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 VIEWS A-FOOT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 Europe seen with Knapsack and Staff. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 "Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
 
 And merrily hent the stile-a; 
 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a." 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 2} South Ninth Street. 
 189I. 
 
 145779
 
 W3I 
 
 TO 
 
 FRANK TAYLOR 
 
 THESE RECORDS OF THE PILGRIMAGE 
 WHOSE TOILS AND ENJOYMENTS WE HAVE SHARED TOGETHER 
 
 ARE 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS RELATIVE AND ERIEND.
 
 TO THE HEADER 
 
 In presenting to the public a new and improved edition 
 of this record of his wanderings, the author could not 
 justly suffer the opportunity to go by without expressing 
 his grateful acknowledgment of the kindness with which 
 his work has been received. Although his aim was simply 
 to give a narrative of personal experience which it was 
 hoped might be of some value to many a toiling student in 
 the college of the world, he was aware that it would be 
 considered a test of his literary ability, and that whatever 
 hearing he might have hoped to obtain for the works of 
 maturer years would be dependent on its success. With a 
 total ignorance of the arts of book-making, and uncertain 
 whether a new voice from the track where thousands had 
 been before him would find a patient auditory, it was there- 
 fore not without considerable anxiety that he gave his vol- 
 ume to the world. But he was not prepared to hope for 
 such an immediate and generous favor as it received. By 
 the press of our own country, as well as the more rigid re- 
 viewers of Great Britain, whatever merits it possesses were 
 cordially appreciated, while its faults were but lightly 
 touched — perhaps from a sympathy with the youth of the 
 author and the plan of his enthusiastic pilgrimage. But, 
 ' what was most grateful of all, he learned that many another 
 
 young and hopeful spirit had been profited and encouraged 
 by his own experience and was ready to try the world with 
 as little dependence on worldly means. The letters he re- 
 ceived from persons whose hopes and circumstances were 
 
 5
 
 6 TO THE READER. 
 
 what his own had been gave welcome evidence that he had 
 not written in vain. He will not say that this knowledge 
 repaid him for whatever toil and hardship he had under- 
 gone — whoever is subjected to the same experience will 
 learn that it brings its own reward to the mind — but it will 
 nerve him henceforth to bear any lot, however severe, 
 through which he may be enabled to say a word that shall 
 cheer or strengthen another. 
 
 He is now fully aware how much he has omitted from 
 these pages which would have been curious, and perhaps 
 instructive, to the reader, how many blunders of inexpe- 
 rience, how much thoughtless confidence in the world, how 
 many painful struggles with pride and a too-selfish inde- 
 pendence, how many strange extremities of want and amus- 
 ing expedients of relief. His reluctance to relate much 
 that was entirely personal and could not have been told 
 without some little sacrifice of feeling has since been re- 
 gretted, from the belief that it might have been useful to 
 others. Perhaps, however, it will be better that each one 
 should learn these lessons for himself. There is a sensation 
 of novelty which, in the most embarrassing situations, pro- 
 duces a desperate kind of enjoyment, and, in addition to 
 this, the sufferer's sympathies for humanity are very much 
 deepened and enlarged by an acquaintance with its trials. 
 
 In preparing the present edition of his book the author 
 at first contemplated a complete revision. The fact that 
 seven editions had been sold in a year and a half from the 
 publication seemed to require that he should make such 
 improvements as his riper judgment suggested, and which 
 should render it more worthy of so extensive a circulation. 
 But further reflection convinced him that it would be best 
 to make little change. It was written during his wander- 
 ings — partly by the wayside when resting at midday, and 
 partly on the rough tables of peasant-inns, in the stillness 
 of deserted ruins or amid the sublime solitude of the moun- 
 tain-top. It thus reflects faithfully the impress of his own
 
 TO THE READER. 7 
 
 mind in every part of the journey, and he would prefer 
 that it should remain a boyish work, however lacking in 
 finish of composition, rather than risk taking away what- 
 ever spirit it may have caught from nature. Some particu- 
 lars which have been desired by persons about to undertake 
 a similar journey, and which may be generally interesting, 
 have been given in a new chapter at the close. With this 
 addition, and that of a sketch illustrating the costume of a 
 pedestrian, which has been made by a poet and artist 
 friend, the work is again given to the public. The author 
 may hereafter be better able to deserve their commendation. 
 His wanderings are not yet over. • 
 
 New York, August, 1S48.
 
 PRE FAO E . 
 
 BY N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 The book which follows requires little or no introduc- 
 tion. It tells its own story, and tells it well. The interest 
 in it which induces the writer of this preface to be its usher 
 to the public is simply that of his having chanced to be 
 among the first appreciators of the author's talent — an ap- 
 preciation that has since been so more than justified that 
 the writer is proud to call the author of this book his 
 friend, and bespeak attention to the peculiar energies he 
 has displayed in travel and authorship. Mr. Taylor's poet- 
 ical productions while he was still a printer's apprentice 
 made a strong impression on the writer's mind, and he 
 gave them their due of praise accordingly in the newspaper 
 of which he was then editor. Some correspondence ensued, 
 and other fine pieces of writing strengthened the admira- 
 tion thus awakened ; and when the young poet-mechanic 
 came to the city and modestly announced the bold determi- 
 nation of visiting foreign lands — with means, if they could 
 be got, but with reliance on manual labor if they could 
 not — the writer, understanding the man, and seeing how 
 capable he was of carrying out his manly and enthusiastic 
 scheme, and that it would work uncorruptingly for the im- 
 provement of his mind and character, counselled him to go. 
 He went : his book tells how successfully for all his pur- 
 poses. He has returned, after two years' absence, with 
 lame knowledge of the world of men and of manners, with 
 a pure, invigorated and healthy mind, having passed all 
 
 9
 
 10 PKEFACE. 
 
 this time abroad, and seen and accomplished more than 
 most travellers, at a cost of only five hundred dollars, and 
 this sum earned on the road. This, in the writer's opin- 
 ion, is a fine instance of character and energy. The book 
 which records the difficulties and struggles of a printer's 
 apprentice achieving this must be interesting to Americans. 
 The pride of the country is in its self-made men. 
 
 What Mr. Taylor is, or what he is yet to become, cannot 
 well be touched upon here, but that it will yet be written, 
 and on a bright page, is, of course, his own confident hope 
 and the writer's confident expectation. The book which is 
 the record of his progress thus far is now cordially com- 
 mended to the public, and it will be read, perhaps, more 
 understanding^ after a perusal of the following outline 
 sketch of the difficulties the author had to contend with — a 
 letter written in reply to a note from the writer asking for 
 some of the particulars of his start and progress : 
 
 To Mr. Willis— 
 
 My Dear Sir : Nearly three years ago (in the begin- 
 ning of 1844) the time for accomplishing my long-cherished 
 desire of visiting Europe seemed to arrive. A cousin who 
 had long intended going abroad w T as to leave in a few 
 months, and, although I was then surrounded by the most 
 unfavorable circumstances, I determined to accompany him, 
 at whatever hazard. I had still two years of my appren- 
 ticeship to serve out ; I was entirely without means, and 
 my project was strongly opposed by my friends as some- 
 thing too visionary to be practicable. A short time before, 
 Mr. Griswold advised me to publish a small volume of 
 youthful effusions, a few of which had appeared in Gra- 
 ham's Magazine, which he then edited ; the idea struck me 
 that by so doing I might, if they should be favorably no- 
 ticed, obtain a newspaper correspondence which would 
 enable me to make the start. 
 
 The volume was published ; a sufficient number was sold
 
 PREFACE. ] 1 
 
 among my friends to defray all expenses, and it was chari- 
 tably noticed by the Philadelphia press. Some literary 
 friends to whom I confided my design promised to aid me 
 with their influence. Trusting to this, I made arrangements 
 for leaving the printing-office, which I succeeded in doing 
 by making a certain compensation for the remainder of my 
 time. I was now fully confident of success, feeling satisfied 
 that a strong will would always make itself a way. After 
 many applications to different editors and as many disap- 
 pointments, I finally succeeded, about two weeks before our 
 departure, in making a partial engagement. Mr. Chandler 
 of the United States Gazette and Mr. Patterson of the Sat- 
 urday Evening Post paid me fifty dollars, each, in advance 
 for twelve letters, to be sent from Europe, with the proba- 
 bility of accepting more if these should be satisfactory. 
 This, with a sum which I received from Mr. Graham for 
 poems published in his magazine, put me in possession of 
 about a hundred and forty dollars, with which I determined 
 to start, trusting to future remuneration for letters, or if 
 that should fail, to my skill as a compositor, for I supposed 
 I could at the worst, work my way through Europe, like 
 the German hand worker. Thus, with another companion, 
 we left home, an enthusiastic and hopeful trio. 
 
 I need not trace our wanderings at length. After eight 
 months of suspense, during which time my small means 
 were entirely exhausted, I received a letter from Mr. Pat- 
 terson, continuing the engagement for the remainder of my 
 stav, with a remittance of one hundred dollars from him- 
 self and Mr. Graham. Other remittances, received from 
 time to time, enabled me to stay abroad two years, during 
 which I travelled on foot upward of three thousand miles 
 in Germany, Switzerland, Italy and France. I was obliged, 
 however, to use the strictest economy — to live on pilgrim 
 fare and do penance in rain and cold. My means several 
 times entirely failed ; but I was always relieved from seri- 
 ous difficulty through unlooked-for friends or some unex-
 
 12 PREFACE. 
 
 pected turn of fortune. At Rome, owing to the expenses 
 and embarrassments of travelling in Italy, I was obliged to 
 give up my original design of proceeding on foot to Naples 
 and across the peninsula to Otranto, sailing thence to Corfu 
 and making a pedestrian journey through Albania and 
 Greece. But the main object of my pilgrimage is accom- 
 plished. I visited the principal places of interest in Europe, 
 enjoyed her grandest scenery and the marvels of ancient 
 and modern art, became familiar with other languages, 
 other customs and other institutions, and returned home, 
 after two years' absence, willing now, with satisfied curiosity, 
 to resume life in America. 
 
 Yours, most sincerely, 
 
 J. Bayard Taylor.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I— The Voyage 15 
 
 II.— A Day in Ireland 22 
 
 III. — Ben Lomond and the Highland Lakes 27 
 
 IV— The Burns Festival 38 
 
 V. — Walk from Edinburgh over the Border, and Arrival at 
 
 London 45 
 
 VI.— Some of the "Sights" of London 55 
 
 VII.— Flight through Belgium 64 
 
 VIII.— The Rhine to Heidelberg 70 
 
 IX. — Scenes In and Around Heidelberg 76 
 
 X— A Walk through the Odenwald 86 
 
 XL — Scenes in Frankfort. — An American Composer. — The 
 
 Poet Freiligrath 92 
 
 XII. — A Week among the Students 101 
 
 XIII. — Christmas and New Year in Germany 108 
 
 XIV. — Winter in Frankfort. — A Fair, an Inundation and a 
 
 Fire 113 
 
 XV.— The Dead and the Deaf. — Mendelssohn the Composer . 124 
 
 XVI. — Journey on Foot from Frankfort to Cassel 129 
 
 XVII. — Adventures among the Hartz 136 
 
 XVIII. — Notes in Leipsic and Dresden 147 
 
 XIX. — Rambles in the Saxon Switzerland 157 
 
 XX. — Scenes in Prague 166 
 
 XXL — Journey through Eastern Bohemia and Moravia to the 
 
 Danube 172 
 
 XXIL— Vienna 180 
 
 XXIII.-Up the Danube 197 
 
 XXIV —The Unknown Student 204 
 
 XXV— The Austrian Alps 207 
 
 XXVI— Munich 217 
 
 13
 
 14 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVII.— Through Wurtemberg to Heidelberg 231 
 
 XXVIII— Freiburg and the Black Forest 240 
 
 XXIX. — People and Places in Eastern Switzerland .... 249 
 XXX. — Passage of the St. Gothard and Descent into Italy . 259 
 
 XXXI.— Milan 271 
 
 XXXII.— Walk from Milan to, Genoa 277 
 
 XXXIIL— Scenes in Genoa, Leghorn and Pisa 283 
 
 XXXIV.— Florence and its Galleries 294 
 
 XXXV.— A Pilgrimage to Vallombrosa 307 
 
 XXXVI.— Walk to Siena and Pratolino.— Incidents in Flor- 
 ence 314 
 
 XXXVII.— American Art in Florence 327 
 
 XXXVIII.— An Adventure on the Great St. Bernard.— Walks 
 
 around Florence 335 
 
 XXXIX.— Winter-Travelling among the Apennines .... 344 
 
 XL. — Rome 355 
 
 XLI. — Tivoli and the Roman Campagna 371 
 
 XLII. — Tivoli and the Roman Campagna (continued) . . . 380 
 XLIII. — Pilgrimage to Vaucluse and Journey up the Rhone 386 
 XLIV. — Travelling in Burgundy. — The Miseries of a 
 
 Country Diligence . 399 
 
 XLV. — Poetical Scenes in Paris 406 
 
 XL VI. — A Glimpse of Normandy 414 
 
 XLVIL — Lockhart, Bernard Barton and Croly. — London 
 
 Chimes and Greenwich Fair 418 
 
 XLVIII. — Homeward Bound.— Conclusion 427 
 
 XLIX. — Advice and Information for Pedestrians 437
 
 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old World haunted 
 me from early childhood. I cherished a presentiment, 
 amounting almost to belief, that I should one day behold 
 the scenes among which my fancy had so long wandered. 
 The want of means was for a time a serious check to my 
 anticipations, but I could not content myself to wait until 
 I had slowly accumulated so large a sum as tourists usually 
 spend on their travels. It seemed to me that a more hum- 
 ble method of seeing the world would place within the 
 power of almost every one what has hitherto been deemed 
 the privilege of the wealthy few. Such a journey, too, of- 
 fered advantages for becoming acquainted with people as 
 well as places — for observing more intimately the effect of 
 government and education, and, more than all, for the study 
 of human nature, in every condition of life. At length I 
 became possessed of a small sum, to be earned by letters 
 descriptive of things abroad, and on the 1st of July, 1844, 
 set sail for Liverpool, with a relative and friend whose cir- 
 cumstances were somewhat similar to mine. How far the 
 success of the experiment and the object of our long pil- 
 grimage were attained these pages will show. 
 
 LAND AND SEA. 
 
 There are springs that rise in the greenwood's heart, 
 Where its leafy glooms are cast, 
 
 15
 
 1G VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 And the branches droop in the solemn air, 
 
 Unstirred by the sweeping blast. 
 There are hills that lie in the noontide calm, 
 
 On the lap of the quiet earth ; 
 And, crown'd with gold by the ripened grain, 
 
 Surround rny place of birth. 
 
 Dearer are these to my pining heart 
 
 Than the beauty of the deep, 
 When the moonlight falls in a belt of gold 
 
 On the waves that heave in sleep. 
 The rustling talk of the clustered leaves 
 
 That shade a well-known door 
 Is sweeter far than the booming sound 
 
 Of the breaking wave before. 
 
 When night on the ocean sinks calmly down, 
 
 I climb the vessel's prow, 
 Where the foam-wreath glows with its phosphor light 
 
 Like a crown on a sea-nymph's brow. 
 Above, through the lattice of rope and spar, 
 
 The stars in their beauty burn, 
 And the spirit longs to ride their beams, 
 
 And back to the loved return. 
 
 They say that the sunset is brighter far 
 
 When it sinks behind the sea — 
 That the stars shine out with a softer fire : 
 
 Not thus they seem to me. 
 Dearer the flush of the crimson west 
 
 Through trees that my childhood knew, 
 When the star of love, with its silver lamp, 
 
 Lights the homes of the tried and true ! 
 
 Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from 
 the necessity of " creature comforts," a sea-voyage would be 
 delightful. To the landsman there is sublimity in the wild 
 and ever-varied forms of the ocean ; they fill his mind with 
 living images of a glory he had only dreamed of before. 
 But we would have been willing to forego all this and get 
 back the comforts of the shore. At New York we took 
 passage in the second cabin of the Oxford, which, as usual
 
 ON THE ATLANTIC. 17 
 
 in the Liverpool packets, consisted of a small space amid- 
 ships, fitted up with rough, temporary berths. The com- 
 munication with the deck is by an open hatchway which in 
 storms is closed down. As the passengers in this cabin fur- 
 nish their own provisions, we made ourselves acquainted 
 with the contents of certain storehouses on Pine street 
 wharf, and purchased a large box of provisions, which was 
 stowed away under our narrow berth. The cook, for a 
 small compensation, took on himself the charge of prepar- 
 ing them, and we made ourselves as comfortable as the close, 
 dark dwelling would admit. 
 
 As we approached the Banks of Newfoundland a gale 
 arose which for two days and nights carried us on, career- 
 ing Mazeppa-like, up hill and down. The sea looked truly 
 magnificent, although the sailors told us it was nothing at 
 all in comparison with the storms of winter. But we were 
 not permitted to pass the Banks without experiencing one 
 of the calms for which that neighborhood is noted. For 
 three days we lay almost motionless on the glassy water, 
 sometimes surrounded by large flocks of sea-gulls. The 
 weed brought by the Gulf Stream floated around. Some 
 branches we fished up were full of beautiful little shells. 
 Once a large school of blackfish came around the vessel, 
 and the carpenter climbed down on the fore-chains with a 
 harpoon to strike one. Scarcely had he taken his position, 
 when they all darted off in a straight line through the 
 water, and were soon out of sight. He said they smelt the 
 harpoon. 
 
 We congratulated ourselves on having reached the Banks 
 in seven days, as it is considered the longest third part of 
 the passage. But the hopes of reaching Liverpool in twenty 
 days were soon overthrown. A succession of southerly 
 winds drove the vessel as far north as latitude fifty-five de- 
 grees, without bringing us much nearer our destination. It 
 was extremely cold, for we were but five degrees south of 
 the latitude of Greenland, and the long Northern twilights 
 
 2
 
 18 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 came on. The last glow of the evening twilight had scarcely 
 faded before the first glimmering of dawn appeared. I 
 found it extremely easy to read at ten p. M. on the deck. 
 
 We had much diversion on board from a company of 
 Iowa Indians under the celebrated chief White Cloud, who 
 are on a visit to England. They are truly a wild-enough 
 looking company, and helped not a little to relieve the te- 
 dium of the passage. The chief was a very grave and dig- 
 nified person, but some of the braves were merry enough. 
 One day we had a war-dance on deck, which was a most 
 ludicrous scene. The chief and two braves sat upon the 
 deck beating violently a small drum and howling forth 
 their war-song, while the others in full-dress, painted in a 
 grotesque style, leaped about, brandishing tomahawks and 
 spears, and terminating each dance with a terrific yell. 
 Some of the men are very fine-looking, but the squaws are 
 all ugly. They occupied part of the second cabin, sepa- 
 rated only by a board partition from our room. This prox- 
 imity was anything but agreeable. They kept us awake 
 more than half the night by singing and howling in the 
 most dolorous manner, with the accompaniment of slapping 
 their hands violently on their bare breasts. We tried an 
 opposition, and a young German student who was returning 
 home after two years' travel in America made our room 
 ring with the chorus from Der Freischiitz ; but in vain. 
 They would howl and beat their breasts, and the pappoose 
 would squall. Any loss of temper is therefore not to be 
 wondered at when I state that I could scarcely turn in my 
 berth, much less stretch myself out ; my cramped limbs 
 alone drove off half the night's slumber. 
 
 It was a pleasure, at least, to gaze on their strong athletic 
 frames. Their massive chests and powerful limbs put to 
 shame our dwindled proportions. One old man in particu- 
 lar, who seemed the patriarch of the band, used to stand 
 for hours on the quarter deck sublime and motionless as a 
 statue of Jupiter. An interesting incident occurred during
 
 FIKST SIGHT OF LAND. 19 
 
 the calm of which I spoke. They began to be fearful we 
 were doomed to remain there for ever unless the spirits were 
 invoked for a favorable wind. Accordingly the prophet lit 
 his pipe and smoked with great deliberation, muttering all 
 the while in a low voice. Then, having obtained a bottle 
 of heer from the captain, he poured it solemnly over the 
 stern of the vessel into the sea. There were some indica- 
 tions of wind at the time, and accordingly the* next morn- 
 ing we had a fine breeze, which the Iowas attributed solely 
 to the prophet's incantation and Eolus's love of beer. 
 
 After a succession of calms and adverse winds, on the 
 25th we were off the Hebrides, and, though not within sight 
 of land, the southern winds came to us strongly freighted 
 with the " meadow freshness " of the Irish bogs, so we could 
 at least smell it. That day the wind became more favor- 
 able, and the next morning we were all roused out of our 
 berths by sunrise at the long-wished-for cry of " Land !" 
 Just under the golden flood of light that streamed through 
 the morning clouds lay afar off and indistinct the crags of 
 an island with the top of a lighthouse visible at one extrem- 
 ity. To the south of it, and barely distinguishable, so com- 
 pletely was it blended in hue with the veiling cloud, loomed 
 up a lofty mountain. I shall never forget the sight. As 
 we drew nearer, the dim and soft outline it first wore was 
 broken into a range of crags with lofty precipices jutting 
 out to the sea and sloping off inland. The white wall of 
 the lighthouse shone in the morning's light, and the foam 
 of the breakers dashed up at the foot of the airy cliffs. It 
 was worth all the troubles of a long voyage to feel the glo- 
 rious excitement which this herald of new scenes and new 
 adventures created. The lighthouse was on Tory Island, 
 on the north-western coast of Ireland. The captain decided 
 on taking the North Channel, for, although rarely done, it 
 was in our case nearer, and is certainly more interesting 
 than the usual route. 
 
 We passed the island of Ennistrahul, near the entrance
 
 20 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of Londonderry harbor, and at sunset saw in the distance 
 the islands of Islay and Jura, off the Scottish coast. Next 
 morning we were close to the promontory of Fairhead, a 
 bold, precipitous headland, like some of the Palisades on 
 the Hudson ; the highlands of the Mull of Cantire were on 
 the opposite side of the Channel, and, the wind being ahead, 
 we tacked from shore to shore, running so near the Irish 
 coast that We could see the little thatched huts, stacks of 
 peat, and even rows of potatoes in the fields. It was a pan- 
 orama : the view extended for miles inland, and the fields 
 of different-colored grain were spread out before us, a bril- 
 liant mosaic. Toward evening we passed Ailsa Crag, the 
 sea-bird's home, within sight, though about twenty miles 
 distant. 
 
 On Sunday, the 28th, we passed the lofty headland of 
 the Mull of Galloway and entered the Irish Sea. Here 
 there was an occurrence of an impressive nature. A wo- 
 man belonging to the steerage who had been ill the whole 
 passage died the morning before. She appeared to be of a 
 very avaricious disposition, though this might indeed have 
 been the result of self-denial practised through filial affec- 
 tion. In the morning she was speechless, and wdiile they 
 were endeavoring to persuade her to give up her keys to 
 the captain died. In her pocket were found two parcels 
 containing forty sovereigns sewed up with the most miserly 
 care. It was ascertained she had a widowed mother in the 
 North of Ireland, and, judging her money could be better 
 applied than to paying for a funeral on shore, the captain 
 gave orders for committing the body to the waves. It rained 
 drearily as her corpse, covered with starred bunting, was 
 held at the gangway while the captain read the funeral ser- 
 vice ; then one plunge was heard, and a white object 
 flashed up through the dark waters as the ship passed on. 
 
 In the afternoon we passed the Isle of Man, having a 
 beautiful view of the Calf, with a white stream tumbling 
 down the rocks into the sea, and at night saw the sun set
 
 A SCENE OF CONFUSION. 21 
 
 behind the mountains of Wales. About midnight the pilot 
 came on board, and soon after sunrise I saw the distant 
 spires of Liverpool. The Welsh coast was studded with 
 windmills, all in motion, and the harbor spotted with buoys, 
 bells and floating lights. How delightful it was to behold 
 the green trees on the banks of the Mersey, and to know 
 that in a few hours we should be on land ! About eleven 
 o'clock we came to anchor in the channel of the Mersey, near 
 the docks, and after much noise, bustle and confusion were 
 transferred, with our baggage, to a small steamboat, giving 
 a parting cheer to the Iowas, who remained on board. On 
 landing, I stood a moment to observe the scene. The bag- 
 gage-wagons, drawn by horses, mules and donkeys, were 
 extraordinary; men were going about crying " The celebrated 
 Tralorum gingerbread!" which they carried in baskets, and 
 a boy in the university dress, with long blue gown and yel- 
 low knee-breeches, was running to the wharf to look at the 
 Indians. 
 
 At last the carts were all loaded, the word was given to 
 start, and then what a scene ensued ! Away went the mules, 
 the horses and the donkeys ; away ran men and women and 
 children, carrying chairs and trunks, and boxes and bed- 
 ding. The wind was blowing and the dust whirled up as 
 they dashed helter-skelter through the gate and started off 
 on a hot race down the dock to the depot. Two wagons 
 came together, one of which was overturned, scattering the 
 broken boxes of a Scotch family over the pavement ; but 
 while the poor woman was crying over her loss the tide 
 swept on, scarcely taking time to glance at the mishap. 
 
 Our luggage was " passed " with little trouble, the officer 
 merely opening the trunks and pressing his hands on the 
 top. Even some American reprints of English works which 
 my companion carried, and feared would be taken from him, 
 were passed over without a word. I was agreeably sur- 
 prised at this, as, from the accounts of some travellers, I had 
 been led to fear horrible things of custom-houses. This
 
 22 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 over, we took a stroll about the city. I was first struck by 
 seeing so many people walking in the middle of the streets, 
 and so many gentlemen going about with pinks stuck in 
 their buttonholes. Then, the houses being all built of brown 
 granite or dark brick gives the town a sombre appearance, 
 which the sunshine (when there is any) cannot dispel. Of 
 Liverpool we saw little. Before the twilight had wholly 
 faded, we were again tossing on the rough waves of the 
 Irish Sea. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A DAY IN IRELAND. 
 
 On calling at the steamboat-office in Liverpool to take 
 passage to Port Rush, we found that the fare in the fore 
 cabin was but two shillings and a half, while in the chief 
 cabin it was six times as much. As I had started to make 
 the tour of all Europe with a sum little higher than is some- 
 times given for the mere passage to and fro, there was no 
 alternative, the twenty-four hours' discomfort could be more 
 easily endured than the expense, and, as I expected to en- 
 counter many hardships, it was best to make a beginning. 
 I had crossed the ocean with tolerable comfort for twenty- 
 four dollars, and was determined to try whether England, 
 where I had been told it was almost impossible to breathe 
 without expense, might not also be seen by one of limited 
 means. 
 
 The fore cabin was merely a bare room with a bench 
 along one side, which was occupied by half a dozen Irish- 
 men in knee-breeches and heavy brogans. As we passed 
 out of the Clarence Dock at 10 P. M. I went below, and 
 managed to get a seat on one end of the bench, where I 
 spent the night in sleepless misery. The Irish bestowed
 
 DISAGREEABLE WEATHER. 23 
 
 themselves about the floor as they best could, for there was 
 no light, and very soon the Morphean deepness of their 
 breathing gave token of blissful unconsciousness. 
 
 The next morning was misty and rainy, but I preferred 
 walking the deck and drying myself occasionally beside the 
 chimney to sitting in the dismal room below. We passed 
 the Isle of Man, and through the whole forenoon were 
 tossed about very disagreeably in the North Channel. In 
 the afternoon we stopped at Larne, a little antiquated vil- 
 lage not far from Belfast, at the head of a crooked arm of 
 the sea. There is an old ivy-grown tower near, and high 
 green mountains rise up around. After leaving it we had 
 a beautiful panoramic view of the northern coast. Many 
 of the precipices are of the same formation as the Cause- 
 way ; Fairhead, a promontory of this kind, is grand in the 
 extreme. The perpendicular face of fluted rock is about 
 three hundred feet in height, and, towering up sublimely 
 from the water, seemed almost to overhang our heads. My 
 companion compared it to Niagara Falls petrified, and I 
 think the simile very striking. It is like a cataract falling 
 in huge waves, in some places leaping out from a projecting 
 rock, in others descending in an unbroken sheet. 
 
 We passed the Giant's Causeway after dark, and about 
 eleven o'clock reached the harbor of Port Rush, where, 
 after stumbling up a strange old street in the dark, we 
 found a little inn, and soon forgot the Irish coast and every- 
 thing else. 
 
 In the morning, when we arose, it was raining, with little 
 prospect of fair weather, but, having expected nothing 
 better, we set out on foot for the Causeway. . The rain, 
 however, soon came down in torrents, and we were obliged 
 to take shelter in a cabin by the roadside. The whole 
 house consisted of one room with bare walls and roof and 
 earthen floor, while a window of three or four panes sup- 
 plied the light. A fire of peat was burning on the hearth, 
 and their breakfast, of potatoes alone, stood on the table.
 
 24 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 The occupants received us with rude but genuine hospi- 
 tality, giving us the only seats in the room to sit upon ; ex- 
 cept a rickety bedstead that stood in one corner and a 
 small table, there was no other furniture in the house. 
 The man appeared rather intelligent, and, although he com- 
 plained of the hardness of their lot, had no sympathy with 
 O'Connell or the Repeal movement. 
 
 We left this miserable hut as soon as it ceased raining, 
 and, though there were many cabins along the road, few 
 were better than this. At length, after passing the walls 
 of an old church in the midst of older tombs, we saw the 
 roofless towers of Dunluce Castle on the seashore. It 
 stands on an isolated rock, rising perpendicularly two hun- 
 dred feet above the sea, and connected with the cliffs of the 
 mainland by a narrow arch of masonry. On the summit 
 of the cliffs were the remains of the buildings where the 
 ancient lords kept their vassals. An old man who takes 
 care of it for Lord Antrim, on whose property it is situated, 
 showed us the way down to the castle. We walked across 
 the narrow arch, entered the ruined hall and looked down 
 on the roaring sea below. It still rained ; the wind swept 
 furiously through the decaying arches of the banqUeting- 
 hall and waved the long grass on the desolate battlements. 
 Far below the sea foamed white on the breakers and sent 
 up an unceasing boom. It was the most mournful and 
 desolate picture I ever beheld. There were some low dun- 
 geons yet entire, and rude stairways where by stooping 
 down I could ascend nearly to the top of one of the towers 
 and look out on the wild scenery of the coast. 
 
 Going back, I found a way down the cliff to the mouth 
 of a cavern in the rock which extends under the whole 
 castle to the sea. Sliding down a heap of sand and stones, 
 I stood under an arch eighty feet high ; in front the break- 
 ers dashed into the entrance, flinging the spray halfway to 
 the roof, while the sound rang up through the arches like
 
 THE ABODE OF THE GIANTS. 25 
 
 thunder. It seemed to me the haunt of the old Norsemen's 
 sea-gods. 
 
 We left the road near Dun luce and walked along the 
 smooth beach to the cliffs that surround the Causeway. 
 Here we obtained a guide, and descended to one of the 
 caves which can be entered from the shore. Opposite the 
 entrance a bare rock called Sea Gull Isle rises out of the 
 sea like a church-steeple. The roof at first was low, but 
 we shortly came to a branch that opened on the sea, where 
 the arch was forty-six feet in height. The breakers dashed 
 far into the cave, and flocks of sea-birds circled round its 
 mouth. The sound of a gun was like a deafening peal 
 of thunder, crashing from arch to arch till it rolled out of 
 the cavern. 
 
 On the top of the hill a splendid hotel is erected for visi- 
 tors to the Causeway ; after passing this we descended to 
 the base of the cliffs, which are here upward of four hun- 
 dred feet high, and soon began to find in the columnar for- 
 mation of the rocks indications of our approach. The 
 guide pointed out some columns which appeared to have 
 been melted and run together, from which Sir Humphry 
 Davy attributed the formation of the Causeway to the 
 action of fire. Near this is the Giants' Well, a spring of 
 the purest water, the bottom formed by three perfect hexa- 
 gons and the sides of regular columns. One of us observ- 
 ing that no giant had ever drunk from it, the old man an- 
 swered, " Perhaps not, but it was made by a giant — God 
 almighty !" 
 
 From the well the Causeway commences — a mass of col- 
 umns from triangular to octagonal, lying in compact forms 
 and extending into the sea. I was somewhat disappointed 
 at first, having supposed the Causeway to be of great 
 height, but I found the Giant's Loom, which is the highest 
 part of it, to be but about fifty feet from the water. The 
 singular appearance of the columns and the many strange 
 forms which they assume render it, nevertheless, an object
 
 26 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of the greatest interest. Walking out on the rocks, we 
 came to the Ladies' Chair, the seat, back, sides and foot- 
 stool being all regularly formed by the broken columns. 
 The guide said that any lady "who would take three 
 drinks from the Giant's Well, then sit in this chair and 
 think of any gentleman for whom she had a preference, 
 would be married before a twelvemonth. I asked him if it 
 would answer as well for gentlemen, for by a wonderful 
 coincidence we had each drank three times at the well. 
 He said it would, and thought he was confirming his state- 
 ment. 
 
 A cluster of columns about half-way up the cliff is called 
 the Giant's Organ from its very striking resemblance to 
 that instrument, and a single rock worn by the waves into 
 the shape of a rude seat is his chair. A mile or two far- 
 ther along the coast two cliffs project from the range, leav- 
 ing a vast semicircular space between, which from its re- 
 semblance to the old Roman theatres was appropriated for 
 that purpose by the giant. Halfway down the crags are 
 two or three pinnacles of rock called the Chimneys, and the 
 stumps of several others can be seen, which, it is said, were 
 shot off by a vessel belonging to the Spanish Armada in 
 mistake for the towers of Dunluce Castle. The vessel was 
 afterward wrecked in the bay below, which has ever since 
 been called Spanish Bay, and in calm weather the wreck 
 may be still seen. Many of the columns of the Causeway 
 have been carried off and sold as pillars for mantels, and, 
 though a notice is put up threatening any one with the rigor 
 of the law, depredations are occasionally made. 
 
 Returning, we left the road at Dunluce and took a path 
 which led along the summit of the cliffs. The twilight was 
 gathering and the wind blew with perfect fury, which, com- 
 bined with the black and stormy sky, gave the coast an air 
 of extreme wildness. All at once, as we followed the wind- 
 ing path, the crags appeared to open before us, disclosing a 
 yawning chasm down which a large stream falling in an
 
 LOST. 27 
 
 unbroken sheet was lost in the gloom below. Witnessed in 
 a calm day, there may perhaps be nothing striking about 
 it, but coming upon us at once through the gloom of twi- 
 light, with the sea thundering below and a scowling sky 
 above, it was absolutely startling. 
 
 The path at last wound with many a steep and slippery 
 bend down the almost perpendicular crags to the shore at 
 the foot of a giant isolated rock having a natural arch 
 tli rough it, eighty feet in height. We followed the narrow 
 strip of beach, having the bare crags on one side and a line 
 of foaming breakers on the other. It soon grew dark ; a 
 furious storm came up and swept like a hurricane along the 
 shore. I then understood what Home means by "the 
 lengthening javelins of the blast," for every drop seemed to 
 strike with the force of an arrow, and our clothes were soon 
 pierced in every part. 
 
 Then we w T ent up among the sand-hills and lost each 
 other in the darkness, when, after stumbling about among 
 the gullies for half an hour shouting for my companions, I 
 found the road and heard my call answered ; but it hap- 
 pened to be two Irishmen, who came up and said, " And is 
 it another gintleman ye're callin' for ? We heard some one 
 cryin', and didn't know but somebody might be kilt." 
 
 Finally, about eleven o'clock, we all arrived at the inn 
 dripping with rain, and before a warm fire concluded the 
 adventures of our day in Ireland. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BEN LOMOND AND THE HIGHLAND LAKES. 
 
 The steamboat Londonderry called the next day at Port 
 Rush, and w r e left in her for Greenock. We ran down the 
 Irish coast past Dunluce Castle and the Causeway ; the
 
 28 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Giant's Organ was very plainly visible, and the winds were 
 strong enough to have sounded a storm-song upon it. Far- 
 ther on we had a distant view of Carrick-a-Rede, a precipi- 
 tous rock, separated by a yawning chasm from the shore, 
 frequented by the catchers of sea-birds. A narrow swing- 
 ing bridge which is only passable in calm weather crosses 
 this chasm, two hundred feet above the water. 
 
 The deck of the steamer was crowded with Irish, and 
 certainly gave no favorable impression of the condition of 
 the peasantry of Ireland. On many of their countenances 
 there was scarcely a mark of intelligence ; they were a most 
 brutalized and degraded company of beings. Many of 
 them were in a beastly state of intoxication, which, from 
 the contents of some of their pockets, was not likely to de- 
 crease. As evening drew on two or three began singing, 
 and the others collected in groups around them. One of 
 them, who sang with great spirit, was loudly applauded, 
 and poured forth song after song of the most rude and un- 
 refined character. 
 
 We took a deck-passage for three shillings in preference 
 to paying twenty for the cabin, and, having secured a va- 
 cant place near the chimney, kept it during the whole pas- 
 sage. The waves were as rough in the Channel as I ever 
 saw them in the Atlantic, and our boat was tossed about 
 like a plaything. By keeping still we escaped sickness, but 
 we could not avoid the sight of the miserable beings who 
 filled the deck. Many of them spoke in the Irish tongue, 
 and our German friend (the student whom I have already 
 mentioned) noticed in many of the words a resemblance to 
 his mother-tongue. I procured a bowl of soup from the 
 steward, but, as I was not able to eat it, I gave it to an old 
 man whose hungry look and wistful eyes convinced me it 
 would not be lost on him. He swallowed it with ravenous 
 avidity, together with a crust of bread, which was all I had 
 to give him, and seemed for the time as happy and cheerful 
 as if all his earthly wants were satisfied.
 
 MEMORIES OF HOME. 29 
 
 We passed by the foot of Goat Fell, a lofty mountain on 
 the island of Arran, and sped on through the darkness past 
 the hills of Bute, till we entered the Clyde. We arrived 
 at Greenock at one o'clock at night, and, walking at ran- 
 dom through its silent streets, met a policeman, whom we 
 asked to show us where we might find lodgings. He took 
 my cousin and myself to the house of a poor widow who had 
 a spare bed which she let to strangers, and then conducted 
 our comrade and the German to another lodging-place. 
 
