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HEABLETS LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
LETTERS 
 
 FROM ITALY 
 
 BY 
 
 j^^t^Iheadley, 
 
 NEW AND REVISED EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER, 
 
 36 PARK ROW AND 145 NASSAU STREET. 
 1853. 
 
E>TERED, according to Act of Coigreflfl, in the year 181?, by 
 
 BAKER & 5CRIBXER, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United Srates for the 
 Southern District of Xew York. 
 
 ^^ TKOMAS B. SMITH, STEREOTYPER, S W. BKVKDICT, PRINTKR, 
 
 '^ 216 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y. 1»> SPRm STRKXT. 
 
 <) 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW EDITION. 
 
 Since the publication of tlie following letters, many things 
 have occurred to give a prominence to Italian politics which 
 they did not before possess, as well as tend to change one's 
 views respecting the Italian people. On reflection, however, I 
 have concluded to let my opinions stand uncorrected in the body 
 of the work, so that my original design maybe carried out — viz., 
 to give my impressions at the time, or, in other words, to talk 
 as I travelled, leaving the reader to draw his own conclusions. 
 I was then some years younger than now, and hence uttered 
 many sentiments I should now suppress. The rainbow hues and 
 romance of life depart as we grow older, and common places 
 take the place of sentiment ; still the frankness and freedom 
 with which these letters were written have their merits as well as 
 defects : at all events, first impressions are fresher, if not more 
 correct than afterthoughts, and therefore I shall let them remain. 
 
 With regard to the political state of Italy, however, I would 
 say something additional. 
 
 Those acquainted with history are aware of the iniquitous par- 
 tition made of Italy, after the downfall of Napoleon. The allied 
 sovereigns, assembled in Vienna, regarded it as so much com- 
 mon plunder. Venice and Milan were given to Austria ; Mo- 
 dena sliced off for an Austrian prince, who had usurped the name 
 of Este ; while the wife of Napoleon, as the daughter of Aus- 
 tria, had Parma. A Bourbon had a life interest in Modena ; 
 Genoa was treacherously given over by England into the hands 
 of Piedmont, and Tuscany put under an Austrian Duke. The 
 Pope was allowed to retain possession of about 18,117 Ro- 
 
VI INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW EDITION. 
 
 man square miles, containing a population of 2,500,000, over 
 which he ruled as absolute king. So heavy have been his op- 
 pressions, that his kingdom at length became reduced to 
 bankruptcy. The revenue amounted to only $10,000,000, one 
 quarter of which was expended in mere collection. The public 
 debt increased so fast, that constant loans were necessary, until 
 at length the government securities were all used up, and the 
 Pontiff was compelled to mortgage his palaces at Rome. The 
 legates and delegates ruling the several provinces became noto- 
 riously dishonest and corrupt ; even magisti-ates could be bought, 
 while men were imprisoned, ad infinitum, on mere suspicion. 
 Six thousand were computed to be incarcerated every year, or 
 one out of every four hundred of the population. 
 
 Now, when we add to all these the rigorous censorship of the 
 press, the espionage of the police, and the relentless persecution 
 of men for their political opinions, to say nothing of the oppres- 
 sive taxes and discouragement of all industry, we cannot be sur- 
 prised at the bitter feelings manifested by the people towards the 
 Pope. The stream of all their troubles was traced directly to 
 the pontifical throne. At the feet of the holy father sank all 
 their hopes and happiness. A corrupt sovereign, corrupt priest- 
 hood, corrupt courts, corrupt officials — half of them pardoned 
 banditti — everywhere made a mockery of justice, religion, and 
 human suffering. The strong hand of power crushed the life 
 out of Italy, and hence arose the endless conspii'acies which have 
 resulted only in filling Austrian prisons with victims, and ships 
 with exiles. 
 
 Now it is evident, from this meagre outline, that such a state 
 of things could not long exist. There is a limit to all oppres- 
 sion, a point where desperation begins and revolutions follow. 
 Pope Gregory was a tool of Austria ; and too stupid to perceive, 
 or too timid to prevent, the bankruptcy and fast aJJproaching 
 ruin of his kingdom, let oppression take its course. But tho 
 
INTRODUOTION TO THE NEW EDITION. vii 
 
 present Pontiff, on coming into power, had the sense to discover 
 his true position, and took the only course by -which to aUay the 
 smothered fires' of rebellion, that were burning portentously 
 under his throne. He knew the state of the public feeling — that 
 everything was rife for an outbreak ; and had Cardinal Lambrus- 
 chini, the old Pope's chief minister, been elected in his placC; 
 there doubtless would have been a convulsion that would have 
 overturned the Papal throne, or ended in a general massacre of 
 the people. But Pope Pius took his seat, and a calm — the calm 
 of expectation and of anxiety — followed. He was surrounded 
 with difficulties — a bankrupt and impoverished kingdom, a suf- 
 fering and maddened people on the one side, and the power of 
 Austria on the other. To act for the people would bring down 
 on him the armies of Austria — to act for Austria, the wrath of 
 the people. A few days after his election, he abolished the se- 
 cret tribunal for political offenders ; he next composed a council 
 of cardinals, to hear, on a certain day, the grievances of any one 
 who chose to come ; and finally ordered a private letter-box to 
 be affixed to the Vatican, in which all could drop their com- 
 plaints and petitions. Still the people scarcely knew what to 
 believe : these might all be simply strokes of policy, to allay 
 popular indignation. He next dismissed Cardinal Lambruschi- 
 ni, but this only awakened deeper anxiety ; until at length his 
 course seemed to be clearly pronounced, when he granted a gene- 
 ral amnesty to all political offenders. Rome stood thunder- 
 struck at this bold movement. The prisons, with their six thou- 
 sand annually incarcerated victims, threw open their doors, and 
 exiles came joyfully back to their native land. 
 
 Now in all this it would be unfair to say that the Pope was 
 actuated alone by motives of policy. He is, doubtless, a more 
 liberal and a better man than his predecessor. He himself had 
 a brother in exile ; and as a missionary, formerly to Chili, and 
 afterwards to Buenos Ayres, he has learned, like Louis Philippe, 
 
v!L' INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW EDITION. 
 
 to regard the rights of the people, and respect their feelings and 
 their wants. 
 
 Still policT has had much to do with the course he has taken. 
 His travels in the new world opened his eyes to truths that it 
 became him to recognise ; and he saw plainly that the Pontiff 
 of 1847 could not be the despot that a former age tolerated. 
 
 Bat he had no intention of weakening, in any way, the power 
 of the papal government, or of enlarging the civil liberty of the 
 people. What he has done, in this respect, towards giving a 
 constitutional government, has been compelled from him by the 
 movement in Europe. The grand excitement occasioned by 
 his reform, and the extravagant hopes expressed, were altogether 
 too premature. So long as Austria and the other continental 
 powers stood firm, there was no hope of constitutional liberty in 
 Italy — and even now it is to be very much feared that the endless 
 rivabies and jealousies that exist between the several provinces 
 will defeat any movement towards a grand confederacy of the 
 states. 
 
 The most powerful prince of the peninsula, is Carlo Alberto 
 (Charles Albert), King of Sardinia. He has a large and well- 
 disciplined army under his control, and has abeady entered the 
 field against Austria. 
 
 But perhaps I could not give my views better, and at the 
 same time claim for them some weight, by showing that time has 
 proved their correctness, than by quoting an extract from a 
 published address of mine on the subject delivered the early 
 part of last winter. 
 
 " But who is this Carlo Alberto — King Charles Albert — who 
 has thi-eatened to meet Austria in the field, if she attempts to 
 occupy Ferrara, and has off3red his services to Pope Pius IX. ? 
 The veriest de?pot and traitor that ever escaped the punish- 
 ment due his crimes. He himself was once at the head of one 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW EDITION. ix 
 
 of the most formidable conspiracies ever set on foot for the re- 
 demption of Italy. Chief of the Carbonari, he promised con- 
 stitutional freedom to the country. That conspiracy counted 
 some of the noblest spirits of the age. But just on the eye of its 
 development, death removed the obstructions between Charles 
 Albert and the throne of Piedmont ; aed vaulting into it, he 
 immediately seized the conspirators he himself had seduced into 
 his ambitious plans ; and, by imprisonment, banishment, and 
 death, rid himself of his old friends, and became the most hated 
 tyrant in Europe. Added to all this, he is a Jesuit of the Jesuits, 
 and as weak as he is villanous. He upholds the Pope, offers his 
 aid, and talks loudly of the independence and nationality of Italy ! 
 Ah! ' Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.'' I fear such a man, 
 luhen he brings, and though he brings, gifts in his hands. But, 
 it may be asked, what motive has he for the course he adopts .'' 
 Three very powerful ones. In the first place, he was hated in- 
 tensely by his own subjects ; and he knew it, and feared their 
 anger. This dislike he could remove in no way so effectually as 
 by upholding the Pope ; and already has he found his reward. 
 In the second place, Austria is the only power he has to fear ; 
 she trenches on his borders, and holds him in perpetual alarm ; 
 and he will willingly seize any event that would injure his 
 enemy, and compel him to evacuate Italy. In the third place, 
 in case of any successful hostilities, he could not but enlarge his 
 territory. If, through his instrumentality, Austria should be 
 spoiled of her possessions in Italy, he knows he could dictate his 
 own terms to the Pope ; and rest assured he would be content 
 with nothing less than half of the peninsula. He is the most 
 powerful sovereign in it, and he looks with a covetous eye on 
 those fair portions of Lombardy which the Austrians hold. 
 
 But as for wishing the liberty of Italy, or caring anything 
 about its independence and nationality, except so far as that 
 nationality consists in being under one despotic sovereign, and 
 
X INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW EDITION. 
 
 lie that sovereign, he is innocent. Will a man that has been 
 guilty of the darkest critaos that stain our nature, in order to 
 get a throne, advance measures to overturn it r" 
 
 Events have since shown this statement to be true ; for after 
 having " fraternized" with the popular movement, and marched 
 against Austria, he now openly declares that he u-ill not allow a 
 republic to be established in the north of Italy. He has not left 
 the cold hills of Piedmont, and led his armies into the smiling 
 plains of Lombardy, to make them free, but a part of his king- 
 dom. Not by him, but over him, will the northern Italians be 
 compelled to win their freedom. He will prove himself as hard 
 a master as Austria, if once allowed to gain the ascendency. 
 
 In the address from which the above is quoted, I stated also 
 that there was nothing in the popular movement in Italy, which, 
 of itself, promised success — that, if she ever gained her liberty, 
 it must be afler the overthrow of the strong monarchies of the 
 continent, not by rising against them, for she was too weak to 
 do this. ]Sro one could, then, have anticipated so sudden an 
 outbreak as has since followed. But what I said at that time is 
 equally true now. After speaking of the difficulties in the way 
 of a free constitutional government, I said : — 
 
 " But is tyranny always to exist .- Ino ; it will yet come to an 
 end in Italy, but only as it comes to an end in Europe. Then 
 it will be the result, rather than a cause — the product of con- 
 vulsions and revolutions in more powerfid States. If there be 
 one thing fixed in destiny, it is the steady, resistless progress 
 of the republican principle. Struggle as despots may — sur- 
 round themselves as they will with all the checks and restraints 
 on popular feeling — bind and torture, and exile and slay, the 
 terrible day of reckoning is slowly advancing. Before this gin- 
 gle principle Europe is incessantly pushed forward to the brink 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW EDITION. xi 
 
 of a frightful gulf. On that brink despotism will make its last 
 stand and final struggle. The statesmen of Europe see it and 
 know it, and hope only to defer the day of evil. Come, thoy 
 know it will. As Guizot lately said in the Chamber of Deputies, 
 All Germany is on fire, I might, if I had time, prove this, to 
 the full conviction of every mind ; but I will only point to 
 Europe now and Europe sixty years ago, as fearful corrobora- 
 tion of what I say. Europe is yet to be set afloat on the 
 turbulent sea of democracy. The French Revolution is but 
 one act in the great tragedy yet to be enacted. That, with 
 Bonaparte at its head, whelmed the continent in blood, and 
 made the knees of every monarch smite together, like Belshaz- 
 zar's of old. The next shall open under their very thrones , as the 
 French Revolution did under the throne of the Bourbons. The 
 people are yet to have the power, and woe then to those who 
 have maddened them. It needs not the ear of prophecy, it re- 
 quires only the ear of reason, to hear the sound of falling 
 thrones in the future. Fugitive kings are to flit through the 
 realms they have ruined. Now, barrier after barrier is erected, 
 check after check applied, promise after promise made and 
 broken, to arrest the waves of popular feeling ; yet they keep 
 swelling higher and higher. Soon the last barrier shall be 
 raised, the last check exhausted, and then the increasing flood 
 will burst over. What is to come of it, I cannot tell. Through 
 the blackness of that approaching storm no eye but God's can 
 pierce. Whether anarchy or constitutional liberty is to spring 
 out of it, He only knows ; but the experiment of self-govern- 
 ment the people of Europe are yet to try. No power can 
 prevent it. Around the ruins of Italy, and the feudal castles 
 of England and Germany, amid the forests of Russia, the 
 struggle of the people with their rulers is to take place. 
 Every man who will sit down to the study of history with this 
 
xii INTRODUCTION TO THE NEW EDITION. 
 
 single question before Liim, will turn pale at the conclusions he 
 cannot escape." 
 
 When this was uttered I had no idea it would so soon prove 
 true. The immediate results in Italy and Europe no man can 
 foretell ; but that there will be a reaction against the panic 
 that has paralyzed monarchs, I have but little doubt. This 
 will probably be followed by a struggle and a long war. That 
 Italy may gain from the conflict and collision at hand, is my 
 most ardent wish. The spirit the Italian people have shown 
 thus far, proves that many of my views respecting them were 
 incorrect ; that they possess far more greatness and stability 
 of character than travellers have given them credit for. I 
 rejoice that it is so, and hope that the Italian Republics of a 
 former age may be more than renewed in the present century. 
 At all events, the people have shown themselves worthy of a 
 noble destiny. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Ihe accompanying Letters were not originally written with 
 the intention of being published in a book, and, very probably, 
 would have been worse written if they had been. In passing 
 through Italy, one is constantly subjected to sudden and great 
 transitions of feeling. The " classic land" and the " home of 
 the Cassars," have so long been a portion of the scholar's dreams, 
 and so brightly colored with his own feelings, that the very mat- 
 ter-of-fact objects that stare him in the face, when he is expect- 
 ing some hallowed monument of the past, will often quite upset 
 his gravity, and compel him to laugh, where he thought to have 
 been serious and reflective. It has been my effort, in these Let- 
 ters, to give a faithful transcript of my feelings, in all these sudden 
 transitions. To some there may often appear too much light- 
 ness and frivolity ; yet most men like to have one give himself 
 in his travels ; they wish to hear him soliloquizing. We read his 
 book not to learn that he can be, or is, a very serious and pro- 
 found man, but to know how things struck him — that is, travel 
 with him. Amid the new and exciting scenes that constantly 
 meet travellers, in perhaps a hurried passage over a country, 
 they cannot, and do not, have the views and feelings so often 
 given, for appearance'' s sake, as their honest ones. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 My purpose has been to let others, if possible, look through 
 my eyes ; and whether I have succeeded or not, or whether 
 they would have obtained a very interesting view if they did, I 
 leave the reader to judge. Descriptions of galleries of art, 
 paintings, etc., have been avoided, as possessing interest to those 
 only who have travelled over the same ground, and become fa- 
 miliar with the details necessary to make those descriptions clear. 
 I have attempted, also, to give some idea of the condition of the 
 inhabitants, especially of the lower classes, as they are topics 
 seldom referred to in passing over the most classic land on the 
 globe. 
 
 It was designed at first to publish these Letters in numbers, 
 and the fii'st number was issued, but the plan was immediately 
 abandoned, and the publication of the remainder deferred till 
 the whole could be issued in a volume. The first number em- 
 braced only Genoa and a portion of Naples — the least interest- 
 ing part of Italy. Rome, Florence, Milan, the provinces, etc., 
 are included in the remainder. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Let 
 
 I 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV 
 
 Voyage to Italy — Man Lost Overboard 
 
 Gibraltar — Approach to Genoa . « . 
 
 First Impressions — Lunatics . . . . 
 
 Description of Genoa 
 
 House -Hunting — Romantic Marriage * 
 
 Funeral in the Morning — Murder of an American 
 Officer . . . . . • . 
 
 Carnival — Clara Novello — Persecution of a Painter 
 
 Columbus' Manuscripts — Horseback Ride — Death in 
 THE Theatre . . 
 
 A Day's Ramble through Genoa .... 
 
 Italian Soirees and Beauty — Marquis of Palavicini 
 
 Odd Brokers — A Catholic Miracle 
 
 Lord Byron — Marquis di Negro . . . . 
 
 Soldiers at Mass — Casino — Italian Virtue . • 
 
 Scenes of the Carnival — Cheating the Church . 
 
 Leghorn — Civita Vecchia — Naples .... 
 
 Pompeii . . . 
 
 Ascent of Vesuvius 
 
 Ladies of Italy and Ladies of America 
 
 Islands about Naples — Virgil's Scenes 
 
 A Visit to Salerno — P^estum 
 
 Castellamare — A Storm at Naples .... 
 
 Capua — A Begging Friar — Cenotaph of Cicero — Peas- 
 ant Girl ........ 
 
 Approach to Rome — St. Peter's 
 
 Saturday before Easter — Easter Sunday 
 
 Illumination of St. Peter's — The Girandola 
 
 Pagb 
 . 1 
 
 8 
 
 . 11 
 
 16 
 
 . 19 
 
 24 
 . 29 
 
 32 
 . 36 
 
 42 
 . 47 
 
 51 
 . 57 
 
 62 
 . 65 
 
 70 
 . 77 
 
 85 
 . 91 
 
 96 
 103 
 
 107 
 112 
 115 
 129 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Let. XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 XL. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Pxou 
 
 Chanting of the IMiserere in the Sistlne Chapel 130 
 System of Farmlng in the Papai. States . . .135 
 
 The Coliseum at Midnight 139 
 
 Ruins and Epitaphs 144 
 
 Capitol and Vatican 149 
 
 The Pope — Don IMiguel — Mezzofakti .... 151 
 New INIode of Selling Milk — Lake Tartarus — 
 
 Adrian's Villa — Tivoli . . . . 154 
 
 An Improvisatrice — Ascent of St. Peter's . . . IGO 
 
 Artists' Fete . 1G4 
 
 Villa Pamph^'lia — Vespers — Borgiieslvn Villa — The 
 
 QUIRINAL TaSSO's OaK r\\REWELL TO St. Pe- 
 
 ter's 170 
 
 Departure from Rome — Peppery Englishsian . . 177 
 
 Fall of Terni 182 
 
 Perugia — Clitumnus — Battle-Field of Thrasymene 186 
 
 A Max Built ev a Wall 191 
 
 American Artists in Florence . . . . 19G 
 
 Venus di Medici — Titlyn's Venuses — Death of a 
 
 Child — An English Family .... 203 
 •Stroll through Florence — Dominican Friar . . 207 
 Pisa — Condition of Italian Peasantry — Con-^'ersation 
 
 WITH a Peasant Girl 218 
 
 King of Sardinia — Censorship of the Press — A 
 
 Smuggling Priest 215 
 
 Alless.sndria — Battle-Field of ]M\reng3 — 1*avia — 
 
 MiL.\N . . 218 
 
 Character of the People of I paly . . , 222 
 
LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 A Voyage to Italy — Sea-Sickness — Squalls — A Man Lost Overboard— Peril 
 of the Crew. 
 
 At Sea, Sept. 15, 1842. 
 
 Dear E. — Why not begin my letter at sea ? It is now no 
 more travel-worn than Arabia Petraja. I hate this skipping over 
 the ocean as " not worth mentioning" to burst on the reader from 
 the middle of some Continent. 
 
 It was a beautiful day when we left New York, but it did seem 
 cruel that you were not there to bid me good-bye. The laughter 
 and mirth amid which my fancy painted you, your wife, and 
 
 cousin A at Saratoga, seemed a mockery of my grief, as I 
 
 floated away from the shore on which my heart lay, and refused 
 to come to me. But when the pilot-boat left us, and the last 
 thread of communication was cut off between me and the land 
 that never seemed so dear before, I thought perhaps after all it 
 was better to part so. It was easier to fling you an adieu up the 
 Hudson, than to squeeze your hand over the vessel's side, when 
 the tongue could not utter the farewell the heart spoke so loudly 
 the while. 
 
 Our vessel was a beautiful Mobile Packet, and Mr. L., consul 
 to Genoa, his wife, two children, myself, and a servant, constituted 
 one family, and the entire corps of passengers, with the exception 
 
 of Mr. S , of New York, who, like myself, was in search of 
 
 2 
 
LETTERS FRO 31 ITALY. 
 
 health. We sat grouped on deck, tnmg to laugh and appear in- 
 different, but it would not do. It was like boys whisthng in thft 
 dark to keep off danger. But the overwhelming grief I expected 
 to feel as I saw the last blue hill of my father-land sink into the 
 western sky, never came. Nothing ever seemed to me more 
 poetic or pathetic than Byron's farewell to the la.nd of his birth ; 
 
 " Adieu, adieu — my native land 
 Fades o'er the waters blue," «&c. 
 
 And as 1 saw the dim shores die away in the distance, I expected 
 ifhe thousand fond recollections of home and its quiet joys, per- 
 laps to be mine no more for ever — ^the deep yearning of heart 
 oward the land I had trod from my 'infancy, and now left an in- 
 valid, together with the uncertainty and solitude of the sea, 
 would quite unman me. But nothing could be farther from the 
 truth. The sadness I had felt when drifting down the bay wa^ 
 fast disappearing, and the slow, hea\y rolling of the vessel, soon 
 after we were fairly at sea, brought on that strange sensation in 
 one's head and stomach which entirely upsets his poetry — and by 
 the time Never-sink began to sink beyond the waters, I cared for 
 neither home nor country. Yet as the setting sun left his fare- 
 well on the waters, and the blue sky seemed to bend so lovingly 
 over the land I loved, I thought it was quite too Pagan to feel na 
 sadness. So I began to repeat to myself those sweet lines of 
 Byron, but I made more rhymes than the illustrious poet himself. 
 If uttered aloud they would have run ; 
 
 " Adieu, adieu — my native land (ugi. ugh,) 
 Fades o'er the waters blue." (ugh.) 
 
 I could get no farther, and even when the broad round moon 
 rode up the gorgeous night-heavens, making the sea a floor of sil- 
 ver, the effort vras no more successful. Not the sweet moon and 
 •jvveeter stars, nor the broad heaving sea, nor fading Neversink it- 
 self could whip up any sentiment. I fully agreed with Plato for 
 the time that the soul was located in the stomach — at least they 
 sympathized like tw^o brothers. For a whole week we were & 
 most dolorous group. The ladies below sat around the cabin pale 
 and languid — the two gentlemen above lay rolled up like cater 
 pillars to die. Sometimes stretched out in the jolly boat, some- 
 
SEA-VOYAGING. 
 
 times on the rail, I would watch by the hour the passing clouds 
 to escape the dizziness created by the rolling of the ship. 
 
 " A life on the ocean wave" is a pleasant thing to sing about, 
 especially if you are in a snug warm room and have Russell to 
 sing, but those who tr}' it find the chorus has never yet been 
 written. 
 
 The sleeping, or rather not sleeping, in a miserable berth six 
 feet by two, holding on to the one above you to prevent being 
 thrown out- — the eating like an Eastern devotee bowing over his 
 sacrifice — the pitching and tossing of the ship against a head- 
 wind on the heavy breakers — the long, monotonous days, and 
 often restless nights — the wearisome calms and fearful storms, 
 and more than all the yearning after the green quiet earth, make 
 a sea- voyage irksome and sickening. It is true there is some re- 
 lief to this. There is a beauty at times in the ocean, in its 
 changes and mprices, that break its otherwise insufferable 
 tedium. I thmk I have never enjoyed mere life more keenly, 
 than when sitting in a clear day far out on the flying jib-boom, I 
 have careered with the careering vessel, and looking back a-down 
 the keel, watched the waters part and foam away from the cleav- 
 ing bows. Next to this I love, when the sea is " gently rough," 
 to sit on the topmost yard, and look abroad on the great solemn 
 ocean, and catching the dim outlines of the vessels that are hover- 
 ing on the edge of the horizon, send down " Sail ho !" to the 
 dreaming group on deck. It is pleasant also to lean over the 
 taffrail and watch the rainbow-dolphin slowly swimming after the 
 vessel, or the porpoises floundering ahead, while perhaps the 
 black fin of a shark is combing the water in the distance. A clear 
 evening on the quarter deck is sweet, when the moist south wind 
 just fills the sails that are gently swelling in the light of the moon, 
 and the bright sparkles here and there on the water seem the 
 twinkling of the feet of Fairies abroad on their nightly revels. 
 There is a sense of freedom too at sea. The jostling multitude — 
 the jar of wheels, and the clamors of money-mad men, are not 
 around. The heart is not compelled to retire within itself lest its 
 feelings should be detected, and its emotions mocked. There are 
 also time and room enough to think. Everything seems at lei- 
 sure — even the waves when most excited have a stately motion. 
 
LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 But these pleasures are all transient, and then comes the long 
 pining after the fresh earth. 
 
 The pleeisure of our passage was much marred by the loss of 
 a man overboard. When within a few hundred miles of the 
 Azores, we were overtaken by a succession of severe squalls. 
 Forming almost instantaneously on the horizon, they moved dowo 
 like phantoms on the ship. For a few moments after one struck 
 us, we would be buried in foam and spray, and then heavily roll 
 ing on a hea\-y sea. We however prepared ourselves, and soon 
 got ever}-thing snug. The light sails were all in — the jibs, top- 
 gallants and spanker furled close — the main-sail clewed up, and 
 we were crashing along under close reefed topsails alone, when a 
 man, who was coming down from the last reef, slipped as he 
 stepped on the bulwarks, and went over backwards into the waves. 
 In a moment that most terrific of all cries at sea, "A man over- 
 board ! a man overboard V^ flew like lightning over the ship. I 
 sprung upon the quarter deck just as the poor fellow with his 
 *• fearful human face," riding the top of a billow, fled past. In 
 an instant all was commotion : plank after plank was cast over 
 for him to seize and sustain himself on, till the ship (;ould be put 
 about and the boat lowered. The first mate, a bold, fiery- fellow, 
 leaped into the boat that hung at the side of the quarter deck, 
 and in a voice so sharp and stem I seem to hear it yet, shouted, 
 '• in men — in men !" But the poor sailors hung back — the sea 
 was too wild. The second mate sprung to the side of the first, 
 and the men, ashamed to leave both their officers alone, followed. 
 " Cut away the lashings," exclaimed the officer — ^the knife glanced 
 around the ropes — the boat fell to the water — rose on a huge wave 
 far over the deck, and drifted rapidly astern. I thought it could 
 Qot live a moment in such a sea, but the officer who held the helm 
 was a skillful seamen. Twice in his life he had been wrecked, 
 and for a moment I forgot the danger in admiration of his cool 
 self-possession. He stood erect — the helm in his hand — his flash- 
 ing eve embracing the whole peril in a single glance, and his 
 hand bringing the head of the gallant little boat on each high sea 
 that otherwise would have swamped her. I watched them tili 
 nearly two miles astern, when they lay-to to look for the los« 
 sailor. Just then I turned my eve to the Southern horizon anc* 
 
MAN O^ ERBOARD— A SQUALL. 
 
 saw a squall blacker and heavier than any we had before en- 
 countered rushing down upon us. The Captain also saw it, and 
 was terribly excited. He afterwards told me that in all his sea 
 life he never was more so. He called for a flag, and, springing 
 into the shrouds, waved it for their return. The gallant fellowa 
 obeyed the signal and pulled for the ship. But it was slow work, 
 for the head of the boat had to be laid on to almost every wave. It 
 was now growing dark, and if the squall should strike the boat be- 
 fore it reached the vessel, there was no hope for it. It would either 
 go down at once, or drift away into the surrounding darkness, to 
 struggle out the night as it could. I shall never forget that scene. 
 All along the southern horizon between the black water and the 
 blacker heavens was a white streak of tossing foam. Nearer 
 and clearer every moment it boiled and roared on its tracks Be- 
 tween it and us appeared at intervals that little boat like a black 
 speck on the crest of the billows, and then sunk away apparently 
 engulfed for ever. One moment the squall would seem to gain 
 on it beyond the power of escape, and then delay its progress. 
 As I stood and watched them both, and yet could not tell which 
 would reach us first, the excitement amounted to perfect agony. 
 Seconds seemed lengthened into hours. I could not look steadily 
 on that gallant little crew now settling the question of life and 
 death to themselves and perhaps to us, who would be left almost 
 unmanned in the middle of the Atlantic, and encompassed by a 
 storm, and again and again turned away from the appalhng spec- 
 tacle. Every time she sunk from sight she carried my heart 
 down with her, and when she remained a longer time than usual, 
 I would think it was all over, and cover my eyes in horror — the 
 next moment she would appear between us and the black rolling 
 cloud literally covered with foam and spray. The Captain knew, 
 as he said afterwards, that a few minutes more would decide the 
 fate of his officers and crew. He called for his trumpet, and 
 springing up the rattlings, shouted out over the roar of the blast 
 and waves, " Pull away, my brave hullies, the squall is coming — 
 give way, my hearties .''' and the bold fellows did " give way " 
 with a will. I coijd see their ashen oars quiver as they rose 
 from the water, while the life-like boat sprung to their strokes 
 down the billows, like a panther oj^ the leap. On she came, and 
 
6 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 on came the blast. It was the wildest struggle I ever gazed on; 
 but the gallant little boat conquered. Oh, how my heart leaped 
 when she at length shot round the stern, and rising on a wave 
 far above our lee quarter, shook the '.vater from her drenched 
 head as if in delight to find her shelter acrain. 
 
 The chains were fastened, and I never pulled with such right 
 good will on a rope as on the one that brought that boat up the 
 vessel's side. As the heads of the crew appeared over the bul- 
 warks, I could have hugged the brave fellows in transport. As 
 they stepped on deck, not a question was asked — no report given 
 — but " Forward, men .'" broke from the Captain's lips. The 
 vessel was trimmed to meet the blast, and we were again bound- 
 ing on our way. If that squall had pursued the course of all the 
 former ones, we must have lost our crew ; but when nearest the 
 boat (and it seemed to me the foam was breaking not a hundred 
 rods off) the wind suddenly veered, and held the cloud in check, 
 so that it swung round close to our bows. The poor sailor was 
 gone ; he came not back again. It was his birth-day (he was 
 25 years old), and alas, it was his death-day. Whether, a bold 
 swimmer, he saw at a distance his companions hunting hopelessly 
 for him, and finally with his heart growing cold with despair, be- 
 held them turn back to the ship, and the ship itself toss its spars 
 away from him for ever, or whether the sea soon took him under, 
 we know not. We saw him no more — and a gloojn fell on the 
 whole ship. There were but few of us in all, and we felt his 
 loss. It was a wild and dark night ; death had been among us, 
 and had left us with sad and serious hearts. And as I walked 
 to the stern, and looked back on the foam and tumult of the ves- 
 sel's wake, in which the poor sailor had disappeared, I instinc- 
 tively murmured the mariner's hymn, closing with the sincere 
 prayer — 
 
 " Oh ! sailor boy, sailor boy ; peace to thy soxil !" 
 
 At length the winds lulled, the clouds broke away, and a large 
 space of blue sky and bright stars appeared overhead. The 
 dark storm-cloud hung along the distant hoiizon, over which the 
 lightning still played, while the distant thunder broke at interval? 
 over the deep. The black ocean moaned on in its heavy sobbings 
 
A YANKEE SAILOR. 
 
 the drenched and staggering ship rolled heavily on its restless 
 bosom, and the great night encompassed all. This was solitude 
 so deep and awful that my heart seemed to throb audibly in my 
 bosom. My eye ached with the effort to pierce the surrounding 
 darkness, and find something to relieve the loneliness of the scene. 
 At length the rising ipoon showed its bright disc over a cloud, 
 tinging its black edge with silver, and pouring a sea of light on a 
 sea of darkness, till the waves gleamed and sparkled as if just 
 awakened to life and hope. The moon never looked so lovely 
 before ; it seemed to have come out in the heavens on purpose to 
 .bless and to cheer us. 
 
 In a few days more we made the Azores, and then came long, 
 wearisome calms, that were infinitely worse to bear than the 
 storms. After lying for several days "a painted ship on a 
 painted ocean," pining for action, or at least motion, I went in 
 perfect despair to the forecastle, and begged the sailors to give 
 me some work. I would saw wood, turn grindstone, do anything, 
 to break up the dreadful apathy that had settled on the ship. I 
 ground up every old axe and knife and tool there was on board. 
 I was amply repaid, not only in the elasticity of feeling I gained, 
 but in the knowledge I acquired of sailors' character. There 
 was one tall, lank, regular Yankee among the crew, with a 
 roguish twinkle to his small, half concealed eye, that told of many 
 a sly trick. Whenever he left the wheel to go forward and I was 
 on the quarter-deck, he would invariably, as he passed me, roll 
 an enormous quid of tobacco fi'om his mouth into one hand, and, 
 fetching it a box with the other, send it fer over the rail into the 
 sea, and, at the same time, thrust his tongue into the vacant 
 place, and toss me one of the drollest winks that ever set a theatre 
 in a roar. One day I saw him making mats for the yards out of 
 the ends of old ropes. " Well," said I, " George, so you keep 
 to work." "Yes," he replied, "there is no rest for poor Jack ; 
 if he can't play the Jarman flute he must whistle^' — i. e., if he 
 can't do one thing, he must anotlier. Poor Jack ! his lot is a hard 
 one. 
 
 Yours, &;c. 
 
LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER n. 
 
 The Straits and Rock of Gibraltar— Gulf of Genoa, &c. 
 
 Genoa, October, 1842. 
 0^-E morning we were awakened by the cry of land, and as 1 
 stepped out of the cabin, the ragged mountains of Africa, the 
 shores of Spain, the Straits of Gibraltar, and over all the glori- 
 ous rising Sun burst on the sight. The steady current was set- 
 ting rapidly for the Mediterranean, and all was silent around save 
 the low crushing sound a hea.Yj tide always makes in its passage. 
 The smoke that rose from burning timber on the hill tops and 
 along the shore, gently inclined towards the Straits as if in- 
 viting us to enter, while over all was t^at dreamy haze which 
 smoothes even the roughest scenery into a quiet aspect. Our 
 keel cut the waters where rode the keels of Lord Nelson's fleet 
 before the battle of Trafalgar. Land was for a moment forgot- 
 ten as my fancy painted the line-of-battle ships slowly moving to 
 the conflict. I saw, or thought I saw the long row of banners 
 floating in the breeze, the cloud of smoke as broadside after broad- 
 side thundered over the sea. There were the broken and shiv- 
 ered masts dangling amid the ropes, the cries of men, the roll of 
 the drum, and the confused noise of battle. The mountains were 
 alive with fearful echoes, and the waves ran blood. The cheer- 
 ful voice of Mrs. L. beside me called back my erring fancy, and 
 the quietness of a summer morning rested on all the scene. 
 Whether it was owing to the fresh view of land, or the beauty of 
 the day, or the scene itself, I know not, but that day was one of 
 enchantment to me. Its remembrance is more like a rich dream 
 than a past experience. There was a combination of scener}^, a 
 succession of sensations followed by rapid associations that bore 
 me away for a time like a child. I surrendered my heart to its 
 impuses and let it regulate its own beatings. Distant mountains 
 
GIBRALTAR— GENOA. 9 
 
 burying their heads in the smoky sky ; towers, fortresses, abrupt 
 rocks, smiling villages ; vineyards in which nestled white cotta- 
 ges 'j a continent on either hand and the blue Mediterranean be- 
 fore me ; all coming or passing on my sight, and shifting every 
 moment, made it seem like a wizard land. At length Gibral 
 tar — that grey old solitary rock — stood before me. Lying some- 
 what diagonal to the straits, and apparently isolated from the 
 main land, it rose almost perpendicularly 1470 feet above me, 
 cutting with its thin naked ridge the air in an irregular waving 
 line. 
 
 As we passed it, the booming of cannon came over the water 
 and died away on the shore of Africa. That rock was to me for 
 a while the centre of association. Grand and gloomy it stood 
 and had stood while ages had slowly rolled away — itself alone 
 unchanged. It once looked down on the Roman galleys and on 
 the vessel that bore Csesar and his fortunes on. It had seen the 
 pride of nations come and go with the same haughty indifference. 
 It took no note of time, for time left not its mark upon it. 
 
 Its stern gravity had not changed with changing empires. It 
 had felt the shock of cannon, and the hot meeting of foes had 
 made its sides red with the blood of men, and yet it retained its 
 old composure. As I looked on its grey top, it seemed conscious 
 of its own greatness, and to utter a silent mockery on the pride 
 of man. It is now England's, but the hand that grasps it is slowly 
 crumbling away. The conflicts for that mountain of stone are 
 not yet ended. Whose next shall it be ? 
 
 The night came, and with the full moon over our heads, on 
 her way to the mountains of Grenada, we fled over the blue 
 waters of the Mediterranean. Islands came and went — days and 
 nights vanished away, till, with the mountains of Piedmont on 
 our left, we slowly passed up the gulf of Genoa. One mornmg 
 found us within a few miles of the city, and the approach to it 
 fully sustained the character it had borne. The rising sun 
 gilded the tops of the Apennines before us, and threw its light 
 on the snow-clad summits of the Alps on our left, that lay pale, 
 and white, and silent far up in the heavens. — The shores on 
 either hand that bent up to the city were lined with villages — 
 the back-ground of hills was belted with vineyards, and dotted 
 
10 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 with white churches and palaces ; while far distant before us 
 mountain interlocked mountain, each naked ridge crowned with 
 a fortress, and receding away till a sea of summits flowed along 
 the distant sky. At the base was Genoa, * la swperha^^ throned 
 like a queen upon her hills and looking down upon the sea. The 
 city lies in the form of a half circle, and rises away from the 
 shore like an amphitheatre. There is no plain, and it is but a 
 short distance from the shore to the base of the hills. These are 
 cultivated to their very tops, and literally covered with terraced 
 gardens and palaces. As we drew near, the fragrance that fell 
 down to the water was like the mingling of all sweet scents. 
 This may seem almost a fancy sketch, but the first impressions, 
 after a six weeks' voyage, of one of the loveliest scenes the sun 
 ever shone upon, must be vivid but not necessarily overwrought. 
 It was a holiday when we entered port, and added to all this 
 beauty and sweetness, the chime of a hundred bells came merrily 
 down to the bay. Yours, &;c. 
 
AN ITALlAJN WOMAN. 11 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 First Impressions — An Italian "Woman — Lunatics. 
 
 Genoa, October. 
 
 OfiiR E. — I cannot convey to you the strange feelings wit 
 \^ lich I first stepped on a foreign shore, and that shore, Italy, 
 When one goes to Europe through England, he is gradually pre- 
 pared for the strong contrast that exists betwacn his own country 
 and the countries he visits. But I had no preparation; the last 
 thousand miles of sea were just like the first thousand, and I had 
 simply taken one step, and had passed from New York, with its 
 English language and home habits, into Genoa, with its queer 
 customs and unintelligible jargon. Everything was changed so 
 suddenly, that I wandered about like one in a dream. Now a 
 tall mustached officer, wrapped in his long military cloak, v/ould 
 meet me, and eye me askance as he passed ; and now a black- 
 robed priest shuffled by, not deigning me even a look as he went. 
 How many times during the day have I stopped and questioned 
 my own identity ! 
 
 The other day I was leaning over the balcony of our window 
 at the hotel, watching the motley groups that passed and repassed, 
 and listening to the strange Genoese jargon that every one seemed 
 to understand but myself, when my attention was attracted by an 
 elegantly dressed woman who was sauntering leisurely along up 
 the street that my window faced. As she came near, her eye 
 fell on me, and, her curiosity apparently excited by my foreign 
 look, she steadily scrutinized me as she approached. My appear- 
 ance might have been somewhat outre, but still I did not think it 
 was worth such a particular scrutiny, especially from a lady. 
 But she had not the slightest concern about my thoughts on the 
 matter. She wished simply to gratify her own curiosity; so 
 when she had got within the most convenient reconnoitering dis- 
 
12 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 tance, she deliberately paused, and lifting her quizzing-glass to 
 her eye, coolly scanned me from head to foot. When she had 
 finished, she quietly replaced her glass in her belt, and with a 
 smile of self-satisfaction on her face, walked on. 
 
 Yesterday I visited the Lunatic Asylum, which stands in a val- 
 ley between the outer and inner walls of the city. In this part 
 of the city, the inner wall seems to have been built against a high 
 bank, on the top of which the houses stand. This is fortified, and 
 the space left on the top furnishes a beautiful carriage way and 
 promenade, carrying you out to where the wall rises directly out 
 of the Mediterranean, and giving you a view of the whole of the 
 Ligurian Bay. From this promenade you can look down into the 
 area of the Asylum. The building itself you will understand by 
 comparing it to a wheel ; the centre building, oval in form, is the 
 Tiub, from which radiate on every side, like spokes, sLy. long build- 
 ings. Around the extremities of these, passes a circular wall, 
 making, of course, between these radiating wings, six triangular 
 areas. In each of these areas a certain class of lunatics are al- 
 lowed to range : the mild are put together, and the violent kept 
 by themselves. If any one becomes fractious, the strait-jacket is 
 clapped on him, and he is turned loose again, with nothing but 
 "his tongue and feet free. Nothing can present the contrasts of 
 life stronger, than a stroll along this elevated promenade of a 
 bright evening. The bright ]Mediterranean is sleeping like a 
 Bummer lake as far as the eye can reach, and the feelings are 
 lulled by the scene ajid the hour into tranquillity, when suddenly 
 the sabbath stillness of the soul is broken by the scream of a rna- 
 oiac, raving below you. Leaning over the low parapet thai 
 guards this high wall, I often watch of an evening the laughing 
 groups that fill the winding promenade before me, while shouts 
 of mirth and bursts of music, coming at intervals on the night air, 
 furnish strange interludes to the wild and confused accents thai 
 fill the valley at my feet. 
 
 But I liked to have forgotten my visit to the interior of the build- 
 ing. The officer who showed me over it was a very civil man. 
 The lower room of the central oval building is a chapel, into 
 which the long halls from each of these wings enter. Among 
 other peculiarities, I noticed one room with a wooden floor and 
 
.UKATICS. 13 
 
 billiard table in the centre. Inquiring the design of this, I was 
 told it was built for any insane gentleman, who could afford his own 
 servant, and thirty francs a month for the use of it. Love 
 and religion appeared to be the predominant causes of insanity. 
 A poor creature sitting by herself, and counting her beads, had 
 gone mad ca religion. Among the quiet class was a tall, fine, 
 dark looking man, who slowly paced backwards and forwards 
 with his head bent and his lips compressed, carrying an opei; 
 letter in his hand. The profoundest melancholy sat on all hi^, 
 features, and his tread was like that of a man to a funeral. In 
 the full freshness and hope of life he had received by the same 
 letter the news of the loss of his fortune, and the falseness of his 
 betrothed bride. His mind had stopped at the end of that letter, 
 and had never advanced another step — the one terrible calamity 
 it revealed, filled his mind for ever after. Standing on one of the 
 windows, and looking down into the area of the incurables, I saw 
 at the farther extremity, under a sort of shed, two heaps of rags, 
 lying at a short distance from each other. They covered two 
 Vvomen, who went every morning as soon as they were released 
 from their cells, to the self-same spot, and there, crouching close 
 under the wall, lay silent and motionless till aroused again by 
 their keepers. The history of one I could not learn. The othei 
 was the wife of a gentleman, and had been in the Asylum sixteen 
 years. I inquired why the husband did not furnish her with bet- 
 ter clothing ? The officer replied that he did, and also paid a 
 high price to have particular attention and service rendered her ; 
 but the moment decent apparel was placed on her, she became 
 wild with passion and refused all control until it was removed. 
 This told her story, before the keeper related it to me. Young, 
 lovely, and fiery-hearted, she had given her affections and oath 
 to one who was her inferior in rank. But marriage is contracted 
 here by the parents, and the daughter has no more voice in it 
 than she had in her creation. This young and passionate crea- 
 turD was thus bartered away. Usually in such cases, the woman 
 considers herself sold by a mercenary parent, and clings to her 
 lover, while she is willing her husband should also follow his in- 
 clinations. And when we remember in what manner marriages 
 
14 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 are contracted in this country, looseness of morals in Italian wo- 
 men should cease to surprise us. Of more fiery blood than we, 
 they must love somebody. Hence if married to a man they can- 
 not love, they soon choose a lover. But I am forgetting my poor 
 lunatic. Her lover was a young and melancholy creature, and 
 his passion was of that silent, almost gloomy character, which al- 
 ways exalts or wrecks its victim. Without thinking of the fu- 
 ture, he had cast every earthly hope — his entire being away 
 upon this gay-hearted, high-spirited woman. The morning after 
 she was led to the altar, she sat by her window with pale coun- 
 tenance and swollen eyes, watching his coming. But he came 
 no more. The heavy hours wore on, and at length a messenger 
 came and told her he was dead. The night that made her a 
 wife, made him a corpse. He had driven a stiletto through his 
 heart — and to render his death still more heart-breaking, he had 
 not left her a single line. Gloomy and reserved in his life, he 
 scorned to complain in his death. The young bride went into a 
 paroxyism of grief; she tore the bridal dress from her bosom, and 
 the garland from her hair, and went raving mad. The storm 
 had its passage, but when it wore off, black inanity and speechless 
 silence took its place. And now for sixteen years had she lived, 
 with a dead heart in her bosom. The hair had whitened on her 
 head, and the wrinkles deepened on her cheeks, yet she changed 
 not. The buried heart found no resurrection. 
 
 As I stood gazing on that motionless form, wondering if thought 
 was still busy there through the long days, my attention was di- 
 rected by a sudden cry below me. I looked down, and there 
 stood a woman stretching her hands up towards the window, her 
 face working with passion, and crying " le chiavi, le chiavi " 
 (the keys, the keys). The keeper was dangling the keys out of 
 the window, and they had caught her attention. With the sight 
 of those keys came the remembrance of the solitary cell and its 
 gloom. What a symbol of terror they were to her ! 
 
 I turned away, wrapt in reverie and sad at heart. Ah, happy 
 is he, who can read the riddle of life, and make harmony and bliss 
 out of its discord and suffering. But the throng of promenaders 
 .hat soon surrounded me, and the excess of happiness that seemed 
 
LUNATICS. 
 
 on every side, completely upset the theory I had just commenced 
 weaving. 
 
 'Tis midnight, and all is still as the moonlight sleeping on these 
 old palaces — but now the chorus of some gay serenaders ringj 
 through the streets. The echoes sink and swell along these mar 
 ble mountains, and I must stop and listen. Good night. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
W LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Genoa — Its Streets — People— Mode of Life, &c. 
 
 Genoa, October. 
 
 Dear E. — I have been three weeks in Genoa, and I suppose 1 
 have not given you what is called a general description of the 
 city. This I dislike most of all things — first, because it is indefi- 
 nite ; second, because it is uninteresting. Genoa, as I stated in 
 a former letter, lies in the form of a segment of a circle, and rises 
 like an amphitheatre from the sea. The ground on which it rests 
 is irregular, and there is not a level or a straight street in it. 
 They wind and twist about like alleys in every direction. Hence 
 a stranger has peculiar sensations in first wandering over the city. 
 Unable to see out at either end of the street, and from the im- 
 mense height of the houses, rising 70 or 80 feet on either side, 
 unable to get an upper view, he feels at first as if threading the 
 narrow passages of some dungeon, expecting every moment his 
 path will open into daylight and freedom, and yet finding himself 
 ever encompassed with dark grey walls. 
 
 In some of these streets the sunlight never reaches the pave- 
 ment, and in most of them the bats are flying at our dinner hour, 
 whicli is three o'clock. Strada Balbi, Nuova and Nuovissima 
 are magnificent streets, and lined with palaces almost the entire 
 way. The wealth that built them was won from the East, by the 
 commerce the Crusades opened into that countiy. With the ex- 
 ception of Venice there is no city in the world equal to Genoa in 
 its palaces. There is but one public promenade, called the Aqua 
 Sola. It lies on the verge of the city, and is a beautiful place of 
 resort. It is elevated above the surrounding streets, covering 
 several acres, and looks out upon the mountains of Piedmont and 
 the Gulf of Genoa. The whole city is surrounded by two walls ; 
 one circling the city proper is six miles in circumference, the 
 
GENOA— ITS STREETS, ETC. 17 
 
 other going over the hills is thirteen miles long. The gates are 
 strongly fortified and constantly guarded. The shops of the town 
 possess scarcely any beauty ; the largest could well nigh be put 
 in the bow- window of a Broadway store. The basement stories 
 of magnificent palaces are let out for hatters' shops, livery stables, 
 and indeed everything — a main entrance only being reserved. 
 The upper rooms alone are occupied. Genoa contains about 
 100,000 inhabitants, one-seventh of whom are soldiers and priests. 
 They are called the Yankees of Italy. Their great fault is they 
 will cheat. You cannot trust them. It has passed into a proverb 
 that " it takes seven Jews to cheat one Genoese." 
 
 The females of the ordinary classes wear no bonnets in the 
 streets, but in their stead a piece of muslin folded across the top 
 of the head, called a mesure, and descending around the neck 
 and over the shoulders in the form of a shawl. With only this 
 protection, I have seen them lounging along the streets when the 
 tramontane blowing fresh from the Alps made me shiver with my 
 cloak wrapped close around me. This tramontane or north wind 
 is very cold, and blows so furiously that ships lying in port are 
 often compelled to heave out both a bow and stern anchor. But 
 notwithstanding this and the vicinity of the mountains and the 
 high latitude of Genoa, being above 44°, there is no snow in win- 
 ter, and the poorer classes do without fuel the year round. This 
 is partly owing to its dearness* Even the little necessary for 
 cooking is hoarded with the greatest care. One day being in the 
 country when a strong south-west wind was rolling a heavy surf 
 on the shore, I saw groups of persons along the beach watching 
 the approach of every wave, and, rushing after it as it retired, 
 snatch something from the water. I could not imagine what prize 
 could create so much interest. On approaching nearer I saw 
 that the object? of their eager struggles were small chips ; some 
 not bigger than half your hand, and small twigs the sea was 
 throwing ashore. These they were gathering for fuel. So 
 scarce and dear is it that none is used to heat water for washing 
 clothes. They take all their garments out to the fresh streams, 
 and on a pleasant day you will see groups of women from four to 
 fifteen, lining the creeks on every side of the city. They tuck 
 their dresses up above the knees, and kneeling down among the 
 
18 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 pebbles, take one large smooth stone for a washhoard, wrap it up 
 in the article to be cleansed, and then begin to knead it. Al- 
 though there is a great deal of wealth in Genoa, the poor are but 
 little the better for it. 
 
 The pay of a soldier is only a penny a day, and even the offi- 
 cers, most of whom are poor nobles, receive but two francs, or 
 two francs and a half, per day. Notwithstanding all these diffi- 
 culties the common people seem contented and happy. There 
 are no anxious brows as with us. Life and its obligations seem 
 to sit lightly on an Italian. Each one being born into a rank, out 
 of which it is difficult to rise, he makes no effort except to live. 
 His anxieties seem to end with the gratification of his physical 
 wants. He lives for the sake of living. He whistles care to the 
 winds so long as he has food and clothing. With us each gener- 
 ation is placed on one grand race-course — ^the prize being for all. 
 Hence life becomes one long fierce struggle for pre-eminence. 
 The same reward being offered to the lowest that is extended to 
 the highest, it lashes every man to his utmost energy. Existence 
 becomes a feverish excitement and the generation passes through 
 life like a storm. — It is true " mountains are levelled, and seas 
 are filled in its passage," but t?ere has tieen no repose and but 
 little contentment. 
 
ROMANTIC MARRIAGE. J 9 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 House-hunting — ^Romantic Marriage — Spanish Nobility. 
 
 Dear E. — We have been house-hunting. Thinking it would 
 
 be pleasanter to be in the country, L has been ransacking 
 
 the country round for a pleasant residence. The Riviera, as it 
 is called, or the shores of the Mediterranean, on either side of the 
 city, furnishes the most charming place for country-seats in the 
 world. The ground rises immediately from the sea, terraced, as 
 it goes, into vineyards. After a vast deal of talking, riding, and 
 
 seeing, L had finally concluded that one of two must be the 
 
 choice ; so the next day we all got into a carriage, and rode 
 out to see the one on the east side of the city. Passing by the 
 grand and little Paradises, we emerged on to the sea shore, and 
 trotted away for Noli. 
 
 The building was finely furnished and commanded a beautiful 
 prospect, but the entrance to it was from a narrow street, and 
 Mrs. L threw in her veto (as all ladies in such circum- 
 stances, you know, have a right to do). There is quite a little 
 romance connected with this building. It was formerly erected 
 and owned by a wealthy man, who was in the habit of visiting a 
 beautiful peasant girl in the neighborhood. Pleased with his 
 attention, she cast off, as ladies are very apt to do, the rustic 
 lover she had before encouraged. But although her new admirer 
 was frequent and steady in his visits, he never mentioned the 
 subject of matrimony. Things went on in this way for three 
 years, till one night the gentleman was startled, as he was about 
 leaving the house, by the abrupt entrance of the two brothers of 
 the inamorata, demanding that he should immediately marry 
 their sister. They told him that he had- visited her for three 
 years, thus keeping away other suitors, and destroying all hopes 
 of their siriter's marriage except with him : three years were 
 
20 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 quite long enough for him to make up his mind in, and as he had 
 not done it, they had concluded to do it for him. This was bring- 
 ing things to a focus he had not anticipated. For a man of 
 wealth and station to marry a poor peasant girl, merely because 
 he condescended to be smitten by her beauty, was something more 
 than a joke ; yet he saw at a glance that there was more meant 
 by those brothers' speech than met the ear — in short, that his 
 choice was to be a marriage or a stiletto through his heart. This 
 was reducing things to the simplest terms ; rather too simple for 
 the wealthy admirer. 
 
 The trembling, weeping girl, the bold, reckless brothers, and 
 the embarrassed gentleman, must have formed a capital group in 
 a peasant's cottage. At length Signor attempted to com- 
 promise the matter by saying that then was not the time, nor 
 there the place, to celebrate such a ceremony ; besides there was 
 no priest, and the proper way would be to talk over the subject 
 together in the morning. One of the brothers leaned back and 
 rapped slightly on a side door ; it opened, and a priest, with his 
 noiseless, cat-like tread, entered the circle. *' Here is a priest," 
 said the brothers. There was a short interval of silence, when 
 
 Signor made a slight movement towards the door. T^^'o 
 
 daggers instantly gleamed before him. He saw that it was all 
 over with him — that the three years of courtship were going to 
 amount to something after all — and so yielded with as good 
 grace as possible, and the nuptials were performed. Like a man 
 of sense, he immediately placed his wife in a convent to be edu- 
 cated, while he, in the mean time, bought a title. Years passed 
 by, and the ignorant peasant-girl emerged into the fashionable 
 world, an accomplished woman. She is now a widow, and is 
 called the beautiful Countess of . 
 
 I was amused with an illustration of Italian character, in an 
 incident that occurred while visiting another house that the owners 
 wished to let. A woman showed us over the rooms and grounds, 
 whose manners were much superior to those of a servant, while 
 her dress was not. As this service is usually done by servants^ 
 
 and indeed is one of the perquisites of their situation, L sup . 
 
 posed, of course, that a fee was expected. Having no small 
 change, he asked me to give her some money ; but there was 
 
AN INCIDENT. 21 
 
 Bomething about the woman that made me instinctively shrink 
 from doing it, so I gave him the piece and he presented it to 
 her. She colored up to her very temples, smiled in most 
 charming confusion, and discerning, with a woman's quick per- 
 ception, the cause of the mistake, began to apologise for her 
 dress, saying we had taken her quite by surprise. After all pos- 
 sible apologies were made on our part, L turned to me, with 
 
 a most comical look, and said in English, " I mistrusted as much, 
 but really we are not to blame ; she need not dress so shocking- 
 ly." A minute after she disappeard, leaving us strolling in the 
 garden, mortified at our mistake, and regretting the shock we had 
 given the dear creature's feelings. 
 
 Judging her by ladies in general, we expected of course to 
 see no more of her, and fancied her sitting within her room, look- 
 ing the personification of contempt at our want of penetration. 
 But silent contempt is not an Italian woman's mode of revenge. 
 To our surprise, just as we were leaving the gate, a cheerful 
 voice called out to us, and lo ! there came tripping up our abused 
 lady, with some special information about the house, which she 
 had forgotten to mention. The additional information, of course, 
 was all smoke, but not so her personal appearance. In the short 
 time she had been absent, she had doffed her sluttish apparel, es- 
 pecially the villainous handkerchief she wore on her neck, and 
 which would have ruined the beauty of Venus herself, and un- 
 pinned her raven curls, which were left floating coquettishly 
 about her shoulders, and advanced, showing the most brilliant set 
 of teeth, and smiling, oh ! so naturally. The little witch knew 
 she was handsome, and saw by our looks and most deferential air, 
 that she had achieved a victory. She had doubled our mortifica- 
 tion, and left us with the full belief that she was a downright 
 handsome woman. 
 
 This incident, trifling as it seemed, was a whole chapter on 
 Italian character. An English or American woman would have 
 treated the whole thing with sovereign contempt, and gained by 
 it — notJiing ; for nobody but herself would have known it. An 
 Italian woman has pride, but it works in an entirely different 
 way. To her, dignity and woman's rights are nothing j but vie- 
 
LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 ory — everything ; and there is nothing she will not submit to, in 
 irder to gain it. 
 
 To-day we have been to look at a palace, six miles distant, on 
 he other side of the city. It is now occupied by the family of 
 in exiled Spanish duke, the duke himself having recently died. 
 The entrance to it is through an iron gate, and up an avenue 
 ined with hedges of box- wood and rows of trees. In front is a 
 ;emicircular area, filled with statuary, orange, lemon trees, and 
 ^rape vines. You ascend by a flight of steps into the lower en- 
 rance, and then by a marble staircase into the grand reception 
 •oom, which is hung round with old paintings. In one part of 
 he building is a beautiful chapel. Entering at length the door 
 )f the sitting-room, we beheld the two daughters of the old duke 
 it their work. They rose as we entered, and two more striking 
 ivomen I never met. They were dressed in deep mourning, and 
 :heir raven hair was parted plain and smooth, over as polished 
 3rows as ever sculptor perfected. 
 
 Near by stands the old palace of Prince Doria, empty, and 
 "ast sinking to ruins. The keeper of it found we were house- 
 lunting, and sent to have us look at his " palazzo." It was well 
 .vorth seeing, both for its antiquity and noble name ; but the 
 Tiirrors were marred, the paintings moth-eaten, the old furniture 
 •otted away, and the whole interior so forlorn and ruinous, that 
 t made me shudder to walk through it. Up the long avenue 
 hat stretched away below me, the mailed crusader had galloped 
 Dn his war steed, and the area under the window had been filled 
 tvith shaking lances. Knights and warriors had once made the 
 room in which I sat ring with their revels. 
 
 But while my fancy, as is usual in such cases, was galloping 
 Dff at tip-top speed, it was suddenly brought to a dead stand-still, 
 
 by L 's quietly drawing himself up and asking the attendant 
 
 if he did not think the price asked for the old concern was rather 
 "too high % Shade of Don Quixotte ! how knights, and high-born 
 ladies, and fierce old crusaders, scampered away at that question ! 
 I sat down and laughed, till the old keeper thought I was demented. 
 
 L turned, half comical and half inquiring, towards me, and 
 
 \ exclaimed, " Only think, Charlie — that old fellow is showing 
 'his old princely palace over to us two young republicans, with 
 
DORIA PALACE. 23 
 
 as much gravity and deference as if the blood of a thousand 
 kings- flowed in our veins. Oh ! money, thou leveller of kings : 
 
 nay, thyself a king ; ' every inch a king !' " " Well, J ," 
 
 said my friend, " how would you like it here, any how V " Like 
 it !" said I, " why, I should be frightened to death to stay here 
 over night. I would no more sleep here, than I would sleep in a 
 goblin castle. I should expect to sink through six or seven floors 
 before morning, and finally wake up a mile or two under ground." 
 
 The grounds of the palace, however, were magnificent, and 
 the fountains, and orange groves in them, and quiet lakes, with 
 their fairy islands and shady walks, were becoming a prince's re- 
 treat. , You could walk miles under the shade of trees, amid 
 fountains and statuary, without retracing the steps. 
 
 To-night we have had a council over the different places of 
 residence. They were all finally reduced to two, and the veto 
 power lay of course in Mrs. L 's hands. L stoutly de- 
 clared that my vote was worth nothing, as it would be thrown of 
 course for the palace in which the two beautiful Spaniards were. 
 
 Mrs. L , however, decided on that herself, and so, as we say 
 
 at home, the thing "is fixec," and we move our traps next week. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
34 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER VL 
 
 Fimertl in the Morning — Murder of an American Officer 
 
 Dear E. — "We have been three weeks in our home, and a 
 charming one it is for this country. The grounds are terraced 
 up behind it, to the top of a hill, where there is a semicircular 
 area fringed with a hedge of box-wood, and filled with seats, de- 
 signed for pic-nic parties. The view from this spot is like the 
 vision of a dream-land. All the sea-shore is below you, dotted 
 with white villages, and the bay stretches off into the open sea, 
 while the snow-capped Alps are folding their summits together 
 on the far distant heavens. Grape-covered walks interlace the 
 grounds in every direction, and the yellow orange and lemon 
 hang in profusion before our windows. The building has nearly 
 thirty rooms in it, all furnished, and some of them very richly, 
 and the rent is a trifle over 8360 per annum ; so break up your 
 establishment in Broadway instanter — half its expense will en- 
 able you to live here like a prince. 
 
 It takes some time to accustom one's self to these immense 
 rooms. There are but three of us, and three servants, in all, 
 and it seems impossible to expand ourselves to the size of the 
 building. Mr. L., wife, and nurse, occupy rooms on one side of 
 the house, while I am all alone on the other side. The slamming 
 of the great doors, ringing through the vast halls as I go to 
 bed, makes me nervous. I do not like things on so large a 
 scale. Our dining-table is so immense, that we almost need a 
 tinimpet to hail each other across it. One of your snug Ameri- 
 can houses, made on purpose for comfort, is worth a dozen of 
 them. 
 
 The palace of the Marquis of PalaTicini stands on a hill oppo- 
 site us, the bells of whose chapel seem to take a peculiar pleasure 
 in ringing after midnight. If the good Marquis expects to keep 
 
MURDER OF AN AMERICAN OFFICER. 25 
 
 the saint for whose benefit they are rung, quiet in his grave, by 
 these nocturnal rope-pullings, he must liave a singular idea of 
 the way dead folks sleep ; yet I can almost forgive the disturb- 
 ance, for the chimes will sometimes be so sweet and musical, that 
 they mingle in my dreams, and sink away into my spirit like the 
 memory of young joys. 
 
 This morning I was awakened by that mysterious solemn chant 
 heard nowhere but in Catholic countries : rousing me out of my 
 sleep while my room was yet dark, it had an indescribable effect 
 upon my feelings, I jumped out of Wed, and throwing open the 
 shutters, beheld a funeral train winding along through one cornel 
 of our garden — their long wax tapers burning dimly in the grey 
 twilight of morning. One of the peasantry had died, and the 
 friends were bearing the corpse, wrapped in white, to a neigh- 
 boring church. Females, robed in white, with long white mus- 
 lin shawl,-? folded across the top of the head, and falling down over 
 their shoulders, accompanied the bier. The whole procession 
 moved with a rapid step, while that strangely wild chant rose and 
 fell in regular cadences on the air. It finally emerged from the 
 vine-covered walks, and passing rapidly a bridge that spanned a 
 rivulet at the bottom of the garden, disappeared on the other side. 
 I turned to my bed again, but not to sleep. The ghostly chant 
 awaking me out of my slumbers, had struck a superstitious chord 
 in my heart, and that funeral train seemed to me like a visit and 
 a warning from the spirit land, and left a sadness or me that I 
 could not shake off. 
 
 I left this letter unfinished to go to dinner, and while we were 
 at table a carriage drove up, and a clerk of the Consular office 
 was announced, bringing a note from the Vice-Consul, stating 
 that our ]\Iediterranean fleet had just arrived from j\Iahon. This 
 was stirring news, and we were soon en route for Genoa. It was 
 too late for the Consul to board the fleet officially, and so we met 
 Commodore Morgan and his lady on the wharf. The fleet has 
 left Mahon on account of the assassination of one of our midship- 
 men. The disbanded soldiers of the Spanish army are turned 
 loose on the island, and become perfect cut-throats. The feeling 
 among the officers against the government, on account of its per, 
 feet indifference to the murder, threatened serious disturbances, 
 
 3 
 
26 LETTERS FROM IIALY. 
 
 and the Commodore wisely resolved to leave. The midshipman 
 who was killed, seemed to have one of those mysterious warnings, 
 which sometimes paralyze the heart of the stoutest warrior ju^t 
 before an engagement. Owing to the lawless character of the 
 inhabitants, the officers invariably wore side arms when they went 
 ashore. Young Morrison, the afternoon he went ashore, appeared 
 unusually sad, and just as he was about leaving the ship, the offi- 
 cer, who related to me the circumstances, told him he had bettei 
 take his pistols with him. He shook his head, and said seriously 
 he did not need them. " But, surely," said his friend, " you are 
 not going to leave your sword behind." He replied yes, and 
 stepped into the boat. In the evening he was at a Cafe with sev- 
 eral of the officers, and when they left, lingered behind a moment. 
 The officers had not proceeded far, when (said my friend), " I 
 heard a shriek behind me. The next moment young M. rushed 
 by, exclaiming, ' I am killed,' and fell dead." His friends 
 sprang back to seize the assassin, but found only a large Spanish 
 knife on the ground, covered with blood. The murderer had 
 fled. He had evidently watched young M. coming out of the 
 Cafe unarmed, and stepping up behind in the dark, pinioned him 
 tight with one arm, while, with the other, he rapidly gave him 
 three stabs in the heart. The next day it was discovered that 
 M. had taken out his Bible before he went ashore, and read it, 
 and inserted between the leaves a short will, or parting request to 
 hi^: friends, showing that he anticipated his death. So powerful 
 anj mysterious was this impression, that he took pains to leave 
 all his weapons behind him. He seemed to regard his death as 
 fixed among the unalterable decrees. He had had no quarrel, 
 and probably the only reason the assassin attacked him was, that 
 he found him alone and unarmed. 
 
 Some would find in this an evidence of tJie truth of omens and 
 warnings, but if we could look through the causes that led to the 
 impressions in this case, we might find it based on a superstitious 
 notion received in infancy, or an incident slight as the tick of tho 
 death-watch. It was of no consequence whether the cause of tho 
 impression was reasonable, or not — it led him to that carclcsnesa 
 and neglect, Mhich v/ould probably have secured the death of any 
 officer. 
 
THE PEASANTRY 27 
 
 »^«- "" ■ ■ — — 
 
 20th. — To-day I have been back in the mountains among the 
 poorer peasantry. Houses are scattered all through the hills, 
 with nothing but paths leading to them from the sea. Pigs and 
 chickens have free access, and they are. often the only inmates 
 you see on the threshold. The situation of these hovels is highly 
 picturesque. From the top of a ridge I would look down into a 
 deep valley, and there, beside a brawling stream, all buried up 
 in the vines, would nestle something that ought to have been a 
 cottage, but which, alas, was a hovel. It is astonishing to see 
 how the hill-sides in some places are cultivated. Patches, that 
 look scarcely larger than the palm of your hand, spot the moun- 
 tains in every direction. 
 
 Chestnuts are quite a staple article for food. They are about 
 three times as large as our chestnuts, and are eaten in almost 
 every form, but usually roasted. They are also pounded up, and 
 cooked into a sort of pudding. 
 
 In general, the peasantry are more chaste than the other classes 
 of Italians. The seducer may roam among the nobility, and un- 
 less he treads on the toes of some peppery rival, acquires credit, 
 rather than disgrace, by his conquests. But let him go among 
 the peasantry, and his body will soon be found in the highway, 
 with the marks of the knife on him. Among the poor, there are 
 no matches of convenience, made by the parents, and in which 
 virtue and love are entirely useless commodities. The peasant 
 girl has nothing but her character to recommend her, and when 
 that is gone, her hopes of marriage are gone. I must say, how- 
 ever, that selfishness seems to have as much to do with their 
 chastity, as virtuous principles, and perhaps more ; for after mar- 
 riage, the same sensitiveness is not exhibited, and peccadi^oes, 
 and love affairs, are the sources of endless quarrels, and often 
 murders. 
 
 21st. — Last night was a terrific night. An awful storm swept 
 the sea and the shores. I stood by the window at midnight and 
 gazed oft' on the waves that almost washed the foot of the garden. 
 Every few moments the angry swell would fall in thunder on the 
 beach, sending its foam to the roofs of the buildings that lined the 
 shore. Perfect blackness would be resting on everything, when 
 a sudden flash of lightning would light up the whole riviera and 
 
i8 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 bay, while the masts of a vessel struggling against the blast were 
 painted out distinctly against the clouds. While I was gazing on 
 this war of the elements, suddenly over the roar of the waves, 
 and in the intervals of the thunder, came the dull report of cannon. 
 It was a signal of distress. Some vessel at a distance was driving 
 ashore, and that cannon-shot was her cry for help. Nothing can 
 be sadder than to stand on land and hear above the tumult of the 
 ^torm, the minute gun of distress at sea. The staggering ship — 
 ,'error-stricken sailors and the wild death before them, rush over 
 the fancy with every shot. 
 
 I have heard this morning that a Marseilles vessel was wrecked 
 in the storm, but only two of the crew perished. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
CLARA NOVELLO. 29 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 The Carnival — Clara NoveUo — Isola the Painter, &c. 
 
 Genoa, 1843. 
 
 The Carnival here, as in all Italian cities, is the gay season of 
 Jhe year. Balls, routes, masquerades, follow each other in quick 
 succession. The Opera is at its height, and the whole population 
 throw off their cares, and laugh, and dance, and sing, as if the 
 world were a flower garden and Italy the brightest bower within 
 its borders. Clara Novello has been the Prima Donna for the 
 last half of the Carnival. Rome and Genoa had both, as they 
 thought, engaged her for the season, and hence when each claimed 
 her there was a collision. The two Governments took it up 
 and finally it was referred to the Pope. It was a matter of some 
 consequence to his Holiness where the sweet singer should open 
 her mouth for the season. In his magnanimity he decided she 
 should stay at Rome. The managers, however, compromised the 
 matter by each city having her half the time. She had formerly 
 been exceedingly popular here, but contrary to the will of the 
 chief bass singer and thq leader of the orchestra, she attempted at 
 her first appearance, an air unsuited to her voice, and which they 
 told her she could not perform. Of course she failed and was 
 slightly hissed. Her English blood* mounted at so unequivocal a 
 demonstration of their opinion of her singing, and Dido-like, bow- 
 ing haughtily to the crowd, she turned her back on the audience 
 and walked off the stage. The tenor and the bass both stopped — • 
 the orchestra stopped — indeed all stopped except the hissing, 
 which waxed louder every moment. She was immediately taken 
 to her rooms by the Police of the city, and for three days the 
 gens-d'armes stood night and day at her door, keeping the fair 
 singer a prisoner for her misconduct. This is a fair illustration 
 of this government. Even an opera singer cannot pout without 
 
 * Her mother was an English woman. 
 
30 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 having the gens-d'armes after her. On the promise of good be- 
 havior, however, she was released from confinement and again 
 appeared on the stage, where the good-natured, music-loving Ital- 
 ians hailed her appearance with deafening cheers, and repaid 
 their want of gallantry with excess of applause. 
 
 Poor Clara Novello is not the first who has suffered from the 
 tyranny of this military despotism. The other day I went to see 
 the first painter of Genoa. He is a young man, modest, amiable^ 
 and courteous, so much so that J became immediately deeply in 
 terested in him. His name is Isola. He, too, has fallen once 
 under the ban of the government. Like all geniuses he love? 
 liberty; and the first great historical piece he painted and on 
 which he designed to base his claim to be ranked among the firs', 
 artists of his country, was a representation of the last great strug 
 gle Genoa made for freedom. He showed me the design : in the 
 foreorround with his horse fallen under him, strus^gled the foreign 
 governor that had been imposed on the people, while the excited 
 multitude were raining stones and missiles on him, and trampling 
 him under foot. Farther back, and elevated on the canvass, 
 stood the Marquis of Spinola, cheering on the people, one hand 
 grasping the sword, the other waving aloft the flag of Freedom. 
 Excited men were running hither and thither, through the crowded 
 streets, and all the bustle and hurry of a rapid, heavy fight, 
 were thrown upon the canvass. It was a spirited sketch, and 
 one almost seemed to hear the battle cry of freemen, and the 
 shout of victory. Such a picture immediately made a noise in 
 Genoa, where yet slumber the elements of a Republic. It was 
 finished, and admired by all, and treasured by the painter. But 
 one day, while Isola was sitting before it, contemplating his work, 
 and thinking what corrections might be r.iade, his door was burst 
 open, and two gens-d'armes stood before him. Seizing the picture 
 before his eyes they marched him off behind it, to answer for the 
 crime of having painted his country battling for her rights. The 
 painting was locked up in a room of the government, where it has 
 ever since remained. Isola was carried between two gens-d'armes 
 a hundred and twenty miles, to Turin, and thrown into prison. 
 He was finally released, but his picture remains under lock and 
 key. The government, however, liaSf in its magnanimity, con. 
 
ISOLA THE PAINTER, 31 
 
 descended to permit the artist to sell it to any one who will carry 
 it out of the country. Where shall it go ? I would that some 
 American might purchase it. I spoke with him on the subject, 
 and sympathized with him on the wrongs he had suffered. I 
 spoke to him of my country, and the sympathy such a transac- 
 tion would awaken in every grade of society, and invited him to 
 go home with me, where he could breathe free, and his pencil 
 move free, I promised him a welcome, and a reputation, and a 
 home in a republic, whose struggle for freedom had never yet 
 been in vain, and whose air would unfetter his spirit and expand 
 his genius. 
 
 Such language from a foreigner and a republican, he felt to be 
 sincere. He turned his immensely large, black, and melancholy 
 eyes on me, and attempted to reply. But his chin began to trem- 
 ble, his voice quivered and stopped, his eyes filled with tears, 
 and he turned away to hide his feelings. Oh, when I think of the 
 cursed tyranny man practises on man — the brutal chain. Power 
 puts on Genius — the slavery to which a crowned villain can and 
 does subject the noblest souls that God lets visit the earth — I wish 
 for a moment that supreme power were mine, that the wronged 
 might be righted, and the noble yet helpless be placed beyond 
 the reach of oppression and the torture of servility. 
 
 The police of this kingdom is Argus-eyed. Gens-d'armes in 
 disguise are in every coffee-house, and crowd, and party. Two 
 nobles have lately been imprisoned for uttering a few careless 
 words. These spies of tyranny are dogging your footsteps when 
 you least expect it, and report your words long after they have 
 been forgotten by yourself. So afraid is the king of the influence 
 of republican principles, that he has despatched an order to his 
 officers in Genoa to be on their guard and not be very familiar 
 with the officers of our squadron. In consequence, many Geno- 
 ese officers, who were exceedingly polite, all at once have become 
 shy and distant. Only think of 60,000 soldiers to a population 
 of about 400,000, and for a territory about the size of New York ! 
 But these things will have an end. Dream as men will, the world 
 is not merely marking time ; it is onward with a steady step to 
 some goal. 
 
 Yours, &</. 
 
32 LETTERS FRO:\I ITALY. 
 
 LETTER VIIL 
 
 Columbus' MantBcripts — ^Ride on Ilca^eback — Death in the Theatre. 
 
 Cenoa, January, 1843. 
 
 Deas E. — We are back in Genoa. The coming on of the 
 rainy season and the gay season together, made it veiy uncom- 
 fortable so far out of town. Besides, our fleet has moored itself 
 for the winter in port, and many of its officers have their ladies 
 with them, making quite an American society in the city. Our 
 Charge at Turin and lady have" also come down to spend a month 
 or two, so that American stock is quite up in the^ market. Last 
 night I was at a tea-party on board the flag-ship, in the captain V 
 cabin. There were eight or nine American ladies present, and 
 nothing has reminded me so much of home since I left it. Com- 
 modore Morgan is a frank, brave and noble-hearted man, and 
 every inch a sailor. He has unfortunately been laid up with 
 the gout since he arrived, and hence seldom appears in society ; 
 but vrhen he does, his soldier-like bearing attracts universal at- 
 tention. In the Tangier affair he has been more sinned against 
 than simiing. Such officers also as Lieutenants Brown and Grif- 
 fin, and others that might be named, are an honor to our flag 
 wherever they carry it. I forgot to tell you that our " locum 
 tenens'' is in Strada Balbi, nearly opposite the palace of the king ; 
 nearer to it than I trust your house will ever stand to a royal pal- 
 ace — at least while it stands on American soil. 
 
 Horseback riding along this riviera is perfectly delicious. 1 
 do not wonder that Byron and Lady Blessington preferred to take 
 their "tete-a-tete'' on horseback alonsj this maii^nificent sea-shore. 
 Yesterday, towards evening, I took a gallop with Mr. Duralde, 
 a grandson of Henry Clay, and extending our ride farther than 
 we anticipated, we did not return till in the dusk t^ the evening. 
 Being somewhat in a burr}-, we er'vsd the city on a plunging 
 
COLUMBUS' MANUSCRIPTS. 33 
 
 trot, and there being no carriages or horses in the street to inter- 
 cept our progress, we did not slacken our speed. As we ap- 
 proached a narrow street, into which we were to turn, I saw a 
 little donkey ambling along with a load on his back ; but not 
 dreaming he was going to interfere with my motions, I paid no at- 
 tention to him till just as I was turning the corner, when, to my 
 surprise, I saw him also wheeling into the same street, and not 
 hugging the wall either so closely as I thought he might con- 
 veniently have done. Being under full speed, I saw in a moment 
 that a collision was inevitable ; but I supposed his donkeyship 
 would have the worst of it, as I carried both more momentum 
 and more weight. But the load I took to be some soft substance 
 proved to be blocks of marble, against the corner of which my 
 leg came with all the force a rapid trot could bring it. The don- 
 key, load and all, went spinning into the corner of an old palace, 
 but my leg was battered most cruelly by the blow. After I dis- 
 mounted, I found myself unable to walk for a long time, and have 
 limped ever since. This, you would say, should learn me to 
 ride slower, while / would say, it should learn all donkeys to 
 keep their own side of the road. 
 
 The other day I went to see the manuscripts of Columbus, 
 presented by him to the city of Genoa. They are kept in an 
 aperture made in a marble shaft, that is surmounted by a bust 
 of Columbus. The little brass door that shuts them in, can 
 be opened only by means of three keys, which have been kept 
 till lately by three different officers, in three different sections of 
 the city; so highly is the legacy prized. These letters are written 
 in bold, plain characters, and are filled with the noblest senti- 
 ments. Several were translated to me, and one expression struck 
 me as peculiarly characteristic of the man. Speaking of his 
 preservation in his long voyages, and through his great perils, he 
 says : " I am one of the most favored by the grace of God." I 
 never held a treasure in my hand, that had to me such an ines 
 timable value, as these noble letters of the noblest and greatest of 
 men. 
 
 I have seen and heard much of an Italian's love of music, but 
 nothing illustrating it so forcibly as an incident that occurred last 
 evening at the opera. In the midst of one of the scenes, a man 
 
34 LETTERS FROM ITA.LY. 
 
 in the pit near the orchestra was suddenly seized with convul- 
 sions. His limbs stiffened ; his eyes became set in his head, and 
 stood wide open, staring at the ceiling like the eyes of a corpse ; 
 while low and agonizing groans broke from his struggling bosom. 
 The prima-donna came forward at that moment, but seeing this 
 livid, death-stamped face before her, suddenly stopped, with a 
 tragic look and start, that for once was perfectly natural. She 
 turned to the bass-singer, and pointed out the frightful spectacle. 
 He also started back in horror, and the prospect was that the 
 opera would terminate on the spot ; but the scene that was just 
 opening was the one in which the prima-donna was to make her 
 great effort, and around which the whole interest of the play was 
 gathered, and the spectators were determined not to be disap- 
 pointed because one man was dying, and so shouted, " go on ! go 
 on !" Clara Novello gave another look towards the groaning 
 man, whose whole aspect was enough to freeze the blood, and 
 then started off in her part. But the dying man grew worse and 
 worse, and finally sprung bolt upright in his seat. A person sit- 
 ting behind him, all-absorbed in the music, immediately placed 
 his hands on his shoulders, pressed him down again, and held 
 him firmly in his place. There he sat, pinioned fast, with his 
 pale, corpse-like face upturned, in the midst of that gay assem- 
 blage, and the foam rolling over his lips, while the braying of 
 trumpets, and the voice of the singer, drowned the groans that 
 were rending his bosom. At length the foam became streaked 
 with blood as it oozed through his teeth, and the convulsive 
 starts grew quicker and fiercer. But the man behind held him 
 fast, while he gazed in perfect rapture on the singer, who now, 
 like the ascending lark, was trying her loftiest strain. As it 
 ended, the house rang with applause, and the man who had held 
 down the poor writhing creature could contain his ecstacy no 
 longer, and lifting his hands from his shoulders, clapped them 
 rapidly together three or four times, crying out over the ears of 
 the dying man, " Brava, brava !" and then hurriedly placed them 
 back again to prevent his springing up, in his convulsive throes. 
 It was a perfectly maddening spectacle, arid the music jarred on 
 the chords of my heart like the blows of a hammer. But the 
 song was ended, the effect secured, and so the spectators could at 
 
DEATH IN THE THEATRE. 35 
 
 jend to the sufferer in their midst. The gens-d'armes entered, 
 and carried him speechless and lifeless out of the theatre. If 
 this be the refined nature, and sensitive soul, love of music 
 creates, Heaven keep me from it, and my countrymen. Give me 
 a heart, with chords that vibrate to human suffering, sooner than 
 to the most ravishing melody, aye, that can hear nothing and feel 
 nothing else, when moving Pity speaks. But so the world goes, 
 — men will weep over a dying ass, then pitch a brother into the 
 ditch. A play, oh, how they can appreciate, and feel it, they are 
 &o sensitive, but a stern, stirring fact, they can look as coldly on 
 as a statue ! 
 
 The wife of our charge related to me the other day a curious 
 illustration of an Italian's habit of crying " bravo" to everything 
 that pleases him. During the winter there was a partial eclipse 
 of the sun, and the Turinites were assembled on the public 
 square to witness it. As the shadow of the moon slowly en- 
 croached on the sun's disc, they cried out " bravo, bravo," as 
 they would to a successful actor on the stage. 
 
 A priest whom L considers a great bore has just left us. 
 
 He has one of the most treacherous, sinister-looking black eyes 
 I ever saw in a human head. Mrs. L says his presence af- 
 fects her like that of a snake. I rather like him as a character, 
 though I would not trust him an inch beyond his self-interest. 
 He is honest in one thing, however — he says there is not a ghost 
 of chance for a Protestant in the next world, and asserts that I 
 am a gone man, with most provoking coolness. He will not let 
 me stop even in purgatory, where the prayers of good Catholics 
 might reach me, but shoves me straight past into the lowest pit 
 of perdition. I laugh at his charity, and hope a better destiny 
 for him. 
 
 Tru y yours. 
 
36 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER IX. J 
 
 A Day's Ramble through the City of Genoa. 
 
 Genoa, January 10, 1843. 
 
 Dear E. — I uo not know that I can give a better notion of the 
 various little things you meet in Genoa, than by relating the in- 
 cidents of a single day's promenade. 
 
 Yesterday at two o'clock I started out into strada Balbi, and 
 massing the king's palace, Durazzo, and Balbi, and other palaces, 
 came at length to an open square, occupied as a Vettura stand, 
 which was blocked with those old, shabby, shattered, rickety af- 
 fairs called vetture. The horses standing before them, either eat- 
 ing hay or looking as if they never had eaten any, seemed to 
 have been carefully selected from all the smallest, oldest, sickest, 
 poorest, laziest, rejected dray horses of the world. They all had 
 on old Dutch harnesses, and many were supplied with rope 
 traces and reins, while the dirty drivers looked like " scare-crows 
 eloped from a corn-field." You would be amused to see one of 
 these vehicles in motion. Built originally something like a com- 
 mon hack, they have an additional sort of calash top, projecting 
 over the seat of the driver, which, having a decidedly downward 
 pitch, gives to the whole apparatus the appearance of diving at 
 the horses. Take some of the oldest (and they seem cotempo- 
 raries of the Ark) and get the team you would take for a pair o\ 
 poor cows in full motion, and you would be astonished at the cer- 
 tainty with which they reach their destination. It is wonderful to 
 watch how the carriage will keep the general direction of the 
 horses, without appearing to follow them at all. The great thing 
 seems to be, to keep the main run of the street. If I should see 
 a carriage at home performing such evolutions as these vetturas 
 often do, I should certainly halloo to the driver to hold up, in 
 honest fear for his safety. 
 
A DAY IN GENOA. 37 
 
 As I passed this stand I was hailed of course, like a passenger 
 at a steamboat landing, with " a Milano, a Torino, a Lucca, a 
 Pegli," &;c. To the d — 1, said a rough voice behind me. It 
 came frorii an Englishman, who was running the same gauntlet 
 with mywif. He cursed, while I laughed involuntarily, thinking 
 of New York, and wondering what the good people of Gotham 
 would pay to see such scare-crow establishments in their streets, 
 offered to their -service. 
 
 Leaving this rabble, I came to a bend in the street where Balbi 
 is cbanged into i^uovissima. In the side of the wall, in the cor- 
 ner, is a fountak<i, at which women stood washing clothes, with 
 as much uncoi;cern as if they were not in the Broadway of 
 Genoa. 
 
 Coming to f K^ther open space where the street takes the name 
 of Nuova, on which there is not a building but a palace, I saw a 
 group of men in that oval shape which always indicates some- 
 thing of intptcst in the centre. This is a law of bipeds, and 
 knowing i{f universality, I stepped up to look in with the rest. 
 In tlie ceij'Te was a Neapolitan with " twa dogs," which he af- 
 firmed came from the uttermost parts of the earth, even from 
 America. 1 thought very likely, for one resembled a common 
 bull pup, and the other looked like an ordinary black whiffet. 
 The black "one was walking with the most ludicrous gravity 
 around the circle on his fore legs, while his hinder parts were 
 elevated in the air. After he had finished his promenade, the 
 man made a regular stump speech and then introduced the bull 
 pup. He called him up and asked him if he liked tobacco. 
 The little fellow lazily lifted up his fore paws to the man's knees 
 and sneezed. 
 
 He then asked him if he liked maccaroni. He slowly turned 
 up his eye, as much as to say, '- What an insult !" and then de- 
 liberately yawned. " Now," said he to the dog, " we will have 
 some music." On the ground was a piece of carpet, and on the 
 carpet a sort of harp, with a piece of written music fastened at 
 tlie top. The man knelt on one knee, and played an old, broken- 
 winded clarionet, giving at the same time a wink to the dog. 
 The little fellow, with all the gravity, if not grace, of a Miss at 
 a piano, squatted 5own on his hind lesjs, and, laying bis little eais 
 
38 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 back, lifted his fore paws to the harp and played, or rather pawed 
 a sort of running accompaniment to the tune, amid peals of 
 laughter. I shook my head at the man's first statement, and 
 however much pride I might take in owning such remarkable 
 pups as fellow-citizens, I knew none but a dog, born and educated 
 in a land of fine arts and song, could learn music so early. It 
 was an Italian dog and no other. I passed on through strada 
 Nuova, and, turning to the left, came to another open space and 
 another group of men, women and children. In the centre of 
 this were a boy and girl, brother and sister, about ten and four- 
 teen years of age ; and they too were " getting a living." They 
 were from the Savoy Mountains. The girl had a sort of hand- 
 organ swung around her neck, resembling an old unpainted box, 
 out of which she was grinding music, which she accompanied 
 with her voice, and oh, such singing ! The little, shabby, dirty 
 thing, stood with her sun-burnt, pox-pitted face screwed up into 
 a most tragical expression, and shooting forward at intervals, like 
 the opening of a knife blade, to give force to her words, while the 
 strained cords stood out like sentinels on her brown neck and bo- 
 som. The ragged urchin also had a box strapped around his 
 neck, in which was a veritable " coon," that he made dance and 
 whirl to the music. A few steps more brought me on to the 
 grand promenade, " aqua sola" (solitary water), under which 
 rest the mouldering bones of 80,000 people, who were swept 
 away by one pestilence. Around me were fountains and flowers ; 
 above me the terraced hills, and far away the sparkling sea. It 
 was poetry all, even to the far off and glorious sky. Just then I 
 stumbled on a group of women and children, sitting against the 
 sunny side of a wall, looking heads, and from the appearance they 
 seemed remarkably successful. This, too, is Italy, I exclaimed, 
 as I turned into another walk, that overlooked the "' Grand Para- 
 dise," and the residence of Lord Byron. But here, also, I was 
 met by another Italian in the shape of a woman — a beggar — and 
 resembling more a dirty, ragged Indian squaw than an Italian 
 Her sun-burnt hair hung over her face and shoulders, while an 
 old woollen blanket, that extended from her head nearly to her 
 bare feet, served partially to conceal the rags that covered ner. 
 She threw her head on one side, held out her liand, and in a 
 
A DAY IN GENOA. 
 
 pitiful tone exclaimed, "per carita, Signore, mi miserabile." Mis- 
 erable enough she seemed, but as I did not immeaiately grant 
 her request, she began to try the effect of a little English, for 
 ■which she had our Navy to thank. The first words sailors teach 
 are oaths, and they are the only words she knew 'without knowing 
 their meaning. " I say, Signore," she whined, "I say per carita, 
 God damn." I turned away, sick with the lessons Americans! 
 teach the wretched of other lands. 
 
