty boys and the same number of girls. A portion of its beneficiaries, of each sex, are deaf mutes. Children of the name of Donaldson or Marshal have a preference. They are edu- cated till fourteen years of age, when they are dismissed with a sum of money to aid them in getting apprenticed or otherwise set agoing. What noble monuments these men have reared to their own memories— how their works live after them — how being dead they yet speak and teach, and through the long ages of immortality, in the persons of their beneficiaries, will go about doing good ! How few of the wealthy are willing thus to lay up their treasures in heaven. I have noted, in my tablets as well as in my memory, many of the striking objects, and details, and associations — ancient as well as modern — which crowd upon one, here, and are of such singular interest, but I do not find time to write of them as I would. Enterprising, industrious, thrifty Glasgow gave us the repose of the Sabbath. It is the first place in Europe where we have found what may properly be called an American Sabbath — for nowhere else, I believe, is the Christian Sab- bath observed as it is in the United States. We attended church in the venerable old Cathedral — the finest Gothic Cathedral in Scotland, I believe — nearly seven hundred years old. Only a portion of the interior is used as a place of worship — it is Presbyterian. Most of the nave and the side aisles are unoccupied. These immense churches are quite unfit for the Protestant service — they are appro- priate only to the Catholic worship, for which they were 528 THE LAND OF BURNS. erected, whose pealing harmonies, and visible, ritualistic ceremonies, are adapted to immense temples and vast religious assemblies. Near the Cathedral is the Necropolis of Glasgow — their exceedingly striking and conspicuous cemetery — covering tire top and sides of a hill. The crowning and characteristic monument — which seems to give its air to the whole, and, as it were, to finish it — is the monument to John Knox. This and other lofty monuments are relieved against the sky with a wonderfully fine effect. The city is on both sides of the Clyde, which is spanned by fine bridges. Its new streets, of lofty stone houses, are exceedingly beautiful — its public squares, and statues, and monuments — there are statues of Sir John Moore, of Watt, of Wellington, of Walter Scott, and others — add much to the beauty of the town, while the lofty chimneys of some of its manufactories — one of them is the highest building in Europe — give to the whole city a sort of towering appear- ance. From Glasgow to the li Land of Burns" was to complete our excursion through Scotland, and thence I determined to cross the Irish Channel by steamer from Androssan to Belfast, and to take a glimpse of Ireland. The " Land of Burns." Who else has a Land ? I do not remember, in the great circle of literary celebrities, another whose name has been given — naturally, inevitably, almost instinctively — to all the region which he inhabited in his life. Pope had his villa at Twickenham, and Horace Wal- pole had his Strawberry Hill, and Walter Scott his Abbots- ford, and others have builded, and ornamented, and immor- talized homes for the ripeness of their fame in their declin- ing years, and the homes and birthplaces of many others have, by an admiring posterity, been sought out and set apart as sacred and monumental. Burns could not have THE LAND OF BURNS. 529 builded a cottnge for those he loved — he lived and died in poverty — of careless and improvident habits — with a family and an income of sometimes two hundred dollars, never more than three hundred dollars a year, and this derived from a humiliating employment, to which nothing but the wants of his wife and children could compel him to submit — a gauger in the excise — " Searching auld wives' barrels, Och ho the day ! That clarty barm should stain my laurels, But — what'll ye say! These muvin' things ca'd wives and weans Wad muve the very hearts o' stanes !" Yet there is hardly a stream, or a hill, or a scene of that peninsula, which lies between the Solway and the Clyde — that is not lustrous Avith his glory, though he died in early manhood — and from Carrick shore to the Nith, from Ayr and Kilmarnock to Dumfries, the banks, and braes, and streams around that region — in which he was only a cotter, a ploughman, a flaxdresser, a gauger — all have centred into one name — not the scene of " Tam O'Shanter," nor that of the u Cotter's Saturday Night," not Doon, nor Ayr, nor Alloway, nor Lugar, nor Afton, but the " Land of Burns," is immortal- ized by his genius as it is crested with his name. It will soon be a hundred years since he was born in that humblest of Scotch peasant cottages, and every day since he died, his name and his fame have grown greener and fresher, and his prospect for immortality is not surpassed by any that have written English poetry. There are no songs that will out- live his — there is not in the language a heroic appeal that approaches to " Bruce' s Address," — I do not know in any language a poem that can be at all compared to the " Cot- ter's Saturday Night" in the characteristic excellence of that great poem — and "Tam O'Shanter" stands entirely alone in 23 530 THE LAND OF BURNS- its characteristic genius. Go over the whole ground of the midnight trip of Tam, as I did, and see what are the materials of which genius makes its wonderful creations! I have often thought that his songs for Mr. Thompson were one of the greatest triumphs of his genius. In shattered health, in careless habits, in his repulsive and vulgar daily occupation of a gauger, to have written two hundred such songs to order, in about two years — say two a week — is a marvellous command of the poetic afflatus. My admiration of his poems has been wonderfully intensi- fied by this brief visit to the " Land of Burns." From his birth — in that little cottage in which he first saw the light — to his sorrowful, early, death at Dumfries, all the scenes of his life and of his poems seemed to come up to me as fresh as though I had known him on the spot. In that cottage, with its little window of four small panes and homely appointments, it required no effort to call up the touching scenes of the " Colter's Saturday night." The ' ' New Brig " and the " Auld Brig" still span the Ayr, some three hundred feet apart. We t ^ c* » i n» \^ •"■ L V> « V * '%<£ ' \* J -\ v ,0 c> \ u ^ »- v^ "^ A A 1 * '^7 ,# ^ v" x ^. 0o, •> BHSSHHBBBhBHS^^BBhh^^^h LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ^f 111 ill 11' 111 III I'llliV ,0 020 677 526 gl