 An Irish strolling musician who was on board the Dum- 
 barton boat commenced playing soon after we left Greenock, 
 and, to my surprise, struck at once into "Hail, Columbia!" 
 Then he gave " The Exile of Erin " with the most touching 
 sweetness ; and I noticed that always after playing any air 
 that was desired of him he would invariably return to the 
 sad lament, which I never heard executed with more feeling. 
 It might have been the mild, soft air of the morning or 
 some peculiar mood of mind that influenced me, but I have 
 been far less affected by music which would be considered 
 immeasurably superior to his. I had been thinking of 
 America, and, going up to the old man, I quietly bade him 
 play " Home." It thrilled with a painful delight that 
 almost brought tears to my eyes. My companion started as 
 the sweet melody arose, and turned toward me, his face kin- 
 dling with emotion. 
 
 Dumbarton Rock rose higher and higher as we went up 
 the Clyde, and before we arrived at the town I hailed the 
 dim outline of Ben Lomond, rising far off among the High- 
 lands. The town is at the head of a small inlet a short 
 distance from the rock, which was once surrounded by 
 water. We went immediately to the castle. The rock is 
 nearly five hundred feet high, and from its position and 
 great strength as a fortress has been called the Gibraltar 
 of Scotland. The top is surrounded with battlements, and 
 the armory and barracks stand in a cleft between the two 
 peaks. We passed down a green lane, around the rock,
 
 30 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 and entered the castle on the south side. A soldier con- 
 ducted us through a narrow cleft overhung with crags to 
 the summit. Here, from the remains of a round building 
 called Wallace's Tower, from its having been used as a 
 lookout station by that chieftain, we had a beautiful view 
 of the whole of Leven Yale to Loch Lomond, Ben Lomond 
 and the Highlands, and on the other hand the Clyde and 
 the Isle of Bute. In the soft and still balminess of the 
 morning it was a lovely picture. In the armory I lifted the 
 sword of Wallace, a two-handed weapon five feet in length. 
 We were also shown a Lochaber battle-axe from Bannock- 
 burn, and several ancient claymores. 
 
 We lingered long upon the summit before we forsook the 
 stern fortress for the sweet vale spread out before us. It 
 was indeed a glorious walk from Dumbarton to Loch Lo- 
 mond through this enchanting valley. The air was mild 
 and clear ; a few light clouds occasionally crossing the sun 
 chequered the hills with sun and shade. I have as yet seen 
 nothing that in pastoral beauty can compare with its glassy 
 winding stream, its mossy old woods and guarding hills and 
 the ivy-grown, castellated towers embosomed in its forests 
 or standing on the banks of the Leven — the purest of rivers. 
 At the little village called Renton is a monument to Smol- 
 lett, but the inhabitants seem to neglect his memory, as one 
 of the tablets on the pedestal is broken and half fallen away. 
 Farther up the vale a farmer showed us an old mansion in 
 the midst of a group of trees on the bank of the Leven 
 which he said belonged to Smollett — or Roderick Random, 
 as he called him. Two or three old pear trees were still 
 standing where the garden had formerly been, under which 
 he was accustomed to play in his childhood. 
 
 At the head of Leven Vale we set off in the steamer 
 Water-Witch over the crystal waters of Loch Lomond, 
 passing Inch Murrin, the deer-park of the duke of Mont- 
 rose, and Inch Caillach,
 
 ROB ROY'S CAVE. 31 
 
 "where gray pines wave 
 Their shadows o'er Clan Alpine's grave." 
 
 Under the clear sky and golden light of the declining sun 
 Ave entered the Highlands, and heard on every side names 
 we had learned long ago in the lays of Scott. Here were 
 Glen Fruin and Bannochar, Ross Dhu and the pass of 
 Beal-ma-na. Farther still we passed Rob Roy's rock, where 
 the lake is locked in by lofty mountains. The cone-like 
 peak of Ben Lomond rises far above on the right, Ben 
 Voirlich stands in front, and the jagged crest of Ben Arthur 
 looks over the shoulders of the western hills. A Scotchman 
 on board pointed out to us the remarkable places and related 
 many interesting legends. Above Inversnaid, where there 
 is a beautiful waterfall leaping over the rock and glancing 
 out from the overhanging birches, we passed McFarland's 
 Island, concerning the origin of which name he gave a his- 
 tory. A nephew of one of the old earls of Lennox, the ruins 
 of whose castle we saw on Inch Murrin, having murdered 
 his uncle's cook in a quarrel, was obliged to flee for his life. 
 Returning after many years, he built a castle upon this 
 island, which was always after named, on account of his 
 exile, Farland. On a precipitous point above Inversnaid 
 are two caves in the rock ; one near the water is called Rob 
 Roy's, though the guides generally call it Bruce's also, to 
 avoid trouble, as the real Bruce's cave is high up the hill. 
 It is so called because Bruce hid there one night from the 
 pursuit of his enemies. It is related that a mountain-goat 
 who used this, probably, for a sleeping-place, entered, trod 
 on his mantle and aroused him. Thinking his enemies were 
 upon him, he sprang up, and saw the silly animal before 
 him. In token of gratitude for this agreeable surprise, 
 when he became king a law was passed declaring goats free 
 throughout all Scotland — unpunishable for whatever tres- 
 pass they might commit ; and the legend further says that, 
 not having been repealed, it continues in force at the 
 present day.
 
 32 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 On the opposite shore of the lake is a large rock called 
 Bull's Rock, having a door in the side, with a stairway cut 
 through the interior to a pulpit on the top, from which the 
 pastor at Arroquhar preaches a monthly discourse. The 
 Gaelic legend of the rock is that it once stood near the sum- 
 mit of the mountain above, and was very nearly balanced 
 on the edge of a precipice. Two wild bulls fighting violently 
 dashed with great force against the rock, which, being 
 thrown from its balance, was tumbled down the side of the 
 mountain till it reached its present position. The Scot was 
 speaking with great bitterness of the betrayal of Wallace, 
 when I asked him if it was still considered an insult to 
 turn a loaf of bread bottom upward in the presence of a 
 Monteith. " Indeed it is, sir," said he. " I have often 
 done it myself." 
 
 Until last May travellers were taken do higher up the 
 lake than Rob Roy's cave, but, another boat having com- 
 menced running, they can now go beyond Loch Lomond, 
 two miles up Glen Falloch, to the Inn of Inverarnan, there- 
 by visiting some of the finest scenery in that part of the 
 Highlands. It was ludicrous, however, to see the steam- 
 boat on a river scarcely wider than herself, in a little valley 
 hemmed in completely with lofty mountains. She went on, 
 however, pushing aside the thickets which lined both banks, 
 and I almost began to think she was going to take the shore 
 for it, when we came to a place widened out for her to be 
 turned around in ; here we jumped ashore in a green 
 meadow on which the cool mist was beginning to de- 
 scend. 
 
 When we arose in the morning, at four o'clock, to return 
 with the boat, the sun was already shining upon the west- 
 ward hills ; scarcely a cloud was in the sky and the air was 
 pure and cool. To our great delight, Ben Lomond was un- 
 shrouded, and we were told that a more favorable day for 
 the ascent had not occurred for two months. We left the 
 boat at Rowardennan, an inn at the southern base of Ben
 
 BEN LOMOND. 33 
 
 Lomond. After breakfasting on Loch Lomond trout I stole 
 out to the shore while my companions were preparing for 
 the ascent, and made a hasty sketch of the lake. 
 
 We proposed descending on the northern side and cross- 
 ing the Highlands to Loch Katrine ; though it was repre- 
 sented as difficult and dangerous by the guide who wished 
 to accompany us, we determined to run the risk of being 
 enveloped in a cloud on the summit, and so set out alone, 
 the path appearing plain before us. We had no difficulty 
 in following it up the lesser heights, around the base. It 
 wound on over rock and bog, among the heather and broom 
 with which the mountain is covered, sometimes running up 
 a steep acclivity and then winding zigzag round a rocky 
 ascent. The rains two days before had made the bogs damp 
 and muddy, but, with this exception, we had little trouble 
 for some time. 
 
 Ben Lomond is a doubly-formed mountain. For about 
 three-fourths of the way there is a continued ascent, when 
 it is suddenly terminated by a large barren plain, from one 
 end of which the summit shoots up abruptly, forming at 
 the north side a precipice five hundred feet high. As we 
 approached the summit of the first part of the mountain 
 the way became very steep and toilsome, but the prospect, 
 which had before been only on the south side, began to open 
 on the east, and we saw suddenly spread out below us the 
 vale of Menteith, with "far Loch Ard and Aberfoil" in the 
 centre and the huge front of Benvenue filling up the pic- 
 ture. Taking courage from this, we hurried on. The 
 heather had become stunted and dwarfish, and the ground 
 was covered with short brown grass. The mountain-sheep 
 which we saw looking at us from the rock above had worn 
 so many paths along the side that we could not tell which 
 to take, but pushed on in the direction of the summit, till, 
 thinking it must be near at hand, we found a mile and a 
 half of plain before us, with the top of Ben Lomond at the 
 farther end. The plain was full of wet moss crossed in all 
 
 3
 
 34 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 directions by deep ravines or gullies worn in it by the moun- 
 tain-rains, and the wind swept across with a tempest-like 
 force. 
 
 I met near the base a young gentleman from Edinburgh 
 who had left Kowardennan before us, and we commenced 
 ascending together. It was hard work, but neither liked to 
 stop ; so we climbed up to the first resting-place, and found 
 the path leading along the brink of a precipice. We soon 
 attained the summit, and, climbing up a little mound of 
 earth and stones, I saw the half of Scotland at a glance. 
 The clouds hung just above the mountain-tops, which rose 
 all around like the waves of a mighty sea. On every side, 
 near and far, stood their misty summits, but Ben Lomond 
 was the monarch of them all. Loch Lomond lay unrolled 
 under my feet like a beautiful map, and, just opposite, Loch 
 Long thrust its head from between the feet of the crowded 
 hills to catch a glimpse of the giant. We could see from 
 Ben Nevis to Ayr — from Edinburgh to Staffa. Stirling and 
 Edinburgh castles would have been visible but that the 
 clouds hung low in the valley of the Forth and hid them 
 from our sight. 
 
 The view from Ben Lomond is nearly twice as extensive 
 as that from the Catskill, being uninterrupted on every side, 
 but it wants the glorious forest-scenery, clear blue sky and 
 active, rejoicing character of the latter. We stayed about 
 two hours upon the summit, taking refuge behind the cairn 
 when the wind blew strong. I found the smallest of flow- 
 ers under a rock, and brought it away as a memento. In 
 the middle of the precipice there is a narrow ravine — or, 
 rather, cleft in the rock — to the bottom, from whence the 
 mountain slopes regularly but steeply down to the valley. 
 At the bottom we stopped to awake the echoes, which were 
 repeated four times; our German companion sang the 
 " Hunter's Chorus," which resounded magnificently through 
 this Highland hall. We drank from the river Forth, which 
 starts from a spring at the foot of the rock, and then com-
 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY. 35 
 
 menced descending. This was also toilsome enough. The 
 mountain was quite wet and covered with loose stones, 
 which, dislodged by our feet, went rattling down the side, 
 oftentimes to the danger of the foremost ones ; and when 
 we had run — or, rather, slid — down the three miles to the 
 bottom, our knees trembled so as scarcely to support us. 
 
 Here, at a cottage on the farm of Coman, we procured 
 some oatcakes and milk for dinner from an old Scotch wo- 
 man who pointed out the direction of Loch Katrine, six 
 miles distant ; there was no road, nor, indeed, a solitary 
 dwelling between. The hills were bare of trees, covered 
 with scraggy bushes and rough heath, which in some places 
 was so thick we could scarcely drag our feet through. Add- 
 ed to this, the ground was covered with a kind of moss 
 that retained the moisture like a sponge ; so that our boots 
 ere long became thoroughly soaked. Several considerable 
 streams were rushing down the side, and many of the wild 
 breed of black Highland cattle were grazing around. After 
 climbing up and down one or two heights, occasionally 
 startling the moorcock and ptarmigan from their heathery 
 coverts, we saw the valley of Loch Con, while in the middle 
 of the plain on the top of the mountain we had ascended 
 was a sheet of water which we took to be Loch Ackill. 
 Two or three wild-fowl swimming on its surface were the 
 only living things in sight. The peaks around shut it out 
 from all view of the world ; a single decayed tree leaned 
 over it from a mossy rock which gave the whole scene an 
 air of the most desolate wildness. I forget the name of 
 the lake, but we learned afterward that the Highlanders 
 consider it the abode of the fairies, or " men of peace," and 
 that it is still superstitiously shunned by them after night- 
 fall. 
 
 From the next mountain we saw Loch Ackill and Loch 
 Katrine below, but a wet and weary descent had yet to be 
 made. I was about throwing off my knapsack on a rock 
 to take a sketch of Loch Katrine, which appeared very
 
 36 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 beautiful from this point, when we discerned a cavalcade of 
 ponies winding along the path from Inversnaid to the head 
 of the lake, and hastened down to take the boat when they 
 should arrive. Our haste turned out to be unnecessary, 
 however, for they had to wait for their luggage, which was 
 long in coming. Two boatmen then offered to take us for 
 two shillings and sixpence each, with the privilege of stop- 
 ping at Ellen's Isle, the regular fare being two shillings. 
 We got in, when, after exchanging a few words in Gaelic, 
 one of them called to the travellers — of whom there were a 
 number — to come and take passage at two shillings, then at 
 one and sixpence, and finally concluded by requesting them 
 all to step on board the shilling boat. At length, having 
 secured nine at this reduced price, we pushed off; one of 
 the passengers took the helm, and the boat glided merrily 
 over the clear water. 
 
 It appears there is some opposition among the boatmen 
 this summer, which is all the better for travellers. They 
 are a bold race, and still preserve many of the characteris- 
 tics of the clan from which they sprung. One of ours who 
 had a chieftain-like look was a MacGregor related to Rob 
 Roy. The fourth descendant in a direct line now inhabits 
 the Rob Roy mansion at Glengyle, a valley at the head of 
 the lake. A small steamboat was put upon Loch Katrine 
 a short time ago, but the boatmen, jealous of this new in- 
 vasion of their privilege, one night towed her out to the 
 middle of the lake, and there sunk her. 
 
 Near the point of Brianchoil is a very small island with 
 a few trees upon it of which the boatman related a story 
 that was new to me. He said an eccentric individual many 
 years ago built his house upon it, but it was soon beaten 
 down by the winds and waves. Having built it up with 
 like fortune several times, he at last desisted, saying "bought 
 wisdom was the best," since when it had been called the Isl- 
 and of Wisdom. On the shore below the boatman showed 
 us his cottage. The whole family were out at the door to
 
 LOCH KATRINE. 37 
 
 witness our progress. He hoisted a flag; and when we 
 came opposite, they exchanged shouts in Gaelic. As our 
 men resumed their oars again we assisted in giving three 
 cheers which made the echoes of Benvenue ring again. 
 Some one observed his dog looking after us from a project- 
 ing rock, when he called out to him, " Go home, you brute!" 
 We asked him why he did not speak Gaelic also to his dog. 
 
 " Very few dogs indeed," said he, " understand Gaelic, 
 but they all understand English, and we therefore all use 
 English when speaking to our dogs. Indeed, I know some 
 persons who know nothing of English that speak it to their 
 dogs." 
 
 They then sang, in a rude manner, a Gaelic song. The 
 only word I could distinguish was Inch Caillach, the bury- 
 ing-place of Clan Alpine. They told us it was the answer 
 of a Highland girl to a foreign lord who wished to make 
 her his bride. Perhaps, like the American Indian, she 
 would not leave the graves of her fathers. 
 
 As we drew near the eastern end of the lake the scenery 
 became far more beautiful. The Trosachs opened before 
 us. Ben Ledi looked down over the " forehead bare " of 
 Ben An, and as we turned a rocky point Ellen's Isle rose 
 up in front. It is a beautiful little turquoise in the silver 
 setting of Loch Katrine. The northern side alone is access- 
 ible, all the others being rocky and perpendicular and 
 thickly grown with trees. We rounded the island to the 
 little bay, bordered by the silver strand, above which is the 
 rock from which Fitz-James wound his horn, and shot under 
 an ancient oak which flung its long gray arms over the 
 water. We here found a flight of rocky steps leading to 
 the top, where stood the bower erected by Lady Willoughby 
 D'Eresby to correspond with Scott's description. Two or 
 three blackened beams are all that remain of it, having 
 been burned down some years ago by the carelessness of a 
 traveller. 
 
 The mountains stand all around, like giants, to " sentinel 
 
 145779
 
 38 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 this enchanted land." On leaving the island we saw the 
 Goblin's Cave in the side of Benvenue, called by the Gaels 
 " Coirnan-Uriskin." Near it is Beal-nam-bo— the "Pass 
 of Cattle "—overhung with gray weeping birch trees. 
 
 Here the boatmen stopped to let us hear the fine echo, 
 and the names of Rob Roy and Roderick Dim were sent 
 back to us apparently as loud as they were given. The de- 
 scription of Scott is wonderfully exact, though the forest 
 that feathered o'er the sides of Benvenue has since been 
 cut down and sold by the duke of Montrose. 
 
 When we reached the end of the lake, it commenced 
 raining, and we hastened on through the pass of Beal-an- 
 Duine, scarcely taking time to glance at the scenery, till 
 Loch Achray appeared through the trees, and on its banks 
 the ivy-grown front of the inn of Ardcheancrochan — with 
 its unpronounceable name. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BURNS FESTIVAL. 
 
 We passed a glorious summer morning on the banks of 
 Loch Katrine. The air was pure, fresh and balmy, and the 
 warm sunshine glowed upon forest and lake, upon dark 
 crag and purple mountain-top. The lake was a scene in 
 Fairyland. Returning over the rugged battle-plain in the 
 jaws of the Trosachs, we passed the wild, lonely valley of 
 Glenfinlas and Lanric Mead at the head of Loch Venna- 
 char, rounding the foot of Ben Ledi to Coilantogle Ford. 
 We saw the desolate hills of Uam-var over which the stag 
 fled from his lair in Glenartney, and, keeping on through 
 Callander, stopped for the night at a little inn on the banks 
 of the Teith. The next day we walked through Doune, 
 over the lowlands, to Stirling. Crossing Allan Water and
 
 THE BURNS FESTIVAL. 39 
 
 the Forth, we climbed Stirling Castle and looked on the 
 purple peaks of the Ochill Mountains, the far Grampians 
 and the battlefields of Bannockburn and Sheriff Muir. 
 Our German comrade, feeling little interest in the memory 
 of the poet-ploughman, left in the steamboat for Edinburgh ; 
 we mounted an English coach and rode to Falkirk, where 
 we took the cars for Glasgow in order to attend the Burns 
 festival, on the 6th of August. 
 
 This was a great day for Scotland — the assembling of all 
 classes to do honor to the memory of her peasant-bard. 
 And right fitting was it, too, that such a meeting should be 
 held on the banks of the Doon, the stream of which he has 
 sung so sweetly, within sight of the cot where he was born, 
 the beautiful monument erected by his countrymen, and, 
 more than all, beside " Alloway's witch-haunted wall." One 
 would think old Albyn would rise up at the call, and that 
 from the wild hunters of the northern hills to the shepherds 
 of the Cheviots half her honest yeomanry would be there 
 to render gratitude to the memory of the sweet bard who 
 was one of them, and who gave their wants and their woes 
 such eloquent utterance. 
 
 For months before had the proposition been made to hold 
 a meeting on the Doon similar to the Shakespeare festival on 
 the Avon, and the 10th of July was first appointed for the 
 day, but, owing to the necessity of further time for prepa- 
 ration, it was postponed until the 6th of August. The earl 
 of Eglintoun was chosen chairman and Professor Wilson 
 vice-chairman. In addition to this, all the most eminent 
 British authors were invited to attend. A pavilion capable 
 of containing two thousand persons had been erected near 
 the monument, in a large field, which was thrown open to 
 the public. Other preparations were made, and the meet- 
 ing was expected to be of the most interesting character. 
 
 When we arose, it was raining, and I feared that the 
 weather might dampen somewhat the pleasures of the day, 
 as it had done to the celebrated tournament at Eglintoun
 
 40 VIEWS -V-FOOT. 
 
 Castle. We reached the station in time for the first train, 
 and sped in the face of the wind over the plains of Ayr- 
 shire, which under such a gloomy sky looked most desolate. 
 We ran some distance along the coast, having a view of 
 the Hills of Arran, and reached Ayr about nine o'clock. 
 We came first to the New Bridge, which had a triumphal 
 arch in the middle, and the lines from the " Twa Brigs of 
 Ayr:" 
 
 " Will your poor narrow footpath of a street, 
 Where twa wheelbarrows tremble when they meet, 
 Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
 Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time ?" 
 
 While on the arch of the " old brig " was the reply : 
 
 " I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless stane." 
 
 As we advanced into the town the decorations became 
 more frequent. The streets were crowded with people car- 
 rying banners and wreaths, many of the houses were 
 adorned with green boughs and the vessels in the harbor 
 bung out all their flags. We saw the Wallace Tower, a 
 high Gothic building having in front a statue of Wallace 
 leaning on his sword, by Thorn, a native of Ayr, and on 
 our way to the green, where the procession was to assemble, 
 passed under the triumphal arch thrown across the street 
 opposite the inn where Tarn O'Shanter caroused so long 
 with Souter Johnny. Leaving the companies to form on 
 the long meadow bordering the shore, we set out for the 
 Doon, three miles distant. Beggars were seated at regular 
 distances along the road, uttering the most dolorous winn- 
 ings. Both bridges were decorated in the same manner 
 with miserable-looking objects keeping up during the whole 
 day a continual lamentation. Persons are prohibited from 
 begging in England and Scotland, but I suppose, this being 
 an extraordinary day, license was given them, as a favor, 
 to beg free. I noticed that the women, with their usual
 
 BURNS'S COTTAGE. 41 
 
 kindness of heart, bestowed nearly all the alms which these 
 unfortunate objects received. The night before, as I was 
 walking through the streets of Glasgow, a young man of 
 the poorer class, very scantily dressed, stepped up to me 
 and begged me to listen to him for a moment. He spoke 
 hurriedly and agitatedly, begging me, in God's name, to 
 give him something, however little. I gave him what few 
 pence I had with me, when he grasped my hand with a 
 quick motion, saying, " Sir, you little think how much you 
 have done for me." I was about to inquire more particu- 
 larly into his situation, but he had disappeared among the 
 crowd. 
 
 We passed the " cairn where hunters found the murdered 
 bairn," along a pleasant road to the Burns cottage, where 
 it was spanned by a magnificent triumphal arch of ever- 
 greens and flowers. To the disgrace of Scotland, this neat 
 little thatched cot, where Burns passed the first seven years 
 of his life, is now occupied by somebody who has stuck up 
 a sign over the door, " Licensed to Retail Spirits, to be 
 Drunk on the Premises," and accordingly the rooms were 
 crowded full of people, all drinking. There was a fine origi- 
 nal portrait of Burns in one room, and in the old-fashioned 
 kitchen we saw the recess where he was born. The hostess 
 looked toward us as if to inquire what we would drink, and 
 I hastened away : there was profanity in the thought. But 
 by this time the bell of Old Alloway, which still hangs in 
 its accustomed place, though the walls only are left, began 
 tolling, and we obeyed the call. The attachment of the 
 people for this bell is so great that a short time ago, when 
 it was ordered to be removed, the inhabitants rose en masse 
 and prevented it. The ruin, which is close by the road, 
 stands in the middle of the churchyard, and the first thing 
 I saw on going in the gate was the tomb of the father of 
 Burns. I looked in the old window, but the interior was 
 filled with rank weeds and overshadowed by a young tree 
 which had grown nearly to the eaves.
 
 42 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 The crowd was now fast gathering in the large field in 
 the midst of which the pavilion was situated. We went 
 down by the beautiful monument to Burns to the "Auld 
 Brig o' Doon," which was spanned by an arch of ever- 
 greens containing a representation of Tarn O'Shanter and 
 his gray mare pursued by the witches. 
 
 It had been arranged that the procession was to pass 
 over the old and new bridges, and from thence by a tempo- 
 rary bridge over the hedge into the field. At this latter 
 place a stand was erected for the sons of Burns, the officers 
 of the day and distinguished guests. Here was a beautiful 
 specimen of English exclusiveness. The space adjoining 
 the pavilion was fenced around, and admittance denied at 
 first to any except those who had tickets for the dinner, 
 which — the price being fifteen shillings — entirely prevented 
 the humble laborers who more than all should participate 
 on the occasion from witnessing the review of the proces- 
 sion by the sons of Burns and hearing the eloquent speeches 
 of Professor Wilson and Lord Eglintoun. Thus, of the 
 many thousands who were in the field, but a few hundred 
 who were crowded between the bridge and the railing 
 around the pavilion enjoyed the interesting spectacle. By 
 good fortune I obtained a stand where I had an excellent 
 view of the scene. The sons of Burns were in the middle 
 of the platform, with Eglintoun on the right and Wilson 
 on their left. Mrs. Begg, sister of the poet, with her 
 daughters, stood by the countess of Eglintoun. She was a 
 plain, benevolent-looking woman dressed in black and ap- 
 pearing still active and vigorous, though she is upward of 
 eighty years old. She bears some likeness, especially in the 
 expression of her eye, to the poet. Robert Burns, the 
 oldest son, appeared to me to have a strong resemblance of 
 his father, and it is said he is the only one who remembers 
 his face. He has for a long time had an office under gov- 
 ernment in London. The others have but lately returned 
 from a residence of twenty years in India. Professor
 
 THE PROCESSION. 43 
 
 Wilson appeared to enter into the spirit of the scene better 
 than any of them. He shouted and waved his hat, and, 
 with his fine broad forehead, his long brown locks, already 
 mixed with gray, streaming over his shoulders, and that 
 eagle eye glancing over the vast assemblage, seemed a real 
 Christopher North, yet full of the fire and vigor of youth 
 — " a gray-haired, happy boy." 
 
 About half of the procession consisted of lodges of 
 Masons, all of whom turned out on the occasion, as Burns 
 was one of the fraternity. I was most interested in several 
 companies of shepherds from the hills with their crooks 
 and plaids, a body of archers in Lincoln green with a hand- 
 some chief at their head, and some Highlanders in their 
 most picturesque of costumes. As one of the companies 
 which carried a mammoth thistle in a box came near the 
 platform Wilson snatched a branch, regardless of its pricks, 
 and placed it on his coat. After this pageant — which could 
 not have been much less than three miles long — had passed, 
 a band was stationed on the platform in the centre of the 
 field, around which it formed in a circle, and the whole 
 company sang " Ye Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doom" 
 Just at this time a person dressed to represent Tarn 
 O'Shanter, mounted on a gray mare, issued from a field 
 near the Burns monument and rode along toward Alloway 
 kirk, from which, when he approached it, a whole legion 
 of witches sallied out and commenced a hot pursuit. They 
 turned back, however, at the keystone of the bridge, the 
 witch with the "cutty-sark" holding up in triumph 
 the abstracted tail of Maggie. Soon after this the company 
 entered the pavilion, and the thousands outside were enter- 
 tained as an especial favor by the band of the Eighty- 
 seventh regiment, while from the many liquor-booths 
 around the field they could enjoy themselves in another 
 way. 
 
 We went up to the monument — which was of more par- 
 ticular interest to us from the relics within — but admission
 
 44 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 was denied to all. Many persons were collected around 
 the gate, some of whom, having come from a great distance, 
 were anxious to see it ; but the keeper only said such were 
 the orders and he could not disobey them. Among the 
 crowd, a grandson of the original Tarn O'Shanter was 
 shown to us. He was a raw-looking boy of nineteen or 
 twenty, wearing a shepherd's cap and jacket, and muttered 
 his disapprobation very decidedly at not being able to visit 
 the monument. 
 
 There were one or two showers during the day, and the 
 sky all the time was dark and lowering, which was unfavor- 
 able for the celebration, but all were glad enough that the 
 rain kept aloof till the ceremonies were nearly over. The 
 speeches delivered at the dinner — which appeared in the 
 papers next morning— are undoubtedly very eloquent. I 
 noticed in the remarks of Robert Burns, in reply to Profes- 
 sor Wilson, an acknowledgment which the other speakers 
 forgot. He said, " The sons of Burns have grateful hearts, 
 and to the last hour of their existence they will remember 
 the honor that has been paid them this day by the noble, 
 the lovely and the talented of their native land— by men 
 of genius and kindred spirit from our sister-land; and 
 lastly they owe their thanks to the inhabitants of the far- 
 distant west, a country of a great, free and kindred 
 people!" (Loud cheers.) In connection with this sub- 
 ject, I saw an anecdote of the poet yesterday which is not 
 generally known. During his connection with the excise 
 he was one day at a party where the health of Pitt — then 
 minister — was proposed as " his master and theirs." He 
 immediately turned down his glass and said, " I will give 
 you the health of a far greater and better man— George 
 Washington !" 
 
 We left the field early and went back through the muddy 
 streets of Ayr. The street before the railway-office was 
 crowded, and there was so dense a mass of people on the 
 steps that it seemed almost impossible to get near. Seeing
 
 EDINBURGH. 45 
 
 no other chance, I managed to take my stand on the lowest 
 steps, where the pressure of the crowd behind and the 
 working of the throng on the steps raised me off my feet, 
 and in about a quarter of an hour carried me, compressed 
 into the smallest possible space, up the steps to the door, 
 where the crowd burst in by fits, like water rushing out of 
 a bottle. We esteemed ourselves fortunate in getting room 
 to stand in an open car, where, after a two hours' ride 
 through the wind and pelting rain, we arrived at Glasgow. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WALK FROM EDINBURGH OVER THE BORDER, AND AR- 
 RIVAL AT LONDON. 
 
 We left Glasgow on the morning after returning from the 
 Burns festival, taking passage in the open cars for Edin- 
 burgh for six shillings. On leaving the dep6t we plunged 
 into the heart of the hill on which Glasgow Cathedral 
 stands, and were whisked through darkness and sulphury 
 smoke to daylight again. The cars bore us past a spur of 
 the Highlands, through a beautiful country where women 
 were at work in the fields, to Linlithgow, the birthplace of 
 Queen Mary. The majestic ruins of its once-proud palace 
 stand on a green meadow behind the town. In another 
 hour we were walking through Edinburgh, admiring its 
 palace-like edifices and stopping every few minutes to gaze 
 up at some lofty monument. " Really," thought I, " we 
 call Baltimore the ' Monumental City ' for its two marble 
 columns, and here is Edinburgh with one at every street- 
 corner !" These, too, not in the midst of glaring red build- 
 ings, where they seem to have been accidentally dropped, 
 but framed in by lofty granite mansions whose long vistas 
 make an appropriate background to the picture.
 
 46 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 We looked from Calton Hill on Salisbury Crags and over 
 the Frith of Forth, then descended to dark old Holyrood, 
 where the memory of lovely Mary lingers like a stray sun- 
 beam in her cold halls, and the fair boyish face of Rizzio 
 looks down from the canvas on the armor of his murderer. 
 We threaded the Canongate and climbed to the castle, and 
 finally, after a day and a half's sojourn, buckled on our 
 knapsacks and marched out of the Northern Athens. In a 
 short time the tall spire of Dalkeith appeared above the 
 green wood, and we saw to the right, perched on the steep 
 banks of the Esk, the picturesque cottage of Hawthornden, 
 where Drummond once lived in poetic solitude. We made 
 haste to cross the dreary waste of the Muirfoot Hills before 
 nightfall, from the highest summit of which we took a last 
 view of Edinburgh Castle and the Salisbury crags, then blue 
 in the distance. Far to the east were the hills of Lammer- 
 muir, and the country of Mid-Lothian lay before us. It 
 was all Scott-land. The inn of Torsonce, beside the Gala 
 Water, was our resting-place for the night. As we ap- 
 proached Galashiels the next morning, where the bed of the 
 silver Gala is nearly emptied by a number of dingy manu- 
 factories, the hills opened, disclosing the sweet vale of the 
 Tweed, guarded by the triple peak of the Eildon, at whose 
 base lay nestled the village of Melrose. 
 
 I stopped at a bookstore to purchase a view of the Abbey ; 
 to my surprise, nearly half the works were by American 
 authors. There were Bryant, Longfellow, Channing, Em- 
 erson, Dana, Ware, and many others. The bookseller told 
 me he had sold more of Ware's Letters than any other book 
 in his store, " and also," to use his own words, " an immense 
 number of the great Dr. Channing." I have seen English 
 editions of Percival, Willis, Whittier and Mrs. Sigourney, 
 but Bancroft and Prescott are classed among the "standard 
 British historians." 
 
 Crossing the Gala, we ascended a hill on the road to Sel- 
 kirk, and, behold ! the Tweed ran below, and opposite, in
 
 A COLD BATH. 47 
 
 the midst of embowering trees planted by the hand of Scott, 
 rose the gray halls of Abbotsford. We went down a lane 
 
 to the banks of the swift stream, but, finding no ferry, B 
 
 and I, as it looked very shallow, thought we might save a 
 
 long walk by wading across. F preferred hunting for 
 
 a boat. We two set out together with our knapsacks on 
 our backs and our boots in our hands. The current was 
 ice-cold and very swift, and, as the bed was covered with 
 loose stones, it required the greatest care to stand upright. 
 Looking at the bottom through the rapid water made my 
 head so giddy I was forced to stop and shut my eyes. My 
 friend, who had firmer nerves, went plunging on to a deeper 
 and swifter part, where the strength of the current made 
 him stagger very unpleasantly. I called to him to return ; 
 the next thing I saw, he gave a plunge and weut down to 
 the shoulder in the cold flood. While he was struggling, 
 with a frightened expression of face, to recover his footing, 
 I leaned on my staff and laughed till I was on the point of 
 
 falling also. To crown our mortification, F had found 
 
 a ferry a few yards higher up, and was on the opposite 
 shore watching us wade back again, my friend with drip- 
 ping clothes and boots full of Avater. I could not forgive 
 the pretty Scotch damsel who rowed us across the mischiev- 
 ous lurking smile which told that she too had witnessed the 
 adventure. 
 
 We found a footpath on the other side which led through 
 a young forest to Abbotsford. Rude pieces of sculpture 
 taken from Melrose Abbey were scattered around the gate, 
 some half buried in the earth and overgrown with weeds. 
 The niches in the walls were filled with pieces of sculpture, 
 and an antique marble greyhound reposed in the middle of 
 the court-yard. We rang the bell in an outer vestibule 
 ornamented with several pairs of antlers, when a lady ap- 
 peared who from her appearance I have no doubt was Mrs. 
 Ormand, the " duenna of Abbotsford," so humorously de- 
 scribed by D'Arlincourt in his Three Kingdoms. She
 
 48 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 ushered us into the entrance-hall, which has a magnificent 
 ceiling of carved oak and is lighted by lofty stained win- 
 dows. An effigy of a knight in armor stood at either end, 
 one holding a huge two-handed sword found on Bosworth 
 Field ; the walls were covered with helmets and breastplates 
 of the olden time. 
 
 Among the curiosities in the armory are Napoleon's 
 pistols, the blunderbuss of Hofer, Rob Roy's purse and gun 
 and the offering-box of Queen Mary. Through the folding- 
 doors between the dining-room, drawing-room and library 
 is a fine vista terminated by a niche in which stands Chan- 
 trey's bust of Scott. The ceilings are of carved Scottish 
 oak and the doors of American cedar. Adjoining the 
 library is his study, the walls of which are covered with 
 books ; the doors and windows are double, to render it quiet 
 and undisturbed. His books and inkstand are on the table 
 and his writing-chair stands before it, as if he had left them 
 but a moment before. In a little closet adjoining, where he 
 kept his private manuscripts, are the clothes he last wore, 
 his cane and belt — to which a hammer and small axe are 
 attached — and his sword. A narrow staircase led from the 
 study to his sleeping-room above, by which he could come 
 down at night and work while his family slept. The silence 
 about the place is solemn and breathless as if it waited to 
 be broken by his returning footstep. I felt an awe in 
 treading these lonely halls like that which impressed me 
 before the grave of Washington — a feeling that hallowed 
 the spot as if there yet lingered a low vibration of the lyre, 
 though the minstrel had departed for ever. 
 
 Plucking a wild rose that grew near the walls, I left Ab- 
 botsford, embosomed among the trees, and turned into a 
 green lane that led down to Melrose. We went immediately 
 to the abbey, in the lower part of the village, near the 
 Tweed. As I approached the gate the porteress came out 
 and, having scrutinized me rather sharply, asked my name. 
 I told her. " Well," she added, " there is a prospect here
 
 MELROSE. 49 
 
 for you." Thinking she alluded to the ruin, I replied, 
 " Yes, the view is certainly very fine." — " Oh, I don't mean 
 that," she replied. "A young gentleman left a prospect 
 here for you ;" whereupon she brought out a spyglass 
 which I recognized as one that our German comrade had 
 given to me. He had gone on, and hoped to meet us at 
 Jedburgh. 
 
 Melrose is the finest remaining specimen of Gothic archi- 
 tecture in Scotland. Some of the sculptured flowers in the 
 cloister arches are remarkably beautiful and delicate, and 
 the two windows — the south and east oriels — are of a light- 
 ness and grace of execution really surprising. We saw the 
 tomb of Michael Scott, of King Alexander II., and that of 
 the Douglas, marked with a sword. The heart of Bruce is 
 supposed to have been buried beneath the high altar. The 
 chancel is all open to the sky, and rooks build their nests 
 among the wild ivy that climbs over the crumbling arches. 
 One of these came tamely down and perched upon the hand 
 of our fair guide. By a winding stair in one of the towers 
 we mounted to the top of the arch and looked down on the 
 grassy floor. I sat on the broken pillar which Scott always 
 used for a seat when he visited the abbey, and read the dis- 
 interring of the magic book in the " Lay of the Last Min- 
 strel." I never comprehended its full beauty till then ; the 
 memory of Melrose will give it a thrilling interest in the 
 future. When we left, I was willing to say, with the 
 minstrel, 
 
 "Was never scene so sad and fair." 
 
 After seeing the home and favorite haunt of Scott we 
 felt a wish to stand by his grave, but we had Ancrum Moor 
 to pass before night, and the Tweed was between us and 
 Dryburgh Abbey. We did not wish to try another watery 
 adventure, and therefore walked on to the village of An- 
 crum, where a gatekeeper on the road gave us lodging and 
 good fare for a moderate price. Many of this class prac- 
 tise this double employment, and the economical traveller 
 4
 
 50 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 who looks more to comfort than luxury will not fail to 
 patronize them. 
 