 I turned towards the sea again, and felt I was in Italy ; for 
 there were the beautiful latines dotting the bosom of the water 
 like swans, and with their one great white sail, that looked like 
 a wing, flying on their Avay. It was now late in the afternoon^ 
 but the sun was warm, and a gentle south breeze coming up 
 the Gulf, bland and soft as a June wind ; and so I turned to 
 ascend the mountain that forms the amphitheatre behind Genoa, 
 and which overlooks the entire city, and port, and neighboring 
 sea. 
 
 It was a lonof and toilsome walk. The close hio-h walls that 
 hemmed in the path, mocked every effort to catch a glimpse of 
 the beautiful scene that I knew was spread out below me. At 
 length I reached the summit ; and oh, what a vision lay at my 
 feet ! Beggars and street-singers — all were forgotten. Palaces, 
 and towers, and gardens, and vineyards, and coming and depart- 
 ing vessels, were crowded into one '' coup d'.oeil.'' On the right 
 stretched away the beautiful riviera tow^ards Nice, sprinkled with 
 villages. In front was the sea, washing the base of the Alps, 
 that stood like "earth's gigantic sentinels," with their white hel- 
 mets on, flashing in the clear air and light of the upper regions. 
 Below me were the city and port of Genoa ; behind me the bleak, 
 grey Apennines, piled and packed against the clear sky. On 
 every side between me and the city, were terraced vineyards 
 and gardens. The sun was going to his bed behind the Alps, 
 bathing the whole southern horizon in gold, which was reflected 
 again in the still water. I watched him till his disc disappeared 
 behind a snow peak, leaving a momentary glow of fire on a grey 
 fort that frowned from the summit of a mountain near me, and 
 then turned to the panorama below. A long train of mules issued 
 from the city gates, and wound in single £le along th-^ "^^'iera — • 
 
40 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 the tinkle of their bells coming faint and low at intervals to my 
 ear on the light breeze that ascended (he hill. On every side 
 peasants were returning home ; some along the dim shore, and 
 some winding up the mountain-paths. The muflled sound of 
 carriage-wheels and the murmur of busy men struggled out of 
 the close packed city as the night descended upon it. At length 
 the evening chime of bells rose and trembled over its marble 
 palaces, drowning every other sound with its louder melody. 
 
 I stayed on the hill-top watching the changing scene till dark- 
 ness closed over the whole. At length the lantern of the immense 
 light-house threw its flame over the sea and port, and the full 
 moon seemed to leap above the Apennines, casting its deeper light 
 and shade, on mountain, sea and city. 
 
 I descended to the town to end the poetry of an Italian day in 
 a cafe, over a cup of coffee. But all the varieties of an Italian 
 life had not yet been presented to me. With Italians, poetry and 
 music do not end at the door of an eating-house. While I was qui- 
 etly sipping my coffee, a group entered ; .a man and boy with a 
 flute and violin, and a young woman with a guitar, all from the 
 mountains of Piedmont. They played and sang their mountain- 
 airs, till I began to dream of rocks, and jutting crags, and climb- 
 ing goats, and eagle-nested huts, and brawling torrents, and every- 
 thing in a wild, free existence. But alas, for the poetry of life ! 
 So buried was 1 in my thoughts, that I did not notice the cessation 
 of the song, but sat twirling my spoon in my cup, wondering if 
 it were not better at once to find some quiet nook among the hills, 
 and, Rousseau-like, dream away existence, when the spell was bro- 
 ken by the soft voice of the Piedmontese beside me. I looked up, 
 and there she stood, with a little pewter dish in her hand, most 
 humbly asking for a few sous. Oh ! pretty Piedmontese, what a 
 fall you gave me ! I threw her the coppers, shoved vexatiously 
 vny cup aside, and hastened into the streets. All this, too, was 
 *' for a consideration." Bah! Land of Song ! Yes, truly ; but 
 your inspiration is money. And what is man's boasted independ- 
 ence of will, when so slight a thing can for the moment make a 
 jest of all his resolutions, and wind him, like a wand, around an 
 impulse ! I turned to my lodgings, with three Swiss peasant? 
 before me singing lazily along. Two carried two different parts, 
 
A DAY IN GENOA. 41 
 
 while the third would ever and anon fling in his deep, heavy basg 
 voice, by way of chorus. These did not seem to be singing for 
 money ; but I could not enjoy it, and, weary and exhausted, I 
 thought there was no poetry in the world like the poetry of sleep. 
 I have gone over these little things, because they are the best 
 illustrations of Italian character. In just about this proportion 
 are its music, and scenery, and beggars, and wretches mingled. 
 It is a land of great contrasts. The people, with their poetry 
 and music, seem to me like a speculator in an old Athenian tem- 
 ple, selling its rich ornaments, that were the objects of his ances- 
 tors' affection and veneration, like the trinkets of a toy-shop. The 
 language of Italy was made by poets, and is of itself sufficient 
 to render its people effeminate. Its singing has not been exag- 
 gerated. It seems as natural for an Italian to sing as for a duck 
 to swim, and he enjoys music with a relish we are ignorant of. 
 Some favorite air from Bellini or Rossini will be hummed by a 
 ragged urchin in the streets, or ground out by one of those hand- 
 organs that meet you at every turn. The Italians are, after all, 
 a happy people, and, like the French, seem to live only for the 
 present. The United States they consider as out of the world, 
 and its inhabitants only half civilized. They shrug the shoulder 
 when you speak of its frost, and sing on in their own mild clime. 
 An Italian speculator the other day was inquiring of me how 
 cold New York was, for he had had the intention of trying to 
 grow mulberry-trees in it. I told him the thermometer didn't 
 generally fall more than 20*^ below zero. " Per Baccho," said 
 he, with an expression and a shrug, as if he already felt the ice 
 around him ; " it will never do." The last I heard of him, he 
 had started for Caraccas. He will doubtless fmd it warm 
 enough there. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
LETTERS FR031 ITALY 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Italian Soirees and BeauU- — Marquis of Palavicini — Lew Life. 
 
 Genoa, February, 1841. 
 Dear E. — I suppose you are wondering I say no more of the 
 Carnival and its gaities, but nothing is more stupid than an Ital- 
 ian soiree. Conversation is mere twaddle ; and dancing, and 
 waltzing, and music, are the three great elements of Italian so- 
 ciety. ^Masquerades and balls are common among every class, 
 down to the half-clad becro-ar. 
 
 CO 
 
 The Governor's soirees twice a week, the Marquis di Negro's 
 once a week, and the grand balls of the Casino, of which there 
 are but three during the winter, are the three principal places of 
 the resort of the nobility. 
 
 My first introduction in society was at the old Doge's Palace. 
 As I entered through the grand gateway, guarded by soldiers with 
 their glittering arms, and passed through the long line of Porta- 
 tine, or sedan chairs, arranged on each side of the walk, from 
 which were emerging closely veiled figures; and ascended the 
 long and magnificent marble steps, amid the presenting of arms, 
 into the entrance chamber, filled with liveried servants: I expected 
 to be dazzled with such an array of beauty as never before blessed 
 the eye of man — unless it was King Solomon in the midst of his 
 Harem. Indeed my accustomed self-confidence was fast ooz- 
 ing out, and I have no doubt I should have committed some 
 blunder had not Antonio, like a capital valet as he was, done 
 cver^'thing in its proper time. I first entered a large saloon, and, 
 lo ! it was filled to overflowing with nothing but officers in their 
 uniform. I wandered on till I came to the '-'ladies' room," and 
 it is no more sad than true, there was not a really pretty woman 
 in it. I must acknowledge, however, there were not many pres. 
 ent. The Governor, whether he noticed my disappointment or 
 
ITALIAN SOIREES. 43 
 
 wished to be civil, I know not, said, " You must come next Mon- 
 day evening ; this is a ' conversazione,' and there are but a few la- 
 dies here — Monday evening we have a Ball, and there will be 
 more present." Just then a beautiful creature swept into the 
 room, and the Baroness of L was announced. As she sa- 
 luted the Governor and passed on, he whispered to me, " A very 
 beautiful woman." " Very beautiful," I replied, at the same 
 time drawing a long breath, like one relieved from a long sus* 
 pense, and very glad for the opportunity of making such a remark. 
 But she was a Russian Baroness on a visit to the Governor, and 
 not an Italian. I need not say, that the next Monday I did not 
 go. Indeed his soirees, which are twice a week during Carnival, 
 I find so excessively stupid, that unless I am sure of some extra 
 attraction, I seldom attend. The majority of gentlemen present 
 are officers of the army, who are compelled to attend, so that his 
 Excellency's rooms may not be left empty. The poor fellows sit 
 around the rooms like statues — looking as if it were the hard- 
 est duty they had to perform. These " Conversazioni" do not 
 tempt one by the refreshments furnished ; for I verily believe 
 that ten dollars would pay, each evening, all the expenses the 
 Governor is at in the entertainment. 
 
 The other evening I was at an unusually brilliant assembly at 
 the Palace of the Governor ; and as I was standing amid a group 
 of officers, I caught a view of a head and face that drew from me an 
 involuntary exclamation. There was a beauty and expression about 
 it I never had seen but once in njy life before ; but no one could 
 tell me who she was or where she came from ; yet all looked as 
 if they would give the world to know. At length seeing her 
 seated in familiar conversation beside a lady with whom. I was 
 acquainted, I soon pierced the mystery that surrounded her. You 
 can guess my surprise and pleasure to learn that this beauty was 
 of American origin. She was the daughter of Lord Erskine, 
 Minister to the Court of Vienna. When Minister to the United 
 States he married a beautiful Philadelphia lady (daughter of Mr. 
 Cadvvallader), who, it seems, had transmitted the charms that had 
 enthralled the noble lord to the daughter. You can judge of the 
 effect of American beauty on the Italians, when I tell you,' 
 that while I stood by her, the young nobles marched by in regu- 
 
44 LETTEflS FROM ITALY. 
 
 lar platoons, and paused as they came opposite her, and gazed as 
 if moon-struck. The radiant creature sat " quite unconscious of 
 all this, of course,'^ as the lady sitting by her side not very ami- 
 ably whispered to me. 
 
 Last night the annual Ball was given by the Governor at his 
 Palace, and there were many beautiful women present. At that 
 time alone, during the whole year, unless in court, do the nobility 
 wear the family jewels. On this night they are all exhibited on 
 the necks, heads, and arms of the matrons and their daughters. It 
 makes a perfect blaze of diamonds. The nobility of G^enoa are 
 among the richest of Italy, for the wealth the crusades opened to 
 them in the East is still gathered here. Such a profusion of or- 
 nament I never beheld. There, for the first time, I saw the ielle 
 of the city — the Marchioness of Balbi. I was glad to see what 
 the Italians regarded as beauty, and was surprised to find that 
 she had the light complexion and rosy cheeks of the Saxon race. 
 She was beautiful — very, but of that kind of beauty I do not par- 
 ticularly admire ; it was, what I would term, of the doll kind. 
 But oh, such spirits, and such a dazzling quantity of diamonds ; 
 one almost needed to shield his eyes to look on her. The value 
 of them was variously estimated, but the average estimate seemed 
 to put them at about two hundred thousand dollars. But even 
 her diamonds could not outshine the sparkling joy of her counte- 
 nance. I never saw a being float so through a saloon, as if her 
 body were a feather and her soul the zephyr that wafted it. It 
 made me si^h to look on her. Such aboundinor craietv — such 
 thrilling mirth ! — I knew it could not last ; this world was not 
 made for it. The next time I saw her she was in deep mourning, 
 with her head bowed down like a bulrush. The bloom had gone 
 from her cheek, and the light from her eye. She vanished from 
 the gay world like a stricken bird. Her brother, the Marquis of 
 Palavicini — one of the noblest young men I ever met — liberal in 
 his feelings and handsome in his person — the pride and hopr? of 
 his family — suddenly died. I saw him last at the Marquis di 
 Negro's. As I bade him good evening I was struck with the ex- 
 pression of his countenance ; it had a look so intensely anxious 
 that It fixed my attention. This was Friday evening. Sabbath 
 
MARQUIS OF PALAVICINI. 45 
 
 morning a mutual friend called on me and told me he was dead ' 
 So we vanish, like ghosts at cock-crowing. 
 
 He was extravagantly wealthy, yet simple as *he severest re- 
 publican in his appearance and habits. I never left him, after a 
 conversation, without feeling that he was destined to affect ma- 
 terially the fate of his country. There was a high principle, and 
 a resolute will in him, that always generates great and energetic 
 action. I shall never forget the effect of a remark of his to me, 
 and the manner of it, one evening, in one of the brilliantly illu- 
 minated rooms of the Governor's palace. Amid the dense throng 
 of men on every side, you could detect scarcely one not in mili- 
 tary uniform. The young Marquis was standing alone in the 
 centre of the room, leaning against a billiard table, and absorbed 
 apparently in deep thought, yet with an expression of scorn in 
 his features, perfectly withering. I stepped up and addressed 
 him' ; and after returning my salutation he remarked, with a tone 
 that showed it was caused by no passing feeling, " How contempti- 
 ble is a nation of soldiers, and how pitiful the state of a people among 
 whom the uniform of an officer is the highest mark of honor. '^ 
 I looked at him in astonishment. For a remark less treasonable 
 than that, many a noble, during the past few years, had seen the 
 inside of a prison. That declaration acted upon would revolu- 
 tionize Italy in two months. I turned away, feeling that good 
 would yet come out of that proud young Marquis, or evil to him. 
 
 But he is gone, and one of the most frequent regrets I hear ex- 
 pressed is, that his sister cannot now give the series of splendid 
 entertainments she had in preparation. 
 
 The cause of his death has checked somewhat the flow of vis- 
 itors to our fleet. The young Marquis dined one day, with 
 several of the nobility, on board of one of our ships, and, unac- 
 customed to our strong wines, drank till his blood became over- 
 heated. In the evening, when he came ashore, he went up on 
 the " Aqua Sola," where the wind had a fair sweep, and sat 
 down to cool himself. He took cold — became deranged, and was 
 hurried out of the world. 
 
 Perhaps you complain that I do not give you more particulars 
 of fashionable society, but it is all alike — splendid rooms, bril- 
 liantly illuminated, any quantity of pobility — dancing, waltzing, 
 
46 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 promenading, ice creams, hot punch, and late hours, make up the 
 description. It is gay and brilliant, but without force or wit. 
 You would probably agree with Antonio in his opinion of my 
 taste in such matters. He was very much shocked, the other 
 evening, as we were without the city walls purchasing some 
 things for Mrs. L. (who is very sick), because I asked him to ac- 
 company me into a low, dirty hovel, from which was issuing the 
 sound of boisterous merriment. He expostulated with me ; and 
 in answer to all my reasons, exclaimed, they are " la bassa gente, 
 signore," (low people). *' Exactly," said I, " and that is the 
 very reason I wish to see them. High life is plenty in Genoa, I 
 can see that any time ; I want to become acquainted with low 
 life." Willing, however, that he should not be disgraced by be- 
 ing seen with persons so far below his rank, I excused him from 
 accompanying me, and told him I would go alone. But he was 
 too well trained to think of such a thing, and so, without farther 
 ado, marched on. You should have seen the infinite contempt 
 with which he deposited the entrance fee, and pushed aside the 
 blanket that served for a door, and entered. All the while we 
 were there he stood with his hat on, and rolling from side to side 
 with a kind of swagger, as much as to say, " I don't care what 
 the tastes of those who would call themselves gentlemen may be, 
 but if I were called upon, I should have no hesitation in express- 
 ing my opinion on the matter." The poor fellow really suffered 
 in his feelings. 
 
 The scene was very much like those I have seen in the quar 
 terings of slaves at the South on the evening of a holiday. The 
 floor was the bare earth, and the dancers and waltzers that spun 
 around on it were most of them bare-foot ; while m.any of the 
 men, with the utmost care in their toilet, could muster only a 
 shirt and a pair of pantaloons. The entrance fee, I think, was 
 'bur centisima, or four-fifths of a cent. Truly yours. 
 
ODD BROKERS. 4T 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 Odd Brokers— Terriiiic Storm— A Catholic miracle. 
 
 February. 
 
 Dear E. — I have discovered a new class of brokers, often in 
 great demand here, and who frequently make handsome specula- 
 tions. You may confide the secret to a few particular friends for 
 their exclusive benefit, or you may give it to the world for the 
 good of the public. I received my information from an Italian — 
 a Catholic, and a man of rank, so it can be relied on. 
 
 There are certain monks, priests, and friars, in this country, 
 ready to do any job, provided it pays well. Now it often happens 
 that a man wishes to pay his addresses to a lady, and finds obsta- 
 cles in the lady herself or in her friends. In either case he en- 
 lists a monk in his service, who, having access where he is denied 
 entrance, and influence where he has none, carries on the nego- 
 tiations under more favorable auspices. Through his office, he 
 can bring some motives to bear on the parents that the lover could 
 not use ; and if communication with the lady is desired, he is sure 
 to bring it about. A good catholic would hardly think of turning 
 a priest out of doors, or presume to question him too closely on 
 his actions. He also, through pretence of administering spiritual 
 consolation, can often gain her ear ; and if it should so happen 
 that she herself should be averse to the suitor's prayer, he can 
 work on her fears or feelings " ad libitum." This he does, and 
 often brings about a marriage that otherwise would never have 
 taken place. It matters not whether love or money be the mov- 
 ing cause of the man's wishes; if the priest secures the lady he 
 has three per cent, on all the dowry she brings to the husband. 
 Custom has fixed this rate till it is absolute as law, so that if a 
 monk is the means of securing but one large fortune for a mai; in 
 his life-time, he gets for himself quite a snug little supa against a 
 
48 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 i^ainy day. Now why not introduce this at home, and establish 
 a new brokerage system. I know many lazy loungers in Broads 
 way, who would not hesitate a moment to give even more than 
 three per cent, of the fortunes they try in vain to touch, if some 
 one would only find means to put one of them in their hands. 
 To be sure it would require men of acknowledged taste, and some 
 character, to be successful in such matters. But this makes it so 
 much the better. It would be decidedly a genteel business. A 
 good deal of flattery, some fraud, and a vast deal of manoeuvring, 
 would, of course, be requisite. A proud mama must be wheedled 
 into the belief that her daughter will make a great " speck " by 
 the marriage, or the close-fisted suspicious old Jew of a father 
 convinced that the young man is a perfect pattern of economy — 
 but then three or perhaps six per cent, on 8200,000 ! — that's the 
 point. This matter is now left too much in the hands of friends, 
 who do not make a thorough business of it, and hence do not suc- 
 ceed. I give you the suggestion for what it is worth, only if it is 
 acted on and succeeds, see that I have the credit of it. 
 
 As I am speaking of priests, I will give you another instance 
 of the value of their services to the country. Last week a most 
 terrific storm visited Genoa ; nothing like it has been known since 
 the terrible hurricane of 1823. It came from the southwest, 
 bringing the sea with it, and rolling it up against the base of 
 these mountains as if it would drive them from their seats. Some- 
 times you would almost need a candle at mid-day, so dense and 
 dark were the clouds that hung over the city. Endeavoring to 
 walk around the outer wall of the town that overhangs the sea, I 
 was often compelled to lie flat on my face, to keep from being' 
 carried ofl* my feet, and borne away by the blast. This wall rises 
 thirty or forty feet from the water, and from its top the houses go 
 up fifty and sixty feet higher, and yet the spray and foam would 
 often rise and shoot clean over the roofs of the houses, and be 
 carried by the wind far into the city. The moles that form the 
 harbor, with the sea breaking over them, looked more like snow- 
 drifts, with the snow shooting in horizontal lines from their sum- 
 mits. The two light-houses on them, were half the time merely 
 lofty pyramids of foam, with lantern and all buried under the leap- 
 ing wave. The flag ship, Columbus, parted two of her cables in one 
 
A STORM AND A MIRACLE. 49 
 
 night, although lying snugly in port. One ship parted her an- 
 chor, and came dashing against the wails of the city. Her masts 
 fell at the first shock, and in the morning I saw her hull, shivered 
 into mere splinters, and her broken spars; knocking with every 
 swell against the base of the wall. The oldest officers of our 
 navy, who have been on almost every coast in the world, tell me 
 that tliey never saw so magnificent a spectacle in all their sea 
 life. The waves no longer rolled, but ran, as if they had no time 
 to form high seas: and when they struck the city they sprang as 
 if without weight into the air, and threatened to overleap it. One 
 of the moles was broken through, and the walls of the city in one 
 place demolished, as if the cannon of an enemy had made a 
 breach. As I stood on a projecting point, clinging to the low 
 parapet, and watched the billow as it drove in, till disappearing 
 below, it struck against the base of the wall on which I stood, and 
 rose like an arch over my head, drenching me in its passage, I 
 had the most vivid conceptions of awful power I ever experienced. 
 It was not an angry sea, but a sea run wild, crazy, and dashing 
 in reckless energy against the barriers that dared to oppose it. 
 The co»tinuous roar heard in every part of the city at midnight, 
 w^hen all was asleep save the raving deep was indescribably awful. 
 But one vessel appeared on the horizon during the Vviiole time — 
 the sea had it all in its own way. This was an English vessel, 
 bound from Marseilles to Leghorn, but driven by the gale seventy- 
 five miles up the gulf. I watched her as she drew^ near the port, 
 driving under bare poles, and hung out her pilot flag. The silent 
 request was a vain one, for a boat could not live a moment in 
 that sea. On she surged, till near the mouth of the harbour, 
 when she was laid to, as the captain feared to attempt the entrance 
 in such a tempest, and alone. But he could not carry a rag of 
 canvass, and the vessel drove on stern first towards the city. ] 
 could fancy the short consultation held on board, whether it were 
 best to endeavor to make the port, or hold on outside. It did not 
 take long to decide ; tor in a few minutes the noble bark slow ly 
 wheeled on the waves, and without a sail up, and with her tall 
 masts reeling in the storm, headed straight for the city. An in- 
 voluntary cheer burst from my lips, as I saw her roll into port. 
 Her bow had almost an intelligent look as it appeared around the 
 
50 LETTERS FRO^M ITALY. 
 
 end of the mole, fairly in sight of the haven. It was nobly, gal 
 lantly done. 
 
 But to the priests. The storm raged for three days, and on 
 the fourth, the bishop with the priests went in solemn procession 
 to the Cathedral, and took from thence the ashes of John the Bap. 
 tist (which they pretend are entombed there), and marched to the 
 sea-shore, where, kneeling in presence of the waves, they offered 
 up their prayers that heaven would allay the tempest. This was 
 in the afternoon ; towards evening the wind shifted to the north, 
 and the storm was over. Here was a veritable miracle, and I 
 was curious to know how much it had imposed on the people. 
 So I began in the morning with Antonio, '■' Well," said I, very 
 seriously, "Antonio, there was quite a miracle performed last 
 night — we ought to be very thankful tho?t the priests have been 
 able to check this storm for us." He shrugged his shoulders, burst 
 into a laugh, and said, " Why didn't they pray sooner, before the 
 mischief was all done, and not wait three days. Ah, they know 
 that storms in this country never last more than four days, and 
 they saw the wind was changing before they started." I did not 
 expect so plump a confession of humbuggery by a catholic ser- 
 vant. My next experiment was with a gentleman of wealth and 
 distinction. I made very seriously a similar remark to him. He 
 also gave that peculiar Italian shrug which is the most expres 
 sive gesture I ever saw, and replied. " Umph, they watched the 
 "barometer, and were careful enough not to start till they saw it 
 rising." 
 
 This single fact gave me more hope for Italy than anything I 
 had witnessed. It showed me that the power of the priest over 
 the mind of the people was weakened — that they dared to think. 
 W^hen men who have been long under oppression dare to call in 
 question and scorn the power they once blindly submitted to, they 
 Lave reached a point where change commences. 
 
 Truly, youra. 
 
LORD BYRON. 51 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Lord Byron — Marquis di Negro. 
 
 Genoa, February. 
 
 Dear E. — To-day, accompanied by Duralde, I have been over 
 the palace Lord Byron occupied when he was in Genoa. Here 
 were gathered for awhile. Byron, Hunt, Shelley, and the Countess 
 
 of Guiccioli. Count , a Frenchman, has bought the place. 
 
 I had often met him in society, and he showed us with great 
 civility the various rooms, together with the improvements he was 
 projecting. When Byron first started for Greece, he was driven 
 back to Genoa by a storm, and is said to have expressed sad 
 forebodings as he again wandered over this, his then solitary 
 dwelling. 
 
 The palace stands on a hill, called the grand Paradise, from 
 the magnificent view it commands. As I stood in the front cor- 
 ridor, and looked off on the varied yet ever glorious prospect, 1 
 felt that Byron with his sensative nature must have often becD 
 subdued by it, and especially his bold scepticism have stood re- 
 buked in presence of the majestic Alps that towered on his vision. 
 He wrote the Vision of Judgment here, yet I could not but fancy, 
 that, often at evening, when he rose from his unhallowed task, 
 and came out to look on this lovely scene, his troubled spirit half 
 resolved to abandon its sinful work. The voice of God could 
 reach his heart through nature, and tell " him to his face that his 
 evil was not good." His Italian teacher has been mine, and I 
 often question him of Byron's habits and character. He fully 
 confirms the assertion of Hunt, that Byron was a penurious man, 
 and capable of great littleness. His generous actions were 
 usually done for effect, and if followed out were found to be so 
 managed as not to bring personal loss in the end. Shelley, he 
 eays, was a nobler man than either Hunt or Byrom. Hunt was 
 
52 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 cold and repulsive — Byron irritable, and often very unjust, while 
 Shelley was generous and ,pen-hearted. He had a copy of the 
 " Liberal," which they presented to him, and which I looked over 
 witli no ordinary feelings. In visiting Byron in his room, he said 
 that he noticed four books always lying on the table. No matter 
 what others might have been with them and taken away, these 
 four always remained. It struck him they must be peculiar fa- 
 vorites of the poet, and so he had the curiosity to examine them, and 
 found them to be the Bible, Machiavelli, Shakspeare, and Alfi- 
 eri's tragedies. It immediately struck me, that these four vol- 
 umes were a perfect illustration of Byron's character. JMachi- 
 avelli he loved for his contempt of mankind, making them all a 
 flock of sheep, to be led or slaughtered at the will of one haughty 
 man. It harmonized with his own undisguised scorn. The 
 Bible he read and admired for its lofty poetry, and which Byron 
 by the w^ay never scrupled to appropriate. If in his great ode on 
 Bonaparte, he had followed Homer as closely as he has Isaiah, 
 he would have been accused long ago of downright plagiarism. 
 Alfieri he loved for his fiery and tempestuous nature, so much 
 like his own. There was also in Alfieri the same haughty scorn 
 that entered so largely in Byron's character. He had stormed 
 through half of Europe, without deigning to accept a single invi- 
 tation into society, treating the proudest nobility of England with 
 supreme contempt. He had also the same passion for horses, and 
 the same fierce hatred of control. Shakspeare he admired in 
 common with every man of feeling or intellect. My teacher told 
 me also, that in all his frequent visits to the poet's house, he had 
 never seen him walk. How like a spear in the side that club 
 foot always was to him. His appearance on horseback, with his 
 pale face, long hair, and velvet cap, he said was very striking. 
 The Countess Guiccioli seldom appeared in public with him, but 
 her brother, Byron's private secretary, usually accompanied him 
 in his rides. 
 
 On my return from Byron's mansion, I called on the Marquis 
 di Negro. His " Viletta" occupies a hill that overlooks the 
 sea, and presents from every point you view it, a most picturesque 
 appearance. The hill is walled up on every side, so that it looks 
 like an old castle, while the top is converted into a most beautifu^ 
 
MARQUIS DI NEGRO. 
 
 garden. The Marquis knew Byron well, admired his genius, but 
 shook his head when he spoke of his heart. The family of the 
 Marquis is one of the oldest and noblest of the city, yet he cares 
 nothing for his rank, and prides himself on his literary reputation 
 alone. He is republican in his feelings, and has an enthusiastic 
 love for America. A father to his tenants, and the unswerving 
 friend of the oppressed, his intercessions have released many a 
 poor prisoner from a life of confinement. 
 
 Although it is mid-winter, the temperature is soft and mild as 
 June ; and as the Marquis flung open the windows to let in the 
 air laden with perfume, and the soft breeze from the sea that 
 slumbered below, he brought out his harp and told me to give 
 him a subject for a song. He has been one of the greatest " Im- 
 provisatore" of his time, and still composes with wonderful fa- 
 cility. We had been talking of human freedom, and I gave him 
 " Liberty." He swept his hand over his harp-strings and sung, 
 while he played an accompaniment, one of the sweetest little odes 
 I ever heard. He composed both the poetry and music while he 
 Bung. 
 
 I loved the Marquis before I had ever seen him. When, a 
 stranger in Genoa, I was once wandering over the grounds of his 
 viletta, looking at the statuary interspersed among the foliage: 
 suddenly my attention was arrested by a marble figure standing 
 in a niche, with the inscription over it in large capitals, " ALLA 
 MEMORIA DI WASHINGTON "—" TO THE MEMORY 
 OF WASHINGTON." I was never taken more by surprise 
 in my life. There it stood, the emblem and personification of 
 freedom, in one of the most despotic kingdoms of Europe. No 
 pride prompted the honor, and self-interest was all against it. 
 Feeling, noble feeling alone had placed it there. I never felt a 
 compliment to my country, and my country's father, more keenly 
 than this statue uttered, standing as it did on the soil of tyranny, 
 I sat down at evening and perpetrated the following lines, which 
 I afterwards slightly altered, and read to a friend of the Marquis 
 who was a frequent visitor at our house. He wished me to send 
 Di Negro a copy, and in return the Marquis sent me a collection of 
 his entire works, accompanied with some lines in French, whici. 
 
54 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 I also give, not for the compliment they render me, but for the 
 generous sentiments they breathe towards my country. 
 
 TO THE VILLA DI ^'EGSO. 
 
 Sweet Yilla, from the distant sea, 
 
 Long cradled on its stormy breast. 
 Thy green top kindly greeted me, 
 
 The first sweet harbinger of rest ; 
 And aU tby bowers seemed welcoming 
 
 The weary wanderer from his Lome, 
 While, like the gentle breath of spring, 
 
 Thy odois o'er the wares were borne. 
 
 But when, amid thy classic shades, 
 I saw npon the sculptured stone. 
 What never from a free heart fades, 
 
 " MEilORIA DI WaSHIXGTOX," 
 
 The glad tears came into my eyes, 
 
 And from my lips there breathed a prayer. 
 And gazinof still, with sweet surprise, 
 
 I blessed the hand that set it there : 
 
 And suddenly, I seemed again 
 
 Upon my own, free, native hills, 
 And heard the shout of myriad men, 
 
 That every patriot bosom thrills, 
 « GEORGE WASHIXGTOX, the Great, the Gooor 
 
 But, as I caught its dying fall, 
 I turned where that lone statue stood. 
 
 And loved its mute praise more than alL 
 
 God bless thee, noble Marquis ! thou 
 
 Dost bear thy years with vigor yet. 
 And not in vain upon thy brow 
 
 Is stamped the look of Lafayette. 
 Long may st thou live, the stranger's friend, 
 
 And when thy noble race is run. 
 Around thy grave shall come and bend. 
 
 In tears, the sons of Washington- 
 
 Tlie reference to Lafayette in the above lines is owing to the 
 
 fact that the resemblance the Marquis di Negro bears to the 
 Marquis Lafayette is so striking, that the likeness of the one is 
 often mistaken for that of the other bv those familiar with the 
 
MARQUIS DI NEGRO. 55 
 
 features of both. He is upwards of seventy years of age, but 
 vigorous and active as most men at fifty-five. If you feel in- 
 clined to find fault with the French in the lines of the Marquis, 
 just remember how difficult it is to write poetry in a foreign lan- 
 guage. 
 
 A MONSIEUR HEADLEY.* 
 
 Votre verve se plait d'embellir ma retraite 
 
 Par des accords flatteurs : je vous connais pofete ; 
 
 Mon coeur, reconnaisant k ce trait de bonte, 
 
 Vous oiFre le laurier de rimmortalite. . 
 
 C'est ici que cet arbre a jete ses racines, 
 
 Et a cru par les soins de nos muses latines 
 
 Dans des sieclcs fameux, et lorsque les Romains 
 
 De I'univers entier etaient les souverains: 
 
 Les temps sont bien changes? mais chfere est la memoir© 
 
 De ces hdros brillant dans le sein de I'histoire ; 
 
 Mon esprit se reveilla k ce beau souvenir, 
 
 Qui ne pourra jamais dans mon aime perir. 
 
 Honorer le talent fut toujours ma devise, 
 
 Libre dans mes dlans ma voix n'est pas soumise 
 
 A I'envie, aux dedains, aux prejug^s du jour, 
 
 i^a v6nt6 m'eclaire, excitant mon amour ; 
 
 * 'JrtvA^SLATiox. — Your genius is pleased to embellish my retreat by its flat- 
 tering nuiuDers. I recognize you a poet, and offer you the laurel of immortality 
 Here this tree first cast its roots and grew under the fostering care of our Latin 
 muses in trie jrlorious ages, and when the Romans were the monarchs of the 
 world, 'i'ne times are indeed changed ; but the memory of those heroes is still 
 dear, and my spirit awakes at tbe pleasant remembrance, which shall never 
 perish from my soul. My motto always has been to honor talent ; and, free 
 in my feelings, my voice never submits to envy, scorn, or the prejudices of the 
 day. It is truth, and truth only, that illiuxkines my spirit, and excites my af- 
 fection. America is dear to me, and I adore the name of the immortal Wash- 
 ington, — the conqueror by his arm, and the father by his laws. Who can 
 keep silence in the presence of his gloiy? He refused the honor of sover- 
 eignty to give peace and liberty to his country. In this garden you see his 
 *tatue sculptured, — for a long time the only monument of him in Europe. My 
 4)irit partaltes with yovurs its raptures. Apollo smiles on me, his rays inflame 
 me, and despite my old age I am able, by my strains, to praise your country 
 in the face of the universe. 
 
 John Charles di Negro. 
 
 The Villa, January 24, 1843. 
 
56 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 L'Amerique nrest 3here. et dans remotion 
 
 J'auore avec respet rimmortal Washtngton. 
 
 Et quel etre pouvrait t sa gloire se taire. 
 
 Lui par son bras vanqueur. et par ses lois le pere. 
 
 Qui refusa rhonneur de souverainte 
 
 En donnant genereux la pai:x, la liberte. 
 
 Dans cet Eden fleuri vous voyez son image 
 
 Dre^ee, et des long-temps, par im tribut d'hommago. 
 
 En Europe le seul venere monument, 
 
 Qui recoit de tous iieux et les voeux et I'accent. 
 
 Je partage arec vous ce mouvement de Tame ; 
 
 Apollon me sourit et son ray en m'eufl.amme, 
 
 Et malgre mes vieux ans je puis par mes concerts 
 
 Louer yotre patrie en face ^ Timivers, 
 
 GiA-V Carlo di Negro 
 Delia Villetta, ce 24 Janvier, 1S43. 
 
 Our naval officers in the Mediterranean will haTS cause ong 
 to remember him with gratitude. 
 
 Truly ycHirs. 
 
SOLDIERS AT MASS. %^ 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Soldiers at Mass — Casino— Magdalen — Italian Virtue. 
 
 Genoa, February, 1843. 
 Dear E. — I have noticed several mornings, quite a large por- 
 tion of the army march at nine o'clock past our house to the 
 sound of music, and in about an hour after return. It has puz- 
 zled me much to know what could occupy them so short a time 
 every day at so early an hour — so this morning I followed after, 
 when going down to the end of Strada Balbi, I saw them wheel 
 and ascend the steps of the San Lorenzo church. It was all 
 plain in a moment — the soldiers were attending Mass. I entered 
 behind them, and have seldom witnessed a more impressive spec- 
 tacle. The better companies marched up each side of the nave, 
 and stood with their faces all turned towards the main altar. 
 The two ranks formed two lines, reaching from the door up to the 
 transept. At the word of command they wheeled as one man, 
 face to face, while the officers slowly walked up between them to 
 the farther end, when they wheeled back facing the altar. All 
 was decorous and solemn as a New England church of a Sabbath 
 morning, and those soldiers stood with caps on and muskets to 
 their breasts, under those noble arches and amid those marble 
 columns, as motionless as the marble itself, while a forest of steel 
 glittered above their heads. Suddenly a little bell tinkled in 
 the distance, and a priest entered. It tinkled again, and he ad- 
 vanced to the altar. The third time it broke the stillness a low 
 order passed up the ranks, when a thousand muskets came to the 
 marble pavement with a clang that made my heart for a moment 
 stop its beating. In a moment it was still again, and the long 
 ranks bowed their heads upon their hands, while a low prayer 
 ftrose on the stillness. It ceased, and suddenly from under my 
 very feet, twenty drums broke in, and beat a wild and hurried 
 
58 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 strain so loud and startling, that every stroke seemed to hit my 
 brain. Again it was still, and the voice of prayer alone swelled 
 through the temple. The appearance of that motionless army, 
 the great contrast between the solemnity and silence of divine 
 worship, and the noise of ringing steel and sound of martial 
 music, combined to render the w^hole scene a succession of the 
 most lively yet conflicting emotions. 
 
 Night before last I was at the Marquis di Negro's ; indeed, 
 his " Conversazioni " are the only parties I frequent with any 
 pleasure. There is an absence of all formality in them, and the 
 old Marquis himself is so determined to make every one about 
 him happy, that he cannot but succeed. I mention that night, 
 merely because I was driven into convulsions of laughter by an 
 
 apology which the Marchioness of B made for a misfortune 
 
 that happened to some of her friends the day before. Several 
 of the nobility had been invited on board one of our ships of the 
 line to dinner. After the ladies had left the table, the wine began 
 to circulate pretty freely, and frequent toasts were drunk. The 
 Italians thought it would be the height of incivility not to drain 
 their glass at every toast, and, unaccustomed to our strong wines, 
 soon became tipsy, and hence behaved as tipplers generally do 
 under such circumstances. The ladies, of course, were very 
 
 much shocked and mortified. The Marchioness of B came 
 
 to me to explain the matter. She said the gentlemen felt they 
 must, in courtesy, drink the toasts, or, as she expressed it, "per 
 forzaj''' and the wine was so strong that they were caught before 
 they were aware of it. One of her friends, she said, had been in 
 England, and knew the effect of our wine ; and so when he put 
 the glass to his mouth, let it run down his vest, for he must (" per 
 forza ") pretend to drink. Here she put on such a dolorous look, 
 and passed her hands down her dress to show the way in which 
 the wine flowed into the poor fellow's bosom with such inimitable 
 naivete, that I burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Give 
 me your Italian women to smoothe over a difficulty. 
 
 Last night was the last grand display of the Casino, and I was 
 never more mortified than when the Marquis di Negro, who is 
 the President of it, came to me and said, " I see none of your 
 officers are here, I am told they feel tliemselves neglected in 
 
CASINO, ETIQUETTE, ETC. 59 
 
 the mode of sending out the invitations. I have been to the Con- 
 sul and to the Commodore, and requested them to invite them all. 
 I heard they refused to come before from the same reason, and 
 hence have done everything in my power to secure the pleasure 
 of their company, and regret exceedingly not to see them present." 
 I had nothing to say, but hung my head in mortification. It was 
 true that some of the officers deemed themselves not sufficiently 
 recognized in the invitation, and hence the whole banded together, 
 thus publicly to resent the affi-ont. If it had been any one else 
 but Di Negro, I would have minded it less ; but to wound him, 
 who had never ceased lavishing his kindest attentions on our 
 Navy since it had been in port, seemed ungenerous. 
 
 A great deal of this silly adherence to rigid etiquette has been 
 exhibited by many of our officers, much to their own discredit. 
 The Consul has done everything in his power, and has been un- 
 wearied in his exertions to render the stay of the officers agreea- 
 ble. The Governor has given him a carte hianche for all his 
 balls. Conversazioni, soirees, &c., which he fills up with the 
 name of every American gentleman who enters the city, and 
 wishes to mingle in its society. Great courtesy is also extended 
 towards the captains of our merchantmen, and we venture to 
 say, they never entered a port where they received so much at- 
 tention from a public officer, as from him. We w^ish some of our 
 consuls farther south had more of his urbanity, and willingness, 
 nay, anxiety, to render every service to Americans. We wish, 
 also, that Government would honor the office with a salary, that 
 it may be better able to honor the Government in return. There 
 is no accounting for the meanness of our Government in its treat- 
 ment of our Consuls, except by saying it has become such a habit 
 it is overlooked. The money thrown away yearly, in sending 
 out ministers to be recalled in three months, would support thirty 
 consuls where they are needed, but cannot now live except on 
 their own incomes. 
 
 Among the literary men I have met, none have pleased me 
 more than Prof. Botta, Professor in the Genoa University, and a 
 relative of the historian Botta. News has reached us that Silvio 
 Pellico is dead. I regret his death the more, as I had a letter oi 
 
60 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 introduction to him, and hoped to have seen the patriot before I 
 left the country.* 
 
 Two things you wish to hear about before I leave Genoa — its 
 aits and morals. There is but little statuary here, and although 
 there are many valuable paintings in the private palaces, they 
 are so overshadowed by those of Florence and Rome that they 
 do not attract the attention they deserve. In the Durazzo palace 
 is a Magdalen that has but one equal in the world, and that is 
 precisely like it, and is in Venice. Its beauty consists in its nat- 
 uralness. It is not a beautiful woman in despair, dressed or un- 
 dressed, as the CcLse may be, for effect, but one simply in grief, 
 and whose beauty the artist has taken no pains to conceal, is 
 marred by the excess of her wo. Her eyes are swollen with 
 weeping, and turned to heaven with that beseeching look in which 
 faith is always mingled — indeed, her whole face is a prayer. The 
 storm of passion is past — she has sobbed her grief away, and 
 exhausted and penitent, is leaning on the arm of Infinite kindness. 
 In the noble face is blended penitence, with the shame forgotten 
 in her strong love ; sorrow without despair, and faith VN'ithout 
 boldness. 
 
 The architecture of Genoa might be studied by artists to ad- 
 vantage. It has not the meretriciousness of that farther south, 
 but combines simplicity, beauty, and strength. 
 
 I wish I could speak favorably of the morals of the city. The 
 middling classes, composed of merchants, lawyers, physicians, 
 &c., are more virtuous ttian the nobility. Among the latter, 
 chastity is not regarded as of any particular consequence. The 
 custom of cavaliere servanie originated here. What would you 
 think to see one of the highest officers in the army mingling in 
 the highest circles of the kingdom, while living in open nicest, or 
 of a lady of the highest title of nobility, whirling in the most 
 fashionable saloons, whose character is no better than that of a 
 femme de pave ? Last night at the Casino, my friend introduced 
 a tall ofiicer to an American lady by his request. He was minus 
 an eye, and she, thinking it was lost in battle, looked in admira- 
 tion on the honorable scar. Alas, it was struck out by the dag- 
 ger of an indignant husband in his own house. An Italian woman 
 
 * We afterv.ards heard that the report was imtrue. 
 
ITALIAN VIRTUE. 61 
 
 of rank, without her lover, deems herself unfortunate indeed. 
 Italians love, and love wildly, but they want new objects. No- 
 thing but the intensity of a fresh passion can satisfy them — yet it 
 is no affectation with them — it flames up in the heart with a fierce- 
 ness unknown in our cold climate. 
 
 A descendant of Prince Doria is now in the city, though sel- 
 dom seen out of his palace. Engaged to a lady of high rank in 
 Rome, he went on a short visit to Paris, where he fell in love 
 with a French woman, and entered into a contract of marriage 
 also with her. His betrothed in Rome hearing of it abandoned 
 herself to despair, and pined rapidly away. The news of her 
 sickness and approaching death reaching young Doria at Paris, 
 brought back all his old affection, and he hastened to Rome, but, 
 alas ! to hear, that only the day before his arrival, she was laid 
 in the grave, that receptacle for broken and weary hearts. Sev- 
 eral young nobles, friends of her and her family, bound them- 
 selves by an oath never to rest till they had slain Doria. He 
 made his escape by night, and is now at Genoa in perpetual fear 
 of liis life. His first love is in her grave — his second has cast 
 him off in scorn, and the wreck that both have left him, he has 
 time now to muse upon. There are two worlds we live in, my 
 dear cousin, and there are wilder battlefields than Waterloo in 
 one of them ; and fiercer storms than shake navies to pieces, and 
 more terrific volcanoes than outward ones — battlefields of the 
 heart — ^tempests of feeling, and volcanoes of passion. And there 
 are victories, whose ruin is greater than defeat — victories won 
 over blasted affection, by renouncing love and confidence for ever. 
 Thus we live — our heads above water, and our hearts under it. 
 All the splutter and motion' is on the surface, but the deep dark 
 tides and boiling eddies are beneath. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
62 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 The Scenes of the Carnival — Cheathig the Church — Blind Man, &lc. 
 
 Genoa, 1843. 
 
 Dear E. — The Carnival is over, and the long holiday of the 
 Kingdom is closed. The streets look silent and lonely ; for the 
 gay placards, announcing a festive scene for the night, and which 
 seemed to give elasticity and life to the passer-by, are seen no 
 more. The Opera-FIouse looks silent and deserted, and all the 
 people feel the effect of this sudden suspension of their festivities. 
 The church bells have a solemn tone ; — ^the carriages do not 
 move so briskly through the streets, and the shops no longer hang 
 out their flashy costumes to entice the gay masker or dancer of 
 the coming evening. You cannot conceive the effect of this 
 sudden change from the excess of every pleasure to none at all. 
 The festivities of the Carnival go on increasing to its close, even 
 to the very last hour : and when the great bell of the Cathedral 
 strikes the hour of twelve, sending its slow and solemn peal over 
 the city, the dissipation of the people is at its highest pitch. The 
 city fairly reels under the boisterous mirth of that last hour of 
 Carnival : — knowing that forty days Lent is before them, they 
 crowd the flying minutes to overflowing with pleasures. But 
 when the hammer of that deep-toned bell announces that the last 
 hour and the last minute have expired, all is changed, and the 
 rnasker and the dancer throw aside their follies, and repair to the 
 Churches to offer up their prayers and confessions. 
 
 They have one curious custom, however, at the Theatre on the 
 last night. The Pit is cleared of its seats, and forms with the 
 stage one grand hall. The whole is brilliantly illuminated and 
 filled with maskers and dancers. The law is, that no dance shall 
 be commenced after the great bell of the Cathedral has struck the 
 hour of midnight. They are not required, however, to stop in 
 the middle of one already begun, but are permitted to dance 
 
CHEATING THE CHURCH. 63 
 
 it out. Taking advantage of this law, just before midnight, they 
 divide the Orchestra and form a new dance. One part of the 
 Orchestra rest till the other become fatigued, when they relieve 
 them. There are always enough dancers to keep the set full, 
 and yet half the company be resting. In this way the dance is 
 not ended till two o'clock. By this simple process they cheat the 
 Church out of two good hours. 
 
 As I remarked, the last night is the gayest of all : and so ia 
 the last day, with the exception, perhaps, of the last Sabbath. 
 On these two days they mask in the streets. It was an odd spec- 
 tacle to see the entire length of the main artery of the city lit- 
 erally packed with human heads, most of them not attempting to 
 move forward, but standing still to see the carriages and gro- 
 tesque figures pass and repass. The carriages would come to- 
 gether in a long train, the horses on a slow walk to escape tram- 
 pling the multitude under foot, carrying men, women and chil- 
 dren, tricked out in every costume the fancy could invent. It 
 was impossible to distinguish between footmen, drivers, and their 
 lords. Now would pass a rich carriage with its coat of arms, 
 and filled with men and women of the thirteenth century, and 
 behind it, four painted and grotesque figures on four ponies read- 
 ing aloud a magnificent will, bequeathing any amount of property 
 to whoever could get it. Now would pass a buffoon on foot, 
 with an immense wooden paddle, with a hole in it six inches 
 across for a quizzing glass. Next on donkeys three persons whom 
 I took from the cut of their boots which dangled below their 
 dress, to be American officers. One was in the costume of a 
 woman, with a bonnet on, a rich lace shawl over her shoulders, 
 and a white satin dress, which, as she rode astride, was pulled back 
 over the tail of the donkey and descended nearly to the ground. 
 The large, rich flounce dangled around his fet-locks, and drew 
 peals of laughter from the spectators. Noses as long as your 
 arm and steeple hats like sugar loaves would project from some 
 elegant carriage. An old woman would meet you carrying a doll 
 baby, and weeping piteously over its misfortunes. As the long- 
 train of carriages approached, the crowd, that literally crammed 
 the entire street, would slowly part, like waves before a moving 
 vessel, and when it had passed, like those waves would again close 
 
U LETTERS FKOM ITALY. 
 
 in behind. In the villages out of the city every public square 
 was filled with gay dancers, bounding merrily under the light of 
 a pleasant sun and an Italian heaven. 
 
 But amid all the shifting and fantastic characters that moved 
 and sported around me, there was one plain unmasked figure that 
 interested me more than all. It was an old blind man that I had 
 often seen in the streets when the sun was pleasant and the air 
 was mild, led by a little child. To-day he was alone. At first 
 I thought I was mistaken. It could not be he — thus left alone amid 
 the jostling multitude. But there was the same woollen cap over 
 the grey hairs — ^the same old rusty surtout coat — the same sight- 
 less eyeballs. He had selected a part of the street less thronged 
 than the rest, and was feeling his way through Strada Balbi — one 
 hand slowly passing along the walls of the palaces, and the other 
 tremulously grasping a stout cane. But why was he there alone 
 so sad and mournful ? He could see nothing of this aboundinor 
 gaiety, and his countenance wore none of the mirth that made the 
 street ring around him. ' No one watched him — no one seemed to 
 care for him. He seemed a walking reproof to the high-blooded 
 and careless youth that shouted by. As I watched him hugging 
 the wall, that he might not be caught away, and borne off by the 
 living stream, and with slow and unsteady steps threading his way 
 under the shadow of these mighty palaces, I immediately divined 
 the whole. He could not find it in his heart to tie the child, that 
 usually piloted him in his wanderings, to his side amid such re- 
 joicings. All had gone off, leaving the old man behind, as unfit 
 to be taken among the crowd. In his solitude he had sat, and 
 heard the murmur and shouts without his dwelling, reminding him 
 of his boyish days, till he could sit quiet no longer. Alone, unaid- 
 ed, he had groped his way into the streets. The tread of hasty feet, 
 the mirth and the laughter, quickened the blood in his old veins, 
 and the scenes of his boyhood came back on his faduig memory. 
 Half sad, half glad and half fearful, he thus passed along, 
 probably for the last time, the streets of his native city on the 
 last day of Carnival. So I have seen an old blind man in my 
 own country, sitting in the mild air of a summer evening, leaning 
 on the top of his cane, and listening with a sad smile to the laughter 
 and mirth of ooys at play on the village green. Truly yours. 
 
CIVITA VECCHIA. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Leghorn — Civita Vecchia — Naples. 
 
 CiviTA Vecchia, March, 1843L 
 
 Dear E. — I see you staring at the date of this letter, and 
 wondering what I have to do in " Civita Vecchia" (old city) — • 
 why just nothing at all, only calculating how long it will take 
 me to get out of it. I have been in my share of villainous towns, 
 but this has a combination of qualities in this respect, that defies 
 all comparisons. The suburbs are barren as a desert, and the 
 inurhs dirty as a choked up sewer. The people look like cut- 
 throats that have starved at their business, and the inside of the 
 churches, like the refuse of the almshouse. I walked over it 
 with an English lady — an acquaintance of Dickens by the way — 
 who tells me that Dickens is getting out a work, reflecting on us 
 in a manner that -will throw his " Notes on America" entirely in 
 the shade. She says she supposed our rapturous reception of 
 him was occasioned by the fear we had of his pen. Shade of 
 Hector defend us ! this is too much. However, we deserve it, or 
 rather those of my countrymen deserve it, who out-did Lilliput in 
 their admiration of the modern Gulliver ; for I plead not guilty to 
 the charge of " fool" in that sublimest of all follies ever perpe- 
 trated by an intelligent people. I will cry " bravo " to every 
 pasquinade Dickens lets off on that demented class, who cried 
 out every time they saw that buffalo-skin over-coat appear, " The 
 Gods have come down to us." 
 
 Do you ask how T got here ? by steam ! They charge on the 
 Mediterranean steamboats, at the rate of ten dollars for the dis- 
 tance between New York and Albany. Their mode of running, 
 or rather their habit of stopping, is very convenient for travellers. 
 We started in the evening from Genoa, and waked up in the 
 morning in Leghorn. We remained in port all day, allowing 
 
66 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 the passengers time to visit Pisa and return. The English 
 Cemetery at Leghorn is very beautiful. I walked through it to 
 find the tomb of SmoUet, and while in quest of it met an English 
 lady in search of the same thing ; who civilly asked me if I could 
 point it out to her. I returned with her to the tomb, and while 
 there, remarked to the friend with whom I was in company, that 
 he had better pluck a flower, to carry back as a memento to 
 America. " What," said the lady to me, " are you an Ameri- 
 can ?" I replied that I was. " And from what part of the United 
 States ?" " From New York." She then asked me if I knew a 
 painter by the name of Coates. I told her I did not, but I be- 
 lieved I had seen his name in the catalogue of those who had 
 paintings in the Academy of Design. She said he was an Eng- 
 lishman by birth, and had removed to New York and married an 
 American lady. About the time the President was lost, he was 
 expected in England, on his way to Italy. Since then he had 
 never been heard of. Much anxiety had been felt on his account, 
 and it was feared he had gone down in the ill-fated vessel. I 
 replied, I supposed it was a very easy matter to determine that, 
 by consulting the list of those who embarked in her. " Well," 
 said she, " if you ever see him in New York, tell him you met 
 his mother at Smollet's tomb," and burst into tears, and turned 
 away. She gave me no opportunity of making farther inquiries, 
 and I saw her no more. It struck me as exceedingly singular, 
 that she should be his mother, and yet not know whether he sunk 
 in the President or not, and still more singular that she should 
 expect I would see him before she would even know whether he 
 was dead or alive. He must be a singular son, or " thereby 
 hangs a tale," that the mother might unfold. 
 
 The wind blew like a hurricane from shore, as we came down 
 the coast last night, but the sea kept smooth except when we were 
 passing from point to poLit, across some large bay. The steamer 
 was a snug sea-boat, and walked with almost noiseless step 
 among the many islands that surrounded her. It was nearly mid- 
 night when we passed Elba, and I cannot describe to you the feel- 
 ings with which I gazed on that island, casting its great, silent 
 shadow over the sea. Bonaparte has left his image on every 
 point of land he has touched ; but one's reflections of him always 
 
NAPLES. 67 
 
 end painfully, and the mind runs down from Emperor, liero, war- 
 rior, to robber, where it stops. Strange, but the keen repartee 
 said to have been inflicted on him once by an Italian lady, came 
 to me as I looked on the Island. Said Napoleon once in company, 
 speaking of the thieving propensities of the Italians, " tutti gli 
 Italiani sono i ladroni," (all the Italians are robbers). " Non 
 tutti," replied the lady, " ma bona-partef" not all, but the greater 
 part, or, Bonaparte. This is almost too good to be true. 
 
 I forgot to mention one thing of Civita Vecchia, and which I 
 here record to the honor of the only decent man in it. The 
 Englishwoman and myself were walking around the town, and 
 finally, as promising some relief, stepped to the walls of the city 
 for the purpose of looking off upon the sea ; but at every attempt 
 we were repulsed by a soldier, who said it was forbidden. The 
 silliness of the command, just as if it were possible that any liv- 
 ing man could be such an unmitigated fool as to wish to recon- 
 noitre the walls for the purpose of ascertaining their weakness, so 
 as one of these days to scale them, made me resolve to resist it. 
 So stepping up to a soldier, who had just driven us back, I said 
 in my blandest tone, " Why, you cannot be so ungallant as to re- 
 fuse to permit a lady to look over the walls just for one moment.^' 
 He looked around to see if any one was watching, and replied, 
 " Well, for one moment, I don't care, but only one moment." I 
 had conquered, so sfepping up, we looked over, and lo, we saw — . 
 nothing. I thanked the fellow for his civility, and if I had any 
 influence with his Holiness, he should be immediately promoted. 
 
 It was a beautiful evening when we wheeled out of the con- 
 temptible little port of Civita Vecchia, and sped off for Naples. 
 The wind had lulled, and the sea rolled with a gentle swell as 
 our gallant little steamer shot along the Italian coast. Just at 
 sunset we came opposite the Tiber, where it empties into the sea 
 at Ostia, the ancient port of Rome. The dome of St. Peter's 
 frowned grey in the distance, backed by snow peaks, and I began 
 to feel the influence of the "eternal city" upon me. Around 
 that port had clustered the Roman galleys, laden with the spoils 
 of successful war— on their way to Caesar's palace. What a 
 
68 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 change the centuries had wrought! I cculd not but picture to 
 myself how Csesar would have looked, if when lying off this port 
 with his fleet, he had seen a steamer, breathing fire and smoke 
 from her decks, and without sail, driving right down against wind 
 and sea upon him. Methinks he would have told his helmsman, 
 notwithstanding he " bore the great Csesar," he had better haul 
 a little closer in shore ; and all the galleys would have huddled 
 like frightened swans into Ostia. Really Caesar's galley did look 
 small beside our steamer. All this time my friend stood leaning 
 over the rail, and gazing off on the shore, looking as if memory 
 was busy with the mighty past. But just when I was expecting 
 some extremely poetical sentiment, he drily remarked, without 
 looking up, as he knocked the ashes from his cigar, " I wonder 
 if Cassius ever did swim across that river with Csesar on his 
 back." 
 
 At length the full round moon rose over the scene, turning the 
 sea into a floor of diamonds, over which our vessel went curtsey- 
 ing, as if herself half conscious of the part she was acting in front 
 of old Rome. All seemed to feel the inspiration of the hour, and 
 were scattered around on the moonlit deck in silent musing. It 
 was an hour when home and its memories visit the spirit, and the 
 heart travels back over the long interval to its place of repose. 
 A Russian baroness and her niece, a sweet Finlandese, who were 
 leaning over the side of the ship, humming fragments of melodies, 
 at length burst into a native song, sending their rich voices far 
 over the moonlit sea. A handsome Greek stood by with his dark 
 eye and solemn face, drinking in the poetry of the scene and the 
 music of the strain, till, unable longer to contain his feelings, he 
 bowed his head on the bulwarks and covered his face with his 
 hands. A French Count sat on the quarter-deck kicking his 
 heels against the cabin, humming snatches from some opera by 
 way of accompaniment to the song. He seemed quite uncon- 
 scious of the discords he was making, while the Finlandese would 
 ever and anon turn her blue eye inquiringly towards him, as if 
 she would ask what he were trying to do, till she could contam 
 herself no longer, and burst into a clear laugh, that rang almost 
 as musical as her song. This broke up the poetry of the scene, 
 and we subsided away into a good-natured chit-chat, until one 
 
NAPLES. 
 
 after another dropped off into the cabin, and my friend and my- 
 self were left alone with the moon and the night. That glorious 
 moolight sail along the coast of Italy has left its bright impression 
 on my heart for ever. 
 
 As I rose in the morning and went on deck, the first object that 
 arrested my attention was the top of Vesuvius, which I caught 
 through a notch in the mountain, sending up its dark column of 
 smoke in the morning air. Islands came and passed us, till at 
 length, rounding a point of land, the far-famed Bay of Naples 
 opened before us. I cannot say the entrance struck me as pecu- 
 liarly beautiful — the approach to Genoa is far more impressive. 
 There is no striking back-ground of hills; and with the exception 
 of St. Elmo, there is nothing on which the eye rests with peculiar 
 interest. The beauty of the bay is seen in riding round it. In 
 this aspect it is unequalled, for wherever you go there bends that 
 same beautiful curve, sprinkled with villages, while Capri and 
 Ischia sleep quietly out at sea. Take away the associations of 
 both, and I think a stranger would be more impressed with the 
 entrance to New York harbor, than with the entrance to the Bay 
 of Naples. Association is everything. Clothe the shore with 
 buried cities, and spread an air of romance over every hill-top, 
 and it is wonderful how different rugged nature will look. On 
 the other hand, let all the associations be those of commerce, and 
 the most beautiful scenery will have a very matter-of-fact appear- 
 ance. There is a dreamy haze over everything around Naples 
 that gives its scenery a soft and subdued aspect ; added to this, 
 there is a dreamy haze also over the spirit, so that it is quite im- 
 I iissible to see ordinary defects. But don't misunderstand me — 
 the bay of Naples viewed from shore is the most beautiful bay I 
 have ever seen, but, approached from the sea, inferior to that of 
 New York. Set Vesuvius in motion, and pour its lava in, fire- 
 torrents down the breast of the mountain, lighting up the shore 
 and sea, and painting in lines of blood on the water each approach- 
 ing vessel ; and make a canopy of cinders and sparks boine hither 
 and thither by the night wind, while the steady working of the 
 fierce volcanic engine is like the sound of he^^y thunder — and I 
 grant you that the approach to Naples would be unrivalled. 
 
 Truly ^ours. 
 
TO LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 LETTER XVI. . 
 
 Visit to Pompeii — Ruins — Character of the People. 
 
 Naples, March, 1843. 
 Deae E. — The Neapolitan maxim, " Vedi Napoli e poi mori," 
 — '' See Naples and then die," — is not so egotistical. The man 
 who dies without seeing it, that is, in one of its most favorable 
 aspects, loses no ordinary pleasure. There is a combination of 
 scenery here to be found nowhere else, though particular portions 
 of it may be seen in every country. But here is a beautiful bay, 
 islands, cities, villages, palaces, vineyards, plams, mountains, and 
 volcanoes, gathered into one " coup-d'ceiL'^ There is the grandeur 
 of the past, and the beauty of the present ; ruined temples, and per- 
 fect ones ; living cities, and buried ones ; and over them all a sky 
 that would make any country lovely, however rugged. Day before 
 yesterday I rode out to Pompeii. At 8 o'clock I landed from the 
 steam-boat — at 101 was on my way with an English gentleman and 
 lady for the city of the dead. It lies twelve miles distant, and in the 
 clear air and new objects that surrounded me, I forgot the object 
 that had hurried me away. Now an old-looking vehicle would pass 
 us, whose shape could hardly be made out, from the number of 
 ragged, dirty beings that covered it — standing, sitting, lying, and 
 indeed piled up in every direction, so as to occupy the least possible 
 space. I counted on several of these two-wheeled, one-horsed 
 vehicles, ten persons. There would sit a row of miserable-look- 
 ing women outside of their houses, all engaged in the same occu- 
 pation — looking heads. Here a little urchin would be sitting on 
 the ground, with his head between the knees of a woman who 
 was busy with his head, while behind her stood a third perform- 
 ing the same kind service, and all forming a group both ludi- 
 crous and revolting. In another direction would stand a man in 
 the streets with a plate in one hand, while from the other lifted 
 
POMPE/L 71 
 
 over his head, which was thrown back to a horizontal position, 
 hung in tempting profusion long strings of maccaroni, that dis- 
 appeared down his neck like young snakes in the throat of their 
 mother. Thus we passed along through Torre del Greco, and 
 the ancient Oplonti, and then emerged into the open country, 
 where the piled-up lava and barren hill-sides reminded us that 
 we were approaching a scene of volcanic fury. Yet here and 
 there were green patches from which the balmy bean sent forth 
 its fragrance, contrasting strangely with the lava walls that en- 
 closed them. 
 
 We at length reached the gate of the ancient city, where we 
 left our carriage, and commenced the strangest city promenade I 
 ever made. I had always supposed that Pompeii was like Her- 
 culaneum, and that one must descend to enter it. But the buried 
 city forms a hill, and is excavated from a level, so that j^ou en- 
 ter it as you would any other town. We first entered the house 
 of Diomed, one of the aristocrats of the city. We descended into 
 the damp, dark wine cellar, where the bones of his family were 
 found, whither they had fled for safety from the storm of ashes 
 and fire that overwhelmed them. There, against the side of the 
 v/all, amid the earthen wine-jars that still stood as they did on the 
 last day of that wild tempest, was the shape of the outstretched 
 arms and the breast and head of her who had fallen against it in 
 her death-agony. Nothing remained but the bones and jewels, 
 to tell the sad story of her torture and suffocation in that 
 dread hour. But I cannot go into details. They have been 
 written over a hundred times. There were baths, and dressing 
 and dining rooms, and work-shops, and wheel-worn streets, where 
 the living multitude had moved, and luxuriated, and toiled. We 
 saw tombs that were themselves entombed ; rooms for washing 
 the dead, where the living were suddenly buried unwashed and 
 uncoffined ; beer-shops, with the marks of the tumblers still fresh in 
 the smooth marble — and the mill-stones that still turned to the hand 
 in the self-same way they turned nearly two thousand years ago. 
 There too were the brothel, and theatre, and dancing-hall. The se- 
 cret orifice through which the priest sent his voice to the statue, to 
 delude the people into the belief the god had spoken, was now dis- 
 closed. I walked through the house of a poet, into his garnished 
 
72 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 sleeping apartments, forming, in their silence, a part in a greater 
 drama than he had ever conceived. I stood before the tavern 
 with the rings yet entire to which the horses were fastened, and 
 where the bones of a mother and her three children were found 
 locked in each other's arms. Temples were overthrown with 
 their altars, and the niches in which stood the gods were now left 
 empty, and the altars before them, on which smoked the sacrijce, 
 silent and lonely. Columns fallen across each other in the courts 
 just as that wild hurricane had left them, pieces of the architrave 
 blocking up the entrances they had surmounted, told how fierce 
 the shock and overthrow had been. One house was evidently that of 
 a remarkably rich man. Mosaic floors representing battle scenes, 
 precious stones still embedded in the pavements of his corridors, 
 long colonnades, and all the appurtenances of luxury, attested the 
 unbounded wealth of the owner. But no bodies were found in 
 it. The rich man had fled with his portable wealth before the 
 storm came. We passed through the temple of Jupiter, the court 
 of Justice, the Forum, the market-place, and finally emerged into 
 the country. 
 
 I mounted an old wall, covered with earth, and looked back on 
 the disentombed city, and beyond on Vesuvius. There it stood, sol- 
 emn, grand, and lonely, sending up its steady column of smoke, a 
 perpetual and living tombstone over the dead at its feet. I could 
 see the track of the lava on its wild and fiery march for the sea, 
 and imagine just how the cloud of ashes and cinders rose from 
 the summit and came flying toward the terror-stricken city. Foot 
 after foot it piled itself in the streets, over the thresholds, above 
 the windows, and so on till it reached twenty or thirty feet above 
 the tops of the houses. There was the sea where the eager 
 Pliny came, and, impelled by a fatal curiosity, would land, till, 
 blinded and suffocated, he too fell with the victims that perished. 
 
 From this we went to the amphitheatre, where the gladiatorial 
 shows were held. It is a magnificent area of an oval form, and 
 sufficiently capacious to hold fifteen or twenty thousand specta- 
 tors. The dens w-here the lions were kept still stood, and tliere 
 -was the very area in which men fought and fell. I stood at one 
 end and shouted, and the answering echo came back clear and 
 distinct as a second voice. It enhanced the solitude. Some have 
 
POMPEII. 73 
 
 imdgii>rit3 ihat spectators were assembled here at the time of the 
 overthrow of the city, and as they felt the first step of the mighty 
 earthquake that heralded its doom, rushed in dismay from their 
 seats. But this could not be, for Pompeii did not fall by an earth- 
 quake; and the mountain, long before the eruption, gave terribly 
 distinct omens of the coming blow. Dio relates that spectres lined 
 the summit of the mountain, and unearthly shapes flitted around 
 its trembling sides. This was doubtless the mist boiling up from 
 its confinement through the crevices, and shooting into the upper 
 air. Pliny himself says in his epistle that he saw from Misenus, 
 fifteen or twenty miles distant from Naples on the other side, a 
 cloud rising from the mountain in the shape of a pine tree, and 
 shortly after embarked for the city. The groaning mountain 
 was reeling above the sea of fire that boiled under her, and strug- 
 gled for freedom. It was not a time for amusement. Terrified 
 men and women ran for the sea ; that also fled back affi'ighted 
 from its shores, so that even Pliny could not land before the city, 
 but was forced to proceed to Stabise. The bellowing mountain, 
 the sulphureous air, the quivering earth, would not let a city even 
 so dissolute as Pompeii gather to places of public amusements 
 Consternation reigned in every street, and drove the frightened 
 inhabitants away from their dwellings. This is doubtless the 
 reason why so few bodies were found. Those that perished were 
 slaves, or those who tarried till some falling column or wall 
 blocked up their path, and the descending cinders blinded their 
 sight as they groped about for a way of egress. Fear and dark- 
 ness (for day was turned into night) might have enthralled others 
 beyond the power of moving. And I was standing on the same 
 pavement those terror-stricken citizens stood on two thousand 
 years ago, and was looking on the same mountain they gazed on 
 with such earnest inquiry and fearful forebodings. Then it rock- 
 ed and swayed and thundered above the pent-up forces that 
 threatened to send it in fragments through the heavens. Now, 
 silent and quiet, it stood firm on its base. Yet to me it had a 
 morose and revengeful look, as if it were conscious of the ruin at 
 its feet, 
 
 The excavations are more extensive than I supposed, and tne 
 effect of the clear light of the sun and the open sky on the deserted 
 
LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 pavements is peculiar and solemn. A visit to it is an episode Id 
 a man's life that he can never forget. An old column or a bro- 
 ken wall of a once populous city interests us. We stand and 
 muse over the ruined pile till it becomes eloquent with the history 
 of the past. If one single complete tem.ple be found, how it in- 
 creases the interest. But to wander through a whole city stand- 
 ing as its inhabitants left it in their sudden fear, adds tenfold to the 
 vividness of the picture. The little household things meeting you 
 at every turn, give speciality to the whole. As I strolled from 
 apartment to apartment, I almost expected to meet some one 
 within the door. 'I felt like an intruder as I passed into the sleep- 
 ing rooms of others — as if I were entering the private apartments 
 of those who were merely absent on a ride or a visit. The 
 scenes were familiar, and it appeared but a short time since the 
 eyes of those who occupied the dwellings rested on the same ob- 
 jects. In turning the corners of the streets, it would hardly have 
 surprised me to have met the inhabitants just returning, and look- 
 ing on me as a stranger and an intruder. It required an effort 
 to convince myself that these streets and these dwellings were 
 thronged and occupied for the last time nearly two thousand years 
 ago. I assure you the struggle was not to call up the past, but 
 to shake it off— and when I finally stood at the gate and gave a 
 farewell look to the lonely city that faintly shone in the light of 
 the setting sun, a feeling of indescribable sadness stole over me, 
 and I rode away without the wish ever to see it again. 
 
 But the view of the bay, and the careless laughing groups we 
 met at every step, soon restored our spirits. The streets were 
 filled with loungers, all expressing in their manners and looks the 
 Neapolitan maxim, " dolce far niente" (it is sweet to do nothing). 
 You have heard of the bright eyes and raven tresses and music- 
 like language of the Neapolitans ; but I can assure you there is 
 nothing like it here, i. e. among the lower classes. The only dif- 
 ference that I can detect between them and our Indians is, that 
 our wild bloods are the more beautiful of the two. The color is 
 the same, the hair very like indeed, and as to the " soft bastard 
 Latin" they speak, it is one of the most abominable dialects I 
 ever heard. I know this is rather shocking to one's ideas of 
 Italian women. I am sure I was prepared to view them in a 
 
CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE. 7t 
 
 fa-v orable, nay, in a poetical light ; but amid all the charms and 
 excitements of this romantic land, I cannot see otherwise. The 
 old women are hags, and the young women dirty, slip-shod slat- 
 terns. Talk about "bright-eyed Italian maids!" Among oui 
 lower classes there are five beauties to one good-looking woman 
 here. It is nonsense to expect beauty among a population thai 
 live in filth, and eat the vilest substances to escape the horrors of 
 starvation. Wholesome food, comfortable apartments, and cleanly 
 clothing, are indispensable to physical beauty; and these the 
 Italians, except the upper classes, do not have. The filthy dens' 
 in which they are crammed, the tattered garments in which they 
 are but half hid, and the haggard faces of hundreds of unfed wo- 
 men and children that meet me at every step as I enter the city 
 at night, overthrow all the pleasures of the day, and I retire to 
 my room angry with that political and social system that requires 
 two-thirds to die of starvation, that the other third may die of sur- 
 feit. The King of Naples has five palaces, while thousands of 
 his subjects have not one blanket. 
 
 Men talk of travelling when the mind is matured, but I advise 
 every one who wishes to enjoy Italy to visit it before he has 
 thought of the irregularities and miseries of the world. Let him 
 come into this beautiful clime while the imagination holds supreme 
 sway, and life is a golden dream. He then will see but its tem- 
 ples and arts, hear but the voice of the past, and grow enthusi- 
 astic on a soil where every stone is a monument, and every wall 
 a history. I could weep when I see the havoc that tyranny and 
 avarice make of the happiness of man. Why is it that these 
 thousands around me should weep and suffer and die, that one 
 lazy Prince may gorgeously furnish five palaces he enters but 
 five times a year ? Why should Lazzaroni multiply to be cursed 
 by every stranger, merely that a few lazy nobles may turn a 
 whole country into beautiful villas to gallop through? Italy 
 abounds in lovely scenery, and is rich in classic associations ; but 
 he must be a stupid observer, or a heartless one, who can see and 
 feel nothing else. As I wander through the grounds of a princely 
 noble, I enjoy the beauty and taste that surround me, until 
 mounting some point of view I look down on a lovely country 
 filled with half- fed men, and then I could hang him on one of hia 
 
76 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 own oaks. There stands a glorious statue, but under it lies a live 
 sufferer. There is a magnificent church, but on its ample steps 
 are heaps of rags, each enveloping a living, suffering man. But, 
 as the Italians say, " la pazienza e la confidenza." Yes — pa- 
 tience and confidence : for the ridiculous farce of Kings will have 
 an end, and humanity yet shake off its rags and lay aside its 
 shame, and assert and take its long-withheld rights. 
 
 Yours, fee. 
 
ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 Ascent of Vesuvius, 
 
 Naples, March, 1843. 
 
 Dear E. — We have been to Mount Vesuvius, and to-day has 
 been one of the richest days of my life. The morning was bright 
 and clear, and the road lay along the Bay of Naples. We made 
 a short stop at Portici, where the King has a palace. It is beau- 
 tifully situated, with gardens and promenades around it, and all 
 the luxuries that royalty can so easily afford. The taste and 
 beauty of the interior, however, are chiefly owing to Madame 
 Murat, the ex-Queen of Naples, who reformed not only this, but 
 all the royal palaces of the city. When the dethroned Ferdi- 
 nand returned from Sicily, he was exceedingly pleased with the 
 improvements his conqueror had made, and very good-humoredly 
 remarked that " Murat was an excellent upholsterer." The por- 
 traits of Napoleon's and Murat's families are still there, and said 
 to be excellent likenesses. The whole palace is in excellent taste, 
 but the only thing remarkable in it is a porcelain room, the walls 
 and ceilings of which are entirely covered with china from the 
 celebrated manufactory of Capo di Monti, specimens of which 
 are now seldom found. These porcelain panels are painted 
 with landscapes, and bordered with wreaths in alto-relievo ; col- 
 ored like life, and as large ; with squirrels and birds mingled in 
 charming confusion. The frames of the mirrors and the chande- 
 liers are of the same material, and the effect of the whole is sin- 
 gular and pleasing. I hurried through the rooms, anxious to be 
 on the side of Vesuvius. 
 
 We soon came to the place where horses and donkeys are 
 taken for the ascent, and here a scrambling and squalling and 
 quarrelling commenced that would not have disgraced a steamboat 
 landing at New York. In the morning when we started, a man 
 
78 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 mountea the box of the carriage with the driver, as if he owned 
 it. I asked him what he was doing there. He inquired if I did 
 not wish a guide. I replied, " Yes, of course, to ascend the 
 mountain." Supposing all was right, we went on. But here I 
 discovered that a horse could not be had without a guide to ac- 
 company him. I turned to my friend of the coach-box and asked 
 what it meant, and why he had presumed to fasten himself on 
 me in this way. He seemed to be somewhat flustered, but replied 
 with a great deal of suavity, " Oh, sir, to see you are not cheated, 
 and to hctve everything arranged on your return." " I can take 
 care of that," said I ; "I don't mean to be cheated by you or 
 others either." But the day was advancing, and this was no 
 place or time to quarrel with him, for it would only swell the Ba- 
 bel that already clattered around me. My friend at length 
 mounted a good-looking horse, while the most villanous donkey 
 that ever went unsheared was led up to me. I asked my super- 
 numerary guide if this was the animal he had come thus far to 
 provide me with. He said he thought it was an excellent beast. 
 I replied I was sorry I could not agree with him, and deliberately 
 walked away. The owner then threw himself before me, witn 
 his demure, shaggy, long-eared friend, determined I should take 
 him. I asked him if he called that a horse. " No, your excel- 
 lency, but an eccellentissimo Ass." " No," said I very coolly, 
 *' you are mistaken ; it is neither an ass nor a horse." He looked 
 in astonishment at me, as much as to say, " What do you mean ? 
 what is it then ?" The others had become quiet by this time, 
 and stood waiting the issue. " Why," said I, " don't you see ifs 
 a rat — a large water-rat — you are wishing me to ride ?" The 
 men looked at each other in astonishment for a moment, and then 
 burst into a loud laugh. Seeing I was not to be duped, they led 
 me out a very nice grey pony, which 1 mounted; and galloped 
 away. 
 
 The guide, with a strong stick in one hand, seized my friend's 
 horse by the tail, and trotted after. The ascent for some time 
 was gradual; the road passing through vineyards from which 
 Lachryma Christi, tears of Christ (as a certain kind of wine is 
 called), is made. The scene gradually grew drearer until we 
 came to the region of pure lava. I can convey to you no idea 
 
ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 79 
 
 of the feelings this utterly barren lava-desert at first excites. 
 There it spreads, black, broken and rough, just as it cooled in its 
 slow and troubled march for the sea. Here it met an obstacle 
 and rose into a barrier ; there it fell off into ridges that cracked 
 and broke into fragments, till the whole inclined plain that spreads 
 off from the base of the pyramid in which is the crater, appear 
 as if the earth had been violently shaken till all the large and 
 loose portions had risen to the surface. Sometimes you can trace 
 for some distance a sort of circular wall of cooled lava, behind 
 which the red-hot stream had gathered and glowed like a brow 
 of wrath. Nothing could be more dreary and desolate. Through 
 this barren tract I was passing in a narrow path. My eye wan- 
 dered hither and thither over the scathed and blackened mass, 
 but always came back to the solemn peak from whose top silently 
 ascended a heavy column of smoke. Soon after, we mounted a 
 ridge of earth that the volcano had spared, and on which stood 
 the Hermitage. Before reaching it we could see on its narrow 
 top, extending nearly to the base of the peak, the forms of mules 
 and horses slowly marching in Indian file, and carrying a com- 
 pany in advance of us to the same destination. Their appear- 
 ance at that distance and above us, cast in bold relief against the 
 clear sky, was novel and picturesque. We did not stop at the 
 Hermitage, but pushing straight on soon reached the field of lava, 
 through which our animals picked their way with most praiseworthy 
 care. As I was slowly crossing this rough tract, I saw in the 
 distance twenty or thirty mules and horses, saddled and bridled, 
 scattered around at the base of the peak, amidst the lava, and on 
 the open mountain side, like an Arab camp in the desert. Here 
 we also dismounted, and began the almost perpendicular ascent. 
 
 The company before us looked like dwarfs clinging to the side 
 of the mountain. There was a lady among them, who, with a 
 bridle around her waist, was pulled up by the guide. Ours also 
 started with a bridle, but I told him to throw it away, as I could 
 take care of myself. Halfway up we came upon a snow-bank, 
 on which I cooled my parched lips. Again and again we were 
 compelled to rest, but without regret, for whenever we turned our 
 eyes below, they were met by one of the most magnificent pros- 
 pects the sun ever shone upon. There were the Bay of Naples, 
 
80 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 the islands of Capri and Ischia, beyond which the blue Mediter. 
 ranean melted away into the mild horizon ; nearer slept the city, 
 with its palaces and towers, while far inland, on, on, till the eye 
 grew dim with the extended prospect, swept away the whole 
 '• campagna felice,'^ or happy country, in a glorious panorama 
 of villages, villas, fields, and vineyards. Around me was piled 
 lava that had once poured in a red-hot stream where I sat ; and 
 close beneath me an immense cavity, where a volcano had once 
 raged and died. When near the top, as I stood looking off on tho 
 world below, a dense cloud of mist, borne by the wind, swept ovei 
 and around me, blotting out in an instant everything from my 
 sight. A cold breeze accompanied it, and the sudden change 
 from broad sunlight and an almost boundless prospect, to sudden 
 twilight and a few feet of broken lava, was so chilling and gloomy, 
 that it for a moment damped my ardor. Our guide, however, 
 told us it would soon pass, so we rallied our spirits and pushed on. 
 At length we reached the top, and lo, a barren, desolate, uneven 
 field spread out before us, filled with apertures, from which were 
 issuing jets of steam., and over which blew a cold and chilling 
 wind, while fragments of mist traversed it like spirits fleeing from 
 the gulf that yawned behind them. Passing over this with dainty 
 footsteps, and feeling every moment as if the crust would break 
 beneath our feet, we reached at last the verge of the crater; and 
 the immense basin, with its black, smoking cone in the centre, was 
 below us. From the red-hot mouth boiled out fast and fierce, an 
 immense column of smoke, accompanied at intervals with a heavy 
 sound, and jets of red-hot scoria. This was more than I antici- 
 pated. I expected to see only a crater, and a smouldering heap. 
 But the mountain was in more than common agitation, and had 
 been throughout the winter. It seemed to sympathize with Etna 
 and other volcanoes that appear to have chosen this year for a 
 general waking up. I could compare ij; to nothing but the work- 
 ing of an immense steam-engine. It had a steady sound like the 
 working of a heavy piston, while at short intervals the valve 
 seemed to lift and the steam escape with an explosion ; and at the 
 game time the black smoke and lurid blaze would shoot from the 
 mouth, and the red-hot scoria rise forty or fifty feet into the air^ 
 At the moment of explosion, the mouth of the cone seemed in a 
 
ASCENT OF VEfeUVlUS. 81 
 
 blaze, and the masses of scoria thrown out, some of which would 
 weigh fifteen or twenty pounds, resembled huge gouts of blood — 
 they were of that deep red, fresh color. I deemed myself fortu 
 nate in the time I visited it, for I saw a real, living — or as Carlyle 
 would say, an authenticated volcano. There was a truth and reality 
 and power about it, that chained and awed me. I could count 
 the strokes of that tremendous engine as it thundered on in the 
 bowels of the earth, and see the fruits of its infernal labor as it 
 hurled them into the upper air, as if on purpose to startle man 
 with the preparations that were going on under him. That 
 mountain, huge as it was, seemed light to the power beneath it, 
 and I thought it felt unsteady on its base, as if conscious of the 
 strength of its foe. But the ludicrous is always mingled with the 
 sublime. As I sat on the edge of the crater, awed by the specta- 
 cle before me, our guide approached with some eatables, and two 
 eggs that had been cooked in the steam issuing from one of the 
 apertures we had passed. My friend sat down very deliberately 
 to eat his. I took mine in my hand mechanically, but y/as too 
 much absorbed in the actions of the sullen monster below me to 
 eat. Suddenly there was an explosion louder than any that had 
 preceded it, hurling a larger, angrier mass into the air. My hand 
 involuntarily closed tightly over the egg, and I was recalled to my 
 senses by my friend calling out very deliberately at my feet to 
 know what I was doing. I looked down, and there he sat quietly 
 picking the shell from his egg, while mine was running a minia- 
 ture volcano over his back and shoulders, I opened my hand, 
 and there lay the crushed shell, while the contents were fast 
 spreading over my friend's broadcloth. I laughed outright, sac- 
 rilegious as it was. So much you see for the imagination you 
 have so often scolded me about ^ I had lost my egg, while my 
 friend, who took things more coolly, enjoyed not only the eating of 
 his, but the consciousness of having eaten an egg boiled in the 
 {>team of Vesuvius. 
 
 We next descended into the crater, and however slight a thing 
 one may deem it in ordinary times, it was a grave matter for 
 me. Both hands and feet had never before been in such urgent 
 requisition. The path at times was not a foot wide, and indeed 
 was not a path, but clefts in the rocks, where often a single mis- 
 
82 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 step would have sent one to the bottom of the crater, while lava 
 rocks, cracked at their base, and apparently awaiting but a slight 
 touch to shake them down on you, hung overhead. Frequently 
 my only course was to lie against the rock and cling with my 
 hands to the projecting points, while ever and anon, from out soir.e 
 aperture would shoot jets of steam so impregnated with sulphur as 
 almost to strangle me. My guide would then be hid from my 
 sight, and I had nothing to do but hang on and cough, while I 
 knew that a thousand feet were above and below me. At other 
 times the crater would be filled with vapor up to the rim, shroud- 
 ins ever^'tliinff from our si^ht, even the fierv cone, while we huns: 
 
 C5-C5 O' ^ ' O 
 
 midway on the rocks and stood and listened. Amidst the rolling 
 vapor I could hear the churning of that tremendous engine, and 
 the explosion that sent the scoria into the air, and then, after a 
 moment of deep silence, the clatter of the returning fragments, 
 like hail-stones on dry leaves, far, far below me. It was suf- 
 ficently startling and grand, to stand half-way down that crater, 
 with your feet on smoking sulphur and your hand on rocks so 
 hot that you shrank from the touch, and gaze down on that terrific 
 fire-energy, without wrapping it in gloom and adding deeper mys- 
 tery to its already mysterious workings. ,A puff of air would 
 then sweep through the ca\dty, dashing the mist against its sides 
 and sending it like frightened spirits over the verge. I almost ex- 
 pected to see a change when the light again fell on it, but there 
 it stood, churning on as steady and stern as ever. 
 
 We at length reached the bottom, and sitting down at a respect- 
 ful distance from the base of the cone, enjoyed the sublime 
 spectacle. There we were, deep down in the bowels of the 
 mountain, while far up on the brink of the crater, like children in 
 size, sat a group of men sending their hurrah down at every dis- 
 charge of scoria. Before me ascended the column of rolling 
 smoke, while every few seconds the melted mass was ejected into 
 the air with a report that made me measure rather wistfully the 
 distance between us and the top. Our guide took some coppers, 
 and as the scoria fell a little distance off, he would run up the 
 sides of the cone, drop them in the smaller portions, and retreat 
 before a second discharge. It was amusing to see how coolly he 
 would stand and look up to the descending fragments of fire, 
 
ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 83 
 
 some of which, had they struck him, would have crushed him to 
 the earth; and calculate their descent so nicely that with a slight 
 movement he could escape each. When the scoria cooled, the 
 coppers were left imbedded in it, and thus carried off as remem- 
 brances of Vesuvius. We went around the crater, continually 
 descending until we came to the lowest part, close to the base of 
 the cone. Here the lava was gathering and cooling and cracking 
 off in large rolls, with that low continuous sound which is always 
 made by the rapid cooling of an intensely heated mass. I 
 ascended a little eminence which the lava was slowly undermin- 
 ing, and thrust my cane into the molten substance. It was so 
 ]iot that I had to cover my face with my cap in order to hold my 
 stick in it for a single moment. As I stood and saw fold after 
 fold slowly roll over and fall off, and heard the firing of the vol- 
 cano above me, and saw, nearly a hundred feet over my head, 
 red-hot masses of scoria suspended in the air, I am not ashamed 
 to say I felt a little uncomfortahle. I looked above and around, 
 and saw that it needed but a slight tremulous motion to confine 
 me there for ever. It was not the work of five or ten minutes to 
 reach the lofty top, and a little heavier discharge of fire — a small 
 shower of ashes — and I should have been smothered or crisped in 
 a moment. There may have been no danger, but one cannot es- 
 cape the belief of it when at times he is compelled to dodge 
 flaming masses of scoria, that otherwise would smite him to the 
 earth. 
 