 Next morning we took a footpath over the hills to Jed- 
 burgh. From the summit there was a lovely view of the 
 valley of the Teviot, with the blue Cheviots in the distance. 
 I thought of Pringle's beautiful farewell : 
 
 " Our native land, our native vale, 
 A long, a last adieu ! 
 Farewell to bonny Teviotdale, 
 And Cheviot's mountains blue!" 
 
 The poet was born in the valley below, and one that looks 
 upon its beauty cannot wonder how his heart clung to the 
 scenes he was leaving. We saw Jedburgh and its majestic 
 old abbey, and ascended the valley of the Jed toward the 
 Cheviots. The hills, covered with woods of a richness, and 
 even gorgeous beauty, of foliage, shut out this lovely glen 
 completely from the world. I found myself continually 
 coveting the lonely dwellings that were perched on the 
 rocky heights or nestled like a fairy pavilion in the lap of 
 a grove. These forests formerly furnished the wood for the 
 celebrated Jed wood axe used in the Border forays. 
 
 As we continued ascending the prospect behind us widened 
 till we reached the summit of the Carter Fell, whence there 
 is a view of great extent and beauty. The Eildon Hills, 
 though twenty-five miles distant, seemed in the foreground 
 of the picture. With a glass Edinburgh Castle might be 
 seen over the dim outline of the Muirfoot Hills. After 
 crossing the border we passed the scene of the encounter 
 between Percy and Douglas, celebrated in Chevy Chase, 
 and at the lonely inn of Whitelee, in the valley below, took 
 up our quarters for the night. 
 
 Travellers have described the Cheviots as being bleak and 
 uninteresting. Although they are bare and brown, to me 
 the scenery was of a character of beauty entirely original. 
 They are not rugged and broken like the Highlands, but
 
 NOVEL SIGHTSEEING. 51 
 
 lift their round backs gracefully from the plain, while the 
 more distant ranges are clad in many an airy hue. Willis 
 quaintly and truly remarks that travellers only tell you the 
 picture produced in their own brain by what they see; 
 otherwise, the world would be like a pawnbroker's shop 
 where each traveller wears the cast-off clothes of others. 
 Therefore let no one of a gloomy temperament journeying 
 over the Cheviots in dull November arraign me for having 
 falsely praised their beauty. 
 
 I was somewhat amused with seeing a splendid carriage 
 with footmen and outriders crossing the mountain, the glo- 
 rious landscape full in view, containing a richly-dressed lady 
 fast asleep. It is no uncommon thing to meet carriages in 
 the Highlands in which the occupants are comfortably 
 reading while being whirled through the finest scenery. 
 And, apropos of this subject, my German friend related to 
 me an incident. His brother was travelling on the Rhine, 
 and when in the midst of the grandest scenes met a carriage 
 containing an English gentleman and lady, both asleep, 
 while on the seat behind was stationed an artist sketching' 
 away with all his might. He asked the latter the reason of 
 his industry, when he answered, " Oh, my lord wishes to 
 see every night what he has passed during the day, and so 
 I sketch as we go along." 
 
 The hills, particularly on the English side, are covered 
 with flocks of sheep, and lazy shepherds lay basking in the 
 sun among the purple heather with their shaggy black dogs 
 beside them. On many of the hills are landmarks by which, 
 when the snow has covered all the tracks, they can direct 
 their way. After walking many miles through green val- 
 leys down which flowed the Red Water — its very name tell- 
 ing of the conflicts which had crimsoned its tide — we came 
 to the moors, and ten miles of blacker, drearier waste I 
 never saw. Before entering them we passed the pretty little 
 village of Otterburn, near the scene of the battle. I brought 
 away a wild-flower that grew on soil enriched by the blood
 
 52 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of the Percys. On the village inn is their ancient coat-of- 
 arms, a lion rampant on a field of gold, with the motto 
 " Esperanee en Dieu." Scarcely a house or a tree enlivened 
 the black waste, and even the road was marked on each side 
 by high poles to direct the traveller in winter. We were 
 glad when at length the green fields came again in sight, 
 and the little village of Whelpington Knowes, with its 
 old ivy-grown church-tower, welcomed us after the lonely 
 walk. 
 
 As one specimen of the intelligence of this part of England 
 we saw a board conspicuously posted at the commencement 
 of a private road declaring that " all persons travelling this 
 way will be persecuted." As it led to a church, however, 
 there may have been a design in the expression. 
 
 On the fifth day after leaving Edinburgh we reached a 
 hill overlooking the valley of the Tyne and the German 
 Ocean as sunset was reddening in the west. A cloud of 
 coal-smoke made us aware of the vicinity of Newcastle. On 
 the summit of the hill a large cattle-fair was being held, 
 and crowds of people were gathered in and around a camp 
 of gaudily-decorated tents. Fires were kindled here and 
 there, and drinking, carousing and horse-racing were flour- 
 ishing in full vigor. 
 
 We set out one morning to hunt the Roman wall. Pass- 
 ing the fine buildings in the centre of the city and the 
 lofty monument to Earl Grey, we went toward the western 
 gate, and soon came to the ruins of a building about whose 
 origin there could be no doubt. It stood there blackened 
 by the rust of ages, a remnant of power passed away. 
 There was no mistaking the massive round-tower with its 
 projecting ornaments such as are often seen in the ruder 
 works of the Romans. On each side a fragment of wall 
 remained standing, and there appeared to be a chamber in 
 the interior which was choked up with rubbish. There is 
 another tower, much higher, in a public square in another 
 part of the city, a portion of which is fitted up as a dwell-
 
 A SCENE AT NEWCASTLE. 53 
 
 ing for the family which takes care of it ; but there was 
 such a ridiculous contrast between the ivy-grown top and 
 the handsome modern windows and doors of the lower story 
 that it did not impress me half as much as the other, with 
 all its neglect. These are the farthest limits of that power 
 whose mighty works I hope hereafter to view at the seat of 
 her grandeur and glory. 
 
 I witnessed a scene at Newcastle that cannot soon be for- 
 gotten, as it showed more' plainly than I had before an 
 opportunity of observing the state to which the laboring 
 classes of England are reduced. Hearing singing in the 
 street under my window one morning, I looked out and saw 
 a body of men, apparently of the lower class, but decent 
 and sober-looking, who were singing in a rude and plain- 
 tive strain some ballad the purport of which I could not 
 understand. On making inquiry, I discovered it was part 
 of a body of miners who about eighteen weeks before, in 
 consequence of not being able to support their families with 
 the small pittance allowed them, had struck for higher 
 wages. This their employers refused to give them, and sent 
 to Wales, where they obtained workmen at the former price. 
 The houses these laborers had occupied were all taken from 
 them, and for eighteen weeks they had no other means of 
 subsistence than the casual charity given them for singing 
 the story of their wrongs. It made my blood boil to hear 
 those tones wrung from the heart of Poverty by the hand 
 of Tyranny. The ignorance permitted by the government 
 causes an unheard amount of misery and degradation. We 
 heard afterward in the streets another company who played 
 on musical instruments. Beneath the proud swell of Eng- 
 land's martial airs there sounded to my ears a tone whose 
 gathering murmur will make itself heard ere long by the 
 dull ears of Power. 
 
 At last, at the appointed time, we found ourselves on 
 board the London Merchant in the muddy Tyne waiting 
 for the tide to rise high enough to permit us to descend the
 
 54 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 river. There is great competition among the steamboats 
 this summer, and the price of passage to London is reduced 
 to five and ten shillings. The second cabin, however, is a 
 place of tolerable comfort, and, as the steward had promised 
 to keep berths for us, we engaged passage. Following the 
 windings of the narrow river, we passed Sunderland and 
 Tynemouth, where it expands into the German Ocean. 
 The water was barely stirred by a gentle wind, and little 
 resembled the stormy sea I expected to find it. We glided 
 over the smooth surface, watching the blue line of the dis- 
 tant shore till dark, when I went below, expecting to enjoy 
 a few hours' oblivion ; but the faithless steward had given 
 up the promised berth to another, and it was only with dif- 
 ficulty that I secured a seat by the cabin table, where I 
 dozed half the night with my head on my arms. It grew 
 at last too close and wearisome ; I went up on deck and lay 
 down on the windlass, taking care to balance myself well 
 before going to sleep. The earliest light of dawn awoke 
 me to a consciousness of damp clothes and bruised limbs. 
 We were in sight of the low shore the whole day, sometimes 
 seeing the dim outline of a church or group of trees over 
 the downs or flat beds of sand which border the eastern 
 coast of England. About dark the red light of the Nore was 
 seen, and we hoped before many hours to be in London. The 
 lights of Gravesend were passed, but about ten o'clock, as we 
 entered the narrow channel of the Thames, we struck another 
 steamboat in the darkness, and were obliged to cast anchor 
 for some time. When I went on deck in the gray light of 
 morning again, we were gliding up a narrow, muddy river, 
 between rows of gloomy buildings, with many vessels lying 
 at anchor. It grew lighter, till, as we turned a point, 
 right before me lay a vast crowd of vessels, and in the dis- 
 tance, above the wilderness of buildings, stood a dim 
 gigantic dome in the sky. What a bound my heart gave 
 at the sight ! And the tall pillar that stood near it ! I did 
 not need a second glance to recognize the Monument. I
 
 LONDON. 55 
 
 knew the majestic bridge that spanned the river above, but 
 on the right bank stood a cluster of massive buildings 
 crowned with many a turret that attracted my eye. A 
 crowd of old associations pressed bewilderingly upon the 
 mind to see standing there, grim and dark with many a 
 bloody page of England's history, the Tower of London. 
 The morning sky was as yet but faintly obscured by the 
 coal-smoke, and in the misty light of coming sunrise all 
 objects seemed grander than their wont. In spite of the 
 thrilling interest of the scene, I could not help thinking of 
 Byron's ludicrous but most expressive description : 
 
 "A mighty mass of brick and smoke and shipping, 
 
 Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye 
 Can reach, with here and there a sail just skipping 
 
 In sight, then lost amidst the forestry 
 Of masts ; a wilderness of steeples peeping 
 
 On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy ; 
 A huge dun cupola like a fool's-cap crown 
 On a fool's head,— and there is London town !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SOME OF THE " SIGHTS " OF LONDON. 
 
 In the course of time we came to anchor in the stream ; 
 skiffs from the shore pulled alongside, and after some little 
 quarrelling, we were safely deposited in one with a party 
 who desired to be landed at the Tower stairs. 
 
 The dark walls frowned above us as we mounted from 
 the water and passed into an open square on the outside of 
 the moat. The laborers were about commencing work, the 
 fashionable day having just closed, but there was still 
 noise and bustle enough in the streets, particularly when 
 we reached Whitechapel, part of the great thoroughfare
 
 56 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 extending through the heart of London to Westminster 
 Abbey and the Parliament buildings. Farther on, through 
 Leadenhall street and Fleet street, what a world ! Here 
 come the ever-thronging, ever-rolling waves of life, pressing 
 and whirling on in their tumultuous career. Here day and 
 night pours the stream of human beings, seeming amid the 
 roar and din and clatter of the passing vehicles like the 
 tide of some great combat. How lonely it makes one to 
 stand still and feel that of all the mighty throng which di- 
 vides itself around him not a being knows or cares for him ! 
 What knows he, too, of the thousands who pass him by ? 
 How many who bear the impress of godlike virtue or hide 
 beneath a goodly countenance a heart black with crime ! 
 How many fiery spirits, all glowing with hope for the yet 
 unclouded future, or brooding over a darkened and deso- 
 late past in the agony of despair! There is a sublimity in 
 this human Niagara that makes one look on his own race 
 with something of awe. 
 
 We walked down the Thames, through the narrow streets 
 of Wapping. Over the mouth of the tunnel is a large cir- 
 cular building with a dome to light the entrance below. 
 Paying the fee of a penny, we descended by a winding 
 staircase to the bottom, which is seventy-three feet below 
 the surface. The carriage-way, still unfinished, will extend 
 farther into the city. From the bottom the view of the 
 two arches of the tunnel, brilliantly lighted with gas, is 
 very fine ; it has a much less heavy and gloomy appearance 
 than I expected. As we walked along under the bed of 
 the river two or three girls at one end began playing on the 
 French horn and bugle, and the echoes, when not too deep 
 to confuse the melody, were remarkably beautiful. Between 
 the arches of the division separating the two passages are 
 shops occupied by venders of fancy articles, views of the 
 tunnel, engravings, etc. In the middle is a small printing 
 press where a sheet containing a description of the whole 
 work is printed for those who desire it. As I was no
 
 ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL. 57 
 
 stranger to this art, I requested the boy to let me print one 
 myself, but he had such a bad roller I did not succeed in 
 getting a good impression. The air within is somewhat 
 damp, but fresh and agreeably cool, and one can scarcely 
 realize, in walking along the light passage, that a river is 
 rolling above his head. The immense solidity and com- 
 pactness of the structure precludes the danger of accident, 
 each of the sides being arched outward, so that the heaviest 
 pressure only strengthens the whole. It will long remain 
 a noble monument of human daring and ingenuity. 
 
 St. Paul's is on a scale of grandeur excelling everything 
 I have yet seen. The dome seems to stand in the sky as 
 you look up to it ; the distance from which you view it, 
 combined with the atmosphere of London, gives it a dim, 
 shadowy appearance that perfectly startles one with its im- 
 mensity. The roof from which the dome springs is itself 
 as high as the spires of most other churches ; blackened for 
 two hundred years with the coal-smoke of London, it stands 
 like a relic of the giant architecture of the early world. 
 The interior is what one would expect to behold after view- 
 ing the outside. A maze of grand arches on every side 
 encompasses the dome, which you gaze up at as at the sky, 
 and from every pillar and wall look down the marble forms 
 of the dead. There is scarcely a vacant niche left in all 
 this mighty hall, so many are the statues that meet one on 
 every side. With the exceptions of John Howard, Sir 
 Astley Cooper and Wren, whose monument is the church 
 itself, they are all to military men. I thought if they had 
 all been removed except Howard's it would better have 
 suited such a temple and the great soul it commemorated. 
 
 I never was more impressed with the grandeur of human 
 invention than when ascending the dome. I could with 
 difficulty conceive the means by which such a mighty edi- 
 fice had been lifted into the air. That small frame of Sir 
 Christopher Wren must have contained a mind capable of 
 vast conceptions. The dome is like the summit of a moun-
 
 58 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 tain, so wide is the prospect and so great the pile upon 
 which you stand. London lay beneath us like an ant-hill 
 with the black insects swarming to and fro in their long 
 avenues, the sound of their employments coming up like the 
 roar of the sea. A cloud of coal-smoke hung over it, 
 through which many a pointed spire was thrust up ; some- 
 times the wind would blow it aside for a moment, and the 
 thousands of red roofs would shine out clearer. The 
 bridged Thames, covered with craft of all sizes, wound be- 
 neath us like a ringed and spotted serpent. The scene was 
 like an immense circular picture in the blue frame of the 
 hills around. 
 
 Continuing our way up Fleet street — which, notwith- 
 standing the gayety of its shops and its constant bustle, has 
 an antique appearance — we came to the Temple Bar, the 
 western boundary of the ancient city. In the inside of the 
 middle arch the old gates are still standing. From this 
 point we entered the new portion of the city, which wore 
 an air of increasing splendor as we advanced. The appear- 
 ance of the Strand and Trafalgar Square is truly magnifi- 
 cent. Fancy every house in Broadway a store, all built 
 of light granite, the Park stripped of all its trees and 
 paved with granite and a lofty column in the centre, double 
 the crowd and the tumult of business, and you will have 
 some idea of the view. 
 
 It was a relief to get into St. James's Park among the 
 trees and flowers again. Here beautiful winding walks led 
 around little lakes in which were hundreds of water-fowl 
 swimming. Groups of merry children were sporting on 
 the green lawn, enjoying their privilege of roaming every- 
 where at will, while the older bipeds were confined to the 
 regular walks. At the western end stood Buckingham 
 Palace, looking over the trees toward St. Paul's ; through 
 the grove on the eminence above, the towers of St. James's 
 could be seen. But there was a dim building with two 
 lofty square towers decorated with a profusion of pointed
 
 A GALAXY OF GENIUS. 59 
 
 Gothic pinnacles that I looked at with more interest than 
 these appendages of royalty. I could not linger long in 
 its vicinity, but, going back again by the Horse Guards, 
 took the road to Westminster Abbey. 
 
 We approached by the general entrance, Poet's Corner. 
 I hardly stopped to look at the elaborate exterior of Henry 
 Vllth's Chapel, but passed on to the door. On entering, 
 the first thing that met my eyes were the words, " Oh rare 
 Ben Jonson," under his bust. Near by stood the monu- 
 ments of Spenser and Gay, and a few paces farther looked 
 down the sublime countenance of Milton. Never was a 
 spot so full of intense interest. The light was just dim 
 enough to give it a solemn, religious appearance, making 
 the marble forms of poets and philosophers so shadowy and 
 impressive that I felt as if standing in their living presence. 
 Every step called up some mind linked with the associations 
 of my childhood. There was the gentle feminine counte- 
 nance of Thomson and the majestic head of Dryden ; Ad- 
 dison with his classic features, and Gray, full of the fire of 
 lofty thought. In another chamber I paused long before 
 the ashes of Shakespeare, and while looking at the monu- 
 ment of Garrick started to find that I stood upon his grave. 
 What a glorious galaxy of genius is here collected ! what 
 a constellation of stars whose light is immortal ! The mind 
 is completely fettered by their spirit. Everything is for- 
 gotten but the mighty dead who still " rule us from their 
 urns." 
 
 The chapel of Henry VII., which we next entered, is one 
 of the most elaborate specimens of Gothic workmanship in 
 the world. If the first idea of the Gothic arch sprung from 
 observing the forms of trees, this chapel must resemble the 
 first conceptions of that order, for the fluted columns rise 
 up like tall trees, branching out at the top into spreading 
 capitals covered with leaves and supporting arches of the 
 ceiling resembling a leafy roof. 
 
 The side-chapels are filled with tombs of knightly fami-
 
 60 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 lies, the husband and wife lying on their backs on the 
 tombs with their hands clasped, while their children, about 
 the size of dolls, are kneeling around. Numberless are the 
 barons and earls and dukes whose grim effigies stare from 
 their tombs. In opposite chapels are the tombs of Mary 
 and Elizabeth, and near the former that of Darnley. After 
 having visited many of the scenes of her life, it was with 
 no ordinary emotion that I stood by the sepulchre of Mary. 
 How differently one looks upon it and upon that of the 
 proud Elizabeth ! 
 
 We descended to the chapel of Edward the Confessor, 
 within the splendid shrine of which repose his ashes. Here 
 we were shown the chair on which the English monarchs 
 have been crowned for several hundred years. Under the 
 seat is the stone, brought from the abbey of Scone, whereon 
 the kings of Scotland were crowned. The chair is of oak, 
 carved and hacked over with names, and on the bottom 
 some one has recorded his name with the fact that he once 
 slept in it. We sat down and rested in it without cere- 
 mony. Passing along an aisle leading to the grand hall, 
 we saw the tomb of Aymer de Valence, a knight of the 
 Crusades. Near here is the hall where the knights of the 
 order of Bath met. Over each seat their dusty banners are 
 still hanging, each with its crest, and their armor is rusting 
 upon the wall. It seemed like a banqueting-hall of the 
 olden time where the knights had left their seats for a mo- 
 ment vacant. Entering the nave, we were lost in the wil- 
 derness of sculpture. Here stood the forms of Pitt, Fox, 
 Burke, Sheridan and Watts, from the chisels of Chantrey, 
 Bacon and Westmacott. Farther down were Sir Isaac 
 Newton and Sir Godfrey Kneller; opposite, Andre and 
 Paoli the Italian, who died here in exile. How can I con- 
 vey an idea of the scene ? Notwithstanding all the descrip- 
 tions I had read, I was totally unprepared for the reality, 
 nor could I have anticipated the hushed and breathless in- 
 terest with which I paced the dim aisles, gazing, at every
 
 THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 61 
 
 step, on the last resting-place of some great and familiar 
 name. A place so sacred to all who inherit the English 
 tongue is worthy of a special pilgrimage across the deep. 
 To those who are unable to visit it, a description may be 
 interesting ; but so far does it fall short of the scene itself 
 that if I thought it would induce a few of our wealthy 
 idlers, or even those who, like myself, must travel with toil 
 and privation, to come hither, I would write till the pen 
 dropped from my hand. 
 
 More than twenty grand halls of the British Museum are 
 devoted to antiquities, and include the Elgin Marbles — the 
 spoils of the Parthenon — the Fellows Marbles, brought 
 from the ancient city of Xanthus, and Sir William Hamil- 
 ton's collection of Italian antiquities. It was painful to see 
 the friezes of the Parthenon, broken and defaced as they 
 are, in such a place. Rather let them moulder to dust on 
 the ruin from which they were torn, shining through the 
 blue veil of the Grecian atmosphere from the summit of 
 the Acropolis. 
 
 The National Gallery, on Trafalgar Square, is open four 
 days in the week to the public. The " Raising of Lazarus," 
 by Sebastian del Piombo, is considered the gem of the col- 
 lection, but my unschooled eyes could not view it as such. 
 It is also remarkable for having been transferred from wood 
 to canvas without injury. This delicate operation was ac- 
 complished by gluing the panel on which it was painted flat 
 on a smooth table and planing the wood gradually away 
 till the coat of hardened paint alone remained. A proper 
 canvas was then prepared, covered with a strong cement and 
 laid on the back of the picture, which adhered firmly to it. 
 The owner's nerves must have had a severe trial if he had 
 courage to watch the operation. I was enraptured with 
 Murillo's pictures of St. John and the Holy Family. St. 
 John is represented as a boy in the woods, fondling a lamb. 
 It is a glorious head. The dark curls cluster around his 
 fair brow, and his eyes seem already glowing with the fire
 
 62 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of future inspiration. There is an innocence, a childish 
 sweetness of expression, in the countenance, which makes 
 one love to gaze upon it. Both of these paintings were 
 constantly surrounded by ladies, and they certainly de- 
 served the preference. In the rooms devoted to English 
 artists there are many of the finest works of West, Rey- 
 nolds, Hogarth and Wilkie. 
 
 We spent a day in visiting the lungs of London, as the 
 two grand parks have been called. From the Strand 
 through the Regent Circus, the centre of the fashionable 
 part of the city, we passed to Piccadilly, calling on our way 
 to see our old friends the Iowas. They were at the Egyp- 
 tian Hall, in connection with Catlin's Indian collection. 
 The old braves knew us at once, particularly Blister Feet, 
 who used often to walk a line on deck with me at sea. Far- 
 ther along Piccadilly is Wellington's mansion of Apsley 
 House, and nearly opposite it, in the corner of Hyde Park, 
 stands the colossal statue of Achilles cast from cannon 
 taken at Salamanca and Vittoria. The park resembles an 
 open common, with here and there a grove of trees, inter- 
 sected by carriage-roads. It is like getting into the coun- 
 try again to be out on its broad, green field, Avith the city 
 seen dimly around through the smoky atmosphere. We 
 walked for a mile or two along the shady avenues and over 
 the lawns, having a view of the princely terraces and gar- 
 dens on one hand and the gentle outline -)f Primrose Hill 
 on the other. Regent's Park itself covers a space of nearly 
 four hundred acres. 
 
 But if London is unsurpassed in splendor, it has also its 
 corresponding share of crime. Notwithstanding the large 
 and efficient body of police, who do much toward the con- 
 trol of vice, one sees enough of degradation and brutality 
 in a short time to make his heart sick. Even the public 
 thoroughfares are thronged at night with characters of the 
 lowest description, and it is not expedient to go through 
 many of the narrow by-haunts of the old city in the day-
 
 A CHEAP TOUR. 63 
 
 time. The police, who are ever on the watch, immediately 
 seize and carry off' any offender, but from the statements 
 of persons who have had an opportunity of observing, as 
 well as from my own slight experience, I am convinced that 
 there is an untold amount of misery and crime. London 
 is one of the wonders of the world, but there is reason to 
 believe it is one of the curses of the world also, though, in 
 fact, nothing but an active and unceasing philanthropy can 
 prevent any city from becoming so. 
 
 Aug. 22. — I have now been six days in London, and by 
 making good use of my feet and eyes have managed to be- 
 come familiar with almost every object of interest within its 
 precincts. Having a plan mapped out for the day, I started 
 from my humble lodgings at the Aldgate Coffee-House, 
 where I slept off fatigue for a shilling a night, and walked 
 up Cheapside or down Whiteehapel, as the case might be, 
 hunting out my way to churches, halls and theatres. In 
 this way, at a trifling expense, I have perhaps seen as much 
 as many who spend here double the time and ten times the 
 money. Our whole tour from Liverpool hither, by way of 
 Ireland and Scotland, cost us but twenty-five dollars each, 
 although, except in one or two cases, we denied ourselves 
 no necessary comfort. This shows that the glorious priv- 
 ilege of looking on the scenes of the Old World need not be 
 confined to people of wealth and leisure. It may be enjoyed 
 by all who can occasionally forego a little bodily comfort 
 for the sake of mental and spiritual gain. 
 
 We leave this afternoon for Dover. To-morrow I shall 
 dine in Belgium.
 
 64 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FLIGHT THROUGH BELGIUM. 
 
 Bruges. — On the Continent at last! How strangely 
 look the century-old towers, antique monuments and quaint, 
 narrow streets of the Flemish cities ! It is an agreeable, 
 and yet a painful, sense of novelty to stand for the first time 
 in the midst of a people whose language and manners are 
 different from one's own. The old buildings around, linked 
 with many a stirring association of past history, gratify the 
 glowing anticipations with which one has looked forward to 
 seeing them, and the fancy is busy at work reconciling the 
 real scene with the ideal ; but the want of a communication 
 with the living world about walls one up with a sense of 
 loneliness he could not before have conceived. I envy the 
 children in the streets of Bruges their childish language. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon we came from London, through the 
 green wooded lawns and vales of England to Dover, which 
 we reached at sunset, passing by a long tunnel through the 
 lofty Shakespeare Cliff'. We had barely time before it grew 
 dark to ascend the cliff. The glorious coast view looked 
 still wilder in the gathering twilight, which soon hid from 
 our sight the dim hills of France. On the cliff opposite 
 frowned the massive battlements of the castle, guarding the 
 town, which lay in a nook of the rocks below. 
 
 As the Ostend boat was to leave at four in the morning, 
 my cousin aroused us at three, and we felt our way down 
 stairs in the dark. But the landlord was reluctant to part 
 with us ; we stamped and shouted and rang bells till the 
 whole house was in an uproar, for the door was double- 
 locked and the steamboat bell began to sound. At last he 
 could stand it no longer ; we gave a quick utterance to our 
 overflowing wrath, and rushed down to the boat but a 
 second or two before it left.
 
 OSTEND. 65 
 
 The water of the Channel was smooth as glass, and as the 
 sun rose the far chalky cliffs gleamed along the horizon, a 
 belt of fire. I waved a good-bye to Old England, and then 
 turned to see the spires of Dunkirk, which were visible in 
 the distance before us. On the low Belgian coast we could 
 see trees and steeples, resembling a mirage over the level 
 surface of the sea ; at length, about ten o'clock, the square 
 tower of Ostend came in sight. The boat passed into a long 
 muddy basin in which many unwieldy, red-sailed Dutch 
 craft were lying, and stopped beside a high pier. Here, 
 amid the confusion of three languages, an officer came on 
 board and took charge of our passports and luggage. As 
 we could not get the former for two or three hours, we did 
 not hurry the passing of the latter, and went on shore quite 
 unincumbered for a stroll about the city, disregarding the 
 cries of the hackney-coachmen on the pier, " Hotel d' Angle- 
 terre!" " Hotel des Bains!" and another who called out in 
 English, " I recommend you to the Royal Hotel, sir !" 
 
 There is little to be seen in Ostend. We wandered 
 through long rows of plain yellow houses trying to read the 
 French and Low Dutch signs, and at last came out on the 
 wall near the sea. A soldier motioned us back as we at- 
 tempted to ascend it, and, muttering some unintelligible 
 words, pointed to a narrow street near. Following this out 
 of curiosity, we crossed the moat, and found ourselves on 
 the great bathing-beach. To get out of the hands of the 
 servants who immediately surrounded us, we jumped into 
 one of the little wagons and were driven out into the surf. 
 
 To be certain of fulfilling the railroad regulations, we 
 took our seats quarter of an hour before the time. The 
 dark walls of Ostend soon vanished, and we were whirled 
 rapidly over a country perfectly level, but highly fertile and 
 well cultivated. Occasionally there was a ditch or row of 
 trees, but otherwise there was no division between the fields, 
 and the plain stretched unbroken away into the distance. 
 The twenty miles to Bruges we made in forty minutes. The 
 5
 
 66 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 streets of this antique city are narrow and crooked, and the 
 pointed, ornamented gables of the houses produce a novel 
 impression on one who has been accustomed to the green 
 American forests. Then there was the endless sound of 
 wooden shoes clattering over the rough pavements, and 
 people talking in that most unmusical of all languages, Low 
 Dutch. Walking at random through the streets, we came 
 by chance upon the cathedral of Notre Dame. I shall long 
 remember my first impression of the scene Avithin. The 
 lofty Gothic ceiling arched far above my head and through 
 the stained windows the light came but dimly ; it was all 
 still, solemn and religious. A few worshippers were kneel- 
 ing in silence before some of the shrines, and the echo of 
 my tread seemed like a profaning sound. On every side 
 were pictures, saints and gilded shrines. A few steps re- 
 moved one from the bustle and din of the crowd to the still- 
 ness and solemnity of the holy retreat. 
 
 We learned from the guide, whom we had engaged be- 
 cause he spoke a few words of English, that there was still 
 a treckshuyt line on the canals, and that one boat leaves to- 
 night at ten o'clock for Ghent. Wishing to try this old 
 Dutch method of travelling, he took us about half a mile 
 alomr the Ghent road to the canal, where a moderate-sized 
 boat was lying. Our baggage deposited in the plainly-fur- 
 nished cabin, I ran back to Bruges, although it was begin- 
 ning to grow dark, to get a sight of the belfry ; for Longfel- 
 low's lines had been running through my head all day : 
 
 " In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown ; 
 Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the 
 town." 
 
 And, having found the square brown tower in one corner 
 of the open market-square, we waited to hear the chimes, 
 which are said to be the finest in Europe. They rang out 
 at last with a clear silvery tone most beautifully musical in- 
 deed. We then returned to the boat in the twilight. We
 
 RAILROAD-TRAVELLING. 67 
 
 were to leave in about an hour, according to the arrange 
 ments, but as yet there was no sound to be heard, and we 
 were the only tenants. However, trusting to Dutch regu- 
 larity, we went to sleep in the full confidence of awakening 
 in Ghent. 
 
 I awoke once in the night and saw the dark branches of 
 trees passing before the window, but there was no percepti- 
 ble sound nor motion ; the boat glided along like a dream, 
 and we were awakened next morning by its striking against 
 the pier at Ghent. After paying three francs for the whole 
 night-journey, the captain gave us a guide to the railroad- 
 station, and, as we had nearly an hour before the train left, 
 I went to see the cathedral of St. Bavon. After leaving: 
 Ghent the road passes through a beautiful country culti- 
 vated like a garden. The Dutch passion for flowers is dis- 
 played in the gardens around the cottages ; even every va- 
 cant foot of ground along the railway is planted with roses 
 and dahlias. At Ghent, the morning being fair, we took 
 seats in the open cars. About noon it commenced raining, 
 and our situation was soon anything but comfortable. My 
 cousin had, fortunately, a waterproof Indian blanket with 
 him which he had purchased in the "Far West," and by 
 wrapping this around all three of us we kept partly dry. ] 
 was much amused at the plight of a party of young Eng- 
 lishmen,who were in the same car ; one of them held a lit- 
 tle parasol which just covered his hat, and sent the water 
 in streams down on his back and shoulders. 
 
 We had a misty view of Liege through the torrents of 
 rain, and then dashed away into the wild mountain-scenery 
 of the Meuse. Steep, rocky hills covered with pine and 
 crowned with ruined towers hemmed in the winding and 
 swollen river, and the wet, cloudy sky seemed to rest like a 
 canopy on their summits. Instead of threading their mazy 
 defiles, we plunged directly into the mountain's heart, flew 
 over the narrow valley on lofty and light-sprung arches, 
 and went again into the darkness. At Verviers our bag-
 
 68 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 gage was weighed, examined and transferred, with ourselves, 
 to a Prussian train. There was a great deal of disputing 
 on the occasion. A lady who had a dog in a large willow 
 basket was not allowed to retain it, nor would they take it 
 as baggage. The matter was finally compromised by their 
 sending the basket, obliging her to carry the dog — which was 
 none of the smallest — in her arms. The next station bore 
 the sign of the black eagle, and here our passports were 
 obliged to be given up. 
 
 Advancing through long ranges of wooded hills, we saw, 
 at length, in the dull twilight of a rainy day, the old kingly 
 city of Aix-la-Chapelle on a plain below us. After a scene 
 at the custom-house, where our baggage was reclaimed with 
 tickets given at Verviers, we drove to the Hotel du Rhin, 
 and while warming our shivering limbs and drying our 
 damp garments felt tempted to exclaim with the old Italian 
 author, "O holy and miraculous tavern!" 
 
 The cathedral, with its lofty Gothic tower, was built by 
 the emperor Otho in the tenth century. It seems at present 
 to be undergoing repairs, for a large scaffold shut out the 
 dome. The long hall was dim with incense-smoke as we 
 entered, and the organ sounded through the high arches 
 with an effect that startled me. The windows glowed with 
 the forms of kings and saints, and the dusty and moulder- 
 ing shrines which rose around were colored with the light 
 that came through. The music pealed out like a triumphal 
 march, sinking at times into a mournful strain, as if it cele- 
 brated and lamented the heroes who slept below. In the 
 stone pavement, nearly under my feet, was a large square 
 marble slab with the words "Carolo Magno." It was 
 like a dream to stand there on the tomb of the mighty war- 
 rior, with the lofty arches of the cathedral above filled with 
 the sound of the divine anthem. I mused above his ashes 
 till the music ceased, and then left the cathedral, that noth- 
 ing might break the romantic spell associated with that 
 crumbling pile and the dead it covered. I have always
 
 COLOGNE CATHEDRAL. 69 
 
 revered the memory of Charlemagne. He lived in a stern 
 age, but he was in mind and heart a man, and, like Napo- 
 leon, who placed the iron crown which had lain with him 
 centuries in the tomb upon his own brow, he had an Alpine 
 grandeur of mind which the world was forced to acknowl- 
 edge. 
 
 At noon we took the chars-a-banc, or second-class car- 
 riages, for fear of rain, and continued our journey over a 
 plain dotted with villages and old chateaux. Two or three 
 miles from Cologne we saw the spires of the different 
 churches, conspicuous among which were the unfinished 
 towers of the cathedral, with the enormous crane standing 
 as it did when they left off building, two hundred years 
 ago or more. On arriving we drove to the Bonn railway, 
 where, finding the last train did not leave for four hours, 
 we left our baggage and set out for the cathedral. Of all 
 Gothic buildings, the plan of this is certainly the most stu- 
 pendous ; even ruin as it is, it cannot fail to excite surprise 
 and admiration. The king of Prussia has undertaken to 
 complete it according to the original plan, which was lately 
 found in the possession of a poor man, of whom it was pur- 
 chased for forty thousand florins, but he has not yet finished 
 repairing what is already built. The legend concerning 
 this plan may not be known to every one. It is related of 
 the inventor of it that, in despair of finding any sufficiently 
 great, he was walking one day by the river, sketching with 
 his stick upon the sand, when he finally hit upon one which 
 pleased him so much that he exclaimed, " This shall be the 
 plan !" — " I will show you a better one than that," said a 
 voice, suddenly, behind him, and a certain black gentleman 
 who figures in all German legends stood by him and pulled 
 from his pocket a roll containing the present plan of the 
 cathedral. The architect, amazed at its grandeur, asked an 
 explanation of every part. As he knew his soul was to be 
 the price of it, he occupied himself, while the devil was ex- 
 plaining, in committing its proportions carefully to memory.
 
 70 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Having done this, he remarked that it did not please him 
 and he would not take it. The devil, seeing through the 
 cheat, exclaimed in his rage, " You may build your cathe- 
 dral according to this plan, but you shall never finish it !" 
 This prediction seems likely to be verified, for, though it 
 was commenced in 1248 and built for two hundred and fifty 
 years, only the choir and nave, and one tower to half its 
 original height, are finished. 
 
 We visited the chapel of the Eleven Thousand Virgins, 
 the walls of which are full of curious grated cells contain- 
 ing their bones, and then threaded the narrow streets of 
 Cologne, which are quite dirty enough to justify Coleridge's 
 lines : 
 
 ''The river Rhine, it is well known, 
 Doth wash the city of Cologne ; 
 But tell me, nymphs, what power divine 
 Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ?" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE RHINE TO HEIDELBERG. 
 
 Heidelberg, August 30. 
 
 Here at last, and a most glorious place it is. This is our 
 first morning in our new rooms, and the sun streams warmly 
 in the eastern windows as I write, while the old castle rises 
 through the blue vapor on the side of the Kaiser-stuhl. 
 The Neckar rushes on below, and the Odenwald, before me, 
 rejoices with its vineyards in the morning light. The bells 
 of the old chapel near us are sounding most musically, and 
 a confused sound of voices and the rolling of vehicles comes 
 up from the street. It is a place to live in ! 
 
 I must go back five or six days and take up the record 
 of our journeyings at Bonn. We had been looking over
 
 ON THE RHINE. 71 
 
 Murray's infallible Handbook, and observed that he recom- 
 mended the Star Hotel in that city as " the most moderate in 
 its prices of any on the Rhine ;" so when the train from 
 Cologne arrived and we were surrounded, in the darkness 
 and confusion, by porters and valets, I sung out, " Hotel de 
 l'Etoile d'Or!" Our baggage and ourselves were transferred 
 to a stylish omnibus, and in five minutes we stopped under 
 a brilliantly-lighted archway, where Mr. Joseph Schmidt 
 received us with the usual number of smiles and bows be- 
 stowed upon untitled guests. We were furnished with neat 
 rooms in the summit of the house, and then descended to 
 the mlle-a-manger. I found a folded note by my plate, 
 which I opened ; it contained an engraving of the front of 
 the hotel, a plan of the city and catalogue of its lions, to- 
 gether with a list of the titled personages who have from 
 time to time honored the Golden Star with their custom. 
 Among this number were "their Royal Highnesses the duke 
 and duchess of Cambridge, Prince Albert," etc. Had it not 
 been for fatigue, I should have spent an uneasy night think- 
 ing of the heavy bill which was to be presented on the 
 morrow. We escaped, however, for seven francs apiece, 
 three of which were undoubtedly for the honor of breathing 
 an aristocratic atmosphere. 
 
 I was glad when we were really in motion on the swift 
 Rhine the next morning, and nearing the chain of moun- 
 tains that rose up before us. We passed Godesberg on the 
 right, while on our left was the group of the seven moun- 
 tains which extend back from the Drachenfels to the Wolk- 
 enberg, or " Castle of the Clouds." Here we begin to en- 
 ter the enchanted land. The Rhine sweeps around the foot 
 of the Drachenfels, while, opposite, the precipitous rock of 
 Rolandseck, crowned with the castle of the faithful knight, 
 looks down upon the beautiful island of Nonnenwerth, the 
 white walls of the convent still gleaming through the trees 
 as they did when the warrior's weary eyes looked upon them 
 for the last time. I shall never forget the enthusiasm with
 
 72 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 which I saw this scene in the bright, warm sunlight, the 
 rough crags softened in the haze which filled the atmo- 
 sphere, and the wild mountains springing up in the midst of 
 vineyards and crowned with crumbling towers filled with 
 the memories of a thousand years. 
 
 After passing Andernach we saw in the distance the high- 
 lands of the middle Rhine — which rise above Coblentz, 
 guarding the entrance to its wild scenery — and the moun- 
 tains of the Moselle. They parted as we approached ; from 
 the foot shot up the spires of Coblentz, and the battlements 
 of Ehrenbreitstein, crowning the mountain opposite, grew 
 larger and broader. The air was slightly hazy, and the 
 clouds seemed laboring among the distant mountains to 
 raise a storm. As we came opposite the mouth of the Mo- 
 selle and under the shadow of the mighty fortress, I gazed 
 up with awe at its massive walls. Apart from its magni- 
 tude and almost impregnable situation on a perpendicular 
 rock, it is filled with the recollections of history and hal- 
 lowed by the voice of poetry. The scene went past like a 
 panorama, the bridge of boats opened, the city glided be- 
 hind us, and we entered the highlands again. 
 
 Above Coblentz almost every mountain has a ruin and a 
 legend. One feels everywhere the spirit of the past, and 
 its stirring recollections come back upon the mind with ir- 
 resistible force. I sat upon the deck the whole afternoon 
 as mountains, towns and castles passed by on either side, 
 watching them with a feeling of the most enthusiastic en- 
 joyment. Every place was familiar to me in memory, and 
 they seemed like friends I had long communed with in 
 spirit and now met face to face. The English tourists with 
 whom the deck was covered seemed interested too, but in a 
 different manner. With Murray's Handbook open in their 
 hands, they sat and read about the very towns and towers 
 they were passing, scarcely lifting their eyes to the real 
 scenes, except now and then to observe that it was " very 
 
 nice."
 
 THE HAUNT OF THE LUKLEL 73 
 
 As we passed Boppart, I sought out the inn of the " Star," 
 mentioned in Hyperion ; there was a maiden sitting on the 
 steps who might have been Paul Flemming's fair boat- 
 woman. The clouds which had here gathered among the 
 hills now came over the river, and the rain cleared the deck 
 of its crowd of admiring tourists. As we were approach- 
 ing Lurlei Berg, I did not go below, and so enjoyed some 
 of the finest scenery on the Rhine alone. The mountains 
 approach each other at this point, and the Lurlei rock rises 
 up for six hundred feet from the water. This is the haunt 
 of the water-nymph Lurlei, whose song charmed the ear of 
 the boatman while his barque was dashed to pieces on the 
 rocks below. It is also celebrated for its remarkable echo. 
 As we passed between the rocks, a guard, who has a little 
 house built on the roadside, blew a flourish on his bugle, 
 which was instantly answered by a blast from the rocky 
 battlements of Lurlei. The German students have a witty 
 trick with this echo: they call out, " Who is the burgo- 
 master of Oberwesel ?" a town just above. The echo an- 
 swers with the last syllable, " Esel !" which is the German 
 for " ass." 
 
 The sun came out of the cloud as we passed Oberwesel, 
 with its tall round tower, and the light shining through the 
 ruined arches of Schonberg castle made broad bars of light 
 and shade in the still misty air. A rainbow sprang up out 
 of the Rhine and lay brightly on the mountain-side, color- 
 ing vineyard and crag in the most singular beauty, while 
 its second reflection faintly arched like a glory above the 
 high summits. In the bed of the river were the seven 
 countesses of Schonberg turned into seven rocks for their 
 cruelty and hard-heartedness toward the knights whom 
 their beauty had made captive. In front, at a little dis- 
 tance, was the castle of Pfalz, in the middle of the river, 
 and from the heights above Caub frowned the crumbling 
 citadel of Gutenfels. Imagine all this, and tell me if it is 
 not a picture whose memory should last a lifetime.
 
 74 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 We came at last to Bingen, the southern gate of the 
 highlands. Here, on an island in the middle of the stream, 
 is the old mouse-tower where Bishop Hatto of Mayence 
 was eaten up by the rats for his wicked deeds. Passing 
 Rudesheim and Geissenheim — celebrated for their wines — 
 at sunset, we watched the varied shore in the growing dark- 
 ness, till like a line of stars across the water we saw before 
 us the bridge of Mayence. 
 
 The next morning I parted from my friends, who were 
 going to Heidelberg by way of Mannheim, and set out 
 alone for Frankfort. The cars passed through Hochheim, 
 whose wines are celebrated all over the world ; there is little 
 to interest the traveller till he arrives at Frankfort, whose 
 spires are seen rising from groves of trees as he approaches. 
 I left the cars unchallenged for my passport, greatly to my 
 surprise, as it had cost me a long walk and five shillings in 
 London to get the signature of the Frankfort consul. I 
 learned afterward it was not at all necessary. 
 
 Before leaving America, N. P. Willis had kindly given 
 me a letter to his brother, Richard S. Willis, who is now 
 cultivating a naturally fine taste for music in Frankfort, 
 and my first care was to find the American consul, in order 
 to learn his residence. I discovered at last, from a gentle- 
 man who spoke a little French, that the consul's office was 
 in the street Bellevue, which street I not only looked for 
 through the city, but crossed over the bridge to the suburb 
 of Sachsenhausen, and traversed its narrow, dirty alleys 
 three several times, but in vain. I was about giving up the 
 search, when I stumbled upon the office accidentally. The 
 name of the street had been given to me in French, and 
 very naturally it was not to be found. Willis received me 
 very kindly and introduced me to the amiable German 
 family with whom he resides. 
 
 After spending a delightful evening with my newly-found 
 friends, I left the next morning in the omnibus for Heidel- 
 berg. We passed through Sachsenhausen and ascended a
 
 PASTORAL FELICITY. 75 
 
 long hill to the watch-tower, whence there is a heautif'ul 
 view of the Main valley. Four hours' driving over the 
 monotonous plain brought me to Darmstadt. The city 
 wore a gay look, left by the recent fetes. The monument 
 of the old duke Ludwig had just been erected in the centre 
 of the great square, and the festival attendant upon the un- 
 veiling of it, which lasted three days, had just closed. The 
 city was hung with garlands and the square filled with the 
 pavilions of the royal family and the musicians, of whom 
 there were a thousand present, while everywhere were seen 
 red-and-white flao;s — the colors of Darmstadt. We met 
 wagons decorated with garlands, full of peasant girls in 
 the odd dress which they have worn for three hundred 
 years. 
 
 After leaving Darmstadt we entered upon the Berg- 
 strasse, or " Mountain-way," leading along the foot of the 
 mountain-chain which extends all the way to Heidelberg 
 on the left, while on the right stretches far away the Rhine- 
 plain, across which we saw the dim outline of the Donners- 
 berg, in France. The hills are crowned with castles and 
 their sides loaded with vines ; along the road the rich green 
 foliage of the walnut trees arched and nearly met above us. 
 The sun shone warm and bright, and everybody appeared 
 busy and contented and happy. All we met had smiling 
 countenances. In some places we saw whole families sitting 
 under the trees shelling the nuts they had beaten down, 
 while others were returning from the vineyards laden with 
 baskets of purple and white grapes. The scene seemed to 
 realize all I had read of the happiness of the German peas- 
 antry and the pastoral beauty of the German plains. 
 
 With the passengers in the omnibus I could hold little 
 conversation. One, who knew about as much French as I 
 did, asked me where I came from, and I shall not soon for- 
 get his expression of incredulity as I mentioned America. 
 " Why," said he, " you are white ; the Americans are all 
 black."
 
 76 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 We passed the ruined castles of Auerback and Starken- 
 burg and Burg Windeck, on the summit of a mountain 
 near Weinheim, formerly one of the royal residences of 
 Charlemagne, and finally came to the Heiligenberg, or 
 "Holy Mountain," guarding the entrance into the Oden- 
 wald by the valley of the Neckar. As we wound around 
 its base to the river the Kaiser-stuhl rose before us with the 
 mighty castle hanging upon its side and Heidelberg at its 
 feet. It was a most strikingly beautiful scene, and for a 
 moment I felt inclined to assent to the remark of my bad- 
 French acquaintance : " America is not beautiful; Heidel- 
 berg is beautiful." The sun had just set as we turned the 
 corner of the Holy Mountain and drove up the bank of the 
 Neckar ; all the chimes of Heidelberg began suddenly to 
 ring and a cannon by the river-side was fired off every min- 
 ute, the sound echoing five times distinctly from mountain 
 back to mountain, and finally crashing far off along the 
 distant hills of the Odenwald. It was the birthday of the 
 grand duke of Baden, and these rejoicings were for the 
 closing fete. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SCENES IN AND AROUND HEIDELBERG. 
 
 September 30. 
 
 There is so much to be seen around this beautiful place 
 that I scarcely know where to begin a description of it. I 
 have been wandering among the wild paths that lead up 
 and down the mountain-side or away into the forests and 
 lonely meadows in the lap of the Odenwald. My mind is 
 filled with images of the romantic German scenery, whose 
 real beauty is beginning to displace the imaginary picture 
 which I had painted with the enthusiastic words of Howitt.
 
 AN HISTORIC PANORAMA. 77 
 
 I seem to stand now upon the Kaiser-stuhl, which rises 
 above Heidelberg, with that magnificent landscape around 
 me from the Black Forest and Strasburg to Mainz, and 
 from the Vosges in France to the hills of Spessart in 
 Bavaria. What a glorious panorama ! and not less rich in 
 associations than in its natural beauty. Below me had 
 moved the barbarian hordes of old, the triumphant follow- 
 ers of Arminius and the cohorts of Rome, and later full 
 many a warlike host bearing the banners of the red cross 
 to the Holy Land, many a knight returning with his vas- 
 sals from the field to lay at the feet of his lady-love the 
 scarf he had worn in a hundred battles and claim the re- 
 ward of his constancy and devotion. But brighter spirits 
 had also toiled below. That plain had witnessed the pres- 
 ence of Luther, and a host who strove with him to free the 
 world from the chains of a corrupt and oppressive religion. 
 There had also trodden the master-spirits of German song 
 — the giant twain with their scarcely less harmonious 
 brethren. They, too, had gathered inspiration from those 
 scenes — more fervent worship of Nature and a deeper love 
 for their beautiful fatherland. 
 
 Oh what waves of crime and bloodshed have swept like 
 the waves of a deluge down the valley of the Rhine ! War 
 has laid his mailed hand on those desolate towers and ruth- 
 lessly torn down what Time has spared, yet he could not 
 mar the beauty of the shore, nor could Time himself hurl 
 down the mountains that guard it. And what if I feel a 
 new inspiration on beholding the scene ? Now that those 
 ages have swept by like the red waves of a tide of blood, 
 we see, not the darkened earth, but the golden sands which 
 the flood has left behind. Besides, I have come from a 
 new world, where the spirit of man is untrammelled by the 
 mouldering shackles of the past, but in its youthful and 
 joyous freedom goes on to make itself a noble memory for 
 the ages that are to come. 
 
 Then there is the Wolfsbrunnen, which one reaches by a
 
 78 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 beautiful walk up the bank of the Neckar to a quiet dell 
 in the side of the mountain. Through this the roads lead 
 up by rustic mills always in motion, and orchards laden 
 with ripening fruit, to the commencement of the forest, 
 where a quaint stone fountain stands, commemorating the 
 abode of a sorceress of the olden time who was torn in 
 pieces by a wolf. There is a handsome rustic inn here, 
 where every Sunday afternoon a band plays in the portico, 
 while hundreds of people are scattered around in the cool 
 shadow of the trees or feeding the splendid trout in the 
 basin formed by the little stream. They generally return 
 to the city by another walk, leading along the mountain- 
 side to the eastern terrace of the castle, where they have 
 fine views of the great Rhine plain, terminated by the 
 Alsatian hills stretching along the western horizon like the 
 long crested swells on the ocean. We can even see these 
 from the windows of our room on the bank of the Neckar, 
 and I often look with interest on one sharp peak, for on its 
 side stands the castle of Trifels, where Coeur de Lion was 
 imprisoned by the duke of Austria, and where Blondel, his 
 faithful minstrel, sang the ballad which discovered the re- 
 treat of the noble captive. 
 
 The people of Heidelberg are rich in places of pleasure 
 and amusement. From the Carl Platz, an open square at the 
 upper end of the city, two paths lead directly up to the 
 castle. By the first walk we ascend a flight of steps to the 
 western gate ; passing through which, we enter a delightful 
 garden, between the outer walls of the castle and the huge 
 moat which surrounds it. Great linden, oak and beech 
 trees shadow the walk, and in secluded nooks little moun- 
 tain-streams spring from the side of the wall into stone 
 basins. There is a tower over the moat on the south side, 
 next the mountain, where the portcullis still hangs with its 
 sharp teeth as it was last drawn up ; on each side stand two 
 grim knights guarding the entrance. In one of the wooded 
 walks is an old tree brought from America in the year
 
 HEIDELBERG CASTLE. 79 
 
 1618. It is of the kind called arbor vitce, and uncommonly 
 tall and slender for one of this species ; yet it does not seem 
 to thrive well in a foreign soil. I noticed that persons had 
 cut many slips off the lower branches, and I would have 
 been tempted to do the same myself if there had been any 
 I could reach. In the curve of the mountain is a hand- 
 some pavilion surrounded with beds of flowers and foun- 
 tains ; here all classes meet together in the afternoon to sit 
 with their refreshments in the shade, while frequently a 
 fine band of music gives them their invariable recreation. 
 All this, with the scenery around them, leaves nothing un- 
 finished to their present enjoyment. The Germans enjoy 
 life under all circumstances, and in this way they make 
 themselves much happier than we who have far greater 
 means of being so. 
 
 At the end of the terrace built for the princess Elizabeth 
 of England is one of the round towers which was split in 
 twain by the French. Half has fallen entirely away, and 
 the other semicircular shell, which joins the terrace and 
 part of the castle-buildings, clings firmly together, although 
 part of its foundation is gone, so that its outer ends actu- 
 ally hang in the air. Some idea of the strength of the 
 castle may be obtained when I state that the walls of this 
 tower are twenty-two feet thick, and that a staircase has 
 been made through them to the top, where one can sit 
 under the lindens growing upon it or look down from the 
 end on the city below with the pleasant consciousness that 
 the great mass upon which he stands is only prevented 
 from crashing down with him by the solidity of its masonry. 
 On one side, joining the garden, the statue of the archduke 
 Louis in his breastplate and flowing beard looks out from 
 among the ivy. 
 
 There is little to be seen about the castle except the 
 walls themselves. The guide conducted us through pas- 
 pages in which were heaped many of the enormous cannon- 
 balls which it had received in sieges to some chambers in
 
 80 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the foundation. This was the oldest part of the castle, built 
 in the thirteenth century. We also visited the chapel, 
 which is in a tolerable state of preservation. A kind of 
 narrow bridge crosses it, over which we walked, looking 
 down on the empty pulpit and deserted shrines. We then 
 went into the cellar to see the celebrated tun. In a large 
 vault are kept several enormous hogsheads, one of which 
 is three hundred years old, but they are nothing in com- 
 parison with the tun, which itself fills a whole vault. It is 
 as high as a common two-story house ; on the top is a plat- 
 form upon which the people used to dance after it was 
 filled, to which one ascends by two flights of steps. I 
 forget exactly how many casks it holds, but I believe eight 
 hundred. It has been empty for fifty years. 
 
 We are very pleasantly situated here. My friends, who 
 arrived a day before me, hired three rooms (with the as- 
 sistance of a courier) in a large house on the banks of the 
 Neckar. We pay for them, with attendance, thirty florins — 
 about twelve dollars — a month, and Frau Dr. Grosch, our 
 polite and talkative landlady, gives us a student's break- 
 fast — coffee and biscuit — for about seven cents apiece. We 
 are often much amused to hear her endeavors to make us 
 understand. As if to convey her meaning plainer, she raises 
 both thumbs and forefingers to her mouth and pulls out the 
 words like a long string ; her tongue goes so fast that it 
 keeps my mind always on a painful stretch to comprehend 
 an idea here and there. Dr. S , from whom we take les- 
 sons in German, has kindly consented to our dining with his 
 family for the sake of practice in speaking. We have taken 
 several long walks with them along the banks of the Neckar, 
 but I should be puzzled to repeat any of the conversations 
 that took place. The language, however, is fast growing 
 more familiar since women are the principal teachers. 
 
 Opposite my window rises the Heiligenberg, on the other 
 side of the Neckar. The lower part of it is rich with vine- 
 yards, and many cottages stand embosomed in shrubbery
 
 "THE PHILOSOPIIEKS' WAY." 81 
 
 among them. Sometimes we see groups of maidens standing 
 under the grape-arbors, and every morning the peasant- 
 women go toiling up the steep paths with baskets on their 
 heads, to labor among the vines. On the Neckar, below us, 
 the fishermen glide about in their boats, sink their square 
 nets fastened to a long pole, and haul them up with the glit- 
 tering fish, of which the stream is full. I often lean out of 
 the window late at night, when the mountains above are 
 wrapped in dusky obscurity, and listen to the low, musical 
 ripple of the river. It tells to my excited fancy a knightly 
 legend of the old German time. Then comes the bell 
 rung for closing the inns, breaking the spell with its 
 deep clang, which vibrates far away on the night-air till 
 it has roused all the echoes of the Odenwald. I then shut 
 the window, turn into the narrow box which the Germans 
 call a bed, and in a few minutes am wandering in America. 
 
 Halfway up the Heiligenberg runs a beautiful walk divid- 
 ing the vineyards from the forest above. This is called 
 " The Philosophers' Way," because it was the favorite ram- 
 ble of the old professors of the university. It can be reached 
 by a toilsome, winding path among the vines, called the 
 Snake-way ; and when one has ascended to it, he is well re- 
 warded by the lovely view. In the evening, when the sun 
 has got behind the mountain, it is delightful to sit on the 
 stone steps and watch the golden light creeping up the side 
 of the Kaiser-stuhl, till at last twilight begins to darken in 
 the valley and a mantle of mist gathers above the Neckar. 
 
 We ascended the mountain a few days ago. There is a 
 path which leads up through the forest, but we took the 
 shortest way, directly up the side, though it was at an angle 
 of nearly fifty degrees. It was hard-enough work scram- 
 bling through the thick broom and heather and over stumps 
 and stones. In one of the stone-heaps I dislodged a large 
 orange-colored salamander seven or eight inches long. They 
 are sometimes found on these mountains, as well us a very 
 large kind of lizard, called the eideehse, which the Germans 
 6
 
 82 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 say is perfectly harmless, and if one whistles or plays a pipe 
 will come and play around him. 
 
 The view from the top reminded me of that from Cats- 
 kill Mountain House, but is on a smaller scale. The 
 mountains stretch off sideways, confining the view to but 
 half the horizon, and in the middle of the picture the Hud- 
 son is well represented by the lengthened windings of the 
 " abounding Rhine." Nestled at the base, below us, was the 
 little village of Handschuhheim, one of the oldest in this 
 part of Germany. The castle of its former lords has nearly 
 all fallen down, but the massive solidity of the walls which 
 yet stand proves its antiquity. A few years ago a part of 
 the outer walls which was remarked to have a hollow sound 
 was taken down, when there fell from a deep niche built 
 therein a skeleton clad in a suit of the old German armor. 
 We followed a road through the woods to the peak on which 
 stand the ruins of St. Michael's chapel, which was built in 
 the tenth century and inhabited for a long time by a sect 
 of white monks. There is now but a single tower remain- 
 ing, and all around is grown over with tall bushes and weeds. 
 It had a wild and romantic look, and I sat on a rock and 
 sketched at it till it grew dark, when we got down the moun- 
 tain the best way we could. 
 
 We lately visited the great university library. You walk 
 through one hall after another filled with books of all kinds, 
 from the monkish manuscript of the Middle Ages to the 
 most elegant print of the present day. There is something 
 to me more impressive in a library like this than a solemn 
 cathedral. I think involuntarily of the hundreds of mighty 
 spirits who speak from these three hundred thousand vol- 
 umes — of the toils and privations with which Genius has 
 ever struggled, and of his glorious reward. As in a church, 
 one feels, as it were, the presence of God — not because the 
 place has been hallowed by his worship, but because all 
 around stand the inspirations of his Spirit breathed through 
 the mind of Genius to men. And if the mortal remains of
 
 RECRUITING THE ARMY. 83 
 
 saints and heroes do not repose within its walls, the great 
 and good of the whole earth are there, speaking their coun- 
 sels to the searcher for truth with voices whose last rever- 
 beration will die away only when the globe falls into ruin. 
 
 A few nights ago there was a wedding of peasants across 
 the river. In order to celebrate it particularly, the guests 
 went to the house where it was given by torchlight. The 
 night was quite dark, and the bright red torches glowed on 
 the surface of the Neckar as the two couriers galloped along 
 the banks to the bridegroom's house. Here, after much 
 shouting and confusion, the procession was arranged ; the 
 two riders started back again with their torches, and the 
 wagons containing the guests followed after with their flick- 
 ering lights glancing on the water till they disappeared 
 around the foot of the mountain. The choosing of con- 
 scripts also took place lately. The law requires one person 
 out of every hundred to become a soldier, and this in the 
 city of Heidelberg amounts to nearly one hundred and fifty. 
 It was a sad spectacle. The young men — or, rather, boys — 
 who were chosen went about the city with cockades fastened 
 on their hats, shouting and singing, many of them quite in- 
 toxicated. I could not help pitying them because of the 
 dismal mechanical life they are doomed to follow. Many 
 were rough, ignorant peasants to whom nearly any kind of 
 life would be agreeable, but there were some whose coun- 
 tenances spoke otherwise, and I thought involuntarily that 
 their drunken gayety was only affected to conceal their real 
 feelings with regard to the lot which had fallen upon them. 
 
 We are gradually becoming accustomed to the German 
 style of living, which is very different from our own. Their 
 cookery is new to us, but is, nevertheless, good. We have 
 every day a different kind of soup, so I have supposed they 
 keep a regular list of three hundred and sixty-five — one for 
 every day in the year. Then we have potatoes "done up" 
 in oil and vinegar, veal flavored with orange-peel, barley- 
 pudding and all sorts of pancakes, boiled artichokes, and
 
 84 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 always rye bread in loaves a yard long. Nevertheless, we 
 thrive on such diet, and I have rarely enjoyed more sound 
 and refreshing sleep than in their narrow and coffin-like 
 beds, uncomfortable as they seem. 
 
 Many of the German customs are amusing. We never see 
 oxen working here, but always cows, sometimes a single one in 
 a cart, and sometimes two fastened together by a yoke across 
 their horns. The women labor constantly in the fields ; 
 from our window we can hear the nut-brown maidens sing- 
 ing their cheerful songs among the vineyards on the moun- 
 tain-side. Their costume, too, is odd enough. Below the 
 tight-fitting vest they wear such a number of short skirts, 
 one above another, that it reminds one of an animated hogs- 
 head with a head and shoulders starting out from the top. 
 I have heard it gravely asserted that the wealth of a Ger- 
 man damsel may be known by counting the number of her 
 " kirtles." An acquaintance of mine remarked that it would 
 be an excellent costume for falling down a precipice. 
 
 We have just returned from a second visit to Frankfort, 
 where the great annual fair filled the streets with noise and 
 bustle. On our way back we stopped at the village of 
 Zwiugenberg, which lies at the foot of the Melibochus, for 
 the purpose of visiting some of the scenery of the Odenwald. 
 Passing the night at the inn there, we slept with one bed 
 under and two above, and started early in the morning to 
 climb up the side of the Melibochus. After a long walk 
 through the forests, which were beginning to change their 
 summer foliage for a brighter garment, we reached the sum- 
 mit and ascended the stone tower which stands upon it. 
 This view gives one a better idea of the Odenwald than that 
 from the Kaiser-stuhl at Haidelberg. In the soft autumn 
 atmosphere it looked even more beautiful. After an hour 
 in that heaven of uplifted thought into which we step from 
 the mountain-top our minds went with the path downward 
 to earth, and we descended the eastern side into the wild 
 region which contains the Felsenmeer, or " Sea of Rocks."
 
 THE SEA OF ROCKS. 85 
 
 We met on the way a student from Fulda — a fine speci- 
 men of that free-spirited class, and a man whose smothered 
 aspiration was betrayed in the flashing of his eye as he spoke 
 of the present painful and oppressed condition of Germany. 
 We talked so busily together that without noticing the path, 
 which had been bringing us on up hill and down, through 
 forest and over rock, we came at last to a halt in a valley 
 among the mountains. Making inquiries there, we found 
 we had gone wrong, and must ascend by a different path the 
 mountain we had just come down. Near the summit of this, 
 in a wild pine wood, was the Felsenmeer — a great collection 
 of rocks heaped together like pebbles on the seashore and 
 worn and rounded as if by the action of water : so much do 
 they resemble waves that one standing at the bottom and 
 looking up cannot resist the idea that they will flow down 
 upon him. It must have been a mighty tide whose reced- 
 ing waves left these masses piled up together. The same 
 formation continues at intervals to the foot of the mountains. 
 It reminded me of a glacier of rocks instead of ice. A little 
 higher up lies a massive block of granite called the Giant's 
 Column. It is thirty-two feet long and three to four feet in 
 diameter, and still bears the mark of the chisel. When or 
 by whom it was made remains a mystery. Some have sup- 
 posed it was intended to be erected for the worship of the 
 sun by the wild Teutonic tribes who inhabited this forest ; 
 it is more probably the work of the Romans. A project was 
 once started to erect it as a monument on the battle-field 
 of Leipsic, but it was found too difficult to carry into 
 execution. 
 
 After dining at the little village of Reichelsdorf, in the 
 valley below — where the merry landlord charged my friend 
 two kreutzei's less than myself because he was not so tall — 
 we visited the castle of Schonberg, and joined the Berg- 
 strasse again. We walked the rest of the way here. Long 
 before we arrived the moon shone down on us over the 
 mountains; and when we turned around the foot of the
 
 86 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Heiligenberg, the mist descending in the valley of the 
 Neckar rested like a light cloud on the church-spires. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A WALK THROUGH THE ODENWALD. 
 
 B and I are now comfortably settled in Frankfort, 
 
 having, with Mr. Willis's kind assistance, obtained lodgings 
 with the amiable family with whom he has resided for 
 more than two years. My cousin remains in Heidelberg to 
 attend the winter course of lectures at the university. 
 
 Having forwarded our baggage by the omnibus, we came 
 hither on foot, through the heart of the Odenwald— a region 
 
 full of interest, yet little visited by travellers. Dr. S 
 
 and his family walked with us three or four miles of the 
 way, and on a hill above Ziegelhausen, with a splendid view 
 behind us through the mountain-door out of which the 
 Neckar enters on the Rhine-plain, we parted. This was a 
 first, and, I must confess, a somewhat embarrassing, experi- 
 ence in German leavetaking. After bidding adieu three or 
 four times, we started to go up the mountain and they down 
 it, but at every second step we had to turn around to ac- 
 knowledge the waving of hands and handkerchiefs, which 
 continued so long that I was glad when we were out of sight 
 of each other. We descended on the other side into a wild 
 and romantic valley whose meadows were of the brightest 
 green ; a little brook which wound through them put now 
 and then its " silvery shoulder " to the wheel of a rustic 
 mill. By the roadside two or three wild-looking gypsies 
 sat around a fire, with some goats feeding near them. 
 
 Passing through this valley and the little village of 
 Schonau, we commenced ascending one of the loftiest ranges 
 of the Odenwald. The side of the mountain was covered
 
 NATURE'S CATITEDEAL. 87 
 
 with a thick pine-forest. There was no wind to wake its 
 solemn anthem ; all was calm and majestic, and even awful. 
 The trees rose all around like the pillars of avast cathedral 
 whose long arched aisles vanished far below in the deepen- 
 ing gloom. 
 
 "Nature with folded hands seemed there, 
 Kneeling at her evening prayer," 
 
 for twilight had already begun to gather. We went on and 
 up and ever higher, like the youth in " Excelsior ;" the 
 beech and dwarf-oak took the place of the pine, and at last 
 we arrived at a cleared summit whose long brown grass 
 waved desolately in the dim light of evening. A faint glow 
 still lingered over the forest-hills, but down in the valley 
 the dusky shades hid every vestige of life, though its sounds 
 came up softened through the long space. When we reached 
 the top, a bright planet stood like a diamond over the brow 
 of the eastern hill, and the sound of a twilight-bell came up 
 clearly and sonorously on the cool damp air. The white 
 veil of mist slowly descended down the mountain-side, but 
 the peaks rose above it like the wrecks of a world floating 
 in space. 
 
 We made our way in the dusk down the long path to the 
 rude little dorf of Elsbach. I asked at the first inn for lodg- 
 ing, where Ave were ushered into a great room in which a 
 number of girls Avho had been at work in the fields were as- 
 sembled. They were all dressed in men's jackets and short 
 gowns, and some had their hair streaming down their back. 
 The landlord's daughter, however, was a beautiful girl whose 
 modest, delicate features contrasted greatly with the coarse 
 faces of the others. I thought of Uhland's beautiful little 
 poem of "The Landlady's Daughter" as I looked on her. 
 In the room hung two or three pair of antlers, and they 
 told us deer were still plenty in the forests. 
 
 When we left the village the next morning, we again 
 commenced ascending. Over the whole valley and halfway
 
 88 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 up the mountain lay a thick white frost almost like snow, 
 which, contrasted with the green trees and bushes scattered 
 over the meadows, produced the most singular effect. We 
 plucked blackberries ready iced from the bushes by the 
 roadside, and went on in the cold — for the sun shone only 
 on the top of the opposite mountain — into another valley, 
 down which rushed the rapid Ulver. At a little village 
 which bears the beautiful name Anteschonmattenwag we 
 took a footpath directly over a steep mountain to the village 
 of Finkenbach. Near the top I found two wild-looking 
 children cutting grass with knives, both of whom I prevailed 
 upon for a few kreutzers to stand and let me sketch them. 
 From the summit the view on the other side was very striking. 
 The hills were nearly every one covered with wood, and not 
 a dwelling in sight. It reminded me of our forest-scenery 
 at home. The principal difference is that our trees are two 
 or three times the size of theirs. 
 
 At length, after scaling another mountain, we reached a 
 wide elevated plain in the middle of which stood the old 
 dorj of Beerfelden. It was then crowded with people, on 
 account of a great cattle-fair being held there. All the 
 farmers of the neighborhood were assembled, clad in the 
 ancient country costume — broad cocked hats and blue 
 frocks. An orchard near the town was filled with cattle 
 and horses, and near by, in the shade, a number of pedlers 
 had arranged their wares. The cheerful-looking country- 
 people touched their hats to us as we passed. This custom 
 of greeting travellers — universal in Germany — is very ex- 
 pressive of their social friendly manners. Among the 
 mountains we frequently met groups of children who sang 
 together their simple ballads as we passed by. 
 
 From Beerfelden we passed down the valley of the Mim- 
 ling to Erbach, the principal city in the Odenwald, and 
 there stopped a short time to view the rittersaal in the old 
 family castle of the counts of Erbach. An officer who 
 stood at the gates conducted us to the door, where we were
 
 A THIEVISH ANTIQUARIAN. 89 
 
 received by a noble-looking gray-beaded steward. He 
 took us into tbe rittermal at once, wbich was like stepping 
 back three hundred years. The stained windows of the 
 lofty Gothic hall let in a subdued light which fell on the 
 forms of kings and knights clad in the armor they wore 
 during life. On the left as we entered were mail-covered 
 figures of John and Cosmo de Medici ; farther on stood the 
 emperor Maximilian, and by his side the celebrated dwarf 
 who was served up in a pie at one of the imperial feasts. 
 His armor was most delicate and beautiful, but, small as it 
 was, General Thumb would have had room in it. Gustavus 
 Adolphus and Wallenstein looked down from the neighbor- 
 ing pedestals, while at the other end stood Goetz von Ber- 
 lichingen and Albert of Brunswick. Guarding the door 
 were Hans, the robber-knight of Nuremberg, and another 
 from the Thiiringian Forest. The steward told me that 
 the iron hand of Goetz. was in possession of the family, but 
 not shown to strangers; he pointed out, however, the 
 buckles on the armor by which it was fastened. Adjoining 
 the hall is an antique chapel filled with rude old tombs and 
 containing the sarcophagus of Count Eginhard of Den- 
 mark, who lived about the tenth century. There were also 
 monkish garments five hundred years old hanging up in it. 
 
 The collection of antiquities is large and interesting, but 
 it is said that the old count obtained some of them in rather 
 a questionable manner. Among other incidents, they say 
 that when in Rome he visited the pope, taking with him an 
 old servant who accompanied him in all his travels and was 
 the accomplice in most of his antiquarian thefts. In one 
 of the outer halls, among the curiosities, was an antique 
 shield of great value. The servant was left in this hall 
 while the count had his audience, and in a short time this 
 shield was missed. The servant, who wore a long cloak, 
 was missed also ; orders were given to close the gates and 
 search everybody, but it was too late : the thief was gone. 
 
 Leaving Erbach, we found out the direction of Snellert,
 
 90 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the castle of the Wild Huntsman, and took a road that led 
 us for two or three hours along the top of a mountain- 
 ridge. Through the openings in the pine- and larch-forests 
 we had glimpses of the hills of Spessart, beyond the Main. 
 When we finally left the by-road we had chosen, it was 
 quite dark, and we missed the way altogether among the 
 lanes and meadows. We came at last to a full stop at the 
 house of a farmer, who guided us by a footpath over the 
 fields to a small village. On entering the only inn, kept by 
 the burgomaster, the people, finding we were Americans, re- 
 garded us with a curiosity quite uncomfortable. They 
 crowded around the door, watching every motion, and 
 gazed in through the windows. The Wild Huntsman him- 
 self could scarcely have made a greater sensation. The 
 news of our arrival seemed to have spread very fast, for 
 the next morning, when we stopped at a prune-orchard 
 some distance from the village to buy some fruit, the farmer 
 cried out from a tree, " They are Americans ; give them as 
 many as they want for nothing !" 
 
 With the burgomaster's little son for a guide, we went 
 back a mile or two of our route to Snellert, which we had 
 passed the night before, and after losing ourselves two or 
 three times in the woods arrived at last at the top of the 
 mountain where the ruins of the castle stand. The walls 
 are nearly level with the ground. The interest of a visit 
 rests entirely on the romantic legend and the wild view over 
 the hills around, particularly that in front, where on the 
 opposite mountain are the ruins of Rodenstein, to which 
 the Wild Huntsman was wont to ride at midnight — where 
 he now rides no more. The echoes of Rodenstein are no 
 longer awakened by the sound of his bugle and the hoofs 
 of his demon-steed clanging on the battlements, but the 
 hills around are wild enough and the roar of the pine- 
 forests deep enough to have insjnred the simple peasants 
 with the romantic tradition. 
 
 Stopping for dinner at the town of Rheinheim, we met
 
 EMIGRANTS TO TEXAS. 91 
 
 an old man who on learning we were Americans walked 
 with us as far as the next village. He had a daughter in 
 America, and was highly gratified to meet any one from the 
 country of her adoption. He made me promise to visit her 
 if I ever should go to St. Louis, and say that I had walked 
 with her father from Rheinheim to Zwangenburg. To 
 satisfy his fears that I might forget it, I took down his 
 name and that of his daughter. He shook me warmly by 
 the hand at parting, and was evidently made happier for 
 that day. 
 
 We reached Darmstadt just in time to take a seat in the 
 omnibus for Frankfort. Among the passengers were a Bava- 
 rian family on their way to Bremen, to ship from thence to 
 Texas. I endeavored to discourage the man from choosing 
 such a country as his home by telling him of its heats and 
 pestilences, but he was too full of hope to be shaken in his 
 purpose. I would have added that it was a slave-land, but 
 I thought on our own country's curse, and was silent. The 
 wife was not so sanguine ; she seemed to mourn in secret 
 at leaving her beautiful fatherland. It was saddening to 
 think how lonely they would feel in that far home, and how 
 they would long with true German devotion to look again 
 on the green vintage-hills of their forsaken country. As 
 night drew on the little girl crept over to her father for his 
 accustomed evening kiss, and then sank back to sleep in a 
 corner of the wagon. The boy, in the artless confidence of 
 childhood, laid his head on my breast, weary with the day's 
 travel, and soon slept also. Thus we drove on in the dark, 
 till at length the lights of Frankfort glimmered on the 
 breast of the rapid Main as we passed over the bridge ; 
 and when we stopped near the cathedral, I delivered up my 
 little charge and sent my sympathy with the wanderers on 
 their lonely way.
 
 92 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SCENES IN FRANKFORT. — AN AMERICAN COMPOSER. — THE 
 POET FREILIGRATH. 
 
 December 4. 
 
 This is a genuine old German city. Founded by Charle- 
 magne, afterward a rallying-point of the crusaders, and for 
 a long time the capital of the German empire, it has no lack 
 of interesting historical recollections, and, notwithstanding 
 it is fast becoming modernized, one is everywhere reminded 
 of the past. The cathedral, old as the days of Peter the 
 Hermit, the grotesque street of the Jews, the many quaint, 
 antiquated dwellings and the mouldering watch-towers on 
 the hills around give it a more interesting character than 
 any German city I have yet seen. The house we dwell in, 
 on the Markt Platz, is more than two hundred years old ; 
 directly opposite is a great castellated building gloomy 
 with the weight of six centuries, and a few steps to the 
 left briugs me to the square of the Romerberg, where the 
 emperors were crowned, in a corner of which is a curi- 
 ously ornamented house formerly the residence of Luther. 
 There are legends innumerable connected with all these 
 buildings, and even yet discoveries are frequently made in 
 old houses of secret chambers and staircases. When you 
 add to all this the German love of ghost-stories, and, indeed, 
 their general belief in spirits, the lover of romance could 
 not desire a more agreeable residence. 
 