 We ascended by a different and much easier path. It is lon- 
 ger, but far preferable to the one we came down. It led us to 
 the other side of the crater, from which we looked down on Pom- 
 peii. I could trace the stream of lava to the plain, and could 
 well imagine the consternation of the inhabitants of the doomed 
 city, as the storm of ashes shot off for its bosom. Weary and 
 exhausted, we descended by a different route through a bed of 
 ashes that reached from the top to the bottom of the hill, mounted 
 our horses and rode homeward. The glorious plain was spread 
 out before us, but we were too tired to enjoy it. At the bottom 
 of the hill we found our supernumerary guide half-drunk on our 
 credit, who told us he had soup, fish, beef, fowl, fruit, et cetera, 
 provided for our entertainment in a neighboring house, which 
 
84 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 proved to be a hovel. The provisions, he said, had cost but little 
 more than a dollar, while the man asked only about the same for 
 cookmg them. I was thoroughly vexed, and told him to say to 
 the man he might have the provision to pay for cooking them ; 
 and as for him, I considered him the greatest scoundrel I had yet 
 met with, and I had seen many. He replied that he regarded me 
 as his son — ^that he would not see me cheated of a grana for the 
 world. I told him I thought the proofs of his affection were ra- 
 ther dubious, that it had cost me about three dollars that day, and 
 it was altogether too expensive for me, and also, notwith- 
 standing the intensity of his love, that v/e liad better part. And 
 yet, would you believe it, this fellow had the impudence to come 
 up to the carriage and ask me to make him a present of a few 
 carlines, as a sort of farewell gift ! It was really the coolest 
 rascality I had yet encountered. But the day passed away, and 
 the evening, with its welcome repose, came. That night I slept 
 as I had never slept before. It was like oblivioii, it was so deej 
 and unbroken. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
ITALIAN WOMEN. 85 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 The Ladies of Italy and the Ladies of America. - 
 
 Naples, March, 1843. 
 
 Dear E. — Who has not heard the exclamations, " The black- 
 eyed Beauties of Italy — The Blue Heavens of Italy !" and that, 
 too, in contrast with our own beautiful women and clear atmos- 
 phere, until he has dreamed of a sunny land wreathed with rivers, 
 and filled with radiant, passionate creatures ? At another time I 
 shall contrast the climates. 
 
 At present, reversing the rules of rhetoric, I take the most in- 
 teresting objects first ; and as to these dark-eyed beauties — dark- 
 eyed enough though they are, and very pretty withal — ^yet, like many 
 other things in this world, they appear much better when dreamed 
 about, with four thousand miles of ocean between us, than when 
 looked at from these promenades dressed a la Frangais. It is not 
 the partiality one naturally feels for his countrywomen that gov- 
 erns me, when I say that the beautiful women with us stand to 
 them in the proportion of five to one. Walk on a pleasant day at 
 the promenading hour from the Astor House to Bleecker-street, and 
 you shall see more beautiful women than you will find in any 
 Italian city, though you walk it a month. Similar contrasts 
 might be drawn between many other things in the two countries, 
 in which we have heretofore suffered unjustly. This declaration 
 cannot be attributed to prejudice, for you know I was a perfect 
 child in my enthusiasm for Italy. It was the land of my early 
 dreams — the one bright vision in all my scholar's life, and when 
 its blue hills rose on my view I felt like the pilgrim as he catches 
 the first glimpse of the Prophet's Tomb from afar. Yet the truth 
 * maun be said.' — Perhaps one would see more beauty were the 
 young ladies permitted to appear more in society. The foolish 
 custom of shutting them up in convents, occupied with their studies, 
 
86 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 until married off hy their parents, still prevails. It is, however, 
 losing somewhat of its ancient force, especially in Tuscany. The 
 truth is, we have derived our ideas of Italy from England, which is 
 not distinguished for its beautiful peasantry. Accustomed also 
 to the light hair and fresh complexion of the Saxon race, the 
 English fall in raptures at sight of the dark-eyed beauties of 
 the South. The same is true of climate. Coming from the fogs 
 of London, Avhere the sun seems made in vain, they are in ecsta- 
 cies with the bright heavens of Italy. The sky is at times like a 
 sapphire dome, and its blue often of a peculiar tinge ; but the dif- 
 ference, in this respect, between it and our own is not so great as 
 many imagine. 
 
 Genoa has been regarded from time immemorial as the most 
 celebrated of all Italian cities, for the beauty of its women. In 
 that city I resided nearly six months, and mingled freely in every 
 class of society. Being an invited guest to all the large assem- 
 olies and soirees of the nobility, I had eveiy opportunity of seeing 
 society in its most brilliant coloring. I shall never forget my disap- 
 pointment at the first great soiree I attended. I expected to be daz- 
 zled by the array of beauty, as it was given by the highest officer 
 of the city, but did not see but one really pretty woman during the 
 evening. It is rather singular also that those vrho have the repu- 
 tation of being beauties, among the Italians, usually have the light 
 hair and eyes and fair skin of the Saxon race ; indeed the most 
 beautiful women I have seen here have been English women. My 
 taste may not be correct, but there is a character in the expression 
 of an Eno-lish woman's face that vou look for in vain in an Italian. 
 It has also, a half proud look, which I like, although it gives a 
 coldness to her manner. 
 
 At the casinos in this country, I have often met the entire beauty 
 of the upper classes of the city ; and although certainly many 
 very pretty women were present, yet the average of beauty was 
 low. With fourteen rooms thrown open, and all so crowded that 
 one could hardly move, one would expect some beauty in any 
 city, and he finds it here : but I am quite sure if national beauty is 
 worth being proud of, we can boast over Italy — ^that is, in our 
 women ; I wish I could say as much of the men. It is not so easy 
 to decide on the peasantry ; they differ so much in different prov 
 
ITALIAN WOMEN. 87 
 
 mces. Sometimes you may travel all day and see nothing but 
 the ugliest faces, and you wonder how nature could have gone so 
 awry in every instance ; and then again in another province you 
 see at every step the beautiful eye and lash, and flexible brow, 
 and laughing face of your true Italian beauty. 
 
 In form the Italians excel us. Larger, fuller, they naturally 
 acquire a finer gait and bearing. It is astonishing that our ladies 
 should persist in that ridiculous notion that a small waist is, and, 
 per necessita, must be beautiful. Why, many an Italian woman 
 would cry for vexation, if she possessed such a waist as some of 
 our ladies acquire, only by the longest, painfuUest process. I 
 have sought the reason of this difference, and can see no other 
 than that the Italians have their glorious statuary continually be- 
 fore them, as models ; and hence endeavor to assimilate them- 
 selves to them ; whereas our fashionables have no models except 
 those French stuffed figures in the windows of milliners' shops. 
 Why, if an artist should presume to make a statue with the shape 
 that seems to be regarded with us as the perfection of harmionious 
 proportion, he would be laughed out of the city. It is a standing 
 objection against the taste of our women the world over, that they 
 will practically assert that a French milliner understands how 
 they should be made better than Nature herself. 
 
 It is the manners of the Italians, which is the real cause 
 of the preference given them by all travellers. This alone 
 makes an immense difference between an Italian and an Ameri- 
 can city. Broadway, with all its array of beauty, never inclines 
 one to be lively and merry. The ladies (the men are worse 
 of course) seem to have come out for any other purpose than 
 to enjoy themselves. Their whole demeanor is like one sit- 
 ting for his portrait. Everything is just as it should be, to be 
 looked at. Every lady wears a serious face, and the ^vhole 
 throng is like a stiff country party. The ladies here, on th 
 contrary, go out to be merry, and it is one perpetual chatte. 
 and laugh on the public promenades. The movements are all 
 different, and the very air seems gay. I never went down 
 Broadway at the promenade hour feeling sad, without com- 
 ing back sadder, while I never returned from a public prome- 
 nade in Italy without thinking and saying to myself, " Well, 
 
88 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 this must be a very comfortable world, after all, for people do 
 enjoy themselves in it amazingly."' This difference is still more 
 perceptible on personal acquaintance. An Italian lady never sits 
 and utters common-places with freezing formality. She is more 
 flexible, and, indeed, if the truth must be said, better natured and 
 happier than too many of my countrywomen. She is not on the 
 keen look-out lest she should fail to frown every time propriety 
 demands. 
 
 There is no country in the world where woman is so worship- 
 ped, and allowed to have her own way as in America, and yet 
 there is no country where she is so ungrateful for the place and 
 power she occupies. Have you never in Broadway, when the 
 omnibus was full, stepped out into the rain to let a lady take your 
 place, which she most unhesitatingly did, and with an indiffer- 
 ence in her manner as if she considered it the merest trifle in the 
 world you had done ? How cold and heartless her " thank ye," 
 if she gave one ! Dickens makes the same remark with regard 
 to stage-coaches — so does Hamilton. Now, do such a favor for 
 an Italian lady, and you would be rewarded with one of the 
 sweetest smiles that ever brightened on a human countenance. I 
 do not go on the principle that a man must always expect a re- 
 ward for his good deeds ; yet, when I have had my kindest offices 
 as a stranger, received as if I were almost suspected of making 
 improper advances, I have felt there was little pleasure in being 
 civil. The " grazie, Signore," and smile with which an Italian 
 rewards the commonest civility, would make the plainest woman 
 appear handsome in the eyes of a foreigner. 
 
 They also become more easily animated, till they make it all 
 sunlight around them. They never tire you with the same mo- 
 notonous aspect, but yield in tone and look to the passing thoughl, 
 whether it be sad or mirthful ; and then they are so free from all 
 formality, and so sensitively careful of your feelings. I shall 
 never forget one of the first acquaintances I made in Italy. I 
 
 was at the Marquis of* 's one evening, conversing with some 
 
 gentlemen, when the Marquis came up and said, " Come, let me 
 introduce you to a beautiful lady" — indeed she was the most 
 beautiful Italian woman I had ever seen. I declined, saying I 
 did not understand the Italian language well enough to converse 
 
ITALIAN WOMEN. 89 
 
 with so brilliant a creature, " for you know (said I) one wants to 
 say very clever things in such a case, and a blunder would be 
 dreadful." "Pooh, pooh," said he, "come along" — and taking 
 me by the shoulders led me forward, and forced me down into a 
 chair by her side, saying, "Now talk." If she had been half 
 as much disconcerted as I was, I should have blundered beyond 
 redemption : but the good-natured laugh with which she regarded 
 the Marquis's performance entirely restored my confidence, and I 
 stumbled along in the Italian for half an hour, without her ever 
 giving the least intimation, by Iook or word, that I did not speak 
 it with perfect propriety. 
 
 This same naivete of manner extends itself everywhere. If 
 you meet a beautiful peasant girl, and bow to her, instead of re- 
 senting it as an insult, she shows a most brilliant set of teeth, and 
 laughs in the most perfect good humor. As I was once coming 
 down from Mount Vesuvius, I passed an Italian lady with her 
 husband, who by their attendants I took for persons of distinction, 
 I had an immense stick in my hand, with which I had descended 
 into the crater. As I rode slowly by, she turned to me in the 
 pleasantest manner, and said, " Ha un grand bastone, signore " 
 (you have got a large cane, sir). I certainly did not respect her 
 less for her " forwardness ! !" (civility), but on the contrary felt 
 I would have gone any length to have served her. 
 
 Indeed, this same freedom from the ridiculous frigidity, which 
 in my country is thought an indispensable safeguard to virtue, is 
 found everywhere in Europe. It has given me, when a solitary 
 stranger, many a happy hour on the Rhine, and on the Mediter- 
 ranean. In my late passage from Civita Vecchia to Naples in a 
 steamer, I met an instance of this, in the Russian baron and lady, 
 and the pretty young Finlandess his niece. I forgot to mention 
 the manner in which our acquaintance commenced. The old 
 gentleman and his niece were sitting on deck enjoying the moon- 
 light, and looking off on the shores of Italy and the islands past 
 which we were speeding like a spirit ; while I was slowly pacing 
 backwards and forwards, thinking now of the sky I was under, 
 and now of the far home on which a colder moonlight was sleep- 
 ing, when the old baron pleasantly accosted me, and we slid off 
 into an easy conversation. Soon after he went into the cabin a 
 
90 LETTEES FROM ITALY. 
 
 short timej when, passing by the Finlandess, she addressed me so 
 pleasantly and ladv-like, that I was perfectly charmed with her 
 civility. Ah, said I to myself a solitary stranger would have 
 promenaded the deck of a vessel in my fatherland long, before 
 one of my beautiful countrywomen would have uttered a word 
 to cheer him, and make Him long after bless her in his heart. 
 
 The Italian has another attraction peculiar to the beings of 
 warm climes — she possesses deeper emotions than those of colder 
 latitudes, while she has less power to conceal them. The dark 
 eye flashes out its love or it^hatred as soon as felt ; and in its 
 intense and passionate gaze is an eloquence that thrills deeper 
 than any language. She is a being ail passion, which gives 
 poetry to her movements, looks, and words. It has made her 
 land the land of song, and herself an object of interest the world 
 over. A beautiful eye and eyebrow are more frequently met 
 here than at home. The brow is peculiarly beautiful — not merely 
 from its regularity, but singular flexibility. It will laugh of itself, 
 and the slight arch always heralds and utters beforehand the 
 piquant thing the tongue is about to utter ; and then she laughs 
 &D sweetly ! Your Italian knows how to laugh, and, by the way, 
 she knows how to walk, which an American lady does not. An, 
 American walks better than an English woman, who steps like a 
 grenadier, but still she walks badly. Her movements lack grace, 
 ease, and naturalness. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding all this, beauty of face is more common at 
 home than here. I will not speak of moral qualities, for here the 
 " dark-eyed beauty "' of Italy must lose in comparison ', and, in- 
 deed, with all her passionate nature, she is not capable of so 
 lasting afiection as an American. It is fiercer, wilder, but more 
 changeable. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
ISLANDS ABOUT NAPLES. JJ 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 Islands about Naples — ^Virgil's Scenes, &c. 
 
 Naples, April. 
 
 Deau E.- -I designed to have given one letter on the Islands 
 around Naples, and another on the ruins that cover the ground 
 that Virgil has made so classic. But really Virgil never was my 
 admiration ; and his Uiver Styx, and Acheron, and Sea of the 
 Dead, and Avernus, and above all, his Elysian Fields, are such 
 entire creations of the imagination that I cannot with a sober face 
 speak of them with the dignity that the scholar asks. So one let- 
 ter must answer for the whole region. The truth is, Styx cannot 
 be found, and Avernus is but a fish-pond, and the Elysian Fields 
 a little bank that was once used for a Cemetery. Yet when I 
 came to see these localities of Virgil's ^neid, I had a greater re- 
 spect for him than ever before. He had more imagination than 
 I gave him credit for. It is not every one that could gather two 
 "Worlds and the passage between them into so narrow and ordi- 
 nary a place. The truth is, this region was the resort of the 
 Emperors, and Philosophers, and Poets of Rome, in their leisure 
 hours. On this beautiful shore they built villas and temples, and 
 adorned every hill-top, and made every glen and pool mysterious 
 by the gods and nymphs they gathered around them. Virgil 
 wrote for royal ears, and hence chose a spot that would flattei 
 those whose favor he sought. 
 
 Near by is the ancient Cumee, the Temple of Apollo, where 
 Daedalus alighted in his winged flight from Crete ; and, right be- 
 low, the shore where jEneas drew up his ships, and the very cave 
 to which he ascended to consult the Cumsean Sybil. Here Tar- 
 quinius Superbus found an asylum, and here, long after, Alaric 
 piled his spoils. The whole shore and hill-side is covered with 
 ruined temples dedicated to Venus, Apollo, Mercuiy, Diana, &c. 
 
 Q 
 
92 LE ITERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 Once this shore must have been a picture. Two things interested 
 me more than all others, as they were not fictions of the imagina- 
 tion : — One was a view from the top of the Sybil's Cave, of the 
 Tomb of Scipio Africanus, standing " solitary and alone" on the 
 far sea-shore. Thither in pride and scorn the old hero retired, 
 and died and was buried. It is close on the beach, all alone, 
 looking proudly desolate. The sea murmurs around it, and the 
 night-tempest howls by — making the only dirge that is chanted 
 over the proud chieftain. The other was the harbor of Misenum. 
 As I stood on the summit of the hill that overlooked the now 
 ruined and desolate harbor, on which not even a fisher's boat was 
 moored, with here and there an arch just rising from the water, 
 where an earthquake had tumbled it, it did not seem possible that 
 there the Roman fleet was wont to ride in its glory. Yet it was 
 anchored here, commanded by Pliny the elder, at the time of the 
 eruption of Vesuvius that buried Pompeii. In this very harbor 
 occurred a scene that well-nigh changed the destinies of the 
 World. Right below me, on that quiet, unconscious sheet of 
 water, now so lonely-looking and desolate, sat once the galley oi 
 Sextus Pompeius, and on board of it Octavius Caesar and Antony 
 at dinner. Light as a sea-bird she sat on the wave, while those 
 master-spirits discussed together the fate of the World. During 
 dinner, Pompey's Admiral, formerly his slave, whom he had freed 
 and honored, came and whispered in his ear — " Shall I cut the 
 cable and make you master of the World V^ " Why did you not 
 do so without asking me?" answered Pompeius. " My word is 
 now given, and I must abide by it." One good stroke of the 
 knife then would have changed the fate of Rome and the World. 
 On that single rope hung immense destinies, and the fingers were 
 already feeling the handle of the knife that should sever it. On 
 a rope did I say ? On a lighter thing than that : on a man's 
 word ! Poor man ! he would do a thousand lies to gain a trifling 
 object, but yet would not utter one aloud in the ears of the World 
 for an Empire. Ah ! methinks after all, that fear of human 
 scorn had more to do with the h^olding of that rope than sense of 
 obligation. To ordinary men princes may utter what falsehoods 
 they please. Mere will is holier than obligation, and the bare 
 questioning the right by others is bolder thay their own violation 
 
VIRGIL'S SCENFS. 93 
 
 of it. Pompeius could deceive, and rob, and slay the mass by 
 thousands ; but deliberately to lie to great Csesar, and turn dark 
 traitor at his own table, would be an act at which the World 
 would cry out '' Shame." 
 
 " Ah, this thou should'st have done, 
 • And not have spoke on't ! In me 'tis villainy ; 
 
 In thee it had been good service. Thou must know, 
 'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honor ; 
 Mine honor, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue 
 Hath so betrayed thine act : Being done unknown, 
 I should have found it afterwards well done ; 
 But must condemn it now." 
 
 This queer distinction in morals must have puzzled old Menas 
 sadly, and we wonder he did not immediately add, " N&ver mind, 
 Pompey, I'll never tell any one you knew any thing about it ; so 
 here goes the rope." And yet we do not exactly see how Pompey 
 could have reconciled it with his delicate conscience to have 
 killed his guests after he had got out to sea, even if the rope had 
 been cut without his knowledge. 
 
 The Sybil's Cave is not so much of a sham. The extent of 
 this grotto or cavern is unknown ; but doubtless the whole moun- 
 tain is bored through, and was used formerly as a means of com- 
 munication between different portions of these ancient strong- 
 holds. From the side that looks directly on the sea, and near 
 where ^Eneas landed, one sees but little of the immense cavern 
 that dives into the mountain. Our guide, however, lighted his 
 torches, and led us through long and dark passages until the ruins 
 blocked the arches and stopped our progress. The entrance from 
 the other side of the hill is on the shore of Virgil's Tartarus. A 
 beautifully shaded walk leads to it, which opens dark and gloom- 
 ily in the mountain. Here our torches were again lighted, and 
 we entered from the shores of the very same Tartarus where 
 ^neas entered in his ^descensus facile^ into hell. You pass 
 along a level gallery for some time illuminated only by the glare 
 of your torches, and then reach an abrupt descent into a dark 
 and narrow passage. My guide here put the torch into my hand 
 and bade me mount. Holding it in one hand and grasping his 
 neck with the other, I mounted his brawny shoulders, and the 
 
S4 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 next moment found my feet dragging through the water. My 
 torch would light up here and there a projecting point of rock, 
 and fling its red light on the black-smeared visage of the fellow 
 that carried me, till I began to think I really was on the road to 
 the lower world and had fairly straddled the Devil's neck. We 
 soon emerged into a room half filled with water, which we went 
 splashing through into another, on the farther side of which my 
 grim carrier set me down on a flight of steps that rose from the 
 water. I really began to suspect, as I stood and gazed off into 
 the darkness and saw the reflection of the light, now on the arch- 
 ed cavern, and now on the water, that Virgil was dealing some- 
 what in facts when he described this road to the Infernal World. 
 Indeed, I should not have been surprised to have heard the bark 
 of old Cerberus or the roar of the Cocytus„ 
 
 In another chamber decorated with Mosaics, are what are 
 termed the Sybil's Baths, and also little recesses in which the 
 guide said she was accustomed to cool herself after her warm 
 ablutions. Coming from a land of steamboats and railroads, 
 where everything is practical and real, it seemed odd enough to 
 hear men run over these traditions as matters of fact. Before 
 you are aware, you find yourself following the narrator as if he 
 were relating real occurrences ; and, as he points out the particu- 
 lar localities and relates some incident belonging to each, you for 
 the moment believe him. Being all told in a foreign tongue, and 
 that Italian, adds to the delusion : and I found myself looking 
 into the baths, where the beautiful limbs of the Sybil reposed, and 
 around on her chambers, as if it all were a fact and not a fiction. 
 But when I was shown the narrow hole into which she crawled 
 to cool herself after the bath, the beautiful vision vanished. This 
 was too much for even my imagination ; and I roused the echoes 
 of the Sybil's home by one of those long and hearty laughs that 
 does the soul good. My cicerone had run on with increasing 
 volubility, distancing Virgil miles out of sight, and adding such 
 notes and comments on the way as would have staggered the 
 poet to have heard. As he waved the torch to and fro, and 
 splashed the water around him, he saw my eyes glaring on him 
 like one completely gulled — as I most assuredly was for the time, 
 though not by him so much as by my own imagination — and, 
 
AN ENGLISH LADY. % 
 
 taking the hint, he ' piled up the marvels/ as a Western man 
 •would say, ' a little too high.' My hearty, incredulous laugh 
 acted like a condenser on his steam, and he began to mistrust I 
 was a sensible man. He stopped short, and asked if I did not 
 wish to mount. 
 
 An English lady had entered as far as one could without being 
 carried, and, impelled by a woman's curiosity, asked to be taken 
 into the Sybil's chambers. Without thinking how she was to be 
 carried, she was just adjusting her dress, when the guide, stooping 
 down, suddenly inserted her carefully astraddle of his neck, and 
 plunged into the water. The squeal that followed would have 
 frightened all the sybils of the mountains out of their grottoes. It 
 was too late, however, to retreat ; — the passage was too narrow 
 to turn round in, and she v/as compelled to enter the first cham- 
 ber before she could be relieved from her predicament. When 
 she came agam into the open day-light, a more astonished and 
 pitiable looking object I never beheld. Her elegant bonnet was 
 blackened and crushed, and she stood fingering it with an absent 
 look, uttering now and then an expression of horror at what she 
 nad passed through. 
 
 This entire shore is a heap of ruins, and each ruin a history. 
 
 Fagged out and weary as ever, we drove slowly home in the 
 mild evening air. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
96 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 A Visit to Salerno — Ruins of Paestum. 
 
 Salerno, April, 1843 
 Dear E. — I have just returned from Paestum. My New York 
 friends and myself made a party, and, selecting a beautiful morn- 
 ing, started for the deserted city. Our road lay for many miles 
 along the Bay, that spread away brightly in the morning sun, 
 and through the towns that skirt the base of Vesuvius, and along 
 the barren lava-tract near Pompeii, and finally opened into the 
 cultivated plains, — when we trotted quietly off towards Salerno. 
 Vineyards came up to the road as far as the eye could reach, in- 
 terspersed with open cultivated grounds, in which the peasants, in 
 their picturesque costume, were gaily at work. The vines in 
 this region are trained on tall poplars, that give the vineyards the 
 appearance of a wood, and do not produce so fine an effect as 
 those farther north. The fields being without fences have an 
 open look, and the mingling ot men and women togethei in their 
 cultivation give them a chequered appearance, and render them 
 very picturesque. In the middle of a large green wheat-fiela 
 would be a group of men and women weeding the grain, the red 
 petticoats and blue spencers of the latter contrasting beautifully 
 with the color of the fields. In one plat of ground I saw a team 
 and a mode of ploughing quite unique, yet withal very simple. 
 The earth wa^ soft as if already broken up, and needed only a 
 little mellowing. To eifect this, a man had harnessed his wife to 
 a plough, which she dragged to and fro with all the patience of 
 an ox, he the mean time holding it behind, as if he had been ac- 
 customed to drive and she to go. This was literally " ploughing 
 with the heifer." She, with a strap around her breast, leaning 
 gently forward, and he, bowed over the plough behind, presented 
 a most curious picture in the middle of a field. The plough here 
 
A VISIT TO SALERNO. 97 
 
 is a very simple instrument, having but one handle and no share, 
 but in its place a pointed piece of wood, sometimes shod v/ith iron, 
 projecting forward like a spur; and merely passes through the 
 ground like a sharp-pointed stick, without turning a smooth fur- 
 row like our own. 
 
 As we approached the Mountains the scenery changed and as- 
 sumed a wilder and more varied aspect, V/e stopped at Nocera, 
 a place founded it is supposed by the Pelasgi — once taken by the 
 Saracens, and once bravely and successfully defended against 
 Hannibal. Here is an old Cathedral, about v/hich antiquarians 
 have differed much ; and the only safe result finally reached is, 
 that it is of great antiquity, and whether originally a Church or 
 not, v/as built when Nocera was a far richer and more important 
 place. A small collection of houses is near it, from vv^hich 
 swarmed children and young women to beg for a few grani. 
 Though dirty and ragged, their features were m.uch finer than 
 those near Naples. You would have lausjhed to have seen me 
 fairly blocked in by babies and urchins, and young vromen 
 clamoring for money. Wishing to look in their houses to see 
 how they lived, I scattered some small change among them, 
 which immediately made them my warm friends ; and the invita- 
 tions I had to their dwellings, espenially from those v/ho had not 
 yet received any money, were excessively warm and urgent. I 
 walked into one house from, which I had seen no one come forth 
 to beg. In the centre of the room was a cradle with a sick infant 
 in it, while the mother sat at the side of it at work. She was a 
 fine-looking woman, and seemed quite superior to the herd that 
 dogged my footsteps. She looked up as I entered, and muttered 
 something of my impoliteness. I thought she was about half 
 right ; but stepping up to the cradle, I inquired after the child 
 and laid some money in its hand. Mercy ! what a change ! The 
 sullen look with which she had. greeted me passed away, and she 
 addressed me with all the blandness of an Italian woman. But 
 oh ! what dwellings for human beings ! I have been in the 
 quarterings of slaves at the South, but they are comfortable apart- 
 ments compared with these. A miserable bed and an old loom, 
 with a few chickens and a pig, complete the entire furniture. 1 
 passed in and out followed by the same ragged gang, till all at 
 
98 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 once it occurred to me that these beggars were in general noto 
 rious thieves. I had, as I supposed, a note-book in my coat- 
 pocket which closed like a pocket-book, and hence presented a 
 strong temptation for a thief. I immediately put my hand behind 
 me and found it was gone. I was enraged at their ingraiiiude 
 There I had been talking good naturedly, and scattering moner 
 Among the ragged, vermin-covered little thieves, and they had re. 
 u-arded me with stealing my note-book. I mustered my he?J. 
 Italian and abused them as a gang of ungrateful pickpockets. 
 They looked quite astonished and innocent, and seemed v/illing 
 and ardent to find the lost property. Knowing the frequent cases 
 of robbery, it did not once occur to me that I might have left the 
 thing behind ; and, conscious that as soon as they had opened it 
 they would find it valueless, I olTered a reward for its return. 
 Men and women ran to and fro screaming to one another, and 
 then returned to report progress, Vv'hich was alwa3^s ' Jion si trova/ 
 (not found). Our driver exerted himself most patiently, until I 
 finally called him back and told him to drive on. As he mounted 
 the box, he knocked up his cap on one side, and scratching his 
 head with a most knowing look, said : — " I will bet my head you 
 have left it at home, for these people dare not steal." There was 
 no more to be said on the subject ; and I confess that just that 
 moment I remembered I had taken it out of my pocket in the 
 office of the hotel as we were starting off, to write a note to our 
 Consul, and it was at least possible I had left it behind. The 
 thought, I acknowledge, did not please me much, and I would 
 have given a little to know I had not wronged the beggars. 
 
 I however soon forgot it all in the glorious scenery that sur- 
 rounded us. Woods, rocks, vineyards, streams, castles, convents 
 and watch-towers were scattered on every side. Now a sweet 
 village lay nestling under a dark-brovred hill ; and now a ruined 
 castle stood out in bold relief against the sky, perched on an al- 
 most inaccessible peak, around which, in the old lawless times, 
 had been many a fierce struggle. Here we passed a solitary 
 house peeping out from a mass of foliage in the side of the moun- 
 tain, with a little rivulet brawling by it ; and there saw the spire 
 of a church shooting up behind a crag on the very summit of a 
 high, bald mountain — placed in that eagle-like spot to be half 
 
A VISIT TO SALERNO. 99 
 
 way between two little villages that lay scattered on either side 
 below. The path to it wound and wound up and along the bar- 
 ren mass, until it finally dropped into the bosom of the church, 
 whose bell, every Sabbath morning, woke the sleeping echoes 
 around those villages to call their inhabitants to their mountain 
 worsliip. A little farther on, we passed nearly over a village, 
 the spires of whose churches barely rose to our carriage-wheels. 
 Over the ravine that led into the town was a slender foot-bridge, 
 from the farther end of which a narrow path commenced and 
 went straggling up the hill, and finally dropping over the ridge, 
 was lost from view. I inquired where it went, and was told to a 
 little village perched on the farther side that looked down on the 
 sea. A few more turns and the beautiful Bay of Salerno opened 
 to view, — blue, quiet and mild as heaven. Its natural beauties 
 are almost, if not quite, equal to those of Naples. We had 
 hardly driven into the yard of our hotel before the usual retinue 
 of beggars was behind us. 
 
 In bargaining for our meals and rooms, everything was so 
 reasonable that we could not complain ; and for once I did not at- 
 tempt to beat down the landlord. The entire arrangement of the 
 prices was always left to me in travelling, and I had acquired 
 quite a reputation in dickering with the thieving Italian landlords 
 and vetturini. We made the man specify the dishes he would 
 give us ; and among other things he mentioned an English pud- 
 ding. This required some discussion ; but we finally concluded 
 not to trust an Italian in Salerno with such a dish, and had its 
 place supplied with something else. He promised enough ; and 
 I was turning away quite satisfied, when my friends slyly hinted 
 at my principle, never to close a bargain with an Italian on his 
 own terms. It wouldn't do to lose my reputation ; and so turning 
 round, I very gravely said : — " I suppose you will throw in the 
 English pudding." He as gravely and with blandness replied : 
 — " Oh, yes." A peal of laughter closed the contract and we 
 strolled out to see the town. The mountains rise directly over it, 
 on the cragged summit of which stands an old fortress. Salerno 
 is an old town, and once boasted one of the most celebrated Med- 
 ical Schools of Italy. Its Cathedral also has some rich orna 
 ments ; but its great beauty is its Bay. We returned to our ho 
 
100 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 tel, and, sitting down on a balcony that overlooked it, drank in 
 the fresli evening air, and feasted on the quiet beauty of the 
 scene. The sun went down over Amalfi, pencilling with its last 
 beams the distant mountains that curved into the sea beyond 
 Pcestum. Along the beach, on which the ripples were laying 
 their lips with a gentle murmur, a group of soldiers in their gay 
 uniform was strolling, waking the drowsy echoes of evening with 
 their stirring bugle-notes. The music was sv/eet ; and at such 
 an hour, in such a scene doubly so. They wandered carelessly 
 along, now standing on the very edge of the sand where the rip- 
 ples died, and now hidden from sight behind some projecting point 
 where the sound confined, and thrown back, cam.e faint and dis- 
 tant on the ear, till emerging again into view, the martial strain 
 sv/elled out in triumphant notes till the rocks above and around 
 were alive with echoes. It was a dreamy hour; and just then, 
 as if on purpose to glorify the whole, the full moon rose up over 
 the sea and poured its flood of light over the waters, tipping every 
 ripple with silver, and making the vvhole beach, where the v/ater 
 touched it, a chain of pearls. One by one my friends had drop- 
 ped away to their rooms till I was left alone. I felt that " night, 
 most glorious night," was not sent for slumber. Every vagrant 
 sound had ceased, except the very faint murmur of the swell on 
 the beach. The grey old mountains were looking down on Sa- 
 lerno, and Salerno on the sea ; and all was quiet as night ever is 
 when left alone. And yet, quiet and peaceful as it was, it had 
 been the scene of stirring conflicts. There were the moonbeams 
 sleeping on the v/all against which Hannibal had once thundered 
 with his fierce Africans ; and along that beach the wild war-cry 
 of the Saracen had rung, and women and children lain in slaugh- 
 tered heaps. But the bold Saracen and bolder African had passed 
 away, while the sea and the rocks remained the same. I turned 
 to my couch, not wondering the poets of the Augustan age sang 
 so much and so sweetly of Salerno. 
 
 In the morning we rose with the sun and rattled off merrily for 
 Pffistum, still twenty miles distant. For a while we passed 
 through cultivated fields, in which were groups of Calabrian peas- 
 ants, dressed just as Salvator Rosa has painted them. At length 
 we entered on the long and pestiferous swamps, in the midst of 
 
RUINS OF P^STUM. 15 
 
 which Psestum stands, or rather stood. For miles and miles I 
 was the same dead level, with nothing to relieve the eye but her« 
 and there a straw and mud hut, shaped like a bee-hive, in which 
 the keepers live who watch the herds driven here to graze ; and 
 the herds of buffaloes themselves that roam over the plain. These 
 buffaloes are v/ild-looking creatures, but tame as our farm-yard 
 cattle. Each has its peculiar name, which it knows like a dog, 
 and the overseer rides among them, calling to this and that, as a 
 huntsman to his pack of hounds. We passed in sight of the Royal 
 Chateau and Hunting- Grounds of Persano, which seemed the only 
 fertile spot in sight. 
 
 At length the ancient Temples became visible in the distance, 
 and gradually brightened as we approached, till they stood clear 
 and well-defined in all their naked grandeur and fine proportions 
 against the summer-sky. There are but three of them, Ceres, 
 Neptune, and the Basilica, as it is termed. I had imaged to my- 
 self crumbling walls, falling arches, and masses of ruins. But 
 all such fragments had long ago been melted by time into the 
 common mass of earth ; and these three naked, perfect skeletons 
 are left standing alone. The roofs are fallen in, and yet you 
 scarcely notice it till you enter them. They are all in the form 
 of parallelograms, composed entirely of columns with their en- 
 tablatures. 
 
 After wandering through them we went to a stream near by, 
 whose petrifying qualities formed the stone from which the Temples 
 were reared. It is called Travertine, and still lines the borders 
 of the stream in immense quantities. The peasantry told me it 
 still possessed this remarkable property, and that a cane left in it 
 would in six months be converted into stone. We collected some 
 curious specimens, and returned to the Temple of Neptune. 
 Here, on the fragment of an old column, our servant had spread 
 our " dejeuner ;" and the mysterious Past was forgotten in the 
 strong demands of a keen appetite. After I had finished I threw 
 a chicken-bone and an orange-peel to Neptune, and without wait- 
 ing for the oracle's answer, prepared -to depart. The clouds 
 were fast gathering on the sky ; — ^the wind was increasing, and 
 here and there a drop of rain admonished us to hasten away. 
 We reached here about dusk. The bells were gaily ringing, and 
 
102 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 the town was illuminated, in honor of the birth of a Princess to 
 the Queen of Naples. Lonely, exhausted, and weary, I think of 
 you and home to-night, and the wide sea that rolls between us. 
 But even you grow dim under the stronger claims of Somnus, and 
 I ilirow down my pen to -creep to my couch. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
CASTELLAMARE. 103 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 Castellamare — The Italian — A Storm at Naples, &.c 
 
 Castellamare, April, 1843. 
 Dear E. — "Castellamare!" — it is quite a high-sounding name, 
 and has doubtless once been an important stronghold, but it is now 
 only a small town. It is interesting chiefly as the site of ancient 
 Stabia, where once the torch of civil war, under Scylla, burned 
 high and hotly. It seems impossible, as one stands on these vine- 
 covered grounds of a bright spring-day and looks off on so quiet a 
 scene, that war and havoc have once ploughed up the very rocks 
 around. Yet it is true ; and what the passions of men have left, 
 Vesuvius has taken for its prey. The storm of fire and ashes 
 that buried Pompeii stooped also on this town, and gave it a buri- 
 al-place here upon the rocks that overlook the sea. An old cas- 
 tle still stands on the edge of the water, which once must have been 
 impregnable. There are some mineral springs in the place, and 
 other things of trifling importance which we did not see. The 
 main object of interest was the view from the heights, which we 
 mounted without the aid of donkeys, although pressed upon us 
 with surprising liberality by their owners. At length, after toil- 
 ing up a long ascent shaded by ilexes, and which Royalty never 
 yet mounted on foot, we reached the Royal Villa, and passing it, 
 went up, up, till we came to the " Queen's Place of Prospect." 
 It was a beautiful view ; and made, thank Heaven, not for a 
 Queen, but for Man — for every man who has a soul to enjoy it. 
 I'o liim they belong by a " peculiar right." The sea lay below 
 us, swept by a strong gale, against which, here and there, was a 
 ship leaning to the blast and beating anxiously into port. Closer 
 m stood two war vessels, clothed from mast-head to deck, in flags, 
 gaily flaunting out in honor of the birth of another Prince, — whiles 
 
104 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 farther off, the islands of Capri and Ischia looked blue and qiiel 
 as ever in their sea home. 
 
 Naples, ten or fifteen miles distant, bent beautiful as evei 
 around the Bay, — while off on the right in solemn grandeur, tow- 
 ered away Vesuvius, lifting its solemn invocation to Heaven, with 
 the lonely ruins of Pompeii sleeping humbly at its feet. Oh ! 
 how mournful they looked in that smoky atmosphere, as if scarce- 
 ly daring to lift their heads in sight of their old and triumphant 
 foe. Vesuvius seems omnipresent to the traveller around Naples ; 
 he cannot turn a point, or ascend an eminence, or look back on 
 his path, without beholding that bold, bleak mountain, gazing 
 moodily down upon him.. It seems to stand so conspicuously as 
 if on purpose to remind the gay Neapolitans that danger is ever 
 near. 
 
 Our guide was a talkative fellow, and seemed not in the least 
 afraid to express his opinions. Indeed, he was a thorough-going 
 Democrat, and. if he had the privilege of voting, would most cer- 
 tainly cast his ballot against Kings. I have always endeavored 
 to get at the real feelings of the lower classes in Italy. Nobles 
 and the like are very close-mouthed, knowing their words are 
 watched and borne to other ears. When they speak on Govern- 
 ments, they speak as if in the audience-chamber of the King ; but 
 the Poor, whose words weigh nothing, are allowed to talk as they 
 please ; for a few i)ullets will quickly stop their prating when it 
 begins to generate action. Hence, I have ever found them quite 
 free, and usually yery republican in their thoughts. I inquired 
 of our guide hov/ many palaces the king had. "Five," he re- 
 plied. " How long does he live in this one during the year V 
 " A month, perhaps."—" Ah !" said I, " the king has five palaces, 
 then. It must cost something to keep them all in order." — " Ah, 
 e vero" (true enough), he rejoined, with that peculiar shrug 
 which an Italian knows how to give. " Would it not be better to 
 have less — say one or two — and give the avails of the rest to those 
 poor wretches I see starving around me ?" "Yes, indeed; but 
 it won't be.'' He seemed quite brief in his replies till I changed 
 my tone ; and, pointing to the glorious valley that spread inland 
 from the sea, dotted with vineyards, said : — " After all, I don't 
 know but it is as well. Those people must be very comfortable 
 
A STORM AT NAPLES. 105 
 
 7onder in the valley. I doubt not they have enough to eat." 
 " No, no, Signore," he quickly replied, " they do not have enough 
 to eat. The heavy duties take away all they earn. There is 
 much misery there," said he, looking off on the lovely plain and 
 shaking his head. " Well, but," I asked, " why do you have 
 Kings if they burden you so heavily ?" '•' Ah ! what will one 
 do ? if we utter too many complaints we are thrown in prison ; 
 and what do we gain ?" He seemed to take fire at once ; and, 
 hurrying on with all the impetuosity of an Italian, uttered a fear- 
 ful tirade against the Government, and ended by saying : — " We 
 want another Massaniello to lead us. But the time will come-^ 
 let us wait — the time will come when we will do thus to Kings," 
 [drawing, as he spoke, a piece of board he held in his banc 
 across his throat with a gesture no one could mistake.] His eyi 
 fairly flashed as he said this ; but the next m.oment it had all van- 
 ished, and, Neapolitan like, he uttered some careless joke. 1 
 sometimes think it is v/ell these people are not serious or lasting 
 in their feelings. Let a volcano rise up and bury two or three 
 cities in any part of England every few years, and the country 
 around it would be as desolate and uninhabited as the African 
 Desert. But here they build on the lava before it looks fairly 
 cold. A Neapolitan never thinks long on one thing ; yet there is 
 not a beggar in the street or a fisherman on the Bay that does 
 not know the history of Massaniello. He is the People's Wash- 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 To-night we arrived from Castellamare. Our road wound 
 along the Bay — near Pompeii, through Torre del Greco, into 
 the city. The sky was darkly overcast — the wind was high 
 and angry, and the usually quiet Bay threw its aroused and 
 rapid swell on the beach. Along the horizon, between the sea 
 and sky, hung a storm-cloud blacker than the water. Here 
 and there was a small sailing-craft, or fisherman's boat, pulling 
 for the shore, while those on the beach were dragging their boats 
 still farther up on the sand, in preparation for the rapidly-gather- 
 ing storm. There is always something fearful in this bustling 
 preparation for a tempest. It was peculiarly so here. The roar 
 
106 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 of the surge was on one side ; on the other lay a buried city — 
 ft smoking mountain ; while our very road was walled with lava 
 that cooled on the spot where it stood. The column of smoke 
 that Vesuvius usually sent so calmly into the sky, now lay on a 
 level with the summit, and rolled rapidly inland, before the fierce 
 sea-blast. It might have been fancy ; but, amid such elemenls 
 of strength, and such memories and monuments of their fury, it 
 did seem as if it wanted but a single touch to send valley, towns, 
 mountain and all, like a fired magazine into the air. Clouds of 
 dust rolled over us, blotting out even the road from our view ; 
 while the dull report of cannon from Naples, coming at intervals 
 on our ears, added to the confusion and loneliness of the scene. 
 As we entered the city and rode along the port, the wild tossing 
 of the tall masts as the heavy hulls rocked on the waves, the 
 creaking of the timbers, and the muffled shouts of seamen, as 
 they threw their fastenings, added to the gloom of the evening ; 
 and I went to my room, feeling that I should not be surprised to 
 find myself aroused at any moment by the rocking of an earth- 
 quake under me. The night did not disappoint the day, and set 
 in with a wildness and fury, that these fire-countries alone exhibit. 
 My room overlooked the Bay and Vesuvius. The door opened 
 upon a large balcony. As I stood on this, and heard the groan- 
 ing of the vessels below, reeling in the darkness, and the sullen 
 sound of the surge, as it fell on the beach, while the heavy thun- 
 der rolled over the sea, and shook the city on its foundations, — I 
 felt I would not live in Naples. Ever and anon a vivid flash of 
 lightning would throw distant Vesuvius in bold relief against the 
 sky, with his forehead completely wrapped in clouds that moved 
 not to the blast, but clung there, as if in solemn consultation with 
 the mountain upon the night. Overhead the clouds were driven 
 in every direction, and nature seemed bestirring herself for some 
 wild work. At length the heavy rain-drops began to fall, one by 
 one, as if pressed from the clouds ; and I turned to my room, 
 feeling that the storm would weep itself away. 
 
 Truly yours • 
 
CAPUA— A PRIEST. 107 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 Capua — A Priest — Cenotaph of Cicero — a Proud Peasant Girl. — Sunset 
 on the Sea. 
 
 Alb AND, April. 
 Dear E. — Bright and early on Wednesday morning our driver 
 cracked his whip through the streets of Naples, and we rattled 
 off for old Rome. Do not understand by this, that there was 
 any thing like locomotive speed in our movement, for nothing 
 would be farther from the truth. We had, however, four horses 
 attached to our carriage, and the road was good enough to tempt 
 a rapid drive, if the thing had been possible. We entered on a 
 flat country covered with vineyards, and crossed with hedges, and 
 came at noon to Capua, where we breakfasted. The dirty town 
 is strongly garrisoned, and filled with soldiers and priests. An 
 old Capuchin friar came into the yard of the inn soon after we 
 arrived, rattling his wooden box, and asking in a whining tone 
 for charity. He had a most amiable face, and its benevolent ex- 
 pression quite charmed me. He seemed to be aware of the im- 
 pression he made upon me, for with his cowl thrown back from 
 his shaven crown, and his cross and rosary dangling at his rope 
 giidle, he approached me in a most insinuating manner, asking 
 for alms, and promising to pra.y for me as long as he lived. I 
 thought I would test his creed for once ; and so pulling out a 
 handful of small change, I rattled it before his greedy eyes and 
 said, — " You say then you will pray for me, if I will give you 
 money ?" " Si, signore !" " But a priest — your superior in rank, 
 has told me, there is no chance for a heretic ; that he did not even 
 stop in purgatory, but went straight past into the lowest depths of 
 perdition. Now you say you will pray for me ; but if I am 
 damned at the outset, j^our prayers will be of no use." " Oh," 
 said he^ '' I will pray that you may become a good Catholic." " T 
 
108 LETTERS i'ROM ITALY. 
 
 am much obliged to you," I replied, " but I wish no such prayers 
 for me, with or without money. I am a confirmed heretic, and 
 desire to remain so ; so good morning." With this I put my 
 money into my pocket. He sav/ it disappear like a treasure 
 going into the deep, and wriggled and leered, till his simple face 
 expressed more shrewdness than I thought it capable of doing. 
 " Oh," said he, " I v/iil pray for your hody, that it may be kept 
 well." ''No," replied I; "the doctors will take care of that ; 
 besides, the soul is of more importance than the body, and if you 
 cannot say there is a chance for me as a heretic, and that you 
 will pray for me as such, there's no use of talking farther." The 
 covetous fellow was cornered, and he had sense enough to see it. 
 He found there was no dodging the point, and finally, with a des- 
 perate effort, declared he would pray for my salvation as a 
 heretic. I held the money over his box and said, " Now there is 
 no mistake about this, and no deception?" "No, signore." 
 "Then there is a hope forme?" "Si, signore!" I dropped the 
 money in his box, and we then entered on a long conversation 
 about his religion. He said he fasted and scourged himself fre- 
 quently ; and that lately, in one of his self macerations, the evan- 
 gelist Matthew had appeared to him in the form of a baby, and 
 that he expected another visit soon. At length, getting weary of 
 his nonsense, I bid him good morning ; and he shuffled away^ 
 wishing all the blessings of two worlds on my head. 
 
 Towards evening v/e approached a range of hills, and a shower 
 that had passed over that part of the country, had clothed every 
 thing in a brighter green, while the fresh air from the heights 
 around, visited my fevered system, as if on an angel's mission of 
 love. I got out of the carriage, and strolled along, drinking in 
 health with every breath. I fairly shouted in the new life 
 that had suddenly opened around me. Convents perched on the 
 side of the green hills, and villages reclining along distant slopes, 
 glittered in the yellow sunlight, while not a sound disturbed the 
 deep quietness of the scene, save the vesper hymn of the bird, or 
 the sweet chime of far off bells. It was an hour of enchant- 
 ment. At length, as we made a bend in the road, Vesuvius 
 burst on our view, blue and dim in the distance, and sending up 
 Its everlasting column of smoke in the evening air. It looked 
 
CENOTAPH OF CICERO 109 
 
 lonely and sad at that distance, as if almost regretting its own, 
 destiny, and weary of its diabolic work. It was with no ordinary 
 feelings I bade it farewell. Those great — and if I may use the 
 term — active features in scenery, always fasten themselves on my 
 affections. 
 
 At night ^ve stopped at a most primitive inn ; it was built 
 around a court, with the stables under a part of the chambers, 
 adorned with bulrush carpets, and window curtains, &c., of the 
 same material. The next day we breakfasted at Mola. Not to 
 trouble you with details of the ruins here, and skipping over also 
 the ingratitude of a garrulous old woman, who conducted me 
 round to see the different objects of interest, I mention only the 
 Cenotaph of Cicero, standing near by, erected on the spot where 
 he was murdered. He had a villa here, to which he had retired 
 from the storm of persecution that was darkening over his liead. 
 '• There is a tide in the affairs of men," and he knew that the 
 ebb of his own had come. At length he heard that messengers 
 were on the way to slay him. Though lying sick and almost 
 litlplcss, his fiieiids placed him in a litter, and started for the 
 sea, for the purpose of embarking to some distant port. He had 
 reached this spot v/hen the murderers met him. The old orator 
 saw that his hour had come, and prepared himself for the blow. 
 It is said, he met his fate with the composure that became liim. 
 His cenotaph consists of three stories, but it is now in ruins. 
 Clambering up its rough and ruined sides, I came very near 
 Jbreaking my neck, and thus making it stand for Cicero and me 
 toofether. However consolino; such an event mio;ht have been to 
 my future fame, I was not particularly desirous for such an im- 
 mediate association of our names. 
 
 I was pleased with an illustration of pride in a poor peasant 
 girl that I passed soon after. We overtook three w^omen, two of 
 y/hom immediately began to beg. The third, a dark-eyed, hand- 
 some young creature, carrying a load on the top of her head, 
 moved on with a stately step without deigning us a look. I ask- 
 ed the old women what was her name. They replied, " Elizabet- 
 ta."-^So I called out " Elizabetta ! Elizabettai 1" The old wo- 
 men laughed, but she never turned her head or gave any sign of 
 I saw the blood mantle in her dark brown cheek 
 
110 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 and her eye flash, and I half regretted my actions, and threw 
 me money to the old women : they picked it up with a cry of 
 icy, and I could see that Elizabetta. as she turned a moment, and 
 saw the amount, was half sorry she had lost it. So I called out 
 again, and she turned round, but immediately wheeled back and 
 walked on prouder than before — a perfect Dido in her bearing. 
 It was amusing to observe the struggle between her pride and her 
 need. She saw she had lost more than she could gain by an en- 
 tire day's work, yet she was too proud to receive it as a beggar. 
 
 Towards evening we came to Fondi, the spot where Horace 
 had such a heart)- laugh over the pomposity of the Prcetor. The 
 road from thence to Terracina is anything but pleasant. We 
 entered tlie to%^Ti by the famous pass in whicli Hannibal received 
 his nrst check from Fabius. It seems strange that so good a gen- 
 eral as Hannibal should have attempted to force such a pass, 
 against the great odds that were against him. 
 
 Terracina is a dirt}- hole — ^the women blackguards, and the 
 landlord a rascal. So much for the to-mi that introduced us into 
 the dominions of his holiness. The passage of the twenty miles 
 of Pontine marshes next morning was sloomv enough — ^the road 
 goes in a straight line as far as you can see : the only terra jirma 
 in sight— and wherever the swamp showed a crust tliick enough to 
 bear, or mud dense enough to sustain an animal bv sinking to its 
 middle, there were buffaloes, half wild, and horses, browsing on 
 the stunted herbage. That twenty miles was the gloomiest ride 
 I ever took — it seemed like passing through the very valley of 
 death. I wonder Tirgil did not fix his Avernus here, no one 
 would then have doubted his veracity. Towards evening we be- 
 gan to ascend the hill to Yelletri. For miles and miles we 
 crawled up the ascent — ^through the town itself, (where our driver 
 wished to stay over night, but I would not let hun.) and up the 
 n'iountain, which looked back on the drear region stretching away 
 to the Pontine marshes. We reached a high elevation just as the 
 sun was going down, and a more glorious sunset I never beheld. 
 Far, far below us and away, slept the Mediterranean, bluer than 
 the heavens over it, while the flaming fire-ball hung only a few 
 feet from its surface. L'nderneath it, the waters piled up like a 
 hillock of gold, while the heavens beyond seemed like the vei-y 
 
SUNSET ON THE SEA. Ill 
 
 portals to the world of glory. I gazed and gazed till the glorious 
 orb disappeared, and then thought of home and friends. 
 
 The night at length enfolded us, and the stars came out one 
 after another, while far away on the horizon, spread dim and 
 white the tail of the unannounced comet, that is rushing through 
 our system. Amid the deep defiles we went floundering on in 
 the dark, our driver, now and then throwing in between his curses 
 — " Ain't this a pretty road to ride over in the night ?" and, " Ah, 
 a poor vetturino never knows anything." At length we came 
 smack up against a team that was standing still in the darkness, 
 and amid howling, and screaming, and cursing, that were enough 
 to deafen one, I went forward on foot and alone. I walked at 
 least ten or twelve miles, and I hailed the lights of Albano, as if 
 they had been those of my home. I went to bed thoroughly ex- 
 hausted, and have been wandering this morning over this classic 
 hill, but will not weary you with a description. 
 
 Yours truly. 
 
112 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 The " Eternal City "—St. Peter's Church. 
 
 Rome, April, \>.?. 
 I DATE from the Eternal City. Yesterday we descended the 
 Albano along the Appian way, with a scene before us, if not the 
 most magnificent, at least the richest in association, of any in the 
 world. Just as we were leaving the village, we passed the tomb 
 of Pompey the Great, a huge, gray structure, rising in a single 
 square tower of gray stone, erected by Cornelia over his ashes. 
 He sleeps well with his ivy-covered monument looking down on 
 the R-omo that was almost his. Adown the entire descent the 
 v/hole desolate campagna of Rome (as far as Socrate) was in 
 view. Amid its ruins, with its towers and domes and obelisks, 
 arose the modern city, a living tomb-stone over the ancient one 
 long dead. Between us and it, like long broken colonnades, 
 stretched the miles of her ancient aqueducts. — Beyond, in the 
 smoky distance, the blue Mediterranean drew its pencil along the 
 sky, making a single line on the horizon, while around all, like 
 guardian spirits, seemed to lean in mournful attitude, the ancient, si- 
 lent Centuries. The grandeur and the loneliness of the wide scene 
 weighed on my heart. Rome, the brightest vision of my early 
 dreams, and the IMecca of all my boyish imaginations, was before me, 
 and yet how different from those dreams ! A person at home can- 
 not appreciate the feelings of one who for the first time looks down 
 on imperial Rome. The impressions which the imagination, from 
 earliest childhood, has graven on the soul, and the aspect pre- 
 sented to the actual eye, are so widely different, that one seems 
 struggling between waking and sleeping — he cannot wholly shake 
 off the early dream, and he cannot believe that what rises before 
 him is all that about which he has dreamed so long. But the 
 very desolateness of the campagna around Rome which every 
 
ST. PETER'S CHURCH. 113 
 
 traveller so deeply regrets is, after all, a great relief to one's feel- 
 ings. It harmonises more with their mood and speaks their lan- 
 guage. Bright fields and thrifty farm-houses and all the life 
 and animation of a richly cultivated country would present too 
 strong a contrast to the fallen "glory of the world." But the 
 sterile earth, the ruins that lie strev/ed over the plain and the 
 lonely aspect all things around it wear, seem to side v/ith the pil 
 grim as he muses over the crumbled empire. Besides, his faith is 
 not so grievously taxed and his convictions so incessantly shocked. 
 He is not compelled to dig through modern improvements to read 
 the lines that move him so deeply. There they are, the very 
 characters the centuries have writ. He sees the foot-prints of the 
 mighty ages, and lays his hand on their mouldering • garments. 
 As we passed over this mournful tract, every stone that lay in the 
 sunshine seemed a history. We were on the Appian way, over 
 which the Roman Legions had thundered so often, and in the very 
 plain where the Sabines — the Volsci and others had in their 
 turn striven to crush the infant empire. 
 
 At length we entered the gates, rolled over the Celian hill and 
 descended into the heart of modern Rome. 
 
 The sensations one experiences in passing through the streets 
 are odd enough. His feet are on a dead empire, and here an 
 ancient obelisk and there a fountain or a ruin keep up the mys- 
 tery and awe with which he first contemplated the city. But 
 suddenly an object passes between him and that ruin — he looks, 
 and it is a modern belle — a Roman, with her French hat, finery 
 and bustle, rustling by. He rubs his eyes and looks again. It 
 cannot be : for upon that proud marble front stands written in 
 haughty characters, S. P. Q. R., " Senate and People of Rome." 
 He turns ; the black-eyed Roman has tripped by, but right among 
 those grim, old columns is a blacksmith quietly shoeing a Ro- 
 man's horse. Thus you go on, one moment reminded of Csesar 
 — the next of tobacco — one moment imagining the haughty form 
 that once passed beneath that arch — the next seeing a beggar 
 crouched in his rags beneath it. 
 
 After I had become domiciled, the first object I sought was St. 
 Peter's. Every body has written of St. Peter's, and every body 
 says that the first view disappointed them — ^that the admirable pro- 
 
114 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 portion maintained throughput diminishes the greatness of the 
 wkole. It was not so with me. Although in general every thing 
 is under my anticipations, this was beyond them. 
 
 As I stood in front of the noble area with the ancient obelisk 
 rising in the centre, and the snow-white fountains sending up their 
 foam against the fourfold colonnade that swept down in a semi- 
 circle on either side to where I stood, surmounted by their one 
 hundred and ninety-two statues, and looked up to the front of St. 
 Peter's rising majestically from its noble flight of steps, I lifted up 
 my hands in amazement. 
 
 My astonishment w^as only increased as I ascended into the 
 vestibule and entered the main body of the church. The rich 
 marble floor — the lofty nave — the stupendous columns, and the 
 wealth of statuary that leans out on every side, make it appear 
 more like an artist's dream than an actual creation. 
 
 You are lost in the amplitude around you, and the men and 
 women that creep over the floor are mere insects amid the gi- 
 gantic objects that stand on every side. At length, as you ap- 
 proach the immense bronze canopy and gaze up into that solemn 
 dome, circling av/ay into the heavens, you exclaim, "It is 
 enough !" It seems as if Art had fallen in love with her own 
 creation, and in the enthusiasm of her passion had thrown away 
 all her wealth upon it. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
SATURDAY BEFORE EASTER. 115 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Saturday before Easter and Easter Sunday. 
 
 Rome, April, 1843. 
 
 Dear E. — I will skip over the ceremonies of Holy week, and 
 give you simply a brief sketch of Saturday before Easter Sun- 
 day, and Easter Sunday itself. 
 
 Saturday before Easter I gave up St. Peter's, as nearly the same 
 thing was to be done over again, and went in the morning to St. 
 John's, in Laterano, (as it is called,) one of the oldest and most 
 magnificent churches of Rome. From its greater contiguity, it 
 claims precedence of St. Peter's, and the feeling between the ri- 
 val churches, is not of the most brotherly kind. St. John's being 
 the mother church, ought to be the residence of the Pope ; but 
 the conveniences and splendor of St. Peter's, correspond better 
 with the tastes of his Holiness, and he you know is not a respon- 
 sible being. The consequence is, that as soon as a pope dies, the 
 College of Cardinals at St. John immediately assert their suprem- 
 acy, by issuing new coin. 
 
 But we will leave them to their quarrels for to-day. This 
 morning is always devoted to the ordination of priests and the 
 baptism of converts — such as Jews, Greeks, &c. Having heard 
 that several Jews and Greeks were to be baptized, I went early 
 to witness the ceremony. I was surprised to find the chui'ch so 
 little crowded ; and after listening a short time to the chanting of 
 the priests, I began to roam over the church. Still few people 
 came, and I began to suspect there was something wrong ; so 
 seeing a priest come out from a side chapel with a book under 
 his arm, 1 accosted him. He told me that the ceremony was in 
 the Baptistry, which is a separate building, erected by Constantine, 
 and repaired by two popes. I immediately hastened to it, and 
 
116 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 descending to the interior, saw the entire circle around the fom, 
 literally blocked with human beings who were patiently waiting 
 the commencement of the imposing ceremony. Putting my foot 
 on the plinth of one of the magnificent porphyry columns that sup- 
 port the dome above the font, and throwing one arm around it, 1 
 was enabled to get a bird's eye view of the whole. — After waiting 
 a half hour or more, the bishops with the priestly procession en- 
 tered. All were standing silent and intent, Vv^aiting the appear- 
 ance of the Jews and Turks, &c., who were thus publicly to ab- 
 jure their faith. The water in the font was blessed, and oil 
 poured on it in the shape of a cross, and chantings uttered, but still 
 no Turks appeared. At length a woman brought forward an in- 
 fant, that seemed about three days old, and it was baptized. A 
 second, that seemed its counterpart, was also brought to the bish- 
 op and baptized. Still the crowd stood in breathless expectation 
 for the commencement of the interesting ceremony that was to 
 crown the whole ; but, alas ! the whole was finished, and the 
 bishop with his train wheeled away. I never beheld such blank 
 looks of astonishment as for a few moments surrounded that font. 
 — Every face expressed in the most emphatic language, " is this 
 all — can it he alL^' And then one would turn to another with 
 such a look of earnest inquiry, as much as to say, " what do you 
 think." Those who had mounted benches and chairs, to overlook 
 the throng, stepped down with such a softly step and shamed 
 look, as if afraid to be noticed, and one after another began to 
 slink away so quietly, and the whole pageant had ended in such 
 a ridiculous farce, that I involuntarily burst into a laugh. Yet it 
 was not on account of the ceremony, but the people. — Many a one 
 bad risen before her time of waking, and many a hurried break- 
 fast taken, and many a scudi expended in carriages, and St. Pe- 
 ter's given up with reluctance to witness the baptism of two very 
 small infants. 
 
 My friend and myself, after loitering around a while, and again 
 seeing the poor creatures mounting " Scala Santa," on their knees, 
 turned to walk home. St. John's, standing close by the gate that 
 leads to Naples, it is a long walk from it to the centre of the city. 
 We at first repented of our choice, for the sun was beating on 
 our heads with terrific force ; but we were soon amply renaid ; 
 
EASTER SUNDAY. 117 
 
 for this being the day whose evening saw the Son of God rise 
 from the dead — it is filled with joyful celebrations. Yesterday, 
 the Tenebrse and Miserere had been sung over the death and 
 burial of the Savior ; but to-day, there was no mourning. The 
 Miserere was over, and the Jubilate commenced. About midday, 
 as we stood on the Quirinal, suddenly every bell of the city seemed 
 unloosed in its tower, and swung, and shouted out its hallelujah. 
 You cannot conceive the exciting effect of so many bells ringing 
 at once in their gladdest notes. — The city seemed fairly to lift 
 under it ; and suddenly from the far castle of St. Angelo, thun- 
 dered forth the deep cannon, blending their sullen joy with the 
 emulative bells, till the Sabine hills sent back the jubilee, and 
 the sound came rolling down over the Quirinal, saying in wild, 
 yet stirring accents, "Christ the Lord is risen to-day." As we 
 M'alked along, from every corner guns were fired till the city 
 shook again. Hovv^ever inappropriate the kind of joy, one could 
 not feel indifferent to it. But after it had subsided av.^ay, and the 
 city lapsed again into its usual quietness, it did seem strange 
 enough. In viewing the pageantries and senseless ceremonies in 
 honor of St. Peter, I have often wondered what the great Apostla 
 would have said, had he foreseen it all ; so now I felt that our Sa- 
 vior must have turned vv ith pity and disgust from such a celebra- 
 tion of his resurrection. In St. Peter's on this day, the principal 
 ceremonies are " blessin^y of the fire and incense " — the new lis^iU 
 (quite different, however, from our new lights at home,) and the 
 blessing of the paschal candle, which is large as a small column. 
 
 Easter Sunday. This is the last great day of the Popish feast; 
 and the Pope celebrates high mass in St. Peter's. This is done 
 but three times in the year — this day — the festival of St. Peter 
 and Paul — and Christmas. To-day also the Pope wears the Tiara 
 or triple crown. It was first worn by Pope Sylvester, with a 
 single coronet; Boniface Eighth, about the year 1300, added a 
 second, and John the Second, or Urban Fifth — it is not certain 
 which, added a third, making it a triple crown, representing the 
 pontifical, imperial, and royal authority combined. 
 
 At any early hour the streets were thronged with carria?ges, 
 and Rome, turned out of doors poured itself towards St. Peter's. 
 It is a mile or more from the main part of the city to the church ; 
 
118 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 and the principal street leading to it, presented two unbroken 
 lines of carriages, one going and the other returning. If for a 
 moment, you got a view of the street for some distance, it appeared 
 like two currents of water, one bearing the multitude on, and the 
 other returning without them. At length, the cardinals began to 
 arrive. Carriage after carriage, to the number of 40 or 50, 
 came clattering along with black horses, and crimson plumes, and 
 gilded trappings, resembling any thing but a cortege of priests. — 
 Each had its three gaily attired footmen ; and some seemed half 
 covered with gold, even to the hubs of the wheels, which glittered 
 with the precious metal. One after another, they dashed into 
 the semicircular colonnade that goes up to the main church, and 
 rolled through its columns, more like the grandees of court, 
 (as they indeed are,) than humble worshippers crowding to the 
 sanctuary of God. As the Pope entered the church, the entire 
 chapter received him, and his procession ; and the choir struck 
 up, " Tu es Petrus et super banc petram sedificabo ecclesiam 
 meam,'' &c. Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build 
 my church, &c. Along the whole immense nave were ranged 
 in opposing files, leaving the middle pavement empty, the grena- 
 diers, national troops and capitoline guards. — Between these in 
 his chair borne upon men's shoulders and covered with a canopy, 
 passed the Pope, the Peacock feathers nodding behind him. The 
 soldiers received him kneeling, and as the choir paused in their 
 *' Tu es Petrus," &c., the military stationed in the gallery at the 
 end of the church, midway to the roof, filled their trumpets, and 
 the great bell of the Cathedral rung out its acclamations to the 
 '' two hundred and Jifty -seventh successor '^ of the great Apostle. 
 I noticed the holy father kept his eyes shut as usual, while he 
 was borne along in state ; but I did not feel much respect for his 
 devotional aspect, for I had been told by an Italian that the old 
 man was compelled to close his eyes, as the motion of the chair 
 made him seasick. Alas, that greatness must have the same 
 stomach as ordinary men. 
 
 I will not weary you with a detailed description of the mass 
 and communion, and other ceremonies of the day ; for it would 
 simply be saying that his Holiness knelt on a crimson and gold 
 cushion — that now he laid aside, or rather had laid aside, his 
 
EASTER SUNDAY. 119 
 
 tiara, and put on his mit 'e, and now vice versa — that there \ver3 
 benedictions, and genuflections, and chantings, and incensings, 
 and nonsensings of every sort. I loitered it out till the time of 
 giving the benediction, when I pressed through the crowd and 
 threaded my way to the top of one of the colonnades, to witness 
 the imposing ceremony. To imagine it well, you must place be- 
 fore you a magnificent church, with the paved ground gently 
 sloping up to the flight of steps that lead into it. From each cor- 
 ner imagine an open colonnade running down in a semicircular 
 form, enclosing a vast area, and you have the front of St. Peter's. 
 The centre of the area was kept clear by the military, ranged 
 round it in the form of a hdlow square. Between the upper file 
 of soldiers and the church steps, stood the living mass that waited 
 the benediction. Behind the lower file were crowded the count- 
 less carriages. The open colonnades, and the top of one of them, 
 are given to strangers. In the front of the church, over the main 
 entrance, there is a gallery, covered with a crimson cloth and 
 shaded by an immense piece of canvass. Into this gallery the 
 Pope advances, and blesses the people. 
 
 Standing on the top of a colonnade, leaning against the base of 
 a statue, I had a complete view of the whole. It was a grand 
 spectacle, and I contemplated it with mingled feelings. The 
 Pope had not yet made his appearance — and indeed I almost for- 
 got him. It was both a pageant and a farce, combining all the 
 magnificence that dazzles the crowd, and all the folly that " makes 
 the angels weep." 
 
 Nearly under me were a group of pilgrims, ragged and dirty, 
 lying along the steps, unconscious of all around — their staves 
 leaning across them, their head on their hand, and they either 
 nodding or fast asleep. One boy held my attention for a long 
 time. He lay on the hard stone, in deep slumber, with his fathei 
 asleep beside him. Suddenly there was the blast of a trumpet, 
 and the father started from his repose, and, supposing the Pope 
 was about to appear, roused up his boy, so that they might not 
 lose the invaluable blessing. The tired, ragged little fellow rose 
 half up, and then fell back again heavily on the steps, sound 
 asleep. The Pope did not appear, and the father, too, was soon 
 in deep slumber beside his boy. What were their dreams, in the 
 
120 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 midst of this pomp and splendor? Tliey had wandered far from 
 their quiet home, to receive the blessing of the Holy Father. 
 Reckless of the magnificence around them — of the crowd — the 
 ocean-like murmur that went up to heaven — they had fallen 
 asleep under the shadow of St. Peter's. That boy, ragged and 
 dirty as he was, had also his dreams, and his palace and objects 
 of ambition ; but they were all far away, and many a weary mile 
 must be traversed before he would be amid them again. What 
 a change, to be waked from that quiet dream by the sound of 
 trumpets, and instead of his own rude hut by the mountain stream, 
 to find the lofty cathedral before him, and the rumor of thousands 
 around him. ! 
 
 At length the Pope appeared — engaged in a short prayer — 
 stretched out his hands over the multitude that sunk to the earth, — 
 and pronounced the benediction. The long lines of soldiers 
 kneeled in their ranks, and all was silent as the grave. But the 
 last word was scarcely spoken, before they were on their feet — 
 drum and trumpet pealed out their joy — ^the cannon of St. An- 
 gelo answered them, and the bells threw in their clang to swell 
 the jubilee — the m.ultitude began to sway and toss and disperse — ■ 
 and all v/as over. The people had been blessed, but their condi- 
 tion had not been bettered ; and I thought of what a vetturino 
 whom I once engaged said to me — " The people," said he, " are 
 taxed so that they cannot live, and all the country is filled with 
 misery and poverty, and all the return they get from the Pope is 
 his benediction once a year. Ah," he added, with a scorn it was 
 well his Holiness did not see, " non e un benedizione e un male- 
 dizione ;" " it is not a benediction, but a malediction. '^ 
 
 There could not have been less, I think, than 40,000 people 
 assembled. After all the ceremony is over, you can walk, if you 
 will, through St. Peter's and view its magnificence. On one side 
 is arranged a row of temporary confessionals, with a placard over 
 each, in every language in the civilized world. There the Arab, 
 Russian, German, Greek. Swede, Spaniard and Englishman, can 
 confess his sins in his own tongue, and receive absolution. Poor 
 wretches are laieeling before them, pouring the tale of their sor- 
 rows and sins into the ears of the yawning confessor, v/ho dis- 
 misses them, one after another, with lightened consciences, though 
 
EASTER SUNDAY. 121 
 
 not with purer hearts. At sun-down, if not too tired, you can 
 return and stroll over the marble pavement, and listen to the ves- 
 pers that, chanted in a side chapel, come stealing sweetly out into 
 the amplitude, and float away among the arches in ravishing 
 melody. The lamps are burning dimly before the altar — ^twilight 
 is deepening over the glorious structure, and forms in strange 
 costumes are slowly passing and repassing over the tesselated 
 floor. The heart becomes subdued under the influence of sight, 
 and sound, and a feeling almost of superstition will creep over 
 the sternest heart. The gloom grows deeper, leaving nothing 
 iistinctly seen, while that vesper hymn steals forth on the bewil- 
 lered ear, like a strain from the unseen world. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
122 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 Illumination of St. Peter's — The Girandola. 
 
 Rome, April, 1343. 
 Dear E. — I was too weary to give you in my last a descrip- 
 tion of the closing up of Easter Sunday. It is a principle in all 
 Catholic ceremonies, never to wind off gradually, as is too fre- 
 quently the case among Protestants, but to have the last display 
 the most magnificent of all. Thus on Easter Sunday, the clo- 
 sing up of Holy Week, the Papal throne crowds its entire 
 pomp into its ceremonies, and as, during the day, the interior of 
 St. Peter's has done its utmost to magnify his Holiness, so at 
 night the exterior must do its share of glorification. This great 
 building, covering several acres, is illuminated in its entire outer 
 surface. It is an operation of great expense, and attended with 
 much danger. It is caused by suspending four tliousand four, 
 hundred lanterns upon it, covering it from the dome down. To 
 accomplish ihis, men have to be let down with ropes, over every 
 •part of the edifice, and left dangling there for more than an hour. 
 Even from the base of the church they look like insects creeping 
 over the surface. Hanging down the precipitous sides of the im- 
 m^ense dome, standing four hundred feet high in the air, is attend- 
 ed with so much danger, that the eighty men employed in it al- 
 ways receive extreme unction before they attempt it. The last 
 sacrament is taken, and their accounts settled, both for this world 
 and the next, so that death would not,' after all, be so great a 
 calamity. The Pope must amuse the people, and glorify his 
 reign, though he hazard human life in doing it. But he has the 
 magnanimity to secure the sufferer from evil in the next world. 
 If a rope break, and the man is crushed into a shapeless mass on 
 the pavement below, his soul immediately ascends to one of the 
 most favored seats in Paradise. Pie fell from God's church — ho 
 
ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER'S. 123 
 
 died in the attempt to illuminate it, and in obedience to God's 
 vicegerent on earth. How can the man help being saved ? But 
 to make assurance doubly sure, the Pope gives him a passport 
 with his own hand, which he declares St. Peter, who sits by the 
 celestial gates, will most fully recognize. This is very kind of 
 the Pope. If he kills a man, he sends him to heaven, and se- 
 cures him a recompense in the next world for all he lost in this. 
 The ignorant creature who is willing to undertake the perilous 
 operation for the sake of a few dollars, wherewith to feed his 
 children, believes it all, and fearlessly swings in mid heaven, 
 where the yieldhig of a single strand of the rope would precip- 
 itate him where the very form of humanity would be crushed out 
 of him. 
 
 But one forgets all this in looking at the illumination, which it 
 is impossible to describe. There are two illuminations. The 
 first is called the silver one, and commences about eight o'clock 
 in the evening. These four thousand four hundred lamps are so 
 arranged as to reveal the entire architecture of the building. 
 Every column, cornice, frieze and window — all the details of the 
 building, and the entire structure, are revealed in a soft, clear 
 light, producing an effect indescribably pleasing, yet utterly be- 
 wildering. It seems an immense alabaster building, lit from 
 within. The long lines of light made by the columns, with the 
 shadows between — the beautiful cornice glittering over the dark- 
 ness under it — the magnificent semicircular colonnades all inhe- 
 rent with light, and every one of the hundred and ninety-two stat- 
 ues along its top surmounted with a lamp, and the immense dome 
 rising over all, like a mountain of molten silver, in the deep dark- 
 ness around ; so completely delude the senses that one can think 
 of nothing but a fairy fabric suddenly lighted and hung in mid 
 heavens. This effect, however, is given only when one stands at 
 a distance. The Pincian hill is the spot from which to view it. 
 All around is buried in deep darkness, except that steadily shining 
 glory. Not a sound is heard to break the stillness, and you gaze, 
 and gaze, expecting every moment to see the beautiful vision fade. 
 But it still shines calmly on. 
 
 This illumination lasts from eight to nine, and just as the bell 
 of the Cathedral strikes nine, sending its loud and solemn peal 
 
124 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 over the city, a thousand four hundred and seventy-five torches 
 are suddenly kindled, beside the lanterns. The change is in- 
 stantaneous and almost terrific. The air seems to waver to and 
 fro in the sudden light — shape and form are lost for a moment, 
 and the vision which just charmed your senses is melting and 
 flowing together. The next moment, old St. Peter's again draws 
 its burning outline against the black sky, and stands like a moun- 
 tain of torches in the deep night, with a fiery cross burning at the 
 top. How the glorious structure bums, yet unconsumed ! The 
 flames wrap it in their fierce embrace, and yet not a single detail 
 is lost in the conflagration. There is the noble facade in all its 
 harmony, and'yet on fire. There are the immense colonnades 
 wavering in the light, changed only in that they are now each a 
 red marble shaft. The statues stand unharmed, and all fiery 
 figures. The dome is a vast fire-ball in the darkness, yet its dis- 
 tinct outline remains as clear as at the first. The whole mighty 
 edifice is there, but built all of flame — columns, frieze, cornice, 
 windows, towers, dome, cross — a temple of fire, perfect in every 
 part, flashing, swaying, burning in mid heaven. The senses 
 grow bewildered in gazing on its intense brilliancy, and the judg- 
 ment pronounces it an optical illusion, unreal, fantastical. Yet 
 the next moment it stands corrected — that is St. Peter's, flaming, 
 unwasted in the murky heavens. Hour after hour it blazes on, 
 and the last torch is yet unextinguished when the grey twilight 
 3f morning opens in the east. This you say is a glorious spec- 
 tacle ; yes, but it is on Sahiath evening — The successor of the 
 apostle — the spiritual head of the church — the '•' vicegerent of 
 God on earth has sanctified the Sabbath by this glorious illumina- 
 tion in honor of the Son of God V' What a preposterous idea, 
 what a magnificent folly ! And do you think the modem Roman 
 is so complete a fool as to believe in the propriety and religion of 
 all tliis ? By no means. He admires and enjoys the spectacle, 
 then sneers when it is over. 
 
 There are hundreds who go to witness it and retum to theii 
 homes with dark and bitter thoughts in their bosoms. The pat- 
 riot (for there are patriots still in Rome, mindful of her ancient 
 glor}-), to sigh over his degenerate country — the poor and half- 
 staiyed artisan (for there are many such in the imperial city), to 
 
THE GIRANDOLA. 125 
 
 curse the wastefulness of his monarch and spiritual father, who 
 in this costly amusement robbed hundreds of mouths of their daily 
 bread. Could one look through the darkness that wraps Rome 
 and beneath the calm surface that is presented to the eye, he 
 would see rebellion enough were it once harmonized and concen- 
 trated, to shake the papal throne into fragments on its ancient 
 foundations. The flames around St. Peter's would be seen to be 
 typical of the moral fires around the seat of Papacy. But the 
 embrace of the latter would not be found so harmless as that of 
 the other, and men would not gaze on it in such pleasing ecstacy, 
 but with the dark forebodings of him who feels the first throb of 
 a coming earthquake. The years do not move round in a tread- 
 mill, but each pushes on its fellow, and all are tending to a cer- 
 tain goal. They have their mission and God his designs, and he 
 is stupid and blind who believes that man can always be deluded 
 by the same follies. The age of interrogation has commenced. 
 Men begin to ask questions in Rome as well as in America, and 
 every one tells on the fate of papacy more than a thousand cannon 
 shot. Physical force is powerless against such enemies, while 
 pageantry and pomp only increase the clamor and discontent. 
 
 How much more befitting the head of any church, however 
 corrupt, or the monarch on any throne, however oppressive, to 
 take the thousands of dollars spent in these two illuminationis and 
 buy bread for the poor ! Were this done, the day of evil might 
 be postponed ; for on the Pope's head would be rained the bless- 
 ings of the poor, which under the government of heaven are 
 always so powerful to avert evil. The money squandered on 
 these illuminations would have poured joy through hearts that sel- 
 dom feel its pulsations, and been a benediction that the poor 
 would have understood and appreciated. To spread out one's 
 empty hands over the multitude is an easy thing and accom- 
 plishes nothing. But with those hands to fill thousands of hungry 
 mouths, would accomplish much, and exhibit something of the 
 paternal care of a "Father." 
 
 But this does not close the ceremonies of Holy week. The 
 Pope furnishes one more magnificent spectacle to his subjects 
 and his flock. The next night after the grand illumination is the 
 " Girandola," or fire -works of his Holiness, and we must say 
 
■26 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 that he does far better in getting up fire- works than relicrious cer- 
 emonies This ''• Girandola'' does credit to his taste and skill. 
 It is the closing act of the magnificent farce, and all Rome turns 
 out to see it. About half way from the Corso— the Broadwav 
 of Pvome — to St. Peter's, the famous marble bridge of Michael 
 Angelo crosses the Tiber. The castle of St. Angelo, formerly the 
 vast and magnificent tomb of Adrian, stands at the farther end. 
 This castle is selected for the display of the fire- works. None of 
 the spectators are permitted to cross the bridge, so that the Tiber 
 flows between them and the exhibition. There is a large open 
 area as you approach the bridge, capable of holding twenty or 
 thirty thousand people, or perhaps more. In a portion of this, 
 near the river, chairs are placed, to be let to strangers at two or 
 four pauls apiece, according as one is able to make a good bargain. 
 The windows of the neighboring houses that overlook the scene are 
 engaged weeks beforehand. The ordinarj* price of a seat, or even 
 of a good standing spot in one of these houses, is a scudi or dol- 
 lar. Towards evening the immense crowd begin to move in the 
 direction of St. Angelo, and soon the whole area, and every win- 
 dow and house-top, is filled with human beings. About eight the 
 exhibition commences. The first scene in the drama represents 
 a vast Gothic cathedral. How tiiis is accomplished I cannot tell. 
 Ever^'thing is buried in darkness, when suddenly, as if by the 
 .ouch of an enchanter's wand, a noble (jothic cathedral of the 
 size of the immense castle, stands in light and beaut}- before you. 
 The arrangement of the silver-like lights is perfect, and as it 
 shines on silent and still in the surrounding darkness, you can 
 hardly believe it is not a beautiful vision. It disappears as sud- 
 denly as it came, and for a moment utter darkness settles over 
 the gloomy castle. Yet it is but for a moment. The next in- 
 stant a sheet of flame bursts from the summit with a fuiy per- 
 fectly appalling ; wiiite clouds of sulphureous smoke roll up the 
 sky, accompanied with molten fragments and detonations that 
 shake the veiy earth beneath you. It is the representation of a 
 volcano in full eruption, and a most vivid one too. Amid the 
 spouting fire, and murky smoke, and rising fragments, the cannon 
 of the castle are discharged, out of sight, almost every second. 
 Report follows report with stunning rapidity, and it seems for a 
 
THE GIRANDOLA. 127 
 
 moment as if the solid structure would shake to pieces. At length 
 the last throb of the volcano is heard, and suddenly from the base, 
 and sides, and summit of the castle, start innumerable rockets, 
 and serpents, and Roman candles, while revolving wheels are 
 blazing on every side. The heavens are one arch of blazing 
 meteors — the very Tiber flows in fire, while the light, falling on 
 ten thousand upturned faces, presents a scene indescribably strange 
 and bewildering. For a whole hour it is a constant blaze. The 
 flashing meteors are crossing and recrossing in every direction — 
 fiery messengers are traversing the sky overhead, and amid the 
 Incessant whizzing, and crackling, and bursting, that is perfectly 
 deafening, comes at intervals the booming of cannon. At length 
 the pageant is over, and the gaping crowd surge back into the 
 city. Lent is over — the last honors are done to God by his re- 
 vealed representative on earth, and the Church stands acquitted 
 of all neglect of proper observances. Is it asked again if the 
 people are deceived by this magnificence ? • By no means. A 
 stranger, an Italian, stood by me as I was gazing on the spectacle, 
 and we soon fell into conversation. He was an intelligent man, 
 and our topic was Italy. He spoke low but earnestly of the state 
 of his country, and declared there were as much genius and mind 
 in Italy now as ever, but they were not fostered. An imbecile, 
 yet oppressive government monopolized all the wealth of the state, 
 and expended it in just such follies as these, while genius starved 
 and the poor died in want. I have never heard the poor Pope so 
 berated in my own country. At the close of the representation 
 of a volcano, I remarked that it resembled perdition. " Yes," 
 said he with a most bitter sneer, " liell is in Rome nowaday s.^^ 
 Had the Pope or one of his gens-d'armes heard it, he would have 
 seen the inside of a prison before morning. I was exceedingly 
 interested in him, for he was an intelligent and earnest man, and 
 when I turned to go away I took him by the hand and bade him 
 good bye, saying, another day is finished. " Yes," he replied, 
 with the same withering sneer, " another day of our Master, an- 
 nother day of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.'' I was per- 
 fectly thunderstruck at the man's boldness. Such a satire on his 
 Holiness and his mode of celebrating a holy day, in the midst of 
 a crowd, startled me, and t trembled lest his imprudence shouM 
 
128 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 bring down on him the vengeance of papal power. But tht 
 man's heart was evidently full of bitterness at the mockery and 
 folly before him, while his comitry lay prostrate in the dust. 
 " Addio," said he, as he shook my hand, and the next moment 
 was lost in the crowd. Many a time have I thought of him since, 
 and would give much to know his after histoiy. Perhaps he has 
 before this suffered as a conspirator, and gone with the multitude 
 of taose whose tongues his Holiness has silenced in prison or 
 death. And yet the man was right. What a close to religioua 
 ceremonies had these last two nights been ! Their moral effect 
 on the people was like that of any fire-works, with the exception 
 that the successor of the apostle had got up these and graced the 
 Sabbath with the illumination, having provided beforehand for 
 the breaking of a few necks, by administering the last sacrament 
 to the poor creatures who climbed up St. Peter's. The sanctity 
 and infallibility of the Spiritual Father are not so easy to believe 
 in under the shadow of the papal throne, and it puzzle me pro- 
 digiously to account for the conversions to Catholicism of English 
 and Americans in Rome. How a man of ordinary sense and pen- 
 etration can become a Romanist in Rome, is passing strange. 
 
 But it is now late at nisjht — the noise and maornificence of the 
 day are over. Rome is once more asleep, and the same moon 
 that shone on the ancient capitol, looks mournfully down on the 
 few columns that stand in the old Roman Forum. In the ancien* 
 circus of Nero, all this religious pomp has been to-day. Around 
 St. Peter's is now the gathering and the greatness — formerly it 
 was around the Coliseum. But to-day the Coliseum has been 
 forgotten ; no foot has sought its falling corridors. The gladiato- 
 rial shows have been exchanged for popish ones ; and the Roman 
 Eagle that flew over the old city, has been smitten down by the 
 Cross, and Pagan Rome has become Christian Rome. What 
 revolutions time effects ! His chariot wheels, as they roll along, 
 drag down thrones and empires, and leave on their ruins a Chris- 
 tian Emperor and a Christian government. They roll on, and 
 Christianity is stretched in the dust, and its fragments lie 
 scattered over the wreck of its /oe. They will still roll on, and 
 another scene be displayed on the ruins of both, and more 
 
THE GIRANDOLA. 129 
 
 glorious than either. Ruins are piled on ruins till history seenis 
 but a record of overthrows. 
 
 *' Such is the moral of all human tales. 
 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past : 
 First freedom, and then glory — when that faily, 
 Wealth, vice, corruption, barbarism at last, 
 And history with all her volumes vast," 
 Hath but one page. 
 
 Affectionately yo irs. 
 
130 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 Chanting of the Miserere. 
 
 April. 
 
 Dear E. — One of the most impressive ceremonies of Holy Week 
 is the chanting of the Miserere. Music is everywhere in this 
 land of passion and pleasure. It bursts on you from the palace 
 and the hovel — out of every house and every vineyard, and seems 
 a part of the atmosphere, and to have almost the power to remove 
 the curse of despotism itself. 
 
 But to know the full effect of song and scenery together, one 
 must hear the chanting of the Miserere in the Sistine Chapel of 
 St. Peter's. That the Pope should select the best singers of the 
 world for this service is not strange, but that he should with these 
 be able to produce the effect he does is singular. The night on 
 which our Savior is supposed to have died is selected for this 
 service. The Sistine Chapel is divided in two parts by a high 
 railing, one half being given to the spectators, and the other half 
 reserved for the Pope, his cardinals and the choir. The whole is 
 dimly lighted, to correspond with the gloom of the scene shadowed 
 forth. This dim twilight falling over the motionless foi'ms of 
 priest and monk and cardinals, and the lofty frescoed arches, to- 
 gether with the awful silence that seemed hanging like a pall 
 over all the scene, heightened inconceivably the effect to me. 
 