 I often look out on the singular scene below my window. 
 On both sides of the street, leaving barely room to enter 
 the houses, sit the market-women with their baskets of veg- 
 etables and fruit. The middle of the street is filled with 
 women buying, and every cart or carriage that comes along 
 has to force its way through the crowd, sometimes rolling 
 against and overturning the baskets on the side, when for a
 
 THE GOETHE MONUMENT. 93 
 
 few minutes there is a Babel of unintelligible sounds. The 
 country-women in their jackets and short gowns go back- 
 ward and forward with great loads on their heads, some- 
 times nearly as high as themselves. It is a most singular 
 scene, and so varied that one never tires of looking upon 
 it. These women sit here from sunrise till sunset, day after 
 day, for years. They have little furnaces for cooking and 
 for warmth in winter ; and when it rains, they sit in large 
 wooden boxes. One or two policemen are generally on the 
 ground in the morning to prevent disputing about their 
 places, which often gives rise to interesting scenes. Perhaps 
 this kind of life in the open air is conducive to longevity, 
 for certainly there is no country on earth that has as many 
 old women. Many of them look like walking-machines 
 made of leather, and, to judge from what I see in the streets 
 here, I should think they work till they die. 
 
 On the 21st of October a most interesting fete took place. 
 The magnificent monument of Goethe, modelled by the 
 sculptor Schwanthaler at Munich and cast in bronze, was 
 unveiled. It arrived a few days before, and was received 
 with much ceremony and erected in the destined spot — an 
 open square in the western part of the city planted with 
 acacia trees. I went there at ten o'clock, and found the 
 square already full of people. Seats had been erected 
 around the monument for ladies, the singers and musicians. 
 A company of soldiers was stationed to keep an entrance 
 for the procession, which at length arrived with music and 
 banners, and entered the enclosure. A song for the occa- 
 sion was sung by the choir ; it swelled up gradually, and 
 with such perfect harmony and unity that it seemed like 
 some glorious instrument touched by a single hand. Then 
 a poetical address was delivered ; after which, four young 
 men took their stand at the corners of the monument ; the 
 drums and trumpets gave a flourish, and the mantle fell. 
 The noble figure seemed to rise out of the earth, and thus 
 amid shoutings and the triumphal peal of the band the
 
 94 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 form of Goethe greeted the city of his birth. He is rep- 
 resented as leaning on the trunk of a tree, holding in his 
 right hand a roll of parchment and in his left a wreath. 
 The pedestal, which is also of bronze, contains bas-reliefs 
 representing scenes from Faust, Wilhelm Melster and Egmont. 
 In the evening Goethe's house, in a street near, was illumi- 
 nated by arches of lamps between the windows and hung 
 with wreaths of flowers. Four pillars of colored lamps 
 lighted the statue. At nine o'clock the choir of singers 
 came again in a procession, with colored lanterns on poles, 
 and after singing two or three songs the statue was exhibited 
 in the red glare of the bengal-light. The trees and houses 
 around the square were covered with the glow, which 
 streamed in broad sheets up against the dark sky. 
 
 Within the walls the greater part of Frankfort is built 
 in the old German style, the houses six or seven stories high 
 and every story projecting out over the other ; so that those 
 living in the upper part can nearly shake hands out of the 
 windows. At the corners figures of men are often seen 
 holding up the story above on their shoulders and making 
 horrible faces at the weight. When I state that in all these 
 narrow streets, which constitute the greater part of the city, 
 there are no sidewalks, the windows of the lower stories 
 with an iron grating extending a foot or so into the street, 
 which is only wide enough for one cart to pass along, you 
 can have some idea of the facility of walking through them, 
 to say nothing of the piles of wood and market-women 
 with baskets of vegetables which one is continually stum- 
 bling over. Even in the wider streets I have always to 
 look before and behind to keep out of the way of the fiacres ; 
 the people here get so accustomed to it that they leave barely 
 room for them to pass, and the carriages go dashing by at a 
 nearness which sometimes makes me shudder. 
 
 As I walked across the Main and looked down at the 
 swift stream on its way from the distant Thuringian Forest 
 to join the Rhine, I thought of the time when Schiller
 
 SATAN FOILED. 95 
 
 stood there in the days of his early struggles, an exile from 
 his native land, and, looking over the bridge, said in the 
 loneliness of his heart, " That water flows not so deep as my 
 Bufferings." In the middle, on an iron ornament, stands 
 the golden cock at which Goethe used to marvel when a 
 boy. Perhaps you have not heard the legend connected 
 with this? The bridge was built several hundred years ago 
 with such strength and solidity that it will stand many hun- 
 dred yet. The architect had contracted to build it within 
 a certain time, but, as it drew near without any prospect of 
 fulfilment, the devil appeared to him and promised to finish 
 it on condition of having the first soul that passed over it. 
 This was agreed upon, and the devil performed his part of 
 the bargain. The artist, however, on the day appointed, 
 drove a cock across before he suffered any one to pass over 
 it. His Majesty stationed himself under the middle arch 
 of the bridge, awaiting his prey ; but, enraged at the cheat, 
 he tore the unfortunate fowl in pieces and broke two holes 
 in the arch, saying they should never be built up again. 
 The golden cock was erected on the bridge as a token of 
 the event, but the devil has perhaps lost some of his power 
 in these latter days, for the holes were filled up about thirty 
 years ago. 
 
 From the hills on the Darmstadt road I had a view of 
 the country around ; the fields were white and bare, and 
 the dark Tannus, with the broad patches of snow on his 
 sides, looked grim and shadowy through the dim atmosphere. 
 It was like the landscape of a dream — dark, strange and 
 silent. The whole of last month we saw the sun but two or 
 three days, the sky being almost continually covered with 
 a gloomy fog. England and Germany seem to have ex- 
 changed climates this year, for in the former country we had 
 delightfully clear weather. 
 
 I have seen the banker Rothschild several times driving 
 about the city. This one — Anselmo, the most celebrated 
 of the brothers — holds a mortgage on the city of Jerusalem.
 
 96 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 He rides about in style, with officers attending his carriage. 
 He is a little baldheaded man with marked Jewish features, 
 and is said not to deceive his looks. At any rate, his repu- 
 tation is none of the best, either with Jews or Christians. 
 A caricature was published some time ago in which he is 
 represented as giving a beggar-woman by the wayside a 
 kreutzer — the smallest German coin. She is made to ex- 
 claim, " God reward you a thousand fold !" He immedi- 
 ately replies, after reckoning up in his head, "How much 
 have I then ? Sixteen florins and forty kreutzers !" 
 
 I have lately heard one of the most perfectly beautiful 
 creations that ever emanated from the soul of genius — the 
 opera of Fidelio. I have caught faint glimpses of that rich 
 world of fancy and feeling to which music is the golden 
 door. Surrendering myself to the grasp of Beethoven's 
 powerful conception, I read in sounds far more expressive 
 than words the almost despairing agony of the strong- 
 hearted but still tender and womanly Fidelio, the ecstatic 
 joy of the wasted prisoner when he rose from his hard 
 couch in the dungeon, seeming to feel in his maniac brain 
 the presentiment of a bright being who would come to un- 
 bind his chains, and the sobbing and wailing, almost human, 
 which came from the orchestra when they dug his grave by 
 the dim lantern's light. When it was done, the murderer 
 stole into the dungeon to gloat on the agonies of his victim 
 ere he gave the death-blow. Then, while the prisoner is 
 waked to reason by that sight, and Fidelio throws herself 
 before the uplifted dagger, rescuing her husband with the 
 courage which love gives to a woman's heart, the storm of 
 feeling which has been gathering in the music swells to a 
 height beyond which it seemed impossible for the soul to 
 pass. My nerves were thrilled till I could bear no more. 
 A mist seemed to come before my eyes, and I scarcely knew 
 what followed, till the rescued kneeled together and poured 
 forth in the closing hymn the painful fulness of their joy. 
 I dreaded the sound of voices after the close and the walk
 
 RICHARD S. WILLIS. 97 
 
 home amid the harsh rattling of vehicles on the rough 
 streets. For days afterward my brain was filled with a 
 mingled and confused sense of melody like the half remem- 
 bered music of a dream. 
 
 Why should such magnificent creations of art be denied 
 the New World ? There is certainly enthusiasm and refine- 
 ment of feeling enough at home to appreciate them were 
 the proper direction given to the popular taste. What 
 country possesses more advantages to foster the growth of 
 such an art than ours? Why should not the composer gain 
 mighty conceptions from the grandeur of our mountain- 
 scenery, from the howling of the storm through our giant 
 forests, from the eternal thunder of Niagara ? All these 
 collateral influences, which more or less tend to the devel- 
 opment and expansion of genius, are characteristics of our 
 country, and a taste for musical compositions of a refined 
 and lofty character would soon give birth to creators. 
 
 Fortunately for our country, this missing star in the 
 crown of her growing glory will probably soon be replaced. 
 Richard S. Willis, with whom we have lived in delightful 
 companionship since coming here, has been for more than 
 two years studying and preparing himself for the higher 
 branches of composition. The musical talent he displayed 
 while at college, and the success following the publication 
 of a set of beautiful waltzes he there composed, led him to 
 choose this most difficult but lofty path ; the result justifies 
 his early promise and gives the most sanguine anticipations 
 for the future. He studied the first two years here under 
 Schnyder von Wartensee, a distinguished Swiss composer, 
 and his exercises have met with the warmest approval from 
 Mendelssohn, at present the first German composer, and 
 Rinck, the celebrated organist. The enormous labor and 
 application required to go through the preparatory studies 
 alone would make it seem almost impossible for one with 
 the restless energy of the American character to undertake 
 it ; but, as this very energy gives genius its greatest power, 
 7
 
 98 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 we may now trust with confidence that Willis, since he has 
 nearly completed his studies, will win himself and his 
 country honor in the difficult path he has chosen. 
 
 One evening, after sunset, we took a stroll around the 
 promenades. The swans were still floating on the little 
 lake, and the American poplar beside it was in its full au- 
 tumn livery. As we made the circuit of the walks guns 
 were firing far and near, celebrating the opening of the 
 vintage the next day, and rockets went glittering and spark- 
 ling up into the dark air. Notwithstanding the late hour 
 and lowering sky, the walks were full of people, and we 
 strolled about with them till it grew quite dark, watching 
 the fireworks which arose from the gardens around. 
 
 The next day we went into the Frankfort wood. Willis 
 and his brother-in-law, Charles F. Dennett of Boston, Dr. 
 Dix and another young gentleman from the same city 
 formed the party — six Americans in all. We walked over 
 the Main and through the dirty suburbs of Sachsenhausen, 
 where we met many peasants laden with the first day's vin- 
 tage, and crowds of people coming down from the vine- 
 yards. As we ascended the hill the sound of firing was 
 heard in every direction, and from many vineyards arose 
 the smoke of fires" where groups of merry children were 
 collecting and burning the rubbish. We became lost among 
 the winding paths of the pine-forest ; so that by the time 
 we came out upon the eminence overlooking the valley of 
 the Main it was quite dark. From every side, far and near, 
 rockets of all sizes and colors darted high up into the sky. 
 Sometimes a flight of the most brilliant crimson and gold 
 lights rushed up together ; then, again, by some farmhouse 
 in the meadow, the vintagers would burn a Roman candle, 
 throwing its powerful white light on the gardens and fields 
 around. We stopped under a garden wall by which a 
 laughing company were assembled in the smoke and red 
 blaze, and watched several comets go hissing and glancing 
 far above us. The cracking of ammunition still continued ;
 
 FREILIGRATH. 99 
 
 and when we came again upon the bridge, the city opposite 
 was lighted as if illuminated. The full moon had just 
 risen, softening and mellowing the beautiful scene, while 
 beyond, over the tower of Frankfort, rose and fell the me- 
 teors that heralded the vintage. 
 
 Since I have been in Frankfort an event has occurred 
 which shows very distinctly the principles at work in Ger- 
 many, and gives us some foreboding of the future. Ferdi- 
 nand Freiligrath, the first living poet with the exception 
 of Uhland, has within a few weeks published a volume of 
 poems entitled My Confession of Faith, or Poems for the 
 Times. It contains some thrilling appeals to the free spirit 
 of the German people, setting forth the injustice under 
 which they labor in simple but powerful language, and with 
 the most forcible illustrations adapted to the comprehension 
 of every one. Viewed as a work of genius alone, it is 
 strikingly powerful and original ; but when we consider the 
 effect it is producing among the people — the strength it will 
 add to the rising tide of opposition to every form of tyranny 
 — it has a still higher interest. Freiligrath had three or 
 four years before received a pension of three hundred tha- 
 lers from the king of Prussia, soon after his accession to the 
 throne ; he ceased to draw this about a year ago, stating in 
 the preface to his volume that it was accepted in the belief 
 the king would adhere to his promise of giving the people 
 a new constitution, but that now, since time has proved 
 there is no dependence to be placed on the king's word, he 
 must speak for his people and for his land. 
 
 The book has not only been prohibited, but Freiligrath 
 has exiled himself voluntarily to escape imprisonment. He 
 is now in Paris, where Heine and Herwegh, two of Ger- 
 many's finest poets, both banished for the same reason, are 
 living. The free spirit which characterizes these men, who 
 come from among the people, shows plainly the tendency 
 of the times, and it is only the great strength with which 
 tyranny here has environed himself, and the almost lethar-
 
 100 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 gic slowness of the Germans, which has prevented a change 
 ere this. 
 
 In this volume of Freiligrath's, among other things, is a 
 translation of Bryant's magnificent poem "The Winds," 
 and Burns's "A Man's a Man for a' That," and I have 
 translated one of his as a specimen of the spirit in which 
 they are written : 
 
 FKEEDOM AND RIGHT. 
 
 Oh, think not she rests in the grave's chilly slumber 
 
 Nor sheds o'er the present her glorious light 
 Since Tyranny's shackles the free soul incumber 
 
 And traitors accusing deny to us right. 
 No ! Whether to exile the sworn ones are wending, 
 Or, weary of power that crushed them unending, 
 In dungeons have perished, their veins madly rending,* 
 
 Yet Freedom still liveth, and with her the Right ! 
 
 Freedom and Right ! 
 
 A single defeat can confuse us no longer: 
 
 It adds to the combat's fast-gathering might, 
 It bids us but doubly to struggle, and stronger 
 
 To raise up our battle-cry, " Freedom and Right !" 
 For the twain know a union for ever abiding, 
 Together in truth and in majesty striding; 
 Where Right is, already the free are residing, 
 
 And ever where dwell the free governeth Right ! 
 
 Freedom and Right ! 
 
 And this is a trust. Never made, as at present, 
 
 The glad pair from battle to battle their flight — 
 Never breathed through the soul of the downtrodden peasant 
 
 Their spirit so deeply its promptings of light. 
 They sweep o'er the earth with a tempest-like token ; 
 From strand unto strand words of thunder are spoken ; 
 Already the serf finds his manacles broken, 
 And those of the negro are falling from sight. 
 
 Freedom and Right ! 
 *This allusion is to Weidig, who, imprisoned for years at Darm- 
 stadt on account of his political principles, finally committed suicide 
 by cutting his throat with the glass of his prison-window.
 
 "FREEDOM AND RIGHT." 101 
 
 Yes, everywhere wide is their war-banner waving 
 On the armies of Wrong their revenge to requite ; 
 
 The strength of Oppression they boldly are braving, 
 And at last they will conquer, resistless in might. 
 
 O God ! what a glorious wreath then appearing 
 
 Will blend every leaf in the banner they're bearing — 
 
 The olive of Greece and the shamrock of Erin, 
 And the oak-bough of Germany, greenest in light 1 
 
 Freedom and Right ! 
 
 And many who suffered are now calmly sleeping 
 
 The slumber of freemen borne down by the fight, 
 W T hile the twain o'er their graves still a bright watch are keeping 
 
 Whom we bless for their memories — Freedom and Right. 
 Meanwhile, lift your glasses to those who have striven, 
 And, striving with bold hearts, to misery were driven, 
 Who fought for the Right and but Wrong then were given 1 
 To Right, the immortal — to Freedom through Right! 
 
 Freedom through Right ! 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A WEEK AMONG THE STUDENTS. 
 
 Receiving a letter from my cousin one bright December 
 morning, the idea of visiting him struck me, and so within 
 
 an hour B and I were on our way to Heidelberg. It 
 
 was delightful weather ; the air was mild as the early days 
 of spring, the pine-forests around wore a softer green, and, 
 though the sun was but a hand's-breadth high even at noon, 
 it was quite warm on the open road. 
 
 We stopped for the night at Bensheim ; the next morn- 
 ing was as dark as a cloudy day in the north can be, wear- 
 ing a heavy gloom I never saw elsewhere. The wind blew 
 the snow down from the summits upon us, but, being warm 
 from walking, we did not heed it. The mountains looked 
 higher than in summer, and the old castles more grim and
 
 102 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 frowning. From the hard roads and freezing wind my feet 
 became very sore, and after limping along in excruciating 
 pain for a league or two I filled my boots with brandy, 
 which deadened the wounds so much that I was enabled to 
 go on in a kind of trot, which I kept up, only stopping ten 
 minutes to dinner, till we reached Heidelberg. 
 
 The same evening there was to be a general commers, or 
 meeting of the societies among the students, and I deter- 
 mined not to omit witnessing one of the most interesting 
 and characteristic features of student-life. So, borrowing 
 a cap and coat, I looked the student well enough to pass for 
 one of them, though the former article was somewhat of the 
 Philister form. Baader, a young poet of some note and 
 president of the Palatia Society having promised to take us 
 there, we met at eight o'clock at an inn frequented by the 
 students, and went to the rendezvous, near the Markt 
 Platz. 
 
 A confused sound of voices came from the inn as we drew 
 near ; groups of students were standing around the door. 
 In the entry we saw the Red Fisherman, one of the most 
 conspicuous characters about the university. He is a small, 
 stout man with bare neck and breast, red hair — whence his 
 name — and a strange mixture of roughness and benevolence 
 in his countenance. He has saved many persons at the risk 
 of his own life from drowning in the Neckar, and on that 
 account is leniently dealt with by the faculty whenever he 
 is arrested for assisting the students in any of their unlawful 
 proceedings. Entering the room, I could scarcely see at 
 first, on account of the smoke that ascended from a hundred 
 pipes. All w r as noise and confusion. Near the door sat 
 some half dozen musicians who were getting their instru- 
 ments ready for action, and the long room was filled with 
 tables, all of which seemed to be full, and the students were 
 still pressing in. 
 
 The tables were covered with great stone jugs and long 
 beer-glasses ; the students were talking and shouting and
 
 A STUDENTS' COMMERS. 103 
 
 drinking. One who appeared to have the arrangement of 
 the meeting found seats for us together, and, having made 
 a slight acquaintance with those sitting next us, we felt 
 more at liberty to witness their proceedings. They were all 
 talking in a sociable, friendly way, and I saw no one who 
 appeared to be intoxicated. The beer was a weak mixture 
 which I should think would make one fall over from its 
 weight before it would intoxicate him. Those sitting near 
 me drank but little, and that principally to make or return 
 compliments. One or two at the other end of the table 
 were more boisterous, and more than one glass was over- 
 turned on the legs below it. Leaves containing the songs 
 for the evening lay at each seat, and at the head, where the 
 president sat, were two swords crossed, with which he occa- 
 sionally struck upon the table to preserve order. Our 
 president was a fine, romantic-looking young man dressed 
 in the old German costume, which is far handsomer than 
 the modern. I never saw in any company of young men so 
 many handsome, manly countenances. If their faces were 
 any index of their characters, there were many noble, free 
 souls among them. Nearly opposite to me sat a young poet 
 whose dark eyes flashed with feeling as he spoke to those 
 near him. 
 
 After some time passed in talking and drinking together, 
 varied by an occasional air from the musicians, the presi- 
 dent beat order with the sword, and the whole company 
 joined in one of their glorious songs to a melody at the 
 same time joyous and solemn. Swelled by so many manly 
 voices, it rose up like a hymn of triumph ; all other sounds 
 were stilled. Three times during the singing all rose up, 
 clashed their glasses together around the tables and drank 
 to their Fatherland, a health and blessing to the patriot, 
 and honor to those who struggle in the cause of freedom, 
 at the close thundering out their motto, 
 
 " Fearless in strife, to the banner still true 1"
 
 104 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 After this song the same order as before was continued, 
 except that students from the different societies made short 
 speeches, accompanied by some toast or sentiment. One 
 spoke of Germany, predicting that all her dissensions would 
 be overcome and she would rise up at last, like a phoenix, 
 among the nations of Europe, and at the close gave " Strong, 
 united, regenerated Germany !" Instantly all sprang to 
 their feet, and, clashing the glasses together, gave a thun- 
 dering "Hoch /" This enthusiasm for their country is one 
 of the strongest characteristics of the German students ; 
 they have ever been first in the field for her freedom, and 
 on them mainly depends her future redemption. 
 
 Cloths were passed around, the tables wiped off, and prep- 
 arations made to sing the Landsfather, or consecration song. 
 This is one of the most important and solemn of their cere- 
 monies, since by performing it the new students are made 
 burschen and the bands of brotherhood continually kept 
 fresh and sacred. All became still a moment ; then they 
 commenced the lofty song: 
 
 " Silent bending, eacli one lending 
 
 To the solemn tones his e;ir, 
 Hark ! the song of songs is sounding — 
 Back from joyful choir resounding. 
 
 Hear it, German brothers, hear! 
 
 "German, proudly raise it loudly, 
 
 Singing of your Fatherland. — 
 Fatherland, thou land of story, 
 To the altars of thy glory 
 
 Consecrate us, sword in hand ! 
 
 " Take the beaker, plensure-seeker, 
 
 With thy country's drink brimmed o'erl 
 
 In thy left the sword is blinking ; 
 
 Pierce it through the cap while drinking 
 To thy Fatherland once more I" 
 
 With the first line of the last stanza, the presidents, sit- 
 ting at the head of the table, take their glasses in their
 
 THE LANDSFATHER. 105 
 
 right hands, and at the third line the sword in their left, at 
 the end striking their glasses together and drinking: 
 
 "In left Land gleaming, thou art beaming, 
 Sword from all dishonor free ! 
 Thus I pierce the cap, while swearing, 
 It in honor ever wearing, 
 I a valiant Bursch will be !" 
 
 They clash their swords together till the third line is sung, 
 when each takes his cap, and, piercing the point of the 
 sword through the crown, draws it down to the guard. 
 Leaving their caps on the swords, the presidents stand be- 
 hind the two next students, who go through the same cere- 
 mony, receiving the swords at the appropriate time and 
 giving them back loaded with their caps also. This ceremony 
 is going on at every table at the same time. These two 
 stanzas are repeated for every pair of students, till all have 
 gone through with it and the presidents have arrived at the 
 bottom of the table with their swords strung full of caps. 
 Here they exchange swords, while all sing : 
 
 "Come, thou bright sword, now made holy, 
 
 Of free men the weapon free ; 
 Bring it solemnly and slowly, 
 
 Heavy with pierced caps, to me. 
 From its burden now divest it; 
 
 Brothers, be ye covered all. 
 
 And till our next festival 
 Hallowed and unspotted rest it 1 
 
 "Up, ye feast-companions ! ever 
 
 Honor ye our holy band, 
 And with heart and soul endeavor 
 
 E'er as high-souled men to stand. 
 Up to feast, ye men united ! 
 
 Worthy be your fathers' fame, 
 
 And the sword may no one claim 
 Who to honor is not plighted !" 
 
 Then each president, taking a cap off his sword, reached it
 
 106 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 to the student opposite, and they crossed their swords, the 
 ends resting on the two students' heads, while they sang the 
 next stanza : 
 
 " So take it back ; thy head I now will cover 
 
 And stretch the bright sword over. 
 Live also then this Bursche. Hoch ! 
 
 Wherever we may meet him, 
 
 Will we as brother greet him. 
 Live also this our brother. Hoch !" 
 
 This ceremony was repeated till all the caps were given 
 back, and they then concluded with the following : 
 
 " Best ! The Burschen-feast is over, 
 " Hallowed sword, and thou art free ! 
 Each one strive a valiant lover 
 
 Of his Fatherland to be ! 
 Hail to him who, glory-haunted, 
 
 Follows still his fathers bold, 
 
 And the sword may no one hold 
 But the noble and undaunted !" 
 
 The Landsfather being over, the students were less 
 orderly ; the smoking and drinking began again, and we 
 left, as it was already eleven o'clock, glad to breathe the 
 pure cold air. 
 
 In the university I heard Gervinus, who was formerly 
 professor in Gottingen, but was obliged to leave on account 
 of his liberal principles. He is much liked by the stu- 
 dents, and his lectures are very well attended. They had 
 this winter a torchlight procession in honor of him. He is 
 a stout, round-faced man, speaks very fast, and makes them 
 laugh continually with his witty remarks. In the room I 
 saw a son of Riickert, the poet, with a face strikingly like 
 his father's. The next evening I went to hear Schlosser, 
 the great historian. Among his pupils are the two princes 
 of Baden, who are now at the university. He came hur-
 
 A DUEL. 107 
 
 riedly in, threw down his portfolio and began instantly to 
 speak. He is an old, gray-headed man, but still active and 
 full of energy. The Germans find him exceedingly diffi- 
 cult to understand, as he is said to use the English con- 
 struction almost entirely ; for this reason, perhaps, I under- 
 stood him quite easily. He lectures on the French Revolu- 
 tion, but is engaged in writing a universal history, the first 
 numbers of which are published. 
 
 Two or three days after, we heard that a duel was to take 
 place at Neuenheim, on the opposite side of the Neckar, 
 where the students have a house hired for that purpose. In 
 order to witness the spectacle, we started immediately with 
 two or three students. Along the road were stationed old 
 women, at intervals, as guards, to give notice of the approach 
 of the police, and from these we learned that one duel had 
 already been fought and they were preparing for the other. 
 The Red Fisherman was busy in an outer room grinding 
 the swords, which are made as sharp as razors. In the large 
 room some forty or fifty students were walking about while 
 the parties were preparing. This was done by taking off 
 the coat and vest and binding a great thick leather garment 
 on, which reached from the breast to the knees, completely 
 protecting the body. They then put on a leather glove 
 reaching nearly to the shoulder, tied a thick cravat around 
 the throat, and drew on a cap with a large vizor. This done, 
 they were walked about the room a short time, the seconds 
 holding out their arms to strengthen them ; their faces, all this 
 time betrayed considerable anxiety. All being ready, the 
 seconds took their stations immediately behind them, each 
 armed with a sword, and gave the words : " Ready ! Bind 
 your weapons ! Loose ! " They instantly sprang at each 
 other, exchanged two or three blows, when the seconds cried 
 " Halt !" and struck their swords up. Twenty-four rounds 
 of this kind ended the duel without either being hurt, though 
 the cap of one of them was cut through and his forehead 
 grazed. All their duels do not end so fortunately, however,
 
 108 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 as the frightful scars on the faces of many of those present 
 testified. 
 
 It is a gratification to know that but a small portion of 
 the students keep up this barbarous custom. The great 
 body is opposed to it ; in Heidelberg four societies, compris- 
 ing more than one-half the students, have been formed against 
 it. A strong desire for such a reform seems to prevail, and 
 the custom will probably be totally discontinued in a short 
 time. 
 
 This view of the student-life was very interesting to me ; 
 it appeared in a much better light than I had been accus- 
 tomed to view it. Their peculiar customs, except duelling 
 and drinking, of course, may be the better tolerated when 
 we consider their effect on the liberty of Germany. It is 
 principally through them that a free spirit is kept alive ; 
 they have ever been foremost to rise up for their fatherland 
 and bravest in its defence. And, though many of their cus- 
 toms have so often been held up to ridicule, among no other 
 class can one find warmer, truer or braver hearts. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR IN GERMANY. 
 
 January 2, 1845. 
 I have lately been computing how much my travels have 
 cost me up to the present time, and how long I can remain 
 abroad to continue the pilgrimage, with my present expec- 
 tations. The result has been most encouraging to my plan. 
 Before leaving home I wrote to several gentlemen who had 
 visited Europe, requesting the probable expense of travel 
 and residence abroad. They sent different accounts. E. 
 Joy Morris said I must calculate to spend at least fifteen 
 hundred dollars a year ; another suggested a thousand dol-
 
 CHRISTMAS. 109 
 
 lars, and the most moderate of all said that it was impossi- 
 ble to live in Europe a year on less than five hundred dol- 
 lars. Now, six months have elapsed since I left home — 
 six months of greater pleasure and profit than any year 
 of my former life — and my expenses in full amount to 
 one hundred and thirty dollars. This, however, nearly 
 exhausts the limited sum with which I started, but through 
 the kindness of the editorial friends who have been pub- 
 lishing my sketches of travel I trust to receive a remittance 
 shortly. Printing is a business attended with so little profit 
 here, as there are already so many workmen, that it is al- 
 most useless for a stranger to apply. Besides, after a tough 
 grapple I am just beginning to master the language, and 
 it seems so necessary to devote every minute to study that 
 I would rather undergo some privation than neglect turning 
 these fleeting hours into gold for the miser Memory to stow 
 away in the treasure- van Its of the mind. 
 
 We have lately witnessed the most beautiful and interest- 
 ing of all German festivals — Christmas. This is here pe- 
 culiarly celebrated. About the commencement of Decem- 
 ber the Christmarkt, or fair, was opened in the Romerberg, 
 and has continued to the present time. The booths, deco- 
 rated with green boughs, were filled with toys of various 
 kinds, among which during the first days the figure of St. 
 Nicholas was conspicuous. There were bunches of wax 
 candles to illuminate the Christmas tree, gingerbread with 
 printed mottoes in poetry, beautiful little earthenware, bas- 
 ket-work and a wilderness of playthings. The 5th of De- 
 cember, being Nicholas evening, the booths were lighted 
 up, and the square was filled with boys running from one 
 stand to another, all shouting and talking together in the 
 most joyous confusion. Nurses were going around carrying 
 the smaller children in their arms, and parents bought pres- 
 ents decorated with sprigs of pine and carried them away. 
 Some of the shops had beautiful toys — as, for instance, a 
 whole grocery store in miniature, with barrels, boxes and
 
 110 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 drawers all filled with sweetmeats, a kitchen with a stove 
 and all suitable utensils which could really be used, and 
 sets of dishes of the most diminutive patterns. All was a 
 scene of activity and joyous feeling. 
 
 Many of the tables had bundles of rods with gilded 
 bands, which were to be used that evening by the persons 
 who represented St. Nicholas. In the family with whom 
 we reside one of our German friends dressed himself very 
 comically with a mask, fur robe and long tapering cap. He 
 came in with a bunch of rods and a sack, and a broom 
 for a sceptre. After we all had received our share of the 
 beating he threw the contents of his bag on the table, and 
 while we were scrambling for the nuts and apples gave us 
 many smart raps over the fingers. In many families the 
 children are made to say, " I thank you, Herr Nicolaus," 
 and the rods are hung up in the room till Christmas to keep 
 them in good behavior. This was only a forerunner of the 
 Christ-kindchen's coming. The Nicolaus is the punishing 
 spirit; the Christ-kindchen, the rewarding one. 
 
 When this time was over, we all began preparing secretly 
 our presents for Christmas. Every day there were consul- 
 tations about the things which should be obtained. It was 
 so arranged that all should interchange presents, but nobody 
 must know beforehand what he would receive. What pleas- 
 ure there was in all these secret purchases and preparations! 
 Scarcely anything was thought or spoken of but Christmas, 
 and every day the consultations became more numerous and 
 secret. The trees were bought some time beforehand, but, 
 as we were to witness the festival for the first time, we were 
 not allowed to see them prepared, in order that the effect 
 might be as great as possible. The market in the Romer- 
 berg Square grew constantly larger and more brilliant. 
 Every night it was lit up with lamps and thronged with 
 people. Quite a forest sprang up in the street before our 
 door. The old stone house opposite with the traces of so 
 many centuries on its dark face seemed to stand in the midst
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. Ill 
 
 of a garden. It was a pleasure to go out every evening and 
 see the children rushing to and fro, shouting and seeking 
 out toys from the booths, and talking all the time of the 
 Christmas that was so near. The poor people went by with 
 their little presents hid under their cloaks lest their children 
 might see them; every heart was glad and every counte- 
 nance wore a smile of secret pleasure. 
 
 Finally the day before Christmas arrived. The streets 
 were so full I could scarce make my way through, and the 
 sale of trees went on more rapidly than ever. These were 
 commonly branches of pine or fir set upright in a little 
 miniature garden of moss. When the lamps were lighted 
 at night, our street had the appearance of an illuminated 
 garden. We were prohibited from entering the rooms up 
 stairs in which the grand ceremony was to take place, being 
 obliged to take our seats in those arranged for the guests, 
 and wait with impatience the hour when Christ-kindchen 
 should call. Several relations of the family came, and, 
 what was more agreeable, they brought with them five or 
 six children. I was anxious to see how they would view 
 the ceremony. 
 
 Finally, in the middle of an interesting conversation, we 
 heard the bell ringing up stairs. We all started up and 
 made for the door. I ran up the steps with the children at 
 my heels, and at the top met a blaze of light coming from 
 the open door that dazzled me. In each room stood a great 
 table on which the presents Avere arranged amid flowers and 
 wreaths. From the centre rose the beautiful Christmas 
 tree, covered with wax tapers to the very top, which made 
 it nearly as light as day, while every bough was hung with 
 sweetmeats and gilded nuts. The children ran shouting 
 around the table, hunting their presents, while the older 
 persons had theirs pointed out to them. I had quite a little 
 library of German authors as my share, and many of the 
 others received quite valuable gifts. But how beautiful 
 was the heartfelt joy that shone on every countenance ! As
 
 112 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 each one discovered lie embraced the givers, and all was a 
 scene of the purest feelings. It is a glorious feast, this 
 Christmas-time. What a chorus from happy hearts went 
 up on that evening to Heaven ! Full of poetry and feeling 
 and glad associations, it is here anticipated with joy and 
 leaves a pleasant memory behind it. We may laugh at 
 such simple festivals at home and prefer to shake ourselves 
 loose from every shackle that bears the rust of the past, but 
 we would certainly be happier if some of these beautiful old 
 customs were better honored. They renew the bond of 
 feeling between families and friends and strengthen their 
 kindly sympathy ; even lifelong friends require occasions 
 of this kind to freshen the wreath that binds them together. 
 
 New Year's eve is also favored with a peculiar celebra- 
 tion in Germany- Everybody remains up and makes him- 
 self merry till midnight. The Christmas trees are again 
 lighted, and while the tapers are burning down the family 
 play for articles which they have purchased and hung on 
 the boughs. It is so arranged that each one shall win as 
 much as he gives, which change of articles makes much 
 amusement. One of the ladies rejoiced in the possession of 
 a red silk handkerchief and a cake of soap, while a cup and 
 saucer and a pair of scissors fell to my lot. As midnight 
 drew near it was louder in the streets, and companies of 
 people, some of them singing in chorus, passed by on their 
 way to the Zeil. Finally three-quarters struck, the windows 
 were opened and every one waited anxiously for the clock 
 to strike. At the first sound such a cry arose as one may 
 imagine when thirty or forty thousand persons all set their 
 lungs going at once. Everybody in the house, in the street, 
 over the whole city, shouted "Prosst Neu Jahr /" In fam- 
 ilies all the members embrace each other, with wishes of 
 happiness for the new year. Then the windows are thrown 
 open, and they cry to their neighbors or those passing by. 
 
 After we had exchanged congratulations, Dennett, B 
 
 and I set out for the Zeil. The streets were full of people,
 
 NEW YEAR'S EVE. 113 
 
 shouting to one another and to those standing at the open 
 windows. We failed not to cry, "Prosst Neu Jahr !" wher- 
 ever we saw a damsel at the window, and the words came 
 back to us more musically than we sent them. Along the 
 Zeil the spectacle was most singular. The great wide street 
 was filled with companies of men marching up and down, 
 Avhile from the mass rang up one deafening, unending shout 
 that seemed to pierce the black sky above. The whole 
 scene looked stranger and wilder from the flickering light 
 of the swinging lamps, and I could not help thinking it 
 must resemble a night in Paris during the French Revolu- 
 tion. We joined the crowd and used our lungs as well as 
 any of them. For some time after we returned home com- 
 panies passed by singing " With us 'tis ever so !" but at 
 three o'clock all was again silent. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WINTER IN FRANKFORT. — A FAIR, AN INUNDATION AND 
 
 A FIRE. 
 
 After New Year, the Main, just above the city, and the 
 lakes in the promenades were frozen over. The ice was 
 tried by the police, and, having been found of sufficient 
 thickness, to the great joy of the schoolboys, permission 
 was given to skate. The lakes were soon covered with 
 merry skaters, and every afternoon the banks were crowded 
 with spectators. It was a lively sight to see two or three 
 hundred persons darting about, turning and crossing like a 
 flock of crows, while by means of arm-chairs mounted on 
 runners the ladies were enabled to join in the sport and 
 whirl around among them. Some of the broad meadows 
 near the city which were covered with water were the re- 
 8
 
 114 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 sort of the schools. I went there often in my walks, and 
 always found two or three schools, Avith the teachers, all 
 skating together and playing their winter games on the ice. 
 I have often seen them on the meadows along the Main ; 
 the teachers generally made quite as much noise as the 
 scholars in their sports. 
 
 In the art-institute I saw the picture of " Huss before the 
 Council of Constance," by the painter Leasing. It contains 
 upward of twenty figures. The artist has shown the great- 
 est skill in the expression and grouping of these. Bishops 
 and cardinals in their splendid robes are seated around a 
 table covered with parchment folios, and before them stands 
 Huss alone. His face pale and thin with long imprison- 
 ment, he has lain one hand on his breast, while with the 
 other he has grasped one of the volumes on the table ; there 
 is an air of majesty, of heavenly serenity, on his lofty fore- 
 head and calm eye. One feels instinctively that he has 
 truth on his side. There can be no deception, no falsehood, 
 in those noble features. The three Italian cardinals before 
 him appear to be full of passionate rage ; the bishop in front, 
 who holds the imperial pass given to Huss, looks on with an 
 expression of scorn, and the priests around have an air of 
 mingled curiosity and hatred. There is one, however, in 
 whose mild features and tearful eye is expressed sympathy 
 and pity for the prisoner. It is said this picture has had 
 a great effect upon Catholics who have seen it, in softening 
 the bigotry with which they regarded the early Reformers ; 
 and if so, it is a triumphant proof how much Art can effect 
 in the cause of truth and humanity. 
 