 The ceremonies commenced with the chanting of the Lamen- 
 tations. Thirteen candles, in the form of an erect triangle, were 
 lighted up in the beginning, representing the different moral lights 
 of the ancient church of Israel. One after another was extin- 
 guished as the chant proceeded, until the last and brightest one 
 at the top, representing Christ, was put out. As they one by one 
 slowly disappeared in the deepening gloom, a blacker night 
 seemef? ^atherinii over the hopes and fate o^man, and the lamen- 
 
CHANTING OF THE MISERERE. 131 
 
 tation grew wilder and deeper. But as the Prophet of prophets, 
 the Light, the Hope of the world, disappeared, the lament sud 
 denly ceased. Not a sound was heard amid the deepening gloom. 
 Tne catastrophe was too awful, and the shock too great to admit 
 of speech. He who had been pouring his sorrowful notes over 
 the departure of the good and great seemed struck suddenly dumb 
 at this greatest wo. Stunned and stupified, he could not contem 
 plate the mighty disaster. I never felt a heavier pressure on my 
 heart than at this moment. The chapel was packed in every inch 
 of it, even out of the door far back into the ample hall, and yet not 
 a sound was heard. I could hear the breathing of the mighty mul- 
 titude, and amid it the suppressed half-drawn sigh. Like the chant. 
 er, each man seemed to say, " Christ is gone, we are orphans- — all 
 orphans !" The silence at length became too painful. I thought 
 I should shriek out in agony, when suddenly a low wail, so deso- 
 late and yet so sweet, so despairing and yet so tender, like the last 
 strain of a broken heart, stole slowly out from the distant darkness 
 and swelled over the throng, that the tears rushed unbidden to my 
 eyes, and I could have wept like a child in sympathy. It then 
 died away as if the grief were too great for the strain. Fainter, 
 and fainter, like the dying tone of a lute, it sunk away as if the 
 last sigh of sorrow was ended, when suddenly there burst through 
 the arches a cry so piercing and shrill that it seemed not the voice 
 of song, but the language of a wounded and dying heart in its last 
 agonizing throb. The multitude swayed to it like the forest to 
 the blast. Again it ceased, and the broken sobs of exhausted 
 grief alone were heard. In a moment the whole choir joined their 
 lament and seemed to weep with the weeper. After a few notes 
 they paused again, and that sweet, melancholy voice mourned on 
 alone. Its note is still in my ear. I wanted to see the singer. 
 It seemed as if such sounds could come from nothing but a broken 
 heart. Oh ! how unlike the joyful, the triumphant anthem that 
 swept through the same chapel on the morning that symbolized 
 the resurrection. 
 
 There is a story told of this Miserere, for the truth of which 
 I can only refer to rumor. It is said that the Emperor of Aus- 
 tria sent to the Pope for a copy of the music, so that he could 
 have it performed in his own cathedral. It was sent, as requested, 
 
132 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 but the effect of the performance was so indifferent that the empe- 
 ror, suspected a spurious copy had been imposed on him, and he 
 wrote to his Holiness, intimating as much, and hinting also that 
 he would fmd it for his interest to send him a true copy. The 
 Pope wrote back that the music he had sent him was a genuine 
 copy of the original, but that the little effect produced by it was 
 owing to the want of the scenery, circumstances, &c., under 
 which it was performed in St. Peter's. It may be so. The 
 singer, too, is doubtless more than half. The power of a single 
 voice is often wonderful. I remember an instance of this on 
 Easter Sunday, as the procession was moving up and down the 
 ample nave of St. Peter's, carrying the Pope on their shoulders 
 as they marched. In the procession was a fat, stout monk, from 
 the north of Italy, who sung the bass to the chant with which the 
 choir heralded the approach of his Holiness. A band of per- 
 formers stationed in a balcony at the farther end of the church 
 was in full blast at the time, yet over it, and over the clioir^ and 
 up through the heaven-seeking dome, that single voice swelled 
 clear and distinct as if sinn-in^r alone. It filied that immense 
 building, through which were scattered nearly thirty thousand 
 people, as easily as a common voice would fill an ordinary room. 
 
 No where is music so spontaneous and voluntary as in Italy, 
 and no where is it studied with such untiring and protracted ef- 
 fort. We might except the Germans here, who, perhaps, are as 
 great composers as the Italians. But there is no song in the stern 
 old Saxon heart. The sudden and exciting transitions of music 
 are not found in their character. The free and fountain-like 
 gushings forth of feeling in an Italian render him peculiarly fitted 
 to enjoy and utter music, though we think this very trait in his 
 character was formed in the first place by music. They have 
 reacted on each other, making both the Italian and his music 
 what they are. 
 
 It is a singular fact that the best singers of Italy come from 
 the northern provinces. The people of the south are more fiery 
 and passionate, yet less distinguished for music, than those of the 
 north. Nothing strikes the traveller in Italy with more force, or 
 lives in his memory longer, than the gay street singing of the 
 lower classes, yet one hears little of this io Rome or Naples. 
 
CHARTING OF THE MISERERE. 133 
 
 There is a sombre aspect on old Rome, taken from its silent 
 haughty ruins, giving apparently a coloring to the feelings of the 
 people. The gay, lighted-hearted Neapolitan seems too gay for 
 music — ^like the French, his spirits burst out in action. The 
 Piedmontese are forever singing, while Genoa is the only Italian 
 city over which the memory lingers ev3r fresh and ever delighted. 
 There is not a moonlight night in which its old palaces do not 
 ring with the song of the strolling sailor-boy or idle lounger. 
 The rattling of wheels seldom disturbs the quietness of the 
 streets, while the lofty walls of the palaces confine and prolong 
 the sound like the roof of a cavern. The narrow winding pas- 
 sages now shut in the song till only a faint and distant echo is 
 caught, and now let it forth in a full volume of sound, ever 
 changing like the hues of feeling. Hours and hours have I 
 lain awake, listening to these thoughtless serenaders, who seemed 
 singing solely because the night was beautiful. You will often 
 hear voices of such singular power and melody ringing through 
 the clear atmosphere that you imagine some professional musi- 
 cians are out on a serenade to a " fayre ladye." But when the 
 group emerges into the moonlight, you see only three or four 
 coarse-clad creatures, evidently from the very lowest class, 
 sauntering along, arm in arm, singing solely because they prefer 
 it to talking. And, what is still more singular, you never see 
 three persons, not even loys, thus singing together, without car- 
 rying along three parts. The common and favorite mode is for 
 two to take two different parts, while the third, at the close of 
 every strain, throws in a deep bass chorus. You will often hear 
 snatches from the most beautiful operas chanted along the streets 
 by those from whom you would expect nothing but obscene songs. 
 This spontaneous street singing charms one more than the stirring 
 music of a full orchestra. It is the poetry of the land — one of its 
 characteristic features — living in the memory years after every 
 thing else has faded. I like, also, those much abused hand- 
 organs, of every description, greeting you at every turn. They 
 are the operas of the lazzaroni and children, and help to fill up 
 the picture. Passing once through a principal business street of 
 Genoa, I heard at a distance a fine, yet clear and powerful, 
 voice that at once attracted our attention. On approaching I 
 
134 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 found it proceeded from a little blind boy not over eight years of 
 age. He sat on the stone pavement, with his back against an old 
 palace, pouring forth song after song v.'iih astonishing strength 
 and melody. As I threw him his penny, I could not help fan- 
 cvinor how he would look sittinor in Broadwav, with his back to 
 the Astor House, and attempting to throw his clear, sweet voice 
 over the rattling of omnibuses and carriages that keep even tlie 
 earth in a constant tiemor. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
FARMING IN THE PAPAL Sl'ATES. 135 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 System of Farming in the Papal States — SuiFering of the Peasantry. 
 
 Rome, April. 
 Dear E. — Though you are not much of a farmer, perhaps the 
 farming system, as it works in the States of his Holiness, may 
 not be uninteresting. The Mezzaria system, or letting the farm 
 upon shares, is the old and universal custom, both in the Papal 
 States and in Tuscany. The landlord furnishes the necessary 
 capital, and the tenant all the agricultural instruments and labor. 
 The seed is paid for jointly, and the entire gross produce divided 
 equally. This partnership of the landlord and tenant works very 
 well in Tuscany, but destructively in the dominions of the Church. 
 This is owing to the want of encouragement to industry, and the 
 oppressive action of the government. The mode of managing 
 rich arable lands around the eternal city, would be considered 
 rather odd in the New World. I am not now speaking of the 
 system of small farms with poor landlords and poorer tenants, but 
 of the mode of farming the large districts. The tract of land 
 called the Maremma district, embracing the territory that lies on 
 the sea betweeen Tuscany and Naples ; the low land around Fer- 
 rara and Ravenna; and the Campagna around Rome itself, called 
 by agriculturists the " Agro Romano," are all divided into im- 
 mense farms, owned of course by a few wealthy men. Thus the 
 whole Maremma district is owned by only one hundred and 
 fifty farmers. So also in the Agro Romano, embracing 550,000 
 acres, exists the same impolitic division. One of the farms, called 
 the " Campo Marto," contains 20,000 acres, others 3,000, while 
 there are none below 1,000. This whole territory is owned by 
 forty-two or three landlords, called " Merc&nti di Campagna," 
 (merchants of the country.) They constitute a privileged corpo- 
 ration, under the protection of government. Each merchant rents 
 
136 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 several farmsj paying tax only for tliat portion under cultivation. 
 These Mercanti are, of course, extremely wealthy. They never 
 reside on their farms, but build for themselves palaces in Rome, 
 where they live in unbounded luxury. Their counting-houses 
 and clerks are also all in the city. The " fattore," as he is call- 
 ed in Italian, or steward, resides with a few herdsmen in the sol- 
 iiary Casale — the only occupants of the immense plain. It re- 
 quires a capital of 8100,000 to manage one of the largest of these 
 farms, and the smallest require 810,000.* The rent of the Carnpo 
 Marto alone is 825.000 a year. The Mezzaria system, as I re- 
 marked, prevails almost universally, although, in some parts, leases 
 or fixed rents are common. This is where the large farms are let 
 to individuals, who immediately subdivide them into smaller ones, 
 and rent them to men of smaller capital. 
 
 These immense half barren tracts are as lonely looking as our 
 western prairies ; nay, more so, for the dilapidated form of some 
 old ruin rising on the view, tells you that it was not always so — 
 that once, glorious structures adorned that plain, and the hum of a 
 busy population was heard on its surface. I have seldom seen a 
 more lonely spectacle than the rude mud huts, shaped like a bee- 
 hive, of the herdsmen, standing here and there on the unfenced 
 plain, while the stewards, alone or with keepers dressed in their 
 shaggy sheep-skin coat, with pike in hand, were galloping amid 
 the herds on their half wild horses. They look more like x^rabs 
 than peaceful farmers. This system of grazing is practised only 
 in the winter, when on the Campagna alone are collected more 
 than half a million sheep, and three or four hundred thousand of 
 tlie large grey Roman oxen. In the summer, these plains become 
 too hot and unhealthy for the herds, and they are driven off to the 
 mountains, to graze on the green pastures of the Sabian hills and 
 the high grounds around the city, where they feed in safety till 
 the season of malaria is past. But the horses on which the herds- 
 men ride, are turned loose among the morasses, to take care of 
 themselves. They feed with perfect impunit}^ on the unhealthiest 
 tracts. I have seen them almost to their backs in swamps, feed, 
 ing with the half wild bufialoes and swine, that are equally im- 
 pervious to the climate. In this savage state they run about till 
 » Vid. Murray. 
 
SUFFERING OF THE PEASANTRY. 137 
 
 autumn, when they are again caught, rode over the Campagna, fit 
 companions for their wild-looking riders. The crops are raised 
 during summer, when the herds are among the hills; and the har 
 vest is gathered in by the mountaineers, who dwell on the Volscian 
 hills and the more elevated land towards the frontier of Naples. 
 At this time the heat is intense, and would make even the slave 
 of a cotton plantation wince. The poor peasantry, who have 
 been accustomed from their infancy to the fresh mountain breezes 
 and clear running streams of their native home, lured by the 
 prospect of gaining a few pauls to support their families during the 
 approaching winter, descend into the plains, to gather in the harvest. 
 Then the slaughter commences, and does not end till harvest is 
 over, and often not even then. The malaria seizes the hardy moun- 
 taineer as its lawful prey, and hurries him with fearful rapidity 
 into the grave. Unaccustomed to the scorching sun that beats on 
 these plains, he finds himself at night exhausted and feeble. In- 
 ured to toil, and delving among his native hills from morning till 
 night, he wonders at his weariness. Without a hut to shelter him, 
 he flings his complaining limbs on the damp earth, as he has 
 often flung them on the mountain side, expecting the morning will 
 find him fresh and vigorous as ever. But ere slumber has wrap- 
 ped his weary form, the pestilential vapors begin to steam up from 
 the noxious earth, and noiselessly embrace their unconscious vic- 
 tim. In the morning, he who has felt all his life long his blood 
 leap in his veins like his native torrents, now feels it creeping 
 heavy and hot through his depressed system. Ignorant of his 
 danger, or the cause of his ills, he renews his task, and again 
 staggers on under a burning sun, and lies down again to sleep on 
 the moist earth, in the embrace of his foe. The next day the poor 
 fellow toils with hotter brain and a wilder pulse, and flings himself 
 at night on the cool earth, from which he will never rise again tc 
 his labor. Thus, while the scanty harvest of grain is gathered 
 in, the malaria has been reaping its richer harvest of men. No! 
 scores and fifties, but hundreds are thus left every summer on the 
 Roman Campagna, while the wives and children they hoped tf 
 feed by their industry, look in vain from their mountain homes foi 
 their coming, and turn to meet the winter with blasted hopes 
 Oh, Yhat haggard faces, miserable forms, have I seen peep o» 
 
138 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 from the low mud huts on the outsldrts of this desolate region. 
 Many that have dragged out the harvest season, come to the 
 frontier hoping to recover ; but the seeds of death are too deeply 
 implanted, and they slowly waste away. In the more cultivated 
 parts, grass and grain are grown alternately on the same land ; 
 but here on the Campagna, they raise only one crop of grain in 
 four years ; the intermediate time it is left for grazing. 
 
 What a contrast this country presents to its former greatness, 
 and to my own land. When the Caesars owned these palace and 
 temple-covered plains, and their haughty legions thundered over 
 them — who would have believed that the time would ever come 
 when nought but a few solitary herdsmen would gallop across 
 them ; or, stranger still, that a then unbroken forest, beyond the 
 unknown ocean, would be a fruitful field, and its crowded popu- 
 lation look with pity on Roman desolation. The mightiest em- 
 pire the world ever saw, and an untrod forest, stood on the same 
 earth together. The mighty empire has become a desolate prov- 
 .nee, while the wilderness has become greater than an empire. 
 Rome, the mistress of the world, rules now a territory less than 
 the state of New York. The eagle that soared over the imperial 
 city, has lefl it and her battling armies, and now sails with our 
 commerce. Men flock to her to see fading glory — to our shores 
 to behold rising glory. Not merely the " schoolmaster" but the 
 merchant •' is abroad," laying his hand on objects and places, the 
 poet and scholar have long considered holy. Institutions and 
 structures honored by time and great names are no longer sacred 
 to him. The scholar may complain and the enthusiast weep, it 
 matters not, the spirit and power are abroad, and there is no 
 resisting either. The old Roman Forum is turned into a rope- 
 walk to make ropes and cordage for commerce, and the Baths of 
 Diocletian into a cotton mill. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
THE COLISEUM AT MIDNIGHT. 139 
 
 , LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 The Coliseum at Midnight. 
 
 Rome, April. 
 Deir E. — Last night was a beautiful clear night, and "the 
 full round moon" seemed sailing the heavens on purpose to see 
 how mysterious and solemn a light she could throw over the ruins 
 of ancient Rome. Byron says the Coliseum should always be 
 seen by moonlighl, as the glare of day is too strong for it. So 
 acting under his advice I sallied forth at midnight to visit it. It 
 is at least a mile or a mile and a half from the centre of the city, 
 and the dark and deserted streets and Trajan's lonely column that 
 stood in the way, naturally put me in the mood to enjoy a ramble 
 through it. I passed through the ruins of the Basilica of Con- 
 stantine, climbed over its fallen columns, and finally emerged into 
 the open moonlight right before the Coliseum. Its high and uneven 
 top stood against the blue sky, with the pale and yellow light fall- 
 ing all over it, while the arches opened like caverns beneath, and 
 the clambering ivy glistened and rustled in the passing night 
 wind. Here, said I to myself, one can for once romance and 
 dream with nothing but the moonlight and the Coliseum to criti- 
 cise him. But alas, my expectations were soon blasted, for to 
 my surprise, as I approached, I saw a long line of carriages 
 drawn up under the arches. Other people knew the Coliseum 
 looked well by moonlight beside myself. I was half inclined to 
 turn back, but finally concluded to enjoy it another way — by 
 seeing how the fashionable world took such a scene. After 
 groping through one of the arches, by which a carriage stood, 
 with the driver fast asleep on the box, I stepped into the arena 
 and looked around me. Arch above arch, seat above seat, arose 
 that vast amphitheatre, and the ruined corridors, black cavernous 
 arches, the rustlmg ivy, the mysterious grandeur of the whole, 
 
14J0 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 and the sudden rush of centuries over the weak and staggering 
 memory, completely swept every thing but the past from my 
 vision. I felt afraid where I stood — I could not wholly grasp the 
 scene — I seemed amid something awful, and yet could hardly tell 
 what. I turned, and lo ! I was leaning over the lion's den. I 
 started, as if a sudden roar had burst up around me. The next 
 moment it was all gone. The quiet moon was sailing along the 
 quiet sky — the night breeze sighed mournfully by, and nature 
 was breathing long and peacefully. 
 
 A gay laugh dispersed the whole, as a fashionable couple 
 passed near me, speaking of some one's grand soiree. I wander, 
 ed around, meeting groups of sauntering idlers, talking French, 
 Italian and German. A French couple promenaded backward 
 and forward across the arena, without once looking up to the 
 moonlit ruin. They spoke low and earnestly, and their walk 
 was of that slow and steady pace which always denotes an ab- 
 sorbed mind. I stood for a long while in the shadow of the ruins 
 and watched them. It was a love scene in the Coliseum, but the 
 Coliseum itself was quite forgotten. The voice of one man 
 thrilled deeper in that fair one's heart than the thousand-tongued 
 ruin around her. Her heart was busy amid other scenes. Un- 
 der its magic power the Coliseum was buried and Rome for- 
 gotten, and a fabric more beautiful than both, in their glory was 
 reared above them — a fairy fabric where love dwelt and fate spun 
 her golden thread. Alas, I sighed, as I turned away, there are 
 more ruins in the world than the Coliseum, and more awful. 
 The saddest fragments are not those that meet the eye, and the 
 light that memory flings over buried hopes, is lonelier than moon- 
 light here. 
 
 This second dream was also dispelled by a shout above me : a 
 company, guided by a man with a torch, now emerged in view 
 overhead, and again dropped through the corridors. Suddenly 
 a French girl near me exclaimed, as they again came on to an 
 arch and stood looking down upon us, " C'est tres joli ?" "Oui," 
 was the answer. *' C'est magnifique," and then a laugh as clear 
 and mirthful as ever rung from a careless heart. I wished also 
 to ascend the ruin for the view, but kept deferring it, as it was 
 necessary to have a guide and torch to prevent one from ver.tur 
 
THE COLISEUM AT MIDNIGHT. 141 
 
 ing over weak arches and tumbling down ruined flights of steps. 
 It was abominable to be compelled to trot around after a sleepy 
 guide who was thinking the while of the paul each was to give 
 nim. It seemed downright sacrilege, but I must do it, or not go 
 at all. So I joined a mixed party of ladies and gentlemen and 
 commenced the ascent just as one does an unpleasant duty. I 
 followed doggedly the guide and torch awhile, when, seizing a 
 favorable opportunity, I dodged one side, threaded my way amid 
 the darkness to the top of the building, and clambering over a 
 mined parapet lay down, determined to take my own time to 
 view the Coliseum. The humdrum guide did not miss me, and 
 1 was left alone with the Coliseum and the night. One by one 
 the groups retired, and I heard with joy the last carriage rattle 
 away toward the city. Behind me stood the arch of Constan- 
 tine^-on my left was the Palatine hill, the Roman forum with its 
 few remaining columns and the Capitol, and beneath me was the 
 arena where thousands had been " butchered to make a Roman 
 holiday." Up those very stone steps below me had passed hasty 
 feet more than a thousand years ago. Right around me had 
 been the bustle and hum of the eager assembly. Before me, 
 through that grand archway in which now the bayonet of a 
 solitary sentinel glistened, had passed the triumphal Caesars 
 while the mighty edifice rocked to the shout of the people 
 Beneath me, far down in the arena, on which the moonlight lay 
 so peacefully, had stood the gladiator while his quick ear caught 
 the roar of the lion, aroused for the conflict. " Hie habet," had 
 been shouted from where I lay, as the steel entered some poor 
 fellow's bosom. There the dying gladiator had lain as the life 
 stream ebbed slowly away, while his thoughts, far from the scene 
 of strife, reckless who Was the victor, were 
 
 " Where his rude hut by the Danube lay — 
 There were his young barbarians all at play, 
 There was their Dacian mother." 
 
 Oh, what wild heart-breakings had been in that arena ! Every 
 inch of it had been soaked in blood, and yet not a stain was left 
 —not a scar remained to4ell of the death-struggles these walla 
 had witnessed. The Caesars and the people, the slave and the 
 martyred Christian, bad all passed away* The spot Mvhere the 
 
142 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 one looked and the other suffered alone was left. — Thought crowded 
 on thought as I looked down upon it, till the solitude and silence 
 became too painful for me. I seemed to have lived years in those 
 few minutes. I turned to descend, but alas, I was without a guide 
 or a torch, locked up on the Coliseum after midnight. To thread 
 my way through the dark galleries and down the broken steps, 
 was no easy task ; but after going and returning, mounting and 
 descending for near a quarter of an hour, (and which seemed an 
 hour,) I found the way, and landed safely at the entrance. After 
 some thumping, the guide came and set me free. 
 
 I returned through the Basilica of Constantino, and while standing 
 and musing over one of its fallen columns, I suddenly heard the 
 scream of a night bird which came from the Palatine hill, and was 
 echoed back by another from near the Capitol. I had never heard 
 it then, though I often have since. It was a shrill, single cry, that, 
 heard amid those ruins at midnight, was indescribably thrilling. — 
 Right above me, on a ruined front, leaned several marble statues, 
 in attitudes so natural, that it was almost impossible to believe they 
 were not human beings keeping watch among the ruins. Just 
 then the wind began to sweep by in gusts, shaking the ivy over 
 my head, while the wild, mournful cry of that night bird seemed 
 like the wail of a ghost amid the surrounding desolation. The 
 hour, the place, and the silence, made it too lonely. It was fear- 
 ful. I would stand and listen, anxious, yet afraid to hear it re- 
 peated, and when again it rung over the ruins, it sent the blood 
 back with a quicker flow to my heart. I passed under the great 
 arch, and began to enter the city, feeling as if I had heard the 
 ghost of Rome crying out amid her ancient ruins. But I know 
 all description must seem rhodomontade to you at this distance, 
 yet to a heart that has not lost all worship for " the great and the 
 old," it is widely different. The only good description I have 
 ever seen, is in Byron's Manfred. It is much better than in Childe 
 Harold. 
 
 " I do remember me that in my youth 
 When I was wandering ; upon such a night 
 I stood within the Coliseum's wall 
 'Midst the chief relics of Almighty R» me ; 
 The trees which grew along the broken arches 
 "Waxed dark in the blue midnight, and the staw 
 
THE COLISEUM AT MIDNIGHT. 143 
 
 Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar 
 The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber ; and 
 More near from out the Caesars' palace came 
 The owl's long cry, and interruptedly 
 Of distant sentmel's the distant song 
 Began and died upon the gentle wind. 
 Some cypress beyond the time-worn beach 
 Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood 
 Within a bow-shot where the Caesars dwelt. 
 
 And thou didst shine, thou rollmg moon, upon 
 All this, and cast a wide and tender light 
 Which softened down the hoar austerity 
 Of rugged desolation, and filled up, 
 As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; 
 Leaving that beautiful which still was so, 
 And making that which was not, till the place 
 Became religion, and the heart ran o'er 
 With eilent worship of the great and old ! 
 The dead but sceptred sovereigns who still rul© 
 Our spkits from their ruins." 
 
 Tnilj fouifh 
 
144 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 Ruins and Epitaphs in Rome. 
 
 Rome, April, 1843. 
 
 Dear. E.— To-day I have had a beautiful drive with an Eng. 
 giish gentleman and his lady, vv^ithout the v/alls of Modern Rome, 
 amid the ruins of Ancient Rome, for you know that the city for- 
 merly covered an area of which the present occupies but a fraction. 
 —With its declining splendor it contracted itself, till, from the mil- 
 lions it was supposed formerly to contain, it nov/, suburbs and all, 
 counts scarcely 150,000. To-day has seemed a little more like 
 being in Rome. I have been away from the rattling of carriages — 
 the passing crowd — and what is still worse, long rows of gaily dec- 
 orated snops. I have wandered over Old Rome, and the shadows 
 of its Caesars, Scipios, and haughty leaders, have risen around me. 
 
 We first drove to the Temple of Vesta, which is now a Church 
 — a small orbicular building, of Greek architecture, and sur- 
 rounded by nineteen Corinthian columns of Parian marble. We 
 then passed on to the tomb of Caius Cestus, which is built in the 
 form of the Pyramid. Near by is the English Burial Ground. 
 There I saw Shelley's tomb, a plain marble tablet only. On it is 
 written : 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.—* Cor Cordium.' 
 « Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into sometliing rich and strange." 
 
 Cor Cordium, " heart of hearts," is an allusion to the singular fact 
 that when Byron and Hunt burned his body by the gulf of Spezia, 
 his heart alone remained unconsumed. With all his scepticism, 
 he was a kind-hearted man. His Italian teacher was mine at 
 Genoa, and he told me that Shelley was a nobler man than either 
 Byron or Hunt. In an adjoining cemetery sleeps John Keats. 
 
RUINS AND EPITAPHS IN ROME. 145 
 
 A small marble slab, half hid amid the long grass, stands over 
 the young poet. On it is written, " This grave contains all 
 that was mortal of a young English poet, who, on his death-bed, 
 in the bitterness of his heart, at the malicious power of his ene- 
 mies, desired these words to be engraved on his tomb-stone : 
 * Here lies one whose name was writ in water.' " Feb. 28, 1821. 
 I stood alone over this solitary grave of genius and sighed. I have 
 read of broken hearts, but nothing ever indicated to me half so 
 lonely and desolate a heart, as the dying language of Keats. So 
 utterly broken was his spirit, and so reckless his despair, that he 
 wanted to record his own ruin, and have his very tomb-stone tell 
 how worthless were his life and name. 
 
 A strangely sensitive being he was, to feel so deeply an unjust 
 criticism that a hired Reviewer could publish. 
 
 Oh, can one envious tongue 
 So blight and blast earth's holiest things, 
 That e'en the glorious bard that sings, 
 
 Grows mute — and all unstrung, 
 His bleeding, quivering heart gives o'er, 
 And dies without one effort more ? 
 
 'Tis " writ," as thou hast said, 
 Upon the cold gray marble there, 
 Each word of that wild, bitter prayer, 
 
 On which thy spirit fled ! 
 But oh, that injured name is known, 
 " Far as the birds of fame have flown." 
 
 Yet thou hast said aright, 
 Thy name is in the water writ, 
 For tears are ever shed on it. 
 
 Till dims the aching sight, 
 By pilgrims from each distant land, 
 Who, weeping, round thy grave-stone stand. 
 
 1 plucked a flower that was drooping with rain-drops beside tho 
 grave and turned away. 
 
 From this we drove to the Basilica of St. Paul, formerly ond 
 of the most magnificent churches of Rome. In 1829, on *he 
 morning of the 16th of July, the whole roof was seen to be in 
 flames, and very soon fell with a crash irto the centre aisles. 
 
J 46 LETTERS FRO^f ITALY. 
 
 where the fire raged with such fur\' that it calcined the rich col 
 unins of Parian marble near it, and indeed destroyed the great 
 part of the Church. They are now rebuilding it, and some ot 
 the fluted columns that escaped the fire, are the most beautiful 1 
 have ever seen. It will again be a noble edifice. From this we 
 drove to the far-famed fountain of Egeria. It is a grotto in the 
 midst of a meadow all overhung with foliage. Withha the side 
 walls are several niches ; and at the extremity, a reclining statue, 
 old and mutilated, often called the statue of the nymph. But it 
 L5 & male statue, and is doubtless that of a river god. Here (so 
 runs the fable) the mortal and immortal used to sit and discourse 
 of an earthly passion, and watch the moon and stars sailing 
 through the nightly heavens. Numa and the nymph meeting 
 t-eside this fountain by moonlight, and breathing into each other's 
 earc language never repeated to mortals, are about all I remem- 
 ber of Livy and his hard sentences. I care not whether the story 
 be true or false. I agree with Byron — 
 
 " Whatsoe'er thy birth, 
 
 Thou vrert a beautiful thought aud softly bodied forth." 
 
 Above it stands the Temple of Bacchus, and beyond crowning 
 a hill, a dense grove of olives. A company of English ladies 
 stood on the green mound in front of the temple, while groups 
 v.ere strolling around in the bright meadow gathering flowers. It 
 was a scene of beauty. The bright blue sky, and the exhilara- 
 ting air, and the fragrance of fields and flowei-s soon brought my 
 spirits up to the enjoying point. 
 
 The picturesque tomb of Cecilia Metella in ruins — the Circus 
 of Romulus — ^the Catacombs of the old city, where martyrs sleep, 
 followed in quick succession. Then the Tomb of the Scipios, 
 'Jirough whose dark, damp and silent chambers we passed by 
 candle light. Oh how strange over the empty sarcophagi to read 
 in the mouldering stone, the name of Scipio, and the date of buri- 
 al. I had stood on the solitary sea-shore, where Africanus sleeps, 
 Rnd sighed over the fallen hero. — But here was a more familiar — 
 a family scene ; and I almost started from the close proximity of 
 the Past. I felt like one who had ventured too far, and was be. 
 coming too familiar with awful things. 
 
RUINS AND EPITAPHS IN ROME. ^4\ 
 
 We then passed Caracalla's Baths, the Palace of the Csesars, 
 along the Appian Way, through the Sebastian Gate — passed by 
 the Coliseum, under the Capitoline Hill, by the Roman Forum 
 and its solemn ruins — entered the city by the ancient Via Fla 
 minia, now the gay Corso, and ended the day of great remem- 
 brances, as all days of toil must be ended, in a hearty dinner. 
 Yet all night long I was wandering amid old Rome. Its mailed 
 legions thundered along the Appian Way — Cicero, and Brutus, 
 and Csesar, and Nero, and gladiatorial shows, and fierce battle 
 scenes, danced through my excited brain in most glorious confu- 
 »oc. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
148 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 The Capitol and Vatican. 
 
 Rome, April 28, 1843. 
 
 Deae E*-— =You may be surprised to find these two remarkable 
 objects put in one letter, but I am going into no description of 
 galleries. I wish to mention two or three things only in each. 
 To-day I went to the Capitol, and after having traversed the 
 length of the Corso I came to a noble flight of steps that brought 
 me to the top of the Capitoline hill. The buildings on it were 
 designed by Michael Angelo. They stand in the form of a parel- 
 lelogram, with the main flight of steps at one end. At the bottom 
 of the steps is the old Roman mile-stone that marked the first 
 mile of the Appian way. At the top are two statues of Castor 
 and Pollux standing beside their horses. — In the centre of the par- 
 allelogram stands the bronze equestrian statue of Marcus Aure- 
 lius, the only one that has been handed down from antiquity. It 
 is considered the finest equestrian statue in existence. It was 
 once covered with gold, and spots of the gilding still remain. 
 The enthusiastic love of Michael Angelo for it is well known. 
 When it stood in front of the Lateran, it was an important object 
 amid the festivities that celebrated Rienzi's elevation to the rank 
 of Tribune. Amid the rejoicings of that memorable day, wine 
 was made to run out of one nostril and water out of the other. 
 
 The building at the farther end is the " Palace of the Sena- 
 tors." In the two side palaces are busts, statues, paintings, &c. 
 — many of the deepest interest. Among others, the bronze wolf — 
 " the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome" — about which so much 
 has been written and so much controversy expended in vain. 
 From all that can be gathered, it is doubtless the one to which 
 Cicero more than once alluded. That wolf was once struck with 
 lightning in the Capitol, and one leg of this has evidently been 
 partly melted away in a similar manner, — Said Cicero, in one of 
 
THE CAPITOL AND VATICAN. 149 
 
 his memorable attacks on Cataline, " Tactus est ille etiam qui 
 banc urbem condidit Romulus quem inauratum in Capotolio par- 
 vum atque lactantem, uberibus lupinis inhiantem fuisse meminis- 
 tis." This, too, one of the objects of deepest reverence, had the 
 Gods smitten, as an evidence of their anger. In the palace is the 
 famous " dying gladiator." This is one of those few statues I 
 was not disappointed in. As I looked upon that manly dying 
 form, and caught the mingled expression of pain and sorrow on his 
 noble face, I could scarcely refrain from tears. I am vexed at the 
 discussions of antiquarians about this statue. I care not whether 
 it be a fancy piece, or a slave, or a Gallic herald, or a dying 
 gladiator. There he lies dying — dying from a wound a foe has 
 given him — dying too, innocent. His whole expression tells of a 
 man who fought from necessity, not will. There is no anger in 
 it, but the reverse ; none of the fierce passions that kindle in the 
 human face when foe meets foe. The whole countenance is be- 
 yond expression mournful. The eye utters his despair, telling in 
 thrilling accents that the last hope of life is given up — the slightly 
 wrinkled brow and yielding lip speak his pain, while the clotted 
 hair tells of the long and exhausting fight before he fell. Every 
 limb of the noble form speaks of the terrible exertion it has put 
 forth in the struggle for life. And then over all the face is that 
 dreamy expression that shows the heart is far away amid other 
 scenes. How natural he lies upon his arm, gradually sinking 
 lower and lower, as the " big drops" ooze from the fountain of 
 life ! I thought of Byron as I stood beside it, and of the intense 
 feeling with which he gazed upon it. His stanzas are the most 
 literally correct description ever written. He has hit every ex- 
 pression of the figure, and when the " inhuman shout'' rung over 
 the arena to his victor, you know 
 
 " He heard it but he heeded not — his eyes 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 
 He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, 
 But where his rude hut by the Daunbe lay, 
 There were his young barbarians all at play, 
 There was their Dacian mother — he their sire, 
 Butchered to make a Roman holiday — 
 All this rushed with his blood." 
 
 With one long stride step into the Vatican, as the papal palace. 
 
150 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 museum, &c., that join St. Peter's, are called. Here is Laocoon, 
 that men have poetized, as well as the dying gladiator, and yet 
 it pleases me not. I have a feeling of horror it is true in looking 
 upon it, and that is all. I have no deep sympathy for Laocoon 
 himself. Master critics have long ago settled the perfection of 
 the work. There is life and force in it. The little child with 
 one foot raised to press down the folds of the serpent that are 
 tightening around the other leg, is terribly true and life-like. But 
 the whole expression of Laocoon is that of a weak man, utterly 
 overcome with terror — mastered more completely by fear than a 
 strong-minded man ever can be. There seems no resistance left 
 in him, and you feel that such a character never could die decent- 
 ly. While I admired the work, I could not love Ihe character. 
 On the gladiator's face such utter terror never could be written. 
 The sights that could paint such fear on his features do not exist. 
 I will not attempt to take you through the Vatican. This first 
 time I roamed through it without guide-book or question. The 
 Apollo Belvidere and Laocoon I could not mistake, neither aid I 
 wish any one to tell me when I came to the Transfiguration. 
 The glorious figure of Christ in this latter picture, suspended in 
 mid heaven, and the wonderful face, so unlike all other faces ever 
 painted before, held me spell-bound in its presence. Why couid 
 not the artist have left out the some dozen or more saints that he 
 has placed below, gaping with astonishment on the wondrous 
 spectacle ? The two shining figures beside the still more ra- 
 diant Savior are enough to complete the group. The addition 
 of others destroys the simplicity, and hence injure the grandeur 
 of the whole. It was foolish to attempt to improve on the original 
 group. Yet I went away vexed and irritated. My utter in- 
 ability to see half as it ought to be seen, prevented my enjoying 
 any thing. Again and again I strolled through its immense halls, 
 and can only say it is a forest of statuary, and ought to be di- 
 vided among the world. But what shall I say of the Vatican ? 
 How can I describe it ? I cannot — I can only say it is more than 
 1,000 feet long, and nearly 800 wide — that it contains eight 
 grand staircases, 200 smaller ones, 20 courts, and 4,422 apart- 
 ments, and a library no one knows how large. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
THE POPE— DON MIGUEL. 151 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 The Pope — Don Miguel— Mezzofaiiti. 
 
 Rome, April, 1843 
 Dear E. — To-day I received an invitation to be presented to 
 ais holiness the Pope, but as I found that ' shorts' and some other 
 Inconvenient et ceteras were necessary I declined. I regretted it 
 afterwards, as I found I could have been presented in my ordi- 
 nary dress. Whenever ladies are presented, court dress is not 
 required. A lady unexpectedly became one of the number who 
 were to accompany our consul to his holiness, and I could have 
 seen him without the inconvenience I anticipated. 
 
 It was a matter of very little consequence, however, as I had 
 on several occasions been within a few feet of him an hour at a 
 time, and heard him speak, and got, as I supposed, a very good 
 idea of the Man. He is nearly 80 years of age, but robust and 
 healthy ; he stoops considerably and walks slowly ; yet when he 
 mounts his throne his step is light and elastic as that of a youn^- 
 man. He has marked aquiline features, a mild eye, and a very 
 benignant countenance. He was a prelate of no distinction, and 
 mounted to the chair of St. Peter as many others have done be- 
 fore him, by party strife. As soon as the Pope dies there com- 
 mences a furious struggle between the rival families for the 
 throne. The only way the Cardinals can reconcile the factions, and 
 escape from their imprisonment, often is to fall on some old and in- 
 different Cardinal and elect him. The present Pope Gregory was 
 elected under these circumstances. He is not regarded as a very 
 clever man, although he bears an excellent moral character. 
 
 I forgot to mention that the other day at some exercises in the 
 Sistine Chapel, I saw Don Miguel. He is a very good-looking 
 man He now lives at Albano, fifteen miles from Rome, whither 
 Me has been banished by the Pope. While he was in power in 
 
loQ LETTERS FR031 ITALT 
 
 Partugalj he lavished his wealth oa the Pope, who m)Wj in re- 
 turn, sappoits him cm a salary, it is said, of $20,000. The cause 
 of his hanishmeDt was an insult he ofiered to the wife of Prince 
 Boighese, aae of the first &niilies in the Papal domink»s. She 
 ^as the dangfater of the Vinous Catholic Earl of Shrewsbuiy, 
 and withtme English spirit, resented deeply the insult ol^red her. 
 Boighese told his Holiness either Dcm Miguel must leave Rome, 
 or he. The Pope, placed in this ddenuna, exiled Tkm Miguel fif- 
 Xeea miles oflu to the beautiful hill of Albano, finxn whence he 
 drives into town no ofi^ier dian he wishes. 
 
 There is a singular custom here during Hcdy Week. Pilgrims 
 from eveiy quarter journey oa. foot during Easter to RcHne, for 
 which they are entertained at the Church of the '' Trinita" — their 
 feet washed by distinguished ii^viduals, who also serve them at 
 table, and finally put them nicely to bed. They are the cchu- 
 pletest set of ragamu£mis you ever beheld, and it is really revolt- 
 ing to loc^ at ibeir nasty feet. A few nights since D>yn Miguel 
 attended in one of the convents attache i :: : ;h, and 
 
 washed and served several of these lou5~ : r rr " : - t : " rrit 
 
 IS attached to fliis act, and Tkm. Mig:: ^^ 
 
 wadi out, in this way, some of his pecc3- - : f 
 
 any quantity. The next night, srane t: : r : ^ :: t : t i 
 
 into a carriage at St. Peter's, and rode i ; i. : : s t ? : r : i- 
 ance. The pilgrims all sat in a row. on an eie- >: r :. 
 vrjth each a wooden di^ under his feet. There is r_ / _ 
 
 about this washing, as there is in the Pope's washicg : t i?;!- 
 ples* feet. The dirt oa these beggars is, as Carlyle " uli s?.Tj 
 well authenticated dirt, and it is no joke to remove it. Two Car- 
 dinals were among the washers j and to my surp:: r ir : t" 1 : . 
 I observed to be Cardhtal Messofanti, the greats- . 
 world. He speaks fifty-two di^rent lang : ?i e- 
 
 ments alone have obtained for him a Cardinal ; . : :.„i J : :. J:i 
 iersTdp of RcMne. 
 
 The Pope attributes his knowledge of languages to a miracu- 
 lous gift. Conversing to-day with a piie^ on the subject — a 
 friend of Mezzofenti — he told me that Mezzofenti himself attrib- 
 utes his power in acquiring languages to the divine influence. 
 He says that when an obscure priest in the North of Italy, he 
 
MEZZOFANTI. 153 
 
 was called one day to confess two foreigners condemned for pi- 
 racy who were to be executed next day. On entering their cell 
 he found them unable to understand a word he uttered. Over- 
 whelmed with the thought that the criminals should leave this 
 world without the benefits of religion, he returned to his room 
 resolved to acquire their language before morning. He accom- 
 plished his task, and next day confessed them in their own tongue. 
 From that time on, he says, he has had no difficulty in mastering 
 the most difficult language. The purity of his motive in the first 
 place, he thinks, influenced the Deity to assist him miraculously. 
 A short time since a Swede, who could speak a patois peculiar to 
 a certain province of Sweden, called on him, and addressed him 
 m that dialect. Mezzofanti had never heard it before, and seemed 
 very much interested. He invited him to call on him often, which 
 he did, while the conversation invariably turned on this dialect. 
 At length the Swede calling one day, heard himself, to his amaze- 
 ment, addressed in this difficult patois. He inquired of the Car- 
 dinal, who had been his master, for he thought, he said, there was 
 no man in Rome who would speak that language but himself. 
 " I have had no one," he replied, " but yourself — I never forget 
 a zvord I hear once." If this be true, he has a miraculous mem- 
 ory at all events. This the priest told me he had from Mezzo- 
 fanti himself. At home this would be headed " Strange if true." 
 
 I forgot to say, wiiile speaking of the ceremony of washing 
 the pilgrims' feet, that there is a separate apartment in the same 
 building for the females, and that princesses are some\ imes seen 
 engaged in this menial office. Every one so washed receives a 
 certificate of it, and if he wishes, a medal entitling him to heg. 
 
 At the ceremony of washing there were several pilgrims that 
 were mere boys, who seemed frightened enough at the sudden no- 
 toriety they had acquired. One little fellow in particular at- 
 tracted my notice. He was half frightened and half roguish ; 
 and between the curious gaze of the spectators, the odd position he 
 was in, and the Cardinal in his awful robes at his feet ; his coun- 
 tenance had a half scared, half comic look, and his eye rolled 
 from the Cardinal to the spectators, and back again in such queer 
 bewilderment that it quite upset my gravity, and I indulged in one 
 of Leather Stocking's long silent laughs. Truly yours. 
 
154 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 New Mode of Selling Milk — Lake Tartarus— Adrian's Villa — Tivoli. 
 
 TivoLi, April, 1843. 
 
 Dear E. — This morning, for once at least, I was up before the 
 sun. A gentleman who formerly held an appointment under our 
 Government and finally married a wealthy Enghsh lady and spends 
 his time in travelling, promised to call and take me in his carriage 
 with him and his lady to Tivoli. Of course I was sure not to 
 keep them waiting, hut was up betimes, and by means of it I 
 made a remarkable discovery which I give for the exclusive bene- 
 fit of New-Yorkers. 
 
 IMorning after morning I had been awakened by a shrill signal 
 whistle under my windows, and what it could mean at that 
 early hour would always puzzle me till 1 fell asleep again. This 
 morning as I opened the windows and stepped out upon the bal- 
 cony (and by the way windows here are never made to raise, but 
 to open like a double door), I was greeted by this same shrill 
 whistle ringing directly beneath me. I looked down, and lo, it 
 was the milkman's cry. A boy had driven to the door six or 
 seven goats, and with his fingers in his mouth was whistling out the 
 servant. In a few moments she appeared with her pint cup, which 
 he took, and stepping up behind the goats milked it full, received 
 his penny and drove on. Under a palace directly opposite I saw 
 three cows standing in the same w'ay, the boy who drove them 
 whistling away till the servant appeared, when he milked the 
 measure full, and then passed on towards the Corso. This plan, 
 you perceive, introduced into New-York, Avould effectually pre- 
 vent watering the milk ; and give it always fresh and pure from 
 the fountain-head. 
 
 In a few minutes the carriage drove up, and under as bright a 
 skv as ever bent over the Csesars ve rattled out of the city. We 
 
LAKE TARTARUS. 153 
 
 passed San Lorenzo gate, and trotted along the " Via Tiburtina," 
 crossed the Anio, and finally fetched up by the monument of 
 " Giula Stemma." I will not describe it. At length the wails 
 on either side of the way, built entirely of petrifactions, reminded 
 us that we were in the vicinity of Lake Tartarus, " Lago di Tar- 
 taro," the petrifying qualities of whose waters furnish the stone 
 called travertine. Its sulphur stench was Tartarian enough, and 
 at length it sparkled on our sight, a mere pond, in the midst of a 
 large field. Petrifying its own borders, it has contracted its limits 
 till it bids fair to petrify itself to death and become a stone lake» 
 The rocks around it are all formed from moss and turf and masses 
 of cane, whose tubes still remain in the stone. Remembering a 
 certain brother of mine who has a perfect mania for odd speci- 
 mens of this sort, and who had never failed in every letter to in- 
 sinuate in no ambiguous language that he supposed I would " for- 
 get to pick up some old stones " for him, I loaded down the car- 
 riage with fragments of rock to my particular discomfort. 
 
 Leaving this we came to the Solfatara (sulphur) canal. The 
 odor from this stream, which drains the ancient Aqua Albulae, 
 was still stronger than from Tartarus. This canal is nine feet 
 broad, two feet deep, and two miles long, and the water that flows 
 rapidly through it, almost of the color of milk. The Aqua Al- 
 bulae is about a mile distant, and by its petrifying qualities has 
 contracted itself from a mile in circumference to 500 feet. Near 
 by are the Baths of Agrippa, patronized by Augustus and en- 
 larged by Queen Zenobia, who was permitted to retire to Tivoli 
 with her children, after she had graced the triumphal entry of the 
 ravager of Palmyra into Rome. 
 
 A little distance from the road stands the ruins of Adrian's villa 
 — the most picturesque and imposing of any in Italy. They sur> 
 pass those of the Palace of the Caesars. This villa was over- 
 thrown during the siege of Tibur by Totila. I will not describe 
 to you the old Greek Theatre with its ruined Procenium ; nor the 
 beautiful Nymphaeum; nor the Pecile, 600 feet long, with its 
 double row of columns still standing, nor the imperial Palace, nor 
 the old barracks of the Pretorian guards — nor the grand Serapeon 
 of Canopus, nor the beautiful Vale of Tempe — nor the prome- 
 nades of the poets and philosophers who used to loiter in their 
 
156 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 green shades. I will leave you in ignorance of them all. You 
 cannot appreciate them unless you wander in "propria persona" 
 amid their haunted shades, with the dark cypress waving above 
 you and the spirit of the Past whispering in your ear. 
 
 Amid these ruins were found all the Egyptian antiquities in the 
 Roman Capitol — the beautiful Mosaic of Pliny's Doves ; and the 
 Venus di Medici. The road from hence up to Tivoli (the ancient 
 Tibur) is through the most venerable olive grove I have ever 
 seen. Between its dark foliage you get a glimpse now and then 
 of the Roman Campagna, stretching on toward the sea — toward 
 the eternal city — and the Sabine Hills. I should like to run on 
 awhile about this ancient Tibur throned on its beautiful hill. 
 Horace was accustomed to spend much of his time here, and 
 wrote enthusiastically of its beauty. Not the broad Laceedsemon, 
 said he, nor the rich fields of Larissee strike me so much 
 
 " Quam domus AlbuneaB resonantis, 
 Et preceps Auio ; et Tibumi lucus et uda 
 Mobiiibus pomaria rivis." 
 
 Here he would sit and compose his verses, and prayed that it 
 might be the retreat of his old age. But a truce to Horace. I 
 like him not and never did. His heartless lines ran in my head 
 all the while I was on the track of his journey to Brundusium, on 
 which the lazy, voluptuous sneerer lingered. He always ap- 
 pears to my imagination like a little, thin, weasle-faced man, strut- 
 ting slip-shod along, turning up his nose to mankind, and loving 
 wine and women as much as the latter feared him. 
 
 As I ascended the long hill toward the town, I thought more of 
 the royal Zenobia than of all the emperors and poets that ever 
 lived here. As she stood and looked off on the same valley 
 on which I was gazing — now so desolate — then so magnificent 
 with temples and palaces, how often she sighed for her queenly 
 Palmyra — the beauty of the desert. Her realm exchanged for 
 the Tiburtine hill, and a throne for the irksome kindness of a 
 haughty captor, was enough to break her queenly heart. But 
 let us enter Tivoli, once the head-quarters of the Ghibelline chiefs, 
 and afterward of Rienzi, in his expedition against Palestrina. It 
 is a dirty, contemptible little city of 17,000 inhabitants, [ts situ. 
 
TIVOLI. 157 
 
 aiion is highly picturesque, but i ts climate so unhealthy that the 
 popular distich runs, 
 
 " Tivoli di mal coiiforto 
 
 O, Piove, o lira vento, o suona a raorto," 
 
 whicli perhaps might be rendered thus : 
 
 " Oh Tivoli ! small comforts in thy climate dwell, * 
 
 Where blows the wind, or rains, or tolls the funeral knell." 
 
 The morals of the inhabitants may be gathered from the fact 
 that in the year 1838, out of a population of 17,000 there were 
 brought before the magistrate of the district 1,500 cases of fights, 
 in which 180 persons were dangerously wounded, and 22 killed. 
 
 The same ratio of crime in New- York, putting the population 
 at half a million, would give 45,000 fights during the year, 5,400 
 persons dangerously wounded, and 660 murders. At home this 
 would be headed " Horrible state of public morals." 
 
 But I beg pardon : I came here to see its water-falls, the most 
 beautiful with the exception of Terni in the south of Europe. 
 However, the Tivolians deserve this exposure for the villanous 
 dinner they gave me. I will not bore you with the description 
 of the ruined villas and temples that attract the traveller to Tivoli. 
 I will mention but one — the Temple of the Tihurtme Syhil, perched 
 on a cliff overhanging the valley of the cascades. It is a circular 
 temple surrounded with an open portico of 18 columns, ten of 
 which remain. Standing on that eminence, with its fine propor- 
 tions and ancient classical look, it forms one of the most beautiful 
 images I ever contemplated. As we emerged from the narrow 
 path on to the platform of rock, which forms its base, we saw a 
 table spread and an English company sitting around it, who had 
 ordered their dinner to be brought to this picturesque spot. — There 
 they sat eating under the shadow of the Temple of the Tilmrtine 
 Syhil, with the gulf beneath them, and the roar of the water- falls 
 in their ears. English like : — ^they can eat any where. Stand- 
 ing on the edge of this cliff, the chief waterfall of the Anio is full 
 in view a little to the left, on the other side of the gulf. Right 
 out from the green hills it leaps, 100 feet into the mass of ver- 
 dure below. From the moment it starts it shows a belt of foam, 
 and from the disordered rocks where it strikes, springs a rainbow. 
 
153 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 ike a being of light, starting for the skies. The form of the hills 
 — the deep verdure contrasting with the ruins around- — ^the clas- 
 sic air hovering over all — combine to render it a spot of singular 
 wildness and beauty. 
 
 From this Sybilline Temple, a winding narrow path descends 
 into the gulf and mounts the other side to the top of the water- 
 fall. Adown this we descended, stopping at intervals to catch a 
 glimpse of the foaming track of the " Cascatella," and hear the 
 roar of its vexed waters. At length we reached the grotto of 
 Neptune, a black cavern into which the cataract formerly emp- 
 lied itself from the high wall of rock above it. The inundation 
 of 1826 changed the course of the river and now a dark wild 
 stream alone hurries through it. From this deep gulf the viev/ 
 of the Sybilline Temple standing in its beautiful proportions high 
 above — in the portico of which, looking do'WTi on us, were gath- 
 ered a group of English ladies, twirling their bonnets in their 
 hands, and looking as if they might be the ancient Sybils returned 
 to their homes — the massive rocks around, and the singing of the 
 water- falls in our ears, with the wizard-like names of the Syren's 
 and Neptune's grotto, attached to the caverns over which we were 
 leaning — combhied to render it for the moment a scene of en- 
 chantment. 
 
 The water, before it takes its leap, passes through two artiii- 
 cial tunnels, cut side by side, through the solid rock, in which 
 the English lady and myself awoke the echoes with our mirth. 
 I do not know why it is, but I never get into a cavern or dark 
 hideous hole without an irresistible impulse to halloo till all rings 
 a^ain. From this point we took donkeys and rode around the 
 semicircular hill to get a view of the series of cascades unseen 
 before ; that come springing one after another into sunlight right 
 out from the bosom of the green foliage. As we passed along, 
 first spray, like mist boiling up from the earth, would appear, hov- 
 ering in the air — and then the laughing Iris bovring to the green 
 banks beyond, and then the rapid shoot of the stream. It was a 
 succession of surprises. 
 
 Returning we fell in with the suite of a Venetian Prince that 
 had haunted us ever shace we left Naples — dining where we 
 
DONKEY RIDING. 159 
 
 dined — sleeping where we slept, and by some strange fatality 
 visiting galleries and ruins the same day we visited them. 
 
 Speaking of the donkey ride reminds me that I have omitted 
 a curious specimen of this mode of travelling which I witnessed 
 this morning near the famous Plautian Tomb. On a little mouse- 
 ^.olored donkey, a trifle larger than a Newfoundland dog, shaggy 
 ,nd meek, were mounted a burly man and his wife, both astraddle, 
 with the woman lefore and the man behind. The docile little fel- 
 low went ambling along, picking up carefully his slender feet, and 
 with his long ears flapping over his face looking as unconscious 
 and innocent as a iamb. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
160 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 An Improvisatrice — Ascent of St. Peter's. 
 
 Rome, April. 
 Dear E. — I have just returned from hearing an Improvisa- 
 trice. Bah ! — what a world of disappointment. I had read Co- 
 rinna till I expected to behold in an Italian Improvisatrice an em- 
 bodied inspiration. She sung to a small audience in one of the 
 rooms of the Theatre Argentina. An Urn was left at the door, 
 in which every one, who wished, dropped on a bit of paper 
 the subject he wished her to improvise. This Urn was to be 
 handed to the Improvisatrice, from which she must draw, by 
 chance, the number of topics she was to render into verse during 
 the evemng. I sat all on the " qui vive,'' waiting ner appear- 
 ance, expecting to see enter a tall, queenly beauty, with the speak- 
 ing lip and flashing eye uttering poetry even in their repose. I 
 expected more, from the fact that these inspired birds are getting 
 rare even in Italy, and this was the second opportunity there had 
 been of hearing one during the entire year. Well, at last she 
 came, a large, gross-looking woman, somewhere between thirty- 
 five and fifty years of age, and as plain as a pikestaff. She as- 
 cended the platform, somewhat embarrassed, and sat down : the 
 Urn was handed her, from which she drew seven or eight papers, 
 and read the subjects written upon them. They were a motley 
 mess enough to turn into poetry in the full tide of song. I looked 
 at her somewhat staggered, and wished very much to ask her, 
 if, (as we say at home) she did not want to back out of the under 
 taking. However, she started off boldly and threw off verse after 
 verse with astonishing rapidity. After she had finished she sa. 
 down, wip'd the perspiration from her forehead, while a man, 
 looldng more like Bacchus than Cupid, brought her a cup of nee- 
 ^ar in the shape of Coffee, which she coolly sipped before the 
 
AN IMPROVISATRICE. 161 
 
 audience, and then read the next topic and commenced again. 
 Between each effort came the Coffee. Some of the subjects were 
 unpoetical enough, and staggered her prodigiously. The " spav- 
 ined dactyls" would not budge an inch, and she would stop — 
 smite her forehead — go back — take a new start, and try to spur 
 over the chasm with a boldness that half redeemed her failures ; 
 sometimes it required three or four distinct efforts before she could 
 clear it. The large drops of moisture that oozed from her fore- 
 head, in the excitement, formed miniature rivulets down her 
 cheeks, till I exclaimed to myself, well there is _perspiration there, 
 whether there be aspiration or not ; and, after all, who can tell 
 the difference. 
 
 I will do her the justice, however, to say that her powers of 
 versification, in some instances, were almost miraculous. She 
 would glide on without a pause, minding the difficulties of rhythm, 
 rhyme and figures, no more than Apollo himself. Columbus was 
 one of her subjects, and she burst forth, (I give the sentiment 
 only,) " Who is he, that, with pallid countenance and neglected 
 beard, enters, sad and thoughtful, through the City's gates. The 
 crowd gaze on him as, travel-worn, he walks along, and ask, 
 '■ Who is he V — Christopher Colombo, is the answer. They turn 
 away, for 'tis an unknown name." Then, with a sudden fling, 
 she changed the measure, and standing on the bow of his boat, 
 Hag in hand, the bold adventurer strikes the beach of a New 
 World. The change from the slow, mournful strain she first 
 pursued, to the triumphant bounding measure on v/hich the boat 
 of the bold Italian met the shore, was like an electric shock, and 
 the house rung with " brava, brava." But, alas ! there was no 
 Corinna there ; I had rather heard the fair, proud-looking pianist 
 that accompanied her. 
 
 In the afternoon I drove with some friends to St. Peter's for the 
 purpose of mounting to the top. No one can ascend it without an 
 order from the office of the Cardinal Secretary of State. This 
 order is obtained by a paper from somebody else, I forget whom. 
 This paper my friend had sent me, with the request to send and 
 get the order. I put it in my pocket with the full determination 
 .0 do as he requested. But just as our carriage was driving up 
 to the magnificen. steps of St. Peter's he asked if I had the order 
 
162 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 I slowly pulled forth \he paper from the spot where it had lain 
 snugly for two or three days, and shook my head. " Then we 
 are done for it," said he. I had no apology to make — ^there sat 
 his lady, who had taken all this trouble for nothing. " Never 
 mind," said he, " let us try what we can do without an order." 
 
 We went to the Sacristan who kept the door, and told him our 
 case, and plead to have the regulation dispensed with, but he war 
 inexorable. I asked him if he could bear to have us return U 
 our own country, after having come so far, without ascending St. 
 Peter's. " Mi fa niente ma non posso permitterlo." " It is noth 
 ing to me, but I cannot allow it." I then appealed to his gal- 
 lantry, and made up a long story about the lady on my arm. 
 " Mi rincresce moltissimo, signore, ma non e possibile," " I am very 
 sorry, sir, but I can't help it," was all I could get out of him. 
 I then undertook to bribe him, but it was of no use. He was the 
 first Italian door-keeper I had seen, money would not buy. " Never 
 mind," said Mr. , " I understand that some of these Sacris- 
 tans keep permissions to sell." Off he started, and in a few min- 
 utes returned with one tl:iat cost just 4 pauls — a half a dollar. I 
 handed it to the Sacristan, and said, " There, will that do ?" — 
 Oh, you would have shouted at the look of blank astonishment 
 with which he regarded me. It was all right, signed and sealed 
 as his Holiness directs, but said he, " Did you not write it your- 
 self?" "What!" said I, "forge that seal?" pointing to the 
 Cardinal's signet. He shook his head — " but where did you get 
 it ?" " St. Peter gave it to me," I replied. (He opened his eyes 
 still wqder) — " He did not wish me to leave his church without 
 seeing its wonders." " II Santo Pietro e piu generoso di le." 
 "Pass on," said the old man, with an ominous shake of the head, 
 and we began to mount. The ascent to the top of the roof is so 
 gradual that horses pass up and down with loads. On the roof 
 the houses of the workmen scattered around look like a little vil- 
 lage. 
 
ASCENT OF ST. PETER'S lb3 
 
 incense throws a haze like a summer atmosphere over the wealth 
 of marble beneath. The concave of the Dome is wrought in Mosaic, 
 representing virgins and saints, &c. From the pavement it seems 
 to be the finest of work, while here the stones are large as the end 
 of your thumb. The sentence in Mosaic, " Tu es Petrus," dec, 
 (Thou art Peter,) which is barely visible from below, is found to 
 be composed of letters six feet long. An American Vandal had 
 been here a few days before, and in order to carry away a me- 
 mento of the Dome, had gouged out one of the eyes of a saint 
 with his jack-knife. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the view from the top. The 
 Mediterranean, blue and dim, in the distance on the one side, the 
 Albano, the Sabine and Volscian hills on the other ; Rome, the 
 Coliseum, Forum, the winding Tiber, palaces and temples, im- 
 mortal each with its history, and all grand and mighty with the 
 Past, were too much for one glance. The mind became perfectly 
 stupified with the crowd of images and emotions that overwhelmed 
 it. Glorious old Rome, that " coup d'oBil/' has become a part 
 of my existence. It is daguerreotyped on my heart for ever. 
 
 Now for a chapter of statistics. I hate them, but in no other 
 way can you get an idea of the size of St. Peter's. I will not 
 give you feet and inches, but say that if Trinity Church is fin- 
 ished on the plan with which it was commenced you could pile 
 about 12 of tliem into St. Peter's, and have considerable room left 
 for walking about. — By taking off the steeples you could arrange 
 two rows of them in the Church, three in a row, then clap on the 
 steeples again under the Dome and they would reach a trifle 
 more than half way to the top. You could put two churches 
 like the Trinity under the Dome and have the entire nave of the 
 Church, and both side aisles wholly unoccupied. Take three 
 Astor Houses and place them lengthwise, and they would nearly 
 extend the length of the inside of St. Peter's — make a double row 
 of them and they would fill it up half way to the roof pretty snug. 
 Thirty or forty common churches could be stowed away in it 
 ndthout much trouble, and the four columns that support the 
 Dome are each larger than an ordinary dwelling house. But 
 this is nothing — the marble — the statuary — the costly tombs — -the 
 architecture — the art are indescribable. Truly yours. 
 
1G4 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 Artists' Fete. 
 
 Rome, April. 
 
 Dear E. — To-day has been the great fete day of the Artisti- 
 of Rome. I have endeavored in vain to discover the orisfin oi 
 design of this oddest of all anniversaries in the imperial city. It 
 is confined to no nation, but embraces the artists of every land 
 who wish to partake of its festivities and fooleries. For several 
 days previous, books are kept open at the Greek Cafe for those 
 strangers who wish to enter their names as members on the occa- 
 sion, and who receive in return a blue ribbon to wear as a badge 
 during the festivities. The place of carousal is about ten miles 
 from the city in the open Campagna. The location is as odd as 
 the celebration that honors it. To be sheltered from the sun, if 
 it be a bright Italian day, and to be protected from the wet, if it 
 be a rainy one, they have selected the ancient Quarries of Rome 
 for their festive hall. These Quarries are the interior of a slight 
 eminence hollowed out into chambers and arches by the gradual 
 excavations of former centuries. The dining-hall is an old forsa- 
 ken ruin near by. At eight o'clock they meet from every part 
 of the city in front of St. Maria Maggiore, to form their proces- 
 sion. First comes a cart and oxen, garlanded for the occasion, 
 on which is throned the President, dressed like nothing you ever 
 beheld, and after him the motley group of artists and their friends, 
 to the amount of several hundred. Each has his costume, and 
 one would think they had not studied the old paintings in vain. 
 Such out of the way and yet often picturesque garbs could be 
 found in no country except Italy — and then the animals they ride, 
 some are horses, some mules, and some the smallest, most villain- 
 ous looking donkeys Rome can furnish. 
 
 My friend and myself did not accompany the procession ou^ 
 
ARTISTS- FETE. 16o 
 
 but walked up to view the baths of Dioclesian, and from them to 
 the San Lorenzo gate, expecting to catch a return hack. Soon 
 one came up, and I hailed the driver, asking him what he would 
 demand to take us out to the fete. Just then it began to sprinkle 
 —the first few drops of a heavy shower. The fellow looked as 
 if he thought he had caught us, and his management you may 
 take as a perfect illustration of an Italian's mode of making a 
 bargain — with foreigners. He demanded just double of an ex- 
 traordinary price, so I offered him half. No — he wouldn't lis- 
 ten to it — and after some altercation I told him to drive on, I 
 could do without him. He then fell a third, but I persisted in 
 my first offer, and bade him go on. He drew up his reins and 
 started off. But just before he turned an angle in the road which 
 concealed him from view, he pulled up and hallooed to know if I 
 would go for so much, naming a trifle less. I shook my head, 
 and he vanished from sight. " There," said my friend, " we are 
 now in a pretty fix — raining like a storm, and no way of getting 
 to the fete or to the city." But I knew my man, and replied, 
 " Do you suppose he has really gone ? In three minutes he will 
 be back," and true enough the next moment a pair of black 
 horses trotted into view, and our friend pulled up where we stood 
 to drive another bargain. He fell still more from his original 
 price, and began to praise his vehicle and show us all its comforts, 
 especially in a rain storm. 
 
 I was vexed at the fellow's impudence, and coolly asked, 
 " Why have you returned ? I am not anxious at all to have your 
 carriage ; you had better drive back to the city, or you will lose 
 the opportunity of taking some one else." He drew up his reins 
 with all the hauteur of an old Roman, and cracking his whip drove 
 away with an air that said, as plainly as actions could say it, 
 *' Good day, sir — this is the last you will see of me." After he 
 had disappeared, my friend again began, " There, now, you have 
 done it. He has gone sure enough, and we may get out of the 
 scrape as we can." " Not a bit of it," said I. " The difference 
 in the price he offers to take and I offer to give is trifling, but 
 don't you see the rascal thinks to take advantage of our circum- 
 stances ? I will stand here under this old colonnade till night 
 before I will give him one baiocca more than I have ofTered him. 
 
JG6 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 — Besides, he will be back in a minute. It is true that last take 
 off was very well done, but these fellows are used to acting. Such 
 an offer as I made him he has not had to-day, and he is the last 
 man to lose it. The next time "he will return and tell us to get 
 in." I was right. In a few minutes the black team was in 
 sight. The hauteur of the Roman had vanished, and with a 
 touch of the hat and a smile that would have made the fortune of 
 an English valet, he bade our " Excellencies" mount, hoping we 
 would remember and give him a " huonomano.'^ " Not a bit of 
 it," said I, though I afterward did, of my own free will. But I 
 would not have it in the contract. 
 
 Such is universally an Italian's mode of making a bargain. 
 After driving five or six miles, we turned into the fields, through 
 which, far before us, were slowly winding along trains of car- 
 riages, filled with the fun-loving Italians. At length we came in 
 sight of the spot consecrated by art — and such a sight. Did you 
 ever see a "general iraining'' in the country 1 Then you have 
 the first view of the " artists' fete." Scattered over the green 
 field, were carriages filled with fair spectators, patches of stroll- 
 ing peddlars, carts with the team detached and " wine and cake 
 to sell," and all the strange and motley grouping of a Yankee 
 ''training ground." All these were on the summit of the emi- 
 nence, underneath which were the quarries and the artists. As 
 I approached, suddenly from out the bowels of the earth came a 
 hurrah as wild and jolly as ever Bacchus, in the height of glory 
 and greatness, made to ring through the home of the gods. The 
 next moment I heard an earnest voice hurriedly inquire, " Gany- 
 mede, Ganymede ! where is Jupiter ?" and then the Bacchana- 
 lian song, " lo Bacche !" Really I began to think there might be, 
 after all, a batch of the old gods below, holding a sort of anni- 
 versary revel there, on the borders of their old dominions. I 
 hastened down, and oh, such a spectacle ! It is impossible to de- 
 scribe it. At one end of the caverns sat the presiding god. 
 Around him were flags of every description and ornaments of no 
 description. He had on a necklace made, I should suppose, of a 
 huge Bologna sausage, with pieces a foot and a half long, putting 
 out at intervals all round it, at the end of each of which stood 
 an imp striving with all his might to fill it with wind. At his side 
 
ARTISTS' FETE. 167 
 
 stood a drummer, that looked more like a grifRn than a man, 
 beating rapid and hurried beats upon his drum, while at every 
 pause arose the chorus of some wild German song. Before him, 
 in the dirt, were all sorts of divinities waltzing — ^two-thirds drunk. 
 Round and round they would spin, ankle deep, in the powdered 
 clay, until they came on the broken rocks with a jar that made 
 my bones ache even to see. Poor fellows, thought I to myself 
 you will have enough to do to-morrow to count your bruises. 
 
 This is only a specimen of what was passing. There wer» 
 other groups in various parts of the quarries, each with its pecu 
 liar scene. At length a company of Germans determined to have 
 a ghost scene, and German like, they went through all the cere- 
 monies of raising a spirit. In one of the darkest parts of the 
 quarries was deposited a body wrapped in a sheet. At the en- 
 trance stood a company of Germans and began one of their ghostly 
 incantations. It was enough to chill one's blood. Slowly and 
 solemnly the incantation rose and echoed through the cavern un- 
 til the ghost was actually raised. There were many excellent 
 singers among the German artists, and some of the chorusses 
 were admirable. I never beheld a revel to which there was no 
 limit, and no law in which there was such perfect abandon* 
 ment as this. It seemed impossible that the human heart could 
 so utterly throw off all restraint. Indeed it could hardly be called 
 a revel — it was a frolic, a wild and lawless frolic. The animal 
 spirits of each seemed at the evaporating point. 
 
 In such reckless mirth, amid flowing wine and song and dance, 
 the hours wore on, till the signal was given for the closing up 
 scene, which w^as a general horse, donkey and mule race out 
 upon the green sward. It was here that the figures and costumes 
 showed to advantage. Thousands of people, some in carriages, 
 some on foot, were scattered over the field. For a back ground 
 a black rain cloud lay along the horizon. The sunlight from the 
 clear West falling brightly over the grassy plain, threw the 
 figures on it in strong relief against 'that dark cloud in the dis- 
 tance, till every color, ribbon and plume, was distinctly revealed. 
 As the crowd gave way, and horseman after horseman galloped 
 into view, it seemed more like a description I had read in some" 
 oriental tale, than an actual passing scene. Now ten or fifteen 
 
168 LETTERS PROM ITALY. 
 
 in a company, mounted without a saddle, would gallop like the 
 wind over the plain, their velvet mantles and plumes streaming 
 in the wind, and the spangles in their vests and bonnets flashing 
 like diamonds in the sunlight. And half of them were such 
 wild spiritual looking beings. They were none of your hearty 
 revellers, but had come out this once from the studio with all 
 the marks of severe study and privation upon them, to be young 
 and thoughtless for one day. Some of them were remarkably 
 handsome fellows, and with their long black hair and blacker 
 eyes and thin pale faces and singular costumes, shot past you like 
 beings of another planet. There were Americans among the 
 rest, and I am sure if they could have dropped into their native 
 towns at home just as they were mounted and dressed to-day, 
 their friends would have clapped them in a lunatic asylum " sans 
 ceremonie.^^ The racing was a mere general scamper. One 
 bold rider on a powerful black steed, galloped round and round 
 without end or aim, while in another direction three artists were 
 mounted on one little donkey, not much larger than a Newfound- 
 land dog, which they were trying to beat into a gallop. But the 
 poor little fellow could hardly waddle under his enormous load, 
 and seemed perfectly stupificd at the sights and sounds around 
 him. But the blows which fell thick and fast, were more natu- 
 ral and home-like, and seemed to restore his self-confidence; for 
 the next moment he laid back his long cars, and with that villain- 
 ous look a donkey alone can give, let fly his heels into the air, 
 and over tumbled one of the sons of the divine art. 
 
 While I was laughing at this ludicrous scene, a beggar girl 
 that had often molested me in Rome, came up and began her im- 
 portunities again. She was the most impudent creature I ever 
 met, and I could not shake her off, when a man dressed like a 
 king, rode slowly up on his donkey, and addressing the girl in the 
 most grave, deliberate, and solemn tone, said, " Andate via siete 
 troppo importunente." " Go away, you are too importunate." The 
 girl looked at him a moment, and walked away without saying 
 a word. I could hardly thank him for laughter, but he never 
 smiled, and wheeled his donkey away with the gravity of a phi- 
 losopher. But it is impossible to describe the different groups in 
 this strangest of all f«tes. An English lady whom I had often 
 
ARTISTS' FETE. 169 
 
 met in different parts of Italy, stood and looked on in perfect de- 
 light. She said she could not shake off the belief that she was 
 in the midst of some Eastern romance. She was a beautiful 
 sketcher, and in a few minutes the field and its grotesque groups 
 were her own. How I envied her her possessions ! At length 
 the crowd, as all crowds must, broke up. But a small party gal- 
 loped on before, and ascending a green mound on which stood 
 an old ruin, wheeled and awaited the procession. In their pic- 
 turesque garbs, beside that ancient ruin, and both revealed in the 
 soft light of the setting sun, they formed a strange and beautiful 
 group. 
 
 But soon the towers and obelisks of old Rome rose on the vie\r, 
 and I seemed to stand rebuked in their presence. I thought how 
 these orgies had been celebrated over the grave of a fallen em- 
 pire. I was told that Thorswalien a few years ago joined with 
 them, and shook his gray locks with the merriest. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
17n LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 LETTER XXXY. 
 
 Sirocco-— IMosaic Centre-Table — Borghesian Villa — Tasso's Oak — Farewell 
 to St. Peter's, &c. 
 
 May, 1843. 
 
 Dear E. — I fear you are becoming tired of Rome, though one 
 never wearies of writing about it. Each hour here would make 
 a letter; but not to task your patience farther, I will give you a 
 single chapter out of my diary, and then we will av/ay for Flor- 
 ence and the green, free, open country. 
 
 Saturday, 10th. — Just returned from Villa Pamfili, revived 
 and almost cheerful. For three days a terrible sirocco has been 
 blowing that has taken the very life out of me. The first day I 
 grew weak ; the second, hot and feverish, and took to my bed, 
 and concluded a E^oman fever was my destiny. But this morning 
 the wind changed to the north, and the dirty sky looked clear 
 ao-ain. A little revived, I called a carriao-e, and drove out to 
 the Villa Pamfili. Leaving the diiver and his horses under the 
 shadow of a clump of trees, I strolled away from the magnifi- 
 cent gardens into the open field, and lying down under a lofty 
 fir-tree, and looking off towards the mouth of the Tiber and dis- 
 tant Ostia, drank in the fresh air till my blood grew cool agaLn. 
 Those grounds, how extensive and beautiful they are, with their 
 promenades, and canals, and waterfalls, and fountains, and flow- 
 ers, and statues ! 
 
 Sunday, 11th. — ^Just returned from Vespers in St. Peter's. How 
 I love to linger under those great arches, while the shades of 
 tv/ilight deepen on the statues and figures around ; and hear the 
 Vesper hymn steal out of the distant chapel, and float over this 
 wond rous tempi e . 
 
 And that strange Pilgrim — how he arrested my attention. 
 From the far oITiiills he had wandered there for once in his life, 
 to worship. Amazed at the magnificence around him. he forgot 
 
MOSAIC CENTRE-TABLE. 171 
 
 his rags, that contrasted so strikingl}^ with those costly ornaments, 
 and leaned on his pilgrim staff-— the blanket on which he had slept 
 in his pilgrimage, beneath his arm— and gazed like one in a 
 trance, around him. The lofty nave — -the images of P.rophets 
 and Apostles, that leaned over him — the dim religious light ; and 
 that now dying, now triumphant music, was too much for him, 
 and he bowed his head and wept. Drop after drop, the big tears 
 fell on the tesselated pavement, and his swelling heart seemed 
 ready to burst under the tide of emotions that pressed on it. Fare- 
 well, Pilgrim— we shall never meet again. 
 
 Monday night, 12th. — I have just returned from a social party 
 at the house of an English officer — -La Strada delle tre Fontane, 
 (the street of the three fountains). I met there an Italian noble I 
 had often seen in the north of Italy. He was an officer in the 
 army of his Sardinian Majesty. Poor fellow ! he had fallen in 
 love with an English lady in Genoa, and had come down to get 
 a dispensation from the Pope that he might marry her. It was 
 slow work, but he thought he should succeed. 
 
 Tuesday, 12th. — Accompanied Mrs. to see the top of a 
 
 Mosaic centre-table. What a transcendently beautiful thing ! 
 It was finer work than I ever saw in a breastpin at home. It 
 needed the closest inspection to detect it was not a painting. The 
 man had been four years in finishing it, and had just received an 
 order for it from a Russian Princess, v/ho was to give him $4,000. 
 It represented Rome in four different aspects, the scenes going 
 round the outer edge of the table. First, the ' Piazza del Popolo,' 
 by sunrise, with its gate and obelisk ; second, St. Peter's, with its 
 glorious colonnade, obelisk and fountains, under the blaze of a 
 bright noon -day ; next came the Forum, the Capitol, the ruined 
 Palace of the Csesars, and the lonely columns standing around 
 Ibis focus of old Roman glory, bathed in the soft light of the 
 setting sun ; last of all the Coliseum by moonlight, and a more 
 perfect moon I never saw painted. It had beside an elaborately 
 wrought centre piece. I never broke the commandment " Thou 
 shalt not covet" so much in a half an hour in my life as during 
 the time I was inspecting this table. The artist was an intelli- 
 gent and pleasant man, and gave me some of the composition 
 by which mosaic work is raado, and explained the whole process, 
 
172 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 but I have forgotten it already. At sunset I strolled around the 
 Pincian Hill, that overlooks Rome and the Tiber. It is a aeau- 
 tiful promenade, filled with trees, statues, &c. ; but, alas ! as I 
 was passing near where some repairs were making, I saw thirty 
 prisoners chained two and two, guarded by soldiery, and sullenly 
 performing their allotted toil. 
 
 In the evening, after tea, our good professor, who never fails in 
 his daily lessons, started up and said, " This is the night of the 
 Feast of the Sepulchres, would you like to see the ceremony V 
 In a moment we were off. We entered church after church, in 
 each of which the ceremony- was different, but each representing 
 Christ in the Sepulchre. The churches were dark with the ex- 
 ception of a few lights around the place of supposed burial. At 
 length we entered one in a side chapel of which lay a wax figure, 
 large as life, representing our Savior in the rigidness of death. 
 The hair lay matted on his forehead — the blood was flowing over 
 his agony- wrung brow, and his limbs composed in the decency of 
 death. Close by the figure, kneeled two monks— their faces 
 buried in their hands, and uttering not a sound. Away from the 
 recess back in the darkness, were the silent figures of men and 
 women kneeling amid the marble columns of the church ; that 
 grew dimmer and dimmer as they retired, till lost in the gloom. 
 That bloody, murdered form — those cowled and silent monks 
 kneeling over it — the deep hush and darkness amid so many 
 forms, was too much for my nerves. I pushed open the door and 
 rushed into the open air, drew a long breath while a fearful pres- 
 sure seemed to lift from my heart. Well, 'tis a strange world, 
 and the " lights and shadows of a human soul," who can write ! 
 
 Wednesday/, ISth. — Rode all over the grounds of the Borghe- 
 sian villa. This is to Rome what Hyde Park is to London, and 
 towards evening there is an incessant whirl of carriages around its 
 groves of ilex and laurel, and through its lo ig avenues of cypresses, 
 and past its flashing fountains and delicute temples, and rows of 
 statuary. These grounds are tnree miles round, threaded in every 
 possible direction with roads. At the farther side is the palace 
 filled with beautiful statuary. In one room is Canova's famous 
 reclining Venus, for which Pauline, the beautiful sister of Bona- 
 parte, sat. There is a story in Rome that a lady once asked 
 
AN IRISH GARDENER. 173 
 
 Pauline if she did not feel a little uncomfortable in sitting before 
 Canova for her statue (alluding to the indelicacy of being dis- 
 robed before the artist), and she pretending to understand her 
 as referring to her feeling somewhat cold in such a predicament, 
 answered, " Oh no, the room was very warm.^^ (This Borghese 
 married one of the daughters of the famous English Catholic Earl 
 of Shrewsbury.) The statue is beautiful — so was Pauline, who 
 is said to have had but one defective feature, and that her ears. 
 They were so small as to be almost a deformity. 
 
 Saturday, 16th, — I skip over two days. This morning I re- 
 ceived a note from an American gentleman inviting me to accom- 
 pany him and his two sisters to the Pope's palace on the Quirinal. 
 I was at the reading-room when they started, and as the carriage 
 drove up, the wheels came somewhat near to a peppery, half- 
 crazy English cavalry officer. He began to swear and curse the 
 driver, when I, somewhat piqued at his impudence in the pres- 
 ence of the ladies, stept in and told the driver to move on. The 
 officer immediately tipped his hat to me and apologised, and said 
 in the blandest manner, " Mr. H. (calling me by name,) I believe 
 your book is not in this library," (referring to the one attached to 
 the reading-room). How the fellow knew my name puzzled me, 
 and the question and all taking me quite aback, I replied. What 
 did you say, sir ? " Are you not from New Orleans, and have you 
 not written a work ?" I have not the pleasure of hailing from 
 New Orleans, I replied, nor have I been guilty of writing a book. 
 
 We strolled all over the great palace — into the very sanctum 
 sanctorum of his Holiness. * * 
 
 The garden is a mile in circumference, and filled with flowers, 
 and birds, and plants of every description. There is one fountain 
 that plays an organ, (when it plays at all), and little statues 
 standing in niches around the grotto in which the organ is placed 
 lift, at the same time, instruments to their lips, and chant an ac- 
 companiment. The chief gardener is an Irishman, and Pat is 
 the same practical joker, wherever you find him. Even living 
 in the shadow of the palace of his Holiness, cannot knock the fun 
 out of him : and there was so much of the ' lurking devil ' in this 
 fellow's eye, that I watched every movement, lest he should play 
 u& a trick — for every now and then, he would disappear in the 
 
1T4 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 thick foilage. and the next moment from some unexpected quarter 
 v.-ould issue jets of water, crossing each other in all directions, 
 and making an arch over our heads as we passed. There was a 
 group of some half-dozen Priests, just before us, who had come 
 from the country to attend the ceremonies of Holy Week in 
 Rome. They were visiting the garden of their Spiritual Head, 
 and stared about them in undisguised astonishment. x\t length 
 they got tangled in with our party, and, as we were passing up a 
 walk hedged closely in, I saw Pat slip slyly away amid the fo- 
 liage. Expecting some mischief on hand, I halted and fell a little 
 back, bidding my friends do the same. In a moment the walk 
 spread out into a circular form, and the long black-robed Priests 
 scattered themselves over it ; when suddenly, right out of the 
 gravelled path, sprang a group of jets, perfectly deluging them 
 with water. They suddenly stopped like chickens when the 
 shadow of a hawk darkens over them, and then scampered oflF, as 
 Pac said, " as if the Divil was after them." Dripping with water, 
 and shaking their broad-brimmed beavers, they presented a most 
 sorry spectacle. * * 
 
 Tuesday, 2Atli. — Walked all over the ruins in the region of 
 the Forum and Caracalla's Baths. This is the only way to see 
 and feel them. I never would ride again here. Oh! how sad 
 to muse amid these fragments of a shivered world, with nought 
 to disturb you but the chirp of the cricket, or the sigh of the pass- 
 ing wind as it stirs the ivy that dangles from some mouldering 
 wall. There they are in the bright sunshine, men spinning ropes in 
 the old Roman Forum, or singing with Italian carelessness under 
 the shadow of that lofty, solitary column, that stands like a tomb- 
 stone over the grave of an empire. How those peasantry stared 
 at me as I stood, like one bewildered, under the great arches that 
 supported the Palace of the Csesars, gazing on the cattle stabled 
 there, and on the thoughtless owners pitching hay into apartments 
 right under the very throne of Rome. The sentence of Gibbon 
 came like a mournful echo to me — '•' and the barbarian has long 
 since stabled his steed in the Palace of the C^sars." — I strolled 
 on to the old Circus Maximus, where the rape of the Sabines was 
 committed. It is a garden, and an old man was carting ma- 
 nure into it. I thought I would see how much he would know f 
 
TASSO'S OAK 175 
 
 that field of fame, so I inquired if that was the Circus Maximus. 
 He looked at me as if he thought I was an ignoramus, and replied, 
 **No, signore, it. is a garden J^ And this is glory ! * * . 
 
 At evening we drove to the convent San Onifrio, or rather to the 
 foot of the hill on v/hich it stands. After knocking for nearly a 
 quarter of an hour at the gate we gained admittance. Here Tasso 
 died. An oak stands near, called Tasso's oak.- He came to Rome 
 to be crowned, and was taken sick. He retired to this convent, 
 which overlooks entire Rome, and from its elevation has a pure air, 
 to recover his health. Under this oak he used to sit and gaze down 
 on the imperial city in its glory, which was weaving a crown — for 
 his grave. The oak has been broken down by a storm, but the 
 stump still remains. I plucked some of the splinters to bring away 
 as a memorial. I was in the rooni where he died. A cast was 
 taken of him after his death, which is preserved with great care • 
 and near by in a glass case hangs tke last letter the poet ever wrote. 
 While I am writing the daughter of the man who owns my rooms 
 has answered the bell and wishes to know what I want. It is 
 somewhat chilly and I request a little fire. In oixier to kindle it 
 she picks up my splinters from Tasso's oak. I spoke out so 
 sharply that she turned her large eyes on me in wonder. V/hy, 
 said I, those are from Tasso's oak — I would not take 50 scudi for 
 them — I am going to take them to America. She clapped her 
 hands and laughed till all rung again. She took it for a good 
 joke and proceeded to lay them on the fire. I remonstrated so 
 earnestly that she felt I must be in earnest, and asked with the 
 most perfect naivete, ' What, have you no such wood in America V 
 Oh Tasso, such again is glory ! 
 
 Saturday, 2Sth. — Saturday again. I have, these last few dayS; 
 strolled over the city — made a few calls and wrote a few letters. 
 I have seen Pompey's Statue, ' which all the while ran blood' 
 when great Csesar fell at its base. I have wandered over the 
 "Jews' Quarter," where the old clothes hang in masses alono- the 
 streets. Every night at eight o'clock they are locked up in the 
 two streets they occupy. Palaces, Studios, and Paintings have 
 come in for their share. What a beautiful young Bacchus 
 I saw in Thorswalden's Studio. The drunken God could be seen, 
 in the baby sleeping amid the rich clusters of grapes. A note i« 
 
176 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 on my table from Dr. D y of New York. He knows not 
 
 what pleasure his last conversation gave me. 
 
 Sunday, 29th. — To-morrow, I expect to start for Florence, 
 and have been this evening to bid St. Peter's good bye. It is 
 
 strange how affection will grow on one, for a mere pile of stone 
 and brick ; but I have really and forever fallen in love with this 
 glorious old Temple. I did not feel sadder when the setting sun 
 went down over the lessening shore of my father-land, than to- 
 ni2:ht when I knew I must behold St. Peter's no more. I strolled 
 around — now across the nave — now up and down the side aisles, 
 and away into the transept, looking at nothing in particular, but 
 lettmg the impression of the whole fall like a mighty shadow on 
 my heart. The smoke of incense spread like a mist over the tes- 
 selated pavement, and the pealing organ now swelled out through 
 the amplitude in triumphant bursts of music, and now died away 
 in mournful cadences through the dim arches, while the chant 
 of priests arose and fell in strange echoes on the air. Fa'^, far 
 away up through the heaven-seeking dome stole the rays of the set- 
 ting sun, as if he wished his last look to be in this great Temple. 
 One by one, the crowd departed, till I v>-as almost alone amid the 
 forest of marble. Every statue became a spiritual being worship- 
 ping silently there — every shadow the passing of the Invisible 
 One. My heart beat' audibly in my bosom, and I could have 
 knelt before the silent altar and wept. The spirit of the Eternal 
 seemed to have breathed on his Temple. The silence and sol- 
 itude at length became painful, and I turned towards the door. 
 There I gave the last farewell look. The great columns stood 
 dim and stately in the gathering gloom, while the lofty arches were 
 lost in the darkness. Far away burned the feeble tapers before 
 the high altar, while the shadow of a monk now and then gliding 
 before them in his silent dut}^, added to the mystery of the scene. 
 Farewell, great Temple ; thou hast taught my heart a lesson 
 it will never forget, and as I dive into the living stream of men 
 again, thy shadow shall ever be on the water. Thy heart-break- 
 ing ]\Iiserere and thy sweet Vesper Hymns shall never lose their 
 echo ; thy mighty dome and magnificent proportions, and thy per- 
 feet form lighted by its thousands of torches standing like a fairy 
 creation amid the deep night, I carr\" with me. Yours. &c- 
 
OUT OF ROME 177 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 Out of Rome — An English Captain. 
 
 Term, May, 1843. 
 
 Dear E.— We are out of Rome, and I will not trouble you 
 with our long quarrels with Vetturini before we got off. For 
 several successive days, an English gentleman and myself went 
 to the Post House to get a carriage and horses, to be posted on to 
 Florence ; but Rome was emptying itself, and all had been en- 
 gaged days beforehand. So we finally struck up a bargain with 
 a Vetturino to carry us through with one team. 
 
 We started with rather a bad omen. I was up before it was 
 daylight, and stepping into a narrow street for the purpose of 
 crossing to the lodgings of my English friend, encountered four 
 men bearing, noiselessly and rapidly along, a corpse. 
 
 But imagine us finally standing at the Piazza del Popolo, while 
 the officers examine our passports to see if all is right. (By the 
 way, how odd it is, that one must fortify himself with any quan- 
 tity of signatures, and quarrel his way into a city, then encoun- 
 ter the same trouble in getting out of it.) But, as I was about to 
 say, picture to yourself a vehicle, built somewhat like a hack, 
 except that it has a calash top over the driver's seat in addition to 
 the main covering — painted pale green, with a gold-leaf grape- 
 vine running around it for a border, and four fat lazy horses at- 
 tached to it, and you have our " establishment." It was finely 
 cushioned, however, and rode easier than any hack. 
 
 As we trotted away from the walls of the eternal city, an in- 
 describable sadness stole over me. It seemed like leaving the 
 grave-yard of all that was great on earth. There the heart of 
 the world once beat till the farthest extremities felt the mighty 
 pulsations. The greatest and fiercest souls earth ever nurtured 
 had stormed and died there. Therf man had wrought with high- 
 
178 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 est pride, and skill, and force ; and there now were only his 
 greatest ruins. Oh what a bitter mockery that fallen empire, its 
 broken thrones, and faded glories uttered on man and man's am- 
 bition. And yet there was as much of pity as sarcasm in their 
 silent language. Ambition with thy heated blood, and wild fever 
 tossings, and cursed devastations, and bloated pride ; come look 
 «n thy greatest, most perfect work ! 
 
 As I was indulging in this train of bitter reflection, I looked 
 up, and lo, there stood before me a small house perfectly buried in 
 grape-vines, and hedges, and flowers ; and on it painted in large 
 capitals, " Parva Domus Sed magna Quies." The singularity 
 of the inscription, and the sweet little nest on which it was writ- 
 ten, took me wholly by surprise, and captivated me at once. "A 
 small house but great repose" — then thou art worth all Rome — 
 aye, and the world to boot. " Magna Quies," I v/ished I had the 
 house ! Rest — repose ! — Oh, that is heaven to the endless chase 
 and disappointments of life! I looked again on the little para- 
 dise. Bah! it was written there io make it rent well. Fleas and 
 filth ! who ever found rest in an Italian house unless he had the 
 hide of a shark ? 
 
 Ascending a long hill, twelve or fourteen miles from Rome, I 
 paused, and turning toward the city, now dim in the smoky dis- 
 tance, bade it a long, last farewell. 
 
 " There she stands, 
 Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe, 
 An empty urn within her withered hands 
 Whose holy dust was scattered long ago." 
 
 Stopping to breakfast, about 12 o'clock, at a small inn, I wan- 
 dered off" in the fields. On returning, who should I encounter but 
 my old peppery English officer, who once took me for an author 
 and from New Orleans. He was foaming and sweanng away at 
 his Vetturino. As soon as he saw me he poured forth a perfect 
 volley of invectives against the Italians. His horses had broke 
 down, beside having proved balky. He would not go another 
 inch — he would return to Rome immediately — then crashed one 
 of John Bull's sturdy oaths. I had cherished a little grudge 
 against the sputtering old egotist, and I confess took a wicked 
 pleasure in his trouble — nay, added to it. I told him the same 
 
AN ENGLISH CAPTAIN. 179 
 
 carriage and horses had been offered to me but I durst not trust 
 the concern, and added the owner proposed to take me for fifty 
 scudi, but I would not have it on any terms. (This was literally 
 true.) Fifty scudi ! exclaimed he ; I give eighty -five. Seeming 
 to grow warm myself at the enormity of the deception, I replied, 
 Eighty-five scudi ! Why, my dear sir; you are robbed — shame- 
 fully robbed, and then if you should never get to Florence Vvitli 
 that team. " I know it," said he, " I will go back to Rome im- 
 mediately." But, I replied, there is one difficulty in the way : as 
 you have made a bargain, the authorities v/ill doubtless compel 
 you to fulfil it, especially as the fellow promises to take you ou 
 without delay. I am sorry — but — really, my dear sir, I am 
 afraid there is no help. The Captain now stood at boiling heat, 
 and the poor Vetturino fairly shook with terror. " Come," said 
 the Captain, " come tell my wife and daughter how they offered 
 you this same ricketty concern, when they knew it v/ould break 
 down. Come, come on," said he. I did not exactly like the 
 prospect before me, but made the best of it and followed on 
 
 Judge of my astonishment on entering the room to see a fair 
 young sweet English face, that had often arrested my attention in 
 the streets of Rome, the owner of which I never dreamed of being 
 the daughter of my sputtering Captain. She was an authoress of 
 some fame, and a novelist to boot. The first thought that struck 
 me was — " how extremely odd, and what a misfortune if she 
 should turn back. What a bit of sunlight she would be on the 
 road during the six days' journey before us. To see her at the 
 lonely hotels we shall stop at, and amid the glorious scenery we 
 shall gaze on, would be no slight addition to the pleasure of the 
 journey." The Captain immediately started off on his furious 
 gallop, repeating what I had said before. At the first pause the 
 little beauty remarked, " Yes, we must return I think as soon as 
 we have breakfasted." This was tipping over my castle in the 
 air in a moment, and how to counteract what I had told the Captain 
 seemed not so plain. I could have bitten off xny tongue with vex- 
 ation. However, I determined to put a- bold face on it, and re- 
 plied, '• By no means ; I think you have a remarkably excellent 
 carriage — it is light and easy, while ours is a huge lumbering af- 
 fair." ^' Oh the carriage is well enough," said she, " but the 
 
180 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 horses are such dreadfully poor creatures, I am sure they will 
 die before they get to Florence." " Not at all, not at all — I can 
 assure you ; these lean Cassius looking horses are the best to get 
 over the ground — ^your fat Italian animals are perfect oxen on the 
 road • beside there is nothing better in Rome now — all are ' en 
 route.' Moreover we will make the Vetturino change the horse that 
 gave out, and continue to do so as often as one fails." The Captain 
 seemed utterly unable to comprehend the sudden change in my 
 views, and stood and stared at me in a perfect puzzle. He could 
 not understand the difference between the prospect of having a 
 Captain Brimstone for a companion on the way, and a young 
 beautiful English woman. Just then a happy thought came to 
 my aid. It occurred to me that the Captain had raved so on the 
 way that the poor apologies for horses had been urged to their ut- 
 most powers by the frightened Vetturino, and I inquired how long 
 they had been in driving from Rome. It was as I supposed ; they 
 had come like distraction. Why, said I, you have come it in an 
 hour and a half less time than we. Why you will trot right 
 away from us. This idea tickled the Captain amazingly ; he 
 rubbed his hands, chuckled, and turning to his daughter said, 
 *' Don't you see, my dear, we have beat them an hour and a 
 half. I think we can venture to go on." We made the Vettu- 
 rino change one of his horses and all was soon settled. 
 
 You may smile at this episode, but it is one of those things that 
 make up a traveller's existence, and interest him perhaps deeper 
 than more important matters. The first night I had a quarrel with 
 our Vetturino from principle. Paying for our lodgings himself, 
 I knew that he, like all his fraternity, would cheat us if he could. 
 A terrible fuss the first night, as if you expected vastly more 
 than any body could give, and was one of the most querulous of 
 the fretful species, is indispensable to secure decent treatm.ent on 
 the way. I will not weary you with our slow desolate ride through 
 Etruria. Take one hut as a specimen of many. It stood by the 
 road-side, in the open ground that stretched away as far as the 
 eye could reach, without enclosures, and without cultivation — 
 built of a sort of weed that grows wild in that section, and which 
 has the appearance of small brushwood. I entered it, and there 
 •an the bare ground, sat a mother with several children. A pot 
 
BRIDGE OF AUGUSTUS. 181 
 
 was boiling in the centre, with some vegetables in it. The fire 
 frightened me in the midst of so much combustible matter. 1 
 spoke to the mother, and inquired about her circumstances, and 
 added, " Are you not afraid of that fire ? What would you do if 
 this tinder-box here in which you live should catch fire V She 
 clasped her hands, turned her black eyes toward heaven, and 
 laughing outright, exclaimed, " God help us then." I do not be- 
 lieve an Italian woman ever prayed without a laugh in one corner 
 of her heart. 
 
 I thought I would describe, but cannot, the approach to pictu- 
 resque Civita Castellana — the wonderful ravine that passes it, 
 with the huts of washer- women dwindled down to a point at the 
 bottom — the beautiful valley of the Tiber which we dropped into 
 beyond, where Macdonald, in the retreat of the French army 
 from Italy, cut his way through the Neapolitan ranks, though 
 they out-numbered him three to one — a valley then filled with 
 the smoke of battle, but now the sweetest, loveliest spot, that ever 
 smiled in the sunshine. Here the artists from Rome flock in the 
 summer, and dream away its oppressive heat in this Elysian 
 field. I wished also to take you along the vale of the Nar, with 
 its milk-white flood, and hermitages perched on the rocks, like 
 eagles' nests — and bid you listen to the chattering of one of the 
 most ignorant monks I ever conversed with ; but I must hasten on. 
 
 At Narni was a celebration in honor of St. John, and such a 
 collection of queer costumes you never beheld. The streets were 
 strewn with evergreens ; and processions were formed, headed 
 with a wooden cross, some fifteen feet high, while in the Churches 
 were drums, and trumpets, and armed men. But this, too, I must 
 pass by, and a queer adventure that befel me here, and ask you 
 only to accompany me while the carriage is left to meet us some 
 three miles ahead, to the Gulf where stands the ruinous arches of 
 the ' Bridge of Augustus.' This Bridge, built by the Emperor, con- 
 nects two hills, and has three arches more than sixty feet high, built 
 of blocks of marble, without cement or cramps of any description 
 to fasten them. The middle arch is broken, and beneath it rusher? 
 the torrent as it rushed when strode the Emperor of the world over. 
 It is a noble ruin, and through the arch a distant hermitage among 
 the rocks looked picturesque enough. Truly yours. 
 
182 LETTERS FRO:»I ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXXVII. 
 
 Falls of Temi. 
 
 Terni, May, 1643. 
 Dear E. — We reached here about 3 o'clock this afternoon, 
 nnd immediately hired another carriage and started for the 
 " Falls'of Terni. ^^ You can visit them in two ways — by begin- 
 ning at the bottom, and walking to the top, or riding up a moun- 
 tain by a recently made road, a mile or two, and descending to 
 the bottom. Our guide and driver thought of course it would be 
 far better to begin at the bottom, for more than " eighteen rea- 
 sons," but especially as it would save driving us some two or 
 three milos up a steep, narrow, and winding way. But let me 
 advise the traveller in the first place always to ride, to the top, and 
 send his carriage back. In the second place, to fill his pocket 
 with coppers, and as soon as he sees a beggar approach, or a man 
 picking up stones out of the path, or even standing still, to hurl 
 one at him. A dollar or two spent in this way is a clear gain, to 
 one who wishes to enjoy the scenery ; otherwise he will have 
 every fine emotion dissipated, and his very soul tormented into 
 madness, by the incessant cry of " Signore, un baiocca — per 
 carita — mi miserabile," et cetera. My small stock was soon ex- 
 hausted, and the moment I stopped amid the roar of the cataract, 
 to listen to its great anthem, or look on its torn waters, I v/as 
 besieged by some half dozen ragamufhns, till I had no resource 
 but run for it. They always take it for granted you lie when 
 you tell them you have no more small change. I will not attempt 
 to describe these Falls. I will say only that the upper Fall 
 is about 50 feet high, tlie second between 600 and 700. and the 
 long sheet of foam wh'.ch forms the third 270 feet, making in all 
 about 1,000 feet — and then refer you to Byron's description, be- 
 ginning— 
 
FALLS OF TERNL 183 
 
 " The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height 
 Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; 
 The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 
 
 The flashing mass foams, shaking the abyss ; 
 The hell of waters ! where they howl and liiis, 
 And boil in endless torture ; wliile the sweat 
 Of their great agony, wrung oat from this 
 Then- Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
 That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set." 
 
 I will merely add by way of comment that this description is 
 stretched a little. I will say, however, in justice to Byron, that I 
 have ever found Childe Harold's descriptions faithful almost to the 
 letter, except in this single instance, and here I excuse him on the 
 ground that he had never seen any large cataracts, and hence was 
 naturally impressed beyond measure with the sublimity of this 
 really fine v.ater-fall. But the "infant sea" he speaks of I could 
 throw my hat across, and '' the eternity" he thinks he sees " rush- 
 ing on" is the smallest probably most men will ever experience. 
 
 Yet the cataract is worth a visit. The rapid shoot of the 
 waters at the summit — the long reckless leap of the torrent that 
 is dashed into the minutest particles of foam at the bottom, which 
 go rising up like smoke over the face of the rock — the dizzy 
 height — the roar and the solitude, impress the mind with awe and 
 wonder ; and then the hidden and mysterious paths that lead to 
 the bottom — now burying you in the side of the hill, and now 
 carrying you to the very brink of some precipice, whose forehead 
 is bathed in the falling spray, keep you in a state of constant ex- 
 citement. 
 
 The finest view, however, is from a rock on the opposite moun- 
 tain. From this point you look directly on the face of the cata- 
 ract, and take in the whole at a glance. In gazing on this water- 
 fall I v^^as struck with the power of a poetic imagination to im- 
 personate every thing. Byron says, 
 
 " While the sweat 
 Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
 Their Phlegethon, curls Found the rocks of jet," «Stc. 
 
 And sure enough, there it is — the " sweat of their great agony." 
 The spray, condensing on the black sides of the rocks, trickles 
 
184 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 down as if pressed out of them by their torment, under the eter- 
 nal shock of the falling cataract upon them. As I stood gazing 
 at this mad stream, breaking itself into a thousand fragments in 
 its desperate leap, a thunder-cloud slowly threw fold after fold 
 over the dwarf firs that fringed the top, till the heavy masses 
 seemed fairly to press their dark bosom on the summit of the 
 hill^while the roar of the blast, and the low growl of the distant 
 thunder, mingling with the roar of the cataract, made it a scene 
 of wild sublimity. I had missed the " Iris," but I was repaid by 
 the storm. The day seemed changing into night, and I at length 
 turned away to find some place of shelter before the cloud should 
 burst over me. Descending, I met my peppery Captain and his 
 sweet daughter. I had no particular solicitude about the Cap- 
 tain's skin, but I was anxious to save the little beauty from the 
 shower I knew would soon be upon us. I besought her to return, 
 assuring her she would be drenched if she proceeded. " What," 
 said she, in a voice like a bird, " is not that point of rock I just 
 saw you sitting upon the best spot from which to view the cata- 
 ract ?" Undoubtedly, madam ; but if you attempt to reach it you 
 will certainly be overtaken by the storm. "But I must^see it," 
 she replied. I urged her in vain to desist, and was on the 
 point of offering my services, when wisely considering it would 
 not improve my personal appearance to get a thorough drenching, 
 nor make the rain any the less heavy on her, I concluded to let 
 the wilful little creature take her soaking alone. 
 
 I had scarcely reached our carriage before the rain came 
 down in solid masses. I took shelter in a curious looking hole, 
 tenanted by an old hag whose company was almost as bad as the 
 thunder storm. I stood and looked out on the driving rain, and 
 shrugged my shoulders as I thought of my English Hotspur and 
 his wife and daughter. At length, tired of waiting the motion of 
 the storm, I hired a half of an umbrella for two pauls, and start- 
 ed off, and such a wild-cat ride I never took before. The driver 
 whipped his horses into a dead run till the carriage spun like a top. 
 
 After we had fairly got home and down to our tea the Cap- 
 tain and his family arrived. He was cool as a cucumber, while 
 the young authoress, drenched to the skin, crept demurely along, 
 looking the very picture of desolation. In a few minutes, how- 
 
FALLS OF TERNI. 185 
 
 ever, the Captain's blood was again up, and he came in sputtering 
 away about fevers, and agues, et cetera, that he feared would fol- 
 low this exposure. You must know an Italian is nervously afraid 
 of getting wet, as in this climate it induces fever. 
 
 So ends my trip to Terni, and the Cataract of Velino. It is 
 singular that Terni and Tivoli, two of the finest waterfalls in Eu- 
 rope, should both be artificial. The Romans made this cascade 
 by turning the waters of the Velinus from their original course^ 
 over this precipice. In this way they drained the rich plains of 
 Rieti. It has been changed and modified much since, according 
 as the inundations of the valley demanded it. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
186 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XXXVIIL 
 
 Perugia — Ciituranus — Battle-Field of Thrasymene. 
 
 Dear E. — I have been five days on the road from Rome to this 
 place, and designed to give you a letter filled with the occurrences 
 of each day ; but I will crowd the five into one letter, and by this 
 process endeavor to give you the cream of the whole. Spoleto, 
 with its ruined aqueducts and ancient gate, called the gate of 
 Hannibal, I must pass over, and hurry away to Foligno, just bid- 
 ding you stop a moment — and you must be very careful or you 
 will pass it unnoticed — to see the tiny temple mentioned by Pliny, 
 and dedicated in olden time to the river god, Clitumnus. Cliilde 
 Harold is the best guide-book for this region, and Byron stopped 
 here and sung — 
 
 " But thou. Clitumnus ! in thy sweetest wave 
 Of the most living crystal that was e'er 
 The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave 
 Her hmbs where nothing hid them," &c 
 
 And again — 
 
 *' And on thy happy shore a Temple still 
 Of small and delicate proportions," &:c. 
 
 But you can read it for yourself. At Foligno we staid all 
 night, and a gloomy one it was. The rain had poured all day, 
 and the streets were muddy and lonely, while on every gloomy 
 church was painted a death's head and cross bones. "With the 
 uprising sun we were oft, and the clear air of the open country 
 quickly effaced the memory of the dirty town. 
 
 Assisi sits on the slope of a hill, about a mile and a half from 
 the road, one of the most picturesque towns in Italy. Its long 
 rows of aqueducts, stretching from niountain to mountain — its 
 lofty commanding citadel, and its old battlements and towers en- 
 compassing it around combine to render it a striking object as it 
 
PERUGIA. 187 
 
 iie« along the height. Dante gives a most beautiful description 
 of it, beginning — 
 
 " Intra Tupino e I'acqua, che discende 
 Dal colle eletto dal beato Ubaldo," &c., &c. 
 
 Perugia comes next in the catalogue, situated on the top of a 
 hill, and the capital of the second delegation of the Papal States. 
 It is a polished city, abounding in works of art, and worthy a 
 longer stop than travellers usually give it. It is true it contains 
 now but 18,000 inhabitants, but its works of art are the relics of 
 the period when it could lose 100,000 by the pestilence in one 
 year and still be a large city. I visited the Etruscan tombs in 
 this region, and would give you a learned dissertation on them if 
 I could throw any light on this intricate subject. To stand before 
 the urns and mouldering mai-ble that were ancient when Rome 
 stood, and Cassar was a modern, and read, or rather attempt to 
 read, characters that no man can read, fills one with strange sen- 
 sations. These Etruscans understood the arts, especially sculp- 
 ture, and were certainly to some extent a polished race. Their 
 epitaphs have reached posterity, but, alas, posterity cannot read 
 them. What a comment on human fame ! The proud chieftain 
 who built liim a tomb before he died, and ordered his own marble 
 and epitaph, lies in the midst of his garnished sepulchre utterly 
 unknown. This wise world cannot make out the letters of his 
 name. If he had dreamed posterity would ever have become so 
 degenerate as to be unable to read the letters of his alphabet, he 
 would probably have scorned to have attempted to send his name 
 and race down to it. Perugia has a Lunatic Asylum, managed 
 on the modern improved system, and an excellent University. 
 The fortress, called the Citadello Paolina, was begun by Pope 
 Paul III., who laid w^aste a part of the town to reduce the Peru- 
 gians, who rebelled against a salt-tax he levied on them. The 
 first cannon was smuggled in a corn-sack, and the Perugiana 
 commemorated this violation of their liberty by the couplet — 
 
 " Giacchi cosi vuole il diavolo 
 E-\^iva Papa Paolo ! " 
 
 « Since the devil will have it so, 
 Long live Pope Paul." 
 
188 LETTERS FROM ITALY 
 
 The hotel where we stopped was an old palace, and in one o* 
 the chambers were old armor and paintings, and relics enough to 
 make a small museum, and all for sale — cheap. But the o^reat- 
 est object of interest, especially to the antiquarian, is the Museum, 
 from the number of Etruscan relics it contains, all of which 
 are picked up in the neighborhood of the city. They have already 
 collected nearly one hundred separate inscriptions, the longest 
 of which contains forty-five lines. 
 
 This city looks do^n on a most magnificent view. The valley 
 of the Tiber towards Rome, is spread out in its richness and ver- 
 dure, sprinkled with villages and convents : while far away, the 
 beautiful Umbrian Mountains finish the surpassingly lovely land- 
 scape. The Cathedral and fountain, etc., we will leave alone, 
 and hasten away to get a sail on the beautiful lake of Thrasy- 
 mene before sunset. The descent into the valley of Caina is 
 steep, and we now see no more of the Tiber. Towards evening 
 we came to a ridge of hills, from the top of which Thrasymene 
 is visible. Here we were compelled to take oxen to drag us up. 
 An old lofh' tower stands on the top, overgrown with i\y, and 
 presenting one of the most picturesque ruins of its kind I have 
 ever seen. As I stood at its base, and looked back on the valley, 
 cultivated like a garden, and green as an emerald, as it lay flooded 
 in the light of the setting sun, I did not wonder the Italian loved 
 his country. Thrasymene is immortal, from the terrible battle 
 fought on its shores, between Hannibal and the Roman Consul 
 Flaminius. With Livy as a guide-book, or Hobho use's notes on 
 the fourth Canta of Childe Harold, which are but little more 
 than a translation from Liivj and Polybius, you can fix every 
 part of the battle-field, almost as accurately as you can the local- 
 ities of Waterloo. The range of mountains called the Gualandro, 
 approach at two separate points close to the lake, while between, 
 the land recedes away, forming an arc larger than a semicircle. 
 At the two points where the mountain touches the lake, are the 
 two passes that lead into this semicircular area. In the interior 
 of this area, and on the side towards Rome, rises a conical hill, 
 on which Hannibal stationed the main body of his troops, while 
 he placed men in ambush near the pass on the farther side, 
 towards Florence, through which Flaminius was to come. Be- 
 
BATTLE-FIELD OF THRASYMENE. 189 
 
 fore daybreak, the Roman Consul entered this pass, without 
 sending forward a single spy to ascertain either the position of the 
 ground or the enemy. At the farther side he saw on the hill- 
 top the Carthaginian army, and pressed on. Just then a heavy 
 fog rose from the lake, and covered the Roman host, while the 
 hill-tops were left in the sun light, so that Hannibal could com- 
 municate with the different portions of his army unseen, and also 
 detect, by the moving mist that stirred to the muffled tread of the 
 fierce legions, every step of the advancing army. Hannibal's 
 forces had dwindled from a hundred thousand down to twenty 
 thousand, yet he had no choice but to fight or die. At a given 
 signal, the men in ambush fell on the flank of the Romans, while 
 Hannibal moved down on their centre. For three hours the bat- 
 tle raged with such terrific fury, that neither army were con- 
 scious of an earthquake that rocked under them the while. The 
 tempest of passion and the shock of battle were more terriblo 
 than the passing earthquake. At length Flaminius fell, strug 
 gling bravely, but in vain, to retrieve his rash error ; and then 
 the battle became a slaughter. The Roman legions were tram 
 pled to the ground ; and a rivulet that was loaded with the car- 
 casses of the slain, rolled its purple torrent to the lake, till the 
 lake itself was discolored far out from the shore. From that day 
 to this, for two thousand years, it has bore the name of II San- 
 guineUo, or the bloody rivulet. The peasantry retain the tradition 
 of the battle, and the name of Hannibal is one of terror to them. 
 As I looked over that plain, smiling in all the brightness of a 
 spring morning, it did not seem possible it had once shook under 
 the tread of the haughty African, and been soaked with the blood 
 of so many brave Romans. 
 
 " Far other scene is Thrasymene now : 
 Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
 Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 
 Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 
 Lay where their roots are " 
 
 At evening I took a sail on this " sheet of silver," (and it is a 
 sweet lake with sweeter shores.) Thinking it would be somewhat 
 romantic to have my boatmen sing as they rowed, I proposed to 
 
390 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 have them give me a song. They refused, under the plea of in- 
 ability. I should as soon have thought of a duck being unable 
 to swim, as of an Italian not knowing how to sing ; so I offered 
 them money. After much solicitation, and a liberal offer, they 
 finally commenced — but such music ! I am not very particular 
 under such circumstances, if the harmony is not as perfect as it 
 would be in a full orchestra, but this was altogether too much for 
 my nerves. I begged them to stop, saying, " I'll pay you just 
 as much as if you sung an hour — nay, double — if you will only 
 istop." 
 
 Three beautiful islands rise out of the bosom of this lake, on 
 one of which is a convent. Wishing to test the men's knowledge 
 of their priests, I inquired if the monks lived there unmarried. 
 " Certainly," they replied. " But," I added, " I should think they 
 would be lonely." "Oh," said they, "there are people enough 
 on the island, and the monks have women in plenty." " How do 
 you know that ?" I inquired. " Why they have got a great many 
 children on the island." " How can you tell," I asked again, 
 "their children from the others ?" " Oh, hy their Ug heads. ^^ I 
 laughed outright at the fellow's shrewdness. You must know the 
 monks, as a general thing, have large heads, as v/ell as fat round 
 stomachs, and these good Catholic fishermen knew the proverb, 
 " like father like son." 
 
 Arezzo, which lies a little off the road, is well worth a visit, if 
 for nothing else than to see the house in which Petrarch was born, 
 and the well near which Boccaccio placed the comic scene of To- 
 fano and Monna Ghita his wife. The cathedral stands on a com- 
 manding eminence, and its stained windows are probably the finest 
 in the world. Their brilliant colors seem, indeed, as Vasari once 
 said, to be " something rained down from heaven for the consola- 
 tion of men." They have a custom here (i. e., the distinguished 
 families) of putting a marble tablet over their doors, stating their 
 rank and greatness. This strikes one as ostentatious, but it is very 
 convenient to the traveller. 
 
 Truly vours. 
 
A MAN BUILT IN A WALL. 191 
 
 LETTER XXXIX, 
 
 A Man built in a Wall. 
 
 Florence, May, 1843. 
 Dear E. — Leaving Arezzo yesterday later than we ought, we 
 were compelled to stop for the night at a country inn, entirely 
 removed from any settlement, and with no house in sight of it. 
 It was growing dark as we drove up, and the lonely inn, though 
 not particularly inviting, seemed preferable to the uninhabited 
 road that stretched away on the farther side. Every thing was 
 in primitive style ; the stables were on the first floor, at the foot of 
 the stairs, leading to the second story ; and the horses slept below, 
 while we slept above. As we went up we saw them standing by 
 the manger, just where the bar-room should have been, quietly 
 put away for the night. Having obtained some honey, my invari- 
 able resort in wretched inns in Italy, I made my simple meal and 
 strolled out into the moonlight to breathe the fresh air, when on the 
 hills in the distance, a bonfire suddenly blazed up, before which 
 dusky figures were rapidly passing and repassing. On inquiry 
 I found that it was kindled in honor of an approaching festivity, 
 and that music and dancing would be in the peasant's cottage 
 that night. I do not know why it is, but a mirthful scene in a 
 strange country among the peasantry brings back the memory of 
 home sooner than anything else. There is a freshness, a sincerity 
 about it, that reminds one of his childhood years, and makes the 
 heart sad. It was so with me last night. Every thing was quiet 
 as the moonlight on the hills, and the stillness of nature seemed 
 filled with sad memories. I returned to my bed, but not to sleep ; 
 tlie busy brain and busier heart drove slumber away. At 
 length a feeling like suffocation came over me, and I rose and 
 openec* the window and leaned out into the cool air for relief. 
 All was quiet within and without. The stars were burning on 
 
192 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 in the deep heavens, and the moon was hanging her crescent fal 
 away over the hills. The distant bonfire burned low and feebly, 
 for the revellers had left it. The heavy breathing of my com- 
 panion in the next room spoke of oblivion and rest, while my own 
 loud pulses told how little sleep would be mine that night. Mem- 
 ories came thronging back like forgotten music, and the sternness 
 of the man, and the indifference of the traveller, melted away be- 
 fore the feelings of the child, the son, and the early dreamer. 
 As I stood looking off on the sparkling light and deep shadows of 
 the uneven surface before me, suddenly from out a grotto of 
 trees, came the clear voice of a nightingale. It was like the 
 voice of a spirit to me, so strange and mysterious. Uncon- 
 scious of any listener, it looked out from its thick curtain of 
 leaves and sang on to the moon ; its wild warble was like the mur- 
 mur in one's dreams, and the music seemed half repressed in 
 its trembling throat. I listened as it rose and died away and 
 rose again, till I felt that the sweet bird was sin^dng in its happy 
 dreams. How long I listened I know not, and what the strange 
 fancies that spell-bound me were, I cannot tell. ***** 
 At length the morning came and we started for Florence. While 
 the driver was harnessing his team, I set off on foot and walked 
 on for miles, while the quietness around was disturbed only by 
 the mournful cry of the cuckoo, the sure precursor of rain. We 
 at length entered the Val d'Arno, and wound along its beautiful 
 banks. In the distance, on the right, was the Vallembrosa, im- 
 mortalized by Milton, and the convent in which he dwelt. The 
 scenery changed with every turn of the river, yet it was ever 
 from beautiful to beautiful. 
 
 At length we entered the little town of San Giovanni (St* 
 John), and after strolling over the cathedral, sent for the woman 
 who keeps the key of the door that shuts over the withered form 
 of a man cased in a side wall of the church San Lorenzo. As 
 the sort of trap-door swung open, I recoiled a step in horror, for 
 there stood upright, a human skeleton, perfect in all its parts, 
 staring upon me with its dead eye-sockets. No coffin enclosed it — 
 no mason work surrounded it, but among the naked, jagged stones, 
 It stood erect and motionless. 
 
 This church had been built centuries ago, and remained un- 
 
A MAN BUILT IN A WALL. 193 
 
 touched till within a few years, when in making some repairs, 
 the workmen had occasion to pierce the wall, and "struck upon thia 
 skeleton. They carefully uncovered it, without disturbing its 
 position or loosening a single bone. Why and wherefore I can- 
 not tell, but the priests have left it to stand in the place and at- 
 titude it was discovered, an object of superstitious dread, yet of 
 universal interest. A narrow door has been made to swing over 
 it, to protect it from injury and shield it from the eyes of those 
 %vho worship in the church. The frame indicates a powerful 
 man, and though it is but a skeleton, the whole attitude and 
 aspect give one the impression of a death of agony. The arms 
 are folded across the breast in forced resignation, the head is 
 slightly bowed, and the shoulders elevated, as if in the effort to 
 breathe, while the very face — bereft of muscle as it is — seems 
 full of suffering. An English physician was with me, and in- 
 ured to skeletons as he was, his countenance changed as he gazed 
 on it, his eyes seemed riveted to it and he made no reply to the 
 repeated questions I put to him, but kept gazing, as if in a trance. 
 It w^as not till after we left that he would speak of it, and then his 
 voice was low and solemn, as if he himself had seen the living 
 burial. Said he, " That man died hy suffocation, and he was 
 built up alive in that wall. In the first place, it is evident it was 
 a case of murder, for there are no grave clothes, no coffin, and no 
 mason work around the body. The poor civility of a savage 
 was not shown here, in knocking off the points of the stones, to 
 give even the appearance of regularity to the enclosure. He 
 was packed into the rough wall, and built over, beginning at the 
 feet. L+ is extremely difficult to tell anything of the manner of 
 death, whether painful or pleasant, by any skeleton, for the face 
 always has the appearance of suffering ; but there are certain 
 indications about this which show that the death was a painful 
 one, and caused, doubtless, by suffocation. In the first place, the 
 arms are not crossed gently and quietly in the decent composure 
 of death, but far over, as wdth a painful effort or by force. In 
 the second place the shoulders are elevated, as if the last, strong 
 effort of the man was for breath. In the thiid place, the bones 
 of the toes are curled over the edge of the stone on which he 
 stands, as if contracted ^x\ agony when life parted. And," con- 
 
 10 
 
194 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 tinued the doctor, with true professional detail, '• he died hard, fo? 
 he was a powerful man. He was full six feet high, with broad 
 chest and shoulders, and strong-limbed." I knew all this before. 
 for Ifclt it. There was no mistaking the manner of that man 
 death. I could tell every step of the process. Doubtless there 
 v/as originally some hanging, or church furniture in this part of 
 tiie church, to conceal the displacement of the wall. In a daric 
 nigiit the unfortunate man was entrapped, bound and brought 
 into this temple, wdiere he first could be tortured to death, and 
 then the crime concealed. jMen of rank v/ere engaged in it, for 
 none other could have got the control of a church, and none but 
 a distinguished victim would have caused such great precaution 
 in the murderers. By the dim light of lamps, whose rays scarce- 
 ly reached the lofty ceiling, the stones were removed before the 
 eyes of the doomed man, and measurement after measurement 
 taken, to see if the aperture vras sufficiently large. A bound and 
 helpless victim, he lay on the cold pavement, with the high altar 
 and cross before him, but no priest to shrive him. Stifling in 
 pride his emotions, checking his very siglis, he strung every 
 nerve for the slovv^ death he must nicet. At length tlie opening 
 v/as declared large enough, and he was lifted into it. The vrork- 
 man began at the feet, and with his mortar and trowel built up 
 with the same carelessness he v/ould exhibit in filling any broken 
 Nvall. The successful enemy stood leaning on his sword — a smile 
 of scorn and revenge on his features — -and watched the face of 
 the man he hated, but no longer feared. Ah, it was a vvild ef- 
 fort that undertook to return glance for glance and scorn for scorn, 
 when one was the conquered and helpless victim, and the other 
 tiie proud and victorious foe ! It M'as slow work fitting the pieces 
 nicely, so as to close up the aperture witli precision. The tink- 
 lincr of the trowel on the edo-es of the stones, as it broke off iiere 
 and there a particle to make them match, was like the blow of a 
 hammer on the excited nerves of the half buried wretch. At 
 length the solid wall rose over his chest, repressing its eflbrt to 
 lift with the breath, when a stifled groan for the first tiirse escaped 
 the sufferer's lips, and a shudder ran through his frame that 
 tlireatened to shake the solid mass wi)ich enclosed it to pieces. 
 Yet up v/ent th.e mason work till it reached the mouth, and the 
 
A MAN BUILT IN A WALL. 195 
 
 rough fragment was jammed into the teeth, and fastened there 
 with the mortar— "and still rose, till nothing but the pale white 
 forehead was visible in the opening. With care and precision 
 the last stone was fitted in the narrow space-— the trowel passed 
 smoothly over it-— »a stifled groan, as if from the centre of a rock, 
 broke the stillness — one strong shiver, and all w-dr, over. The 
 agony had passed — revenge was satisfied, and 8. secret locked 
 up for the great revelation day. Years rolled by; one after 
 another of the murderers dropped into his grave, and the memory 
 of the missing man passed from the earth. Years will still roll 
 by, till this strong frame shall step out from its narrow enclosure 
 upon the marble pavement, a living man. 
 
 Absorbed in the reflections such a sight naturally awakens, I 
 rode on, for a long time unconscious of the scenery around me> 
 and of the murmur of the Arno on its way through the valley, 
 But other objects at length crowded off the shadow that was on 
 the spirit ; the day wore away, and at last, after ascending a long 
 and weary mountain, Florence, with its glorious dome, and the 
 whole vale of the Arno, rich as a garden, lay below us. Past 
 smiling peasants and vine -cove r^.d wa^*"i we trotted down into the 
 valley and entered the city. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
ly"^ LETT£F.,S I ROM ITAi V 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 Ameiicaa Artists in Florence, 
 
 Florexce, 31ay. 
 
 Dkar E. — ^We have long been accused of wanting taste and 
 genius, especially in the fine arts ; and an Englishman always 
 smiles at any pretension to them on our parL In his criticLsm, 
 our poetry is imitation of the great bards of England ; while 
 our knowledge of music is confined to Yankee Doodle and Hail 
 Columbia; and our skill in architecture, to the putting up of 
 steeples, school-houses, and liberty poles. It may be so, but we 
 '^vill cheeiMly enter the field with him in that department of the 
 fine arts, calling for the loftiest efforts of genius, and the purest 
 incarnation of the sentiment of beauty in man — I mean painting 
 and sculpture, especially the latter. 
 
 There are two American artists in Florence, by the name of 
 Brcvrn : one a painter, and the other a sculptor. Mr. Brown 
 the painter is one of the best copyists of the age. Under his 
 hand, the great masters reappear in undiminished beauty. But 
 his merits do not stop here — he is also a fine composer ; and 
 when the mood is on him, Sings off most spirited designs. In his 
 house I have seen pieces that indicate merit of the highest order. 
 I first saw Mr. Brown in the Pitti Gallery. Wandering 
 through it one day with a quondam attache, to one of the continen- 
 tal embassies, my friend paused before a magnificent picture, 
 and introduced me to the artist as Mr. Brown of America. It 
 was a copy of one of Salvator Rosa's finest pieces, and had 
 already been contracted for, by a member of the English Par- 
 liament, for three hundred dollars. Walking one day through 
 the gallery, the Englishman was struck with the remarkable 
 beauty of the copy, and immediately purchased it, though in an 
 unfinished state. Thus we lose them ; and though wc possess 
 fine artists, our wealthy men refuse to buy their works, a ttd they 
 
AMERICAN ARTISTS IN FLORENCE. 197 
 
 go to embellish the drawing-rooms and galleries of England. 
 Mr. Powers stands undoubtedly at the head of American sculp- 
 tors. His two great works are Eve and the Greek Slave. Critics 
 are divided on the merits of these two figures. As the mere em- 
 bodiment of beauty and loveliness, the Slave undoubtedly has the 
 pre-eminence. The perfect moulding of the limbs, the exquisite 
 proportion and harmony of all the parts, the melancholy, yet sur- 
 passingly lovely face, combine to render it more like a beautiful 
 vision assuming the aspect of marble, than a solid form hewn out 
 of a rock. There she stands, leaning on her arm and musing on 
 her inevitable destiny. There is no paroxysm of grief, no over- 
 whelming anguish, depicted on the countenance. It is a calm 
 and hopeless sorrow — the quiet submission of a heart too pure 
 and gentle for any stormy passion. That heart has broken it is 
 true, but broken in silence — without a murmur or complaint. 
 The first feeling her look and attitude inspire, is not so much a 
 wish yourself to rescue her, as a prayer that Heaven would do it. 
 It is beautiful — spiritually beautiful — the very incarnation of sen- 
 tim.ent and loveliness. In its mechanical execution, it reminds 
 one of the Appolino in the Tribune of the Royal Gallery.* 
 
 The Eve exhibits less sentiment, but more character. She is 
 not only beautiful, but great — bearing in her aspect the conscious- 
 ness she is the mother of a mighty race. In all the paintings of 
 Eve, she is simply a beautiful woman, and indeed I do not be- 
 lieve that any one but an American or an Englishman could con- 
 ceive a proper idea of Eve. Passion and beauty a Frenchman 
 and an Italian can paint, but moral character, the high purpose 
 
 * We have been told a ludicrous anecdote of this Greek slave and an ig- 
 norant but wealthy American, for the truth of which we cannot personally 
 vouch. An American, who had suddenly acquired great wealth by specula- 
 tion, took it into his head to travel, and finding himself at length in Florence, 
 made a visit to Mr. Powers' Studio. Looking over the different statues, his 
 eye rested on the Greek Slave. " What may you call that are boy?" said he. 
 •' The Greek Slave," replied Mr. Powers. " And what maybe the price of it?" 
 continued our Yankee. "Three thousand dollars" was the answer, as the 
 artist gazed a moment at the odd specimen of humanity before him. " Three 
 thousand dollars .'" he exclaimed, — " you don't say so, now. Why, I thought 
 of buying sometliing on you, but that's a notch above me. Why, sta tianj is 
 riz, ain't it ?" 
 
198 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 of calm thought and conscious greatness, they have not the most 
 dim conception of. Tliere is a noble Lucretia in the gallery of 
 Naples — a fine Portia in Genoa, and Cleopatras by great painters 
 in abundance everywhere, but not one figure that even dimJy 
 shadovrs forth what the mother of mankind ought lO be. Stern 
 purpose and invincible daring are often seen in female heads and 
 figures by the great masters, but the simple greatness of intellect 
 seldom. 
 
 Powers' Eve is a woman with a soul as well as heart, and as 
 she stands with the apple in her hand, musing on the fate it in- 
 volves, and striving to look down the dim and silent future it 
 promises to reveal, her comitenance indicates the great, yet silent 
 struggle within. Wholly absorbed in her own reflections, her 
 countenance unconsciously brings you into the same state of deep 
 and painful thought. She is a noble woman — too nolle to he lost. 
 We wonder this subject has not been more successfully treated 
 before. There is full scope for the imagination in it : and not a 
 permission, but a demand, for all that is beautiful and noble in a 
 created being. It has the advantage also of fact, instead of fic- 
 tion, while at the same time the fact is greater than any fiction. 
 
 In composing this work, Mr. Powers evidently threw all the 
 Venuses and goddesses overboard, and fell back on his own crea- 
 tive genius, and the result is a perfect triumph. Some, even 
 good critics, have gone so far as to give this the preference to the 
 Venus di Medici. The head and face, taken separately, are 
 doubtless superior. The first impression of the Yenus is unfa- 
 vorable. The head and face are too small, and inexpressive. 
 But after a few visits this impression is removed, and that form, 
 wrought with such exquisite grace, and so full of sentiment, 
 grows on one's love, and mingles in his thoughts, and forms for- 
 ever after the image of beauty in the soul. My first exclama- 
 tion on beholding it was one of disappointment, and I unhesita- 
 tingly gave Mr. Powers' Eve the preference. But memory is 
 more faithful to the Yenus than to the Eve. There is something 
 more than the form of a goddess in that figure — there is an at- 
 mosphere of beauty beyond and around it — a something intangi- 
 ble yet real — making the very marble sacred. One may forget 
 other statues, and the particular impression they made grows dira 
 
AMERICAN ARTISTS IN FLORENCE. 199 
 
 with time, but Venus, once imaged on the heart, remains there 
 forever, in all its distinctness and beauty. 
 
 Mr. Powers told me he had thirty different females as mod'^'.Is 
 for his Eve alone. She must be a rare being who would com- 
 bine, in her single person, the separate attractions of thirt\^ beau- 
 tiful women, and yet the artist finds her still too ugly for the per- 
 fect being of his fancy, and turns away dissatisfied to his ideal 
 form. If Jupiter was an artist, and Minerva sprang out of his 
 forehead the living image of his idea of a perfect woman, she 
 would be well worth seeing. 
 
 Clevenger* is also a true artist. His great work is an Indian 
 Chief. It is a noble figure, and shov/s conclusively that our In- 
 dian wild bloods furnish as good specimens of well-knit, graceful 
 and athletic forms as the Greek wrestlers themselves. He stands 
 leaning on his bow, with his he-ad slightly turned aside, and his 
 breath suspended in the deepest listening attitude, as if he ex- 
 pected every moment to hear again the stealthy tread his ear had 
 but partially caught a moment before. Clevenger is an open- 
 hearted, full-souled man — w^estern in all his tastes and great char- 
 acteristics — and designs to spend his life in our w^estern country. 
 to let his fame grow up with its growing people. Among Clev- 
 
 enger's minor works w^as a beautiful bust of Miss — , of New 
 
 York, a perfect gem in its w^ay. 
 
 I asked him what he thought an Indian would say to meet in 
 the forest his statue, painted, and tricked off in savage costume. 
 He laughed outright at the conception, and replied, "He would 
 probably stand still and look at it a moment in suspense, and then 
 excla.im"ugh^\ That would be the beginning and end of his criti- 
 cism." 
 
 Close to Clevenger's studio is that of Brown, the sculptor. He 
 was also engaged on an Indian — not a warrior, or hunter, but a 
 boy and a poet of the woods. Indians, among the gods and god- 
 desses of Florence, were a new thing, and excited not a little 
 wonder ; and it was gratifying to see that American genius could 
 not only strike out a new path, but follow it successfully. 
 
 But I forget my Poetic Indian Boy, though it is not so easy --q 
 
 * Since dead 
 
200 LETTERS FRO:VI ITALY. 
 
 _ — , _ 
 
 forget him, for his melancholy, ihoughtfiil face haunts me like a 
 vision, and I often say to myself, " I v/onder what has become of 
 that dreamy boy." In it, Mr. Brown has endeavored to body 
 forth his own nature, Vv'hich is full of" rausing and melancholy." 
 The boy has gone into the woods to hunt, but the music of the 
 wind among the tree tops, and the swa3dng of the great branche.«« 
 above him, and the mysterious influence of the deep forest, with 
 its multitude of low voices, have made him forget his errand ; 
 and he is leaning on a broken tree, with his bow resting against 
 his shoulder, while one hand is thrown behind him, listlessly 
 grasping the useless arrow. His head is slightly bent, as if in 
 deep thought, and as you look on the face, you feel that forest boy 
 is beyond his years, and has begun too early to muse on life and 
 on man. The effect of the statue is to interest one deeply in the 
 fate of the being it represents. You feel that his life will not 
 pass like the life of ordinary m.en. This effect, the very one the 
 artist sought to produce, is of itself the highest praise that could 
 be bestowed on the work. 
 
 Mr. Brown corroborated an impression often forced on me in 
 Italy, that the Italians are almost universally disproportioned in 
 their limbs. The arms of opera singers had ahvays appeared 
 awkwardly proportioned, which Mr. Brown told me was true, 
 and that the same criticism held good of the lower limbs of both 
 sexes, and that often when he thought he had found a perfect 
 form, and one that indeed did answer remarkably to the standard 
 of measurement considered faultless by artists, he was almost 
 universally disappointed in the shortness of the limbs between tlie 
 knee and ankle, tiere is a fact for our ladies, and upsets some 
 of our theories of the beauty of Italian forms. J\Ir. Brown, v.iio 
 has had models in both countries, declares that the ^American 
 ibrm harmonizes with the right standard oftener than the Italian. 
 The Italian v/omen have finer busts, which give them an erect 
 and dignified appearance, and a firmer walk. 
 
 There is a new artist just risen in Florence, who threatens to 
 take the crown off from Powers' head. His name is Diapre — a 
 Frenchman by extraction, though an Italian by birth. Originally 
 a poor v.-Qod engraver, he designed and executed last year, un- 
 iiiios^n to any body, the model of a dead Abel. Without advan- 
 
AMERICAN ARTISTS IN FLORENCE. 201 
 
 cing in the usual way from step to step, and testing liis skill on 
 busts, and inferior subjects, he launched off on his untried powers 
 into the region of highest effort. A year ago this winter, at the 
 annual exhibition of designs and statues in Florence, young 
 Dupre placed his Abel in the gallery. No one had seen it — no 
 one had heard of it. Occupying an unostentatious place, and 
 bearing an unknown name; it was at first passed by with a cur- 
 sory glance. But somehow or other, those who had seen it once 
 found themselves after awhile returning for a second look, till at 
 length the whole crowd stood grouped around it, in silent admira- 
 tion — our own artists among the number. It became immedi- 
 ately the talk of the city, and, in a single week, the poor wood 
 engraver vaulted from his humble occupation, into a seat among 
 the first artists of his country. A Russian princess passing 
 through the city saw it, .and was so struck with its singular 
 beauty, that she immediately ordered a statue, for which the art- 
 ist is to receive four thousand dollars. Many of the artists be- 
 came envious of the sudden reputation of Dupre, and declared 
 that no man ever wrought that model, and could not — that it was 
 moulded from a dead body, and the artist was compelled to get 
 the afiidavits of his models to protect himself from slander. 
 
 I regard this figure equal, if not superior, in its kind, to any 
 statue ever wrought by any sculptor of any age. It is not proper, 
 of course, to compare it with the Venus di Medici, or Apollo Bel- 
 videre, for they are of an entirely different character. The dead 
 son of Niobe, in the Hall of Niobe, in the Royal Gallery, is a 
 stiff wooden figure compared to it. The only criticism I could 
 utter when I first stood over it was, " Oh hoiu dead he lies /" 
 There is no marble there, it is all flesh — flesh flexible as if the 
 tide of life poured through it — yet bereft of its energy. The 
 beautiful martyr looks as if but just slain ; and before the muscles 
 became rigid and the form stiff, had been throvrn on a hill side, 
 where with his face partly turned away, and one arm flung back de- 
 spairingly over his head, he lies in death as natural as the human 
 body itself would rest. The same perfection of design and exe- 
 cution is exhibited in all the details, and the whole figure is a no- 
 ble monument of modern genius. Being a new thing, and hence 
 not down in the ^uide-books, most travellers have passed through 
 
202 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 Florence without seeing it. I was indebted for my pleasure 
 to a young attache who has resided some years in the city, and 
 hence is acquainted with all its objects of interest. 
 
 Dupre is now engaged on a Cain, which is to stand over the 
 Abel. It was with great difficulty I got access to it, it being 
 yet in an unfinished state. This is also a noble figure, of mag- 
 nificent proportions, and wonderful muscular power. He stands 
 gazing down on his dead brother, terror-struck at the new and 
 awful form, of death before him, his face working with despair 
 and horror, and his powerful frame wrought into intense action by 
 the terrible energy of the soul within. This is a work of great 
 nerit, but in my estimation falling far below the Abel. The at- 
 titude is too theatrical, and the whole expression extravagant and 
 overwrought. 
 
 Dupre is a handsome man, with large black eyes and < 'elan- 
 choly features. 
 
 Yours truly. 
 
VENUS DI MEDICI. 203 
 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 Venus di Medici — Titian's Venuses— Death of a Child. 
 
 Florence, May- 
 Dear E. — I do not design to write you often from Florence, 
 since the great attraction here are the paintings and statuary, and 
 those cannot be written about. You wish, of course, to know 
 what I think of the Venus di Medici. Like all others I am dis- 
 appointed at first sight. The head and face certainly are infe- 
 rior in expression and power to the rest of the figure. But the 
 form itself grows on one the oftener he sees it, till it becomes a 
 part of the world of beauty within, and enters into all his after 
 creations. The Tribune, as it is called, or circular room, in 
 which it stands, is a rare spot. A row of the choicest statuary 
 surrounds it, while the walls are hung with exquisite paintings. 
 The two naked Venuses by Titian, hanging behind the Venus di 
 Medici, are admirably painted, but to me disgusting pictures, from 
 their almost beastly sensuality. I should think Titian m.ight 
 have conceived the design of them when half drunk, and took his 
 models from a brothel. I have no patience with such prostitution 
 of genius. The marlle Venus has something of the goddess 
 about her. There is an atmosphere of purity — divinity if you 
 please — surrounding it, that holds you as by a spell. 
 
 The Flora, so called, of Titian, in another apartment of this 
 gallery, is surpassingly lovely. I vv^ould give his two Venuses, 
 nay, a hundred of them, for this single picture. The group of 
 Niobe disappointed mo. With the exception of Niobe herself and 
 her two daughters, the figures struck me as commonplace. This 
 whole royal gallery is a wealth of art. It was once offered to 
 Pitt for a reasonable sum, but that statesman had got England 
 too deep under vv^ater already to plunge her deeper by the pur 
 chase of works of art. 
 
201 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 In the cabinet of antique bronzes is an eagle of the 24th Ro- 
 n.ian Legion. I do nut kno^v wlicn I liave seen an object that in 
 terested me more. Long, long ago. when Rome was in her glory, 
 it had soared aloft amid the smoke of battle and the sliock of ar- 
 niies, the sign and hope of this glorious old legion, leading it on to 
 victory and triumph. It had survived all vrho bore it, and, like 
 the legion itself, had now sunk to rest. Its brazen wings will no 
 more float over the field of the slain, nor its victorious beak baths 
 itself in the blood of its foes. It is now only a relic like the tombs 
 of the Csesars themselves. 
 
 The Pitti gallery, in the Ducal Palace, is the finest collection 
 of paintings in the world, but I shall not describe one — only, if 
 you ever go there, inquire out a head said to be by Vandyke, be- 
 cause they don't know to whom else to attribute it. Every artist 
 vrill kjiow what you mean. I consider it tlie most perfect head 
 and face ever painted. 
 
 This evening I went to the •• Cascine,'' or royal farms, consti- 
 tuting ti?e great public drive and promenade of Florence. The 
 Duke's family were strolling around, quite at their ease, and the 
 whole place was as lively as Hyde Park at 5 o'clock in the even- 
 ing. I walked home by the Arno, and entering the city, wit- 
 nessed one of those spectacles that are constantly intruding them- 
 selves in our brighest dreams, and turning this world into a place 
 of tears. As I was passing along the street, a little child hung 
 playfully across the sill of a window, in the fourth story : sud- 
 denly it lost its balance, and came like a flash of light to the pave- 
 ment, — its delicate form crashed into one common mass by the 
 blovf. The mother rushed down like a frantic creature, and snatch- 
 ing it to her bosom, hurried with it into the house, while a few 
 spectators gathered around the pool of blood it had left on the 
 pavement. I turned away sick at heart, and thinking how little 
 it took to turn this beautiful world into a gloomy prison house. 
 
 But sauntering shortly after into a cafe, I forgot the mother, 
 in the gay groups that surrounded me. Here I' met my friend 
 Ferguson, a noble man, whose face always made me think bet- 
 ter of my race. I afterwards crossed the Arno, and spent the 
 evening with an English family, composed of some seven or eight 
 in all, and intimate friends of Carlvle. The conversation turned 
 
ENGLISH FAMILY. 205 
 
 on America, and I could not restrain a smile, at the queer and 
 endless questions put me of our country ; though I must say, 
 none of them were quite so absurd as a remark once made to 
 one of my most distinguished countrywomen when in England 
 Speaking of the United States, this English lady very profound- 
 edly observed that the climate in our country must be delightfully 
 cool in the summer, from the winds Mowing over the Cordilleras 
 mountains. Most of their questions were of our Indians, and 
 their forest and prairie life ; how they looked, walked, and talked, 
 and what they wore. (With regard to the latter, I could have 
 much better told v/hat they did not wear.) At last I went over 
 their mode of v/arfare, and when I came to speak of their terrific 
 war-whoop — the signal of the onset — -a sweet creature of fifteen, 
 wlio had hitherto sat in perfect silence, and staring eyes, and lips 
 ^apart, suddenly exclaimed, " Oh ! cannot you show us how that 
 war-whoop sounds ?" I stopped and thought a moment, and it 
 was well I did, for the temptation was almost irresistible to send 
 that excitable creature, like a startled pigeon, from her scat by a 
 sudden whoop, which, whether Indian-like or not, would most 
 certainly have met with a response. I had slightly learned the art, 
 when a boy, from an old Indian, to whom I used to give a cent 
 a whoop, just to feel m.y blood shiver, as, with his fingers rapidly 
 oeating his lips, he sent that wild, wavering cry, with startling 
 power along the mountains ; and I felt a most wicked desire just 
 then to test my gifts. Why is it one feels at times this irresisti- 
 ble impulse to do some out-of-the-way thing, just to witness its 
 effect ? Just then Carlyle. v/ith his massive head, rose before 
 me ; and I imagined him quietly asking me if I called that " a 
 well authenticated whoop." 
 
 Late at night I left this circle of kind friends, with whom I had 
 spent many a pleasant hour in Italy, and with the full round 
 moon riding over the quiet city, and throwing its silver beams on 
 the waters and bridges of the Arno, turning them all into poetry 
 and beauty, I passed along through the deserted streets, to the 
 Piazza della Santa Crcce. The sound of my own footsteps, echoing 
 amid the silent palaces ; and the glimmering moonlight, bathing 
 all in its saddening beams, filled me with strange feelings, almost 
 
20fi LETTERS FROM ITALY". 
 
 like forebodmgs ; and I arrived at my lodgiiigs as different a man 
 from the one I was when amid my Indian battles, as if I had 
 changed souls within the last half hour. Metempsychosis does 
 not seem at times so strange a belief, after all. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
STROLL THROUGH FLORENCE. 207 
 
 LETTER XLII. 
 
 Stroll tkrough Florence — A Dominican Friar. 
 
 Florence. 
 
 Deae E. — The Duomo, beautiful as it is, I shall not attempt 
 to describe, nor the Chapel of the Medici. Oh, what a strange 
 history is that of the family of the Medici ! What bloody mur- 
 ders and vice stain its greatness ! If that Pitti palace could give 
 back all the revels and groans it has heard, no man would enter 
 its portals. 
 
 The gardens around Florence are beautiful, and the " Giardino 
 di Boholi^' a fairy land. You can stroll for hours through it 
 without satiety. Florence is livelier than most of the Italian 
 towns, and I should prefer it far before any other portion of Itah^, 
 as a place of residence. The custom of putting a marble tablet 
 over the doors of houses, where some distinguished character 
 has lived or died, saves one a deal of trouble. Thus you see 
 where Dante was born — Corinna lived — Americus Vespucci — 
 (the discoverer of America, as the inscription states) — made it his 
 home — and last, though not least, on the hill near Galileo's tower, 
 the house where the great astronomer died. 
 
 To-day has been one of my strolling days, and I have wander- 
 ed hither and thither in search of incident and new objects. In 
 the morning I went to Fiesoli, perched on a hill-top, and over- 
 looking the gardens of Florence and the rich plain through which 
 the Arno v/inds. I forgot its Etruscan relics in the lovely view 
 that was spread out below me. From this point, Florence looks 
 like a beautiful picture framed in a garden, which is itself framed 
 by the beautiful hills. 
 
 Walking in the afternoon along the main street, I met Mr. 
 C — — a, an Italian exile. I had not seen him since he left the 
 United Slates, and did not expect to meet him here. As he recog- 
 
SOS LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 nizecl me. he rushed across the street, and in true Italian man- 
 ner. threw his arms around my neck, and kissed both of mv 
 cheeks. This being kissed by men,' and in the streets, is rather 
 awkward at fiist, but one soon gets accustomed to any thing. I 
 took the embrace as it was intended ; and Imowing that I stood, in 
 his view, as a representative of those he loved ia America, 
 having no particular claim on him myself, I distributed the kiss 
 around to Ms friends, who were 7«z/ friends ; and by the time I 
 got through with what I deemed a fair division, I found nothing 
 remaining to my share. 
 
 I like to have forgot the Laurentian Library, with its manu- 
 scripts and illuminated missals, and I mention them now only to 
 excite your cupidity over an illuminated copy of Petrarch, with 
 portraits of himself and Laura, exquisitely wrought with the 
 pen, and the Decameron of Boccaccio, copied by his friend, and a 
 Virgil, of the earliest manuscript edition. 
 
 I had a letter of introduction to a friar of the Dominican Order, 
 in the convent of St. Mark, v\-ho sliov.cd me many things I should 
 otherwise have missed. He is a literary- man, and is now en- 
 gaged in a biographical sketch of the lives of the artists' of the 
 Dominican order. It vrill be a valuable work. In roaming with 
 him through the cloisters and library of the convent, I fell quite 
 in love vrith its quietness, and ceased to wonder men could pass 
 their lives in such a secluded manner. I shall ever remember 
 this friar vrith pleasure and affection. He is a good man. if there 
 is one on the earth. He breakfasted with m.e yesterday morning, 
 and in his kindness of manner and liberality of feeling, and gentle- 
 manly bearing, I forgot the light robe of his order and his faith, and 
 felt for him an affection and regard I seldom entertain towards a 
 comparative stranger. The cloisters of this church contain some 
 remarkable frescoes, executed by a friar. They have a finish 
 almost like that of a miniature painting. My English friends 
 were very anxious to get a peep at these frescoes, but the rules 
 forbid the introduction of ladies into the convent. My good 
 fi-iend the friar presented a petition to the prior for special per- 
 mission, but before it could be granted, it would be necessary to 
 have it carried up to the archbishop ; and before all that process 
 could be gone through with, I knew I should be on my way to 
 
A DOMINICAN FRIAR. 205 
 
 Switzerland. He gave me a sly hint, however, which I was half 
 a mind to act upon. Being very anxious to have the ladies see 
 these frescoes, especially as they were very desirous to do so, 1 
 asked him if there was no way of gaining access for them with- 
 out the ceremony of a formal permit. " No," said he, " unless 
 you do it without our knowledge. You can visit the convent ; and 
 it sometimes happens that the door to that painting (the principal 
 one, and the only one on the lower floor) is left open, and if you 
 should take advantage of it and go in, we could not help it, you 
 know." I understood the hint, and seeing that it came from his 
 overflowing kindness and desire to grant my request, I felt un- 
 bounded gratitude towards him. I saw he was willing to com* 
 promise himself to please me, and would see that the door ivas 
 left open in that very supposable manner. I could not expose 
 such goodness to the least inconvenience, and felt that I would 
 rather disappoint myself and my friends a hundred times over, 
 than cause him trouble on our behalf. 
 
 In this convent they make a peculiar kind of cordial, which 
 they keep in a sort of druggist's shop close by the cloisters, and 
 where a friar stands always ready to supply the purchaser. With 
 this good Dominican I visited a friar artist, of his own order, whose 
 studio was in one of the old cells of the convent. He stood with 
 pallet in hand, dressed in the robes of his order, before a picture 
 of a beautiful v/oman as I entered, which he seemed contempla- 
 ting with no ordinary interest. He was a superb man in his 
 physique, and in the large dark eye and jet black curling hair, 
 clustering gracefully around his ample forehead, you could dis- 
 cern the poet and the dreamer far more than the devout friar. 
 Exquisite paintings by himself of female figures and heads, v/ere 
 scattered around the room ; and I must confess, this evidence of 
 the good taste of the priest increased my respeet for him every 
 moment I remained in his studio. He has one of those faces I 
 never forget to remotest time. His great black eyes seemed to 
 look into my very soul. On my last visit to my friar friend, I took 
 a cup of coffee with him in one of the rooms of the convent, and 
 then bade him good bye. His farewell was unaffected, yet full 
 of kindness, and he wished all blessings, present and to come, 
 upon my head. God bless liim, and would there were more men 
 in our world as good as he. Truly yours. 
 
210 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XLIII. 
 
 Pisa — Condition of Italian Peasantry — Silver Mines — Seravezza Quarries — 
 Love Scene of Peasants — Pass of the Apennines. 
 
 Gexoa. 
 
 Dear E. — I have skipped over many of the details of Florence, 
 not because they were uninteresting to me, but because they 
 would be to you. I could describe (with the help of a guide- 
 book) the nr.agnificent doors of the Baptistry and the Campanile, 
 and Duomo itself, but it would be only description. I had thought 
 of taking a boat from Florence to Pisa, and so sail down the Arno. 
 If I could have been assured pleasant weather, I should have 
 done it, but two days in an open boat, and drenched with rain, 
 would have quite killed the romance of the thing. 
 
 We took a light carriage and reached Pisa before night. ]\Ia- 
 king but a short stay in it, I will only say the quay along the Ar- 
 no is very beautiful, and the Duomo, Baptistry, Campo Santo and 
 leaning tower, standing together and rising out from the green 
 field on which they are placed, form one of the most striking 
 architectural viev/s I ever saw. They alone are 'worth a long 
 journey to see. The road from thence to Lucca is decidedly the 
 most charming one I ever travelled. Now v.'inding along stream- 
 lets, and now almost embowered in the grape vines that hang along 
 its margin, with no fences to mar the beauty; and now opening on 
 a sweet plain — it presents a constant succession of scenes, the last 
 ever seeming the most beautiful. 
 
 Lucca itself stands in the centre of an extended plain, sur- 
 rounded with a niost perfect and symmetrical wall. Its baths are 
 world renowned. On my route I was struck with the improved 
 character of the Tuscan peasantry compared with other parts of 
 Italy. 
 
 The peasantry of Italy, as a general thing, are more virtuous 
 than the richer classes, and in many provinces do not suffer for 
 
CONDITION OF ITALIAN PEASANTRY. 2U 
 
 the necessaries of life. The difference in this respect in the dif- 
 ferent sections, is as great as that between the cultivated and un- 
 cultivated land of those regions. Field-work, which in our coun- 
 try is chiefly confined to the men, except in the slave districts, is 
 here performed also by women. Wheat is usually sown in 
 drills, and after it has reached a certain height is weeded out, gen- 
 erally by females and boys, who pass between tlie rows with nar- 
 row hoes. The peculiar costumes of the peasantry often gives 
 them a very picturesque appearance in the fields. I have seen 
 in the wheat fields near Naples twelve or fifteen women in a group, 
 each with a napkin folded on the top of her head, to protect it 
 from the sun — while the dark spencer and red skirt open in front 
 and pinned back so as to disclose a blue petticoat beneath — con- 
 trasted beautifully with the bright green field that spread away on 
 every side. They usually go to their work in the morning with 
 their distaffs in their hands, spinning as they w^alk. 
 
 The distaff is one of those characteristics of the country jou 
 meet at every turn. It is like a common distaff and held under 
 the arm, while the spindle rests in the hand. The flax is pulled 
 out into a tliread in the usual way, when the spindle is dropped 
 and a twirl given it as it falls, so that it hangs dangling by the 
 thread and twisting it as it revolves. I have often stopped of a 
 bright morning and watched these picturesque groups, slowly 
 sauntering along to their labor. Many of them will ask alms 
 as you pass, as a mere matter of economy. To a cheerful looking 
 woman who asks you for money, you cannot well refuse a few pen- 
 nies. It is sought and obtained in a single minute, and yet it is 
 the price of a whole day's labor. In the country between Naples 
 and Rome, some parts of which are very beautiful, the wages of 
 a woman in the field is a Carline, or eight cents yer day, and she 
 fnds herself. One can hardly conceive how eight cents would 
 buy her daily food, much less clothe and shelter her, but it is in- 
 credible on what a small sum an Italian will live. Many a poor 
 noble would be supremely happy could he have the income of our 
 common clerks. 
 
 Travellers who follow the main routes know little of the char, 
 acter of the Italian peasantry. Around the hotels and villages 
 Uiey have become contaminated by foreigners. But go back into 
 
212 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 the mountains and the extreme politeness and civility you meel 
 at every turn endear them lo you before you are aware of it. 
 Male and female salute you as you pass, and in such a pleasant 
 manner that you scarcely regard yourself as a foreigner. 
 
 Visiting the silver mines on the borders of Lucca and Carrara, 1 
 v/as struck with the change of character of the lower classes 
 immediately on leaving the main road. But the pleasure I re- 
 ceived was soon forgotten in the sad spectacle that met me as I 
 approached the mines. I never saw paler and more woe-begone 
 faces than those of the females I found myself among. They 
 were mostly young women, but poor, with sunken eyes, and 
 colorless cheeks, and a perfect marble expression of features. 
 They are employed in various departments, but chiefly in wash- 
 ing silver dust. Whether it be the cold mountain water in which 
 their arms are constantly bathed, or the influence of the metal 
 they separate, or both, I know not — but our hard-driven factory 
 girls look like rose-buds, compared to them. We went through 
 the mines with the head miner, and when we left him, astonished 
 him beyond measure with the present of half a dollar : " e molto 
 genoroso/' said he. We had employed him but half an hour, 
 and that after his day's work was done, and yet he received for 
 it a whole day's wages. 
 
 Returning from these mines just at evening we met one of those 
 dandy peasants we often see painted, but seldom encounter. A 
 perfect rustic Adonis with flowing locks and rosy cheeks, and 
 beautiful bright and laughing eye — he had that jaunty air and 
 rollicking gait which characterizes your peasant beau. Flis hat 
 was set rakishly on one side, while his flashy vest and careless 
 costume gave him a decidedly reckless appearance. But he was a 
 handsome fellow, and as he passed us v/ith his oxen and cart he 
 trolled away a careless ditty. A peasant girl stepped into the 
 road that momen. and joined him, but it did not look exactly like 
 a casual meeting. As they walked on side by side, he had such 
 a good-for-nothing scape-grace look that 1 could not help calling 
 out to him. They both looked back and laughed, when he sudden- 
 ly seized her by the waist and gave her a kiss that fairly rung 
 again. The blow that followed sent him half way across tho 
 road and made my ears tingle in sympathy. 
 
SERAVEZZA QUARRIES 2ii 
 
 The next day we went into the mountains to visit the vSeravezza 
 quarry, and also the Mercury mines. These last are very un- 
 profitable and dreadfully destructive of human life. Mr. Powers 
 uses the Seravezza marble exclusively. Wandering amid the 
 hovels, and along a mountain-stream, that disclosed at every step 
 some new beauty in the stupendous scenery that enclosed me, I 
 entirely lost track of my companions. Discovering at length 
 they had gone to the top of the mountain to visit the highest quar- 
 ries, I was fool enough to follow. But after winding up and up 
 for a long time, I became confused in the multitude of paths that 
 continually crossed and intersected mine. But while. I stood mid- 
 way on the mountam doubtful what course to take, a young wo- 
 man about eighteen years of age overtook me. She was decidedly 
 pretty, with a slight and graceful form. The everlasting distaff 
 was in her hand, and she spun away as she slowly ascended the 
 zigzag path. I inquired the road to the quarries, she told me 
 she was on her way there and would accompany me. We fell 
 into a chit-chat — sustained as well as could be expected with my 
 bad Italian on one side, and her miserable patois on the other. I 
 asked her if she was carrying the dinner to her friends in the 
 quarries. " Oh no," she replied. Ah, said, I, in true Yankee in- 
 quisitiveness, I suppose you are going up to visit your husband '^ 
 She burst into a clear laugh and replied, " Oh, no, I am not mar- 
 ried.'' Well, then, said I in perfect wonder, what are you climb- 
 ing this tremendous hill for ? " Oh, I carry quadrette,^' she an- 
 swered. " Quadrette !" I exclaimed, what's that ? On inquiry I 
 found that she was employed all day in bringing square blocks of 
 miarbie dressed for pavements from the quarry to the plain. A 
 thick napkin was folded on the top of her head, on which she 
 placed the " quadrette," square pieces of marble, and descended 
 with them to the manufactory below. It was a mile from the 
 bottom to the top, and she spun as she ascended the mountain, 
 and then returned with her " quadrette J' A mile up and a mile 
 back, made each trip two miles long. She made seven a day, 
 and received for each only a cent and a half. Thus she travelled 
 fourteen miles a day, and carried seven miles, a heavy stone, and 
 received for it ten cents. I looked at her with astonishment. Her 
 features and form were delica,te, and her voice and manner and 
 
214 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 all were so gentle and sweet, that I could not conceive for a mo 
 ment that such a life of drudgery was her lot. Yet she seemed 
 cheerful and happy. The wages of the men were about twenty 
 cents per day. 
 
 Carrara, which we took on our route, is entirely engulfed in 
 the mountains that furnish its marble. The day before we reached 
 here we crossed the Bracco, one of the loftiest passes of the Ap- 
 ennines. A tremendous storm swept over it when we passed, and 
 the wind threatened at times to lift our carriage— wheels, horses, 
 and all, and send us over the cliffs. The mist boiling up from 
 the gulfs below, yet concealing their depth — the desolate, naked 
 ridges that would now and then cleave its massive folds — the 
 howling of the blast, and the deep darkness at midday, conspired 
 to render it a scene of wild sublimity, and at times, of horror. 
 But the approach to Genoa the next day, along the side of the 
 mountain, on a road winding midway from the sea to the summit, 
 fully compensated for the gloom of the day before. The vexed 
 Mediterranean had subsided to a gentle swell that fell with a low 
 murmur far below us, as our carriage crawled like an insect 
 along the steep breast of the mountain, while far away white sails 
 were skimming the blue waves as though winged with life. Af- 
 ter passing through several galleries cut in the solid marble, we 
 at length emerged from the last in full sight of Genoa, and the 
 whole riviera between us and it. Its white palaces and towers 
 at that distance, and seen through that tunnel, looked like a city 
 beheld through a show-glass, rather than real stone and marble. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
KING OF SARDINIA. 215 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 
 King of Sardinia, Contempt of Him — Censorship of the Press — A Smug- 
 gling Priest. 
 
 Dear E. — I designed to stop here with my friend during the 
 summer, and then, perhaps, go to Egypt and Palestine in the win- 
 ter, but this climate is poison to me — and here let me say to those 
 who visit Italy for their health, to ascertain well beforehand what 
 ails them. For invalids of a certain character, such as those 
 troubled with pulmonary affections, this climate will doubtless 
 often be found very beneficial, but to dyspeptics, and those af- 
 flicted with the whole tribe of nervous diseases, it is the very 
 worst climate they could possibly visit. The air is too stimula- 
 ting, and produces constant excitement where the very reverse is 
 needed. The consequence is, that most of the Italians themselves, 
 who in our country would be nervous dyspeptics, are here luna- 
 tics. A sensitive nervous system cannot endure the stimulating 
 air and diet of Italy. I have tried it for nearly a year, and now 
 leave it sooner than I designed, and far worse than when I entered 
 it. So you may expect to hear next from me at Milan. 
 
 The King has just left the city, not particularly pleased, I 
 should judge, with his reception. This traitor, and Jesuit, and 
 religious bigot, and tyrant, is looked upon by the Genoese about 
 as favorably as the angels look on Satan. The streets were 
 filled with people, but scarcely one of the upper classes was 
 among them. The Royal Palace stands on Strada Balbi, just 
 above the University, and the King condescended to walk down 
 the street past it. The students stood in the door and court with 
 their hats on, and as his Majesty passed, coolly turned their backs 
 on him. A year ago the people gave him an illumination, and 
 when the nobles and authority of the city sent to know his feel- 
 
216 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 ings on the proposed reception, he simply returned for an an- 
 swer, "the King deigns to grant the illumination." This was a 
 little too much for the republican Genoese. 
 
 But he is only a part in the tyrannical system. The censor, 
 ship of the press is very strict, and is managed by three commis- 
 sioners — one from the church, to look after the heresy — one from- 
 the army, and one from the civil department. The wife of our 
 Charge related an amusing incident of the operation of this cen- 
 sorship, on a luckless young author. He had written a work for 
 his own fame, and hence endeavored to steer clear of all collision 
 with the censors. But unfortunately, and very probably merely 
 to show that he understood a little English, he quoted two lines 
 from Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope," (I quote from memory) — - 
 
 " The earth was waste and Eden was a wild, 
 And man the hermit sighed till woman smiled." 
 
 On these t^o lines the book was condemned. It contained Eng- 
 lish heresy. The poor author was thunderstruck at the result, 
 and could not divine the error contained in this harmless couplet. 
 But the sharp eye of the priest saw in it a stab at the celibacy of 
 the clergy, and the old Jesuit was right enough. It was the sim- 
 plest thing in the M'orld to prove it. If in Eden, surrounded with 
 all the beauty and bloom of Paradise, the perfect Adam grew 
 lonesome, and strolled around the bright walks of the garden 
 sighing for a woman, how wretched must the priest be in our de- 
 generate state, without one. 
 
 There is a priest here I often walk with. One day we went 
 without the city walls and strolled off towards a little settlement, 
 \vhen to my surprise, he went into a butcher's shop and bought 
 two pieces of meat, and stuffed them into a sort of pea-jacket he 
 had put on under his priestly robe. I asked him why he came 
 so far out of the city to purchase meat. " Oh," he said, " to 
 save duty. There is five francs duty, for instance, on every 
 calf that is brought within the walls, which makes meat very 
 high." " But," I replied, *•' this is smuggling, and are you not 
 afraid of being detected ?" " No," he said, " they would not 
 think of searching me, and if they did, they could do no more 
 than take it away from me." Conversing of other things I soon 
 
A SMUGGLING PRIEST. 217 
 
 forgot all about the meat, but not so my friend, the priest. After 
 we had passed the second gate and were fairly in the city, he 
 stopped, and said in English, (which he was very anxious to 
 speak,) " E — av escap — ed — wiv — salvation.'' Meaning he had 
 got through safe. The pulpit phrase, however, in which he an- 
 nounced it completely upset my gravity, and I laughed outright. 
 Thinks I to myself, " Old fellow, your salvation will have to de- 
 pend very much, I am afraid, on the smuggling principle at last." 
 
 I have just been called to hasten to my friend L — — , who has 
 been svddenly taken with bleeding at the lungs. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
 11 
 
218 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 
 AUessandria — Battie-Field -of Marengo — Pavia — Milan. 
 
 Milan. 
 
 Dear E. — -I have been four clays on tlie way to Pvlilan, in order 
 to visit the battle-field of Marengo, which is a half a day's journey 
 out of the way. I was struck with the care taken of the road 
 over the Apennines. It is not only smooth, and in excellent order, 
 but men are stationed at certain intervals during the summer 
 months to wet it once a day as we do Broadwa}^, to keep the dust 
 down. We should regard this at home an entire waste of labor. 
 
 We did not arrive at Marengo in tim.e to visit the field that 
 evening, so passed on to AUessandria, where we stopped over night. 
 This is the strongest fortified inland place I have ever seen. 
 Weil manned and provisioned, it would be impossible to take it* 
 It is a singular city, and soldiers seem to form the majority 
 of the population. The peasantry that come in at morning to 
 sell fruit, et cetera, are a squalid-looking race. 
 
 The field of Marengo, is not like most other modern battle 
 grounds, overrun with guides, who tell you some truth and a 
 good deal fable. It is left undisturbed, and not a guide can be 
 found. Few visit it, and I found a written description I had in 
 my pocket indispens-able. This was one of those battles where 
 Bonaparte excaped, as by a miracle, utter defeat. The Austrians 
 were full 40,000 strong, while Napoleon could muster but little 
 more than half th^.t number. Napoleon formed three lines ; one 
 in advance of Marengo at Padre Buona ; one at Marengo ; and 
 one behind this little hamlet, which indeed consists of scarcely 
 iviorc than half a dozen houses. The first line v/as under Gar- 
 donne ; the scco;id under Victor ; and the third commanded 
 by Napoleon in person. It is a broad plain, with nothing to 
 
BATTLE-FIELD OF MARENGO. Sl9 
 
 intercept the charge of cavalry for miles, beside scattering trees 
 and huts ; with the exception of a narrow, but deep stream, 
 with a miry bottom, that passes directly in front of Marengo. 
 Here Victor stood. The Austrian heavy infantry formed in the 
 open field and came down on Gardonne, driving him back on 
 Victor, posted on the other side of the ravine. The tiralleurs 
 of both armies were ranged on opposite sides of this stream, and 
 there, with the muzzles of their pieces almost touching, stood and 
 tired into each other's faces and bosoms for two hours. It did 
 not seem possible, as I stood by that stream, so narrow I could 
 almost leap across it, that two armies could stand for that length 
 of time, so close to each other, and steadily fire at each other. 
 They were but a few rods apart ; and the cannon and musketry 
 together, swept down whole ranks of living men. At length the 
 indomitable Victor was compelled to retire before such a superior 
 force, and fell back on Lannes, who was advancing to meet him. 
 The two formed a second line of defence, but the furious charge 
 of the Austrians drove them back; while General Elsnitz having 
 marched around, attacked them on the right flank, and began to 
 pour squadron after squadron of his splendid cavalry on the re- 
 treating columns of Lannes. But the stern hero immediately 
 formed his troops " en echelon," and retired without confusion. 
 But the retreat had become general, and had the Austrian com- 
 mander Melas pushed the battle here, nothing short of a miracle 
 could have saved Bonaparte from utter ruin. But he thought 
 the battle already won, and that it was now only a pursuit, and 
 retired to the rear, weary and exhausted ; and no wonder, for he 
 was eighty-four years of age. But at that moment, Desaix ap- 
 peared on the field, bringing up the reserve. Desaix rode up to 
 Bonaparte and said, " I think this must be put down as a battle 
 lost." " I think it is a battle won," replied Napoleon ; " push on, 
 and I will rally the line behind you." Riding along the army 
 he had just stayed in its rapid retreat, he said, " Soldiers, we have 
 retired far enough — let us now advance — you know it is my cus- 
 tom to sleep on the field of battle." At that moment Desaix led 
 on a fresh column of 5000 grenadiers, but at the first fire he fell 
 dead, shot through the heart. " Alas ! it is no* permitted me to 
 weep," said Napoleon. " On '" and they d'<^ v- sweeping line 
 
220 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 after line, till the whole army was routed, and the battle became 
 a slaughter. The Austrian cavalry fell back on their own in- 
 fantry, trampling them to the earth ; while the French horse 
 charged like fire over the broken columns. The routed army 
 at length reached the Bormida, and were precipitated down its 
 steep banks till its stream was choked with the bodies of men 
 and horses, rolled by thousands into its purple flood. 
 
 Bonaparte's star was still in the ascendant. 
 
 How changed was the scene as I looked upon it. The herdsman 
 vas watching his herd on the quiet plain, and the careless hus- 
 )andman driving his plough through the earth, once heaped 
 ivith the dead. The Bormida looked as if it never had re- 
 ceived a slain army in its bosom, nor its bright waters been dis- 
 colored with the blood of men. 
 
 That night we slept at Pavia, where we arrived late and 
 weary, having been detained in crossing the Po. The next 
 morning we took Certosa in our way. The church and buildings . 
 standing alone and with no village near, present a singular, yet 
 most magnificent appearance. They cover ground enough to 
 hold a large village, and there is on the high altar pre- 
 cious stones enough to build a dozen churches. One altar piece 
 is composed entirely of the teeth of the hippopotamus. I thought I 
 would describe this one church to you — built by a rich villain to 
 atone for his piracies and robberies — but I believe I'll not at- 
 tempt it. 
 
 I have now been several days in Milan. The Marengo gate is 
 beautiful, and so are the " Place d'Armes,'' and the promenade — 
 but I have an eye only for the Cathedral ; it impresses me more 
 than St. Peter's, though differently. St. Peter's is a magnifi- 
 cent temple — the Milan Cathedral, a magnificent church. Its 
 beautiful Gothic architecture, and its hundreds of statues on the 
 outside alone, and the whole fabric of white marble, do not affect 
 me so much as the solemn interior. The lofty nave, and im- 
 mense columns — the setting sun streaming through its stained 
 windows — and the gathering gloom of twilight, together with the 
 pealing organ, have subdued me more than I thought I could be 
 Bubdued by mere external causes. Every evening finds me 
 
MILAN. 221 
 
 there, wandering up and down over the marble pavement, till the 
 worshippers one after another disappear, and the deeper darkness 
 shuts out the magnificent proportions that so charm the eye and 
 the spirit. 
 
 For effect it is superior to any Church or Cathedral I ever en- 
 tered. 
 
 Truly yours 
 
922 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER XL VI. 
 
 Character of the People. 
 
 Milan. 
 
 Bear E. — Perhaps you would ask me what I now think of 
 Italian character. I should answer that my first impressions had 
 changed very little. The Italian women I have spoken of before. 
 The men are more polite than Americans, and more polished. 
 They treat strangers with greater kindness, and receive them with 
 truer hospitality. Friendships, too, are more frequent and warmer 
 among them than with us. Indeed, I have often wondered why 
 in our country, where there are such strong domestic and social 
 ties, there were not closer friendships among men — they are scarce- 
 ly known in the higher, purer sense. Here, on the contrary, 
 friendships are constantly contracted, marked by the intensest af- 
 fection and self-sacrifice. I have often watched, in my own coun- 
 try, with a sort of stupid amazement, two men who had been very 
 intimate in prosperity, suddenly grow quite indifferent when mis- 
 fortune had overtaken one. A friend lets an unfortunate friend 
 struggle on in poverty, without ever thinking of sacrificing a few 
 thousand dollars, if by it he should circumscribe his own enjoy- 
 ments. No one complains of the justice of this, but it certainly 
 shows a want of that high generous affection, which is worth 
 more to a man than money. 
 
 There is a great deal of intellect m Italy, and a great many 
 bold, decided men, but the mass cannot be relied upon. The 
 Italians want the steadiness of the English, while they have not 
 the headlong impetuosity of the French. Hence, they shrink 
 from great emergencies, and prefer the present evils that afflict 
 them, to greater evils they may encounter, in shaking off* the 
 tyranny under which they groan. Yet there is courage here, if 
 it could only be rightly managed. Whether Italy will ever as- 
 
CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE. 223 
 
 sume her proper place again among the nations of the earth, is 
 very doubtful. If she does, she will be the first nation that has 
 grown old with decay and again become regenerated. In this re- 
 spect, nations follow the law of human life. If age once seizes 
 upon them, they never grow young again. They must first die, 
 and have an entirely new birth. Everything here is old. Cities, 
 houses, churches, and all are old. The whole economy of out- 
 v/ard physical life must be radically changed, to fit the spirit 
 that is now abroad in the world. Italy was great in a peculiar 
 age, and she cannot cope with those which are the birth of 
 another age, filled with another spirit and principle of action. 
 Indeed, I have no hope in the multitude of conspiracies and 
 outbreaks with which Italy is filled. The struggling spirit is not 
 strong enough, or at least cannot be sufiiciently combined. The 
 poor and suffering have become too poor. They are beggars, that 
 do not care enough for liberty to fight for it. Beside, those who 
 should guide the popular will, seem to lack the steady energy 
 that inspires confidence. The love of pleasure and its pursuit 
 takes from the manliness of the Italian character, so necessary to 
 a republican form of government. 
 
 The northern provinces are far better in this respect than the 
 southern. In Genoa, for instance, there is a great deal of nerve 
 end stern republicanism remaining, which may yet recall the 
 days of Spinola. Let the police over her be as lax as that ot 
 Tuscany, and it would not be long before she would be a repub- 
 lic again. 
 
 The Catholic religion is most certainly losing ground here ; 
 perhaps I should not say this particular form of religion, so much 
 as the power of the priests. The people think more for them- 
 selves than formerly, and laugh at the tricks of the priests which 
 they formerly fully believed. Whatever the catechism may say, 
 intelligent Catholics do not believe in the Pope's infallibility any 
 more than we believe in the infallibility of our President ; and 
 the multitude of friars and monks are openly scorned. There is 
 a growing contempt for the v/hole priesthood, and a strong dis- 
 relish to the tax which the church levies on the pocket. The 
 men pay less and less attention to the public ceremonies of tha 
 church, and we should call corresponding action at home seep- 
 
224 LETTERS FROM ITALY. 
 
 ticism. And the inevitable result, I think, of the present form of 
 religion, will be to spread infidelity. Thus, while Catholicism, 
 by adapting itself to the institutions of every new country into 
 which it introduces itself, gains a foothold and spreads ; it loses 
 in its own land, by adhering to its old superstitions and nonsense, 
 which the spirit of the age condemns. Italy is now nearly half 
 infidel, and I do not believe Paris itself is more given to infi- 
 delity than the very seat of his holiness — Rome. 
 
 What this infidelity will work, is more than I can tell. 
 What influence it will have on political matters, will depend on 
 circumstances, which no one- can foresee or predict. But one 
 thing, we think, is certain, however much the Catholic religion 
 may prevail ; the Pope will constantly lose power, till his spirit- 
 ual will become what his temporal throne now is, a mere shadow. 
 Literature is doing something to effect a change, both in religion 
 and government. Lucien Bonaparte, son of Joseph Bonaparte, 
 has been instrumental in getting up the Scientific Congress of 
 Milan, composed of distinguished literary men from every part of 
 the Continent, which meets annually in different parts of Italy. 
 It is too imposing a body to be crushed, while its discussions and 
 publications give both the Pope and the petty despots of the 
 provinces much uneasiness. This same Bonaparte, or Prince de 
 Canino, as he is called, is doing much for liberty. With his black 
 hair and moustache, black piercing eyes, and corpulent body, and 
 shufiling gait, he goes about smiling to all, and beloved by all, 
 while the republican principles of the French Revolution continu- 
 ally prompt him to act, where he can with safety, for the redemp. 
 tion of the land of his fathers. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
 THE END. 
 
THE ALPS AND THE RHINE. 
 
THE ALPS 
 
 AND 
 
 THE E H I N E; 
 
 A SERIES OF SKETCHES 
 
 f TT 
 
 HE AD LEY. 
 
 NEW AND REVISED EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 CHARLE S SCRIBNER, 
 
 36 PARK ROW AND 145 NASSAU STREET. 
 1862. 
 
Entered, according to Aet of Congreis, in the yeax 1848, by 
 
 BAKER & SCRIBNER, 
 
 In ttie Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 THOMAS B. SMITH, STEREOTTPBR. 9* W. BENEDICT, PRINTBK, 
 
 S16 WILLIAM STRBBT, N. Y. 16 SFRVCB STRBBT. 
 