 I was much interested in a cast of the statue of St. 
 George by the old Italian sculptor Donatello. It is a figure 
 full of youth and energy, with a countenance that seems to 
 breathe. Donatello was the teacher of Michael Angelo ; 
 and when the young sculptor was about setting off for 
 Rome, he showed him the statue, his favorite work. 
 Michael gazed at it long and intensely, and at length, on
 
 THE ESCHERNHEIM TOWER. 115 
 
 parting, said to Donatello, " It wants but one thing." The 
 artist pondered long over this expression, for he could not 
 imagine in what could fail the matchless figure. At length, 
 after many years, Michael Angelo, in the noon of his re- 
 nown, visited the death-bed of his old master. Donatello 
 begged to know before he died what was wanting to his St. 
 George. Angelo answered, " The gift of speech," and a 
 smile of triumph lighted the old man's face as he closed his 
 eyes for ever. 
 
 The Eschernheim Tower, at the entrance of one of the 
 city gates, is universally admired by strangers on account of 
 its picturesque appearance, overgrown with ivy and termi- 
 nated by the little pointed turrets which one sees so often 
 in Germany on buildings three or four centuries old. 
 There are five other watch-towers of similar form, which 
 stand on different sides of the city at the distance of a mile 
 or two, and generally upon an eminence overlooking the 
 country. They were erected several centuries ago to dis- 
 cern from afar the approach of an enemy, and protect the 
 caravans of merchants which at that time travelled from 
 city to city from the attacks of robbers. The Eschernheim 
 Tower is interesting from another circumstance which, 
 whether true or not, is universally believed. When Frank- 
 fort was under the sway of a prince, a Swiss hunter, for 
 some civil offence, was condemned to die. He begged his 
 life from the prince, who granted it only on condition that 
 he should fire the figure nine with his rifle through the 
 vane of this tower. He agreed, and did it; and at the 
 present time one can distinguish a rude nine on the vane, 
 as if cut with bullets, while two or three marks at the side 
 appear to be from shots that failed. 
 
 The promise of spring Avhich lately visited us was not 
 destined for fulfilment. Shortly afterward it grew cold 
 again, with a succession of snows and sharp northerly 
 winds. Such weather at the commencement of spring is 
 not uncommon at home ; but here they say there has not
 
 116 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 been such a winter known for one hundred and fifty years. 
 In the North of Prussia many persons have been starved 
 to death on account of provisions becoming scarce. Among 
 the Hartz, also, the suffering is very great. We saw some- 
 thing of the misery even here. It was painful to walk 
 through the streets and see so many faces bearing plainly 
 the marks of want, so many pale, hollow-eyed creatures 
 with suffering written on every feature. We were assailed 
 with petitions for help which could not be relieved, though 
 it pained and saddened the heart to deny. The women, 
 too, labor like brutes day after day. Many of them ap- 
 pear cheerful and contented, and are, no doubt, tolerably 
 happy, for the Germans have all true, warm hearts and are 
 faithful to one another as far as poverty will permit ; but 
 one cannot see old, gray-headed women carrying loads on 
 their heads as heavy as themselves, exposed to all kinds of 
 weather and working from morning till night, without pity 
 and indignation. 
 
 So unusually severe has been the weather that the deer 
 and hares in the mountains near came nearly starved and 
 tamed down by hunger into the villages to hunt food. The 
 people fed them every day, and also carried grain into the 
 fields for the partridges and pheasants, who flew up to them 
 like domestic fowls. The poor ravens made me really 
 sorry ; some lay dead in the fields and many came into the 
 city perfectly tame, flying along the Main with wings 
 hardly strong enough to bear up their skeleton bodies. 
 The storks came at the usual time, but went back again. 
 I hope the year's blessing has not departed with them, ac- 
 cording to the old German superstition. 
 
 March 26. 
 
 We have hopes of spring at last. Three days ago the 
 rain began, and has continued with little intermission till 
 now. The air is warm, the snow goes fast, and everything 
 seems to announce that the long winter is breaking up. 
 The Main rises fast and goes by the city like an arrow,
 
 FRANKFORT FAIR. 11? 
 
 whirling large masses of ice upon the banks. The hills 
 around are coming out from under the snow, and the lilac- 
 buds in the promenades begin to expand for the second 
 time. 
 
 The fair has now commenced in earnest, and it is a most 
 singular and interesting sight. The open squares are filled 
 with booths, leaving narrow streets between them, across 
 which canvas is spread. Every booth is open and filled 
 with a dazzling display of wares of all kinds. Merchants 
 assemble from all parts of Europe. The Bohemians come 
 with their gorgeous crystal ware ; the Nurembergers, with 
 their toys, quaint and fanciful as the old city itself; men 
 from the Thiiringian Forest, with minerals and canes ; and 
 traders from Berlin, Vienna, Paris and Switzerland, with 
 dry goods and wares of all kinds. Near the exchange are 
 two or three companies of Tyrolese who attract much of 
 my attention. Their costume is exceedingly picturesque. 
 The men have all splendid manly figures, and honor and 
 bravery are written on their countenances. One of the 
 girls is a really handsome mountain-maiden, and, with her 
 pointed, broad-brimmed black hat, as romantic-looking as one 
 could desire. The musicians have arrived, and we are en- 
 tertained the whole day long by wandering bands, some of 
 whom play finely. The best, which is also the favorite 
 company, is from Saxony, called " The Mountain-Boys." 
 They are now playing in our street, and while I write one 
 of the beautiful choruses from Norma comes up through 
 the din of the crowd. In fact, music is heard over the whole 
 city, and the throngs that fill every street with all sorts of 
 faces and dresses somewhat relieve the monotony that was 
 beirinnino; to make Frankfort tiresome. 
 
 We have an ever-varied and interesting scene from our 
 window. Besides the motley crowd of passers-by, there are 
 booths and tables stationed thick below. One man in par- 
 ticular is busily engaged in selling his store of blacking in 
 the auction style in a manner that would do credit to a real
 
 118 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Down-Easter. He has flaming certificates exhibited, and 
 prefaces his calls to buy with a high-sounding description 
 of its wonderful qualities. He has a bench in front, where 
 he tests it on the shoes of his customers ; or if none of 
 these are disposed to try it, he rubs it on his own, which 
 shine like mirrors. So he rattles on with amazing fluency 
 in French, German and Italian, and this, with his black 
 beard and moustache and his polite, graceful manner, keeps 
 a crowd of customers around him ; so that the wonderful 
 blacking goes off as fast as he can supply it. 
 
 April 6. 
 
 Old Winter's gates are shut close behind us, and the sun 
 looks down with his summer countenance. The air, after 
 the long cold rain, is like that of Paradise. All things are 
 gay and bright, and everybody is in motion. Spring com- 
 menced with yesterday in earnest, and, lo ! before night the 
 roads were all dry and fine as if there had been no rain for 
 a month, and the gardeners dug and planted in ground 
 which eight days before was covered with snow. 
 
 After having lived through the longest winter here for 
 one hundred and fifty years, we were destined to witness the 
 greatest flood for sixty, and little lower than any within the 
 last three hundred, years. On the 28th of March the river 
 overflooded the high pier along the Main, and, rising higher 
 and higher, began to come into the gates and alleys. Before 
 night the whole bank was covered and the water intruded 
 into some of the booths in the Romerberg. When I went 
 there the next morning, it was a sorrowful sight. Persons 
 were inside the gate with boats ; so rapidly had it risen that 
 many of the merchants had no time to move their wares, 
 and must suffer great damage. They were busy rescuing 
 what property could be seized in the haste, and construct- 
 ing passages into the houses which were surrounded. No 
 one seemed to think of buying or selling, but only on the 
 best method to escape the danger. Along the Main it was 
 still worse. From the measure, it had risen seventeen feet
 
 FLOODED OUT. 119 
 
 above its usual level, and the arches of the bridge were filled 
 nearly to the top. At the Upper-Main gate everything was 
 flooded — houses, gardens, workshops, etc. ; the water had 
 even overrun the meadows above and attacked the city from 
 behind, so that a part of the beautiful promenades lay deep 
 under water. On the other side we could see houses stand- 
 ing in it up to the roof. It came up through the sewers 
 into the middle of Frankfort. A large body of men were 
 kept at work constructing slight bridges to walk on and 
 transporting boats to places where they were needed. This 
 was all done at the expense of the city ; the greatest readi- 
 ness was everywhere manifested to render all possible assist- 
 ance. In the Fischergasse I saw them taking provisions to 
 the people in boats ; one man even fastened a loaf of bread 
 to the end of a broomstick and reached it across the narrow 
 street from an upper-story window to the neighbor opposite. 
 News came that Hausen, a village toward the Taunus, about 
 two miles distant, was quite under water, and that the peo- 
 ple clung to the roofs and cried for help ; but it was for- 
 tunately false. About noon cannon-shots were heard, and 
 twenty boats were sent out from the city. 
 
 In the afternoon I ascended the tower of the cathedral, 
 which commands a wide view of the valley, up and down. 
 Just above the city the whole plain was like a small lake 
 between two and three miles wide. A row of new-built 
 houses stretched into it like a long promontory, and in the 
 middle, like an island, stood a country-seat with large out- 
 buildings. The river sent a long arm out below, that reached 
 up through the meadows behind the city, as if to clasp it 
 all and bear it away together. A heavy storm was raging 
 along the whole extent of the Taunus, but a rainbow stood 
 in the eastern sky. I thought of its promise and hoped, for 
 the sake of the hundreds of poor people who were suffering 
 by the waters, that it^night herald their fall. 
 
 We afterward went over to Sachsenhausen, which was, if 
 possible, in a still more unfortunate condition. The water
 
 120 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 had penetrated the passages and sewers, and from these 
 leaped and rushed up into the streets as out of a fountain. 
 The houses next to the Main, which were first filled, poured 
 torrents out of the doors and windows into the street below. 
 These people were nearly all poor, and could ill afford the 
 loss of time and damage of property it occasioned them. 
 The stream was filled with wood and boards, and even whole 
 roofs with the tiles on went floating down. The bridge was 
 crowded with people ; one saw everywhere mournful coun- 
 tenances and heard lamentations over the catastrophe. 
 After sunset a great cloud filling half the sky hung above ; 
 the reflection of its glowing crimson tint, joined to the brown 
 hue of the water, made it seem like a river of fire. 
 
 What a difference a little sunshine makes! I could have 
 forgotten the season the next day but for the bare trees and 
 swelling Main as I threaded my way through the hundreds 
 of people who thronged its banks. It was that soft warmth 
 that comes with the first spring days, relaxing the body and 
 casting a dreamy hue over the mind. I leaned over the 
 bridge in the full enjoyment of it, and, listening to the roar- 
 ing of the water under the arches, forgot everything else for 
 a time. It was amusing to walk up and down the pier and 
 look at the countenances passing by, while the fantasy was 
 ever ready, weaving a tale for all. My favorite Tyrolese 
 were there, and I saw a Greek leaning over the stone balus- 
 trade wearing the red cap and white frock, and with the 
 long dark hair and fiery eye of the Orient. I could not but 
 wonder, as he looked at the dim hills of the Odenwald along 
 the eastern horizon, whether they called up in his mind the 
 purple isles of his native archipelago. 
 
 The general character of a nation is plainly stamped on 
 the countenances of its people. One who notices the faces 
 in the streets can soon distinguish by the glance he gives in 
 going by the Englishman or the Frenchman from the Ger- 
 man, and the Christian from the Jew. Not less striking is 
 the difference of expression between the Germans them-
 
 NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 121 
 
 selves, and in places where all classes of people are drawn 
 together it is interesting to observe how accurately these 
 distinctions are drawn. The hoys have generally handsome, 
 intelligent faces, and, like all boys, they are full of life and 
 spirit, for they know nothing of the laws by which their 
 country is chained down, and would not care for them if 
 they did. But, with the exception of the students — who 
 talk, at least, of liberty and right — the young men lose this 
 spirit and at last settle down into the calm, cautious, leth- 
 argic citizen. One distinguishes an Englishman, and I 
 should think an American also, in this respect, very easily; 
 the former, moreover, by a certain cold stateliness and re- 
 serve. There is something, however, about a Jew, whether 
 English or German, which marks him from all others. 
 However different their faces, there is a family character 
 which runs through the whole of them. It lays principally 
 in their high cheek-bones, prominent nose and thin, com- 
 pressed lips, which, especially in elderly men, gives a pecu- 
 liar miserly expression that is unmistakable. 
 
 I regret to say one looks almost in vain in Germany for 
 a handsome female countenance. Here and there, perhaps, 
 is a woman with regular features, but that intellectual ex- 
 pression which gives such a charm to the most common face 
 is wanting. I have seen more beautiful women in one night 
 in a public assembly in America than during the seven 
 months I have been on the Continent. Some of the young 
 Jewesses in Frankfort are considered handsome, but their 
 features soon become too strongly marked. In a public 
 walk the number of positively ugly faces is really aston- 
 ishing. 
 
 About ten o'clock that night I heard a noise of persons 
 running in the street, and, going to the Romerberg, found 
 the water had risen all at once much higher, and was still 
 rapidly increasing. People were setting up torches and 
 lengthening the rafts which had been already formed. The 
 lower part of the city was a real Venice. The streets were
 
 122 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 full of boats, and people could even row about in their own 
 houses, though it was not quite so bad as the flood in Geor- 
 gia, where they went up stairs to bed in boats. I went to 
 the bridge. Persons were calling around, " The water ! the 
 water ! It rises continually !" The river rushed through 
 the arches, foaming and dashing with a noise like thunder, 
 and the red light of the torches along the shore cast a flick- 
 ering glare on the troubled waves. It was then twenty-one 
 feet above its usual level. Men were busy all around car- 
 rying boats and ladders to the places most threatened or 
 emptying cellars into which it was penetrating. The sud- 
 den swelling was occasioned by the coming down of the 
 floods from the mountains of Spessart. 
 
 Part of the upper quay cracked next morning and threat- 
 ened to fall in, and one of the projecting piers of the bridge 
 sunk away from the main body three or four inches. In 
 Sachsenhausen the desolation occasioned by the flood is ab- 
 solutely frightful ; several houses have fallen into total ruin. 
 All business was stopped for the day ; the exchange was 
 even shut up. As the city depends almost entirely on 
 pumps for its supply of water, and these were filled with 
 the flood, we have been drinking the muddy current of the 
 Main ever since. The damage to goods is very great. The 
 fair was stopped at once, and the loss in this respect alone 
 must be several millions of florins. The water began to 
 fall on the 1st, and has now sunk about ten feet ; so that 
 most of the houses are again released, though in a bad con- 
 dition. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon, as I was sitting in my room writing, 
 I heard all at once an explosion like a cannon in the street, 
 followed by loud and continued screams. Looking out the 
 window, I saw the people rushing by with goods in their 
 arms, some wringing their hands and crying, others running 
 in all directions. Imagining that it was nothing less than 
 the tumbling down of one of the old houses, we ran down 
 and saw a store a few doors distant in flames. The windows
 
 WORK FOR THE FIREMEN. 123 
 
 were bursting and flying out, and the mingled mass of 
 smoke and red flame reached halfway across the street. We 
 learned afterward it was occasioned by the explosion of a 
 jar of naphtha, which instantly enveloped the whole room 
 in fire, the people barely escaping in time. The persons 
 who had booths near were standing still in despair while 
 the flames were beginning to touch their property. A few 
 butchers who first came up did almost everything. A fire- 
 engine arrived soon, but it was ten minutes before it began 
 to play, and by that time the flames Ave re coming out of 
 the upper stories. Then the supply of water soon failed, 
 and, though another engine came up shortly after, it was 
 some time before it could be put in order ; so that by the 
 time they got fairly to work the fire had made its way 
 nearly through the house. The water was first brought in 
 barrels drawn by horses, till some officer came and opened 
 the fire-plug. The police were busy at work seizing those 
 who came by and setting them to work, and, as the alarm 
 had drawn a great many together, they at last began to 
 effect something. All the military are obliged to be out, 
 and the officers appeared eager to use their authority while 
 they could ; for every one was ordering and commanding, 
 till all was a scene of perfect confusion and uproar. I could 
 not help laughing heartily, so ludicrous did the scene ap- 
 pear. There were little miserable engines not much bigger 
 than a hand-cart and looking as if they had not been used 
 for half a century, the horses running backward and for- 
 ward, dragging barrels which were emptied into tubs, after 
 which the water was finally dipped up in buckets and emp- 
 tied into the engines. These machines can only play into 
 the second or third story, after which the hose was taken 
 up in the houses on the opposite side of the street and made 
 to play across. After four hours the fire was overcome, the 
 house being thoroughly burnt out ; it happened to have 
 double fire-walls, which prevented those adjoining from 
 catching easily.
 
 124 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE DEAD AND THE DEAF. — MENDELSSOHN THE COM- 
 POSER. 
 
 It is now a luxury to breathe. These spring days are the 
 perfection of delightful weather. Imagine the delicious 
 temperature of our Indian summer joined to the life and 
 freshness of spring, add to this a sky of the purest azure and 
 a breeze filled with the odor of violets — the most exquisite of 
 all perfumes — and you have some idea of it. The meadows 
 are beginning to bloom, and I have already heard the larks 
 singing high up in the sky. Those sacred birds the storks 
 have returned and taken possession of their old nests on the 
 chimney-tops ; they are sometimes seen walking about in 
 the fields with a very grave and serious air, as if conscious 
 of the estimation in which they are held. Everybody is 
 out in the open air ; the woods, although they still look 
 wintry, are filled with people, and the boatmen on the Main 
 are busy ferrying gay parties across. The spring has been 
 so long in coming that all are determined to enjoy it well 
 while it lasts. 
 
 We visited the cemetery a few days ago. The dead-house, 
 where corpses are placed in the hope of resuscitation, is an 
 appendage to cemeteries found only in Germany. We were 
 shown into a narrow chamber on each side of which were 
 six cells into which one could distinctly see by means of a 
 large plate of glass. In each of these is a bier for the body, 
 directly above which hangs a cord having on the end ten 
 thimbles, which are put upon the fingers of the corpse ; so 
 that the slightest motion strikes a bell in the watchman's 
 room. Lamps are lighted at night, and in winter the rooms 
 are warmed. In the watchman's chamber stands a clock 
 with a dial-plate of twenty-four hours, and opposite every 
 hour is a little plate wdiich can only be moved two minutes
 
 MONUMENTS TO THE DEAD. 125 
 
 before it strikes. If, then, the watchman has slept or neg- 
 lected his duty at that time he cannot move it afterward, 
 and his neglect is seen by the superintendent. In such a 
 case he is severely fined, and for the second or third offence 
 dismissed. There are other rooms adjoining, containing 
 beds, baths, galvanic battery, etc. Nevertheless, they say 
 there has been no resuscitation during the fifteen years it 
 has been established. 
 
 We afterward went to the end of the cemetery to see the 
 bas-reliefs of Thorwaldsen in the vault of the Bethmann 
 family. They are three in number, representing the death 
 of a son of the present banker, Moritz von Bethmann, who 
 was drowned in the Arno about fourteen years ago. The 
 middle one represents the young man drooping in his chair, 
 the beautiful Greek Angel of Death standing at his back 
 with one arm over his shoulder, while his younger brother 
 is sustaining him and receiving the wreath that drops from 
 his sinking hand. The young woman who showed us these 
 told us of Thorwaldsen's visit to Frankfort about three 
 years ago. She described him as a beautiful and venerable 
 old man with long white locks hanging over his shoulders, 
 still vigorous and active for his years. There seems to have 
 been much resemblance between him and Dannecker — not 
 only in personal appearance and character, but in the sim- 
 ple and classical beauty of their works. 
 
 The cemetery contains many other monuments ; with the 
 exception of one or two by Launitz and an exquisite Death- 
 Angel in sandstone from a young Frankfort sculptor, they 
 are not remarkable. The common tombstone is a white 
 wooden cross ; opposite the entrance is a perfect forest of 
 them, involuntarily reminding one of a company of ghosts 
 with outstretched arms. These contain the names of the 
 deceased, with mottoes, some of which are beautiful and 
 touching ; as, for instance, " Through darkness unto light ;" 
 " Weep not for her ; she is not dead, but sleepeth ;" " Slum- 
 ber sweet !" etc. The graves are neatly bordered with grass
 
 126 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 and planted with flowers, and many of the crosses have 
 withered wreaths hanging upon them. In summer it is a 
 beautiful place ; in fact, the very name of cemetery in Ger- 
 man— friedhof, or " court of peace " — takes away the idea 
 of death ; the beautiful figure of the youth with his inverted 
 torch makes one think of the grave only as a place of re- 
 pose. 
 
 On our way back we stopped at the institute for the deaf; 
 for by the new method of teaching they are no longer dumb. 
 It is a handsome building in the gardens skirting the city. 
 We applied, and, on learning we were strangers, they gave 
 us permission to enter. On finding we were Americans, 
 the instructress immediately spoke of Dr. Howe, who had 
 visited the institute a year or two before, and was much 
 pleased to find that Mr. Dennett was acquainted with him. 
 She took us into a room where about fifteen small children 
 were assembled, and, addressing one of the girls, said in a 
 distinct tone, " These gentlemen are from America. The 
 deaf children there speak with their fingers; canst thou 
 speak so ?" To which the child answered distinctly, but 
 with some effort : " No ; we speak with our mouths." She 
 then spoke to several others with the same success ; one of 
 the boys in particular articulated with astonishing success. 
 It was interesting to watch their countenances, which were 
 alive with eager attention, and to see the apparent efforts 
 they made to utter the words. They spoke in a monotonous 
 tone, slowly and deliberately, but their voices had a strange 
 sepulchral sound which was at first unpleasant to the ear. 
 I put one or two questions to a little boy, which he answered 
 quite readily ; as I was a foreigner, this was the best test 
 that could be given of the success of the method. We con- 
 versed afterward with the director, who received us kindly 
 and appointed a day for us to come and witness the system 
 more fully. He spoke of Dr. Howe and Horace Mann of 
 Boston, and seemed to take a great interest in the introduc- 
 tion of his system in America.
 
 A DEAF SCULPTOR. 127 
 
 We went again at the appointed time, and, as their draw- 
 ing-teacher was there, we had an opportunity of looking 
 over their sketches, which were excellent. The director 
 showed us the manner of teaching them with a looking-glass 
 in which they were shown the different positions of the or- 
 gans of the mouth, and afterward made to feel the vibra- 
 tions of the throat and breast produced by the sound. He 
 took one of the youngest scholars, covered her eyes, and, 
 placing her hand upon his throat, articulated the second 
 sound of a. She followed him, making the sound softer or 
 louder as he did. All the consonants were made distinctly 
 by placing her hand before his mouth. Their exercises in 
 reading, speaking with one another, and writing from dic- 
 tation succeeded perfectly. He treated them all like his 
 own children, and sought by jesting and playing to make 
 the exercise appear as sport. They call him " father " and 
 appear to be much attached to him. 
 
 One of the pupils, about fourteen years old, interested 
 me through his history. He and his sister were found in 
 Sachsenhausen, by a Frankfort merchant, in a horrible con- 
 dition. Their mother had died about two years and a half 
 before, and during all that time their father had neglected 
 them till they were near dead through privation and filth. 
 The boy was placed in this institute, and the girl in that of 
 the orphans. He soon began to show a talent for model- 
 ling figures, and for some time he has been taking lessons 
 of the sculptor Launitz. I saw a beautiful copy of a bas- 
 relief of Thorwaldsen which he made, as well as an origi- 
 nal very interesting from its illustration of his history. It 
 was in two parts. The first represented himself and his 
 sister kneeling in misery before a ruined family-altar by 
 which an angel was standing, who took him by one hand, 
 while with the other he pointed to his benefactor, standing 
 near ; the other represented the two kneeling in gratitude 
 before a restored altar on which was the anchor of Hope. 
 From above streamed down a light where two angels were
 
 128 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 rejoicing over their happiness. For a boy of fourteen de- 
 prived of one of the most valuable senses and taken from 
 such a horrible condition of life it is a surprising work, and 
 gives brilliant hopes for his future. 
 
 We went lately into the Romerberg to see the Kaisersaal 
 and the other rooms formerly used by the old emperors of 
 Germany and their Senates. The former is now in the pro- 
 cess of restoration. The ceiling is in the gorgeous illumin- 
 ated style of the Middle Ages ; along each side are rows of 
 niches for the portraits of the emperors, which have been 
 painted by the best artists in Berlin, Dresden, Vienna and 
 Munich. It is remarkable that the number of the old 
 niches in the hall should exactly correspond with the num- 
 ber of the German emperors ; so that the portrait of the 
 emperor Francis of Austria, who was the last, will close the 
 long rank coming down from Charlemagne. The pictures — 
 or, at least, such of them as are already finished — are kept 
 in another room ; they give one a good idea of the chang- 
 ing styles of royal costumes from the steel shirt and helmet 
 to the jewelled diadem and velvet robe. I looked with in- 
 terest on a painting of Frederic Barbarossa by Lessing, and 
 mused over the popular tradition that he sits with his pala- 
 dins in a mountain-cave under the castle of Kyffhauser, 
 ready to come forth and assist his fatherland in the hour of 
 need. There was the sturdy form of Maximilian, the mar- 
 tial Conrad, and Ottos, Siegfrieds and Sigismunds in plenty, 
 many of whom moved a nation in their day, but are now 
 dust and forgotten. 
 
 I yesterday visited Mendelssohn, the celebrated composer. 
 Having heard some of his music this winter, particularly 
 that magnificent creation the Walpurgisnacht, I wished to 
 obtain his autograph before leaving, and sent a note for 
 that purpose. He sent a kind note in answer, adding a 
 chorus out of the Walpurgisnacht from his own hand. Af- 
 ter this I could not repress the desire of speaking with him. 
 He received me with true German cordiality, and on learn-
 
 MENDELSSOHN. 129 
 
 ing I was an American spoke of having been invited to at- 
 tend a musical festival in New York. He invited me to 
 call on him if he happened to be in Leipsic or Dresden 
 when we should pass through, and spoke particularly of the 
 fine music there. I have rarely seen a man whose counte- 
 nance bears so plainly the stamp of genius. He has a glo- 
 rious dark eye, and Byron's expression of a "dome of 
 thought" could never be more appropriately applied than 
 to his lofty and intellectual forehead, the marble whiteness 
 and polish of which are heightened by the raven hue of his 
 hair. He is about forty years of age, in the noon of his 
 fame and the full maturity of his genius. Already as a boy 
 of fourteen he composed an opera which was played with 
 much success at Berlin ; he is now the first living composer 
 of Germany. Moses Mendelssohn, the celebrated Jewish 
 philosopher, was his grandfather, and his father, now living, 
 is accustomed to say that in his youth he was spoken of as 
 the son of the great Mendelssohn ; now he is known as the 
 father of the great Mendelssohn. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 JOURNEY ON FOOT FROM FRANKFORT TO CASSEL. 
 
 The day for leaving Frankfort came at last, and I bade 
 adieu to the gloomy, antique, but still quaint and pleasant 
 city. I felt like leaving a second home, so much had the 
 memories of many delightful hours spent there attached me 
 to it ; I shall long retain the recollection of its dark old 
 streets, its massive devil-haunted bridge and the ponderous 
 cathedral telling of the times of the crusaders. I toiled up 
 the long hill on the road to Friedberg, and from the tower 
 at the top took a last look at the distant city with a heart 
 heavier than the knapsack whose unaccustomed weight
 
 130 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 rested uneasily on my shoulders. Being alone — starting out 
 into the wide world where as yet I knew no one — I felt 
 much deeper what it was to find friends in a strange land. 
 But such is the wanderer's lot. 
 
 We had determined on making the complete tour of Ger- 
 many on foot, and in order to vary it somewhat my friend 
 and I proposed taking different routes from Frankfort to 
 Leipsic. He choose a circuitous course by way of Nurem- 
 berg and the Thiiringian forests, while I, whose fancy had 
 been running wild with Goethe's witches, preferred looking 
 on the gloom and grandeur of the rugged Hartz. We both 
 left Frankfort on the 23d of April, each bearing a letter of 
 introduction to the same person in Leipsic, where we agreed 
 to meet in fourteen days. As we were obliged to travel as 
 cheaply as possible, I started with but seventy-nine florins 
 (a florin is forty cents American), well knowing that if I took 
 more I should in all probability spend proportionably more 
 also. Thus, armed with my passport, properly vised, a 
 knapsack weighing fifteen pounds and a cane from the Ken- 
 tucky Mammoth Cave, I began my lonely walk through 
 Northern Germany. 
 
 The warm weather of the week before had brought out 
 the foliage of the willows and other early trees ; violets and 
 cowslips were springing up in the meadows. Keeping along 
 the foot of the Taunus, I passed over great broad hills which 
 were brown with the spring ploughing, and by sunset reach- 
 ed Friedberg, a large city on the summit of a hill. The 
 next morning, after sketching its old baronial castle, I cross- 
 ed the meadows to Nauheim to see the salt springs there. 
 They are fifteen in number ; the water, which is very warm, 
 rushes up with such force as to leap several feet above the 
 earth. The buildings made for evaporation are nearly two 
 miles in length ; a walk along the top gives a delightful 
 view of the surrounding valleys. 
 
 After reaching the chaussee again, I was hailed by a wan- 
 dering journeyman — or handwerker, as they are called — »
 
 THE HANDWERKER. 131 
 
 who wanted company. As I had concluded to accept all 
 offers of this kind, we trudged along together very pleas- 
 antly. He was from Holstein, on the borders of Denmark, 
 and was just returning home after an absence of six years, 
 having escaped from Switzerland after the late battle of 
 Luzerne, which he had witnessed. He had his knapsack 
 and tools fastened on two wheels, which he drew after him 
 quite conveniently. I could not help laughing at the adroit 
 manner in which he begged his way along through every 
 village. He would ask me to go on and wait for him at the 
 other end ; after a few minutes he followed with a handful 
 of small copper money, which he said he had " fought for" 
 — the handworker's term for begged. 
 
 We passed over long ranges of hills, with an occasional 
 view of the Vogelsgebirge, or Birds' Mountains, far to the 
 east. I knew at length, by the pointed summits of the hills, 
 that we were approaching Giessen and the valley of the 
 Lahn. Finally two sharp peaks appeared in the distance, 
 each crowned with a picturesque fortress, while the spires 
 of Giessen rose from the valley below. Parting from my 
 companion, I passed through the city without stopping ; for 
 it was the time of the university vacation, and Dr. Liebig, 
 the world- renowned chemist, whom I desired to see, was 
 absent. 
 
 Crossing a hill or two, I came down into the valley of 
 the Lahn, which flows through meadows of the brightest 
 green, with red-roofed cottages nestled among gardens and or- 
 chards upon its banks. The women here wear a remarkable 
 costume consisting of a red bodice with white sleeves, and 
 a dozen skirts, one above another, reaching only to the 
 knees. I slept again at a little village among the hills, and 
 started early for Marburg. The meadows were of the pur- 
 est emerald, through which the stream wound its way with 
 even borders covered to the water's edge with grass so 
 smooth and velvety that a fairy might have danced along 
 on it for miles without stumbling over an uneven tuft.
 
 132 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 This valley is one of the finest districts in Germany. I 
 thought, as I saw the peaceful inhabitants at work in their 
 fields, I had most probably, on the battlefield of Brandy- 
 wine, walked over the bones of some of their ancestors 
 whom a despotic prince had torn from their happy homes 
 to die in a distant land fighting against the cause of free- 
 dom. 
 
 I now entered directly into the heart of Hesse-Cassel. 
 The country resembled a collection of hills thrown together 
 in confusion, sometimes a wide plain left between them, 
 sometimes a cluster of wooded peaks, and here and there a 
 single pointed summit rising above the rest. The valleys 
 were green as ever, the hillsides freshly ploughed and the 
 forests beginning to be colored by the tender foliage of the 
 larch and birch. I walked two or three hours at a stretch, 
 and then, when I could find a dry, shady bank, I would 
 rest for half an hour and finish some hastily-sketched land- 
 scape, or lay at full length with my head on my knapsack 
 and peruse the countenances of those passing by. The ob- 
 servation which every traveller excites soon ceases to be 
 embarrassing. It was at first extremely unpleasant, but I 
 am now so hardened that the strange magnetic influence of 
 the human eye, which we cannot avoid feeling, passes by 
 me as harmlessly as if turned aside by invisible mail. 
 
 During the day several showers came by, but, as none 
 of them penetrated farther than my blouse, I kept on, and 
 reached about sunset a little village in the valley. I chose 
 a small inn which had an air of neatness about it, and on 
 going in the tidy landlady's " Be you welcome !" as she 
 brought a pair of slippers for my swollen feet made me feel 
 quite at home. After being furnished with eggs, milk, 
 butter and bread for supper — which I ate while listening to 
 an animated discussion between the village schoolmaster 
 and some farmers — I was ushered into a clean, sanded bed- 
 room, and soon forgot all fatigue. For this, with breakfast 
 in the morning, the bill was six and a half groschen — about
 
 LEGENDARY HILLS. 133 
 
 sixteen cents. The air was freshened by the rain, and I 
 journeyed over the hills at a rapid rate. Stopping for din- 
 ner at the large village of Wabern, a boy at the inn asked 
 me if I was going to America. I said, " No, I came from 
 there." He then asked me many silly questions, after which 
 he ran out and told the people of the village. When I set 
 out again, the children pointed at me and cried, "See there! 
 He is from America !" and the men took off their hats and 
 bowed. 
 
 T lie sky was stormy, which added to the gloom of the 
 hills around, though some of the distant ranges lay in 
 mingled light and shade — the softest alternation of purple 
 and brown. There were many isolated rocky hills, two of 
 which interested me through their attendant legends. One 
 is said to have been the scene of a battle between the Ro- 
 mans and Germans, where after a long conflict the rock 
 opened and swallowed up the former. The other, which is 
 crowned with a rocky wall so like a ruined fortress as at a 
 distance to be universally mistaken for one, tradition Bays 
 is the death-place of Charlemagne, who still walks around 
 its summit every night clad in complete armor. On ascend- 
 ing a hill late in the afternoon, I saw at a great distance 
 the statue of Hercules which stands on the Wilhelmshohe, 
 near Cassel. Night set in with a dreary rain, and I stopped 
 at an inn about five miles short of the city. While tea was 
 preparing a company of students came in and asked for a 
 separate room. Seeing I was alone, they invited me up 
 with them. They seemed much interested in America, and, 
 leaving the table gradually, formed a ring around me, 
 where I had enough to do to talk with them all at once. 
 When the omnibus came along, the most of them went with 
 it to Cassel, but five remained and persuaded me to set out 
 with them on foot. They insisted on carrying my knapsack 
 the whole way through the rain and darkness, and when I 
 had passed the city gate with them unchallenged conducted 
 me to the comfortable hotel Zur Krone.
 
 134 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 It is a pleasant thing to wake up in the morning in a 
 strange city. Everything is new ; you walk around it for 
 the first time in the full enjoyment of the novelty, or the 
 not less agreeable feeling of surprise if it is different from 
 your anticipations. Two of my friends of the previous night 
 called for me in the morning to show me around the city, 
 and the first impression, made in such agreeable company, 
 prepossessed me very favorably. I shall not, however, take 
 up time in describing its many sights, particularly the 
 Frederick's Platz, where the statue of Frederick the Second, 
 who sold ten thousand of his subjects to England, has been 
 re-erected after having lain for years in a stable where it 
 was thrown by the French. 
 
 I was much interested in young Carl K , one of my 
 
 new acquaintances. His generous and unceasing kindness 
 first won my esteem, and I found, on nearer acquaintance, 
 the qualities of his mind equal those of his heart. I saw 
 many beautiful poems of his which were of remarkable 
 merit, considering his youth, and thought I could read in 
 his dark, dreamy eye the unconscious presentiment of a 
 power he does not yet possess. He seemed as one I had 
 known for years. 
 
 He, with a brother-student, accompanied me in the after- 
 noon to Wilhelmshbhe, the summer-residence of the prince, 
 on the side of a range of mountains three miles west of the 
 city. The road leads in a direct line to the summit of the 
 mountain, which is thirteen hundred feet in height, sur- 
 mounted by a great structure called the Giant's Castle, on 
 the summit of which is a pyramid ninety-six feet high, sup- 
 porting a statue of Hercules copied after the Farnese and 
 thirty-one feet in height. By a gradual ascent through beau- 
 tiful woods we reached the princely residence, a magnificent 
 mansion standing on a natural terrace of the mountain. 
 Near it is a little theatre built by Jerome Buonaparte in 
 which he himself used to play. We looked into the green- 
 house in passing, where the floral splendor of every zone
 
 CURIOUS WATER-WORKS. 135 
 
 was combined. There were lofty halls with glass roofs 
 where the orange grew to a great tree, and one could sit in 
 myrtle-bowers with the brilliant bloom of the tropics around 
 him. It was the only thing there I was guilty of coveting. 
 The greatest curiosity is the water-works, which are per- 
 haps unequalled in the world. The Giant's Castle, on the 
 summit, contains an immense tank in which water is kept 
 for the purpose ; but, unfortunately, at the time I was there 
 the pipes, which had been frozen through the winter, were 
 not in condition to play. From the summit an inclined 
 plane of masonry descends the mountain nine hundred feet, 
 broken every one hundred and fifty feet by perpendicular 
 descents. These are the cascades down which the water 
 first rushes from the tank. After being again collected in 
 a great basin at the bottom it passes into an aqueduct built 
 like a Roman ruin and goes over beautiful arches through 
 the forest, where it falls in one sheet down a deep precipice. 
 When it has descended several other beautiful falls made 
 in exact imitation of nature, it is finally collected, and 
 forms the great fountain, which rises twelve inches in 
 diameter from the middle of a lake to the height of one 
 hundred and ninety feet. We descended by lovely walks 
 through the forest to the Lowenburg, built as the ruin of a 
 knightly castle and fitted out in every respect to correspond 
 with descriptions of a fortress in the olden time, with moat, 
 drawbridge, chapel and garden of pyramidal trees. Far- 
 ther below are a few small houses inhabited by the de- 
 scendants of the Hessians who fell in America, supported 
 here at the prince's expense.
 
 136 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ADVENTURES AMONG THE HARTZ. 
 
 On taking leave of Carl at the gate over the Gottingen 
 road I felt tempted to bestow a malediction upon travelling, 
 from its merciless breaking of all links as soon as formed. 
 It was painful to think we should meet no more. The tears 
 started into his eyes, and, feeling a mist gathering over 
 mine, I gave his hand a parting pressure, turned my back 
 upon Cassel, and started up the long mountain at a desper- 
 ate rate. On the summit I passed out of Hesse into Han- 
 over, and began to descend the remaining six miles. The 
 road went down by many "windings, but I shortened the 
 way considerably by a footpath through a mossy old forest. 
 
 The hills bordering the Weser are covered with wood, 
 through which I saw the little red-roofed city of Miinden 
 at the bottom. I stopped there for the night, and next 
 morning walked around the place. It is one of the old 
 German cities that have not yet felt the effect of the chang- 
 ing spirit of the age. It is still walled, though the towers 
 are falling to ruin. The streets are narrow, crooked and 
 full of ugly old houses, and, to stand in the little square 
 before the public buildings, one would think himself born 
 in the sixteenth century. Just below the city the Werra 
 and Fulda unite and form the Weser. The triangular point 
 has been made into a public walk, and the little steamboat 
 was lying at anchor near, waiting to start for Bremen. 
 
 In the afternoon I got into the omnibus for Gottingen. 
 The ride over the wild, dreary, monotonous hills was not at 
 all interesting. There were two other passengers inside, 
 one of whom, a grave, elderly man, took a great interest in 
 America ; but the conversation was principally on his side, 
 for I had been taken with a fever in Miinden. I lay 
 crouched up in the corner of the vehicle, trying to keep off
 
 A MODERATE CHARGE. 137 
 
 the chills which constantly came over me and wishing only 
 for Gottingen, that I might obtain medicine and abed. We 
 reached it at last, and I got out with my knapsack and 
 walked wearily through half a dozen streets till I saw an 
 inn. But, on entering, I found it so dark and dirty and 
 unfriendly that I immediately went out again and hired the 
 first pleasant-looking boy I met to take me to a good hotel. 
 He conducted me to the first one in the city. I felt a trep- 
 idation of pocket, but my throbbing head plead more pow- 
 erfully ; so I ordered a comfortable room and a physician. 
 The host, Herr Wilhelm, sent for Professor Trefurt of the 
 university, who told me I had over-exerted myself in walk- 
 ing. He made a second call the next day, when, as he was 
 retiring, I inquired the amount of his fee. He begged to 
 be excused, and politely bowed himself out. I inquired 
 the meaning of this of Herr Wilhelm, who said it was cus- 
 tomary for travellers to leave what they chose for the phy- 
 sician, as there was no regular fee. He added, moreover, 
 that twenty groschen, or about sixty cents, was sufficient 
 for the two visits. 
 
 I stayed in Gottingen two dull, dreary, miserable days 
 without getting much better. I took but one short walk 
 through the city, in which I saw the outsides of a few old 
 churches and got a hard fall on the pavement. Thinking 
 that the cause of my illness might perhaps become its cure, 
 I resolved to go on rather than remain in the melancholy — 
 in spite of its black-eyed maidens, melancholy — Gottingen. 
 On the afternoon of the second day I took the post to Nord- 
 heim, about twelve miles distant. The Gottingen valley, 
 down which we drove, is green and beautiful, and the trees 
 seem to have come out all at once. We were not within 
 sight of the Hartz, but the mountains along the Weser were 
 visible on the left. The roads were extremely muddy from 
 the late rains ; so that I proceeded but slowly. 
 
 A blue range along the horizon told me of the Hartz as 
 I passed ; although there were some fine side-glimpses
 
 138 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 through the hills, I did not see much of them till I reached 
 Osterode, about twelve miles farther. Here the country 
 begins to assume a different aspect. The city lies in a nar- 
 row valley, and as the road goes down a steep hill toward 
 it one sees on each side many quarries of gypsum, and in 
 front the gloomy pine-mountains are piled one above an- 
 other in real Alpine style. But, alas ! the city, though it 
 looks exceedingly romantic from above, is one of the dirtiest 
 I ever saw. I stopped at Herzberg, six miles farther, for 
 the night. The scenery was very striking, and its effect 
 was much heightened by a sky full of black clouds, which 
 sent down a hail-storm as they passed over. The hills are 
 covered with pine, fir and larch. The latter tree in its first 
 foliage is most delicate and beautiful. Every bough is like 
 a long ostrich-plume ; and when one of them stands among 
 the dark pines, it seems so light and airy that the wind 
 might carry it away. Just opposite Herzberg the Hartz 
 stands in its gloomy and mysterious grandeur, and I went 
 to sleep with the pleasant thought that an hour's walk on 
 the morrow would shut me up in its deep recesses. 
 
 The next morning I entered them. The road led up a 
 narrow mountain-valley down which a stream was rushing ; 
 on all sides were magnificent forests of pine. It was glo- 
 rious to look down their long aisles, dim and silent, with a 
 floor of thick green moss. There was just room enough for 
 the road and the wild stream which wound its way zigzag 
 between the hills, affording the most beautiful mountain- 
 view along the whole route. As I ascended, the mountains 
 became rougher and wilder, and in the shady hollows were 
 still drifts of snow. Enjoying everything very much, I 
 walked on without taking notice of the road, and on reach- 
 ing a wild, rocky chasm called the Schlucht was obliged to 
 turn aside and take a footpath over a high mountain to 
 Andreasberg, a town built on a summit two thousand feet 
 above the sea. It is inhabited almost entirely by the work- 
 men in the mines.
 
 IN THE CLOUDS. 139 
 
 The way from Andreasberg to the Brocken leads along 
 the Rehberger Graben, which carry water about six miles 
 for the ore-works. After going through a thick pine-wood 
 I came out on the mountain-side, where rough crags over- 
 hung the way above, and through the tops of the trees I had 
 glimpses into the gorge below. It was scenery of the wild- 
 est character. Directly opposite rose a mountain-wall, dark 
 and stern through the gloomy sky ; far below, the little 
 stream of the Oder foamed over the rocks with a continual 
 roar, and one or two white cloud-wreaths were curling up 
 from the forests. 
 
 I followed the water-ditch around every projection of the 
 mountain, still ascending higher amid the same wild scen- 
 ery, till at length I reached the Oderteich, a great dam in 
 a kind of valley formed by some mountain-peaks on the side 
 of the Brocken. It has a breastwork of granite, very firm, 
 and furnishes a continual supply of water for the works. 
 
 It began to rain soon, and I took a footpath which went 
 winding up through the pine-wood. The storm still in- 
 creased, till everything was cloud and rain ; so I was obliged 
 to stop about five o'clock at Oderbruch, a toll-house and 
 tavern on the side of the Brocken, on the boundary between 
 Brunswick and Hanover — the second highest inhabited 
 house in the Hartz. The Brocken was invisible through 
 the storm, and the weather foreboded a difficult ascent. 
 The night was cold, but by a warm fire I let the winds howl 
 and the rain beat. "When I awoke the next morning, we 
 w r ere in clouds. They were thick on every side, hiding 
 what little view there was through the openings of the for- 
 est. After breakfast, however, they were somewhat thin- 
 ner, and I concluded to start for the Brocken. It is not 
 the usual way for travellers who ascend, being not only a 
 bad road, but difficult to find, as I soon discovered. The 
 clouds gathered around again after I set out, and I was 
 obliged to walk in a storm of mingled rain and snow. The 
 snow lay several feet deep in the forests, and the path was
 
 140 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 in many places quite drifted over. The white cloud-massea 
 were whirled past by the wind, continually enveloping me 
 and shutting out every view. During the winter the path 
 had become in many places the bed of a mountain-torrent ; 
 so that I was obliged sometimes to wade knee-deep in snow, 
 and sometimes to walk over the wet, spongy moss, crawling 
 under the long, dripping branches of the stunted pines. 
 After a long time of such dreary travelling I came to two 
 rocks, called the Stag-Horns, standing on a little peak. 
 The storm, now all snow, blew more violently than ever, 
 and the path became lost under the deep drifts. 
 
 Comforting myself with the assurance that if I could not 
 find it I could at least make my way back, I began search- 
 ing, and after some time came upon it again. Here the 
 forest ceased ; the way led on large stones over a marshy 
 ascending plain, but what was above or on either side I 
 could not see. It was solitude of the most awful kind. 
 There was nothing but the storm, which had already wet 
 me through, and the bleak gray waste of rocks. It grew 
 steeper and steeper ; I could barely trace the path by the 
 rocks, which were worn, and the snow threatened soon to 
 cover these. Added to this, although the walking and fresh 
 mountain-air had removed my illness, I was still weak from 
 the effects of it, and the consequences of a much longer ex- 
 posure to the storm were greatly to be feared. I was won- 
 dering, if the wind increased at the same rate, how much 
 longer it would be before I should be carried off, when sud- 
 denly something loomed up above me through the storm. 
 A few steps more, and I stood beside the Brocken House, 
 on the very summit of the mountain. The mariner who 
 has been floating for days on a wreck at sea could scarcely 
 be more rejoiced at a friendly sail than I was on entering 
 the low building. Two large Alpine dogs in the passage, 
 as I walked in dripping with wet, gave notice to the in- 
 mates, and I was soon ushered into a warm room, where I 
 changed my soaked garments for dry ones and sat down by
 
 THE SPECTRE OF THE BROCKEN. Ill 
 
 the fire with feelings of comfort not easily imagined. The 
 old landlord was quite surprised, on hearing the path by 
 which I came, that I found the way at all. The summit 
 was wrapped in the thickest cloud, and he gave me no hope 
 for several hours of any prospect at all ; so I sat down and 
 looked over the strangers' album. 
 
 I saw but two names from the United States — B. F. 
 Atkins of Boston, and C. A. Hay, from York, Pa. There 
 were a great many long-winded German poems — among 
 them, one by Schelling, the philosopher. Some of them 
 spoke of having seen the Spectre of the Brocken. I in- 
 quired of the landlord about the phenomenon ; he says in 
 winter it is frequently seen, in summer more seldom. The 
 cause is very simple. It is always seen at sunrise, when 
 the eastern side of the Brocken is free from clouds, and at 
 the same time the mist rises from the valley on the opposite 
 side. The shadow of everything on the Brocken is then 
 thrown in grand proportions upon the mist, and is seen sur- 
 rounded with a luminous halo. It is somewhat singular 
 that such a spectacle can be seen upon the Brocken alone, 
 but this is probably accounted for by the formation of the 
 mountain, which collects the mist at just such a distance 
 from the summit as to render the shadow visible. 
 
 Soon after dinner the storm subsided and the clouds sepa- 
 rated a little. I could see down through the rifts on the 
 plains of Brunswick, and sometimes, when they opened a 
 little more, the mountains below us to the east and the ad- 
 joining plains as far as Magdeburg. It was like looking 
 on the earth from another planet or from some point in the 
 air which had no connection with it ; our station was com- 
 pletely surrounded by clouds rolling in great masses around 
 us, now and then giving glimpses through their openings 
 of the blue plains, dotted with cities and villages, far below. 
 At one time when they were tolerably well separated I as- 
 cended the tower, fifty feet high, standing near the Brocken 
 House. The view on three sides was quite clear, and I can
 
 142 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 easily imagine what a magnificent prospect it must be in 
 fine weather. The Brocken is only about four thousand 
 feet high — nearly the same as the loftiest peak of the Cats- 
 kill — but, being the highest mountain in Northern Ger- 
 many, it commands a more extensive prospect. Imagine a 
 circle described with a radius of a hundred miles, compris- 
 ing thirty cities, two or three hundred villages and one 
 whole mountain-district. We could see Brunswick and 
 Magdeburg, and beyond them the great plain which ex- 
 tends to the North Sea in one direction and to Berlin in the 
 other, while directly below us lay the dark mountains of 
 the Hartz, with little villages in their sequestered valleys. 
 It was but a few moments I could look on this scene ; in 
 an instant the clouds swept together again and completely 
 hid it. In accordance with a custom of the mountain, one 
 of the girls made me a Brocken nosegay of heather, lichens 
 and moss. I gave her a few pfennings and stowed it away 
 carefully in a corner of my knapsack. I now began de- 
 scending the east side by a good road over fields of bare 
 rock and through large forests of pine. Two or three bare 
 brown peaks rose opposite with an air of the wildest sub- 
 limity, and in many places through the forest towered lofty 
 crags. This is the way by which Goethe brings Faust up 
 the Brocken, and the scenery is graphically described in 
 that part of the poem. 
 
 At the foot of the mountain is the little yillage of 
 Schiercke, the highest in the Hartz. Here I took a nar- 
 row path through the woods, and after following a tediously 
 long road over the hills reached Elbingerode, where I 
 spent the night, and left the next morning for Blanken- 
 burg. I happened to take the wrong road, however, and 
 went through Riibeland, a little village in the valley of the 
 Bode. There are many iron-works here, and two celebrated 
 caves, called Baumann's Hohle and Biel's Hohle. I kept 
 on through the gray, rocky hills to Huttenrode, where I 
 inquired the way to the Rosstrappe, but was directed
 
 A MAGNIFICENT SPECTACLE. 143 
 
 wrong, and after walking nearly two hours in a heavy rain 
 arrived at Ludwigshiitte, on the Bode, in one of the wild- 
 est and loneliest corners of the Hartz. I dried my wet 
 clothes at a little inn, ate a dinner of bread and milk, and, 
 learning that I was just as far from the Rosstrappe as ever 
 and that the way was impossible to find alone, I hunted up 
 a guide. 
 
 We went over the mountains through a fine old forest for 
 about two hours, and came out on the brow of a hill near 
 the end of the Hartz, with a beautiful view of the country 
 below and around. Passing the little inn, the path led 
 through thick bushes along the summit, over a narrow ledge 
 of rocks that seemed to stretch out into the air, for on 
 either side the foot of the precipice vanished in the depth 
 below. 
 
 Arrived at last at the end, I looked around me. What a 
 spectacle ! I was standing on the end of a line of precipice 
 which ran out from the mountain like a wall for several 
 hundred feet, the hills around rising up perpendicularly 
 from the gorge below, where the Bode pressed into a nar- 
 row channel foamed its way through. Sharp masses of gray 
 rock rose up in many places from the main body like pil- 
 lars, with trees clinging to the clefts, and, although the de- 
 file was near seven hundred feet deep, the summits in one 
 place were very near to one another. Near the point at 
 which I stood, which was secured by a railing, was an im- 
 pression in the rock like the hoof of a giant horse, from 
 which the place takes its name. It is very distinct and 
 perfect, and nearly two feet in length. 
 
 I went back to the little inn and sat down to rest and 
 chat a while with the talkative landlady. Notwithstanding 
 her horrible Prussian dialect, I was much amused with the 
 budget of wonders which she keeps for the information of 
 travellers. Among other things, she related to me the legend 
 of the Rosstrappe, which I give in her own words : " A 
 great many hundred years ago, when there were plenty of
 
 144 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 giants through the world, there was a certain beautiful 
 princess who was very much loved by one of them. Now, 
 although the parents of this princess were afraid of the giant 
 and wanted her to marry him, she herself hated him, be- 
 cause she was in love with a brave knight. But, you see, 
 the brave knight could do nothing against the great giant, 
 and so a day was appointed for the wedding of the princess. 
 When they were married, the giant had a great feast, and 
 he and all his servants got drunk ; so the princess mounted 
 his black horse and rode away over the mountains till she 
 reached this valley. She stood on that square rock which 
 you see there opposite to us ; and when she saw her knight 
 on this side, where we are, she danced for joy, and the rock 
 is called the Tanzplatz to this very day. But when the 
 giant found she had gone, he followed her as fast as he 
 might ; then a holy bishop who saw the princess blessed the 
 feet of her horse, and she jumped on it across to this side, 
 where his fore feet made two marks in the rock, though 
 there is only one left now. You should not laugh at this ; 
 for if there were giants then, there must have been very big 
 horses too, as one can see from the hoof-mark, and the valley 
 was narrower then than it is now. My dear man, who is 
 very old now (you see him through the bushes, there, dig- 
 ging) says it was so when he was a child, and that the old 
 people living then told him there were once four just such 
 hoof-tracks on the Tanzplatz where the horse stood before 
 he jumped over. And we cannot doubt the words of the 
 good old people, for there were many strange things then, 
 we all know, which the dear Lord does not let happen now. 
 But I must tell you, Lieber Herr, that the giant tried to 
 jump after her and fell away down into the valley, where 
 they say he lives yet in the shape of a big black dog, guard- 
 ing the crown of the princess, which fell off as she was going 
 over. But this part of the story is perhaps not true, as no- 
 body that I ever heard of has seen either the black dog or 
 the crown."
 
 BEER-SOUP. 145 
 
 After listening to similar gossip for a while, I descended 
 the mountain-side a short distance to the Biilowshohe. This 
 is a rocky shaft that shoots upward from the mountain, 
 having from its top a glorious view through the door which 
 the Bode makes in passing out of the Hartz. I could see 
 at a great distance the towers of Magdeburg, and farther 
 the vast plain stretching away like a sea toward Berlin. 
 From Thale, the village below, where the air was warmer 
 than in the Hartz and the fruit trees already in blossom, it 
 was four hours' walk to Halberstadt by a most tiresome 
 road over long ranges of hills, all ploughed and planted, 
 and extending, as far as the eye could reach, without a sin- 
 gle fence or hedge. It is pleasant to look over scenes where 
 Nature is so free and unshackled, but the people, alas ! wear 
 the fetters. The setting sun, which lighted up the old 
 Brocken and his snowy top, showed me also Halberstadt, 
 the end of my Hartz journey ; but its deceitful towers fled 
 as I approached, and I was half dead with fatigue on ar- 
 riving there. 
 
 The ghostly, dark and echoing castle of an inn (the 
 Black Eagle) where I stopped was enough to inspire a 
 lonely traveller like myself with unpleasant fancies. It 
 looked heavy and massive enough to have been a stout bar- 
 on's stronghold in some former century ; the taciturn land- 
 lord and his wife, who, with a solemn servant-girl, were the 
 only tenants, had grown into perfect keeping with its gloomy 
 character. When I groped my way under the heavy arched 
 portal into the guests' room — a large, lofty, cheerless hall — 
 all was dark, and I could barely perceive by the little light 
 which came through two deep-set windows the inmates of 
 the house sitting on opposite sides of the room. After some 
 delay, the hostess brought a light. I entreated her to bring 
 me something instantly for supper, and in half an hour she 
 placed a mixture on the table the like of which I never 
 wish to taste again. She called it beer-soup. I found on 
 examination it was beer boiled with meat and seasoned 
 10
 
 146 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 strongly with pepper and salt. My hunger disappeared, 
 and, pleading fatigue as an excuse for want of appetite, I 
 left the table. 
 
 When I was ready to retire, the landlady, who had been 
 sitting silently in a dark corner, called the solemn servant- 
 girl, who took up a dim lamp and bade me follow her to 
 the "sleeping-chamber." Taking up my knapsack and 
 staff, I stumbled down the steps into the arched gateway ; 
 before me was a long, damp, deserted court-yard across 
 which the girl took her way. I followed her with some as- 
 tonishment, imagining where the sleeping-chamber could 
 be, when she stopped at a small one-story building standing 
 alone in the yard. Opening the door with a rusty key, she 
 led me into a bare room a few feet square, opening into an- 
 other equally bare with the exception of a rough bed. 
 "Certainly," said I, " I am not to sleep here ?" — "Yes," she 
 answered ; " this is the sleeping-chamber," at the same time 
 setting down the light and disappearing. 
 
 I examined the place ; it smelt mouldy and the walls 
 were cold and damp. There had been a window at the 
 head of the bed, but it was walled up, and that at the foot 
 was also closed to within a few inches of the top. The bed 
 was coarse and dirty, and on turning down the ragged cov- 
 ers I saw with horror a dark-brown stain near the pillow 
 like that of blood. For a moment I hesitated whether to 
 steal out of the inn and seek another lodging, late as it was ; 
 at last, overcoming my fears, I threw my clothes into a 
 heap and lay down, placing my heavy staff at the head of 
 the bed. Persons passed up and down the court-yard sev- 
 eral times, the light of their lamps streaming through the 
 narrow aperture up against the ceiling, and I distinctly heard 
 voices which seemed to be near the door. Twice did I sit 
 up in bed, breathless, with my hand on the cane, in the most 
 intense anxiety ; but fatigue finally overcame suspicion, and 
 I sank into a deep sleep, from which I was gladly awakened 
 by daylight. In reality, there may have been no cause for
 
 LEIPSIC. 147 
 
 my fears — I may have wronged the lonely innkeepers by 
 them ; but certainly no place or circumstances ever seemed 
 to me more appropriate to a deed of robbery or crime. I 
 left immediately ; and when a turn in the street hid the ill- 
 omened front of the inn, I began to breathe with my usual 
 freedom. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 NOTES IN LEIPSIC AND DRESDEN. 
 
 Leipsic, May 8. 
 
 I have now been nearly two days in this wide-famed 
 city ; and the more I see of it, the better I like it. It is a 
 pleasant, friendly town, old enough to be interesting and 
 new enough to be comfortable. There is much active 
 business-life, through which it is fast increasing in size and 
 beauty. Its publishing establishments are the largest in 
 the world, and its annual fairs attended by people from all 
 parts of Europe. This is much for a city to accomplish 
 situated alone in the middle of a great plain, with no natural 
 charms of scenery or treasures of art to attract strangers. 
 The energy and enterprise of its merchants have accom- 
 plished all this, and it now stands in importance among the 
 first cities of Europe. 
 
 The bad weather obliged me to take the railroad at Hal- 
 berstadt to keep the appointment with my friend in this 
 city. I left at six for Magdeburg, and after two hours' 
 ride over a dull, tiresome plain rode along under the 
 mounds and fortifications by the side of the Elbe, and en- 
 tered the old town. It was very cold, and the streets were 
 muddy ; so I contented myself with looking at the Broad- 
 way (tier breite Weg), the cathedral and one or two curious 
 old churches, and in walking along the parapet leading to 
 the fortress, which has a view of the winding Elbe. The
 
 148 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 citadel was interesting from having been the prison in which 
 Baron Trenck was confined, whose narrative I read years 
 ago, when quite a child. 
 
 We were soon on the road to Leipsic. The way was over 
 one great uninterrupted plain — a more monotonous country, 
 even, than Belgium. Two of the passengers in the car with 
 me were much annoyed at being taken by the railway-agents 
 for Poles. Their movements were strictly watched by the 
 gens d'arme at every station we passed, and they were not 
 even allowed to sit together. At Kothen a branch-track 
 went off to Berlin. We passed by Halle without being able 
 to see anything of it or its university, and arrived here in 
 four hours after leaving Magdeburg. 
 
 On my first walk around the city, yesterday morning, I 
 passed the Augustus Platz — a broad green lawn on which 
 front the university and several other public buildings. A 
 chain of beautiful promenades encircles the city on the site 
 of its old fortifications. Following their course through 
 walks shaded by large trees and bordered with flowering 
 shrubs, I passed a small but chaste monument to Sebastian 
 Bach, the composer, which was erected almost entirely at 
 the private cost of Mendelssohn, and stands opposite the 
 building in which Bach once directed the choirs. As I was 
 standing beside it a glorious choral swelled by a hundred 
 voices came through the open windows like a tribute to the 
 genius of the great master. 
 
 Having found my friend, we went together to the Stern 
 Warte, or observatory, which gives a fine view of the country 
 around the city, and in particular the battlefield. The cas- 
 tellan who is stationed there is well acquainted with the 
 localities, and pointed out the position of the hostile armies. 
 It was one of the most bloody and hard-fought battles which 
 history records. The army of Napoleon stretched like a 
 semicircle around the southern and eastern sides of the city, 
 and the plain beyond was occupied by the allies, whose 
 forces met together here. Schwarzenberg, with his Austri-
 
 SCHILLER'S ROOM. 149 
 
 ans, came from Dresden ; Blucher, fram Halle, with the 
 emperor Alexander. Their forces amounted to three hun- 
 dred thousand, while those of Napoleon ranked at one hun- 
 dred and ninety-two thousand men. It must have been a 
 terrific scene. Four days raged the battle, and the meeting 
 of half a million of men in deadly conflict was accompanied 
 by the thunder of sixteen hundred cannon. The small 
 rivers which flow through Leipsic were swollen with blood, 
 and the vast plain was strewed with more than fifty thou- 
 sand dead. It is difficult to conceive of such slaughter 
 while looking at the quiet and tranquil landscape below. 
 It seemed more like a legend of past ages, when ignorance 
 and passion led men to murder and destroy, than an event 
 which the last half century witnessed. For the sake of hu- 
 manity it is to be hoped that the world will never see such 
 another. 
 
 There are some lovely walks around Leipsic. We went 
 yesterday afternoon with a few friends to the Rosenthal, a 
 beautiful meadow bordered by forests of the German oak, 
 very few of whose Druid trunks have been left standing. 
 There are Swiss cottages embowered in the foliage where 
 every afternoon the social citizens assemble to drink their 
 coffee and enjoy a few hours' escape from the noisy and 
 dusty streets. One can walk for miles along these lovely 
 paths by the side of the velvet meadows or the banks of 
 some shaded stream. We visited the little village of Golis, 
 a short distance off, where, in the second story of a little 
 white house, hangs the sign, "Schiller's Room." Some of 
 the Leipsic literati have built a stone arch over the entrance, 
 with the inscription above: "Here dwelt Schiller in 1795, 
 and wrote his Hymn to Joy." Everywhere through Ger- 
 many the remembrances of Schiller are sacred. In every 
 city where he lived they show his dwelling. They know 
 and reverence the mighty spirit who has been among them. 
 The little room where he conceived that sublime poem is 
 hallowed as if by the presence of unseen spirits.
 
 150 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 I was anxious to see the spot where Poniatowsky fell. 
 We returned over the plain to the city, and passed in at 
 the gate by which the Cossacks entered, pursuing the flying 
 French. Crossing the lower part, we came to the little 
 river Elster, in whose waves the gallant prince sank. The 
 stone bridge by which we crossed was blown up by the 
 French to cut off pursuit. Napoleon had given orders that 
 it should not be blown up till the Poles had all passed over, 
 as the river, though narrow, is quite deep and the banks 
 are steep. Nevertheless, his officers did not wait, and the 
 Poles, thus exposed to the fire of the enemy, were obliged 
 to plunge into the stream to join the French army, which 
 had begun the retreat toward Frankfort. Poniatowsky, 
 severely wounded, made his way through a garden near, 
 and escaped on horseback into the water. He became en- 
 tangled among the fugitives, and sank. By walking a lit- 
 tle distance along the road toward Frankfort we could see 
 the spot where his body was taken out of the river ; it is 
 now marked by a square stone covered with the names of 
 his countrymen who have visited it. We returned through 
 the narrow arched way by which Napoleon fled when the 
 battle was lost. 
 
 Another interesting place in Leipsic is Auerbach's Cel- 
 lar, which, it is said, contains an old manuscript history of 
 Faust from which Goethe derived the first idea of his poem. 
 He used to frequent this cellar, and one of his scenes in 
 Faust is laid in it. We looked down the arched passage ; 
 not wishing to purchase any wine, we could find no pre- 
 tence for entering. The streets are full of book-stores, and 
 one-half the business of the inhabitants appears to consist 
 in printing, paper-making and binding. The publishers 
 have a handsome exchange of their own, and during the 
 fairs the amount of business transacted is enormous. The 
 establishment of Brockhaus is contained in an immense 
 building, adjoining which stands his dwelling, in the midst 
 of magnificent gardens. That of Tauchnitz is not less
 
 DRESDEN 151 
 
 celebrated ; his editions of the classics in particular are the 
 best that have ever been made, and he has lately com- 
 menced publishing a number of English works in a cheap 
 form. Otto Wigand, who has also a large establishment, 
 has begun to issue translations of American works ; he has 
 already published Prescott and Bancroft, and, I believe, in- 
 tends giving out shortly translations from some of our poets 
 and novelists. I became acquainted at the museum with a 
 young German author who had been some time in America 
 and was well versed in our literature. He is now engaged 
 in translating American works, one of which — Hoffman's 
 Wild Scenes of the Forest and Prairie — will soon appear. 
 In no place in Germany have I found more knowledge of 
 our country, her men aud her institutions than in Leipsic, 
 and as yet I have seen few that would be preferable as a 
 place of residence. Its attractions lie, not in its scenery, 
 but in the social and intellectual character of its inhabit- 
 ants. 
 
 May 11. 
 
 At last in this " Florence of the Elbe," as the Saxons 
 have christened it ! Exclusive of its glorious galleries of 
 art, which are scarcely surpassed by any in Europe, Dres- 
 den charms one by the natural beauty of its environs. It 
 stands in a curve of the Elbe, in the midst of green mead- 
 ows, gardens and fine old woods, with the hills of Saxony 
 sweeping around like an amphitheatre and the craggy peaks 
 of the highlands looking at it from afar. The domes and 
 spires at a distance give it a rich Italian look, which is 
 heightened by the white villas embowered in trees gleaming 
 on the hills around. In the streets there is no bustle of busi- 
 ness — nothing of the din and confusion of traffic which 
 mark most cities ; it seems like a place for study and 
 quiet enjoyment. 
 
 The railroad brought us in three hours from Leipsic over 
 the eighty miles of plain that intervene. We came from 
 the station through the Neustadt, passing the Japanese pal-
 
 152 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 ace and the equestrian statue of Augustus the Strong. The 
 magnificent bridge over the Elbe was so much injured by 
 the late inundation as to be impassable ; we were obliged to 
 go some distance up the river-bank and cross on a bridge 
 of boats. Next morning my first search was for the picture- 
 gallery. We set off at random, and after passing the church 
 of Our Lady, with its lofty dome of solid stone, which with- 
 stood the heaviest bombs during the war with Frederick 
 the Great, came to an open square one side of which was 
 occupied by an old brown, red-roofed building which I at 
 once recognized from pictures as the object of our search. 
 I have just taken a last look at the gallery this morning, 
 and left it with real regret ; for during the two visits Ra- 
 phael's heavenly picture of the Madonna and Child had so 
 grown into my love and admiration that it was painful to think 
 I should never see it again. There are many more which 
 clung so strongly to my imagination, gratifying in the 
 highest degree the love for the Beautiful, that I left them 
 with sadness and the thought that I would now only have 
 the memory. I can see the inspired eye and godlike brow 
 of the Jesus-child as if I were still standing before the pic- 
 ture, and the sweet, holy countenance of the Madonna still 
 looks upon me. Yet, though this picture is a miracle of 
 art, the first glance filled me with disappointment. It has 
 somewhat faded during the three hundred years that have 
 rolled away since the hand of Raphael worked on the can- 
 vas, and the glass with which it is covered for better pres- 
 ervation injures the effect. After I had gazed on it a while, 
 every thought of this vanished. The figure of the Virgin 
 seemed to soar in the air, and it was difficult to think the 
 clouds were not in motion. An aerial lightness clothes her 
 form, and it is perfectly natural for such a figure to stand 
 among the clouds. Two divine cherubs look up from below, 
 and in her arms sits the sacred Child. Those two faces beam 
 from the picture like those of angels. The mild, prophetic 
 eye and lofty brow of the young Jesus chains one like a
 
 HAGAE AND ISIIMAEL. 153 
 
 spell. There is something more tlian mortal in its expres- 
 sion—something in the infant face which indicates a power 
 mightier than the proudest manhood. There is no glory- 
 around the head, but the spirit which shines from those 
 features marks his divinity. In the sweet face of the moth- 
 er there speaks a sorrowful foreboding mixed with its tender- 
 ness, as if she knew the world into which the Saviour was 
 born and foresaw the path in which he was to tread. It is 
 a picture which one can scarce look upon without tears. 
 
 There are in the same room six pictures by Correggio 
 which are said to be among his best works — one of them, 
 his celebrated Magdalen. There is also Correggio's " Holy 
 Night," or the Virgin with the shepherds in the manger, in 
 which all the light comes from the body of the Child. The 
 surprise of the shepherds is most beautifully expressed. In 
 one of the halls there is a picture by Van der Werff in 
 which the touching story of Hagar is told more feelingly 
 than words could do it. The young Ishmael is represented 
 full of grief at parting with Isaac, who, in childish uncon- 
 sciousness of what has taken place, draws in sport the cor- 
 ner of his mother's mantle around him and smiles at the 
 tears of his lost playmate. Nothing can come nearer real 
 flesh and blood than the two portraits of Raphael Mengs, 
 painted by himself when quite young. You almost think 
 the artist has in sport crept behind the frame and wishes to 
 make you believe he is a picture. It would be impossible 
 to speak of half the gems of art contained in this unrivalled 
 collection. There are twelve large halls, containing in all 
 nearly two thousand pictures. 
 
 The plain south of Dresden was the scene of the hard- 
 fought battle between Napoleon and the allied armies in 
 1813. On the heights above the little village of Racknitz, 
 Moreau was shot on the second day of the battle. We took 
 a footpath through the meadows, shaded by cherry trees in 
 bloom, and reached the spot after an hour's walk. The 
 monument is simple — a square block of granite surmount-
 
 154 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 ed by a helmet and sword, with the inscription, "The hero 
 Moreau fell here by the side of Alexander, August 17, 
 1813." I gathered as a memorial a few leaves of the oak 
 which shades it. 
 
 By applying an hour before the appointed time, we ob- 
 tained admission to the royal library. It contains three 
 hundred thousand volumes — among them, the most com- 
 plete collection of historical works in existence. Each hall 
 is devoted to a history of a separate country, and one large 
 room is filled with that of Saxony alone. There is a large 
 number of rare and curious manuscripts, among which are 
 old Greek works of the seventh and eighth centuries, a 
 Koran which once belonged to the sultan Bajazet, the hand- 
 writing of Luther and Melanchthon, a manuscript volume 
 with pen-and-ink sketches by Albert Durer, and the earliest 
 works after the invention of printing. Among these latter 
 was a book published by Faust and Schaeffer, at Mayence, 
 in 1457. There were also Mexican manuscripts written on 
 the aloe leaf, and many illuminated monkish volumes of 
 the Middle Ages. 
 
 We were fortunate in seeing the Grune Gewolbe, or Green 
 Gallery, a collection of jewels and costly articles unsurpassed 
 in Europe. The entrance is only granted to six persons at 
 a time, who pay a fee of two thalers. The customary way 
 is to employ a lohnbedienter, who goes around from one hotel 
 to another till he has collected the number, when he brings 
 them together and conducts them to the person in the pal- 
 ace who has charge of the treasures. As our visit happened 
 to be during the Pentecost holidays, when everybody in 
 Dresden goes to the mountains, there was some difficulty in 
 effecting this ; but after two mornings spent in hunting up 
 curious travellers, the servant finally conducted us in tri- 
 umph to the palace. The first hall into which we were 
 ushered contained works in bronze. They were all small, 
 and chosen with regard to their artistical value. Some by 
 John of Bologna were exceedingly fine, as was also a group
 
 THE "SPANISH DWARF." 155 
 
 in iron cut out of a single block, perhaps the only successful 
 attempt in this branch. The next room contained statues, 
 and vases covered with reliefs in ivory. The most remarkable 
 work was the fall of Lucifer and his angels, containing ninety- 
 two figures in all, carved out of a single piece of ivory six- 
 teen inches high. It was the work of an Italian monk, and 
 cost him many years of hard labor. There were two tables 
 of mosaic-work that would not be out of place in the fabled 
 halls of the Eastern genii, so much did they exceed my for- 
 mer ideas of human skill. The tops were of jasper, and 
 each had a border of fruit and flowers in which every color 
 was represented by some precious stone, all with the utmost 
 delicacy and truth to nature. It is impossible to conceive 
 the splendid effect it produced. Besides some fine pictures 
 on gold by Raphael Mengs, there was a Madonna, the lar- 
 gest specimen of enamel-painting in existence. 
 
 However costly the contents of these halls, they were only 
 an introduction to those which followed. Each one ex- 
 ceeded the other in splendor and costliness. The walls were 
 covered to the ceiling with rows of goblets, vases, etc., of 
 polished jasper, agate, and lapis lazuli. Splendid mosaic 
 tables stood around with caskets of the most exquisite silver 
 and gold work upon them, and vessels of solid silver, some 
 of them weighing six hundred pounds, were placed at the 
 foot of the columns. We were shown two goblets, each 
 prized at six thousand thalers, made of gold and precious 
 stones ; also the great pearl called the " Spanish Dwarf," 
 nearly as large as a pullet's egg, globes and vases cut en- 
 tirely out of the mountain-crystal, magnificent Nuremberg 
 watches and clocks, and a great number of figures made in- 
 geniously of rough pearls and diamonds. The officer showed 
 us a hen's egg of silver. There was apparently nothing re- 
 markable about it, but by unscrewing it came apart and 
 disclosed the yelk of gold. This again opened, and a golden 
 chicken was seen ; by touching a spring a little diamond 
 crown came from the inside, and, the crown being again
 
 156 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 taken apart, out dropped a valuable diamond ring. The 
 seventh hall contains the coronation-robes of Augustus II. 
 of Poland and many costly specimens of carving in wood. 
 A cherry-stone is shown in a glass case which has one hun- 
 dred and twenty-five faces, all perfectly finished, carved 
 upon it. 
 
 The next room we entered sent back a glare of splendor 
 that perfectly dazzled us ; it was all gold, diamond, ruby, and 
 sapphire. Every case sent out such a glow and glitter that 
 it seemed like a cage of imprisoned lightnings. Wherever 
 the eye turned it was met by a blaze of broken rainbows. 
 They were there by hundreds, and every gem was a for- 
 tune — whole cases of swords with hilts and scabbards of 
 solid gold studded with gems, the great two-handed corona- 
 tion sword of the German emperors, daggers covered with 
 brilliants and rubies, diamond buttons, chains, and orders, 
 necklaces and bracelets of pearl and emerald, and the order 
 of the Golden Fleece made in gems of every kind. We 
 were also shown the largest known onyx, nearly seven inches 
 long and four inches broad. One of the most remarkable 
 works is the throne and court of Aurungzebe, the Indian 
 king, by Dinglinger, a celebrated goldsmith of the last cen- 
 tury. It contains one hundred and thirty-two figures, all 
 of enamelled gold and each one most perfectly and elabo- 
 rately finished. It was purchased by Prince Augustus for 
 fifty-eight thousand thalers,* which was not a high sum, 
 considering that the making of it occupied Dinglinger and 
 thirteen workmen for seven years. 
 