E. C. BENEDICT, ESQ., 
 
 OF NEW TORE, 
 
 THESE SKETCHES 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 
 
 HIS FRIEND AND RELATIVE, 
 
 THE AUT ' 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 Introduction, ; vii 
 
 Chapter I. — Pass of the Simplon, Gorge of Gondo, . ■ .1 
 
 II. — Passes of the Forclaz and Col de Balme, . . 7 
 
 III. — Ascent of the Montanverte, Vale of Chamounij . . 13 
 
 IV.— Pass of the Tete Noire, 19 
 
 v.— Baths of Leuk, 23 
 
 IV. — The Castle of Chillon. Geneva. Junction of the Rhone 
 
 and Arve, 26 
 
 VII. — Freybourg Organ and Bridges. Swiss Peculiarities, . 33 
 
 VIII. — Interlachen, Pass of the Wengern Alp, Byron's Manfred, 39 
 
 IX. — The Grand Scheideck : an Avalanche, .... 46 
 
 X. — Valley of Meyringen. Pass of Brunig, , . , .51 
 
 XI. — Suwarrow's Passage of the Pragel, 55 
 
 XII. — Macdonald's Pass of the Splugen, . . . . .60 
 
 XIII.— The Righi Culm, 70 
 
 XIV.— Goldau— Fall of the Rossberg, . . . : . 76 
 
 XV. — ^Avalanches and Glaciers, their Formation and Movement, 81 
 
 XVI. — Pasturages, Chalets, and Alpine Passes, . . . .86 
 
 XVII.— A Farewell to Switzerland— Basle, .... 90 
 
 XVIII.— Strasbourg— The Rhine— Frankfort, .... 94 
 
 XIX.— A Day m Wiesbaden, 99 
 
 sXX. — Schwalbach and Schlagenbad, 106 
 
 XXI.— Mayence— The Rhine, . . ^ Ill 
 
 XXII.— The Castellated Rhme, 115 
 
 XXIII.— The Rhine from Coblentz to Cologne, . . . .121 
 
 XXIV. — Rhine Wines, Cologne Cathedral, Louvain, Brussels, . 126 
 
 XXV.— Battle-field of Waterloo, 131 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 In the present work I have not designed to make a book 
 of travels, but give a series of sketches of the Alpine portion 
 of Switzerland, and the scenery along the Rhine. In writing 
 of Switzerland, I have omitted almost altogether notices of 
 the character of the people, except of those occupying the 
 valleys of the Alps. Neither have I spoken of the chief cities 
 and towns of the country, except to make a passing remark. 
 I excluded all such matter, because I wished, if possible, to 
 give a definite idea of the scenery of the Alps. Having an 
 unconquerable desire from my boyhood to see the land of 
 Tell and Winkelried, I had read everything I could lay hold 
 of, that would give me clear conceptions of the wonderful 
 scenery it embraces, yet I found that my imagination had 
 never approached the reality. 
 
 Hoping to do what others had failed in accomplishing, I 
 confess, was the motive in my attempting these sketches. 
 It always seemed strange to me, that such marked, stri- 
 king features in natural scenery could fail of being caught 
 and described. Such bold outlines, and such distinct fig- 
 ures, it seemed a mere pastime to reproduce before the eye. 
 And even now, of all the distinct things memory recalls, 
 none appear more clear and definite than the scenes of 
 the Alps. But, notwithstanding all this,. I need not add that 
 I am as much dissatisfied with my own efforts as with those 
 of others. The truth is, the Alps are too striking and grand 
 
IXTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 to be described. We get a definite idea of very few things in 
 the world we have never seen, by mere naked details. Tiiis 
 is especially true of those objects that excite emotion. It is 
 by comparing them to more famihar and greater things, that 
 we conceive them properly. Indeed, the imagination is gen- 
 erally so much weaker than the bodily eye, that exaggeration 
 is required to bring up the perceptive faculties to the proper 
 point. 
 
 But the Alps have nothing beyond them — nothing greater 
 with which to compare them. They alone can illustrate 
 themselves. Comparisons diminisli them, and figures of 
 speech only confuse the mind. This I beUeve to be the rea- 
 son why every one becomes dissatisfied with his own descrip- 
 tions. To give lofty conceptions of mountain scenery before, 
 he has been accustomed to call it Alpine. The Alps are 
 called in to illustrate all other moimtains and lofty peaks, and 
 hence when he comes to describe the former, he is at loss for 
 metaphors and comparisons. The words grand, awful, sub- 
 lime, have been used to describe scenery so far inferior to that 
 which now meets his ej^e, that he would reject them as weak 
 and expressionless, were there any others he could employ. 
 I have never felt the need of stronger Saxon more than when 
 standing amid the chaos of an Alpine abyss, or looking off 
 from the summit of an Alpine peak. Like the attempt to ut- 
 ter a man's deepest emotions, words for the time shock him. 
 I am aware this may be attributed to a sensitive imagination. 
 Some may boast that they have stood perfectl}' tranquil, and 
 It their ease in every part of the Alps. I envy not such a man 
 nis self-possession, nor his tranquil nature. He who can wan- 
 der through the Oberland without being profoundly moved, 
 and feehng as Coleridge did when he lifted his hymn in the 
 vale of Chamouni; need not fear that he will ever be greatly 
 
INTRODUCTION. ril 
 
 excited, either by the grand or beautiful with which God has 
 clothed the world. 
 
 The Rhine I have passed over more hastily, and devoted 
 less space to it, because its scenes are more familiar, as well 
 as more tame. If I shall add to the reader's conceptions of 
 Alpine scenery — give any more vivid ideas of its amazing 
 grandeur, more definite outhnes to those wonderful forms of 
 nature, I shall have accompUshed my purpose. My object 
 in grouping, as I have, the most remarkable objects together, 
 to the exclusion of every thing else, was, if possible, to do 
 this. Still they must be seen to be known. 
 
THE ALPS AND THE RHINE 
 
 I. 
 
 PASS OF THE SIMPLON, GORGE OF GONDO. 
 
 CoMmG from the warm air of the South, the first sight of the 
 Alps gave a spring to my blood it had not felt for years. Egypt 
 and Palestine I had abandoned, and weary and depressed, I turn- 
 ed as a last resort to the Alps and their glorious scenery. As I 
 came on to Lake Maggiore, I was, as we should say at home, 
 " down sick." A severe cold accompanied with fever rendered 
 
 me as indifferent to the scenery the evening I approached as 
 
 if I were on the confines of a desert. But the morning found me 
 myself again, and the clear lake coming from under the feet of 
 the everlasting Alps, and peeping out into the valley as if to see 
 how the plains of Lombardy looked, was as welcome as the face 
 of a friend. Born myself amid mountains, I had loved them 
 from boyhood. I looked out from our carriage on the Borromean 
 Isles, terraced up in the form of a pyramid from the water, with 
 their dark fringe of cypresses, without one wish to visit them. I 
 did not care whether they were an " espece de creation,^' or " a 
 huge perigord pie stuck round with woodcocks and partridges." 
 The soft air revived me, and the breeze that stooped down from 
 the snow summits of the Alps, that glittered far up in the clear 
 heavens before me, was like a new fountain of blood opened m 
 my system. I left the carriage, and wandered off to the quarries 
 of pink granite among the mountains. After listening awhile to 
 the clink of the miner's hammer, far upon the breast of the rock, 
 and gathering a few crystals, I returned to the lake, and passing 
 directly underneath a mountain of stone, from whose summit 
 
DOMO D'OSOLA. 
 
 workmen were blasting rocks that fell with the noise of thunde? 
 into the road, sending their huge fragments over into the lake, — • 
 rejoined the carriage at a dirty inn. The crystal-like clearness 
 of the water, and the mountains around, reminded me of the wild- 
 er parts of the Delaware, where I had hooked many a trout, and 
 thinking they ought to be found on such gravelly bottoms, I en- 
 quired of the landlord if I could have trout for dinner. He re- 
 plied yes, and when the speckled fish was brought on the table, it 
 was like the sight of an old friend. The flesh, however, did not 
 have the freshness and flavour of those caught in our mountain 
 streams. It may have been owing to the cooking, probably it was. 
 After dinner we started up the narrow valley that leads to the 
 foot of the Simplon. It was as lovely an afternoon as ever made 
 the earth smile. Gray, barren pyramids of rock pierced the clear 
 heavens on either side, while the deep quiet of the valley was 
 broken only by the brawling streamlet that sparkled through it. 
 Here and there was a small meadow spot from which the dwarf- 
 ish peasantry were harvesting the hay. Women performed the 
 office of team and cart. A huge basket that would hold nearly 
 as much as an ordinary hay-cock, was filled, when a woman in- 
 serted heri:3lf into straps fastened to it, and taking it on her back ; 
 walked away with the load. 
 
 As it takes twelve good hours to cross the Simplon, travellers 
 are compelled to stop over night atDomo D'Osola, the last village 
 before the ascent commences. I will not describe the dirty town 
 with its smell of garlic, nor the " red-capped," '•' mahogany-leg- 
 ged," lazy lazzaroni that lounged through the street. Only one 
 thing interested me in it. There is a hill near by called Calvary, 
 with small white buildings stationed at intervals from the bottom 
 to the top. Each of these is occupied with terra-cotta (earthen) 
 figures representing our Saviour in the different stages of his suffer- 
 ings ; — from the trial before Pilate, to the last agony on the cross. 
 Through an iron grating I looked in upon the strange groups, 
 amid which, on the earth-floor, were scattered cents and fifths of 
 cents ; — thrown there by the faithful. In one, the ceiling of the 
 building was concave, and painted blue to represent heaven. On 
 this; angels were painted large as life, and represented as hovering 
 over the suffering Christ — while they had — babies and all — white 
 
PASS OF THE SIMPLON, GORGE OF GONDO. 3 
 
 handkerchiefs in their hands, which they held to their eyes quite 
 a la mode. It did not strike me at first as so odd that they should 
 use handkerchiefs in heaven, as that those beggarly-looking an- 
 gels could afford such nice white ones. 
 
 But the Simplon. Nature, that wore the day before, her loveli- 
 est, had now put on her angriest aspect. A more glorious to-mor. 
 row was never promised to man, than the sun uttered as he went 
 down at evening amid the Alps. There was ,not a cloud to dim 
 his brightness, v/hile the transparent atmosphere and the deep blue 
 sky seemed dreaming of anything but clouds and mists. But 
 who can foretell the whim of an Alpine sky ! As we entered the 
 mountains the day grew dark, and from the deep gorge that pierc- 
 ed their heart, the mist boiled out like the foam of a waterfall. 
 Clouds veiled the giant peaks around, and the rain came down as 
 if that were its sole business for the day. The torrent had car- 
 ried away the road in some places, and we rolled slowly over the 
 bed of the stream. At length we entered the gorge of Gondo, one 
 of the most savage and awful in the Alps. This day it was ren- 
 dered doubly so by the black Alpine storm that swept through it. 
 The road was here squeezed into the narrowest space, while the 
 perpendicular rocks rose out of sight into the rain-clouds on either 
 side, and the fretting torrent struggled through its torn channel 
 far below. The gallery of Gondo, cut 596 feet through the solid 
 rock, opens like a cavern over this gulf. Stand here a minute 
 and look down the gorge. Those perpendicular walls of nature 
 pierce the heavens so high, that but a narrow strip of tossing 
 clouds is visible, as the blast puffs away for a moment the mist 
 that wrapped them in such close embrace. A waterfall is sound- 
 ing in your ears, covering the breast of the hill with foam, and 
 filling the cavern v/ith the sullen sound of thunder. Torrents 
 leaping from the mountain tops, vanish in spray before they strike 
 the bottom. The clouds roll through the gorge, and knock against 
 the walls that hem them in ; and then catching the down-sweeping 
 gust, spring over their tops, revealing for a moment the head of a 
 black crag far up where you thought the sky to be, and then dashing 
 over its face wrap it again in deeper gloom. All around is hor- 
 ribly wild — the howl of the storm — the hissing of the blast around 
 the cliffs —the r.iar of countless cataracts, ayd the hoarse voice of 
 
AN AVALANCHE. 
 
 the distracted waters that rush on, and the awful solitude and 
 strength that hem you in — make the soul stagger and shrink back 
 in unwonted fear and awe. Nature and God seem one — Power 
 and Sublimity their only attributes^ and these everlasting peaks 
 their only dwelling-place. I would let the carriage, that looked 
 like a mere toy among these giant forms of nature, disappear 
 among the rolling mist, and then stand on a beetling crag and listen. 
 It was the strangest, wildest music my soul ever bowed to, and 
 the voices that spoke so loudly around me had such an accent 
 and power that my heart stood still in my bosom. I grew ner- 
 vous there alone, and felt as if I had not room to breathe. Just 
 then, turning ray eye up the gorge, the clouds parted over a smooth 
 snow-field that lay, white and calm, leagues away against the 
 heavens. Oh, it was a relief to know there was one calm thing 
 amid that distracted scene — one bosom the tempest could not ruf- 
 fle : it told of a Deity ruling serene and tranquil above his works 
 and laws. 
 
 As we approached the summit, the snow increased in depth. 
 In one place the road passed directly through an old avalanche 
 cut out like a tunnel. These avalanches have paths they travel 
 regularly as deer. The shape of the mountains decides the di- 
 rection they shall take, and hence enables the traveller to know 
 when he is in danger. They also always give premonitions of 
 their fall. Before they start there is a low humming sound in 
 the air, which the practised ear can detect in a moment. If you 
 are in the path of avalanches when this mysterious warning is pass- 
 ing through the atmosphere, you cannot make too good use of your 
 legs. A few days before we passed, the diligence was broken 
 into fragments by one of these descending masses of snow. As 
 it was struggling through the deep drifts right in front of one of 
 those gorges where avalanches fall, the driver heard this low ring, 
 ing sound in the hills above him. Springing from his seat, he 
 threw open the door, crying, " Run for your life ! an avalanche I 
 an avalanche !" and drawing his knife he severed the traces of 
 the horses, and bringing them a blow with his whip, sprang ahead. 
 All this was the work of a single minute ; the next minute the 
 diligence was in fragments, crushed and buried by the headlong 
 mass. 
 
PASS OF THE SIMPLON, GOKGE OF GONDO. 5 
 
 The top of the Simplon is a dreary field of snow and ice, gird- 
 ed round with drearier rocks. The hospice is large and com- 
 fortable, and does credit to its founder, Bonaparte ; and the Prior 
 is a fat, very handsome, and good-natured man. I had a reg- 
 ular romp with one of the San Bernard dogs, -who would run and 
 leap on me like a tiger, barking furiously as he came, but harm- 
 less as a kitten in his frolics. To amuse us, the Prior let out four 
 of them from their confinement. No sooner did they find them- 
 selves free, than they dashed down the steps of the hospice, and 
 bounding into the snow, made the top of the Simplon ring again with* 
 their furious barkings. After we had wandered over the build- 
 ing awhile, and made enquiries respecting lost travellers in win- 
 ter, the good Prior set before us some bread and a bottle of wine, 
 from which we refi'eshed ourselves and prepared to depart. We 
 had scarcely begun to descend towards the Vallais, when I dis- 
 covered, straight down through the gorge, a little village with its 
 roofs and church spire, looking like a miniature town there at the 
 end and bottom of the abyss. Confident there was no place be- 
 tween the top of tlie Simplon and Brieg, lying nearly twenty 
 miles distant at the base, and thinking this could not be that town. 
 Slink there apparently within rifle-shot of where I stood, I enquired 
 of the vetturino what it was. *' Brieg," he replied. "Brieg?** 
 I exclaimed : " why that is six hours' drive from here, and I can 
 almost throw a stone in that place." " You will find it far enough 
 before we get there," he replied, and with that we trotted on. 
 Backwards and forwards, now running along the edge of a gulf 
 deep into the mountains and under overhanging glaciers, till it 
 grew narrow enough to let a bridge be thrown across ; and now 
 shooting out on to some projecting point that looked down on shud- 
 dering depths, the road wound like a snake in its difficult pas- 
 sage among the rocks. Houses of refuge occur at short intervals 
 to succour the storm-caught traveller ; and over the road, as it cuts 
 the breast of some steep hill that shows an unbroken sheet r' 
 snow, up — up, till the summit seems lost in the heavens, £ 
 thrown arches on which the avalanches may slide down into ti 
 gulf below. Over some of these arches torrents were now roa- 
 ing from the melting mass above Calm glaciers on high, an 
 angry torrents below ; white snow-fields covering thousands of 
 
THE VALLAIS- 
 
 acres on distant mountain-tops, and wrecks of avalanches, crush- 
 ed at the base of the precipice on which you stand ; fill the 
 mind with a succession of feelings that can never be recalled or 
 expressed. It seems as if nature tried to overwhelm the awe- 
 struck and humbled man in her presence, by crowding scene 
 after scene of awful magnificence upon him. 
 
 We stopped at Brieg all night in a most contemptible inn,, It was 
 some fete day or other of the thousand and one Catholic s?>Jnts, and 
 the streets were strewed with evergreens, while nearly every second 
 man had a sprig in his hat. The streets were filled with peasantry 
 sauntering lazily about in the evening air, and I leaned from my 
 v/indow and watched them as supper was cooking. There a group 
 went loitering about singing some careless song I could not un- 
 derstand, while nearer by were two peasants, a young man and 
 maiden, with their arms around each other's waists, strolling silent- 
 ly along in the increasing twilight. 
 
 At Brieg you enter on the Vallais and follow the Rhone on its 
 tranquil course for Lake Leman. Its waters were yet turbid 
 from their long struggle in the mountains, and flowed heavily 
 through the valley. Along this v/e trotted all day, and stopped 
 at nio-ht at Sion. If Mount Sion in Jerusalem is not a better 
 place than this, the Arabs are welcome to it. The falls of 
 Tourtemagne, which you pass on the road, are very beautiful, 
 from the curve and swing of the descending water, caused by the 
 peculiar shape of the rocks : and those of SalJenche grand and 
 striking. The long single leap of the torrent is 120 feet, and as 
 you stand under it, the descending water has the appearance of 
 the falling fragments of a rocket after it has burst. The spray 
 that boils from its feet rises like a cloud, and drifting down the 
 fields, passes like a fog over the road. 
 
FORCLAZ AND COL DE BALM. 
 
 II. 
 
 PASSES OF THE FOECLAZ AND COL DE BALM. 
 
 From Martigny, where we arrived at noon from Sion, a rnule 
 path leads over the Forclaz, from which one can look back on 
 the whole valley of the Rhone, one of the most picturesque views 
 in Switzerland. After following a while the route of Bonaparte's 
 army, on its march from Martigny across the San Bernard, we 
 turned off to the right, and began to ascend the Forclaz. Here 
 I first tested the world-renowned qualities of the mule, amid the 
 Alpine passes ; and I must say I did not find the one I was on 
 so very trustworthy. Passing along the brink of a precipice, I 
 thought he went unnecessarily near the edge; but concluding he 
 knew his own business best, I let him take his own way. Sud- 
 denly his hinder foot slipped over — he fell back, struggled a mo- 
 ment, while a cry of alarm burst from my companions behind — ■ 
 rallied, and passed on demurely as ever. For a few moments 
 it was a question of considerable doubt whether I was to have a 
 roll with my mule some hundred feet into the torrent below, with 
 the fair prospect of a broken neck and a mangled carcase, or 
 cross the Forclaz. I learned one lesson by it, however, never to 
 surrender my own judgment agai-n, not even to a mule. We at 
 length descended into the very small hamlet of Trient, nestled 
 down among the pines. After refreshing ourselves after a most 
 primitive fashion; with some plain white pine boards, nailed together 
 som.ething after the manner of a workman's bench for a table, I told 
 our guide I must cross the Col de Balm. He replied it was impos- 
 sible. " No one," said he, " has crossed it this year except the 
 mountaineer and hunter. The path by which travellers always 
 cross it is utterly impassable ; not even a chamois hunter could 
 
A FEARFUL GUIDE. 
 
 follow it ; besides, it rained last night, which has nriade the snow so 
 soft, one would sink in leg-deep at every step, and I cannot at- 
 tempt it." This was a damper, for I had thought more of making 
 this pass than any other in the Alps. Still, I was fully resolved 
 to do it, if it was in the reach of possibility, because from its sum. 
 mit was said to be one of the finest views in the world. So walk- 
 ing around the hamlet, I accosted a hardy-looking Swiss, and 
 asked him if he could guide me over the Col de Balm. He re- 
 plied that the ordinary route was impassable, being entirely 
 blocked with snow ; but that there was a gorge reaching nearly to 
 the top of the pass, now half filled with the wrecks of avalanches, 
 which he thought might be travelled. At least, said he, I am 
 willing to try, and if we cannot succeed, we can return. I took 
 him at his word, and returning, told my friends that I was going 
 to cross the Col de Balm, but that I was unwilling to take the re- 
 sponsibility of urging them to accompany me, for I was convinced 
 the passage would be one of great fatigue, if not of dang-'^r. I 
 then called the guide, and bade him meet me with the mules 
 about fifteen miles ahead, at Argentiere. He looked at me a 
 moment, shook his head, and turned away, saying, " Je vous con- 
 seille de ne pas aller.'' " Je vous conseille de ne pas aller.^^ I 
 hesitated a moment, for my guide book said, " Always obey your 
 guide," and farther on stated, that on this very pass a young Ger- 
 man lost his life by refusing to obey his. I did not want to be 
 rash, or expose myself unnecessarily to danger, but one of the 
 finest views in the world was worth an effort; so stripping off my 
 coat and vest, I bade my fearful guide good-bye, and taking a 
 pole in my hand for a cane, started off. My friends concluded to 
 follow. Immediately on leaving the valley we entered on the 
 debris of avalanches, which fortunately bore us. It was a steady 
 pull, hour after hour, mile after mile, up this pathless mass of 
 snow, that seemed to go like the roof of a house, at an unbroken 
 angle of forty-five degrees, up and up, till the eye wearied with 
 the prospect. My friends gave out the first hour, while I, though 
 the weakest of the party, seemed to gain strength the higher I 
 ascended. The cold rare atmosphere acted like a powerful 
 stimulant on my sensitive nervous system, rendering me for the 
 time insensible to fatigue. I soon distanced mj friends, while 
 
COL DE BALM. 9 
 
 my guide kept cautioning rne to keep the centre of the gorge, so 
 that I could flee either to one side or the other should an avalanche 
 see fit to come down just at the time I saw fit to pass. I pressed 
 on, and soon lost sight of every living thing. The silent snovs^- 
 fields and lofty peaks were around me, and the deep blue heavens 
 bending brightly over all. I thought I was near the top, when 
 suddenly there rose right in my very face a cone covered with snow 
 of virgin purity. I had ascended beyond the reach of avalanches, 
 and stood on snow that lay as it had fallen. I confess I was for 
 a moment discouraged and lonely. Near as this smooth, track- 
 less height appeared, a broad inclined plain of soft snow was to 
 be traversed before I could reach it. I sat down in the yielding 
 mass and hallooed to the guide. I could hear the faint reply, 
 far, far down the breast of the mountain, and at length caught a 
 glimpse of his form bent almost double, and toiling like a black 
 insect up the white acclivity. I telegraphed to him to know if I 
 was to climb that smooth peak. He answered yes, and that I 
 must keep to the right. I must confess I could see no particular 
 choice in sides, but pressed on. The clean drifts hung along its 
 acclivities just as the wintry storm had left them, and every step 
 sunk me in mid-leg deep. This was too much : I could not as- 
 cend the face of that peak of snow, direct; it was too steep; and 
 I was compelled to go backwards and forwards in a zigzag di- 
 rection to make any progress. At length, exhausted and panting, 
 I fell on my face, and pressed my hot cheek to the cold snow. 
 I felt as if I never could take another step ; my breath came diffi- 
 cult and thick, from the straining efforts I was compelled to put 
 forth at every step, while the perspiration streamed in torrents 
 from my face and body. But a cold shiver just then passing 
 through my frame, admonished me I had already lain too long ; so 
 whipping up my flagging spirits, I pushed on. A black spot at 
 length appeared in the wide waste of snow. It was the deserted 
 house of refuge, and I hailed it with joy, for I knew I was at the 
 top. But, oh ! as I approached the thing, dreary enough at best, 
 and found it empty, the door broken down by the fierce storm, 
 and the deserted room filled with snow-drifts, my heart died with- 
 in me, and 1 gave a double shiver. I crept to the windward side 
 of the dismal concern to shield myself from the freezing blast, 
 
10 VIEW FROM COL DE BALM. 
 
 which swept by without check, and seemed wholly unconscious 
 that I had clothing on ; and crouched meekly in the sunbeams. 
 But as I looked up, about and beneath me, what a wild, ruinous 
 world of peaks and crags, and riven mountains, rose on my won- 
 dering vision ! 
 
 Farther on, and lo, the sweet vale of Chamouni burst on the 
 sight, lying in an irregular waving line along the Arve, that glit- 
 tered like a silver chain in the light of the sun. Right out of its 
 quiet bosom towered away in awful majesty the form of Mont 
 Blanc. Oh, what a chaos of mountain peaks seemed to tear up 
 the very sky around him. The lofty " needles," inaccessible to 
 any thing but the wing of the eagle, shot up their piercing tops 
 over glaciers that, rolled into confusion, went streaming, an ice- 
 flood, into the plains below. How can I describe this scene. It 
 seemed as if the Deity had once taken the chain from his wildest 
 laws, to see what awful strength they could put forth, and what a 
 chaos of mountains they could tumble together. High over all, 
 with its smooth round top, stood Mont Blanc, like a monarch with 
 his mountain guard around him. Yet how silent and motionless 
 were they all, as if in their holy Sabbath rest. No wonder Cole- 
 ridge lifted his hymn in the Vale of Chamouni. Yet he should 
 have looked on it from this spot. From no other point do you 
 get the relative height of Mont Blanc. From the valley you look 
 up, and all the peaks seem nearly of a height : but here you look 
 across and see how he stands like Saul among the Israelites- 
 head and shoulders above all his brethren. The great difhculty 
 in standing here is, the soul cannot expand to the magnitude of 
 the scene. It is crushed and overwhelmed, and almost stu- 
 pified. 
 
 I plucked some flowers that lifted their modest heads from the 
 margin of the snow, and began to descend towards Chamouni 
 But as I went leaping down the white slope with a shout, I sud- 
 denly found myself hanging by the arms, while the dull sound of 
 a torrent that swept my feet made any but pleasant music in my 
 ear. I had broken through the snow crust, and catching by my 
 arms, was left dangling over a stream, the depth and breadth of 
 which I had no desire to measure. The sudden change from my 
 headlong speed and boisterous shouts, to the meek, demure look 
 
SUNSET ON MONT BLANC H 
 
 and manner with whichi I insinuated myself away from that un- 
 pleasant neighbourhood, set my companions into convulsions of 
 laughter. 
 
 A cloud that came drifting along the sky caught on Mont 
 Blanc, and wrapped it from my sight. Ah, thought I, good night 
 to Mont Blanc! But the sweet valley was left basking in tiie 
 light of the setting sun. 
 
 Hark ! a low rumbling sound rises on the air, swelling to the 
 full-voiced thunder. I turned, and lo ! a precipice of ice had 
 loosened itself from the mountain, and falling over, plunged, with 
 a crash that shook the hills, into the plain below. I stood awe- 
 struck and silent. It was the first avalanche I had heard, and its 
 deep voice echoing amid those mountain solitudes awoke strange 
 feelings within me. The mass from which it had split was of a 
 pale blue, contrasting beautifully with the dull white of the sur- 
 rounding glacier. 
 
 At Argentiere I found the guide and mules. Mounting, I rode 
 slowly on, thinking of that Being who planned the globe, and 
 heaved on high all its strong mountains, when a sudden cry from 
 the guide attracted my attention. He stood pointing to Mont Blanc. 
 I looked up, and to my surprise, the cloud had rained itself av/ay, 
 and the top of the mountain was drawn with its bold outline 
 against the clear heavens. The sun had set to me, but Mont 
 Blanc was still looking down on his retiring light. And now over 
 all its white form spread a pale rose colour, deepening gradually 
 into a pink — the peaks around taking the same ruddy glow, while 
 the giant shadows stretched their misshapen, black proportions 
 over the vast snow-fields between. There they stood, a mass of 
 rose-coloured snow mountains, towering away in the heavens : 
 they had suddenly lost their massive strength and weight, and 
 light as frost work, and apparently transparent as a rose-tinted 
 shell, they seemed the fit home of spiritual beings. And then 
 what serenity and silence over them all. There was none of the 
 life and motion of flashing sunbeams ; none of the glitter of light 
 itself on mountain summits, but a deep quiet that seemed almost 
 holy, resting there, as if that rose-tinted top was bathed in the 
 mellow radiance that one might dream of as belonging to a sun. 
 set in heaven. My eye wandered dov/n the now ethereal forn 
 
12 MONT BLANC AT NIGHT. 
 
 of Mont Blanc till it rested on a wreath of fir-ti'ees, whose deep 
 green contrasted strangely with that pure rose-colour. I stood be- 
 wildered — ii seemed a magic land. But the glorious vision, like 
 all beauty, was as transient as the hour that gave it birth. 
 Fainter and fainter again grew the tints till all passed away, and 
 Mont Blanc stood white and cold and ghost-like against the even- 
 ing sky. This was more than I expected to see, and what few 
 travellers do see. Mont Blanc is chary of such exhibitions of 
 himself. 
 
 I lay dovv n at night with my fancy too full of wild images to 
 let me sleep soundly. Feverish and restless ; at midnight I arose 
 and pushed open my window. All was silent as the great shad- 
 ows around, save the sound of the torrent that rolled its turbid 
 stream through the valley. The moon was hanging her crescent 
 over the top of Mont Blanc, that stood like a model in the clea'" 
 heavens, a fit throne for the stars that seemed flashing from its 
 tc^. 
 
MONTANVERTE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 13 
 
 ra. 
 
 ASCENT OF THE MONTAWraRTE, VALE OF 
 CHAMOUNI. 
 
 The day after I made the pass of the Col de Balme I ascended 
 the Montanverte to the Mer de Glace. I will not weary you 
 with a description of this frequently described yet ever strangely 
 wild scene. I mention it only to show the simple process by 
 which an Alpine guide sometimes descends a mountain. In climb- 
 ing up our zigzag path in our previous ascent, I noticed an in- 
 clined plane of snow going straight up the mountain— the relics 
 of the track of avalanches which had fallen during the winter 
 and spring. In returning, the path came close to the top of this 
 inclined plane, which went in a direct line to the path far below. 
 A slide down this I saw would save nearly half a mile, so I 
 sprang on to it, expecting a long, rapid, though perfectly safe de- 
 scent down the mountain. But the surface was harder than 1 
 supposed, and I no sooner struck it than I shot away, like an ar- 
 row from a bow. I kept my feet for some time as I tacked and 
 steered, or rather " was tacked and steered," straining every mus- 
 cle to keep my balance, and striking my Alpine stock now on the 
 right hand and now on the left ; till exhausted, I fell headlong 
 down the declivity, and went rolling, over and over, till I finally 
 landed, with dizzy head and bruised limbs, amid broken rocks 
 at the bottom. When I had gathered up my senses, I looked 
 round for my companions, and lo, there was my friend, an English 
 gentleman who had started at the same time; about midway of 
 the slope. As he found himself shooting off so rapidly, he 
 wheeled his back dov/n the hill and fell on his hands This was 
 
 13 
 
14 BLISTERED FEET. 
 
 not sufficient, however, to arrest his progress, and he came on 
 bear fashion, though at a slower rate. Despite my bruises, I lay 
 amid the rocks and laughed. Our guide stood at the top, con- 
 vulsed with laughter, till he saw us all safely landed, and then 
 leaped on the inclined plane himself. Throwing one end of his 
 Alpine stock behind him, he leaned almost his entire weight on 
 it. The iron spike sinking in the ice and snow, checked the ra- 
 pidity of his descent, and steered him at the same time, and he 
 came to the bottom in a slow and gentle slide. So it is in this 
 world : there is no man who cannot find those who will teach him 
 on some points. 
 
 When I reached the English hotel again I found I had over- 
 tasked myself: I began to suspect as much before I had half 
 reached the top of Montanverte. After my exhausting tramp in 
 the soft snow over the Col de Balme I should have lain by a day, 
 but, my toilsome day's work and wet feet both, had not left me 
 any worse, but on the contrary better — so I concluded to take it 
 on foot up the Montanverte. I believe I should have refused to 
 ride, well or sick, when I came to know how matters stood about 
 n guide and mules. We had hired a guide and mules at Martigny 
 by the day ; supposing, of course, we could use them at Chamouni. 
 Acting on this belief, my companions, who had resolved to ride, 
 ordered out their mules ; when, to their astonishment, they were 
 told that neither our guide nor our mules could be permitted to 
 ascend the mountain. A Chamouni man and Chamouni mules 
 must go up the Montanverte or none. This is one of the many 
 niggardly, petty contrivances one meets at every turn in Switzer- 
 land to wring money from the pockets of travellers. 
 
 I should have done better to have rode even on those conditions, 
 for I was completely fagged out at night, and with more bones 
 aching than I before supposed I carried in me. But after tossing 
 awhile on my feverish couch, I at length fell asleep. How long 
 I was in the land of oblivion I know not, but I awoke to recollec- 
 tion with the most vivid consciousness of possessing ten toes. 
 Such exquisite pain I never before experienced. I turned and 
 twisted on my couch — gathered up my legs like a patriarch to 
 die — held them in my hands — but all in vain : I could think of 
 nothing but torture by slow fire. Every toe T possessed seemed 
 
A LUNATIC. 15 
 
 to have been converted into a taper, whxh had been lighted, and 
 was slowly burnmg away. At length I could endure the agony 
 no longer, and rung the bell till I waked up one of the head ser- 
 vants of the house. As he knocked at the door I bade him come 
 in with an emphasis that only made his entrance more studied and 
 careful. " What is the matter, sir ?" he enquired in the most 
 provokingly quiet tone. " Matter !" I exclaimed, as I thrust both 
 feet out of the bed, " I want you to tell me what is the matter. 
 You know all the strange diseases of this infamous country, and I 
 want you to see what has got into my feet." He looked at 
 my swollen, angry toes a moment, and replied with a most bland 
 smile, " Oh, you have blistered 3-our feet — they are snow blister- 
 ed." Saying this he left the room, and in a few moments return- 
 ed with some brandy in a saucer, into which he dropped several 
 drops of tallow from his candle, and then rubbed my feet with the 
 mixture. In a few minutes I was relieved, and soon after fell 
 into a quiet slumber; from which I awoke to a half-dreamy state, 
 with a dim consciousness there was music around me. At length, 
 clear, mellow notes of a horn came swelling on my ear. I start- 
 ed up, and looking from my window, saw a shepherd driving his 
 goats to their mountain pasturage. It was early dawn, and as 
 the Alpine strain he blew echoed up the vale of Chamouni, I 
 turned to my pillow again, while my early dreams of the land of 
 the Swiss, with all the distinctness and freshness of their spring- 
 time, came back on rny memory. 
 
 1 have given the above particular account of my blistered feet, 
 and their cure, for the sake of those who may make pedestrian 
 excursions in the Alps. With the first symptoms of sore feet, the 
 application of brandy with tallow dropped in should be made, and 
 much suffering will be escaped. 
 
 Taking one evening a stroll down the valeof Chamouni, just as 
 the sun was tinging tlie Alpine summits with his farewell glories, 
 I came upon one of those unfortunate beings from whom the light 
 of reason has fled. Her hat was loaded down with wild flov/ers, 
 and grass, and sprigs of every description, while she v/as to^dng 
 v/ith a bunch of flowers she held in her hand. As I stood leaning 
 against a v/all, she came up and oifered me some, talking at the 
 same time in a patois made up apparently of a half dozen lan» 
 
16 ASCEXT 01 MONT BLAXC. 
 
 guagcs, scarcely a word of wliich I could understand. I declined 
 her liowers at first, but she pressed them on me till I took one, and 
 placing it among my collection, preserved it as a memento of Cha- 
 mouni. 
 
 The register of the English Hotel is loaded down with names 
 interspersed with every variety of remark, in poetry and prose ; 
 some grave, some gay, some sentimental, and some comical. The 
 following description of the ascent of Mont Blanc pleased me so 
 Much I copied it. 
 
 They talk of Helvellyn, Ben Lomond : all stuff! 
 Mont Blanc is the daisy for me sure enough, 
 For next to the Peek, in the county i\Iayo, 
 It bates all the mountains or hills that I know. 
 Who'd see Mont Blanc fairly must make the ascent^ 
 
 Although owld to look up was content : 
 
 I can tell owld T that as I mounted higher, 
 
 For one aigle h3 saw, I found three Lammergeyer. 
 
 I was up on the top, where, (1 tell you no lie) 
 
 I could count every rafter that howlds up the sky. 
 
 I wish to tell truth, and no more, tho' no less, 
 
 And its tirrihle height to corrictly express : 
 
 I should say if I had but a common balloon, 
 
 I could get in one hour v/ith all aise to the moon. 
 
 If ever you wish on that trip to set out, 
 
 You should start from the top of i\Iont Blanc without doubt .' 
 
 You'd find the way sure, and the chapest to boot. 
 
 Since you'd make such a dale of the journey on fool ; 
 
 Yet with one good, or tivo middling spy-glasses, 
 
 You could see from Mont Blanc every action that passes. 
 
 I per saved the last quarter quite plain through a fog, 
 
 Growing out o^\\\e first like a great moving bog. 
 
 In a country so subject to change, I'll be bail, 
 
 Some hints could be got of a fair sliding scah ; 
 
 That Peel should there go to enquire, I advise. 
 
 For I heartily wish him a flight to the skies. 
 
 But again to my subject : I say and repaie it, 
 
 Mont Blanc hates all things that were ever created* 
 
THE LAKERS 17 
 
 As I was determined new wonders to seek, 
 
 I went by a route that was somewhat unique : 
 
 By the great sea of ice, where I saw the big hole 
 
 Where Captain Ross wintered not far from the pole : 
 
 The Tropic of Cancer first lay on one side 
 
 Like a terrible crevice some forty feet wide : 
 
 Farther on I saw Greenland, as green as owld Dan, 
 
 But " Jardin," the guides called it, all to a man. 
 
 I didn't dispute, so we kept under weigh, 
 
 Till we come to the ind of the great icy say, 
 
 We saw the great mules " that congealed in a pop," 
 
 When Saussure and Belmet would ride to the top ; 
 
 Now nothing remains but the petrified bones, 
 
 Which mostly resembles a pair of big stones. 
 
 I brought my barometer, made by one Kayting, 
 
 For fear the weather would want rigulating ; 
 
 But the weight of the air at the top so incrased, 
 
 That the mercury sunk fourteen inches at Jaste. 
 
 Thin the cowld was so hot — tho' we didn't perspire — ■ 
 
 That we made water boil without any fire. 
 
 We fired off a gun, but the sound was so small, 
 
 That we doubted if truly it sounded at all ; 
 
 Which sraallness was caused (I towld my friend Harrison) 
 
 Alone by the size of Mont Blanc in comparison. 
 
 But to describe all the sights would require 
 
 Not powers like mine, but genius far higher : 
 
 Not Byron in verse, nor Scott in his prose. 
 
 Could give the laste notion of Blanc and his snows. 
 
 Indeed none should try it but one of the " Lakers,'^ 
 
 Who, if not great wits, are yet great undertakers : 
 
 And then, of all these, none could do it so well 
 
 As the wonderful author of great Peter Bell ; 
 
 For he to the summit could easily float 
 
 Without walking a step — " in his good little boat." 
 
 Next to him tlie great Southey, whose magical power 
 
 Paints the fight of the cat in the awful mice tower ; 
 
 Whose description in words of sublimity set, 
 
 Says " the summer and autumn had been so wet." 
 
LAST NIGHT IN CHAMOUNI. 
 
 'Tis spirits like these who are fit to attempt 
 The labour from which such as I are exempt. 
 
 Pat'k McSweeny. 
 
 But the last night in Chamouni came ; and as I stood and leaned 
 out of my wind)>i- in the moonlight, listening to the turbid Arveron 
 rolling its swollen current through the vale, suddenly a dull, heavy 
 sound, like the booming of distant cannon, rose on the night air. 
 An avalanche had fallen far up amid the Alpine solitudes. Noth- 
 ing can fill the soul with such strange, mysterious feelings as the 
 sound of avalanches falling at midnight, and alone, amid the Alps. 
 
VIEW FROM TETE NOIRE 19 
 
 IV. 
 
 PASS OF THE TETE NOIRE. 
 
 It may be from early association, or it may be that every one 
 has made a hero of Mont Blanc, but there is something about 
 that majestic form and those splintered pinnacles, standing like so 
 many helmeted sentinels around him ; and all that prodigality of 
 snow-fields and glaciers, that has left its impress on my memory 
 and heart for ever. And then that strangely silent, white, myste- 
 rious summit, bending its beautiful outline so far in the heavens, 
 seems to be above the turmoil at its base, and apparently 
 wrapped in its own majestic musings. I would have given any 
 thing to have placed my feet upon it and looked down on the 
 world below, but it was too early in the season to think of doing 
 it — indeed, it could not be done even by the chamois hunter, for 
 fresh snow had fallen every few days throughout the season. A 
 French lady, delicate and pale, wept in grief that she could not 
 make the ascent. 
 
 The afternoon we mounted our mules for the Tete Noire was 
 dark and overcast, and there was every appearance of an Alpine 
 storm. We had scarcely left the narrow valley and entered the 
 mule path among the mountains, before the blast began to sweep 
 by in gusts, till the fir trees rocked and roared over our heads. 
 Havir.g ascended at length above the region of trees, I turned to 
 catch a last view of Mont Blanc and his glorious mountain guard 
 before I entered the gloomy pass. There he stood with his snowy 
 helmet on, looking down on the vast glaciers that went streaming 
 into the valley below, and on the silent snow-fields stretching 
 away in every direction, and around on the wild chaos of moun- 
 tains that nature seemed to have piled there in some awful hurry 
 of passion. The scene was indescribable, for the feelings it 
 
20 ALPINE STORAI. 
 
 avrakened had no iixed character. An object of beauty would 
 stand beside an object of terror. A calm and soft snow-field that 
 looked in the distance as if it might be a slumbering place for 
 spirits, went creeping up to as savage a cliff as ever frowned over 
 an abyss; while the gentle mist, "like children gone to their even- 
 ing repose," slept here and there in chasms that seemed fit onl^ 
 as a place of rendezvous for the storm. Strangely wild and majes- 
 tic towered away those peaks on the vision. I gazed and gazed, 
 reluctant to say farewell to the wondrous scene. 
 
 Just then, a body of mist riding the mountain blast, swept over 
 us. veiling every thing in impenetrable gloom, while the rain be- 
 gan to descend in torrents. Sheltering ourselves under the pro- 
 jecting roof of a Swiss hut that stood a little removed from the 
 path, we waited awhile for the shower to pass over, but it was 
 like waiting for a river to run by — the clouds condensed faster 
 and faster, and the day grew darker and darker, till sudden night 
 seemed about to involve every thing. A feeling of dread crept over 
 me as we w heeled out again into the rain, and turned the drooping 
 and dripping heads of our mules towards the pass. I felt as if 
 we were on the threshold of some gloomy fate, and I defy any 
 one to keep up his spirits when hanging along the cliffs of an Al- 
 pine pass in the midst of a pelting Alpine storm. We spurred 
 on, however; now crawling over barren and desolate rocks, now 
 shooting out on to some projecting point that balanced over a deep 
 abyss filled with boiling mist, through which the torrent struggled 
 up with a muffled sound, — and now sinking into a black defile 
 through which the baffled storm went howling like a madman in 
 his cell. As I stood on a ledge, and listened to the war of the 
 elements around, suddenly through a defile that bent around a 
 distant mountain, came a cloud as black as night. Its forehead 
 was torn and rent by its fierce encounter with the cliffs, and it 
 came sweeping dov,n as if inherent with life and a will. It burst 
 over us, drenching us with rain, while the redoubled thunder 
 rolled and cracked among the cliSs like a thousand cannon-shot. 
 Every thing but my mule and the few feet of rock I occupied 
 would be hiddeu from my sight, and then would come a flash of 
 lightning, rending the robe of mist, as it shot athwart the gloom, 
 revealing a moment some black and heaven-high rock ; and then 
 
A CRUSHED HAMLET. 21 
 
 leaving all again as dark and impenetrable as ever. The path often 
 led along the face of the precipice, just wide enough for my mule ; 
 while the mist that was tossing in the abyss below, by concealing 
 its depth ; added inconceivably to its mystery and terror. Thus, 
 hour after hour, we toiled on, with every thing but the few feet 
 of rock we occupied shrouded in vapour, except when it now and 
 then rent over some cliff or chasm. I was getting altogether too 
 much of sublimity, and would have gladly exchanged my certainly 
 wild enough path for three or four miles of fair trotting ground. 
 But in spite of my drenched state, I could not but laugh now and 
 then as I saw my three companions and guide straggling along in 
 Indian file, and taking with such a meek, resigned air, the rain 
 on their bowed shoulders. 
 
 As we advanced towards the latter end of the pass, I was 
 startled as though I had seen an apparition. The mist, which for 
 a long time had enshrouded every thing, suddenly parted over a 
 distant mountain slope high up on the farther side of the gulf, and 
 a small Swiss hamlet, sm.iling amid the green pasturages, burst 
 on the vision. I had hardly time to utter an exclamation of sur- 
 prise before it closed again as before, blotting out every thing 
 from view. I could hardly believe my own senses, so suddenly 
 had the vision come and departed, and stood a long time wait- 
 ing its re-appearance. But it came no more — the stubborn mist 
 locked it in like the hand of fate. That little eagle-nested ham- 
 let, with its sweet pasturages, came and went like a flash of light- 
 ning, yet so distinct was the impression it m.ade, that I could now 
 almost paint it from memory. 
 
 Reaching the lower slope of the mountain, we passed a little 
 village utterly prostrate by an avalanche. The descending mass 
 of snow swept clean over it, carrying away church and all. It 
 looked as if some mighty hand had been spread out over the dwell- 
 ings, and crushed them with a single effort to the earth. It was 
 one scene of ruin and devastation; yet strange to say, though the 
 avalanche fell in the night, only two or three persons were killed. 
 In riding along it was fearful to see where an avalanche had 
 swept, bending down strong trees, as though they were reeds, in 
 its passage. 
 
 Soaked through, worn out and depressed, I was glad when ti t 
 
22 TETE NOIRE. 
 
 gloomy path around the Tete Xoire (black head) opened into day- 
 light ; and the blazing pine lire that was soon kindled up in a dry 
 room, \va^ as welcome as the face of a friend. The only relic I 
 brought away from this pass was an Alpine rose, which my guide 
 plucked from among the rocks, where it lay like a ruby amid sur- 
 rounding rubbish. 
 
 In looking over this description, I see I have utterly failed in 
 giving any adequate conception of the scenery. One would get 
 the impression that there was a single defile, dark and narrow, 
 and nothing more. But when it is remembered that we started 
 at nine, and emerged from the dark forest of Tete Noire at three ; 
 one can imagine the variety of scenery that opened like con- 
 stant surprises upon us. Now we would be climbing a steep 
 mountain — now plunging into a dark gorge filled with boiling 
 mist — now hanmnor aloncr a cliff, that in its turn hun^ over an al- 
 
 ODD' O 
 
 most bottomless chasm — now stretching across some sweet pastu- 
 rage — nov/ following a torrent in its desperate plunge through the 
 rocks, and now picking our careful way through as gloomy a 
 forest as ever enclosed a robber's den. I do not know how it 
 may appear in pleasant weather, but the pass of the Tete Noire 
 in the midst of an Alpine storm :s not a pleasure jaunt. 
 
BATHS OF LEUK. 33 
 
 V. 
 
 BATHS OF LEUK 
 
 In coming from the Simplon up the Vallais to Geneva, one passes 
 the baths of Leuk, a little removed from the Rhone. This ham- 
 let, elevated 4500 feet above the level of the sea, is shut in by a 
 circular precipice that surrounds it like a mighty wall, up which 
 you are compelled to climb in steps cut in the face of the solid 
 rock. Its hot springs are visited during the summer months by 
 the French and Swiss for their healing effects. It is something 
 of a task, as one can well imagine, to get an invalid up to these 
 baths. The transportation is entirely by hand, and the term-s are 
 regulated by the director of the baths. These regulations are 
 printed in French, and one relating to corpulent persons struck 
 me so comically that I give a translation of it. 
 
 " For a person over ten years of age four porters are necessary ; if he is 
 above the ordinary weight, six porters ; but if he is of an extraordinary weight, 
 and the commissary judges proper, two others may be added, but never more." 
 
 There are some dozen springs in all, the principal one of which, 
 the St. Lawrence, has a temperature of 124 deg. Fahrenheit, 
 The mode of bathing is entirely unique, and makes an American 
 open his eyes, at first, in unfeigned astonishment. The patient 
 begins by remaining in the bath the short space of one hour, and 
 goes on increasing the time till he reaches eight hours ; four before 
 breakfast and four after dinner. After each bath of four hours' 
 duration, the doctor requires one hour to be passed in bed. This 
 makes in all ten hours per day to the poor patient, leaving him 
 little time for any thing else. To obviate the tediousness of soak- 
 ing alone four hours in a private bath, the patients all bathe 
 
»4 MANNER 01 BATHING. 
 
 together. A large shed divided into four compartments, each 
 capable of holding about eighteen persons, constitutes the princi- 
 pal bath house. A slight gallery is built along the j artitions 
 dividing the several baths, for visitors to occupy who wish to enjoy 
 the company of their friends, without the inconvenience of lying 
 in the water. This is absolutely necessary, for if eight hours 
 are to be passed in the bath and two in bed, and the person 
 enduring all this is to be left alone in the mean time, the life of 
 an anchorite would be far preferable to it. It is solitary confine- 
 ment in the penitentiary, with the exception that the cell is a 
 watery one. All the bathers, of both sexes and all ages and con- 
 ditions, are clothed in long woollen mantles with a tippet around 
 their shoulders, and sit on benches ranged round the bath, under 
 water up to their necks. Stroll into this large bathing room 
 awhile after dinner, the first thing that meets your eye is some 
 dozen or fifteen heads bobbing up and down, like buoys, on the 
 surface of the steaming water. There, wagging backwards and 
 forwards, is the shaven crown of a fat old friar. Close beside, 
 the glossy ringlets of a fair maiden, while between, perhaps, is 
 the moustached face of an invalid officer. In another direction, 
 gray hairs are " floating on the tide," and the withered faces of 
 old dames peer " over the flood." But to sit and soak a whole 
 day, even in company, is no slight penalty, and so to while away 
 the lazy hours, one is engaged in reading a newspaper which he 
 holds over his head, another in discussing a bit of toast on a float- 
 ing table ; a third, in keeping a withered nosegay, like a water- 
 lily, just above the surface, while it is hard to tell which looks 
 most dolorous, the withered flowers or her face. In one corner 
 two persons are engaged in playing chess ; and in another, three 
 or four more, with their chins just out of water, are enjoying a 
 pleasant " tete-a-tete" about the delectability of being under 
 Mater, seething away at a temperature of nearly 120 deg., eight 
 liours per day. Persons making their daily calls on their fi iends 
 are entering and leaving the gallery, or leaning over engaged in 
 earnest conversation with those below them. Not much etiquette 
 is observed in leave-taking, for if the patient should attempt a 
 bow he would duck his head under water. Laughable as this 
 may seem, it is nevertheless a grave matter, and r 9 one would 
 
A CURIOUS VILLAGE. 25 
 
 submit to it except for health, that boon for which the circle of 
 the world is made, the tortures of amputation endured, and the 
 wealth of the millionaire squandered. The strictest decorum is 
 preserved, and every breach of propriety punished by the worthy 
 burgomaster with a fine of two francs or thirty-seven and a half 
 cents. A set of regulations is hung against the walls specifying 
 the manner with which every patient is to conduct himself or 
 herself. — As specimens, I give articles 7 and 9, which will also 
 be found in Mr. Murray's guide book. 
 
 " Art. 7. Persoune ne peut entrer dans ]es bains sans etre revetue d'une 
 chemise longue, et ample, d'une etofFe grossiere, sous peine de 2 fr. d'amende." 
 
 " Art. 9. La meme peine sera encouir par ceux qui n'en entreraient pas, 
 ou n'en sortiraient pas d'une maniere decente." 
 
 Translation. Art. 7. No one is permitted to enter these baths without be- 
 ing clothed in a long, ample, and thick " chemise" under the penalty of a fme 
 of 2 francs. 
 
 Art. 9. The same penalty will be incurred by those who do not enter or de- 
 part in a becoming manner. 
 
 Great care is taken that every thing should be done " decently 
 and in order," and there is nothing to prevent people from beha- 
 ving themselves while sitting on benches under water as well as 
 above water. 
 
 About a mile and a half from these baths is the little village of 
 Albinen, perched on the top of the precipice that hems in the 
 valley of Leuk on every side like a huge wall. The only direct 
 mode of communication between the inhabitants of Leuk and this 
 village is by a series of nearly a dozen ladders going up the face 
 of the precipice. They are of the rudest kind, and fastened to 
 the rock with hooked sticks. Yet the peasants ascend and descend 
 them all times of the day and night and at all seasons of the year 
 The females have added to their usual dress the pantaloons of the 
 men. This has become so universal, that in climb Jig the momi- 
 lains around, they tuck up their dresses, and appear at a little 
 distance like boys. Thus do these rude peasantry, following the 
 instincts of nature and modesty, c^Dmbine convenience and pro- 
 priety, and retain their fashions from one generation to another. 
 It is said that pantalets had their origin here. 
 
CASTLE OF CHILLOX 
 
 VL 
 
 THE CASTLE OF CHILLOX. GENEVA. JUNG 
 TIOX OF THE RHONE AND ARTE. 
 
 The night after we left ^Manigny. we slept on the shores of 
 Lake Geneva, in close view of Cbillon. This Castle has become 
 immortal by accident. In passing round Lake Geneva, in 1816, 
 Byron got caught in a rain-storm, and remained two days in the 
 little village of Ochy. in a mere hut of an inn. Having nothing 
 else to do, he wrote in the mean time, " The Prisoner of Chillon," 
 the characters of which poem lived only in his own imagination. 
 At that time he was even unacquainted with the story of Bonni- 
 rard; which might have been made the basis of a very beautiful 
 poem. When he afterwards heard of it. he wrote a sonnet on the 
 noble prior of Victor, in which he says : 
 
 '•' Chill on I thy prison is a holy place, 
 
 And thy sad floor an altar : for "twas trod 
 
 Until its very steps have left a trace 
 Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod. 
 By Bonnivard ! May none those marks eSd.ce I 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God.'' 
 
 I regard the "Prisoner of ChClon" one of the most beautiful 
 pieces Byron ever wrote. It has all his passion 5ind fancy, with- 
 out any of his wickedness. It is tender, touching and beautiful, 
 and ought to make any place immortal. Yet I confess that the 
 old castle standing on a rock in the lake did not owe its chief 
 charm to me from this poem. I thought of the patriot Bonni- 
 vard, who suffered here for endeavouring to make Geneva free. 
 A freeman, and loving freedom more than life, he withstood, 
 though only Prior of St. Victor, the tyrannical Duke of Savoy and 
 
BONNIVARD." 27 
 
 his own heartless Bishop. Driven from Geneva, he was betray- 
 ed into the hands of the Duke, and cast into a dungeon of this 
 castle, below the surface of the lake. Chained to a column of 
 stone, the bold-hearted Prior passed six long years in solitary con- 
 finement. The ring still remains in the pillar to which his chain 
 was attached, and the solid pavement is worn in, by the constant 
 tread of his feet as he paced to and fro in his dungeon. The 
 only music that greeted his ear, year after year, was the low dash- 
 ing of the waters against his prison walls, or the shock of the 
 waves as the tempest hurled them on the steadfast castle. Year 
 after year he trod the self-same spot, while the iron rusted on his 
 stiffening lim.bs, and hope grew fainter and fainter round his 
 heart. He struggled to free others, and got a chain upon his own 
 limbs. But he had one consolation, that which cheers the mar- 
 tyr in every age and in every noble cause : that was — 
 
 " Truth crushed to earth will rise again, 
 The eternal years of God are hers." 
 
 At length, one day, as he was slowly pacing to and fro in his si- 
 lent dungeon, he heard a murmur without, like the coming of a 
 storm. The castle quivered on its strong foundations, but it could 
 not be from the waves against its sides. He listened again ; 
 there were human voices in the air, and the shout of a multitude 
 shook the very rock on which he stood. A deeper paleness spread 
 over Bonnivard's cheek, and then a sudden flush shot to his tem- 
 ples as hope kindled in his heart. Blows are mingled with the 
 shouts — the crash of falling timbers is heard — the outer gate is 
 forced, and like the blast of a trumpet rings over the storm the 
 name of " Bonnivard ! Bonnivaed !" Nothing can withstand 
 the excited throng. Bolts and bars rend before them — the gates 
 shake, totter and fall. At length they reach Bonnivard's dun- 
 geon, against which blows are rained like hail stones. The mas- 
 sive gate quivers and yields and falls, and a thousand v ices rend 
 the very walls with the shout — ^' Bonnivard, you ari^ free !" 
 What said the patriot then ? Forgetful of himself — of his own 
 freedom — thinking only of his country, he cried out — 
 
 "And Geneva?" 
 
 " Is FREE TOO !" came back like the roar of the sea. The 
 
28 ROUSSEAU. 
 
 Swiss had wrested from the baands of Charles V. of Savoy the whole 
 Pays du Vaud. Chillon held out to the iist ; but besieged by 7,000 
 Swiss by land, and the Genevese gallies by sea, it was at length 
 talcen. It was like waking up from a dream to Bonnivard. 
 When he descended into his dungeon, Geneva was subject to the 
 Duke of Savoy, and was a Catholic State. When he came forth, 
 Geneva was free, a republic, and professing the reformed faith. 
 
 Byron has made free use of the poet's privilege to exaggerate, 
 in speaking of the depth of the lake. He says : — 
 
 " Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls — 
 A thousand feet in depth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow : 
 Thus much the fathom line was sent, 
 From Ciiillon's snow-white battlement." 
 
 A poet should never go into statistics of this sort, for other folks 
 can measure as well as he, though they may not write poetry. 
 There is no place in the region of the castle more than 280 
 feet deep. 
 
 I will not weary one with the mere names of the beautiful 
 places and views around this sweet lake. The sentimentalist 
 would talk of Clarens and Rousseau and his Julie ; the sceptic, 
 of Voltaire and Ferney : but I visited neither place, having no 
 sympathy with the morbid, sickly, and effeminate sentimentality 
 of the one, or with the heartless scoffing wit of the other. The 
 garden in which Gibbon finished his history of Rome is shown at 
 Lausanne. He first conceived the idea of his history while sit- 
 ting on a broken column in the Coliseum, and ended it on the 
 banks of Lake Geneva. He says : " It was on the day or rathei 
 the night of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 
 that I wrote the last line of the last page, in a summer-house in 
 my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in 
 a berceau or covered walk of acacias, which commands a pros- 
 pect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air wag 
 lemperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was re- 
 flected from the waves, and all nature was silent." This re- 
 markable passage throws open the feelings of the inner man at 
 *he close of his arduous work. Is it not strange that a man of 
 
GIBBON. d^ 
 
 such intellect and sentiment should see no God in history or na- 
 ture ? In the ruins of Rome at his feet, surmounted every where 
 by tlie cross, he could see nothing but the work of human pas- 
 sions and human cunning. So in the placid lake, smiling in the 
 moonlight ; and in tiie towering Alps folding their mighty summits 
 away on the nightly heavens, he could behold nothing but the as- 
 pect of nature. To him the world had no plan or purpose, and 
 the busy centuries no mission or meaning. The heavens and the 
 earth were a mere poem — the history of man a short episode — 
 and both an accident. How a man with such views could give 
 himself up to the contemplations Gibbon did, and escape suicide, 
 is a mystery to me. I could not live in such a planless, aimless 
 creation. Give me no steady centre to these mighty mutations — • 
 no stable throne amid these rocking kingdoms and shaking orbs — 
 no clear and controlling mind to this wild chaos of ideas and pas- 
 sions — no great and glorious result to all this mysterious and aw- 
 ful preparation, — and Reason herself would become as wild and 
 confused and aimless as they. A great mind, without a God, is 
 to me the most melancholy thing in the universe. 
 
 Lake Geneva lies in the shape of a half-moon with the horns 
 curved towards the South, and is the largest lake in Switzer- 
 land, being 55 miles long. It has one strange phenomenon. In 
 different parts of it, but more frequently near Geneva, the water 
 suddenly rises, at times, from two to five feet. It never remains 
 in this position more than 25 minutes, when it again falls back to 
 its original level. These are called seiches, and the only expla- 
 nation given of them is the unequal pressure of the atmosphere 
 on the surface at different times. This, however, is mere con- 
 jecture. 
 
 But the shores constitute the beauty of Lake Geneva. Sloping 
 down to the water's edge, covered with villas, villages, and culti- 
 vated fields, and hallowed by such sweet as well as stirring asso- 
 ciations, it seems more like a dream-land than a portion of our 
 rough earth. There is an atmosphere, an influence, a something 
 around it that takes the heart captive at once, and the lips will 
 
 ' Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake 
 With the wild world I dwell in, is a thing 
 
30 CALVIN 
 
 Which warns rae, v.'ith its stillness, to forsake 
 Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring : 
 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To waft me from destruction ; once I loved 
 Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
 Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved 
 That I with stern delights should e'er have been thus moved. 
 
 It is the hush of night, and all between 
 Tiiy margin and the mountains, dusk yet clear. 
 Mellowed and mingled, yet distinctly seen, 
 Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear 
 Precipitously steep ; and drawing near 
 There breathes a living fragrance from the shore 
 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
 Drops the light di'ip of the suspended oar, 
 Or chirps the grasshopper one good night carol more. 
 
 At intervals some bird from out the brakes 
 Star's into life a moment, then is still ; 
 There seems a floating whisper on the hill. 
 But that is fancy, — for the starlight dews 
 All silently their tears of Icve instil, 
 Weeping themselves away." 
 
 i'et quiet and dreamy as these shores appear, stern practical 
 men have lived upon them, and the name of Calvin goes down 
 with that of Geneva and Switzerland in the history of the world. 
 Calvin and Rousseau ! what a strange connection ; yet they are 
 linked together in the history of Geneva. The church still stands 
 v>'here the itinerant preacher and foreigner first thundered forth 
 his denunciations against the dissolute tov/n. Elevated to the 
 control of the republic, he was just the man to sway its turbulent 
 democracy. Stern, fearless, and decided, he marked out his 
 course of policy, and made every thing brnd to it. Take even 
 some of the most arbitrary of his enactments, and they show the 
 clear-sightedness of the man. Among them we find that only 
 five dishes were allowed for a dinner to ten persons. Plush 
 breeches were forbidden to be worn ; violation of the Sabbath 
 was punished by a public admonition from the pulpit, and adul- 
 tery with death ; while the gamester was exposed in the pillory, 
 with a pack of cards suspended round his neck. These thinga 
 
JUNCTION OF THE RHINE AND ARVE. 31 
 
 awaken a smile or sneer in these more liberal days, but whoever 
 shall write the last history of republics will prove that such ap- 
 parently bigoted enactment:^, sprung out of the clearest practical 
 wisdom. A republic without tiie severity of Puri an manner, I 
 believe impossible for any length of time ; that is while men are 
 <>o depraved they will use their liberty for the gratification of their 
 passions. The (so called) "straight-laced Puritan" is, after all, 
 the only man v>lio knows anything of the true genius of a repub- 
 lic among men such as we find them. Calvin and Rousseau ! 
 which, after all, was the true republican ? the sentimental dream- 
 er or the stern Presbyterian ? These two names stand in Geneva 
 like great indexes, pointing out the characters of the 30,000 per- 
 sons who annually pass through it, by showing which way their 
 sympathies flow. One portion looks on Calvin to sneer, the other 
 on Rousseau to sigh. 
 
 The deep blue tint of the waters of the Rhone as it leaves the 
 lake has often been commented upon. As it rushes under the 
 bridges of the town, it looks as if a vast quantity of indigo had 
 been emptied into it, tinging it as I have seen water in no other 
 part of the world. About a mile and a half from town, this stream 
 of '• heavenly dye" receives the turbid waters of the Arve into its 
 bosom. The Arve is a furious stream, and comes pouring down 
 from Mont Blanc, loaded with the debris of the mountains, till 
 it looks like a river of mud. When the clear blue Rhone first 
 meets this rash innovator of its purity, it refuses to hold any com- 
 panionship with it, and retires in apparent disgust to the opposite 
 bank, and for a long way the waters flow on with the separating 
 line between the muddy white and pellucid blue, as clearly drawn 
 as the shore itself. But the Arve finally conquers, and fuses all 
 its corrupt waters into the Rhone, which never after recovers its 
 clearness till it falls into the sea. I followed the bank along 
 for some distance, watching with the intensest interest this strug- 
 gle between corruption and purity. There was an angry, rash, 
 and headlong movement to the turbid Arve, while the stainless 
 waters of the Rhone seemed endeavouring, by yielding, to escape 
 the contagious touch of its companion. What a striking emblem 
 of the steady encroachment of bad principles and desires when 
 once admitted into the 'aeart, or of the corrupting influence of 
 
32 JUNCTION OF THE RHINE AND ARVE. 
 
 bad companionship on a pure mind. The Arve, for the tim? 
 being, seemed endowed with consciousness, and a feeling of 
 anger involuntarily arose within me at its unblushing effrontery 
 in thus crowding back the beautiful Rhone from its own banks, 
 and forcing it to receive its disgusting embrace. The world is 
 ^uU of histories of which the Rhone and Arve are the type. 
 
FREYBOURG ORGAN. 33 
 
 YII. 
 
 FREYBOURG ORGAN AND BRIDGES.- SWISS 
 PECULIARITIES. 
 
 Nothing strikes the traveller more than the peculiar customs 
 attached to the separate cantons of Switzerland. Although bor- 
 dering on each other, and each but a few miles across, yet they 
 retain from generation to generation their own peculiar dress and 
 money. The traveller becomes perfectly confused with the latter. 
 The dress of the female peasantry is not only dissimilar in the dif- 
 ferent cantons, but odd as it well can be. In one, the head-dress 
 will be an immensely broad-brimmed straw hat, without any per- 
 ceptible crown ; in another a man's hat ; in a third a diminutive 
 thing perched on the top of the head ; and in a fourth a black 
 crape cap, with wings on either side projecting out like huge fans. 
 The latter you find in Freybourg, and this reminds me of the two 
 magnificent wire bridges in the town itself, and the immense or- 
 gan. The latter has 7800 pipes, some of them 32 feet long, and 
 64 stops. It is an instrument of tremendous power, and though 
 the traveller is compelled to pay eleven francs to hear it on a week- 
 day, it is worth the money. At first, one imagines a trick is 
 played upon him, and that a full orchestra accompanies the or- 
 gan. The mellow tones melt in and float away with the heavier 
 notes, as if a band of musicians were playing out of sight. Many 
 refuse to believe it is not a deception till they go up and examine 
 every part of the instrument. The efTect is perfectly bewildering. 
 There is the trombone, the clarionet, the flute, the fife, and ever 
 and anon, the clear ringing note of the trumpet. The perform- 
 ance is closed with an imitation of a thunder storm, in which the 
 wonderful power of the instrument is fully tested. At first you 
 
84 THE TWO SUSPENSION BRIDGES. 
 
 hear the low distant growl swelling up, and then slowly d^'ing 
 away. The next peal breaks on ll)e ear with a more distinct and 
 threatening sound. Nearer and nearer rolls up the thunder-cloud, 
 sending its quick and heavy discharges through the atmosphere, 
 till clap follows clap with stunning rapidity, rolling and crashing 
 through the building till its solid arches tremble as if the real 
 thunders of heaven were bursting overhead. I did not dream 
 that a single instrument could possess so much power. 
 
 There are two suspension bridges in Freybourg ; one remark- 
 able for its great length, the other for its extreme beauty. The 
 latter connects the top of two mountains, swinging over a fright- 
 ful gulf that makes one dizzy to look down into. There are no 
 buttresses or mason-work in sight at a little distance. Shafts are 
 sunk in the solid rock of the mountains, down whicb the wires that 
 sustain it are dropped. There it stretches, a mere black line near- 
 ly 300 feet in the heavens, from summit to summit. It looks like 
 a spider's web flung across a chasm ; its delicate tracery show- 
 ing clear and distinct against the sky. While you are looking at 
 the fairy creation suspended in mid-heaven, almost expecting the 
 next breeze will waft it away, you see a heavy wagon driven on 
 it. You shrink back with horror at the rashness that could trust 
 so frail a structure at that dizzy height. But the air-hung cob- 
 web sustains the pressure, and the vehicle passes in safety. In- 
 deed, weight steadies it, while the wind, as it sweeps down the 
 gulf, makes it swing under you. 
 
 The large suspension bridge is supported on four cables of iron 
 wire, each one composed of 1,056 wires. As the Menai bridge of 
 Wales is often said to be longer than this, I give the dimensions 
 of both as I find them in Mr. Murray : Freybourg, length 905 
 feet, height 174 feet, breadth 28 feet ; Menai, length 580 feet, 
 heiglit 130 feet, breadth 25 feet. A span of 905 feet, without any 
 intermediate pier, seems impossible at first, and one needs the tes- 
 timony of his own eyes before he can fully believe it. 
 
 But to the customs of the Swiss. I do not speak of them here 
 because I have witnessed them all thus far on my route, or in any 
 part of it, but because they seem to fill out a chapter best just 
 here. Of some of these customs I speak as an eye-witness — of 
 others simply as a historian. There is one connected with edu- 
 
THE ALP HORN. 35 
 
 cation which exerts a wonderful influence on society. In the 
 large towns the children of similar age and sex are gathered to- 
 gether by their parents in little societies called societies des dinian- 
 dies. T.hese little clubs are composed of twelve or fourteen chil- 
 dren, selected by the parents with a view to their adaptedness to 
 amuse and benefit each other. They meet in turn at the houses 
 of the difTerent parents every Sabbath evening. Their nurses are 
 with them, and the time is spent in amusements common to chil- 
 dren. As they grow older these amusements are combined with 
 instruction. This kind of intimacy creates strong friendships 
 which last long after they are dispersed and scattered over the 
 world, and even through life. Girls thus linked together in child- 
 hood retain their affection in maturer life, and even in womanhood 
 distinguish each other by the tender appellations of ^^ ma mignon- 
 ne" ^^ mon coRur,^^ ^'-mon ange."" This is one great reason why 
 Swiss society is so exclusive, and it is so difficult for a stranger 
 to press beyond its mere fornialities. The rank of the husband 
 in Switzerland depends altogether upon that of his wife. Imme- 
 diately on their marriage he steps into her rank, be it above or 
 below that which he formerly occupied. 
 
 There has been much written about Swiss melodies; and the 
 custom of singing in the open air, in that clear high falsetto is 
 singularly wild and thrilling. The cow herds and dairy maids 
 seem never weary of mingling their voices together in the clear 
 mountain air of the Alps. The effect of it on the traveller is of- 
 ten astonishing. Southey, in speaking of it, says, " Surely the 
 wildest chorus that was ever heard by human ears : a song not 
 of articulate sounds, but in which the voice is used as a mere in- 
 strument of music, more flexible than any v/hich art could pro- 
 duce ; sweet, powerful and thrilling beyond description." The 
 Alp horn, which is merely a tube of wood five or six feet long, 
 bound about with birch bark, is capable of the most melodious 
 sound, when softened and prolonged by the mountain echoes, I 
 ever heard. 
 
 Nothing in my boyhood captivated my imagination more than 
 the custom which was said to prevail in Switzerland, of the peas- 
 antry calling out to each other, as the last sunlight left the highest 
 Alpine peak, — " Praise the Lord." But it loses some of its poe. 
 
S( VESPERS IX THE ALPS, 
 
 try heard on the spot. It is confined to the more rude and pastoral 
 districts in tlie Catholic cantons. Having no church near to ring 
 the accustomed vesper bell, its place is supplied by the Alp horn. 
 A cowherd stationed on the highest peaks reclines along some 
 rock, and as the golden sunlight leaves the last heaven-piercing 
 snow. summit, he utters through his mellow horn the first five or 
 six notes of the psalm commencing '•' Praise ye the Lord." The 
 strain is caught up and prolonged by the mountain echoes and 
 answered from other distant peaks, till the soul-thrilling cadences 
 seem to die away on the portals of heaven. The tonesof the horn 
 are indescribably sweet and subduing, awaking all the dormant 
 poetry of a man's nature. But the custom which once seemed to 
 me to be the very embodiment of religion and poetry together, ap- 
 peared, after all, a very business-like and prosaic matter. It be- 
 ing necessary to carry out the Catholic observance, a horn is sub- 
 stituted for the vesper bell, which one hears ringing every evening 
 in Catholic countries for the same purpose. There is just as 
 much religion in the call of the muezzin from the minaret of some 
 Moslem tower, v.hich one hears at every turn in Turkey. Nay 
 this very custom, which has been more spoken of, more poetized, 
 perhaps, than all others, prevails in some parts of our own country. 
 I remember being in my grown-up boyhood once in an Indian 
 missionary station of the Methodist denomination, where a similar 
 expedient was adopted. Strolling at evening along the banks of 
 a stream, I suddenly heard the prolonged blast of a horn sou.nJ- 
 ing very much like a dinner horn. Its long continuance at that 
 time of night awakened my curiosity, and on inquiring the cause 
 of it, I was informed it was to call the Indians to prayer meeting. 
 A conch shell had supplied the place of a bell. Bending my own 
 steps thither, I arrived just in time to find a low school-house 
 crowded with dusky visages, while the whole m^ultitude was sing- 
 ing at the top of their voices " Old ship Zion." Here was the 
 Alpine custom on which so much sentiment has been expended, 
 but combined with vastly more sense and religion. 
 
 At the sound of this vesper bell, alias Alp horn, the peasants 
 uncover their heads, and falling on their knees repeat their even- 
 mg prayers, and then shut up their cattle and retire to theif 
 homes. 
 
RANZ DES VACHES. 37 
 
 The " Ranz des Vaches," which is commonly supposed to be a 
 single air, stands in Switzerland for a class of melodies, the lite- 
 ral meaning of which is coio-rows. The German word is Kurei- 
 hen — rows of cows. It derives its origin from the manner the 
 cows march home along the Alpine paths at milking time. The 
 shepherd goes before, keeping every straggler in its place by the 
 tones of his horn, while the whole herd wind along in Indian file 
 obedient to the call. From its association it always creates 
 home-sickness in a Swiss mountaineer when he hears it in a for- 
 eign land. It is said these melodies are prohibited in the Swiss 
 regiments attached to the French army because it produces so 
 many desertions. One of the ^' Eanz des Vaches^' brings back to 
 his imagination his Alpine cottage — the green pasturage — the 
 bleating of his mountain goats — the voices of the milk-maids, and 
 all the sweetness and innocence of a pastoral life ; till his heart 
 turns with a sad yearning to the haunts of his childhood and the 
 spot of his early dreams and early happiness. 
 
 The Swiss retain their old fondness for rifle shooting, and there 
 is annually a grand riflle match at some of the large towns, made 
 up of the best marksmen in all Switzerland. There are also 
 yearly contests in wrestling called Zwing Feste, the most distin- 
 guished wrestlers at which are from Unterwalden, Appenzel and 
 Berne. Goitre and Cretinism prevail in some parts of the Alps 
 to a fearful extent, and have prevailed for ages if we can believe 
 Juvenal, who asks — 
 
 " Qiiis tumidum guttur miratur in Alpibus ?" 
 
 Goitre, it is well known, is a swelling of the thyroid gland or ad- 
 joining parts in front of the neck. It increases with years and 
 hangs down on the breast in a most disgusting and shocking man- 
 ner. The painful spectacle almost destroys one's pleasure in 
 travelling in many parts of the Alps. Cretinism inhabits the 
 same localities, and is still more painful, for it affects the mind. 
 The limbs become shrivelled and shrunk, the head enlarged, and 
 the afflicted being an idiot. He sits in the sun all day long, and 
 as you approach clamours piteously for money. Dr. McClelland 
 made experiments over a territory of more than a thousand square 
 miles, to test the effect of certain localities on this disease. Mr, 
 
 14 
 
36 GOITRE CRETINIM. 
 
 Murray quotes from him the following statement showing the pro- 
 portion between the healthy and sick : as the result of his obser- 
 vation, 
 
 Granite and gneiss — goitre 1-500 ; cretins none. 
 
 Mica slate and hornblende slate — goitre none ; cretins none. 
 
 Clay slate — goitre 1-136; cretins none. 
 
 Transition slate — goitre 1-149 ; cretins none. 
 
 Steatic sandstone — goitre none ; cretins none. 
 
 Calcareous rock — goitre 1-3 ; cretins 1-32. 
 
 Thus it is seen that low and moist places are more subject to 
 these diseases, w-hile the high and dry portions are comparatively 
 exempt. Confined vallies and ground frequently overflowed are 
 also unfavorable localities. The goitre is hereditary, but does 
 not make its appearance till puberty. It is more common among 
 the females than males. 
 
 How singular it is that among the most glorious scenery on the 
 earth, we find man subject to a disease that deforms him the most. 
 And what is still more singular, it is among the most beautiful 
 vallies in all the Alps that the inhabitants are peculiarly subject 
 to these diseases. Thus beauty and deformity go hand in hand 
 over the world. 
 
SCENERY ABOUT INTERLACHEN 3a 
 
 YIIL 
 
 INTERLACHEN, PASS OF THE WENGERN ALP, 
 BYRON^S MANFRED. 
 
 Intehlachen is as sweet a valley as ever slept in the bosoiT. of 
 nature. At a little distance from it, Lake Thun, with its placid 
 sheet of water, stretches up towards Berne, serving as a mirror to 
 the snow-peaks of Stockhorn, Wiesen, Eigher and Monch, that 
 rise in solemn majesty from its quiet shore. An English yacnt 
 has been turned into a steamboat, whose tiny proportions remind 
 one more of a slender model in a toy-shop than a real practical 
 steamboat. 
 
 Interiachen seems out of the world, and its retired position and 
 magnificent scenery have- converted it into an English colony: for 
 two-thirds of the sum.mer visitors are Englishmen. All the 
 houses seem " pensions" or boarding houses, and with their white- 
 Vv^ashed walls and large piazzas burst on you at every step from 
 amid the surrounding trees. Set back in the bosom of the Alps, 
 with the Jungfrau rising in view — its endless rides and shaded 
 walks make it one of the sweetest spots in the world. And then 
 in summer, the contrast between th.e richly clad visitors that swarm 
 it in every direction, and the rustic appearance of the peasantry 
 and the place itself, make it seem more like a dream-land. Near 
 by are the ruins of the castle of Unspunnen, the reputed resi- 
 dence of Manfred. Standing as it does in the very midst of the 
 scenery in which that drama is laid, Byron doubtless had it in 
 mind when he wrote it. Near by, in the quiet valley, there are 
 every year gymnastic games among the peasantry, such as wrest- 
 ling, })ilching the stone, &c. These games owed their origin to 
 a touching incident in the history of Burkhard, the last male de- 
 
40 THE GORGE OF LUTSCHIXE. 
 
 ecendant of the family who owned the castle. A young knight 
 belonirinn- to the court of Berchtold of Zahrino-en fell in love with 
 Ida, tlie only daughter of the proud Burkhard ; but as a deadly^ 
 feud had long subsisted between the two families, the old baron 
 sternly refused his consent to the marriage. The result was that 
 the young Rudolph scaled the castle walls one night, and, carry- 
 ing off the willing Ida, made her his bride. A bloody war com- 
 menced, which was carried on without advantage to either party. 
 At length, one day, as the old baron was sitting moodily in his 
 room, pondering on his desolate condition, the door gently opened, 
 and young Rudolph and Ida stood before him, holding their beau- 
 tiful and fair-haired boy by the hand. Without attendants, alone 
 and unarmed, they had thrown themselves in simple faith, on the 
 strength of a father's love. The silent appeal was irresistible. 
 The old man opened his arms, and his children fell in tears on 
 his bosom. He received them into his castle, made Rudolph heir 
 1.0 his vast possessions, and said, " Let this day be forever cele- 
 brated among us." Rustic games w^ere established in conse- 
 quence, and now, wdth every return of the day, tlie sweet valley 
 of Interlachen rings with the mirth of the mountaineer. 
 
 It was a dark and gloomy morning when we started for Lau- 
 terbrunnen. An Alpine storm swept through the valley, and the 
 heaving, lifting clouds buried the snow-peaks around in impene- 
 trable mist, leavincr only the black bases in sio-ht. The rain 
 fell as if the clouds themselves were falling. 
 
 In the midst of this storm we plunged into the savage gorge of 
 the Lutschine, and entered upon a scene of indescribable gran- 
 deur and gloom. Perpendicular cliffs rose on each side, against 
 which the angry clouds were dashing in reckless energy, wliile 
 the black . torrent of the Lutschine went roaring by, flinging its 
 spray even to our carriage wheels. As v,e emerged into the val- 
 ley of Lauterbrunnen, a peasant girl came to the side of the car- 
 riage, with a little basket of strawberries in her hand, and trotted 
 along by our side, singing one of those strangely wild Alpine 
 chorusses, made doubly so by the clear, ringir.g falsetto tone in 
 which they are sung. At Lauterbrunnen we breakfasted in a 
 cold room. I ate with my cloak on, stopping now and then to 
 warm my hands over the tea-pot. Suddenly a burst of sunlight 
 
FALLS OF STAIBACH. 41 
 
 told us the storm had broken. A general " hurra !" hailed the 
 cheering omen, and in a moment al] was bustle and preparation 
 for a march over the Wengern Alp. 
 
 Nearly 20 miles were before us, and to be made at the rate 
 of about two and a half miles per hour. I let my companions 
 march on, while I paid a hasty visit to the falls of Staubach, 
 (dust-fall) so named because the water, falling from the height 
 of 800 or 900 feet, is dashed into mist before it reaches the bot- 
 tom. It comes leaping right over the top of the mountain in its 
 bold, desperate plunge for the valley. Byron, in describing it, 
 says, " The torrent is in shape, curling over the rock, like the 
 tail of a white horse streaming in the wind ; such as it might be 
 conceived would be that of the pale horse on which Death is 
 mounted in the Apocalypse. It is neither mist nor water : but 
 something between both. Its immense height gives it a wave or 
 curve — a spreading here and a condensation there — wonderful 
 and indescribable." After getting pretty well soaked in its 
 spray, I plucked a blue flower near its foot, and turned to join 
 my companions, who were now slowly winding up the opposite 
 m.ountain in a narrow mule-path, that seemed itself to have a 
 hard struggle to master the bold hill. Up and up we panted, 
 now rejoicing in the clear sunlight, and now drenched in rain as 
 a cloud dashed over us. Reaching at length a long slope of pas- 
 turage land, I ran to the edge of a precipice and looked down on 
 the valley of Lauterbrunnen, now dwindled to a green ditch — and 
 across on Staubach, that seemed merely a silver thread dangling 
 over the rock. The echo of the woodman's axe came at intervals 
 across the valley, whose shining steel I could see through my 
 glass, coming down for a second blow ere the sound of the first 
 could reach me. 
 
 Pressing slowly up the ascent, my steps were suddenly arrest- 
 ed by one of the sweetest, clearest tones I ever heard. Rich, 
 mellow and fiil], it rose and fell in heart-piercing melody along 
 the mountain. It was the Alpine horn. This instrument, which 
 I have described before, is a great favourite of the Swiss. A 
 young mountaineer lay stretched on a rock, across which the 
 horn rested, and saluted us as we approached witli one of the 
 wildest vet softest strains I ever listened to. He had selected a 
 
42 THE ALP-HORN. 
 
 spot where the eclio was the clearest and the longest prolonged, 
 and I stood in perfect raptures as the sound was caught up by 
 peak after peak, and sent back in several distinct echoes. Long 
 after the mountaineer had ceased blowing would the different 
 peaks take up the simple notes and throw them onward, refined 
 and softened till it seemed like a concert of unseen beings breath- 
 ing their mellowest strains in responsive harmony. I looked oa 
 those awfully wild precipices that scoffed the heavens with their 
 jagged and broken summits, with increased respect every m.o- 
 ment, from the sweet rich tones they were thus able to send back. 
 But I must confess they were the roughest looking choristers I 
 ever saw perform. It seemed really a great feat to make such 
 music, and I thought I would try my skill ; so putting my mouth 
 to the instrument I blew away — Heavens ! what a change ! — 
 every mountain seemed snarling at me, and the confused echoes 
 finally settled down into a steady growl. I gave back the horn 
 to the young mountaineer, while the peaks around suddenly fell 
 fifty per cent, in my estimation. 
 
 A July sun pretended to be shining, but we soon after came 
 on fresh snow that had fallen the night before. Byron pelted 
 Hillhouse on this spot with snow--balls — I pelted my guide, though 
 the poor fellow had not the faintest idea, as he dodged and ducked 
 his head to escape the balls, that I was making him stand as rep- 
 resentative of Hillhouse. Before us rose the Jungfrau, clothed 
 with snow of virgin purity from the base to the heaven-piercing 
 summit. A deep ravine separates the path of the traveller from 
 the mountain, which from its colossal size so destroys the effect 
 of distance, that although miles intervene, it seems but a few 
 rods off. 
 
 Reaching the chalet near the summit, we stoppq^ to rest and 
 to hear the roar of avalanches, that fell every few minutes from 
 the opposite mountains. I wish I could convey some idea of the 
 stupendous scenery that here overwhelms the amazed spectator. 
 Look up and up, and see the zenith cut all up with peaks, white 
 as unsullied snow can make them, while ever and anon ado« n 
 their pure bosoms streams the reckless avalanche, filling these 
 awful solitudes whh its thunder, till the heart stops and trembles 
 in the bosom. I never before stood so humbled in tiie presence 
 
WONDERFUL ECHO. 43 
 
 j>f nature. Sometimes you would see the avalanches as they 
 rushed down the mountain, and som.etimes you caught only their 
 roar, as they fell from the opposite side of some cliff, into a gulf 
 untrod by foot of man or beast. 
 
 Byron says, in his journal of the view from the summit, " On 
 one side our view comprised the Jungfrau with all her glaciers, 
 then the Dent d'Argent, shining like truth ; then the little giant 
 and the great giant ; and last, not least, the Wetterhornr Heard 
 the avalanches falling every five minutes nearly. The clouds 
 rose from the opposite valley curling up perpendicular precipices, 
 like the foam of the ocean. of hell during springtide — it was white 
 and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance." 
 
 The keeper of the chalet had a small Mortar, which he fired 
 off at our request. Ten distinct echoes came back. From deep 
 and awful silence these innumerable peaks seemed aroused into 
 sudden and almost angry life. Report after report, like the rapid 
 discharge of a whole bank of artillery, thundered through the clear 
 air. At length the echoes one by one sunk slowly away, and I 
 thought all was over. Fainter and fainter they grew till nothing 
 but a low rumbling sound was heard in the distance, when sud- 
 denly, without warning or preparation, there was a report like the 
 blast of the last trumpet. I instinctively clapped my hands to my 
 ears in affright. It came from the distant Wetterhorn, and rolled 
 and rattled and stormed through the mountains, till it seemed as 
 if every peak was loosened from its base, and all were falling and 
 crushing together. It was absolutely terrific. Its fearful echo 
 had scarcely died away before the avalanches which the sudden 
 jar had loosened began to fall. Eight fell in almost as many 
 minutes. The thunder of one blended in with the thunder of 
 another, till one continuous roar passed . along the mountains. 
 The tumult ceased as suddenly as it commenced and the deep 
 and awful silence that followed was painful ; and my imagination 
 painted those falling masses of snow and ice as half-conscious 
 monsters, crushed to death in the deep ravines. 
 
 But every flight has its fall ; and I was brought back to mat- 
 ters of fact most effectually by the very respectful request of the 
 man who fired the mortar for his pay. On asking how much he 
 demanded I found that the avalanches had cost a trifle over three 
 
44 VIEWS FROM THE WEXGERX ALP. 
 
 cents apiece, to say nothing of the echoes and the hurly burly in 
 general. This was getting them dirt cheap, and I burst into a 
 laugh that might have started another avalanche witiiout any 
 great violation of avalanche principles. 
 
 But, seriously, this multiplication and increased power of a 
 single echo was something entirely new to me, and I could not 
 have believed it possible had I not heard it. Speaking of it af- 
 terwards to a German professor, he remarked that the same thing 
 once happened to him in the Tyrol. He was travelling with an 
 English nobleman, and had come to a quiet lake amid the moun- 
 tains on the shores of which the nobleman sat dropping pebbles 
 into the clear water and watching their descent to the bottom. 
 The professor had heard of the wonderful echo in this spot ; so, 
 carefully drawing a pistol from his pocket, he suddenly fired it 
 behind the Englishman. The report that followed was like the 
 breaking up of the very foundations of nature. The nobleman 
 clapped his hands to his ears and fell on his face, thinking an 
 avalanche was certainly upon him. 
 
 About two miles from this chalet is the summit of the pass, 
 6280 feet above the level of the sea, or his/her than the hi^^hest 
 mountain in the United States ; — while around rise peaks seven 
 thousand feet higher still. The view from this spot is indescri- 
 bable. The vrords '•' sublime,'' '- grand," •' awful,*' &c. cease to 
 have a meaning here to one who has applied them to so much 
 less objects. The mind reaches out for words to express its emo- 
 tions and finds none. The Jungfrau or Virgin — now no longer 
 virgin since a few adventurous feet have profaned the pure white 
 summit — the Monch — the Great and Little Eighers, or giants, and 
 peaks innumerable tear up the heavens on every side, while a 
 mantle of snow is wrapped over all. Glaciers cling around these 
 heaven high peaks and go streaming in awful splendour into the 
 cavities between, where they flow out into icy seas from which 
 the sunbeams flash back as from ten thousand silver helmets. 
 On this spot, amid this savage and overwhelming scenery, Byron 
 says he composed a part of his Manfred. It is his own soliloquy 
 as he gazes upward, that he puts in the mouth of Manfred. 
 
 " Ye toppling crags ol ice — 
 Ye aralancbes, whom a breath draws down 
 
MANFRED. 45 
 
 In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me ! 
 
 I hear ye momently above, beneath, 
 
 Crush with a frequent conflict, but ye pass 
 
 And only fall on things that still would live ; 
 
 On the young flourishing forest, or the hut 
 
 And hamlet of the harmless villager. 
 
 Tiie mists boil up around the glaciers ; clouds 
 
 Rise curling fast beneatl me, white and sulphury 
 
 Like foam from the roused ocean of deep hell." 
 
 There is no work of the fancy here, no creation of the poet — it 
 is simple description — the plain English of what passes before 
 the traveller who stands here in early summer. The av/ful si- 
 lence that follows the crash of an avalanche adds tenfold sub- 
 limity and solitude to the Alps. 
 
 After having gazed our fill we mounted our animals and began 
 to descend. But the snow-crust would give way every few steps, 
 when down would go horse and rider. After having been thrown 
 two or three times over the head of my animal, I picked myself 
 up for the last time, and with the sullen unamiable remark that he 
 might take care of himself, made my way on foot. Coming at 
 length to solid ground I looked back to see how he got along, and 
 could not but laugh at the sorry figure he cut in the snow. The 
 crust would»bear him for several steps, when down he would go 
 to his girth. Extricating himself with great care he would step 
 gingerly along with nose close to the surface and half crouched 
 up as if he expected every moment another tumble. His ex- 
 pectations I must say were seldom disappointed; till at length 
 when he came to where I stood he looked as meek and subdued 
 as a whipped hound. 
 
 Mounting, we rode away for the valley of Grindelwald. 
 
46 VALLEY OF GRINDELWALD. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE GEAND SCHEIDECK: AN AVALANCHE. 
 
 The little valley of Grindelwald received us as we descended 
 the Wengern Alp. Before entering it, as we passed down the 
 mountain, up to our hips in snow, one of those picturesque scenes 
 which so often occur in Switzerland burst upon us. From a 
 deep valley directly beneath us, smiling in all the freshness of 
 summer vegetation, came the tinkling of hundreds of bells. The 
 green pasturage was literally covered with herds of cattle, and 
 flocks of goats. All around, rose the gigantic snow peaks and 
 hung the fearful precipices, while there on that green secluded 
 spot was the complete impersonation of repose and ;juiet. The 
 music of those countless bells rung and mingled in the clear 
 mountain air in endless variations, and were sent back by the giant 
 peaks, redoubled and multiplied, till there was a perfect storm of 
 sound. As I passed down through the snow, the echoes grew 
 fainter and fainter, till the mountains held them all in their own 
 bosom — yet that scene of quietness and beauty has left its im- 
 pression forever on my heart. 
 
 As I descended into the valley of Grindelwald, and saw the 
 brown huts sprinkled all over the distant slopes, I felt how hard 
 it must be to conquer Switzerland. When an army had wound 
 over the narrow and difficult pass, and driven back the hardy 
 mountaineers, and burned up their homes, still they had not con- 
 quered them. Hid amid hollows and fastnesses, unknown to their 
 enemies, they could put them at defiance forever. 
 
 While tea was preparing, I walked through the valley and past 
 ihe parsonage, into which the minister and his two daughters 
 
A GLACIER. 47 
 
 were just entering, from iheii evening wallc. Tiie valley lay in 
 deep shadow, while the last sunbeams still lingered on a distant 
 glacier, that shone like burnished silver in the departing light. 
 That sweet parsonage, in that quiet spot, amid the everlasting 
 Alps and the roar of its torrents and avalanches, seemed almost 
 beyond the reach of heart-sickening cares and disappointments. 
 I grew weary of my roving, and felt that I had found at last one 
 spot out of human ills. Just then, I remembered that the pastor 
 and his two daughters were clad in deep mourning. " Ah !" I 
 sighed, as I turned away, " death has been here, turning this 
 quiet spot into a place of tears. He treads an Alpine valley with 
 as firm a step and unrelenting a mien as the thronged street; 
 and man may search the world over, and he will only find at last" 
 a spot on which to grieve." 
 
 While at tea, three peasant girls came into the room and began 
 one of their Alpine choruses, in that high, clear falsetto you hear 
 nowhere but in Switzerland. These chants are singularly wild 
 and thrilling, and in the present instance were full of sweetness ; 
 but their effect was lost the moment I remembered it was all done 
 for money. 
 
 The day had been one of toil, and the night was disturbed and 
 restless. Unable to sleep, I rose about midnight and looked out 
 of my window, and lo ! the moon hung right over a clear, cold 
 glacier, that seemed almost within reach of my hand. The silent, 
 white and mighty form looked like a monster from 'the unseen 
 world, and I fairly shuddered as I gazed on it. It seemed to hang 
 over the little hamlet like a cold and silent foe. In the morn- 
 ing, I went under it. These masses of ice melt in the summer, 
 where they strike the valley, and the superincumbent weight 
 presses down, urging up rocks and earth that no power of man could 
 stir. This slowly descending glacier had done its share of this 
 work, and had thrown up quite a hill, where it had plunged its 
 mighty forehead in the earth ; but had encountered in its passage one 
 rock that seemed a mere projection from the solid stratum below, 
 and hence could not be moved. The glacier had therefore 
 shoved slowly over it, leaving a cave running from the foot up to 
 where the rock lay imbedded in it. I entered this cave, and the 
 green and blue roof was smooth as polished silver, while a pool ai 
 
4S AX AVALAXCHE. 
 
 the bottom, acting as a mirror to this mirror, perfectly bewildered 
 the eye in looking into it. 
 
 There are two glaciers that descend entirely into the valley, 
 and push their frozen torrents against the bosoms of the green 
 pasturages. Their silvery forms fringed with fir trees, while 
 their foreheads are bathed in the green meadow below, furnish 
 a striking contrast to the surrounding scenery. One can ascend 
 for nearly four miles along the margin of the lower glacier on 
 his mule, and will be amply repaid for the trouble. It was on 
 this glacier that the clergyman of Vevay, M. Mouron, was lost 
 — the account of which is in almost every book of travels. It 
 W"as supposed at first that his guide had murdered him ; but after 
 twelve days search his body was found at the bottom of a crevice 
 in the ice, said to be seven hundred feet deep. A guide was let 
 down to the bottom by a rope, with a lantern round his neck, and 
 after descending twice in vain, the third time was drawn up with 
 the body in his arms. He was much broken and bruised, but it 
 was impossible to tell whether he was killed instantly by the fall, 
 or whether he lay crushed in that awful chasm, breathing his lire 
 away in protracted gasps. 
 
 Mounting our horses, we started for the grand Scheideck, near- 
 ly eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. As we ap- 
 proached that '• peak of tempests" — the Wetterhorn — whose bare 
 cliif rose straight up thousands of feet from the path to the regions 
 of eternal snow, one of the guides exclaimed — " Voila ! voila .'" 
 and another in German, " Sehen sie f selien sie V while I scream- 
 ed in English, hook ! look ! And it was time to look ; for from 
 the topmost height of the Wetterhorn suddenly arose something 
 like white dust, followed by a movement of a mighty mass, and 
 the next moment an awful white form leaped away, and, with 
 almost a single bound of more than two thousand feet,* came di- 
 rectly into our path, a short distance before us. As it struck the 
 earth, the crushed snow rose like vapour from the foot of a cata- 
 ract, and rolled away in a cloud of mist over a hill of fir trees, 
 which it sprinkled white in its passage. The s'lock was like a 
 
 * Thp s:uide said between two and tliree thousand feet. I have tried in vain 
 io a.scertain the exact distance from the top to the path. 
 
THE WITTEiRHORN. 49 
 
 falling roclc, and the echo sounded along the Alpine heights like 
 the "roll of far off cannon, and died away over their distant tops. 
 One of the guides, belonging to a Scotch gentleman who had that 
 morning joined our party, was an old traveller in the Alps, and 
 he said that in all his wanderings he had never seen any thing 
 equal to it. That serene peak, resting far away up in the clear, 
 rare atmosphere — the sudden commotion, and that swift descend- 
 ing form of terror, are among the distinct and vivid things of 
 memory. 
 
 As we rounded the point where this avalanche struck, we came 
 nearly under the most awful precipice that I ever saw or dream- 
 ed of. How high that perpendicular wall of Alpine limestone 
 may be I dare not hazard a conjecture, but it makes one hold his 
 breath in awe and dread to look upon it. The highest church 
 spire in America would have been a miniature toy beside it. 
 Crawling along like mere insects past the base of this " peak of 
 tempests," as its name signifies, we began to ascend the last slope 
 of the grand Scheideck. When about halfway up I stopped for 
 a long time, hoping I might see another avalanche spring away 
 from its high resting place. I was fairly out of harm's way, and 
 hence could enjoy the bold leap of a snow precipice from the cliffs 
 of the Wetterhorn. I was the more anxious, as avalanches are 
 generally, to the eye, mere slender torrents streaming down the 
 mountain side. The distance dwindles the roaring, thundering 
 mass to a mere rivulet, but this was massive and awful enough 
 for the gods them.selves. But I waited in vain. The bright sun 
 fell full on the dazzling top, but not a snow-wreath started, and I 
 turned away disappointed towards the top of the pass. 
 
 The descent into Meyringen was charming. After having 
 passed through the Schwartzwald (dark wild), we came upon a 
 perfectly level, smooth and green pasturage. A gentle rivulet 
 skirted the side of it, while at one end stood a single Swiss cot- 
 tage, t left the path that went into the hills from the farther 
 corner and rode to the end and looked back. From my horse's 
 feet, up to the very cliffs that frown in savage grandeur over it, 
 went that sweet greensward ; while at the left rose a glacier of 
 the purest white that fairly dazzled the eyes as the sunbeams fell 
 in their noontide splendour upon it. That beautiful, quiet plat 
 
50 AN ALPINE VALLEY. 
 
 of ground — the dark fir trees environing it — the cliffs that leaned 
 above it, and that spiritually white glacier contrasting with the 
 bright green below, combined to form a group and a picture that 
 seemed more like a vision than a real scene. I gazed in silent 
 rapture upon it, drinking in the beauty and strangeness of that 
 scene, till I longed to pitch my tent there forever. That level 
 greensward seemed to rest like a fearless, innocent child in the 
 rough embrace of the great forms around it. It was to me the 
 gem of Alpine vallies. 
 
 There is no outward emblem of peace and quietness so striking 
 as one of these green spots amid the Alps. The surface of a 
 summer lake stirred by no breeze — the quiet night and quieter 
 stars are not so full of repose. The ccntrast is not so great. 
 Place that quiet lake amid roaring billows, and the repose it 
 symbolised would be doubly felt. So amid the Alps. The aw- 
 ful scenery that folds in one of these sweet spots of greensward 
 makes it seem doubly sweet and green. It imparts a sort of con- 
 sciousness to the whole, as if there was a serene trust, a feeling 
 of innocence in the brightly smiling meadow. It seems to let it- 
 self he embraced by those rude and terrific forms without the least 
 fear, and smiles back in their stern and savage faces, as if it knew 
 it could not be harmed. And the snow peaks and threatening 
 precipices look as if proud of their innocent child, guarding it 
 with savage tenderness. What beauty God has scattered over 
 the earth ! On the frame- work of the hills, and the valleys they 
 enclose — on cliff* and stream, sky and earth, He has drawn the 
 lines of beauty and grandeur with a pencil that never errs. But 
 especially amid the Alps does he seem to have wrought with sub- 
 limest skill. All over its peaks and abysses has he thrown the 
 mantle of his Majesty ; while its strong avalanches, falling all 
 alone, into solitudes where the foot of man has never trod, and the 
 wing of the eagle never stooped, speak " eternally of Him." 
 " The ice hills," as they leap away from their high resting place, 
 
MEYRINGEN. 51 
 
 X. 
 
 YALLEY OF MEYRINGEN -PASS OF BRUNIG. 
 
 As we descended into Meyringen, a Swiss peasant girl came 
 running up to me with an Alpine rose in her hand. If it had 
 been a spontaneous gift, I could have mused over it for an hour ; 
 but given, as it was, for money, destroyed its value, and I placed 
 it in my pocket to preserve for an American friend, to whom I 
 never designed to mention the circumstance under which it was 
 obtained. I stopped a moment to look at the Seilbach (rope fall), 
 as it hung in a long white thread from the cliff; and at the roaring 
 torrent of the Reichenbach, and then passed into the valley, which 
 was resting below in all the quietness of a summer scene. 
 
 One has peculiar feelings in entering an Alpine valley by one 
 of these fearful passes. The awful cliffs that have frowned over 
 him — the savage gorges up which his eye has strained — the tor- 
 rents and avalanches and everlasting snow that have rolled, and 
 fallen, and spread around him, have thrown his whole nature into 
 a tumult of excitement. And this stupendous scenery has gone 
 on changing, from grand to awful, till feelings of horror liave be- 
 come mingled with those of sublimity ; so that when his eye first 
 rests on one of these sweet valleys smiling in the sunlight, with 
 flocks and herds scattered over its bosom, and peasants' cottages 
 standing amid the smooth greensward, the transition and contrast 
 are so great, that the quietness and repose of Eden seem suddenly 
 opened before him. From those wild and torn mountains, that 
 have folded in the path so threateningly, the heart emerges into 
 one of these valleys, like the torrent along whose course he has 
 trod in awe. The foaming cataracts and dark ravines are all 
 
62 THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 passed, and the placid stream moves, like a smile, ihroufih the 
 quiet landscape. 
 
 But this valley, so bright the first day we entered it, became 
 dreary enough before we left it. One of those dark, driving Al- 
 pine storms set in, and for three days we could not place foot 
 out of doors. The chief beauty of the valley consists in the 
 two steep parallel ranges of hills enclosing it, now and then 
 changing into clifis, along which white cascades hang, as if sus- 
 pended there, while far distant snow peaks rise over one another 
 in every direction. The Lake of Brienze peeps modestly into 
 the farther end of it, enclosed by its ram.parts of mountains. Ta- 
 king a carriage to the head of the lake, we there hired a boat to 
 Griesbaek falls. A man and his wife rowed us. After clam.ber- 
 ing up and down the falls, and under them, and seeing logs which 
 one of the party threw in above, leap away from their brink, we 
 went in to see the ••' Old Schoolmaster," and hear him and his chil- 
 dren and grandchildren sing Alpine songs, vvbiie the white water- 
 fall played a sort of bass accompaniment. The singing was very 
 fine — the best we heard in Switzerland, and after having pur- 
 chased some nick-nacks and music, and paid beforehand for a 
 farewell on the Alp-horn, which is said to sound very finely 
 from this position, we embarked once more upon the lake. The 
 " Old Schoolmaster" told us it was far better to hear the Alp-horn 
 when we had got out on the lake. Never supposing he would de- 
 ceive us, we laid by on our oars for a long time, but in vain. 
 He had fairly Jewed us. 
 
 The clias around this valley send down fearful torrents in the 
 spring, one of which — the Alpbach — has once buried a large part 
 of the village twenty feet deep with mud and stones. The church 
 was filled eighteen feet deep, and the black Ime, indicating the 
 high water mark, is still visible on the walls. The last leap of 
 the Alpbach is right over a precipice clear into the valley. From 
 the peculiar manner in which the sun strikes it, a triple rainbow 
 is formed — one of them making a complete circle around your 
 feet. To see this last, it is necessary to enter the mist, and take 
 a beautiful drenching ; but I was repaid for it, by seeing myself, 
 <mce in my life, with a real halo around me, and that too around 
 my feet. The beautiful ring held me in its embrace like an en- 
 
LAKE OF LUNGERN. 53 
 
 chanted circle, until the drenching mist, having finally penetrated 
 to my skin, broke the charm. I went shivering hom.e, protesting 
 against rainbows being put in such inconvenient places. 
 
 The pass of the Brunig is a mere bridle path, but it presents 
 nothing striking to the traveller, except the charming view of thf 
 valley of Meyringen, from its summ.it. It is a perfect picture. 
 
 The lake of Lungern, which we passed soon after descending- 
 the Brunig, presents a most singular appearance. It has been 
 drained twenty feet below its original level, and the steep banks 
 that mark its former height, surround it like some old ruined wall. 
 The Kaiserstuhl, a high ridge, was stretched across the foot of the 
 lake, forming a natural dam, and heaping up the water twenty 
 feet higher than the valley below. A tunnel, 1,300 feet Icng, waa 
 bored through this, with only a thin partition of rock lef. to hold 
 back the flood. Five hundred men were employed on it, reliev- 
 ing each other constantly, and for several hours at a time : for 
 the impossibility of ventilating the tunnel from above, made the 
 air very foul and dangerous. When the work was completed, 
 and floodgates constructed below to graduate the rush of the water, 
 nine hundred and fifty pounds of powder were placed in the far- 
 ther extremity of the tunnel. It was midwinter, and the lake 
 frozen over, but multitudes assembled on the morning appointed 
 for the explosion to witness the result. The surrounding hills 
 were covered with spectators, when a cannon shot from the Kai- 
 serstuhl, ansvv'ered by another from the Laudenberg, announced 
 that the hour had arrived. A daring Swiss entered the tunnel 
 and fired the train. He soon reappeared in safety, while the vast 
 multitude stood in breathless anxiety, vvaiting the explosion. The 
 leaden minutes wore on, yet no one felt the shock. At length, at 
 the end of ten minutes, just as they had concluded it was a fail- 
 ure, two distinct thojgh dull reports were heard. The ice lay 
 smooth and unbroken as ever, and there was a second disappoint- 
 ment, for all supposed the mine had not burst through the parti- 
 tion. But, at length, there was a shout from below, and a black 
 stream of mud and water was seen to issue from the opening, 
 showing that the work was done. This drainage was to recover 
 a large tract of land, which was a mere swamp. The object was 
 
M ALPNACH SLIDE. 
 
 secured, but the lar.d is hardly worth the tilling. The geologist, 
 hov/ever, will regard the portion laid bare with interest. 
 
 As we approached Lucerne, we passed the location of the fa- 
 mous Alpnach slide, made during the time of Bonaparte, for tho 
 purpose of bringing timber for ship-building from the mountains. 
 It was eight miles long, and between three and four feet wide, 
 and was made of logs fastened together, so as to form a sort of 
 trough. This trough went across frightful gorges, and in some 
 instances under ground. A rill of water was directed into it to 
 lessen the friction, and prevent the logs from taking fire. A 
 tree, a hundred feet long and four feet in diameter, would shoot 
 tins eight miles in six minutes. When one of these logs bolted 
 from the trough, it would fly like an arrow through the air, and 
 if it came in contact with a tree would cut it clean in two. The 
 whole work is now destroyed. 
 
 Coming, at length, to Lake Lucerne, we took a boat and row. 
 ers, and set off for the town that stands so beautifully at its foot. 
 1 had been for days in the heart of the Oberland, which contains 
 the wildest scenery in the Alps. My meat had been mostly the 
 flesh of the Chamois, while the men and the habitations I had 
 passed seemed to belong to another world. In one instance, I had 
 seen a man carrying boards strapped to his back, between three 
 and four miles to his hut, on the high pasturage grounds. There 
 was no other way of getting them there. These huts or cottages 
 (just as one likes to call them) with their low walls and over- 
 hanging roof loaded with stones and rocks, to keep them from be- 
 ing blown ofFv/hen the fierce Alpine storm is on his march, have 
 an odd look ; though they are sometimes very picturesque, from 
 their position. 
 
 From such scenery and dwellings the sight of a town and 
 houses was like a sudden waking up from some strange dream. 
 
SUWARROW'S PASSAGE OF THE PRAGEL. 55 
 
 XL 
 
 SUWAEROW'S PASSAGE OF THE GLARUS. 
 
 At the head of Lake Lucerne stands the little village of Fluel- 
 len. It was here that Suwarrow, after forcing the passage of St. 
 Gothard, was finally stopped in his victorious course. The lake 
 stretched away before him, while there was not a boat with which 
 to transport his weary army over. There was no other course 
 left him on his route to Zurich but to ascend the heights of the 
 Kinzig Culm, a desperate undertaking at the best ; and cross into 
 the Muotta Thai. This wonderful retreat was made while his 
 army, as it hung along the cliffs, was constantly engaged in resist- 
 ing the attacks of the enemy. 
 
 It was forty-six years ago, one night in September, that the peace- 
 ful inhabitants of the Muotta Thai were struck with wonder at the 
 sudden appearance among them of multitudes of armed men of a 
 strange garb and language. They had just gathered their herds 
 and flocks to the fold, and were seeking their quiet homes that 
 slept amid the green pasturages, when, like a mountain torrent, 
 came pouring out from every defile and giddy pass, these strange, 
 unintelligible beings. From the heights of the Kinzig Culm — 
 from precipices the shepherds scarce dared to tread, they streamed 
 with their confused jargon around the cottages of these simple 
 children of the Alps. It was Suwarrow, with twenty-four thou- 
 sand Russians at his back, on his march from Italy to join the 
 allied forces at Zurich. He had forced the passage of St. Go- 
 thard, and had reached thus far when he was stopped by Lake 
 Lucerne, and was told that Korsakow and the main Russian army 
 at Zurich had been defeated. Indignant and incredulous at the 
 report, he would have hung the peasant who informed him, as a 
 
56 BATTLE OF MUOTTA THAL. 
 
 spy, had not the lady-mother of St. Joseph's Nunnery interceded 
 in his behalf. Here in this great Alpine valley the bold com. 
 mander found himself completely surrounded. Molitor aid his 
 battalions looked dov/n on him from the heights around the Muot- 
 ta Thai : Mortier and Massena blocked its mouth : whi'.e Le- 
 courbe hung on his rear. The Russian bear \\as denned, and 
 compelled, for the first time in his life, to order a retreat. He 
 wept in indignation and grief, and adopted the only alternative 
 left him, to cross the Pragel into Glarus. Then commenced one 
 of those desperate marches unparalleled in the history of man. 
 Th'i passage of the St. Bernard, by Bonaparte, was a comforta- 
 ble march compared to it, and Hannibal's world-renowned exploit 
 mere child's play, beside it. While the head of Suwarrow's 
 column had descended the Pragel and was fighting desperately at 
 Naefels, the rear-guard, encumbered with the wounded, wag 
 struggling in the Muotta Thai with Massena and his battalions. 
 Then these savage solitudes shook to the thunder of cannon and 
 roar of musketry. The startled avalanche came leaping from 
 the heights, mingling its sullen thunder with the sound of battle. 
 The frightened chamois paused on the high precipice to catch 
 the strange uproar that filled the hills. — The simple-hearted peas- 
 antry saw their green pasturages covered with battling armies, 
 and the snow-capped heights crimson with the blood of men. 
 Whole companies fell like snow-wreaths from the rocks M'hile 
 the artillery ploughed through the dense mass of human flesh 
 that darkened the gorge below. For ten successive days had 
 these armies marched and combated, and yet here, on the elev- 
 enth, they struggled with unabated resolution. Unable to force 
 the passage at Naefels, Suwarrow took the desperate and awful 
 resolution of leading his weary and wounded army over the 
 mountains into the Grisons. 
 
 Imagine, if you can, an awful solitude of mountains and pre- 
 cipices and glaciers piled one above another in savage grandeur. 
 Cast your eye up one of these mountains, 7,500 feet above the 
 level of the sea, along whose bosom, in a zigzag line, goes a nar- 
 row path winding over precipices and snow-fields till finally lost 
 on the distant summit. Up that difficult path and into the very 
 
DIFFICULTIES OF THE PASSAGE. 57 
 
 heart of those fearful snow-peaks has the bold Russian resolved to 
 «ead his 24,000 men. 
 
 To increase the difficulties that beset him and render his 
 destruction apparently inevitable, the snow fell, on the morning 
 he set out, two feet deep, obliterating all traces of the path, and 
 forming as it were a winding sheet for his army. In single file, 
 and with heavy hearts, that mighty host one after another entered 
 the snow-drifts and began the ascent. Only a few miles could 
 be made the first day ; and at night, without a cottage in sight, 
 without even a tree to kindle for a light around their silent 
 bivouacs, the army lay down in the snow with the Alpine crags 
 around them for their sentinels. The next day the head of the 
 column reached the summit of the ridge, and lo ! what a scene 
 was spread out before them. No one who has not stood on an 
 Alpine summit can have any conception of the utter dreariness 
 of this region. The mighty mountains, as far as the eye can 
 reach, lean along the solemn sky, while the deep silence around 
 is broken by the sound of no living thing. Only now and then 
 the voice of the avalanche is heard speaking in its low thunder 
 tone from the depth of an awful abyss, or the scream of a solitary 
 eagle circling round some lofty crag. The bold Russian stood 
 and gazed long and anxiously on this scene, and then turned to 
 look on his straggling army that far as the eye could see wound 
 like a huge anaconda over the white surface of the snow. No 
 column of smoke arose in this desert wild to cheer the sight, but 
 all was silent, mournful and prophetic. The winding sheet of the 
 army seemed unrolled before him. No path guided their foot- 
 steps, and ever and anon a bayonet and feather disappeared 
 together as some poor soldier slipped on the edge of a precipice 
 and fell into the abyss below. Hundreds overcome and disheart- 
 ened, or exhausted with their previous wounds, laid down to die, 
 while the cold wind, as it swept by, soon wrought a snow-shroud 
 for their forms. The descent on the southern side was worse 
 than the ascent. A freezing wind had hardened the snow into a 
 crust, so that it frequently bore the soldiers. Their bayonets 
 were thrust into it to keep them from, slipping, and the weary and 
 worn creatures were compelled to struggle every step to prevent 
 being borne away over the precipices that almost momentarily 
 
58 THE DESCENT. 
 
 stopped their passage. Yet even this precaution was often vain 
 Whole companies would begin to slide together, and despite every 
 effort would sweep with a shriek over the edge of the precipice 
 and disappear in the untrodden gulfs below. Men saw their 
 comrades, by whose side they had fought in many a battle, shoot 
 one after another, over the dizzy verge, striking with their bayo- 
 nets as they went, to* stay their progress. The beasts of burden 
 slipped from above, and rolling down on the ranks below, shot 
 away in wild confusion, men and all, into the chasms that yawned 
 at their feet. As they advanced, the enemy appeared around on 
 the precipices pouring a scattered yet destructive fire into the 
 straggling multitude. Such a sight these Alpine solitudes never 
 saw — such a march no army ever made before. In looking at 
 this pass the traveller cannot believe an army of 24,000 men 
 were marched over it through the fresh fallen snov/ two feet deep. 
 For five days they struggled amid these gorges and over these 
 ridges, and finally reached the Rhine at Ilanz. For months 
 after, the vulture and the eagle hovered incessantly along the line 
 of march, and beasts of prey were gorged with the dead bodies. 
 Nearly 8,000 men lay scattered among the glaciers and rocks, 
 and piled in the abysses, amid which they had struggled for 
 eighteen days since they first poured down from the St. Gothard, 
 and the peasants say that the bones of many an unburied soldier 
 may still be seen bleaching in the ravines of the Jatser. 
 
 No Christian or philanthropist ever stood on a battle field with- 
 out mourning over the ravages of war and asking himself when 
 that day would come when men would beat their swords into 
 ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Yet the evil 
 is not felt in all its dreadful reality there. The movements of the 
 armies — the tossing of plumes — the unrolling of banners — the 
 stirring strains of martial music — the charging squadrons, and 
 the might and magnificence of a great battle field disturb the 
 imagiiiation and check the flow of human sympathy. 
 
 If he wishes the feelings of horror and disgust in their full 
 strength, let him go into the solitude and holiness of nature, and 
 see where her pure bosom has been disfigured with the blood of 
 her children. Let him see his fellow beings falling by thousands, 
 not 9 mid the uproar and excitement ol battle, but under exhaus- 
 
SUWARROW AND BONAPARTE. 59 
 
 tioo, heart-sickness, and despair. Let him behold the ranks 
 lying down one after another -under the last discouragement to 
 die, while their comrades march mournful and silent by. There 
 is a cold-bloodedness, a sort of savage malice about this that 
 awakens all the detestation of the human bosom. 
 
 Yet the Russian could do no better. The scourge of nations 
 had driven him into the strait. The crime and the judgment 
 belong to Bonaparte, who thus directly and indirectly crowded 
 his generation into the grave. Suwarrow's act was that of a 
 brave and resolute man.* 
 
 * Th(3 reader of " Napoleon and his Marshals" need not be told that I haTO 
 tshangei my opinion on this point. 
 
MACDOXALD'S GUIDE. 
 
 XII. 
 
 MACDONALD'S PASS OF THE SPLUGEN. 
 
 I WAS standing on a green Alpine pasturage, looking off upon 
 xhe Splugen Pass which cut its way through the white snow ridge 
 that lay against the distant horizon, when my guide interrupted 
 my musings by pointing to an aged man sitting by his cottage 
 door. "That man," said he, "was one of Macdonald's guides 
 that conducted him and his army over the Splugen." He imme- 
 diately became an object of great interest to me, and I went and 
 sat down by his side, and drew from him many incidents of that 
 perilous adventure. " It was forty-three years ago," said he, 
 " when that av»'ful march was made. I was then but twenty-five 
 years of age, but I remember it as if it were but yesterday. I 
 have made many passes in the Alps, but never one like that. 
 That Macdonald was an awful man. He looked as if he wanted 
 to fight the very Alps, and believed that snow-storms could be 
 beaten like an army of men." 
 
 " I believe," I replied, " that pass was made in the winter, when 
 even foot travellers found it difficult." " Yes ; and the wind blew, 
 and the snow drove in our faces, and the avalanches fell as if the 
 very Alps were coming down. The snow, too, was so thick at 
 times, that we could not see the horses or men ten rods before or 
 behind, while the screaming, and yelling, and cursing, made it ten 
 times wor.se. Why, sir, it did no good to cry take care, for no 
 one could take care. There we were, up to our arms in snow, 
 amid oxen, and horses, and cannon, and soldiers, and compell- 
 ed to stand for hours, without getting one rod ahead. Oh, it 
 was dreadful to see the poor soldiers. Often I would hear 
 an avalar.che coming from above, and turn to see where it fell, 
 
DESCRIPTION OF THE PASS. 61 
 
 when it would come thundering straight on to the army, and cut 
 it clean in two, leaving a great gap in the lines. A few feathers 
 tossing amid the snow, a musket or two flying over the brink, and 
 away went men and all into the gulf below. Oh, sir, those poor 
 soldiers looked as if they never would fight again — so downcast 
 and frightened. It did no good to have courage there, for what 
 could courage do against an avalarche! When God fights with 
 man, it does no good to resist." In this manner, though not in the 
 precise words, the old man rattled on, and it was evident I could 
 get nothing from him except separate incidents which gave life and 
 vividness to the whole picture. The falling of a single comrade 
 by his side, or the struggles of a single war-horse, as he floun- 
 dered in the mass of snow that hurried him irresistibly towards 
 the gulf, made a more distinct impression on him than the general 
 movements of the army. The deep beds of snow and the walls 
 of ice he and the peasants were compelled to cut through, were 
 more important to him than the order of march, or the discipline 
 of the troops. How different is the effect produced on a powerful 
 and a common mind by such a scene as this ! One dwells on the 
 impression made by the whole. The moral and physical gran- 
 deur surrounding it — the obstacles, and the resolution that over- 
 came them — the savageness of nature, and the sternness that 
 dared look it in the face ; combine to make the impression he car- 
 ries with him through life. The weak mind, on the other hand, 
 never seems to reach to these generalities — never gets to the outer 
 circle, but is occupied with details and incidents. 
 
 To understand this march of Macdonald over the Splugen, a 
 feat greater by far than Bonaparte's famous passage of the St. 
 Bernard, imagine an awful defile leading up to the height of six 
 thousand, Jive hundred feet towards heaven — in summer a mere 
 bridle path, and in winter a mass of avalanches, and you will 
 have some conception of the fearful pass through which Macdonald 
 determined to lead fifteen thousand men. The road follows the 
 Rhine, here a mere rivulet, which has cut it? channel deep in the 
 mountains that rise frequently to the height of three thousand feet 
 above it. Along the precipices that overhang this turbulent tor- 
 rent, the path is cut in the solid rock, now hugging the mountain 
 wall like a mere thread, and now shooting in a single arch over 
 
 15 
 
C2 DIFFICULTIES OF THE PASS. 
 
 the gorge that sinks three hundred feet below. Strangely silent 
 snow-peaks pierce the heavens in every direction, while dark 
 precipices lean out on every side over the abyss. This mere 
 path crosses and re- crosses again this gorge, and often so high 
 above it, that the roar of the mad torrent below can scarcely be 
 heard ; and finally strikes off on to the bare face of the mountain 
 and clambers up to the summit. This is the old road in sum- 
 mer time. Now imagine this same gorge swept by a hurricane 
 of snow, and filled with the awful sound of falling avalanches, 
 blending their heavy shock with the dull roar of the giant pines, 
 that wave along the precipices, while half way up from the bot- 
 tom to the Alpine top, are hanging like an army of insects, fifteen 
 thousand French soldiers ; and you w ill approach to some know- 
 ledge of this wintry pass, and this desperate march. But if you 
 have never been in an Alpine gorge, and stood, awe-struck, amid 
 the mighty forms that tower away on every side around you, you 
 can have no true conception of a scene like the one we are to de- 
 scribe. Rocks, going like one solid wall straight up to heaven — 
 pinnacles shooting like church spires above the clouds — gloomy 
 ravines where the thunder-clouds burst, and the torrent raves — ■ 
 still glaciers and solemn snow-fields, and leaping avalanches, 
 combine to render an Alpine gorge one of the most terrific things 
 in nature. Added to all this, you feel so small amid the mighty 
 forms around you — so utterly helpless and worthless, amid these 
 great exhibitions of God's power, that the heart is often utterly 
 overwhelmed with the feelings that struggle in vain for utterance. 
 There is now a carriage road over the Splugen, cut in sixteen 
 zigzags along the breast of the mountain. This was not in 
 existence when Macdonald made the pass, and there was nothing 
 but a bridle path going through the gorge of the Cardinel. Over 
 such a pass was Macdonald ordered by Napoleon to march his 
 army in the latter part of November, just when the wintry storms 
 are setting in with the greatest violence. Bonaparte wished 
 i\Iacdonald to form the left wing of his army in Italy, and had 
 therefore ordered him to attempt the passage. Macdonald, though 
 no braver or bolder man ever lived, felt that it was a hopeless 
 undertaking, and immediately despatched General Dumas to 
 represent to liim the insuperable obstacles in the way. Bona- 
 
COMMENCEMENT OF THE ASCENT, 63 
 
 parte heard him through his representations, and then replied, 
 with his usual recklessness of other people's sufferings or death, 
 *' I will make no change in my dispositions. Return quickly, 
 and tell Macdonald that an army can always pass in every sea- 
 son, where two men can place their feet." 
 
 Macdonald, of course, could do no otherwise than obey com- 
 mands, and immediately commenced the necessary preparations 
 for his desperate undertaking. It was the 26th of November, a«d 
 the frequent storms had covered the entire Alps, pass and all, in 
 one mass of yielding snow. His army was at the upper Rhein- 
 thal or Rhine valley, at the entrance of the dreadful defile of the 
 Via Mala, the commencement of the Splugen pass. The cannon 
 were taken from their carriages and placed on sleds, to which 
 oxen were harnessed. The ammunition was divided about on the 
 backs of mules, while every soldier had to carry, besides his 
 usual arms, five packets of cartridges and five days' provision. 
 The guides went in advance, and stuck down long black poles to 
 indicate the course of the path beneath, while behind them came 
 the workmen clearing away the snow, and behind them still, the 
 mounted dragoons, with the most powerful horses of the army, to 
 beat down the track. On the 26th of November, the first com- 
 pany left Splugen, and began the ascent. The pass from Splu- 
 gen to Isola is about fifteen miles in length, and the advance com- 
 pany had, after the most wasting toil and exhausting effort, made 
 nearly half of it, and were approaching the hospice on the sum- 
 mit, when a low moaning was heard among the hills, like the 
 voice of the sea before a storm. The guides understood too well 
 its meaning, and gazed on each other with alarm. The ominous 
 sound grew louder every moment, and suddenly the fierce Alpine 
 blast swept in a cloud of snow over the mountain, and hovrled, 
 like an unchained demon, through the gorge below. In an in- 
 stant all was confusion, and blindness, and uncertainty. The very 
 heavens were blotted out, and the frightened column stood and lis- 
 tened to the raving tempest that made the pine trees above it sway 
 and groan, as if lifted from their rock-rooted places. But suddenly 
 another still more alarming sound was heard — " An avalanche ! an 
 avalanciie !" shrieked the guides, and the next moment an awful 
 white form came leaping down the mountain, and striking the 
 
G4 THE AR:^IY IN A ST0R:\I 
 
 column that was struggling along the path, passed straight through 
 it into the gulf below, carrying thirty dragoons and their horses 
 with it in its wild plunge. The black form of a steed and its 
 rider were seen suspended for a moment in mid heavens, amid 
 clouds of snow, and the next moment they fell among the ice and 
 rocks below, crushed out of the very forms of humanity. The 
 head of the column reached the hospice in safety. The other 
 part, struck dumb by this sudden apparition crossing their path 
 in such lightning-like velocity, bearing to such an awful death 
 their brave comrades, refused to proceed, and turned back to the 
 village of Splugen. For three days the storm raged amid the 
 Alps, filling the heavens with snow, and hurling avalanches into 
 the path, till it became so filled up that the guides declared it 
 would take fifteen days to open it again so as to make it at all 
 passable. But fifteen days Macdonald could not spare. Inde- 
 pendent of the urgency of his commands, there was no way to 
 provision his army in these Alpine solitudes, and he must proceed. 
 He ordered four of the strongest oxen that could be found to be 
 led in advance by the best guides. Forty peasants followed be- 
 hind, clearing away and beating down the snow, and tv^'o com- 
 panies of sappers came after to give still greater consistency to 
 the track, while on their heels marched the remnant of the com- 
 pany of dragoons, part of which had been borne away three 
 days before by the avalanche. The post of danger was given 
 them at their ov/n request. Scarcely had they begun the danger- 
 ous enterprise, when one of the noble oxen slipped from the preci- 
 pice, and with a convulsive fling of his huge frame, went bound- 
 ing from point to point of the jagged rocks to the deep, dark tor- 
 rent below. 
 
 It was a strange sight for a wintry day. Those three oxen, 
 with their horns just peering above the snow, toiled slowly on, 
 pushing their unwieldy bodies through the drifts, looking like mere 
 specks on the breast of the mountain, while the soldiers, up to 
 their breasts, struggled behind. Not a drum or bugle-note cheered 
 the solitude, or awoke the echoes of those savage peaks. The 
 foot-fall gave back no sound in the soft snow, and the words of 
 command seemed smothered in the very atmosphere. Silently 
 and noiselessly the mighty but disordered column toiled forward, 
 
PARTICULARS OF THE ROUTE. 65 
 
 with naught to break the holy stiUness of nature, save the fierce 
 pantings of the horses and animals, as with reeking sides they 
 strained up the ascent. Now and then a fearful cry startled the 
 eagle on his high circuit, as a whole company slipped together, 
 and with their muskets in their hands, fell into the all-devouring 
 gorge that yawned hundreds of feet below their path. It was a 
 wild sight, the plunge of a steed and his rider over the precipice. 
 One noble horse slipped just as the dragoon had dismounted, and 
 as he darted off with 'his empty saddle, and for a moment hung 
 suspended in mid heaven, it is said, he uttered one of those fear- 
 ful blood-freezing cries the wounded war-horse is known some- 
 times to give forth on the field of battle. The roar of the lion af- 
 ter his prey, and the midnight howl of the wolf that has missed 
 his evening repast of blood, is a gentle sound compared to it. 
 Once heard, it lives in the memory and brain for ever. 
 
 To understand the route of the army better, one should divide 
 the pass into three parts. First comes the dark, deep defile, with 
 the path cut in the side of the mountain, and crossing backwards 
 and forwards over the gorge, on bridges of a single arch, and of- 
 ten two and three hundred feet high. The scenery in this gorge 
 is horrible. It seems as if nature had broken up the mountains 
 in some sudden and fierce convulsion ; and the very aspect of 
 everything is enough to daunt one without the aid of avalanches 
 or hurricanes of snow. After leaving this defile, the path goes 
 for a few miles through the valley of Schams, and then winds up 
 the cliffs of La Raffla, covered with pine trees. It then strikes 
 up the bare face of the mountain, going sometimes at an angle of 
 forty-five degrees, till it reaches the summit ; which, lying above 
 the region of trees, stands naked and bald in the wintry heavens. 
 This is the old road — the new one goes by a different route, and 
 in summer-time can be traversed with carriages. Such was the 
 road, filled with snow and avalanches, this army of fifteen thou- 
 sand men marched over in mid winter. They went over in sep- 
 arate columns. The progress and success of the first we have 
 already shown. The second and third made the attempt the sec- 
 ond and third of December, and achieved the ascent in safety, 
 the weather being clear and frosty. Many, however, died of 
 cold. Their success encouraged Macdonald to march the whole 
 
 6 
 
PROGRESS OF THE ARMY. 
 
 remairiing army over at once, and for this purpose he placed hun- 
 self at their head, and on the 5th of December commenced the 
 ascent. But fresh snow had fallen the night before, covering up 
 the entire path, so that the road had all to be made over again. 
 The guides refused to go on, but Macdonald would not delay his 
 march, and led his weary soldiers breast deep in the snow, up the 
 bleak, cold mountain. They were six hours in going less than 
 six miles. They could not make a mile an hour in their slow 
 progress. They had not advanced far in the defile before they 
 came upon a huge block of ice, and a newly-fallen avalanche, 
 that entirely filled up the path. The guides halted before these 
 obstacles and refused to go on ; and the first that Macdonald 
 knew, his army had turned to the right-about, and were marching 
 back down the mountain, declaring the passage to be closed. 
 
 Hastening forward, he cheered up the men, and walking him- 
 self at the head of the column with a long pole in his hand, to 
 sound the depth of the treacherous mass he was treading upon, he 
 revived the drooping spirits of the soldiers. "Soldiers," said he, 
 " your destinies call you into Italy ; advance and conquer — first 
 the mountains and the snow, then the plains and the armies."' 
 Ashamed to see their leader hazarding his life at every step 
 where they refused to go, the soldiers returned cheerfully to their 
 toil, and cut their way through the solid hill of ice. But they 
 had scarcely surmounted this obstacle, when the voice of the hur- 
 ricane on its march was again heard, and the next moment a 
 cloud of driving snow obliterated every thing from their view. 
 The path was filled up, and all traces of it swept utterly away. 
 Amid the screams of the guides, the confused commands of the 
 officers, and the howling of the hurricane, was heard the rapid 
 thunder-crash of avalanches as they leaped away, at the bidding 
 of the tempest, down the precipices. Then commenced again the 
 awful struggle of the army for life. The foe they had to contend 
 with was an outward one, though not of flesh and blood. To 
 Bword-cut, bayonet-thrust, and the blaze of artillery, the strong 
 Alpine storm was alike invulnerable. On the serried column 
 and the straggling line, it thundered with the same reckless pow- 
 er. Over the long black line of soldiers, the snow lay like u 
 winding-sheet, and the dirge seemed already ciianted for the dead 
 
PASSAGE OF THE LAST DIVISION. 67 
 
 army. No one who has not seen an Alpine storm can imagine 
 the reckless energy with which it rages through the mountains. 
 The light snow, borne aloft on its bosom, was whirled and scat- 
 tered like an ocean of mist over all things. The drifts were piled 
 like second mountains in every direction, and seemed to form in- 
 stantaneously, as by the touch of a magician's wand. The blind- 
 ing fury of the tempest baffled all efforts to pierce the mystery 
 and darkness that enveloped the host clinging in despair to the 
 breast of the mountain. The storm had sounded its trumpet for 
 the charge, but no answering note of defiance replied. The 
 heroes of so many battle fields stood in still terror before this new 
 and mightier foe. Crowding together as if proximity added to 
 their security, the broken ranks crouched and shivered to the 
 blast that pierced their very bones with its chilling power. But 
 this was not all — the piercing cold, and drifting snow, and raving 
 tempest, and concealed pit-falls, leading to untrodden abysses, 
 were not enough to complete the scene of terror. Suddenly, from 
 the summit of the Splugen, avalanches began to fall, whose path 
 crossed that of the army. Scaling the breast of the mountain 
 with a single leap, they came with a crash on the shivering 
 column, and bore it away to the destruction that waited beneath. 
 Still, with undaunted front and unyielding will, the bold Macdon- 
 ald struggled on in front, inspiring by his example, as he never 
 could have done by his commands, the ofiicers and men under 
 him. Prodigies were wrought where effort seemed useless. The 
 first avalanche, as it smote through the column, paralyzed for a 
 moment every heart with fear ; but they soon began to be viewed 
 like so many discharges of artillery, and the gaps they made, 
 like the gaps a discharge of grape-shot frequently makes in the 
 lines on a field of battle. Those behind closed up the rent with 
 unfaltering courage. Hesitation was death. The only hope was 
 in advancing, and the long and straggling line floundered on in the 
 snow, like a huge anaconda winding itself over the mountain. 
 Once, as an avalanche cut through the ranks, bearing them away 
 to the abyss, a young man was seen to wave an adieu to his 
 young comrade left behind, as he disappeared over the crag. 
 The surviving companion stept into the path where it had 
 swept, and before he had crossed it, a laggard block of ice came 
 
68 GREATNESS OP THE FEAT. 
 
 thundering down, and bore him away to join his comrade in the 
 gulf where his crushed form still lay tlirobbing. The extrei.ie 
 density of the atmosphere, filled as it was with snow, gave ten- 
 fold horror to these mysterious messengers of death, as they came 
 down the mountain declivities. A low rumbling would be heard 
 amid the pauses of the storm, and as the next shriek of the blast 
 swept by, a rushing, as if a counter-blast smote the ear; and 
 before the thought had time to change, a rolling, leaping, broken 
 mass of snow burst through the thick atmosphere, and the next 
 moment, crushed, with the sound of thunder, far, far below, bear- 
 ing along a part of the column to its deep, dark resting-place. 
 
 On the evening of the 6th December, the greater part of the 
 army had passed the mountain, and the van had pushed even to 
 Lake Como. From the 26th of November to the 6th of Decem- 
 ber, or nearly two weeks, had Macdonald been engaged in this 
 perilous pass. A less energetic, indomitable man would have 
 failed ; and he himself escaped utter destruction, almost by a 
 miracle. As it was, he left between one and two hundred men 
 in the abysses of the Splugen, who had slipped from the preci- 
 pices or been carried away by avalanches, during the toilsome 
 march. More than a hundred horses and mules had also been 
 hurled into those untrodden abysses, to furnish food for the eagle, 
 and raven, and beasts of prey. 
 
 This passage of the Splugen, by an army of fifteen thousand 
 men, in the dead of winter, and amid hurricanes of snow and 
 falling avalanches, stands unrivalled in the liistory of the world, 
 unless the passage of the Pragel by Suwarrow be its counterpart. 
 It is true. Bonaparte spoke disparagingly of it, because he wished 
 his passage over the St. Bernard in summer time, to stand alone 
 beside Hannibal's famous march over the same mountain. With 
 all his greatness, Bonaparte had some miserably mean traits of 
 character. He could not bear to have one of his generals per- 
 form a greater feat than himself, and so he deliberately lied about 
 this achievement of Macdonald, In his despatches to the French 
 government, he made it out a small affair, while he had the impu- 
 dence to declare that this " march of Macdonald produced no 
 good efiect." Now one of three things is true : Bonaparte either 
 was ignorant of his true situation, and commanded the passage 
 
BONAPARTE'S DISHONESTY. 
 
 of the Splugen to be made under a false alarm ; or else it was a 
 mere whim, in which his recklessness of the lives and comfort 
 of his countrymen is deserving of greater condemnation than his 
 ignorance ; or else he has uttered a falsehood as gross as it is 
 mean. The truth is, Bonaparte thought posterity could be cheat- 
 ed as easily as his cotemporaries. In the dazzling noon-day of 
 his fame, he could make a flattering press say what he liked, and 
 the world would believe it ; but the tumult and false splendour of 
 his life have passed away, and men begin to scrutinize this demi- 
 god a little more closely ; and we find that his word cannot be 
 relied on in the least, when speaking of the character and deeds 
 of others. He is willing to have no planet cross his orbit, and 
 will allow no glory except as it is reflected from him. But not- 
 withstanding his efforts to detract from the merit of this act of 
 Macdonald, posterity will put it in its true light, and every intelli- 
 gent reader of the accounts of the two passages of the St. Ber- 
 nard and the Splugen, will perceive at a glance that Bonaparte's 
 achievement is mere child's play beside that of Macdonald. 
 
7« MOUNT RIGHI. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE EIGHI CULM 
 
 From the top of the Righi is seen one of the most celebrated 
 views in all Switzerland. The magnificent prospect it commands 
 is not owing so much to its height (it being only 5700 feet above 
 the level of the sea) as to its isolated position. It rises like a 
 cone up from Lakes Lucerne and Zug, with a forest round its 
 waist, and a lofty precipice for its forehead sloping away into 
 green pasturages. 
 
 I went by way of Kussnacht, in order to visit the spot where 
 William Tell leaped ashore from the boat that was conveying 
 him a prisoner to that place, and sent an arrow through the heart 
 of Gessler. By this route it takes seven hours to reach the Culm 
 of the Righi from Lucerne. I had started with many misgivings, 
 and with depressed feelings. The companions of my travels had 
 had enough of mountain climbing and of Switzerland, and here 
 resolved to start for England. It requires no common resolution 
 to break away from all one's companions in a strange land, and 
 turn one's footsteps alone towards the Alps. But the Righi I was 
 determined to see, and the surpassing prospect from its summit, 
 even though I waited a week to enjoy it. 
 
 But all this was forgotten for a while as I entered the Hohle- 
 gasse or narrow way where Tell lay concealed, waiting the ty- 
 rant's approach. I could imagine the very look of this bold free 
 Swiss, as concealed among the trees he drew the silent arrow to 
 its head, and sent it on its mission of death. The shout of a fi'ee 
 people was in the twang of that bow, and the hand of Liberty 
 herself sent the bolt home ; while in that manly form that went 
 leaping like a chamois over the hills, was the hope of Switzer- 
 
WILLIAM TELL. 71 
 
 land. From this hallowed spot I began the toilsome ascent of the 
 Righi with no companion but my guide. It was a bright summer 
 afternoon, and stripping off my coat and handing it with my cloak 
 to my guide, I nerved myself for my four hours of constant 
 climbing. When about half way up, 1 sat down and looked back 
 on the scene. There was Lucerne, from which my companions 
 were just about starting for England and for home. Away from 
 it into the very bosom of the mountains went the sweet Lake of 
 Lucerne. Close at my feet, apparently, nestled the little chapel 
 of Tell, built on the spot where the patriot slew the tyrant; while 
 far away swept the land of the Swiss. As an American, I could 
 not view the land of Tell and Winkelried, and look down on the 
 shores where the " oath of the Grutli" was taken, and Switzer- 
 land made her first stand for freedom, without the deepest emo- 
 tion. There slept the sweet Lake of Lucerne calm and tranquil 
 as the heavens above it. But there was a night when its waters 
 were lashed into fury by an Alpine storm, and close beside those 
 old rocks struggled a frail vessel hopelessly with the tempest. 
 The lightning, as it rent the gloom, showed ever and anon its 
 half-buried form amid the waves. The torn sail was shivering 
 in the blast, while the roar of the billows on the rocks fell dis- 
 tinctly on the ears of the appalled listeners, as they looked to 
 each other for help in vain. A tyrant stood trembling on its 
 foam-covered deck, and asked if there was no help. A stern 
 proud prisoner was brought before him, and looked, calmly out 
 upon the frightful deep. " Unbind him," said the tyrant — " he 
 alone can save us." The chains were knocked off; and with the 
 same calm, silent mien, he seized the helm and guided the leap- 
 ing vessel safely amid the rocks. The boat is ashore, but where 
 is the prisoner ? Fled ? aye, fled ! but not for safety alone. 
 The night covers him, and the tyrant has entered the narrow 
 gorge on his way to his home. A sharp twang as of a bow- 
 string, — a quick, hissing sound through the air, and Gessler falls 
 back in the arms of his attendants, with an arrow in lis bosom. 
 " Das war TelVs Sclioss .^" exclaimed the tyrant and died. Then 
 rang the battle cry of Freedom along these shores, and from her 
 hundred mountain vallies came pouring down the hardy Swiss. 
 With the sword of Tell to wave them, on, they bravely battled 
 
72 ASCENT OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 their way to freedom. Blessings on thee, bold Swiss ! thy name 
 is a watchword for freemen and ever shall be. Around it cluster 
 the fondest memories of the patriot, and children love to speak it 
 aloud. But ah, how degenerate has the race become ! Cor- 
 rupted and debased by the French, their freedom and their hon- 
 esty have departed together. 
 
 I turned to ascend the mountain again. Crossing a narrow 
 level pasturage, I was greeted with the tinkling of bells, and the 
 clear voices of shepherd boys singing in a shrill falsetto their wild 
 Alpine chorusses. As I drew near the top, I passed a boy lean- 
 ing against a rock, and making the air ring with the tones of his 
 Alpine horn. A few moments after a cloud of mist swept over 
 the mountain, burying every thing in twilight gloom and chilling 
 my blood like the sudden entrance to a damp vault. The sun, 
 which a moment before shone over me in unclouded brightness, 
 was snatched from my sight, and I stumbled on in a cloud to the 
 house on the top. The wind swept by in gusts, making the mist 
 dive and plunge and leap through the air like mad spirits. Now 
 it would rise towards me as I looked over the precipice, like the 
 snioke from some vast furnace, and then plunge again into the 
 gulfs below, while the fragments writhed and twisted together as 
 if tortured into agony by some invisible agency. I had scarcely 
 entered the house before a cold chill seized me that seemed im- 
 possible to shake off, and which the good woman of the house had 
 the kindnegs to tell me, unless I did, would end in a fever in the 
 morning, I sJiouId have brought some dry clothing with me, but 
 forgot it. Fire and water, brandy and wine, were tried in suc- 
 ces.sion, but still I kept shaking. As a last resort I cleared the 
 largest room in the house, and then wrapping my heavy cloak 
 around me, began to leap and run and throw myself into the most 
 difficult postures, to the no small wonderment of the quiet Swiss. 
 But in half an hour I had the satisfaction of feeling the blood flow 
 warmer and hotter through my veins, while the perspiration stood 
 in drops on my forehead. I had conquered, and after resting a 
 while, went out to the verge of the cliff which shoots its naked 
 wall two hundred feet clear down to Lake Zug, and endeavoured 
 to pierce the cloud that had changed day into night. I knew it 
 was not yet sundown, and hoped I might see its last rays falling 
 
VIEW AT EVENING 73 
 
 over the magnificent panorama which I knew was spread out be- 
 low me. It was all in vain : that cloud closed round the summi* 
 like a gloomy fate, and shut all out of sight. But suddenly, as I 
 was gazing, a lake of fire, miles away, burst on the view ; one 
 half red as flame, and the other half midnight blackness, streaked 
 with a murky red. The next moment it shut again, and in an- 
 other direction another fiery surface flashed up into the awful 
 blackness, reminding me more than anything I ever sav/, of what a 
 distant view of perdition might be. This strange spectacle was 
 caused by the cloud opening before me and revealing a portion 
 of a distant lake, while the mist was still dense enough to refract 
 the rays of the sun, givijig that dark smoky red you sometimes 
 see on the edge of a thunder-cloud, as it rolls up at sunset after a 
 scorching day. I sat up till late at night reading Schiller's Wil- 
 liam Tell, and then retired giving directions to be waked up early 
 in the morning to see the sun rise. I had many misgivings, I 
 confess, about the morning, and the verse composed once by an 
 Englishman who made the ascent, and which were the last words 
 uttered by my companions as I bade them good bye, were con- 
 stantly running in my head. 
 
 Seven weary up-hill leagues we sped 
 
 The setting sun to see : 
 Sullen and grim he went to bed ; 
 
 Sullen and grim went we. 
 Nine sleepless hours of night we passed 
 
 The rising sun to see : 
 Sullen and grim he rose again ; 
 
 Sullen and grim rose we. 
 
 I passed the hours sleepless enough, and when I rose to look 
 out in the morning, an impenetrable mist seemed to wrap every 
 thing. I was just crawling back to bed again when I thought I 
 would take another look. Passing my hand over the glass, I 
 found what I had taken for mist was simply the vapour condensed 
 on the window. A clear blue sky was bending overhead. 
 
 In a few moments I was standing on the brow of the precipice 
 and watching with intense interest the scene around me. On my 
 right, stood cold and silent, white and grand, the whole range of 
 the Bernese Alps, Close under me, hundreds of feet down, lay 
 
74 VIEW AT SUNRISE. 
 
 the waters of the Zug, and yet so close to the mountain on which 
 I stood, that it seemed as if I could kick a stone into it. On the 
 left spread away the glorious Swiss land, sprinkled over with vil- 
 lages and lakes. Behind me was the Lucerne throwing its arms 
 away into the heart of the mountains, while forests, rivers, towns, 
 hills and lakes, formed together a panorama three hundred miles 
 in circumference. While I stood gazing, awe-struck, on the 
 silent majestic scene as it lay motionless in the gray light of 
 ■morning, a golden streak spread along the East. Brighter and 
 brighter it grew till the snow-peak nearest it caught the same 
 fiery glow, and stood tipped with flame over the world of snow 
 below. Suddenly another peak flashed up beside it, and then 
 another and another, till fof nearly a hundred miles, from the 
 Sentis to the Jungfrau, the whole range of giant summits, stood, 
 a deep rose colour against a blue sky, while vast snow-fields 
 and glaciers slept in deep shadow between. I stood bewildered 
 and amazed, gazing on that hundred miles of rose-coloured 
 mountains. It seemed for the time as if the Deity had thrown 
 the robe of his glory over those gigantic forms on purpose to see 
 how they became their gorgeous apparelling. Gradually they 
 paled away as the blazing fiery ball rolled into view and poured 
 a flood of light on the whole scene, waking the landscape into 
 sudden life and beauty. It is impossible to describe such a 
 scene. The whole range of the Bernese Alps before you, with 
 its peaks, and glaciers, and precipices, and snow-fields, and 
 gorges, is a scene in itself which has no parallel in the world, 
 while the sudden change from ghostly white to a transparent red, 
 fading gradually away into a delicate rose-colour, renders the 
 spectator unable to seize any one thing which would give spe- 
 ciality to the whole. I have never felt the utter powerlessness 
 of words and feebleness of all comparisons, as in attempting to 
 describe such a scene as spreads away on the vision from Mount 
 Righi at sunrise. 
 
 But cast your eye round the horizon now the full light of day 
 is on it. To the west the country opens like a map, with the 
 whole canton of Lucerne in view, while far away, a mere pool, 
 glitters the Lake of Sempach, whose shores are one of Switzer- 
 land's glorious battle fields. The eye passes on over Lucerne 
 
AFTER SUNRISE. 
 
 and the gloomy Pilatus, and finally leaves the western horizon on 
 the Jura mountains. On the south spring up into heaven the 
 whole glorious chain of the high Alps of Berne, Unterwalden and 
 Uri in one unbroken ridge of peaks and glaciers. On the east 
 still stretches away the Alpine chain, folding in the cantons of 
 Glarus and Appenzel, and the Muotta Thai, that v/ild valley 
 where Suwarrow and Massena fought their bloody battles on ground 
 that even the chamois hunter scarce dared to tread. Nearer 
 by rises the mass of the Rossberg, with the black chasm made 
 by its terrible avalanche of earth, as it rolled down on Goldau, 
 plainly in view. To the north peeps out Lake Zurich, with here 
 and there a white roof of the town ; and the spire of the chapel 
 where Zwingli fell in battle. The towns of Arth and Zug are 
 also visible, and a bare hand's breadth of Lake Egeri, on whose 
 shores the Swiss fought and gained the battle of Mortgarten. 
 The Black Forest hills shut in the view. It is a glorious pano- 
 rama, changing from grand to beautiful and back again, till the 
 heart staggers under the emotions that crowd it, asking in vain 
 for utterance. But the eye will turn again and again to that 
 wondrous chain of white peaks, resting so clear and pure and 
 cold against the morning sky, and the lips will murmur — 
 
 The hills, the everlasting hills, 
 How peerlessly they rise, 
 
 Like earth's gigantic sentinels 
 Discoursing in the skies.'* 
 
t6 MOUNT ROSSBERG 
 
 XIY. 
 
 GOLDAU-FALL OF THE ROSSBERG. 
 
 As I descended the Righi towards Goldau I had a clear and 
 distinct view of the whole side of the Rossberg. This mountain, 
 so renowned in history, is about 5,000 feet high, with an unbroken 
 slope reaching down to Goldau. The top of the mountain is com- 
 posed of pudding stone, called by the Germans Nagelflue, or nail 
 head, from the knobs on the surface. The whole strata of this 
 mountain are tilted from Lake Zug towards Goldau, and slope, 
 like the roof of a house, down to the village. The frightful land 
 slide, which buried the village and inhabitants of Goldau, was 
 about three miles long, a thousand feet broad, and a hundred feet 
 thick. The fissure runs up and down the mountain, and the mass 
 slid away from its bed, till acquiring momentum and velocity, it 
 broke into fragments, and rolled and thundered down the moun- 
 tain, burying the village a hundred feet deep. The afternoon of 
 the catastrophe, the Rossberg gave ominous signs of some ap- 
 proaching convulsion. Rocks started spontaneously from its bo- 
 som, and thundered down its sides; the springs of water suddenly 
 ceased to flow; birds flew screaming through the air; the pine 
 trees of the forest rocked and swayed without any blast, and the 
 whole surface of the mountain seemed gradually sliding towards 
 the plain. A party of eleven travellers from Berne was on its 
 way to the Righi at the time. Seven of them happened to be 
 ahead, and the other four saw them enter the village of Goldau 
 just as they observed a strange commotion on the summit of the 
 Rossberg* As they raised their glass to notice this more definitely, 
 a shower of stones shot off from the top and whirled like cannon 
 balls through the air above their heads. The next moment a 
 
OVERTHROW OF GOLDAU. "7 
 
 cloud of dust filled the valley, while from its bosom came a wild 
 uproar, as if nature was breaking up from her deep foundations. 
 The Rossberg was on the march for Goldau with the strength and 
 terror of an earthquake. The cloud cleared away and nothing 
 but a wild waste of rocks and earth was above where the smiling 
 villages of Goldau, Bussingen and Rothen stood before. One 
 hundred and eleven houses, and more than two hundred stables 
 and chalets had disappeared ; carrying down with them in their 
 dark burial nearly five hundred human beings. The Lake of 
 Lowertz was half filled with mud, while the immense rocks trav- 
 ersed the valley its entire width, and Were hurled far up the 
 Righi, mowing down the trees like cannon shot. The inhabitants 
 of the neighbouring villages heard the grinding crushing sound, as 
 of mountains falling together, and beheld the cloud of dust that 
 darkened the air. Five minutes after, and all was hushed, and 
 the quiet rain came down as before, and as it had done during the 
 day, but no longer on human dwellings. It fell on the grave of 
 nearly 500 men, women and children, crushed and mangled, and 
 pressed uncofnned into their mother earth. Nothing was left of 
 the villages and pasturages that stood in the valley but the bell 
 of the church of Goldau, which was carried a mile and a half 
 from the steeple in which it hung. When the Lake of Lowertz, 
 five miles off, received the torrent of earth into its bosom, it threw 
 a wave seventy feet high clear over the island of Schwanau, and 
 rolled up on the opposite shore, bringing back, in its reflux, houses 
 with their inhabitants. The friends whom their fellow travellers 
 had seen enter the village of Goldau just as the mountain started 
 on its march, were never seen more. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, as I sat and looked over this chaos of 
 rocks and earth. The Lake of Lowertz slept quietly under the 
 summer sun. and the bell of Goldau was ringing out its merry 
 peal in the very face of the Rossberg, that seemed to look down 
 with a stern and savage aspect on the ruin at his feet. The deep 
 gash in his forehead and his riven side still remain as fresh as if 
 made but yesterday. I wandered over the ground all ridged and 
 oroken, just as it was at the close of that terrible day, with feel- 
 ings of the profoundest melancholy. A few scattered houses had 
 been built on the debris of rocks and stone, and here and there 
 
TRADITION OF LAKE L0WER1Z. 
 
 was a mockery of a garden, which the unconscious husbandman 
 was endeavouring to till above the bones of his father. A gloom 
 rests on all the valley, and Rossberg seems sole monarch here. 
 
 " Mountains liave fallen 
 
 Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock 
 , Rocking their Alpine brethren, filling, up 
 
 f The ripe green Tallies with destruction's splinters, 
 
 Damming the rivers with a sudden dash, 
 Which crushed the waters into mist, and made 
 Tiieir fountains find another channel : thus — 
 Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rossberg." 
 
 On the island of Schwanau, in Lake Lowertz, is the ruin of a 
 castle destroyed by the Swiss to revenge the violence done by its 
 ovvner to a young woman. There is a tradition attached to it 
 wild enough to form the ground-work of half a dozen novels. It 
 is said that once a year shrieks are heard to ring from it, and 
 immediately after, the ghost of the old villain shoots by, pressed 
 hard after b}- the spirit of the pale, wronged girl, bearing a torch 
 in her hand, and screaming terrirically on his flying traces. For 
 a Vvhile he escapes his frail pursuer, but at length she forces him 
 into the lake, where he sinks with hideous groans. A wild chaos 
 of tones and fearful yells rings up from the shore as the waves 
 close over him, and the scene is ended. The good people need 
 not be so anxious to insure the doom of the old wretch. The 
 Fpirit of that pale girl is avenged without all this trouble, and the 
 v.aves that close over him are more terrible than the waters of 
 Lowertz. 
 
 I walked from Goldau to Arth all alone, and amused myself 
 Vvith v.-atching the groups of peasantry that constantly passed me 
 Avith curious looks. It was some fete day, and they were all clad 
 in their holiday dresses, and went smiling on, as cheerful as the 
 bright day about them. They would accost me in the most plea- 
 jjant manner, and I was constantly greeted with " guten morgcn" 
 cr " gut Tag," that made me feel as if I were among friends. 
 As I entered the hotel at Arth, the first thing that met my eye 
 was my trunk. Its familiar look was as welcome as the face of 
 a friend; and, childish as it may seem, I felt less solitary than 
 when sad and alone I entered the qui^t inn. 
 
 i 
 
ZWINGLI. 79 
 
 There is an excellent arrangement in Switzerland, by which 
 one can mail his baggage as he can a letter, to any town on the 
 mail route in the whole country. The traveller enters his differ- 
 ent articles, takes his ticket, and then starts off into the Alps, 
 and is gone for two months without the least concern. My cork 
 sole boots, with which I had climbed every pass, gave out at Gol- 
 JaUj but by dint of strings, etc., I made them do till I reachea 
 Arth, where 1 was compelled to abandon the trustiest companions 
 of all my travels ; and left them standing in the inn, with their 
 tops leaning over one side, in the most dolorous, reproachful man- 
 ner imaginable. It is curious how one becomes attached to every 
 thing he carries about him in the Alps. I have known the most 
 unsentimental men carry their Alpine stock across the Atlantic 
 with them. 
 
 The ride through the canton of Zug to Zurich was one of the 
 pleasantest I took in Switzerland, and I verily believe this is one 
 of the most beautiful cantons in it. There was a neatness in the 
 dwellings and costumes of the inhabitants I had not noticed before. 
 I passed by the spot where Zwingli the Reformer fell, in the 
 midst of his flock, transfixed by a sword ; and by the monument 
 erected to commemorate the place where Henry Von Hunenberg 
 shot an arrow from the Austrian lines into the Swiss camp bearing 
 the sentence " Beware of Mortgarten." The Swiss took the 
 advice, and won the battle, and their descendants have reared 
 this memento of the bold young patriot. Before entering Zurich, 
 as we came in sight of the lake almost its entire length, I had 
 one of the finest lake views I ever beheld. The beautiful shores 
 sprinkled with white dwellings ; the town itself, and its gardens, 
 and the distant mountains, combined to render it a perfect picture. 
 Zurich is a pleasant town, and reminded me more of home than 
 any place on the continent. Its white dwellings surrounded with 
 gardens and grounds, carried me back in a moment to New Eng- 
 land. I spent the Sabbath here, and was surprised to find in Ihis 
 borne of Zwingli — this Protestant canton — so little respect paid 
 to its sanctity. Towards evening the military were reviewed 
 on the public square, while on one sid_e was a public exhibition of 
 rope-dancers and tumblers, and among the tumblers two rosy- 
 cheeked peasant girls. This is a Protestant canton indeed. 
 
80 SABBATH IN ZURICH. 
 
 Protestant it may be, but this was no Protestant Sabbath. Yet, 
 externally, Zurich is one of the pleasantest towns in Switzerland. 
 The views around it are beautiful, while the rural aspect of the 
 whole gives it a charm few Swiss villages possess. I love the 
 land of the bold Swiss ; I love its lakes and snow-peaks and 
 smiling vallies ; but alas for its inhabitants. Their glory is in 
 the past, and their stern integrity too. It seems impossible that 
 any people should long retain simplicity and purity of character 
 in the heart of Europe. The influence of the corrupt nations is 
 too great, especially when the contact is so frequent as now. 
 
FORMATION OF AVALANCHES. 81 
 
 XV. 
 
 AVALANCHES AND GLACIERS, THEIR FORMA- 
 TION AND MOVEMENT. 
 
 Before taking leave of Switzerland, it may be interesting to 
 give some statistics of the Alps, though they are always after- 
 thoughts with the traveller. I have hitherto endeavoured to give 
 the effect of the scenery one meets in the Alps rather than detailed 
 descriptions of it. 
 
 Avalanches are regarded by many as immense masses of snow 
 of a somewhat globular form, which gath«r as they roll till they 
 acquire the size of a miniature mountain, and are more terrible 
 to see even, than to hear. This is true of many of those which 
 fall in winter, but not of those which descend in spring and early 
 summer. The Swiss have different names for different kinds of 
 avalanches. There is the Staublawinen, or dust avalanche, and 
 Grundlawinen, or ground avalanche. The former is the falling 
 of loose fresh-fallen snow. Gathering into huge drifts upon some 
 peak till it is detached by its own weight ; it slides away until it 
 reaches a precipice, when it commences rolling and thundering 
 down the mountain. Increasing in bulk with every bound, and ex- 
 tending farther and wider, it acquires at length an impetus and 
 strength that sweep down whole forests, in its passage, as if the 
 trees were slender reeds ; and moves across the entire valley, into 
 which it lands. This, however, is not the most dangerous kind of 
 avalanche, as it only buries people and cattle, and does not crush 
 them ; so that they can frequently be dug out again without serious 
 injury. The Grundlawinen, on the other hand, is a more serious 
 matter. It falls in the springtime, and is dislodged by the action 
 of sun, south winds, and rain. These thawing the upper surface, 
 
82 DESCENT OF AVALANCHES. 
 
 the water trickles down throiigli tlie crevices, increasing their 
 width and depth, till huge blocks, indeed immense precipices, are 
 sawn loose by this slow process ; and tipping over or sHding away, 
 come with the might of fate itself down the precipitous sides of 
 the mountain. A village disappears in their path in a breath — treis 
 three feet in diameter are snapped off like pipe stems, and nothing 
 but a wild ruinous w^aste is left where they sweep in their wrath. As 
 1 mentioned before, these avalanches have paths they travel regu- 
 larly as deer. This is indicated by the shape of the mountains, 
 and if the path comes straight on the site of a village, the inhabi- 
 tants build strong parapets of mason work, against which the ava- 
 lanches may thunder and accumulate. These prove sometimes, 
 however, too weak for the falling mass, and are borne away in their 
 headlong sweep, adding still greater ruin and terror to their march. 
 The village I saw crushed in the pass of the Tete JN'^oire had such 
 a wall built behind its church to protect it. For a long time it 
 withstood the shock of the avalanches that fell against it, but one 
 night there came one too strong to be resisted, and bore away par- 
 apet, church, hamlet and all. The wind caused by an avalanche 
 in its passage is sometimes terrific. A blast is generated by the 
 rapid motion of the headlong mass, like that created by a cannon 
 ball in its descent, which extends to some distance both sides of it, 
 and bears down trees and whirls them like feathers through 
 the atmosphere. A church spire was once blown down by one 
 that fell a quarter of a mile off. These masses of ice and snow 
 sometimes fill up immense gorges, and are bored through by the 
 torrent, forming a natural bridge, over which the peasants drive 
 their cattle the entire summer. The Swiss have their " sacred 
 groves," which are the forests that are left standing on a moun- 
 tain side above a hamlet to protect it from avalanches. 
 
 Those which fall in early summer are attended with very little 
 danger, as they usually descend in abysses where no traveller 
 ever goes. They are seen at a distance, and hence have none 
 of the appearance commonly supposed to belong to an avalanche. 
 You hear first a rumbling sound, which soon swells to a full, 
 though distant thunder tone ; and in turning your eye towards the 
 spot whence the sound proceeds, you see sometliing which appears 
 like a small white rivulet pouring down the mountain side, now 
 
FORMATION OF GLACIEKS. 83 
 
 disappearing in some ravine, and now reappearing on the edge 
 of some cliff over which it runs, and falls with headlong speed 
 and increased roar, till it finally lands in a deep abyss. You 
 wonder at first how so small a movement can create so deep and 
 startling a sound ; but in that apparently small rivulet are rolling 
 whole precipices of ice, wilh a rapidity and power that nothing 
 could resist. Yet these terrible visitants become as familiar to 
 the Swiss as our own rain-storms to us. The peasantry wait their 
 regular descent in the spring as indications that winter is over. 
 Those which are loosened by the human voice or the jingling of 
 bells are so nicely balanced at the time, that it requires but the 
 slightest change or shock in the atmosphere to destroy their 
 equilibrium. 
 
 Glaciers are the everlasting drapery of the Alps, clothing 
 them in summer and winter with their robes of ice. They are 
 formed by the successive thawing and freezing of the loose snov/ 
 m spring and summer. Melting in the daytime and freezing at 
 night, the whole mass at length becomes crystalized ; — and as the 
 lower extremities melt in summer, they gradually move down the 
 mountain, carrying with them debris of rocks and stone, making 
 a perfect geological cabinet of the hill it throws up. 
 
 Glaciers begin at an elevation of about 8000 feet or a little 
 less — above this are eternal snow fields. These gietschers or 
 glaciers constitute one of the most striking features of Alpine 
 scenery. Whether looked upon vvith the eye of a geologist, and 
 the slow and mighty- process of renovation and destruction, con- 
 templated, working on from the birth to the death of Time ; or 
 whether regarded with the eye of a landscape painter, as they 
 now clasp the breast of a bold peak in their shining embrace, and 
 now stretch their icy arms far away into the mountains, and 
 now plunge their glittering foreheads into the green valley— 
 they are the same objects of intense interest, and ever fresh 
 wonder. 
 
 As they push down the declivities, the obstructions they meet 
 with, and the broken surface over which they pass, throw them 
 into every variety of shape. Tov/ers are suddenly squeezed up 
 forty or fifty feet high, and precipices thrown out which topple over 
 with the roar of thunder. Rocks or boulders that have been car 
 
84 CREVICES. 
 
 ried away from their resting-places on the bosom of a glacier, 
 protect the ice under them by their sliadow, while tlie surrounding 
 mass gradually melts awa^v', leaving them standing on stately 
 pedestals, huge block obelisks slowly travelling towards the val- 
 ley. Vrhenever these descending masses enter a gorge in the 
 mountains, they spread out into it, partially filling it up, and are 
 called ice seas. The Mer de Glace of Chamouny is one of these. 
 These large collections of ice are traversed by immense crevices, 
 reaching hundreds of feet down, and revealing that beautiful 
 ultra-marine colour which the Rhone has as it leaves Lake Gene- 
 va. Through these fissures, streams flow in every direction, and 
 collecting at the lower extremity of the glacier, under the roof of 
 a huge cavern of their own making, flow off, a turbid torrent, into 
 the valley. Into these crevices the snow frequently drifts, cho- 
 king up the portion near the surface, thus making concealed pit- 
 falls for the traveller, and sometimes even for the wary, bold 
 chamois hunter. Above the glaciers, near the summit, one fre- 
 quently meets with red snow. I have seen it myself, and noticed 
 it when I was not looking for it. The colour is said to be pro- 
 duced by a species of fungus called " Palmella Nivalis or Proto- 
 cocus,"' which makes the snow itself its soil, and germinates and 
 grows in imperceptible branches over the surface. The invisible 
 threads reaching out in every direction give to the snow a deep 
 crim.son blush, which, as the plant dies, changes into a dirty 
 black. The number of glaciers in the Alps has been put by Ebel 
 at four hundred, covering a surface of about three hundred and 
 fifty square miles. But he might as well attempt to estimate tlie 
 number and weight of all the avalanches that fall; for these gla- 
 ciers are of all sizes, from a few rods to miles, and in every 
 variety of shape and position. The one around the Finster- 
 Aar-horn contains a hundred and twenty square miles. Tiie 
 traveller sees, as at Grindelwald and Chamouni, only the 
 branches, the mere arms of these mighty forms. Scientific men 
 differ very much as to the relative thickness of glaciers, though 
 they average probably not more than seventy or eighty feet. 
 The Mer de Glace, where it pitches into the vale of Chamouni, ig 
 a hundred and eighty feet thick. Some of these glaciers are of a 
 cure white, and shine in the noonday sun with dazzling splendour, 
 
SOUNDS IN THE ALPS. 85 
 
 but the greater part of them are covered with the debris of the 
 mountains, giving them a dirty hue, wholly unlike the appearance 
 one imagines they present, who has never seen them. The im- 
 pression they make on the mind of the beholder, however, can 
 never be effaced. The marks of power, of terrific struggles they 
 carry about them, fill the mind with emotions of grandeur almost 
 equal to the solitary avalanche and its lonely voice of thunder. 
 They have a voice of their own, too, called by the mountaineers 
 hrullcn (growlings), caused by the rending of the solid mass when 
 the south-east wind breathes upon it. The lower portion of the 
 Alps is full of sound and motion : even after you leave the tinkling 
 of bells, the music of the horn and the bleaing of goats, there is 
 the roar of the torrent, the shock of the avalanche, and the grind- 
 ing, crushing sound of the mighty glacier. But when you ascend 
 above these, all is still and silent as the sepulchre. Eternal sab- 
 bath reigns around the peaks, and solitude deeper than the heart 
 of the forest, embraces the subdued and humbled adventurer; 
 while the sudden flight of a pheasant from amid the snow, or the 
 slow and lordly sweep of the Lamergeyer, in his circles upward, 
 startle the feelings into greater intensity. 
 
 16 
 
88 AN ALPINE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 PASTURAGES, CHALETS, AND ALPINE PASSES. 
 
 In passing through the higher Alps nothing has afforded me 
 more pleasure than the green pasturages which, here and there, 
 dot the savage landscape. Sometimes they have burst unexpect- 
 edly on me, as the fierce Alpine storm-cloud rent above them, re- 
 vealing for a moment a face of gentleness and beauty, and then 
 veiling it again in impenetrable gloom ; and now greeting me 
 from the precipitous side of some difficult pass ; yet always awa- 
 kening the same emotions. The bold features of Alpine scenery 
 and the strong contrasts presented by the quiet meadow spot 
 and the cold white glaciers that lay their icy hands on its green 
 bosom — the secure Ihtle hamlet, surrounded by the most savage and 
 awful forms of nature— must make an ineffaceable impression on 
 the heart of a Swiss mountaineer, and prevent, I should think, his 
 ever being an emigrant. I am inclined to believe very few in 
 proportion to the whole population ever do leave the region of the 
 Alps. I remember finding a returned emigrant on the summit 
 of the Righi. He had trinkets of various kinds to sell, made of 
 wood and chamois horn, &c. I do not know how it happened, but 
 I accidentally learned that he had once been to America, and was 
 curious to learn what had brought him back. He liked the new 
 country, he said, very well, but he liked the Alps better. "Oh," 
 said he, " you have no Alps in America !" He could not forget 
 the mountains ai7.d glaciers and pasturage of his native land, and 
 I could not blame him. And yet the poetry of a Swiss mountain- 
 eer's life is all in appearance and none in reality. So with the 
 chalets and pasturages ; — they are picturesque things in the land- 
 
DESCRIPTION OF THE CHALET. 87 
 
 scape, and there their beauty ends. The life of a Swiss herds- 
 man is any thing but one of sentiment. The sound of his horn 
 at sunrise, ringing through the sweet valley as he drives his flocks 
 to pasture ; and the song of the " Ranz des vaches^' as the herds 
 slowly wind along the mountain paths, are delightful to the ear. 
 So is the tinkling of countless bells at evening, one of the pleasant- 
 est sounds that was vvont to greet me in my wanderings in the 
 Alps. But the herdsman thinks of none of these things. To 
 gather together nearly a hundred cows twice a day, and milk 
 them, and make the butter and cheese, and do all tlie outdoor 
 work belonging to such a dairy, make his life one of constant toil. 
 The chalet too, which is simply a Western log hut, built in exact- 
 ly the same style, and loaded down with stone on the roof to keep 
 it from being blown away by the Alpine blast, — though adding 
 much to the scenery, is any thing but a comfortable home. A 
 table and bench constitute the furniture — some loose straw above, 
 the bed, while through the crevices on every side the wind and 
 rain enter at their leisure. To complete the discomfort, the cattle 
 are allowed to tread the ground around it into a barnyard. There 
 are exceptions to this rule, but this is the common chalet which 
 meets one at every turn on a Swiss pasturage. They are built 
 with no reference to each other, but are scattered around on the 
 slopes as if sieved down from above, and alighted where they did 
 by the merest chance. The number that will be scattered around 
 in a single valley is almost incredible. As I descended into Grin- 
 delwald the thick sprinkling of these little low dark-looking cha- 
 lets over the distant slopes produced a most singular effect. Their 
 number seemed literally legion. There are fen tJiousand in the 
 Simmenthal alone. 
 
 In Switzerland, Alps signifies mountain pasturage, and is used 
 m that sense. These Alps, or mountain pasturages, are some- 
 limes private property, and sometimes the property of the village 
 or commune. When owned by the latter, ever}' inhabitant is al- 
 lowed to pasture a certain number of cattle for so many days upon 
 it. I saw, near Grindelwald, one of these goverriment pasturages, 
 and it was literally covered with cows. The valley furnishes the 
 first pasture in the spring, and as the summer advances, and the 
 higher pasturages become free of snow, the herds are driven up to 
 
68 MODE OF PASTURING CATTLE. 
 
 liiem. Owners of a large number of catlle will have a chalet on 
 every pasturage for their cowherd. 
 
 In speaking of the customs of the Swiss in this respect, Latrobe 
 says : " They stay on the first pasturages till about the lOlh or 
 12th of June, when the cattle are driven to the middle range of 
 pasturages. That portion of the herd intended for a summer 
 campaign on the highest Alps remain here till the beginning of 
 July, and, on the fourth of that month, generally ascend to them ; 
 return to the middle range of pastures about seven or eight <\-eeks 
 afterwards, spend there about fourteen days, or three weeks, to 
 eat the after grass ; and finally return into the valleys about the 
 10th or 11th of October, where they remain, in the vicinity of the 
 villages, till driven by the snow and tempests of winter into the 
 stables. 
 
 " That portion of the cattle, on the other hand, which is not 
 destined to pass the summer on the higher Alps, and are necessaiy 
 for the supply of the village with milk and butter, descend from 
 the middle pastures, on the fourth of July, into the valley, and 
 consume the grass upon the pasturage belonging to the commune, 
 till the winter drives th%m under shelter. The very highest Al- 
 pine pasturages are never occupied more than three or four 
 weeks.'"' 
 
 I have already, in another place, spoken of the custom of dri- 
 ving herds to the most inaccessible pasturages in midsummer. 
 Herds are thus driven across the Mer de Glace, in July, to the 
 pasturages beyond, though more or less cattle are lost in the 
 crevices of the glaciers at every passage. 
 
 Murray says that the best cheese is made " upon pastures 3000 
 feet above the level of the sea, in the vales of Simraen, and Saa- 
 nen, and Emmenthal. The best cows there yield, in summer, 
 between twenty and forty pounds of milk daily, and each cow 
 produces, by the end of the season of four months, on an average, 
 two hundred weight of cheese." I have seen herds feeding six 
 and seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
 
 I ought to add, perhaps, in justice to tlie Swiss, that some 
 of the chalets, are exceptions to those I described as being 
 both uncomfortable and dirty, and are neat and tidy as a New 
 England farm-house. The white table-cloth and clean though 
 
NUMBER OF ALPINE PASSES. 89 
 
 rude furniture, and fresh butter and milk, and pleasant face of 
 the hospitable mistress, make the traveller's heart leap within him, 
 as, weary and cold, he crosses the threshold. 
 
 I have spoken of several of the Alpine passes in detail, and re- 
 fer to them now merely to state that there are fifty in Switzerland 
 alone. Those roads constructed for carriages are not allowed to 
 rise more than a certain number of feet to a mile. Distance 
 seems not to have entered into the calculations of the engineers 
 who built those monuments of human vskill — carriage roads over 
 the Alps. They were after a certain grade, and they obtained it, 
 though by contortions and serpentine windings that seem almost 
 endless. Thus the Simplon averages nowhere more than one 
 inch elevation to a foot, and, indeed, not quite that. Thirty thou- 
 sand men were employed on this road six years. There are 611 
 bridges in less than forty miles, ten galleries, and twenty houses 
 of refuge, while the average width of the road is over twenty-five 
 feet. The cost of the whole was about $1,200,000. The Splu- 
 gen presents almost as striking features as the Simplon. From 
 these facts some idea may be gathered of the stupendous work it 
 must be to carry a carriage road over the Alps. 
 
 In the winter they are all blocked up, and none but the bold 
 foot traveller ventures on their track. The driving snow-storms 
 and falling avalanches render them impassable to carriages, and 
 perilous even to the accustomed mountaineer. I believe that the 
 mail is carried over the Simplon, during the winter, by a man 
 either on foot or with a mule. I think I have been told that he 
 makes the passage twice a week, bringing to the hospice on the 
 top the only news that reach it of the world below. For eight 
 months in the year the inhabitants of the higher Alps might as 
 well be out of the world, hr all knowledge they have of its doings 
 and ways. 
 
90 LAST VIEW OF THE ALPS. 
 
 XYII. 
 
 A FAUEWELL TO SWITZERLAND-BASLE. 
 
 The first view one gets of the Rhine in leaving Switzerland 
 from the east is on his way from Zurich to Basle. Here, also, 
 he takes his farewell look of the Alps. From the top of the 
 Botzberg the whole range of the Bernese Alps rises on the view. 
 Amid the scenes in which he has moved since he left their pres- 
 ence, the traveller almost forgot their existence, and as they here 
 rise again on his vision, the}^ bring back a world of associations 
 to his heart. There they stand leaning against the distant sky, 
 like the forms of friends he has left forever. Such were my feel- 
 ings as I sat down by the road-side, under as bright a sky as ever 
 bent over the vineyards of Italy, and looked off upon those bold 
 peaks which had become to me objects of affection. A few days 
 only had clasped since I was amid their terror and their beauty. 
 I had seen the moonbeams glancing on their glaciers at midnight, 
 and heard the music of their torrents lifting up their voices from 
 the awful abysses. I had seen the avalanche bound from their 
 precipices, and rush, smoking and thundering, into the gulfs below 
 — and been wrapt in their storms and clouds. I had toiled and 
 struggled through their snow drifts, and stood enraptured on their 
 green pasturages, while the music of bells, the bleating of flocks, 
 and the clear tones of the Alp-horn made it seem like a dream- 
 land to me. A mere dwarf in comparison, I had moved and 
 mused amid those terrific forms. Now mellowed and subdued by 
 distance, the vast, white, irregular mass, lay like a monster dream- 
 ing in the blue mist. Clouds resting below the summit, slept iioro 
 and there a?ong the range, and all was silent and beautiful. I 
 love nature always, but especially in these her grander and no- 
 
A LEGEND. 91 
 
 bier aspects. The Alps had lain along the horizon of my imag- 
 ination from childhood up. The desire of years had at length 
 been fulfilled, and I had wandered amid the avalanches and gla- 
 ciers and snow-fields and cottages of the Oberland, and now I was 
 taking my last look. It was with feelings of profound melancholy 
 I turned away from St. Peters and the Duomo of Milan, feeling 
 [ should see their magnificent proportions no more. But it was 
 with still sadder feelings I gazed my farewell on the glorious 
 Alps. 
 
 On this route, within half a mile of Brugg, is a lunatic asylum, 
 once the Abbey of Koenigsfelden,. (King's field,) which the guide 
 book informs you was founded in 1310, by Empress Elizabeth, 
 and Agnes, Queen of Hungary, on the spot where the Emperor 
 Albert, the husband of the former and father of the latter, was as- 
 sassinated. Leaving his suite on the opposite bank, he had cross- 
 ed the river Reuss at this point, with only the four conspirators 
 accompanying him. The principal one, John of Sv/abia, was 
 the nephew of Albert, and was incited to this deed from being 
 kept out of his paternal inheritance by his uncle. He struck 
 first, and sent his lance through the Emperor's throat. Boim then 
 pierced him through and through with his sword, while Walter 
 von Eschenbach cleaved his skull in twain with a felling stroke. 
 Wart, the fourth conspirator, took no part in the murder, and yet, 
 by a singular providence, was the only one that was ever caught 
 and executed for the deed. The others escaped, although the 
 King's attendants were in sight. Indeed the latter was so alarm- 
 ed they took to flight, leaving their master to die alone, sustained 
 and cheered only by a poor peasant girl, who held the royal dy- 
 ing head upon her bosom. 
 
 " Alone she sate : from hill and wood low sunk the mournful sun ; 
 Fast gushed the fount of noble blood ; treason its worst had done. 
 With her long hair she vainly pressed the wounds to staunch their tide : 
 Unknown, on that meek humble breast imperial Albert died." 
 
 On the friends and families of these murderers the children of 
 Albert wreaked a most bloody vengeance. The remotest relative 
 was hunted down and slain, and every friend offered up as a vic- 
 tim to revenge, till one thousand is supposed to have fallen. Queen 
 
92 SABBATH IN BASLE. 
 
 Agnes was accustomed to witness the executions, and seemed ac« 
 tuated by the spirit of a fiend while the horrid butchery was go. 
 ing on. On one occasion she saw sixty-throe, one after another 
 slain, and in the midst of the bloody spectacle exclaimed, " Noio 
 I bathe in May -dew. ^' This convent of Koenigsfelden was en- 
 dowed with the confiscated property of these murdered men, and 
 here she ended her days. But her religious seclusion, prayers 
 and almsgiving were powerless to wipe the blood from her con- 
 science. The ghosts of her murdered and innocent victims rose 
 up before her guilty spirit, and frightened peace from her bosom. 
 Revenge had been gratified ; but she forgot that after it has been 
 glutted with victims, it always turns round and gnaws at the heart 
 which gave it birth. When she came to die, and the vision of 
 that terrible and just tribunal that awaited her passed before her 
 trembling spirit, she sent for a priest to give her absolution. 
 " Woman," he replied, " God is not to be served with bloody 
 hands, nor by the slaughter of innocent persons, nor by convents 
 built v/ith tlie plunder of widows and orphans, — but by mercy 
 and forgiveness of injuries." Switzerland is full of these wild 
 tales. They meet you at every turn ; and you often start to be 
 told you are standing on the grave of a murderer. 
 
 Basle is the last town in Switzerland standing on the Rhine at 
 the head of navigation. It contains a little over 21,000 inhabi- 
 tants, an J is well worth a longer stay than the thousands of trav- 
 ellers who yearly pass through ever give it. It was once one 
 of the strictest of the Swiss cities in its sumptuary laws. Every 
 person on the Sabbath, who went to church, was compelled to 
 dress in black ; no carriage could enter the town after ten at 
 night, and the luxury of a footman was forbidden. A set of of- 
 ficers called Unzichterherrn decided the number of dishes and the 
 wines to be used at a dinner party, and also the cut and quality 
 of all the clothes worn. Until fifty years ago, the time-pieces of 
 this town were an hour in advance of all others in Europe. Tra- 
 dition states that this curious custom had its origin in the deliver- 
 ance of the place once from a band of conspirators by the town 
 clock striking one instead of twelve. But the Swiss have a tra- 
 dition to establish every custom. There is a curious head attach- 
 ed to the clock tower standing on the bridge which connects the 
 
METHODISM IN BASLE. 93 
 
 two towns. The movement of the pendulum causes a long tongue 
 to protrude, and the eyes to roll about — " making faces," it is said, 
 " at Little Basle on the opposite side of the river." 
 
 Since the Reformation Basle has been the principal seat of 
 Methodism in Switzerland. Formerly the citizens exhibited their 
 piety in odd mottoes and doggrels placed over their doors in the 
 public streets. These, of course, no longer remain, and the peo- 
 ple are any thing but religious. Two of these strange mottoes 
 we give from the guide book as a specimen of the pious Metiiodists 
 of that time : 
 
 " Auf Gott ich meine HofFaung bau 
 Und wohne in der Alien Sau." 
 In God my hope of grace I big, 
 And dwell within the Ancient Pig. 
 
 " Wacht auf ihr Menschen und that Buss 
 Ich heis-3 zum goldenen Rinderfuss." 
 Wake and repent your sins with grief, 
 I'm called the golden Slain of Beef. 
 
 This was a queer mode of publishing to the traveller one's relig- 
 ious opinions, but it shows to what ridiculous extremes fanaticism 
 will carry a man. To the credit of the place I will say, however, 
 that even now a carriage arriving at the gates of the town during 
 church time on the Sabbath is compelled to wait there till service 
 is over. 
 
 Here one begins to think of the Rhine, "the glorious Rhine." 
 It goes rushing and foaming through Basle as if in haste to reach 
 the vine-clad shores of Germany. The traveller, as he sees its 
 waters darting onward, imbibes a portion of their anxiety, and ig 
 in haste to be borne along on their bosom to the sliore belaw, so 
 rich in associations and so marked in the history of man. 
 
94 SWISS CROSS-BOWS. 
 
 XYIII. 
 
 STEASBOURG-THE RHINE-FEANEJOET. 
 
 OxE is constantly shown choice relics in passing through 
 Switzerland, as well as in passing over Italy. Some, doubtless, 
 are genuine, but icliich are so is the trouble. Thus, at Lucerne, 
 in the public archives, I was shown the very sword William 
 Tell was accustomed to swing before him in battle, and the very 
 cross-bow from which he hurled the bolt into the tyrant's bosom. 
 Both, however, are apocryphal. I forgot to mention, by the way, 
 that these old Swiss cross-bows are not our Indian bows, but what 
 school-boys call cross-guns. The bow, frequently made of steel, 
 is fastened to a stock, and the arrow is launched along a groove. 
 The bows of many of these are so stiff that it was with difficulty 
 I could make them spring at all with my utmost strength. I 
 might as well have pulled on a bar of iron. The stiffest of them 
 even the strong-limbed mountaineer could not span with his un- 
 aided strength, and was compelled to have cog wheels and a small 
 crank attached to the stock, by winding which he was enabled to 
 spring the bow. He thus accumulated tremendous force on the 
 arrow, and when it was dismissed it went with the speed and 
 power of a bullet. At Basle there is a large collection of relics, 
 made by a private gentleman, who has sunk his fr. rtune in it. 
 Among other things are Bonaparte's robe worked by Josephine, 
 in which he was crowned at Milan, and a neat rose- wood dressing 
 case of the Empress, containing fifty secret drawers. 
 
 But not to stop here, we will away down tiie Rhine. The 
 river is here shallow and bad to navigate, and so I took the rail, 
 road to Strasbourg, the lofty spire of whose cathedral rises to 
 
STRASBOURG CATHEDRAL. 95 
 
 view long before the traveller reaches the town. This cathedral 
 or minster is one of the finest Gothic buildings in Europe, and 
 has the loftiest spire in the world, it being four hundred and 
 seventy-four feet above the pavement. It is formed of stone and 
 yet open like frost-work, and looks from below like a delicate 
 cast iron frame. Yet there it stands and has stood, with the wind 
 whistling through its open-work for centuries. Begun about the 
 time of the Crusades by Erwin of Steinbach, it was continued 
 by his son, and afterwards by his daughter, and after that by 
 others, and was finally finished 424 years after its foundation. I 
 am not going to describe it ; but just stand outside, by the was* 
 end, and cast your eye over the noble face it presents. Over the 
 solid part of the wall is thrown a graceful net- work of arcades and 
 pillars, formed of stone, yet so delicately cut that it seems a cast- 
 ing fastened on the surface. In the centre is a magnificent cir- 
 cular window, like a huge eye, only it is Jifiy feet across, while 
 the body of the building itself towers away 230 feet above you, 
 or nearly as high as Trinity church, steeple and all, will be when 
 finished. And over all is this beautiful netting of stone. When 
 Trinity church is completed, clap another just like it, spire and all, 
 on the top of its spire, and you have some conception of the man- 
 ner the Strasbourg Minster lifts its head into the heavens. Among 
 other things in the interior is the famous clock, which, till lately, 
 has for a long time remained silent, because no mechanist could 
 be found of sufficient skill to arrange its elaborate interior. It is 
 about the size of a large organ, and tells not only the time of the 
 day, but the changes of the seasons — exhibits the different phases 
 of the moon — the complicated movements of the planets, bringing 
 about in iheir appointed time the eclipses of the sun and jnoon, 
 besides playing several tunes and performing various marches by 
 way of pastime. It is a time-keeper, astronomer, almanac, 
 mathematician, and musician at the same time. Every hour a 
 procession appears on its face marching round to the sound of 
 music, with some striking figure in the foreground. Wb waited 
 to notice one performance, and the chief personage that came out 
 to do us honour was old Father Time, with his scythe over his 
 shoulder, and his head bowed down in grief, looking as if he were 
 striking his last hour. Here lies Qberlin, and about a mile and 
 
96 PATE DE FOIES GRAS. 
 
 a half distant, at Waldbach, is his house and library, standing 
 just as he left them. 
 
 Here for the first time I noticed the storks sitting quietly in 
 their nests on the tops of the lofty chimnies, or stepping with their 
 long legs and outstretched necks around on their perilous prome- 
 nade. There is one street in this town called Brand Strasse (Fire 
 Street), from the fact that in 1348 a huge bonfire was made where 
 it runs, to burn the Hebrews; and 2,000 were consumed, for hav- 
 ing, as it was declared, poisoned the wells and fountains of the 
 town. Ah ! almost all Europe has been one wide Brand Strasse 
 to this unfortunate people. 
 
 Strasbourg is the great market for paies defoies gras, made, as 
 it is known, of the livers of geese. These poor creatures are shut 
 up in coops so narrow they cannot turn round in them, and then 
 stuffed twice a day with Indian corn, to enlarge their livers, which 
 have been known to swell till they reached the enormous weiglit 
 of two pounds and a half. Garlick steeped in water is given them 
 to increase their appetites. This invention is worthy of the French 
 nation, where cooks are great as nobles. 
 
 From this place to Mayence, down the Rhine, there is nothing 
 of interest except the old city of Worm.s, immortal for the part it 
 played in the Reformation. It is now half desolate, but I looked 
 upon it with the profoundest emotions. Luther rose before me 
 with that determined brow and strange, awful eye of his, before 
 which the boldest glance went down. I seemed to behold him as 
 he approached the thronged city. Every step tells on the fate of 
 a world, and on the single will of that single man rests the whole 
 Reformation. But he is firm as truth itself, and in the regular 
 beatings of that mighty heart, and the unfaltering step of that fear- 
 less form, the nations read their destiny. The Rhine is lined with 
 battle fields, and mighty chieftains lie along its banks ; but there 
 never was the march of an army on its shores, not even when 
 Bonaparte trod there with his strong legions, so sublime and awful 
 as the approach of that single man to Worms. The fate of a na- 
 tion hung on the tread of one — that of the world on the other. 
 Crowns and thrones were carried by the former — the freedom of 
 mankind by the latter. What is the headlong valour of Bonaparte 
 on the bridge of Lodi, the terrible charge of McDonald at Wag- 
 
LUTHER. 97 
 
 ram, or Ney at Waterloo, compared to the steady courage of this 
 fearless man, placing himself single-handed against kings and 
 princes, and facing down the whole visible church of God on 
 earth, with its prisons and torture and death placed before him. 
 But there was a mightier power at work within him than human 
 will or human courage — the upstaying and uplifting spirit of God 
 bearing on the heart with its sweet promise, and nerving it with 
 its divine strength, till it could throb as calmly in the earthquake 
 as in the sunshine. Still his was a bold spirit, daring all and 
 more than man dare do. 
 
 The Rhine here is a miserable stream enough, flowing amid 
 low marshy islands, and over a flat country, so that you seem to 
 be moving through a swamp rather than down the most beautiful 
 river of Europe. The boat will now be entangled in a perfect 
 crowd of these mud islands till there seems no way of escape, and 
 now, caui::ht in a current, go dashing straight on to another ; and 
 just when the crash is expected, and you are so near you could 
 easily leap ashore, it shoots away like an arrow, and floats on the 
 broad lake-like bosom of the stream. Nothing can be more stupid 
 than the descent of the Rhine to Mayence. 
 
 Here I crossed the river and took cars for Frankfort-on-the- 
 Maine. Here, also, I first noticed those huge rafts of timber 
 which are brought from the mountains of Germany and floated 
 down to Holland. One was moving down towards the bridge, 
 four hundred feet long, and nearly three hundred wide, sprin- 
 kled over with the cabins of the navigators, who, with their fam- 
 ilies, amounted to between two and three hundred persons. I 
 supposed the spectacle of such immense masses of floating timber 
 was one of the peculiar features of our western world, and I did 
 not expect such a wild and frontier scene here on the Rhine. 
 
 There are three classes of cars on the railroad to Frankfort. 
 The first is fitted up for the delicate tastes of noble blood, though 
 free to all. The second is better than any railroad carriage I 
 ever saw at home, and the third very passable. Taking the sec- 
 ond as more becoming my rank, I sped off" for Frankfort. Of 
 this free town I will say only that the belt of shrubbery and flow- 
 ers going entirely round it, with carriage drives and promenades 
 between, looks like a beautiful wreath encircling it, and occupy. 
 
98 MOTHER OF THE ROTHSCHILDS. 
 
 ing as it does the place of the old line of forts, is a sweet emblem 
 of the change that is yet to come over the cities of the world from 
 the peaceful influence of the gospel. The two things that inter- 
 ested me most were, the house in which Goethe was born, showing 
 by its fine exterior that poverty was not the inheritance of one 
 poet at least, — and the Jews' street, at one end of which stands 
 the palace of the Rothschilds. The Jews here, as every where, 
 are old clothes men, and the street is black with garments liang- 
 ing before the dwellings to tempt the purchaser. The Rothschilds 
 have built their palace at the end of the street, hut facing one of 
 the most fashionable streets of the town. Thus they stand with 
 one foot among the Jews and the other among Christians. I was 
 struck with one little incident illustrating the tenacity with which 
 a Hebrew clings to his despised people. The mother of the 
 Rothschilds still lives among the old clothes in the midst of her 
 kindred, and steadily refuses to dwell with her children in their 
 magnificent palace. Like Ruth she says to her people, " Where 
 thou goest I will go, and thy God shall be my God." I love this 
 strong affection for her persecuted race, choosing, as it does, 
 fhame and disgrace with them, rather than honour and riches with 
 the world. Even here, in this enlightened town, until eleven 
 years ago, there was an edict in force restricting the number of 
 marriages among the Hebrews to thirteen per year. 
 
MINERAL SPRINGS OF WEISBADEN. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A DAY IN WIESBADEN 
 
 Wiesbaden is the Saratoga of Germany and the chief town in 
 the Duchy of Nassau. The Duke is the King of this little prov- 
 ince containing 355,715 inhabitants, of whom a little over half 
 are Protestants, 5,845 Jews, and the rest Catholics. This small 
 duchy is filled with Brunnens, or bubbling springs ; but before I 
 give a description of them, let me sketch a day in Wiesbaden. 
 At five o'clock in the morning, the servant, in obedience to my 
 orders, knocked at my door, and with a bright sun just rising over 
 the Taunus mountains to greet me, I threaded my way to the hot 
 springs, a short distance from the centre of the village. A crowd 
 had arrived before me, and were scattered around over the open 
 area, or passing up and down the promenades, carrying a glass of 
 the steaming water in their hands, waving it backwards and for- 
 wards in the morning air, and blowing upon the surface to cool it 
 for drinking. This water is so hot it cannot be drank for some 
 time after it is dipped up, and the vessel containing it cannot be 
 grasped for a single moment in the hand. A handle, therefore, is 
 attached to all the vessels, in which each invalid receives his por- 
 tion of the scalding fluid. I stood for a long time convulsed with 
 laughter at the scene that opened before me as I approached this 
 spring, notwithstanding the sobering effects of the early morning 
 air. Now an old man tottered away from the steaming spring, 
 bowing over his glass, which he held with trembling hand close 
 to his face, and blowing with the most imperturbable gravity and 
 dolorous countenance on the scalding fluid. Close behind him 
 shot along a peppery Frenchman, puffing away at his drink, and 
 swinging it backwards and forwards with such velocity and abru}^. 
 
100 MANNER OF DRINKING THE WATER. 
 
 ness, that a portion of the hot water at length spilled over on his 
 hand, when he dropped the vessel as if he had been bitten by a 
 snake, and, with a dozen sacres, stood scowling over the broken 
 fragments that lay scattered at his feet. Old and young women 
 were walking along the promenades utterly absorbed in their cup 
 of boiling water, which it required the nicest balancing to keep 
 from spilling over. This intense attention of so many people to 
 the single object of keeping their cups right end up, and yet swing 
 them as far and rapid as possible in order to cool the water, was 
 irresistibly comical. Almost every man's character could be dis- 
 cerned in the way he carried his cup, and the success which at- 
 tended his operations. Your quiet lazy man sat down on a bench, 
 put his vessel beside him, and crossing his legs, waited with the 
 most composed mien the sure operation of the laws of nature to 
 cool his dose, while the ardent impatient personage kept shaking 
 and blowing his tumbler, and sipping every now and then, to the 
 no slight burning of his lips. 
 
 After having watched for a^ while this to me novel spectacle, I 
 stepped up to the spring and received from a young girl my por- 
 tion of this boiling broth, and commenced my promenade, present- 
 ing, probably, to some other traveller, as ridiculous a figure as 
 those who had just excited my mirth exhibited to me. 
 
 The taste of this water, when partially cooled, is precisely like 
 chicken hroih. Says a humorous English traveller, of this spring, 
 (Sir Francis Head,) " If I were to say that, while drinking it, one 
 hears in one's ears the cackling of hens, and tiiat one sees feath- 
 ers flying before one's eyes, I should certainly greatly exaggerate ; 
 but when I declare that it exactly resembles very hot chicken 
 broth, I only say what Dr. Grenville said, and what, in fact, every 
 body says, and must say, respecting it, and certainly I do wonder 
 why the common people should be at the inconvenience of making 
 bad soup, when they can get much better from nature's great 
 stock-pot, the Kochbrunnen of Wiesbaden. At all periods of the 
 year, summer and winter, the temperature of this broth remains 
 the same ; and when one reflects that it has been bubbling out of 
 the ground, and boiling over, in the very same state, certainly 
 from the time of the Romans, and probably from the time of the 
 flood, it is really astonishing what a most wonderful apparatus 
 
THE KUR SAAL. iOl 
 
 there must exist below, what an inexhaustible stock of provisions 
 to ensure such an everlasting supply of broth always formed of 
 the same eight or ten ingredients, always salted to exactly the 
 same degree, aad always served up at exactly the same heat. 
 One would think that some of the particles in the recipe would 
 be exhausted : in short, to speak metaphorically, that the chickens 
 would at last be boiled to rags, or that the fire would go out for 
 want of coals ; but the oftener one reflects on this sort of subjects, 
 the oftener is the oldfashioned observation forced upon the mind, 
 that let a man go where he will, Omnipotence is never from his 
 view," 
 
 This water, like that of Saratoga, is good for every thing : for 
 those too fat and those too lean, for those too hot and those too 
 cold, for all ages and conditions and sexes. After having swal- 
 lowed a sufficient quantity of this broth, and what is better still, 
 a good breakfast, I wandered two miles, through shaded walks, 
 from the Kur Saal to the picturesque ruins of Sonnenberg Castle. 
 Lying down under its shady trees, and away from the noise of 
 the bustling little village. I forgot for a while, Wiesbaden, Koch- 
 brunnen, chicken broth, and all. 
 
 This Kur Saal is a magnificent hotel, built by the Duke, and 
 capable of seating several hundred at dinner. The main saloon 
 is 130 feet long, 60 wide, and 50 feet high. The price for dinner 
 is the very reasonable sum of some thirty-four or five cents. 
 Back of this building is an open area with seats in it, where hun- 
 dreds, after dinner, sit and drink coffee ; and farther on, a passa- 
 ble pond, beautiful shrubbery, and countless walks. I hardly 
 know a pleasanter spot to spend a week or two in than Wies- 
 baden, were it not for the gambling tliat is constantly practised. 
 In the public rooms of the Kur Saal are roulette tables and other 
 apparatus for gambling, which after dinner, and especially in the 
 evening, are surrounded with persons of both sexes, most of 
 whom stake more or less money. Directly opposite me at dinner, 
 sat a young man whose countenance instantly attracted my at^ 
 tention. He was very pale and thin, while his cold blue eye 
 high cheek bones, and almost marble whiteness and hardness of 
 features, together with a sullen, morose aspect, made me shrink 
 from him as from some deadly thing. Added to all this, when 
 
10-2 A GAMBLER. 
 
 he rose from the table, I sa^v he had an ugly limp, which mada 
 him seem more unnatural and monster-like than before. 
 
 Wandering soon after through the rooms, seeing ■what was to 
 be seen, I came to a roulette table around which were gathered 
 gentlemen and ladies of all nations and ages, some of them sta- 
 king small sums apparently for mere amusement. Just then, this 
 sullen cadaverous looking young man came limping up, and de 
 posited a roll of twenty Napoleons or abont SSO. A single turn 
 of the wheel, and it was lost. He quietly drew forth another 
 roll, which was also quickly lost. Without the least agitation or 
 apparent excitement he thus continue'd to draw forth one roll af- 
 i:er another till ten of them or about 8S00 were gone. He then 
 as quietly, and without saying a single word, limped away. He 
 had not spoken or changed a muscle the whole time, and mani- 
 fested no more anxiety or regret than if he had lost only so many 
 pennies. " There," said I to myself, as he sauntered away, 
 '• goes a professed gambler, and he has all the qualities for a suc- 
 cessful one. Perfectly cool and self-possessed under the most 
 provoking reverses, he does not get angry and rave at fickle, per- 
 verse fortune, but takes it all as a matter of business." I then 
 knew, for the first time, why I felt such an antipath}- towards 
 him. A gambler carries his repulsive soul in his face, in his 
 eye, nay, almost in his very gait. He makes a chilling atmos- 
 phere around him that repels every one that approaches him. 
 Gambling seems to metamorphose a man more than any other 
 crime except murder. 
 
 But let us away from this contaminating influence, and forth 
 into God's beautiful world — into the forest, and beauty and bloom 
 of nature, where one can breathe free again, and feel the sooth- 
 ing and balmy influence of the summer wind as it creeps over 
 the mountain ridges. The sun is stooping to the western world, 
 hasting, as it were, to my own beloved land, and the dark forests 
 of the Taunus seem to wave an invitation to their cool shades. 
 
 Taking a guide with me, I mounted a donkey and stained for 
 *' Die Platte," or the duke's hunting seat, four miles distant, on 
 the very summit of the Taunus. For a long while we trotted 
 along together, when, all at once, a flock of deer burst from the 
 thicket, and bounded across our path. Going a little way into the 
 
HUNTING CHATEAU. 103 
 
 Wood, they stopped, and allowed me to urge ray donkey to within 
 a few rods of them. Indeed they seemed almost as tame as sheep. 
 I asked my guide what would be the penalty if he should shoot 
 one of those deer. " Three years' imprisonment," he replied. 
 *' In my country," said I, "there are plenty of deer, and you can 
 shoot one down wherever you find it. and have it after it is killed." 
 He looked at me a moment, in astonishment^ and then simply said, 
 " That must be a strange country." A strange country indeed 
 to him, who was going through a wide unbroken forest, and yet 
 could not even take a wild bird's nest without paying a fine of five 
 florins. At length we reached the duke's hunting seat, a white 
 cubic building, standing alone and naked on the very summit of 
 the hill. Two huge bronze stags stand at the entrance, while 
 immense antlers are nailed up in every part of the hall, and 
 along the staircase, with a paper under each, telling that it was 
 shot by the duke, and the date of the remarkable achievement. I 
 could not but smile at this little piece of ostentation, as I had just 
 seen how difficult it must be to kill one of these deer. I had rode 
 on horseback (or, rather, donkeyback) to within pistol shot of four 
 as fine fellows as ever tossed their antlers through the forest, and 
 then was ccmpelled to halloo to frighten them away. I am afraid 
 the duke would hardly show as many trophies if compelled to hunt 
 his game in our primeval forests. The chief room of this building 
 is circular, and has a row of antlers going entirely around it, 
 halfway up the lofty ceiling ; while every piece of furniture in 
 it — chairs, sofas, stools, and all — are made of deer' horns in their 
 natural state. I suppose they must have been steamed and bent 
 into the very convenient shapes they certainly present. The 
 cushions are all made of tanned deer-skins, adorned with hunttnsr 
 scenes, forest landscapes, &c. From the top of this hunting 
 chateau I saw the glorious Rhine, flowing, in a waving line, 
 through the landscape, while cultivated fields and vineyards, and 
 forest-covered hills, and old castles, and towers, and cottages 
 spread away on the excited vision in all the irregular harmony 
 of nature ; and the glorious orb of day threw its farewell light over 
 the whole, as it dropped to its repose over distant France. I turn- 
 ed back to Wiesbaden, through the deepening shades of the forest, 
 
104 A LADY GAMBLER. 
 
 greeted ever and anon, by the flitting form of a noble deer, as he 
 bounded away to his evening shelter. 
 
 At night the Kur Saal is thronged with persons of both sexes ; — • 
 and, as I strolled through it, I came again upon a gambling table, 
 around which were sitting gentlemen and ladies of every age and 
 nation. English girls were teasing their " papas" for a few sove- 
 reigns to stake on the turning of a card, and old men were watch- 
 ing the changes of the game with all the eagerness of youth. 
 One lady, in particular, attracted my attention. She was from 
 Belgium, and her whole appearance indicated a person from the 
 upper ranks of society. To an elegant form she added a com- 
 plexion of incomparable whiteness, which contrasted beautifully 
 with her rich auburn tresses that flowed in ample ringlets around 
 her neck. Clad in simple white, and adorned with a profusion of 
 jewels, she took her seat by the table, while her husband stood 
 behind her chair ; and, with her delicate white hand on a pile of 
 money before her, entered at once into the excitement of the game. 
 As she sat, and with her small rake drew to her, or pushed from 
 her, the money she won or lost, I gazed on her with feelings with 
 which I had never before contemplated a woman. I did not think 
 it was possible for an elegant and well-dressed lady to fill me with 
 feelings of such utter disgust. Her very beauty became ugliness, 
 and her auburn tresses looked more unbecoming than the elfin 
 locks of a sorceress. Her appearance and her occupation pre- 
 sented such an utter contrast, that she seemed infinitely uglier to 
 me than the cold-blooded, cadaverous looking gambler I had seen 
 lose his money a few hours before. While I was mentally com- 
 paring them, in he came, limping towards the table. I was half 
 tempted to peep round and see if he had not a cloven foot. With 
 the same marble-like features and forbidding aspect he approach- 
 ed and laid down a roll of twenty Napoleons. He won, and putting 
 down another, won again ; and thus he continued, winning one 
 after another, till he had got back the ten rolls he had lost before, 
 and two in addition. Then, without waiting for fortune to turn 
 against him, he walked away, not having spoken a word. 
 
 Turning to a bath-house, I threw myself into the steaming 
 water for an hour, and then retired to my couch. These baths 
 are so large one can swim around in them, and are arranged in a 
 
CURIOUS MODE OF BATHING. 105 
 
 row, with only a high partition between them, so that you can 
 hear every splash and groan of your neighbour in the next apart- 
 ment. On one side of me was an old man, apparently, whose 
 kicks, at long intervals, told me he was yet alive. Some two or 
 three women were on the other side, whose laughter and rapid 
 German kept up a constant Babel, while the steam came rolling 
 up over where I lay like the smoke from a coal-pit. I do not 
 know what idea these Germans have of delicacy, but this hearing 
 your neighbours kicking and splashing around you, while the 
 whole building is open the entire length overhead, would not be 
 tolerated in my own country. 
 
 It must be remembered that these gambling " hells" are not in 
 out of the way places, but meet you as they would if placed in 
 the public rooms of the hotels at Saratoga, and were patronized by 
 the fashionables of both sexes from New York city. Methinks 
 it is time another Luther had arisen to sweep away this chaff of 
 Germany. 
 
106 THE NEIDER SELTERS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 SCHWALBACH AND SCHLANGENBAB. 
 
 There are other mineral waters in Nassau besides those of 
 Wiesbaden, and differing from them entirely in taste and temper- 
 ature. Schwalbach contains several springs very much like the 
 Congress, Pavilion and Iodine Springs of Sara;toga. One called 
 the Weinbrunnen, from the fancied resemblance of the water to 
 wine, reminds one very much of the sparkling water of the Pa- 
 vilion Spring. The Stahlbrunnen and the Pauline in the same 
 place, differ from each other only in the little different proportions 
 in which iron and carbonic acid gas are found in them. It is but 
 a day's ride from this to the famous Nieder Selters, the spring 
 from which the well known and almost universally circulated 
 Seltzer water is obtained. Sir Francis Head's description of this 
 spring and the mode of obtaining the water is better than any I 
 could give. Says he : " On approaching a large circular shed 
 covered with a slated roof, supported by posts but open on all 
 sides, I found the single brunnen or well from which this highly 
 celebrated water is forwarded to almost every quarter of the globe 
 — to India, the West Indies, the Mediterranean, Paris, London, 
 and to almost every city in Germany. The hole, which was 
 about five feet square, was bounded by a framework of four 
 stronor beams mortised together, and the bottom of the shed beins: 
 boarded, it resembled very much, both in shape and dimensions, 
 one of the hatches in the deck of a si ip. A small crane with 
 three arms, to each of which there was suspended a square ircn 
 crate or basket a little smaller than the brunnen, stood about ten 
 feet off; and while peasant girls, with a stone bottle (holding 
 three pints) dangling on every finger of each hand, were rapidly 
 
MODE OF FILLING THE BOTTLES. 107 
 
 filling two of these crates, which contained seventy bottles, a man 
 turned the third by a winch, until it hung immediately over the 
 brunnen, into which it then rapidly descended. The air in these 
 seventy bottles being immediately displaced by the water, a great 
 bubbling of course ensued, but in about twenty seconds this hav- 
 ing subsided, the crate was raised ; and while seventy more 
 bottles descended from another arm of the crane, a fresh set of 
 girls curiously carried off these full bottles, one on each finger 
 of each hand, ranging them in long rows upon a large table or 
 dresser, also beneath the shed. No sooner were they there than 
 two men, with surprising activity, put a cork into each ; while 
 two drummers, with a long stick in each of their hands, hammer- 
 ing them down, appeared as if they were playing upon musical 
 glasses. Another set of young women now instantly carried 
 them off, four and five in each hand, to men who, with sharp 
 knives, sliced off the projecting part of the cork ; and this opera- 
 tion being over, the poor jaded bottles were delivered over to 
 women, each of whom actually covered three thousand of them a 
 day with white leather, which they firmly bound with pack-thread 
 round the corks ; and then, without placing the bottles on the 
 ground, they delivered them over to a man seated beside them, 
 who, without any apology, dipped each of their noses into boiling 
 hot rosin, and before they had recovered from this unexpected 
 operation, the Duke of Nassau's seal was stamped upon them by 
 another man, when then they were hurried, sixteen and twenty at 
 a time, by girls, to magazines, where they peacefully remained 
 ready for exportation. 
 
 " Having followed a set of bottles from the brunnen to the store 
 where I left them resting from their labours, I strolled to another 
 part of the establishment, where were empty bottles calmly wait- 
 ing for their turn to be filled. I here counted twenty-five bins of 
 bottles, each four yards broad, six yards deep, and eight feet high. 
 A number of young girls were carrying thirty-four of them at a 
 time to an immense reservoir, which was kept constantly full, by 
 a large fountain pipe, of beautiful, clear fresh water." 
 
 Speaking of the number of bottles that strew the. road in eveiy 
 direction, and make the very place look as if it had been -once 
 made of bottles and overthrown in a thunder storm, leaving its 
 
108 NUMBER OF BOTTLES EXPORTED. 
 
 wreck on the ground, he says : " The little children really looked 
 as if they were naade of bottles : some wore a pyramid of them in 
 baskets on their heads ; — some of them were laden with tht m, 
 hanging over their shoulders, before and behind ; — some carried 
 them strapped round their middle, all their hands full ; and the 
 little urchins that could scarcely walk, were advancing, each 
 hugging in its arms one single bottle ! In fact, at Nieder Selters 
 * an infant ' means a being totally unable to carry a bottle ; pu- 
 berty and manhood are proved by bottles ; a strong man brags of 
 the number he can carry, and superannuation means being no 
 longer able in this world to bear bottles. 
 
 " The road to the brunnen is actually strewed with fragments, 
 and so are the ditches ; and when the reader is informed that, be- 
 sides all he has so patiently heard, bottles are not only expended, 
 filled and exported, but actually made at Nieder Selters, he must 
 admit that no writer can do justice to that place unless every line 
 of his description contains at least once the word — hotile. The 
 moralists of Nieder Selters preach on bottles. Life, they say, ia 
 a sound bottle, and death a cracked one. Thoughtless men are 
 empty bottles ; drunken men are leaky ones ; and a man highly 
 educated, fit to appear in any country and any society, is of 
 course, a bottle corked, rosined, and stamped with the seal of the 
 Duke of Nassau." 
 
 This humorous and graphic description will not be thought 
 much exaggerated when we remember that nearly a million and 
 a half of bottles are annually carried out of that small inland 
 German town, to say nothing of another million and a half bro- 
 ken there. In the year 1832 there were exported from that 
 spring 1,295,183 bottles. If they were all quart bottles, it would 
 amount to over a thousand barrels of mineral water, which annu 
 ally goes down somebodies' throats. This valuable spring was 
 originally bought by the ancestor of the Duke for a single butt of 
 wine, and it now yields a nett profit of over $26,000 per annum. 
 
 Schlangenbad, or the Serpent's bath, is another of the brunnens 
 of Nassau. Schlangenbad is in a secluded spot, and takes its 
 name from the quantity of snakes that live about it, swimming 
 around in the spring and crawling through the houses with the ut- 
 most liberty. The wa'.ers are celebrated for their effect on the 
 
LEGEND OF THE SERPENT'S BATH. 109 
 
 skin, reducing it almost to marble whiteness. The most invete- 
 rate wrinkles and the roughest skin become smooth and white 
 under the wonderful effects of this water. Acting as a sort of 
 corrosive, it literally scours a man white, and then soaks him soft 
 and smooth. Says Francis Head, " I one day happened to over- 
 hear a fat Frenchman say to his friend, after he had been lying 
 in one of these baths a half an hour : * Monsieur, dans ces hams 
 ou devient ahsolument amour eux de soi meme.' ' Sir, in these 
 baths, one absolutely becomes enamoured of himself.' " So 
 great is the effect of this water on the skin, that it is bottled and 
 sent to the most distant parts of Europe as a cosmetic. 
 
 The Germans have some mysterious origin to every thing, and 
 what the Italians refer to the Madonna, they attribute to some in- 
 definite mysterious agency. This spring, they say, was discov- 
 ered by a sick heifer. Having been wasting away a long time, 
 till her bones seemed actually to be pushing through her skin, and 
 she was given up by the herdsman to die ; she all at once disap- 
 peared and was gone for several weeks. No one thought of her, 
 as it was supposed she was dead, but one day she unexpectedly 
 returned, a sleek, fat, bright-eyed and nimble heifer. Every 
 evening, however, she disappeared, which excited the curiosity of 
 the herdsman so tliat he at length followed her, when to his sur- 
 prise he saw her approach this spring, then unknown, from which 
 having drank, she quietly returned. Not long after, a beautiful 
 young lady began to waste away precisely like the heifer, and 
 all medicines and nursing were in vain, and she was given over 
 to die. 
 
 The herdsman who had seen the wonderful cure performed on 
 one of his herd being told of her sickness, went to her and besought 
 her to try the spring. Like a sensible man, he thought what was 
 good for the heifer was good for the woman. She consented to 
 try the remedy, and in a few weeks was one of the freshest, fat- 
 test, plumpest young women in all the country round. From that 
 moment, of course, the fame of the spring was secured, and it has 
 gone on increasing in reputation, till now the secluded spot is vis- 
 ited by persons from every part of Europe. 
 
 The duchy of Nassau is a beautiful portion of Germany, and 
 
 17 
 
110 DESPOTISM OF THE DUKE OF NASSAU. 
 
 if the Duke would only abrogate, like a sensible man, some of his 
 foolish tyrannical feudal laws, and become a father to his subjects, 
 it would be a delightful spot every way. But the petty prince of 
 every petty province seems to think he is more like a king the 
 "e despotic he behaves. 
 
MAYENCE. Ill 
 
 i XXI. 
 
 1 MAYENCE-THE RHINE 
 
 Mayence or Mainz lies at the upper termination of the fine 
 scenery of the Rhine. From this to Coblenz, nearly sixty miles, 
 this river is lined with towns, and convents, and castles, as rich 
 in association as the ruins around Rome. 
 
 Mayence has its sights for the traveller, among which are the 
 cathedral, the ruins of an old Roman structure, a museum of 
 paintings, several monuments, &c., which I will pass over. 
 There are two things worth recording of Mayence. It was here 
 the famous Hanseatic League (the result of the Rhenish League) 
 was formed by a confederation of cities. It was the first eftec- 
 tual blow aimed against unjust restrictions on commerce. Rob- 
 ber chieftains had lined the Rhine from Cologne to Mayence v%^ith 
 castles, which frowned down on the river that washed their foun- 
 dations ; and levied tribute on every passing vessel. In the mid- 
 dle ages there were thirty-two '• toll-gates" of these bold highway- 
 men on the river. Now the only chieftain on the Rhine who is 
 still allowed to hold and exercise his feudal right, is the Duke of 
 Nassau. Under this strong confederation, the haughty castles 
 one after another went down, and there is now scarcely a ruin 
 that does not bear the mark of the Emperor Rudolph's stroke. 
 Commerce was freed from the heavy exactions that weighed it 
 down, and sailed with spreading canvass and fearless prow under 
 the gloomy shadows of the towers that had once been its terror 
 and destroyer. 
 
 Bvron looked on these castles with the eye of a poet, and felt 
 vastly more sympathy for the robber chieftains that lived by vio- 
 lence, than for the peaceful traders whose bodies were often left 
 
112 THE CHIEFS OF THE RHINE. 
 
 floating down the Rhine. It is well for the world that those who 
 Ibrmed the Hanseatic League were not poets of the Lara, Childe 
 Harold, and Manfred school. Seeing very little romance in hav- 
 ing their peaceful inhabitants fired upon by robbers who were 
 fortunate enough to live in castles, they wisely concluded to put 
 a stop to it. Had they not taken this practical view of the mat- 
 ter, Byron would probably not have been allowed to poetise so 
 much at his leisure and with such freedom of expression, as he did 
 ■when he sung of the -chiefless castles breathing stern farewells." 
 
 " And there they stand as stands a lofty mind. 
 
 Worn but unstoopiug to the baser crowd, 
 
 All teuantless save to the crannying wind, 
 
 Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
 
 There was a day when they were young and proud. 
 
 Banners on high and battles passed below ; 
 
 But they who fought are in a bloody shroud. 
 
 And those which waved are shredless dust ere now. 
 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. 
 
 Beneath those battlements, within those walls. 
 Power dwelt amidst her passions ; in proud state 
 Each robber chief upheld his armed halls. 
 Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
 Tlian mightier heroes of a longer date. 
 What want these outlaw conquerors should have. 
 But history's purchased page to call them great ? 
 A wider space an ornamented grave, 
 Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as bravtf 
 
 In their baronial feuds and single fields 
 What deeds of prowess unrecorded died? 
 And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields, 
 With emblems well devised by amorous pride. 
 Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide ; 
 But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on 
 Keen contest and destruction near allied, 
 And many a tower for some fair mischief won. 
 Saw the discoloured Rhine, beneath its ruin run. 
 
 But thou, exulting and abounding river ! 
 Making thy waves a blessing as they flow 
 
THE FIRST PRINTING PRESS. IIJ 
 
 Througii banks whose beauty would endure forever 
 Could man but leave thy bright creations so, 
 Nor its fair promise from the surface mow 
 With the sharp scythe of conflict, — then to see 
 Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know 
 Earth proved like Heaven ; and to seem such to me, 
 Even now what wants thy stream ? — that it should Lethe be. 
 
 A thousand battles have assailed thy banks, 
 But these and half their fame have passed away. 
 And Slaughter heaped on high his welt'riug ranks, 
 Their very graves are gone, and what are they ? 
 Thy tide washed down the blood of yesterday : 
 And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream 
 Glossed with its dancing light the sunny ray. 
 But o'er the blackened memory's blighting dream 
 Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem." 
 
 Thus mused the haughty misanthropic bard along the Rhine ;— 
 and these few sentences, by the conflicting sentiments that per- 
 vade them, exhibit the perfect chaos of principle and feeling amid 
 which he struggled with more desperation than wisdom. One 
 moment he expresses regret that those old feudal chiefs have 
 passed away, declaring, on the faith of a bard, that they were as 
 good as their destroyers, and the next moment pours his note of 
 lamentation over the evils of war. 
 
 The other notable event in the history of Mayence is — the first 
 printing press was established here. 
 
 There is a monument here to Gensfleisch [goose jiesli), called 
 Gutemberg, a native of the place, who was the inventor of move- 
 able types. This first printing officej occupied by him between 
 the years 1443 and 1450, is still standing. One could moralize 
 over it an hour. From the first slow arrangement of those move- 
 able types to the present diffusion of printed matter, what a long 
 stride ! He who could hear the first crippled movement of that min- 
 iature press, the only one whose faint sound rose from this round 
 earth; and then catch the din and thunder of the "ten thousand 
 times ten thousand" steam presses«^hat are shaking the very con- 
 tinents on which they rest, with their fierce action; would see an 
 onward step in the progress of the race more prophetic of change 
 
 9 
 
114 BRIDGE OF BOATS. 
 
 than in the conquests of the Csesars. The quiet, thoughtful Gens- 
 fleisch little knew what an earthquake he was generating as he 
 slowly distributed those few types. If the sudden light which 
 rushed on the world had burst on his vision, and the shaking of 
 empires and sound of armies, set in motion by the diffusion of 
 thougnts and truths which the press had scattered on its lightning- 
 ike pinions, met his ear, he would have been alarmed at his la- 
 uour, and trembled as he held the first printed leaf in his hand. 
 That printed page was a richer token to the desponding world 
 than the olive leaf which the dove bore back to the Ark from the 
 subsiding deluge. Men, as they roam by the Rhine, talk of old 
 Schomberg and Blucher and Ney, and heroes of martial renown, 
 but John Gensfleisch and Martin Luther are the two mightiest 
 men that lie along its shores. The armies that struggled here, are 
 still, and their renowned battle-fields have returned again to the 
 hand of the husbandman ; but the struggle commenced by these 
 men has not yet reached its height, and the armies they marshall- 
 ed not yet counted their numbers, or fought their greatest battle. 
 
 Well, brave Gutemberg, (to descend from great things to small) 
 I here, on thy own moveable types, lay my offering to thee, and 
 salute thee "greater than a king." 
 
 A bridge of boats, one thousand six hundred and sixty -six feet 
 long, here crosses the Rhine to Cassel, the railroad depot for 
 Frankfort and Wiesbaden. It is strongly fortified, and commands 
 the bridge in a manner that would make the passage of it by a 
 hostile army, like the passage of the bridge of Lodi. The boats 
 which form it lie with their heads up stream, secured to the bed 
 of the river by strong fastenings ; and covered with planks. Sec- 
 tions here and there swing back to admit the free passage of boats, 
 while nearly half of the whole line is compelled to retire before 
 me of those immense rafts 9f timber which are floated down the 
 Rhine. 
 
ASSOCIATIONS OF THE RHINE. 115 
 
 XXII. 
 THE CASTELLATED EHINE 
 
 " The Rhine ! the Rhine !" which has been the shout of glad 
 armies, as its silver sheen flashed on their eyes as they came 
 over the surrounding heights, is interesting more from its associa- 
 tion than its scenery. The changes that have come over the 
 world are illustrated more strikingly here than even in Rome. 
 The old convent where the jolly friar revelled, is converted into 
 a manufactory — the steamboat is rushing past the nodding castles 
 of feudal chiefs — the modern town straggling through the ruins 
 of once lordly cities, and all the motion and excitement of the 
 nineteenth century, over the unburied corpses of the first fourteen 
 centuries. There is probably no river on our globe more rich 
 in associations than the Rhine. Navigable for over six hundred 
 miles, through the very heart of Europe, its dominion has been 
 battled for for nineteen centuries. From the time the Roman 
 legions trod its shores, and shouted victory in good classic Latinj 
 or retired before the fierce charge of barbaric warriors ; to the 
 middle ages, when feudal chiefs reared their castles here, and 
 performed deeds of daring and chivalry that dimly live in old 
 traditions ; it has been the field of great exploits, and witnessed the 
 most important event of European history. It has been no less the 
 scene of stirring events in modern times. The French Revolu- 
 tion, after it had reduced France to chaos, rolled heavily towards 
 the Rhine. On its banks was the first great struggle between the 
 young and strong Democracy, and the haughty, but no longer 
 vigorous Feudalism. Here kingship first trembled for its crown 
 and throne, and Europe gathered in haste to save its tottering 
 monarchies. On its shores France stood and shouted to the 
 
116 SCENERY OF THE RHINE. 
 
 nations beyond, sending over the startled waters the cry, " All 
 men are born free and equal," till the murmur of the people 
 answered it. The Rhine has seen the armies of the Caesars along 
 its banks — the castles of feudal chiefs flinging their shadows over 
 its placid bosom — the printing press rise in its majesty beside it, 
 and the stern Luther tread along its margin muttering wo;-ds that 
 Bhook the world. It has also borne Bonaparte and his strong 
 legions on, yet amid it all — amid crumbling empires, and through 
 the smoke of battle — undisturbed by the violence and change tliat 
 have ploughed up its banks, lined them with kingdoms, and 
 strewed them with their ruins — it has ever rolled, the same quiet 
 current, to the sea. Its scenery is also beautiful, but not so much 
 when viewed from its surface as when seen from the different 
 points of prospect furnished by the heights around. From the 
 old castles on the shores and the ridges beyond, the landscape has 
 almost endless variations, yet is always beautiful. 
 
 Byron has combined all the striking features of the Rhine in 
 a single verse, yet coloured some of them a little too highly. 
 
 " The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom, 
 
 Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen. 
 
 The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom, 
 
 The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between. 
 
 The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been 
 
 In mockery of man's art ; and these withal 
 
 A race of faces happy as the scene, 
 
 Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, 
 Still springing o'er thy banks, though empires near them fall." 
 
 Almost every castle has, with its real history, some wild tradi- 
 tion connected; which, though it may or may not be true, adds 
 great interest to the mysterious ruin. In looking over the guide 
 book I was struck with the number of " outline sketches'' for 
 magazine tales — thrilling novels, &c., furnished on almost every 
 page. In a few sentences will be told the fate of some old feudal 
 lord, or his beautiful daughter, of whose private history one would 
 gladly know more. Thus at Braesemberg are the ruins of two 
 castles, of one of which, the Bronnserhof, we are told that " tra- 
 dition says, that one of these knights, Bonser of Rudesheim, on 
 
TRADITION OF BRAESEMBERG. 117 
 
 repairing to Palestine, signalized himself by destroying a dragon, 
 which was the terror of the Christian army. No sooner had ho 
 accomplished it, than he was taken prisoner by the Saracens ; and 
 while languishing in captivity, he made a vow, that if ever he 
 returned to his castle of Rudesheim, he would devote his only 
 da'ighter, Gisela, to the church. He arrived at length, a pilgrim, 
 at his castle, and was met by his daughter, now grown into a 
 lovely woman. Gisela loved, and was beloved by a young knight 
 from a neighbouring castle, and she heard with consternation her 
 father's vow. Her tears and entreaties could not change his 
 purpose. He threatened her with his curse if she did not obey ; 
 and in the midst of a violent storm, she precipitated herself from 
 the tower of the castle into the Rhine below. The fishermen 
 found her corpse the next day in the river, by the tower of Hatto, 
 and the boatmen and vintagers at this day fancy they sometimes 
 see the pale form of Gisela hovering about the ruined tower, and 
 hear her voice mingling its lamentations with the mournful whis- 
 tlings of the wind." I leave to some one else the filling up this 
 outline. There is the scene of the first interview of this selfish 
 old Jephtha with his daughter — the wild meetings of the two 
 lovers — the pleadings with the father — the rash purposes, and the 
 final leap from the castle tower, of the beautiful Gisela — all fair 
 property for the weaver of romances — a sort of schedule already 
 made out for him. 
 
 This tower of Hatto, at the base of which was found the form 
 of Gisela, is some distance farther dov/n the river. In descending 
 to it one passes the vineyards of the famed Rudesheim wine, and 
 the white castle of St. Roch. The Bishop of Hatto has been im- 
 mortalized by Southey, in his '•' Traditions of Bishop Hatto,'' com- 
 mencing with the imaginative line 
 
 " The summer and autumn had been so wet." 
 
 Here begins the " Rhine gorge," which furnishes the most beau- 
 tiful scenery on the river. The banks of the stream become more 
 preciphous and rocky, affording secure frontiers for the feuda. 
 chiefs that fortified themselves upon them. Ruined castles — gaping 
 towers — dilapidated fortresses, begin to crowd with almost start- 
 ling rapidity on the beholder. As the boat flies ^long on the swift 
 
lis CASTLES OF THE RHIXE. 
 
 current of the stream he has scarcely thne to read the history and 
 traditions of one, before another claims his attention. Placed ia 
 every variety of position, and presenting memorials of almost eve- 
 ry century, they keep the imagination in constant activity. Tlie 
 castles of Falkenburg perched on its rocky eminence ; Reichenstein 
 and Rheinstein, a little lower down, are grouped together in one 
 coiq: d'cEil, while the falling turrets of Sonneck rush to meet you 
 from below, and the castle of Heimberg frowns over the village at 
 its feet. Next comes old Furstenberg with its round tower and 
 crumbling walls, and then Nottingen, and after it the massive 
 fragments of Stahleck castle, looking gloomily down from the 
 heights of Bacharach. "While I was thus casting my eyes, first 
 on one side, and then the other, of the river, as these, to me new 
 and strange objects, came and went on my vision, suddenly from 
 out the centre of the river rose the castle of Pfalz. We had 
 scarcely passed it before the batt ements of Gutenfels appeared, 
 and soon after the rock-founded castle of Schaenberg. Tradition 
 says that it received the name of Beautiful Hill from seven beau- 
 tiful daughters of one of the old chieftains. Though beloved and 
 sought for by all the young knights far and near, they turned a 
 deaf ear to every suitor, and finally, for their hardheartedness, 
 were turned into seven rocks, which still remain, a solemn warn- 
 ing to all beautiful and heartless coquets to remotest time. At 
 length, just above St. Goar, the black and naked precipice of Lur- 
 leiberg rose out of the water on the left, frowning in savage si- 
 lence over the river. Just before we came opposite this perpen- 
 dicular rock, the boat entered a rapid, formed by the immense 
 rocks in the bed of the stream, and began to shoot downward like 
 an arrow to an immense whirlpool in front of the Lurleiberg. 
 The river here striking the rocks, and dashing back towards the 
 opposite side, forms a whirlpool, called by the inhabitants the 
 Gewirr; into the furious eddy of which our little steamboat dashed 
 without fear. She careened a little one side as she passed along 
 the slope of the Wirbel, probably tipped over by the beautiful, 
 thoujrh evil-minded, water nymph — the Circe of the Rhine — who 
 used to beguile poor ignorant boatmen by her ravishing voice into 
 the boiling eddies, where she deliberately drowned them. Unable 
 to charm the steam-engine, which goes snorting in the most unpo- 
 
SINGULAR ECHO. 119 
 
 etical and daring manner' through all the meshes she weaves with 
 her whirlpool, she revenges herself by putting her ivory shoulder 
 against the keel of the boat as it passes, and exerting all her 
 strength gives it a slight tip over, just to show that she still occupies 
 her realm. 
 
 I was struck here with one of those exhibitions of the love of 
 the picturesque and beautiful which meets the traveller at almost 
 every step on the Continent. There is a grotto under the Lurlei- 
 berg where the echo of a bugle blast or pistol shot is said to be 
 repeated fifteen times. As we approached it, I heard first the ex- 
 plosion of a gun, and then the strains of a bugle. I did not know 
 "at first what it meant, and was much amused when I was told, on 
 inquiring, that a man was kept stationed there, whose sole busi- 
 ness was to fire guns and blow his bugle for the benefit of travel- 
 lers. This making a business of getting up echoes looks odd to 
 an American. A man thus stationed on the Hudson to rouse 
 echoes for every boat that passed, would have a great many jokes 
 cracked at his expense. I should have been better pleased witn 
 this arrangement, however, had I derived any benefit from it. Be- 
 tween the crushing sound of the water, as it swept in swift circles 
 around the boat, and the churning of the steam-engine, I did not 
 get even a single echo. I heard only the explosion of the gun, 
 and the fitful, uncertain strains of the bugle — the echoes the steam- 
 boat and whirlpool had all to themselves. 
 
 We had scarcely passed the base of this precipice before the 
 ruins of the fortress of Rheinfels emerged into view. This is the 
 largest ruin on the river, and witnessed bloody work in olden 
 times, as its stern lord levied duties on every traveller up the 
 Rhine. It was the impregnable character of this fortification 
 which helped bring about the Hanseatic League. It was blown 
 up by the revolutionary army of France, and has remained a 
 ruin ever since. Next comes the Thurmberg, or castle of the 
 mouse, a ruin in a more perfect state of preservation than any 
 other on the Rhine. It wants only the wood-work to render it 
 entire. A little lower down rises the old convent of Bornhofen, 
 and the twin castles of Sternberg and Liebenstein, presenting a 
 most singular, yet charming, feature in the landscape. Still 
 farther down, and lo, the noble castle of Marksburg, perched on 
 
120 CASTLE OF STAL^ENFELS. 
 
 the top of a cone-like rock, looking silently down on the little 
 village of Branbach, at the base, burst on my sight. This old 
 castle stands just as it did in the middle ages, with all its secret, 
 narrow passages, winding staircases, dungeons, and instruments 
 of torture, preserved through the slow lapse of centuries. The 
 castle of Lahneck comes next, and last of all, before reaching 
 Coblentz, the fine old castle of Stalzenfels. It stands on a rock in 
 the most picturesque position imaginable. It had lain in ruins 
 since the French destroyed it, nearly two hundred years ago ; 
 but the town of Coblentz having presented it to the Crown Prince 
 of Prussia, he is slowly repairing it after the ancient model. He 
 devotes an annual sum to the repairs, and it already shows what 
 a beautiful structure it must have been originally. The gift on 
 the part of Coblentz was no great affair, as they had already 
 offered it for fifty-three dollars, and could find nobody to buy it at 
 that price. The old castles on the Rhine follow the laws of trade 
 — the price always corresponds to the demand. But here the 
 castle-market is glutted, and hence the sales are light. 
 
 One cannot easily imagine the effect of these turreted ruins, 
 suddenly bursting on one at every turn of the river. The whole 
 distance from Mayence to Coblentz is less than sixty miles, and 
 yet one passes all these old castles in sailing over it. But these 
 castles are not all that charm the beholder. There are ruined 
 convents and churches — smiling villages, sweet vineyards — bare 
 precipices and garden-like shores, all coming and going like the 
 objects in a moving diorama, keeping up a succession of sur- 
 prises that prevents one effectually from calling up the associa- 
 tions of any one particular scene. 
 
BONAPARTE AND THE RUSSIANS. 121 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 TPIE RHINE FROM COBLENTZ TO COLOGNE. 
 
 CoBLENTz is one of the most picturesque towns I have ever 
 seen. Its position on the Rhine seems chosen on purpose for 
 effect. One of the most interesting objects in it is the rock and 
 fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, which commands a glorious view of 
 the junction of the Rhine and Mosel, and which, from its impreg- 
 nable position, is called the Gibraltar of the Rhine. It will hold 
 a garrison of 14,000 men, while the magazines will contain pro- 
 visions sufficient to maintain eight thousand men for ten years. 
 The escarped rocks on three sides would repel almost any assault, 
 and the fortress can easily sustain the glorious name it gained in the 
 seventeenth century, when assailed in vain by the French armies. 
 The nam.e signifies " honour's broadstone." There is a convent 
 of Jesuits in the town, with such ample wine cellars that a stage 
 coach could drive around in them, and which have held nearly a 
 half a million of bottles of wine. In the public square is a foun- 
 tain, erected as a monument, by the French, in 1812, on which 
 was chiselled an inscription, to commemorate their invasion of 
 Russia. A few months after, the fragments of the Grand Army 
 were driven over the Rhine. Over the fallen host the Russians 
 had marched in triumph, and pressing fast on the flying traces of 
 Bonaparte, entered this town on their march for Paris. The 
 Russian commander seeing this monument, instead of having it 
 destroyed, caused to be cut under the French inscription, " Vu et 
 approuve par nous, commandant Russe, de la ville CoMence, Jan- 
 vier V^, 1814. This is rather a hard hit on the French, and 
 shows that St. Priest had more contempt than hate in his compo- 
 sition. Here, too, sleeps the brave and noble Marceau, who fell 
 
GRAVE OF MARGE AU. 
 
 in the hotly fought battle of Altenkirchen. Byron expressed the 
 feelings of both friends and foes when he sung 
 
 *' Brief, brave and glorious was his young career — 
 
 His mourners were two liosts, his friends and foea ; 
 
 And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
 
 Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose, 
 
 For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, 
 
 The few in number, who had not o'erstept 
 
 The charter to chastise which she bestows 
 
 On such as wield her weapons ; he had kept 
 The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept." 
 
 We had scarcely shoved away from the wharf at Coblentz 
 before castles, which seemed to have dropped down the river 
 during our stop, began to rise along the shores. The Crane, 
 built nearly three hundred years ago, and just below it the Watch 
 Tower of older date, round below and eight-sided above, present 
 a most picturesque appearance. Farther down rises the castle 
 of Rheineck, with the castellated building beside it looking like 
 the residence of some old feudal chief, in the heyday of his pow- 
 er. Farther down still, after the Ahr has poured its silver stream 
 into the Rhine, appear the black precipices of Erpeler Lei, seven ' 
 hundred feet high. At first view this immense basaltic rock 
 seems perfectly inaccessible, but the vintager has converted it 
 into a vineyard. In the crevices, all along the face of the preci- 
 pice, are placed baskets filled with earth, in which are planted 
 vines, that creep up and cling to the rock, covering it with ver- 
 dure and fruit. Opposite the village of Unkel is another basaltic 
 rock, rising in columns from the water. The Rhine raves past it 
 as if conscious that the long, dull sweep of the Lowlands was be- 
 low, and it must foam and rave while it could. 
 
 The Tower of Roland comes next, and after it the ruins of 
 seven castles, on seven different mountains, the remains of the 
 seats of the Archbishops of Cologne. A little farther on, and 
 lo, the Rhine goes in one broad sweep of twenty miles to Cologne, 
 sparkling under the summer sky, and rejoicing in the wealth of 
 villages and vineyards, and cultivated fields along its shores. 
 The view here is glorious, and I was tempted to echo the shout of 
 the Prussian army, " The Rhine ! The Rhine !" Up the river 
 
THE SEVEN HILLS. 123 
 
 the rocks shut in the prospect, as if endeavouring to restrain the 
 stream, and look savage and gloomy upon the liberated waters 
 that leap away without farther restraint, for the open country 
 below. Unlike the Hudson, which goes in one broad steady 
 sweep from Albany to New York, the Rhine is tortuous and un- 
 steady ; now spreading out into a lake filled with islands, now 
 smoothly laving the richly cultivated banks, and now dashing on 
 the rocks that push into its channel, till its vexed waters boil in 
 frenzy — and now gliding arrow-like past some old castle, that 
 seems watching its movements. The natural scenery along its 
 course is greatly inferior to that of the Hudson, but the accesso- 
 ries of vineyards, and villages, and convents, and churches, and 
 castles, and towers; and the associations around them all; make the 
 passage up or down it one of the most interesting in the world, 
 in the beauty and variety it presents. 
 
 The seven hills, " Siehengehirge/' I mentioned above, are the 
 lower terminations of the grand scenery on the Rhine. These 
 " seven hills '^ (there are more than seven), crowned with their 
 ruined castles, form a scene that can scarcely be surpassed. 
 They have all been thrown up by some volcano, that lived, and 
 worked, and died here, before man had a written history ; and^ 
 rise in magnificent proportions along the banks of the rushing 
 river. The Lowenberg, 1414 feet high ; the Wolkenberg, 1067 ; 
 the Drachenfels (dragon's rock), 1056 ; the Oelberg, 1473 ; the 
 Niederstromberg, 1066 ; and the Stromberg, 1053 feet in height, 
 surmounted by ruined battlements, towers, &c., are a glorious 
 brotherhood, and worthy of the Rhine, on which they look. I 
 will not give the traditions connected with many of these, nor 
 add the particular descriptions and aspect of each. The impres- 
 sion they make on one he carries with him through life. Espe- 
 cially does an American, whose eye has roamed over primeval 
 forests, broad rivers, and lofty mountains ; left just as the hand of 
 nature formed them, gaze with curious feelings on this blending 
 of precipices, and castles, and mountains, and ruins, together. 
 Nature looks old in such connection — a sort of bondslave to man, 
 bereft of her pride and freedom, and robbed of her freshness and 
 life. 
 
 Drachenfels rises almost perpendicularly to the vie\\' from the 
 
124 DRACHENFELS. 
 
 river shore, with a cap of ruias on its lofty head. Byron has im- 
 mortalized this rock in language so sweet that I risk the complaint 
 of quoting too much, and give the three following beautiful verses. 
 
 The castled crag of Drachenfels 
 Frown o'er the wide and winding Rhinei 
 Whose breast of w^aters broadly swells 
 Between the banks which bear the vine, 
 And hills all rich with blossom'd treeS; 
 And fields which promise corn and wine, 
 And scattered cities crowning these, 
 Whose far white walls along them shine, 
 Have strewed a scene which I could see 
 With double joy wert thou with me. 
 
 And peasant girls with deep blue eyes, 
 
 And hands which offer early flowers, 
 
 Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
 
 Above, the frequent feudal towers 
 
 Through green leaves lift their walls of grey. 
 
 And many a rock which steeply towers, 
 
 And noble arch in proud decay. 
 
 Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; 
 
 But one thing want these banks of Rhine, — 
 
 Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 
 
 The river nobly foams and flows. 
 
 The charm of this enchanted ground, 
 
 And all its thousand turns disclose 
 
 Some fresher beauty varj'ing round. 
 
 The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 
 
 Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
 
 Nor could on earth a spot be found 
 
 To nature and to me so dear. 
 
 Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
 
 Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine." 
 
 Passing Bonn, with its University, Cathedral, &c., rapidly aa 
 steam and the downward current together could bear us, we were 
 soon under the white walls of Cologne, Here I lost sight of 
 two fellow travellers that had added much to my pleasure 
 down the Rhine. It had so happened that we wished to stop ai 
 the same places, and had thus kept company from Frankfort to 
 
FRENCH LADIES. 123 
 
 Cologne. They were two ladies that had attracted my attention 
 when they got on board at Mayence. One was an elderly hAy, 
 and the other young and beautiful. 
 
 Sitting near them soon after we started, the elderly lady ad- 
 dressed some inquiry to me respecting the boat, which I answered 
 in the fewest words possible, for I perceived they were Frencli, 
 and I was nervous about speaking to them in their own language. 
 
 As the day advanced I was struck with the familiarity exhib- 
 ited by the passengers. A gentleman would address a lady be- 
 side him, a perfect stranger, with some remark about the scenery, 
 which she answered with the utmost cheerfulness, and there was 
 a general freedom from restraint, and a confidence in each other's 
 polite behaviour, the reverse of which makes our steamboat trav- 
 elling like an assemblage of pickpockets, unacquainted with each 
 other, and suspicious of each other's designs. 
 
 Seeing, not long after, a copy of one of Dickens's works in the 
 younger lady's hand, I presumed to address her in English, which, 
 to my delight, she spoke almost like an Englishwoman. There 
 was an ease and grace in her manner, and her remarks were char- 
 acterized by an intelligence and a knowledge of the world, that 
 rendered her one of the most attractive persons I ever met. She 
 was glad, she said, to converse in English, and I was glad to 
 have her. I was a stranger and alone, and hence felt more deeply 
 her kindness in thus conversing with me hour after hour. An 
 American lady might think this vastly improper and forward, but 
 / shall remember her with grateful feelings as long as I remem- 
 ber the Rhine. 
 
 She, with the elderly lady her companion, were to ascf»ad the 
 river in their carriage, which they took aboard at Cologne; so as 
 to get all the beauties of the scenery. 
 
J^6 COLOGNE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 xxiy. 
 
 ^fflNE WINES, COLOGNE CATHEDRAL, LOU- 
 VAIN, BRUSSELS. 
 
 I HAD designed to give a chapter on Rhine wines, and the vine- 
 yards of the Rhine, but will pass them over, referring only to 
 Prince Metternich's celebrated vineyard, just above Geissenheim, 
 between Mayence and Coblentz. The monks formerly possessed 
 this extensive vineyard, covering iifty-five acres. The Prince of 
 Orange o^\ned it next, and held it till it fell into Bonaparte's 
 hand, who gave it to Marshal Kellerman, in reward for his ser- 
 vices. At the close of Napoleon's career, it reverted to the Em- 
 peror of Austria, who made a present of it to Metternich, the pres- 
 ent owner. He has repaired it, and the Chateau of Johannesberg 
 is now a very conspicuous object on the banks of the Rhine. The 
 vineyard yields about forty butts of wine per annum, and it is 
 called the best of the Rhenish wines. 
 
 Cologne, independent of its sights, is an object of interest, from 
 yhe part it played in Roman history. A camp pitched here by 
 Marcus Agrippa, was the first commencement of the city. Vitelli- 
 us and Sylvanus were proclaim.ed emperors of Rome here, and 
 here also Agrippina, the mother of Nero, was born. It retains, 
 tD this day, many of the peculiar customs of Italy, and is the only 
 city in the north of Europe where the Carnival is celebrated. I 
 will not speak of the paintings it contains, or of the architecture of 
 the churches. The Cathedral, however, I will mention in passing. 
 This magnificent building was begun six hundred years ago, and 
 still remains not half completed. It is of Gothic architecture, and 
 had it been completed, would have been one of the finest edifices in 
 the world. It was to have two towers, each five hundred feet, but 
 
DESCRIPTION OF THE CHOIR. 127 
 
 they remain unfinished, and probably will to the end of time. 
 The two things that interested me most were, the " Shrine of the 
 three Kings of Cologne," and the Choir. The former is in a 
 small chapel just behind the main altar, and is said to contain the 
 hones of the three Magi who came from the East to lay their offer- 
 ings at the feet of the infant Saviour, The names of these three 
 wise men, the chronicle states, were Gaspar, Melchior, and Bal- 
 thaser; and, to prevent the possibility of a doubt, their names are 
 written in rubies on their own skulls. This shrine, with its gold 
 and silver and precious stones, is said to be worth over a million 
 of dollars, although bereft of some of its choicest gems during the 
 French Revolution. 
 
 The choir is the only part of the church completely finished, 
 and shows by its magnificence and splendour the extravagant de- 
 signs of the first builders. I have never seen any thing more 
 grand in its general plan and construction, and yet so exquisitely 
 beautiful in its details, than this choir. I cannot give a better de- 
 scription of it than in the language of an English traveller. " The 
 choir is the only part finished ; one hundred and eighty feet high^ 
 and internally, from its size, height, and disposition of pillars, 
 arches, chapels, and beautifully coloured windows, resembling a 
 splendid vision. Externally, its double range of stupendous flying 
 buttresses, and intervening piers, bristling with a forest of purflled 
 pinnacles, strike the beholder with awe and astonishment." Long 
 before reaching Cologne, the highest tower of the church is visible, 
 with a huge crane swinging from its unfinished top, where it has 
 hung for centuries. Some time since it was taken down by the 
 city authorities, but a terrible thunder-storm which swept over 
 the place soon after, was believed by the frightened inhabitants to 
 ibe in consequence of their wickedness in removing this crane. It 
 was saying to the world, " we never intend to finish this church;" 
 a declaration which set the elements in such commotion, that soon 
 after an awful black thunder-cloud began to show itself over the 
 trembling city. The lightning crossed its fiery lances over head, 
 and the redoubled thunder shook the very foundations on v/hich 
 the city stood. As soon, therefore, as it was over, and to prevent 
 another similar, more awful visitation, the inhabitants began to 
 hoist this enormous c -ane to its place on the top of the tower. I 
 
123 BONES OF ELEVEN THOUSAND VIRGINS. 
 
 could not but laugh, as I saw its black outline against the sky, at 
 the folly that had replaced it there. It was the most deliberate 
 humbug practised on a large scale I had ever seen. It was like 
 the Irishman vowing a hundred candles to the Virgin Mary, if she 
 would save him from shipwreck, when the vessel was breaking to 
 pieces under him. Said his companion to him, " Why do you lie, 
 for you know you can't get them ?'' " Never mind," he replied, 
 '• keep still, the Virgin don't know it." The Cologne people have 
 acted like the Irishman in this respect — they have no idea of fin- 
 ishing the church, though a hundred thunder-storms should sweep 
 over the city; but they seem to think that if the crane is up ready 
 for hoisting stone, the Deity will not know it. If they only look 
 grave, say nothing, and keep the crane swinging, they imagine 
 the blessed Virgin will believe they design to commence building 
 soon. 
 
 Cologne is not so dirty as Coleridge makes it out to be, though 
 it is a very disagreeable town to get around in. I will mention 
 but one thing more in it — the Church of St. Ursula. It stands 
 just without the walls, and is remarkable only for containing the 
 bones and skulls of eleven thousand virgins, all slain in one great 
 massacre. This is a large allowance even for a Roman Catholic 
 tradition, which does not generally stick at improbabilities. It 
 seems this St. Ursula, of blessed memory, in carrying her un- 
 usual quantity of virgins from Britain to Armorica,was driven by 
 tempests up the Rhine to Cologne, where the Huns, in their bar- 
 barian fury, slew them all, because they would not yield to their 
 lusts. To say nothing of this singularly large fleet of virgins, it 
 is very curious they should be driven, by a week or more of tem- 
 pests, through the Lowlands, up the Rhine to Cologne, without 
 having once got aground or sent high and dry ashore. I will 
 not, however, dispute the legend, especially as I saw several ter- 
 races of the bones themselves, or at least of verilahle bones, ranged 
 round the church between the walls. The skull of St. Ursula, 
 with a few select ones, probably belonging to her body-guard, 
 have a separate apartment, called the Golden Chamber, and are 
 encased in silver. But, seriously, I cannot divine what first in- 
 duced this grand collection of skeletons, and their peculiar ar- 
 rangement for public exhibition It looks as if some battle-fieM 
 
AN IGNORANT ENGLISHMAN. 129 
 
 had been robbed of its slain in order to furnish this cabinet of hide 
 ous relics. 
 
 I went by rail-road from Cologne to Aix la Chapelle (forty- 
 three miles), and stopping there only long enough to get break- 
 fast, found no time to see the town. The rail-road is not yet 
 finished from it to Liege, and travellers are compelled to go by 
 diligence. The distance is about twenty-six miles ; and having 
 an unconquerable dislike to diligence travelling, I determined to 
 hire a carriage. An English gentleman, standing at the door as 
 I was inquiring about the terms, &c., said he should like to take a 
 carriage with me. I gladly accepted his proposal, and we started 
 off in company. I mention this incident to illustrate an English- 
 man's ignorance of the United States. I had heard some of our 
 most distinguished writers, male and female, speak of it in their 
 encounters with the English in their own country, but had never 
 met any marked case of it myself. But this man, who spent 
 every summer on the Continent, knew no more of the American 
 Republic than an idiot. Among other things exhibiting his ig- 
 norance; in reply to my statement that I was from New York, he 
 said, " New York — let me see — does that belong to the Canadas 
 yet ?" I told him I believed not ; that it was my impression it 
 had been separated from it for some time. " Ah !" said he, and 
 that ended his inquiries on that point. It was equal to the re- 
 mark of an English literary lady once to one of my own distin- 
 guished countrywomen. In speaking of the favourable features 
 of the United States, she remarked very naively, that she should 
 think the climate would be very cool in summer, from the wind 
 Mowing over the Cordilleras mountains ! 
 
 The view of Liege, from the heights, as we began to descend 
 into the valley, was quite a novel one for the Continent. The 
 long chimneys of the numerous manufactories reminded me of 
 the activity and enterprise of my own land. I did not go over 
 the town, but took the rail-road for Louvain, on my way to Brus- 
 sels. I just gave one thought to Quintin Durward and the " Wild 
 Boar of Ardennes," and we were away with the speed of the wind. 
 I stopped at Louvain solely to visit the beautiful Gothic building 
 of the Hotel de Ville. It is said to be the most beautiful Gothic 
 edifice in the world. The whole exterior, in alnvDst every foot of 
 
 10 
 
130 PARK OF BRUSSELS. 
 
 it, is elaborately wrought. Bassi relievi cover it — many of them 
 representing sins and their punishments. The stone of which it 
 is composed is soft when first quarried, and hence is easily worked, 
 but it hardens by exposure to the air. 
 
 The next morning I started for Brussels. There is an airiness 
 and cheerfulness about this city that pleased me exceedingly, and 
 I should think a residence in it, for a part of the year, would be 
 delightful. The impression I got of it, however, may be owing to 
 the position of the hotel at which I stopped. Situated on an emi- 
 nence near the park, the traveller may be in a few momenta 
 strolling through beautiful grounds, thronged with promeuaders as 
 gay as those of the Champs Elysee and the Tuilcries. 
 
WATERLOO. 13^ 
 
 XXY. 
 BATTLE-FIELD OF WATERLOO. 
 
 The sky was darkly overcast, and not a breath of air disturbed 
 the ominous hush of the atmosphere, which always precedes a 
 rain, as we started for the greatest battle-field of Europe. My 
 companions were an American, and an English cavalry captain, 
 just returned from the Indies. We had previously been shown 
 the house in which the ball was held the night before the battle. 
 I could imagine the sudden check to the "sound of revelry," when 
 over the exciting notes of the viol, came the dull booming of can- 
 non, striking on the youthful heart "like a rising knell." 
 
 " Ab ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
 And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago 
 Blxished at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
 And sudden partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated." 
 
 We followed the route taken by Wellington and his suite from 
 Brussels, and trotting through the forest of Soignies, which Byron, 
 by poetical license, has called the forest of Ardennes ; came upon 
 the little hamlet of Waterloo, situated a short distance from the 
 field of battle. Our guide was a man who lived in the village at 
 the time of the battle, and had been familiar with all its local- 
 ities for years. 
 
 I have trod many battle-fields of ancient and modern glory, but 
 never one with the strange feelings with which I wandered over 
 this, for here the ytar of Bonaparte set forever. To understand the 
 
132 NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE. 
 
 description, imagine two slightly elevated semicircular ridges, or, 
 as they might more properly be teimed, slopes, curving gently 
 towards each other hke a parenthesis, and you have the position 
 of the two armies. On the summit of one of these slopes was ar- 
 rayed the French army, and on the other tlie English. The night 
 of the 17th of June was dark and stormy. The rain fell in tor- 
 rents, and the two armies lay down in the tall rye drenched and 
 cold to wait the morning that was to decide the fate of Europe 
 and of IS'apoleon. From the ball-room at Brussels many an of- 
 tioer had been summoned in haste to the field, and shivering and 
 wet, was compelled to pass the night in mud and rain in his ele- 
 gant attire. The artilleiy had cut up the ground so that the mire 
 was shoe deep, Avhilc the tall grain lay crushed and matted beneath 
 the feet of the soldiers. The morning of the 18th opened with a 
 drizzling rain, and the two armies, benumbed with cold and soak- 
 ing w^et, rose from their damp beds to the contest. Eighty thou- 
 sand French soldiers were seen moving in magnificent array on 
 the crest of the ridge, as they took their several positions for the 
 day. Upward of seventy thousand of the allied forces occu- 
 pied the ridge or eminences opposite them. — formed mostly iiito 
 squares. 
 
 In a moment the battle was all before me. I could almost see 
 Bonaparte as, after having disposed his forces, and flushed with 
 hope, he gaily exclaimed to his suite, " now to breakfast," and 
 galloped away. The shout of " Vive I'Empereur" that followed 
 shook the very field on which they stood, and seemed ominous 
 of disaster to the allied army. Two hundred and sixty-two can- 
 non lined the ridge like a wall of death before the French, while 
 vVellington had but one hundred and eighty-six to oppose them. 
 At eleven the firing commenced, and immediately Jerome Bona- 
 parte led a column of six thousand men down on Hougoumont, an 
 old chateau which defended Wellington's right, and was good as 
 a fort. Advancing in the face of the most desti uctive fire, that gal- 
 lant column pushed up to the very walls of the chateau, and thrust 
 their bayonets through the door. But it was all in vain ; and 
 though the building was set on fire and consumed, and the roar- 
 ing of the flames was mingled with the shrieks of the wounded 
 that were perishing ir it +.he rage of the combatants onl) increas. 
 
COMMENCEMENT OF THE BATTLE. 133 
 
 ed. The Coldstream Guards held the court-yard with invinci- 
 ble obstinacy, and Jerome Bonaparte was compelled to retire, af- 
 ter leaving 1,400 men in a little orchard beside the walls, where 
 it does not seem so many men could be laid. In a short time the 
 battle became general along the whole lines, and prodigies of 
 valour were performed on every rod of the ensanguined field. 
 The heavy French cavalry came thundering down on the steady 
 English squares, that had already been wasted by the destructive 
 artillery, and strove with almost superhuman energy to break them. 
 Driven to desperation by their repeatedly foiled attempts, they at 
 length stopped their horses and coolly walked them round ana 
 round the squares, and wherever a man fell dashed in, in vain val- 
 our. But when one of those rock-fast squares began to waver, 
 Wellington threw himself into its centre, and it again became 
 immoveable as a mountain. With their gallant chief in their 
 keeping those brave British hearts could not yield. Whole col- 
 umns went down like frost-work before the headlong charges of 
 cavalry and infantry. In the centre the conflict at length be- 
 came awful, for there the crisis of the battle was fixed. Welling- 
 ton stood under a tree while the boughs were crashing with the 
 cannon shot over head, and nearly his whole guard smitten down 
 by his side, anxiously watching the progress of the fight. His 
 brave squares, torn into fragments by bombs and ricochet shot, 
 still refused to yield one foot of ground. Napoleon rode through 
 his ranks, cheering on the exhausted columns of infantry and 
 cavalry, that rent the heavens with the shout of " Vive VEmjpe- 
 reur,^^ and dashed with unparalleled recklessness on the bayonets 
 of the English. 
 
 The hero of Wagram, and Borodino, and Austerlitz, and 
 Marengo, and Jena, enraged at the stubborn obstinacy of the 
 British, rages over the field, and is still sure of victory. Welling- 
 ton, seeing that he cannot much longer sustain the desperate 
 charges of the French battalions, wipes the sweat from his anx- 
 ious forehead and exclaims, '• Oh, that Blucher or night would 
 come." Thus from eleven till four did the battle rage with san- 
 guinary ferocity, and still around the centre it grew more awful 
 every moment. The mangled cavalry staggered up to the ex- 
 hausted British squares, which, though diminished and bleediufj 
 
 18 
 
134 ARRIVAL OF BLUCHER. 
 
 in every part, seemed rooted to the ground they stood upon. The 
 heroic Picton had fallen at the head of his brigade, while his sword 
 was flashing over his head. Ponsonby had gone down on the 
 hard fought field, and terror and slaughter were on every side. 
 The nost enthusiastic courage had driven on the French troops, 
 which the rock-fast resolution of British hearts alone could 
 resist. The charge of the French cavalry on the centre was 
 awful. Disregarding the close and murderous fire of the British 
 batteries, they rode steadily forward till they came to the bayonet's 
 point. Prodigies of valour were wrought, and heroes fell at 
 every discharge. Bonaparte's star now blazed forth in its an- 
 cient splendour, and now trembled in the zenith. The shadows 
 of fugitive kings flitted through the smoke of battle, and thrones 
 tottered on the ensanguined field. At length a dark object was 
 seen to emerge from the distant wood; and soon an army of 30,000 
 men deployed into the field, and began to march straight for the 
 scene of conflict. Blucher and his Prussians came, but no 
 Grouchy, who had been left to hold him in check, followed after. 
 In a moment Napoleon saw that he could not sustain the charge 
 of so many fresh troops, if once allowed to form a junction with 
 the allied forces, and so he determined to stake his fate on one 
 bold cast, and endeavour to pierce the allied centre with one grand 
 charge of the Old Guard, and thus throw himself between the 
 two armies, and fight them separately. For this purpose the 
 Imperial Guard was called up, which had remained inactive 
 during the whole day, and divided into two immense columns, 
 which were to meet at the British centre. That under Reille 
 no sooner entered the fire than it disappeared like frost-work. 
 The other was placed under Ney, the " bravest of the brave," 
 and the most irresistible of all Napoleon's Marshals. Napoleon 
 accompanied them part way down the slope, and halting for a 
 moment in a hollow, addressed them in his fiery, impetuous man- 
 ner. He told them the battle rested with them. " Vive VEm.' 
 pereur^^ answered him with a shout that was heard all over the 
 field of battle. Ney then placed himself at their head, and began 
 to move down the slope and over the field. No drum or trumpet 
 or martial strain cheered them on. They needed nothing to fire 
 their steady courage. The eyes of the world were on them, and 
 
LAST CHARGE C F THE OLD GUARD. 135 
 
 the fate of Europe in their hands. The muffled tread of that 
 magnificent legion alone was heard. For a moment the firing 
 ceased along the British lines. The terror of Europe was on the 
 march, and the last awful charge of the Imperial Guard, which had 
 never yet failed, was about to be made. The crisis had come, 
 the hour of destiny arrived, and Napoleon saw, with anxious eye, 
 his Empire carried by that awful column as it disappeared in the 
 smoke of battle. The firing ceased only for an instant ; the next 
 moment the artillery opened, and that dense array was rent as if 
 a hurricane had passed through it. Ney's horse sunk under 
 him, and he mounted another and cheered on his men. Without 
 wavering or halting that band of heroes closed up their shattered 
 ranks, and moved on in the face of the most wasting fire that ever 
 swept a field of battle. Again and again did Ney's horse sink 
 under him, till five Ifdd fallen; and then on foot, with his drawn 
 sabre in his hand, he marched at the head of his column. On, 
 on, like the inrolling tide of the sea, that dauntless Guard pressed 
 up to the very mouth of the cannon, and taking their fiery load 
 full in their bosoms — walked over artillery, cannoniers and all, 
 and pushed on through the British lines till they came within a 
 few feet of where Wellington stood. The day seemed lost to the 
 allies, when a rank of men, who had lain flat on their faces behind 
 a low ridge of earth, and hitherto unseen by the French, heard 
 the order of Wellington, " up and at 'em !" and springing to their 
 feet, poured an unexpected volley into the very faces of that 
 advancing Guard. Taken by surprise, and smitten back by the 
 sudden shock, they had not time to rally before another and an- 
 other volley completed the disorder, and that hitherto unconquer- 
 able Guard was hurrying in wild confusion over the field. " The 
 Guard recoils !" " the Guard recoils !" rung in despairing shrieks 
 over the army, and all was over. Blucher effected his junction, 
 and Wellington ordered a simultaneous advance along the whole 
 line. The Old Guard, disdaining to fly, formed into two immense 
 squares, and attempted to stay the reversed tide of battle. They 
 stood and let the artillery plough through them in vain. The 
 day was lost. Bonaparte's stvir had set forever, and his empire 
 crumbled beneath him. 
 
 Wellington met Hlucher at La Belle Alliance, the head-quar* 
 
i36 NIGHT AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 tersof Napoleon, The former returned back over the field, wliile 
 the lattei jsontinued the pursuit all night long, strewing the road 
 for thirty miles with mangled corpses. 
 
 And I was standing on this awful field, waving with grain just 
 as it did on that mild morning. As my eye rested on this and 
 that spot, where deeds of valour were done, and saw in imagina- 
 tion those magnificent armies struggling for a continent, and heard 
 the roar of cannon, the shocks of cavalry and the rolling fire of 
 infantry, and saw the waving of plumes and torn banners amid 
 the smoke of battle that curtained them in • what wonder is it that 
 for the moment I forgot the carnage and the awful waste of hu- 
 man life in the excitement and grandeur of the scene ? But let 
 him who is in love with glory go over the bloody field after the 
 thunder of battle is hushed, and the excitement of the strife is over. 
 The rain is past, the heavy clouds have melted away, and behold 
 the bright and tranquil moon is sailing through the starry heavens 
 and looking serenely down on the bloody field. Under its re- 
 proving light you see flashing swords, and glittering uniforms, 
 and torn plumes, and heaps of mangled men. More than 50,000 
 cumber the field, while thousands of wounded horses, still alive, 
 rend the air with their shrill cries ; and at intervals break in the 
 mingled curse and groan and prayer of the tens of thousands that 
 are writhing amid the slaughtered heaps in mortal agony. Dis- 
 membered limbs are scattered round like broken branches after a 
 hurricane, while disembowelled corpses lie like autumn leaves on 
 every side. Ghastly wounds greet the eye at every turn, while 
 ever and anon comes the thunder of distant cannon on the night 
 air, telling where Blucher still continues the work of destruction. 
 
 And the bright round moon is shining down on all this, and the 
 sweet air of June is breathing over it. Oh ! what a scene for 
 God and angels to look upon ! What a blot on Nature's pure 
 bosom ! Even Wellington, as he slowly rode over the field by 
 moonlight, wept. The heart trained in the camp and schooled in 
 the brutal life of the soldier could not endure the sight. But this 
 is not all. Mournful as is the spectacle, and terrific as is the 
 ghastly sight of that dead and dying army, and heartrending as 
 are the shrieks and groans and blasphemies that make night hor- 
 rible; the field is alive with moving forms, stooping over the pros- 
 
MONUMENTS OF THE DEAD. 137 
 
 trate dead. Are they ministers of mercy come hither to bind up 
 the wounded and assuage their sufferings, or are they beasts of 
 prey stooping over the carcasses still warm with human blood ? 
 Neither. They are men roaming the field for plunder. The 
 dead and the wounded are alike ruthlessly trampled upon, as 
 their bloody garments are rifled of their treasures. And this is 
 glorious war, where heroes are made and deified ! As my im- 
 agination rested on this picture, I no longer felt sympathy for Na- 
 poleon, as he fled a fugitWe through the long night,, while the roar 
 of cannon behind him t:..d where his empire lay trampled to the 
 earth. 
 
 But the suffering did not end here. To measure the amount 
 of woe this one battle produced, go to the villages and cottages 
 of France and England and Prussia. Count all the broken 
 hearts it made — trace out the secret and open suffering that ends 
 not with the day that saw its birth — and, last of all, go on to the 
 judgment and imagine the souls that went from Waterloo and its 
 fierce conflict to the rewards of Eternity ; and then measure, if 
 you can, the length and breadth and depth and height of that 
 cursed ambition which made Napoleon a minister of death to his 
 race. His wild heart sleeps at last, and Nature smiles again 
 around Waterloo, and the rich grain waves as carelessly as if 
 nothing had happened. That Providence which never sleeps fix- 
 ed the limits of that proud man, and finally left the " desolator 
 desolate" to eat out his own heart on the rock of Helena. 
 
 The field is covered with monuments to the dead, and a huge 
 pyramid, surmoun-ted by a lion, rises from the centre of the plain. 
 One monument tells where the Scotch Greys stood and were cut 
 down, almost to a man — another points to the grave of Shaw, who 
 killed nine Frenchmen before he fell. The little church in the 
 village of Waterloo is filled with tablets commemorating the dead. 
 One struck me forcibly. On it was recorded the death of a man 
 oelonging to Wellington's suite. He was only eighteen years of 
 age, and this was his twentieth battle. I never was more im- 
 pressed with the brutality of the soldier than when my guide 
 told me that he himself went over the field in search of plunder, 
 the morning after the battle, and all he could find among the thou. 
 Bands of corpses was one old silver watch. 
 
138 MARQUIS OF ANGLESEA'S LEG. 
 
 My companion the English captain would go ana see the grave 
 of the Marquis of Anglesea's leg, which has a separate monument 
 erected to it. The Marquis visited th*? field of battle a short 
 time since, and had the pleasure of reading the epitaph of his own 
 leg. Taking no particular interest in the Marquis's lower ex- 
 tremities, whether off or on, I did not see this monument.* 
 
 * It is perhaps unne(X,ssary to state that I should nov) charge the crime and 
 suffering of Waterloo^ on European despots rather than to Bonaparte. 
 
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