 It is almost impossible to estimate the value of the treas- 
 ures these halls contain. That of the gold and jewels alone 
 must be many millions of dollars, and the amount of labor 
 expended on these toys of royalty is incredible. As monu- 
 ments of patient and untiring toil they are interesting, but 
 it is sad to think how much labor and skill and energy 
 have been wasted in producing things which are useless to 
 * A Prussian or Saxon thaler is about seventy cents.
 
 THE SAXON SWITZERLAND. 157 
 
 the world and only of secondary importance as works of 
 art. Perhaps, however, if men could be diverted by such 
 playthings from more dangerous games, it would be all 
 the better. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 RAMBLES IN THE SAXON SWITZERLAND. 
 
 After four days' sojourn in Dresden, we shouldered our 
 knapsacks, not to be laid down again till we reached Prague. 
 AVe were elated with the prospect of getting among the 
 hills again, and we heeded not the frequent showers which 
 had dampened the enjoyment of the Pentecost holidays 
 to the good citizens of Dresden, and might spoil our own. 
 So we trudged gayly along the road to Pillnitz and waved 
 an adieu to the domes behind us as the forest shut them out 
 from view. 
 
 After two hours' walk the road led down to the Elbe, 
 where we crossed in a ferry-boat to Pillnitz, the seat of 
 a handsome palace and gardens belonging to the king of 
 Saxony. He happened to be there at the time, on an 
 afternoon excursion from Dresden ; as we had seen him 
 before in the latter place, we passed directly on, only 
 pausing to admire the flower-beds in the palace-court. 
 The king is a tall, benevolent-looking man, and is appar- 
 ently much liked by his people. 
 
 As far as I have yet seen, Saxony is a prosperous and 
 happy country. The people are noted all over Germany 
 for their honest social character, which is written on their 
 cheerful, open countenances. On our entrance into the 
 Saxon Switzerland at Pillnitz we were delighted with the 
 neatness and homelike appearance of everything. Every- 
 body greeted us ; if we asked for information, they gave
 
 158 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 it cheerfully. The villages were all pleasant and clean 
 and the meadows fresh and blooming. I felt half tempted 
 to say, in the words of an old ballad which I believe Long- 
 fellow has translated : 
 
 " The fairest kingdom on this earth, 
 It is the Saxon land." 
 
 Going along the left bank of the Elbe, we passed over 
 meadows purple with the tricolored violet which we have 
 at home in gardens, and every little bank was bright with 
 cowslips. At length the path led down into a cleft or ra- 
 vine filled with trees whose tops were on a level with the 
 country around. This is a peculiar feature of Saxon scen- 
 ery. The country contains many of these clefts, some of 
 which are several hundred feet deep, having walls of per- 
 pendicular rock in whose crevices the mountain-pine roots 
 itself and grows to a tolerable height without any apparent 
 soil to keep it alive. We descended by a footpath into this 
 ravine, called the Liebethaler Grund. It is wider than 
 many of the others, having room enough for a considerable 
 stream and several mills. The sides are of sandstone rock 
 quite perpendicular. As we proceeded it grew narrower 
 and deeper, while the trees covering its sides and edges 
 nearly shut out the sky. An hour's walk brought us to 
 the end, where we ascended gradually to the upper level 
 
 again. 
 
 After passing the night at the little village of Uttewalde, 
 a short distance farther, we set out early in the morning for 
 the Bastei, a lofty precipice on the Elbe. The way led us 
 directly through the Uttewalder Grund, the most remark- 
 able of all these chasms. We went down by steps into its 
 depths, which in the early morning were very cold. Water 
 dripped from the rocks, which, but a few feet apart, rose far 
 above us, and a little rill made its way along the bottom, 
 into which the sun has never shone. Heavy masses of rock 
 which had tumbled down from the sides lay in the way, and
 
 SAXON SCENERY. 159 
 
 tall pine trees sprung from every cleft. In one place the 
 defile is only four feet wide, and a large mass of rock fallen 
 from above has lodged near the bottom, making an arch 
 across, under which the traveller has to creep. After going 
 under two or three arches of this kind the defile widened, 
 and an arrow cut upon a rock directed us to a side-path 
 which branched oft" from this into a mountain. Here the 
 stone masses immediately assumed another form. They 
 projected out like shelves, sometimes as much as twenty feet 
 from the straight side, and hung over the way, looking as 
 if they might break off" every moment. I felt glad when 
 we had passed under them. Then, as we ascended higher, 
 we saw pillars of rock separated entirely from the side and 
 rising a hundred feet in height, with trees growing on their 
 summits. They stood there gray and time-worn, like the 
 ruins of a Titan temple. 
 
 The path finally led us out into the forest and through 
 the clustering pine trees to the summit of the Bastei. An 
 inn has been erected in the woods and an iron balustrade 
 placed around the rock. Protected by this, we advanced 
 to the end of the precipice and looked down to the swift 
 Elbe, more than seven hundred feet below. Opposite 
 through the blue mists of morning rose Konigstein, crowned 
 with an impregnable fortress, and the crags of Lilienstein, 
 with a fine forest around their base, frowned from the left 
 bank. On both sides were horrible precipices of gray rock 
 with rugged trees hanging from the crevices. A hill rising 
 up from one side of the Bastei terminates suddenly a short 
 distance from it in an abrupt precipice. In the intervening 
 space stand three or four of these rock-columns, several 
 hundred feet high, with their tops nearly on a level with 
 the Bastei. A wooden bridge has been made across from 
 one to the other, over which the traveller passes, looking on 
 the trees and rocks far below him, to the mountain, where 
 a steep zigzag path takes him to the Elbe below. 
 
 We crossed the Elbe — for the fourth time — at the foot
 
 160 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of the Bastei, and walked along its right bank toward K6- 
 nigstein. The injury caused by the inundation was every- 
 where apparent. The receding flood had left a deposit 
 of sand, in many places several feet deep, on the rich 
 meadows ; so that the labor of years will be requisite to re- 
 move it and restore the land to an arable condition. Even 
 the farmhouses on the hillside, some distance from the river, 
 had been reached, and the long grass hung in the highest 
 branches of the fruit trees. The people were at work try- 
 ing to repair their injuries, but it will fall heavily upon the 
 poorer classes. 
 
 The mountain of Konigstein is twelve hundred feet high. 
 A precipice varying from one to three hundred feet in 
 height runs entirely around the summit, which is flat and a 
 mile and a half in circumference. This has been turned 
 into a fortress whose natural advantages make it entirely 
 impregnable. During the Thirty Years' War and the late 
 war with Napoleon it was the only place in Saxony unoc- 
 cupied by the enemy. Hence is it used as a depository for 
 the archives and royal treasures in times of clanger. By 
 giving up our passports at the door we received permission 
 to enter ; the officer called a guide to take us around the 
 battlements. There is quite a little village on the summit, 
 with gardens, fields and a wood of considerable size. The 
 only entrance is by a road cut through the rock, which is 
 strongly guarded. A well seven hundred feet deep supplies 
 the fortress with water, and there are storehouses sufficient 
 to hold supplies for many years. The view from the ram- 
 parts is glorious : it takes in the whole of the Saxon High- 
 lands as far as the lofty Schneeberg, in Bohemia. On the other 
 side the eye follows the windings of the Elbe as far as the 
 spires of Dresden. Lilienstein, a mountain of exactly sim- 
 ilar formation, but somewhat higher, stands directly opposite. 
 On walking around, the guide pointed out a little square 
 tower standing on the brink of a precipice, with a ledge 
 about two feet wide running around it just below the win-
 
 AN OUTBURST OF PATRIOTISM. lbT 
 
 dows. He said during the reign of Augustus the Strong 
 a baron attached to his court rose in his sleep after a night 
 of revelry, and, stepping out the window, stretched himself 
 at full length along the ledge. A guard fortunately ob- 
 served his situation and informed Augustus of it, who had 
 him bound and secured with cords and then awakened by 
 music. It was a good lesson, and one which, no doubt, 
 sobered him for the future. 
 
 Passing through the little city of Konigstein, we walked 
 on to Schandau, the capital of the Saxon Switzerland, situ- 
 ated on the left bank. It had sustained great damage 
 from the flood, the whole place having been literally under 
 water. Here we turned up a narrow valley which led to 
 the Kuhstall, some eight miles distant. The sides, as usual, 
 were of steej) gray rock, but wide enough apart to give 
 room to some lovely meadows, with here and there a rustic 
 cottage. The mountain-maidens in their bright-red dresses, 
 with a fanciful scarf bound around the head, made a ro- 
 mantic addition to the scene. There were some quiet se- 
 cluded nooks where the light of day stole in dimly through 
 the thick foliage above and the wild stream rushed less 
 boisterously over the rocks. We sat down to rest in one of 
 these cool retreats and made the glen ring with a cheer for 
 America. The echoes repeated the name as if they had 
 heard it for the first time, and I gave them a strict injunc- 
 tion to give it back to the next countryman who should 
 pass by. 
 
 As we advanced farther into the hills the way became 
 darker and wilder. We heard the sound of falling water 
 in a little dell on one side, and, going nearer, saw a pic- 
 turesque fall of about fifteen feet. Great masses of black 
 rock were piled together, over which the mountain-stream 
 fell in a snowy sheet. The pines above and around grew 
 so thick and close that not a sunbeam could enter, and a 
 kind of mysterious twilight pervaded the spot. In Greece 
 it would have been chosen for an oracle. I have seen 
 11
 
 162 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 somewhere a picture of the Spirit of Poetry sitting beside 
 just such a cataract, and truly the nymph could choose no 
 more appropriate dwelling. But alas for sentiment! 
 While we were admiring its picturesque beauty we did not 
 notice a man who came from a hut near by and went up 
 behind the rocks. All at once there was a roar of water, 
 and a real torrent came pouring down. I looked up, and, 
 lo ! there he stood with a gate in his hand which had held 
 the water imprisoned, looking down at us to observe the 
 effect. I motioned him to shut it up again, and he ran 
 down to us lest he should lose his fee for the " sight." 
 
 Our road now left the valley and ascended through a 
 forest to the Kuhstall, which we came upon at once. It is a 
 remarkable natural arch through a rocky wall or rampart 
 one hundred and fifty feet thick. Going through, we came 
 at the other end to the edge of a very deep precipice, while 
 the rock towered precipitously far above. Below lay a 
 deep circular valley two miles in diameter and surrounded 
 on every side by ranges of crags such as we saw on the 
 Bastei. It was entirely covered with a pine-forest, and 
 there only appeared to be two or three narrow defiles 
 which gave it a communication with the world. The top 
 of the Kuhstall can be reached by a path which runs up 
 through a split in the rock directly to the summit. It is 
 just wide enough for one person to squeeze himself through ; 
 pieces of wood have been fastened in as steps, and the 
 rocks in many places close completely above. The place 
 derives its name from having been used by the mountain- 
 eers as a hiding-place for their cattle in time of war. 
 
 Next morning we descended by another crevice in the 
 rock to the lonely valley, which we crossed, and climbed 
 the Little Winterberg, on the opposite side. There is a 
 wide and rugged view from a little tower on a precipitous 
 rock near the summit, erected to commemorate the escape 
 of Prince Augustus of Saxony, who, being pursued by a 
 mad stag, rescued himself on the very brink by a lucky
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SAXONY. 163 
 
 blow. Among the many wild valleys that lay between the 
 hills, we saw scarcely one without the peculiar rocky for- 
 mation which gives to Saxon scenery its most interesting 
 character. They resemble the remains of some mighty 
 work of art rather than one of the thousand varied forms 
 in which Nature delights to clothe herself. 
 
 The Great Winterberg, which is reached by another hour's 
 walk along an elevated ridge, is the highest of the mountains, 
 celebrated for the grand view from its summit. We found 
 the handsome Swiss hotel recently built there full of tour- 
 ists who had come to enjoy the scene, but the morning 
 clouds hid everything. We ascended the tower, and, look- 
 ing between them as they rolled by, caught glimpses of the 
 broad landscape below. The Giant's Mountains, in Silesia, 
 were hidden by the mist, but sometimes, when the wind 
 freshened, we could see beyond the Elbe into Bohemian 
 Switzerland, where the long Schneeberg rose conspicuous 
 above the smaller mountains. Leaving the other travellers 
 to wait at their leisure for clearer weather, we set off for the 
 Prebischthor in company with two or three students from 
 the polytechnic school in Dresden. An hour's walk over 
 high hills whose forest-clothing had been swept off by fire a 
 few years before brought us to it. 
 
 The Prebischthor is a natural arch, ninety feet high, in a 
 wall of rock which projects at right angles from the pre- 
 cipitous side of the mountain. A narrow path leads over 
 the top of the arch to the end of the rock, where, protected 
 by a railing, the traveller seems to hang in the air. The 
 valley is far below him, mountains rise up on either side, 
 and only the narrow bridge connects him with the earth. 
 We descended by a wooden staircase to the bottom of the 
 arch, near which a rustic inn is built against the rock, and 
 thence into the valley below, which we followed through 
 rude and lonely scenery to Hirnischkretschen (!), on the 
 Elbe. 
 
 Crossing the river again — for the sixth, and last, time — ■
 
 164 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 we followed the right bank to Neidergrund, the first Aus- 
 trian village. Here our passports were vised for Prague, 
 and we were allowed to proceed without any examination 
 of baggage. I noticed a manifest change in our fellow- 
 travellers the moment we crossed the border. They appear- 
 ed anxious and careful. If we happened to speak of the 
 state of the country, they always looked around to see if 
 anybody was near, and if we even passed a workman on the 
 road quickly changed to some other subject. They spoke 
 much of the jealous strictness of the government, and, from 
 what I heard from Austrians themselves, there may have 
 been ground for their cautiousness. 
 
 We walked seven or eight miles along the bank of the 
 Elbe to Tetschen, there left our companions and took the 
 road to Teplitz. The scenery was very picturesque ; it must 
 be delightful to float down the swift current in a boat, as 
 we saw several merry companies do. The river is just small 
 enough and the banks near enough together to render such 
 a mode of travelling delightful, and the strength of the cur- 
 rent would carry one to Dresden in a day. 
 
 I was pleasantly disappointed on entering Bohemia. In- 
 stead of a dull, uninteresting country, as I expected, it is a 
 land full of the most lovely scenery. There is everything 
 which can gratify the eye — high blue mountains, valleys of 
 the sweetest pastoral look and romantic old ruins. The very 
 name of Bohemia is associated with wild and wonderful 
 legends of the rude barbaric ages. Even the chivalric tales 
 of the feudal times of Germany grow tame beside these 
 earlier and darker histories. The fallen fortresses of the 
 Rhine or the robber-castles of the Odenwald had not for 
 me so exciting an interest as the shapeless ruins cumbering 
 these lonely mountains. The civilized Saxon race was left 
 behind ; I saw around me the features and heard the lan- 
 guage of one of those rude Sclavonic tribes whose original 
 home was on the vast steppes of Central Asia. I have 
 rarely enjoyed travelling more than our first two days' jour-
 
 KULM AND TEPLITZ. 165 
 
 ney toward Prague. The range of the Erzgebirge ran along 
 on our right ; the snow still lay in patches upon it, but the 
 valleys between, with their little clusters of white cottages, 
 were green and beautiful. About six miles before reaching 
 Teplitz we passed Kulm, the great battlefield which in a 
 measure decided the fate of Napoleon. He sent Van- 
 damme with forty thousand men to attack the allies before 
 they could unite their forces, and thus effect their complete 
 destruction. Only the almost despairing bravery of the 
 Russian guards under Ostermann, who held him in check 
 till the allied troops united, prevented Napoleon's design. 
 At the junction of the roads, where the fighting was hottest, 
 the Austrians have erected a monument to one of their gen- 
 erals. Not far from it is that of Prussia, simple and taste- 
 ful. A woody hill near, with the little village of Kulm at 
 its foot, was the station occupied by Vandamme at the com- 
 mencement of the battle. There is now a beautiful chapel 
 on its summit which can be seen far and wide. A little 
 distance farther the emperor of Russia has erected a third 
 monument, to the memory of the Russians who fell. Four 
 lions rest on the base of the pedestal, and on the top of the 
 shaft, forty-five feet high, Victory is represented as engrav- 
 ing the date.. "Aug. 30, 1813," on a shield. The dark pine- 
 covered mountains on the right overlook the whole field 
 and the valley of Teplitz ; Napoleon rode along their crests 
 several days after the battle to witness the scene of his 
 defeat. 
 
 Teplitz lies in a lovely valley, several miles wide, bounded 
 by the Bohemian mountains on one side and the Erzgebirge 
 on the other. One straggling peak near is crowned with a 
 picturesque ruin, at whose foot the spacious bath-buildings 
 lie half hidden in foliage. As we went down the principal 
 street I noticed nearly every house was a hotel ; we learned 
 afterward that in summer the usual average of visitors is 
 five thousand. The waters resemble those of the celebrated 
 Carlsbad ; they are warm and particularly efficacious in
 
 166 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 rheumatism and diseases of like character. After leaving 
 Teplitz the road turned to the east, toward a lofty moun- 
 tain which we had seen the morning before. The peasants, 
 as they passed by, saluted us with " Christ greet you !" 
 
 We stopped for the night at the foot of the peak called 
 the Milleschauer, and must have ascended nearly two thou- 
 sand feet, for we had a wide view the next morning, al- 
 though the mists and clouds hid the half of it. The weather 
 being so unfavorable, we concluded not to ascend, and, tak- 
 ing leave of the Jena student who came there for that pur- 
 pose, descended through green fields and orchards snowy 
 with blossoms to Lobositz, on the Elbe. Here we reached 
 the plains again, where everything wore the luxuriance of 
 summer ; it was a pleasant change from the dark and rough 
 scenery we left. 
 
 The road passed through Theresienstadt, the fortress of 
 Northern Bohemia. The little city is surrounded by a dou- 
 ble wall and moat which can be filled with water, render- 
 ing it almost impossible to be taken. In the morning we 
 were ferried over the Moldau, and after journeying nearly 
 all day across barren, elevated plains saw, late in the after- 
 noon, the sixty-seven spires of Prague below us. The dark 
 clouds which hung over the hills gave us little time to look 
 upon the singular scene, and we were soon comfortably set- 
 tled in the half-barbaric, half-Asiatic city with a pleasant 
 prospect of seeing its wonders on the morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 SCENES IN PRAGUE. 
 
 Prague. 
 I feel as if out of the world in this strange, fantastic, yet 
 beautiful, old city. We have been rambling all morning 
 through its winding streets, stopping sometimes at a church
 
 PRAGUE. 167 
 
 to see the dusty tombs and shrines or to hear the fine music 
 which accompanies the morning mass. I have seen no city 
 yet that so forcibly reminds one of the past and makes him 
 forget everything but the associations connected with the 
 scenes around him. The language adds to the illusion. 
 Three-fourths of the people in the streets speak Bohemian 
 and many of the signs are written in the same tongue, which 
 is not at all like German. The palace of the Bohemian 
 kings still looks down on the city from the western heights, 
 and their tombs stand in the cathedral of the Holy Jo- 
 hannes. When one has climbed up the stone steps leading 
 to the fortress, there is a glorious prospect before him. 
 Prague with its spires and towers lies in the valley below, 
 through which curves the Moldau with its green islands, 
 disappearing among the hills which enclose the city on 
 every side. The fantastic Byzantine architecture of many 
 of the churches and towers gives the city a peculiar Oriental 
 appearance : it seems to have been transported from the 
 hills of Syria. Its streets are full of palaces, fallen and 
 dwelt in now by the poorer classes. Its famous university, 
 which once boasted forty thousand students, has long since 
 ceased to exist. In a word, it is, like Venice, a fallen city, 
 though, as in Venice, the improving spirit of the age is be- 
 ginning to give it a little life and to send a quicker stream 
 through its narrow and winding arteries. The railroad 
 which, joining that to Brunn, shall bring it in connection 
 with Vienna will be finished this year ; in anticipation of 
 the increased business which will arise from this, speculators 
 are building enormous hotels in the suburbs and tearing 
 down the old buildings to give place to more splendid edi- 
 fices. These operations and the chain bridge which spans 
 the Moldau toward the southern end of the city are the only 
 things which look modern ; everything else is old, strange, 
 and solemn. 
 
 Having found out first a few of the locations, we hunted 
 our way with difficulty through its labyrinths, seeking out
 
 168 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 every place of note or interest. Reaching the bridge at last, 
 we concluded to cross over and ascend to the Hradschin, 
 the palace of the Bohemian kings. The bridge was com- 
 menced in 1357, and was one hundred and fifty years in 
 building. That was the way the old Germans did their 
 work, and they made a structure which will last a thousand 
 years longer. Every pier is surmounted with groups of 
 saints and martyrs, all so worn and timebeaten that there is 
 little left of their beauty, if they ever had any. The most 
 important of them — at least, to Bohemians — is that of the 
 Holy Johannes of Nepomuck, now considered as the patron- 
 saint of the land. He was a priest many centuries ago whom 
 one of the kings threw from the bridge into the Moldau be- 
 cause he refused to reveal to him what the queen confessed. 
 The legend says the body swam for some time on the river 
 with five stars around its head. The 16th of May, the day 
 before we arrived, was that set apart for his particular honor. 
 The statue on the bridge was covered with an arch of green 
 boughs and flowers, and the shrine lighted with burning 
 tapers. A railing was erected around it, near which num- 
 bers of the believers were kneeling, and a priest stood in 
 the inside. The bridge was covered with passers-by, who 
 all took their hats off till they had passed. Had it been a 
 place of public worship, the act would have been natural 
 and appropriate, but to uncover before a statue seemed to 
 us too much like idolatry, and we ventured over without 
 doing it. A few years ago it might have been dangerous, 
 but now we only met with scowling looks. There are many 
 such shrines and statues through the city, and I noticed that 
 the people always took off their hats and crossed themselves 
 in passing. On the hill above the western end of the city 
 stands a chapel on the spot where the Bavarians put an end 
 to Protestantism in Bohemia by the sword, and the deluded 
 peasantry of the land make pilgrimages to this spot — as if it 
 were rendered holy by an act over which Religion weeps! 
 Ascending the broad flight of steps to the Hradschin, I
 
 DAY-DREAMING. 1G9 
 
 paused a moment to look at the scene below. A slight blue 
 haze hung over the clustering towers, and the city looked 
 dim through it, like a city seen in a dream. It was well 
 that it should so appear, for not less dim and misty are the 
 memories that haunt its walls. There was no need of a 
 magician's wand to bid that light cloud shadow forth the 
 forms of other times. They came uncalled for even by 
 Fancy. Far, far back in the past I saw the warrior-princess 
 who founded the kingly city — the renowned Libussa, whose 
 prowess and talent inspired the women of Bohemia to rise 
 at her death and storm the land that their sex might rule 
 where it obeyed before. On the mountain opposite once 
 stood the palace of the bloody Wlaska, who reigned with 
 her Amazon band for seven years over half Bohemia. 
 Those streets below had echoed with the fiery words of 
 Huss, and the castle of his follower — the blind Ziska, who 
 met and defeated the armies of the German empire — moul- 
 ders on the mountain above. Many a year of war and tem- 
 pest has passed over the scene. The hills around have 
 borne the armies of Wallenstein and Frederick the Great ; 
 the war-cry of Bavaria, Sweden and Poland has echoed in 
 the valley, and the red glare of the midnight cannon or the 
 flames of burning palaces have often gleamed along the 
 " blood-dyed waters " of the Moldau. 
 
 But this was a day-dream ; the throng of people coming 
 up the steps waked me out of it. We turned and followed 
 them through several spacious conrts till we arrived at the 
 cathedral, which is magnificent in the extreme. The dark 
 Gothic pillars, whose arches unite high above, are sur- 
 rounded with gilded monuments and shrines, and the side- 
 chapels are rich in elaborate decorations. A priest was 
 speaking from a pulpit in the centre in the Bohemian lan- 
 guage ; which not being the most intelligible, I went to the 
 other end to see the shrine of the Holy Johannes of Nepo- 
 muck. It stands at the end of one of the side-aisles, and is 
 composed of a mass of gorgeous silver ornaments. At a little
 
 170 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 distance on each side hang four massive lamps of silver, con- 
 stantly burning. The pyramid of statues, of the same pre- 
 cious metal, has at each corner a richly-carved urn, three 
 feet high, with a crimson lamp burning at the top. Above, 
 four silver angels the size of life are suspended in the air, 
 holding up the corners of a splendid drapery of crimson 
 and gold. If these figures were melted down and distrib- 
 uted among the poor and miserable people who inhabit Bo- 
 hemia, they would then be angels indeed, bringing happi- 
 ness and blessing to many a ruined home-altar. In the 
 same chapel is the splendid burial-place of the Bohemian 
 killers, of gilded marble and alabaster. Numberless tombs 
 covered with elaborate ornamental work fill the edifice. It 
 gives one a singular feeling to stand at one end and look 
 down the lofty hall, dim with incense-smoke and dark with 
 the weight of many centuries. 
 
 On the way down again we stepped into the St. Nicholas 
 church, which was built by the Jesuits. The interior has 
 a rich effect, being all of brown and gold. The massive 
 pillars are made to resemble reddish-brown marble, with 
 gilded capitals, and the statues at the base are profusely or- 
 namented in the same style. The music chained me there 
 a long time. There was a grand organ, assisted by a full 
 orchestra and large choir of singers. It was placed above, 
 and at every sound of the priest's bell the flourish of trum- 
 pets and deep roll of the drums filled the dome with a burst 
 of quivering sound, while the giant pipes of the organ 
 breathed out their full harmony and the very air shook un- 
 der the peal. It was like a triumphal strain. The soul be- 
 came filled with thoughts of power and glory ; every sense 
 was changed into one dim, indistinct emotion of rapture 
 which held the spirit as if spellbound. I could almost for- 
 give the Jesuits the superstition and bigotry they have 
 planted in the minds of men for the indescribable enjoy- 
 ment that music gave. When it ceased, we Avent out to the 
 world again ; and the recollection of it seems now like a
 
 THE JEWS' CITY. 171 
 
 dream, but a dream whose influence will last longer than 
 many a more palpable reality. 
 
 Not far from this place is the palace of Wallenstein, in 
 the same condition as when he inhabited it, and still in the 
 possession of his descendants. It is a plain, large building 
 having beautiful gardens attached to it, which are open to 
 the public. We went through the court-yard, threaded a 
 passage with a roof of rough stalactitic rock and entered 
 the garden, where a revolving fountain was casting up its 
 glittering arches. Among the flowers at the other end of 
 the garden there is a remarkable fountain. It is but a sin- 
 gle jet of water which rises from the middle of a broad 
 basin of woven wire, but by some means it sustains a hol- 
 low gilded ball — sometimes for many minutes at a time. 
 When the ball drops, the sloping sides of the basin convey 
 it directly to the fountain again, and it is carried up to 
 dance a while longer on the top of the jet. I watched it 
 once thus supported on the water for full fifteen minutes. 
 
 There is another part of Prague which is not less inter- 
 esting, though much less poetical — the Jews' City. In our 
 rambles we got into it before we were aware, but hurried 
 immediately out of it again, perfectly satisfied with one 
 visit. We came first into a dark, narrow street whose 
 sides were lined with booths of old clothes and second-hand 
 articles. A sharp-featured old woman thrust a coat before 
 my face, exclaiming, " Herr, buy a fine coat !" Instantly 
 a man assailed me on the other side : " Here are vests ! 
 Pantaloons ! Shirts !" I broke loose from them and ran 
 on, but it only became worse. One seized me by the arm, 
 crying, " Lieber Herr, buy some stockings !" and another 
 grasped my coat : " Hats, Herr ! hats ! Buy something, or 
 sell me something !" I rushed desperately on, shouting 
 " No, no !" with all my might, and finally got safe through. 
 
 My friend having escaped their clutches also, we hunted 
 the way to the old Jewish cemetery. This stands in the 
 middle of the city, and has not been used for a hundred
 
 172 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 years. We could find no entrance, but by climbing upon 
 the ruins of an old house near I could look over the wall. 
 A cold shudder crept over me to think that warm, joyous 
 life, as I then felt it, should grow chill and pass back to 
 clay in such a foul charnel-house. Large mounds of earth 
 covered with black, decaying gravestones which were 
 almost hidden under the weeds and rank grass filled the 
 inclosure. A few dark, crooked alder trees grew among 
 the crumbling tombs and gave the scene an air of gloom 
 and desolation almost fearful. The dust of many a genera- 
 tion lies under these mouldering stones ; they now scarcely 
 occupy a thought in the minds of the living ; and yet the 
 present race toils and seeks for wealth alone, that it may 
 pass away and leave nothing behind — not even a memory 
 — for that which will follow it." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 JOURNEY THROUGH EASTERN BOHEMIA AND MORAVIA 
 
 TO THE DANUBE. 
 
 Our road the first two days after leaving Prague led 
 across broad, elevated plains across which a cold wind came 
 direct from the summits of the Riesengebirge, far to our left. 
 Were it not for the pleasant view we had of the rich valley 
 of the Upper Elbe, which afforded a delightful relief to the 
 monotony of the hills around us, the journey would have 
 been exceedingly tiresome. The snow still glistened on the 
 distant mountains ; but when the sun shone out, the broad 
 valley below, clad in the luxuriance of summer and extend- 
 ing for at least fifty miles with its woods, meadows and white 
 villages, looked like a real Paradise. The long ridges over 
 which we travelled extend for nearly a hundred and fifty 
 miles — from the Elbe almost to the Danube. The soil is
 
 BOHEMIA. 173 
 
 not fertile, the inhabitants are exceedingly poor, and, from 
 our own experience, the climate must be unhealthy. In 
 winter the country is exposed to the full sweep of the 
 northern winds, and in summer the snn shines down on it 
 with unbroken force. There are few streams running 
 through it, and the highest part, which divides the waters 
 of the Baltic from those of the Black Sea, is filled for a 
 long distance with marshes and standing pools whose exha- 
 lations must inevitably subject the inhabitants to disease. 
 This was perceptible in their sallow, sickly countenances; 
 many of the women are afflicted with the goitre, or swelling 
 of the throat ; I noticed that toward evening they always 
 carefully muffled up their faces. According to their own 
 statements, the people suffer much from the cold in winter, 
 as the few forests the country affords are in possession of the 
 noblemen to whom the land belongs, and they are not will- 
 ing to let them be cut down. The dominions of these petty 
 despots are marked along the road with as much precision 
 as the boundaries of an empire ; we saw sometimes their 
 stately castles at a distance, forming quite a contrast to the 
 poor scattering villages of the peasants. 
 
 At Kollin the road, which had been running eastward in 
 the direction of Olmutz, turned to the south, and we took 
 leave of the Elbe after tracing back his course from Magde- 
 burg nearly to his home in the mountains of Silesia. The 
 country was barren and monotonous, but a bright sunshine 
 made it look somewhat cheerful. We passed every few 
 paces some shrine or statue by the roadside. This had 
 struck me immediately on crossing the border in the Saxon 
 Switzerland : it seemed as if the boundary of Saxony was 
 that of Protestantism. But here, in the heart of Bohemia, 
 the extent to which this image-worship is carried exceeds 
 anything I had imagined. There is something pleasing as 
 well as poetical in tlie idea of a shrine by the wayside 
 where the weary traveller can rest and raise his heart in 
 thankfulness to the Power that protects him. Jt was, no
 
 174 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 doubt, a pious spirit that placed them there, but the people 
 appear to pay the reverence to the picture which they should 
 give to its spiritual image, and the pictures themselves are 
 so shocking and ghastly they seem better calculated to excite 
 horror than reverence. It was really repulsive to look on 
 images of the Saviour covered with blood, and generally 
 with swords sticking in different parts of the body. The 
 Almighty is represented as an old man wearing a bishop's 
 mitre, and the image of the Virgin is always dressed in a 
 gay silk robe with beads and other ornaments. From the 
 miserable painting, the faces often had an expression that 
 would have been exceedingly ludicrous if the shock given 
 to our feelings of reverence were not predominant. The 
 poor degraded peasants always uncovered or crossed them- 
 selves when passing by these shrines, but it appeared to be 
 rather the effect of habit than any good impulse, for the 
 Bohemians are noted all over Germany for their dishonesty ; 
 we learned by experience they deserve it. It is not to be 
 wondered at, either; for a people so poor and miserable and 
 oppressed will soon learn to take advantage of all who ap- 
 pear better off than themselves. They had one custom which 
 was touching and beautiful : at the sound of the church- 
 bell, as it rung the morning, noon' and evening chimes, every 
 one uncovered and repeated to himself a prayer. Often, as 
 we rested at noon on a bank by the roadside, that voice 
 spoke out from the house of worship, and every one heeded 
 its tone. Would that to this innate spirit of reverence were 
 added the light of Knowledge which a tyrannical govern- 
 ment denies them. 
 
 The third night of our journey we stopped at the little 
 village of Stecken, and the next morning, after three hours' 
 walk over the ridgy heights, reached the old Moravian city 
 of Iglau, built on a hill. It happened to be Corpus Christi 
 day, and the peasants of the neighborhood were hastening 
 there in their gayest dresses. The young women Avore a 
 crimson scarf around the head with long fringed and em-
 
 STRANGE TEAMS. 175 
 
 broidered ends hanging over the shoulders or falling in one 
 smooth fold from the back of the head. They were attired 
 in black velvet vests with full white sleeves, and skirts of 
 some gay color which were short enough to show to advan- 
 tage their red stockings and polished shoe-buckles. Many 
 of them were not deficient in personal beauty : there was a 
 gipsy-like wildness in their eyes that, combined with 
 their rich hair and graceful costume, reminded me of the 
 Italian maidens. The towns, too, with their open squares 
 and arched passages, have quite a Southern look, but the 
 damp, gloomy weather was enough to dispel any illusion of 
 this kind. 
 
 In the neighborhood of Iglau — and, in fact, through the 
 whole of Bohemia — we saAV some of the strangest teams 
 that could well be imagined. I thought the Frankfort 
 milkwomen with their donkeys and hearse-like carts were 
 comical objects enough, but they bear no comparison with 
 these Bohemian turnouts. Dogs — for economy's sake, per- 
 haps — generally supply the place of oxen or horses, and it 
 is no uncommon thing to see three large mastiffs abreast 
 harnessed to a country-cart. A donkey and a cow together 
 are sometimes met with, and one man going to the festival 
 at Iglau had his wife and children in a little wagon drawn 
 by a dog and a donkey. These two, however, did not w r ork 
 well together : the dog would bite his lazy companion, and 
 the man's time was constantly employed in whipping him 
 off the donkey and in whipping the donkey away from the 
 side of the road. Once I saw a wagon drawn by a dog 
 with a women pushing behind, while a man — doubtless her 
 lord and master — sat comfortably within smoking his pipe 
 with the greatest complacency. The very climax of all 
 was a woman and a dog harnessed together taking a load 
 of country produce to market. I hope, for the honor of 
 the country, it was not emblematic of woman's condition 
 there. But, as we saw hundreds of them breaking stone 
 along the road and occupied at other laborious and not
 
 17G VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 less menial labor, there is too much reason to fear that it 
 is so. 
 
 As we approached Iglau we heard cannon-firing. The 
 crowd increased, and, following the road, we came to an 
 open square where a large number were already assembled ; 
 shrines were erected around it hung with pictures and pine- 
 boughs, and a long procession of children was passing 
 down the side as we entered. We went toward the middle, 
 where Neptune and his Tritons poured the water from their 
 urns into two fountains, and stopped to observe the scene. 
 The procession came on, headed by a large body of priests 
 in white robes, with banners and crosses. They stopped 
 before the principal shrine, in front of the Rathhaus, and 
 began a solemn religious ceremony. The whole crowd of 
 not less than ten thousand persons stood silent and un- 
 covered, and the deep voice of the officiating priest was 
 heard over the whole square. At times the multitude sang 
 responses, and I could mark the sound swelling and rolling 
 up like a mighty wave till it broke and slowly sank down 
 again to the deepest stillness. The effect was marred by 
 the rough voice of the officers commanding the soldiery 
 and the volleys of musketry which were occasionally dis- 
 charged. It degraded the solemnity of the pageant to the 
 level of a military parade. 
 
 In the afternoon we were overtaken by a travelling 
 handiverker on his way to Vienna, who joined company 
 with us. We walked several miles together, talking on 
 various matters, without his having the least suspicion we 
 were not Germans. He had been at Trieste, and at length 
 began speaking of the great beauty of the American ves- 
 sels there. " Yes," said I, " our vessels are admired all 
 over the world." He stared at me without comprehending: 
 " Your vessels ?"— " Our country's," I replied. " We are 
 Americans." I can see still his look of incredulous aston- 
 ishment and hear the amazed tone with which he cried : 
 " You Americans ? It is impossible !" We convinced him,
 
 A WANDERING JOURNEYMAN. 177 
 
 nevertheless, to his great joy, for all through Germany there 
 is a curiosity to see our countrymen and a kindly feeling 
 toward them. " I shall write down in my hook," said he, 
 "so that I shall never forget it, that I once travelled with 
 two Americans." 
 
 We stopped together for the night at the only inn in a 
 large, beggarly village, where we obtained a frugal supper 
 with difficulty, fox a regiment of Polish lancers was quar- 
 tered there for the night, and the pretty IceUnerin was so 
 busy in waiting on the officers that she had no eye for wan- 
 dering journeymen, as she took us to be. She even told us 
 the beds were all occupied and we must sleep on the floor. 
 Just then the landlord came by. " Is it possible, Herr Land- 
 lord," asked our new companion, " that there is no bed here 
 for us ? Have the goodness to look again, for we are not 
 in the habit of sleeping on the floor like dogs." This speech 
 had its effect, for the kellncrin was commanded to find us 
 beds. She came back unwillingly after a time and reported 
 that two only were vacant. As a German bed is only a 
 yard wide, we pushed these two together ; but they were 
 still too small for three persons, and I had a severe cold in 
 the morning from sleeping crouched up against the damp 
 wall. 
 
 The next day we passed the dividing-ridge which sepa- 
 rates the w r aters of the Elbe from the Danube, and in the 
 evening arrived at Znaim, the capital of Moravia. It is 
 built on a steep hill looking down on the valley of the 
 Thaya, whose waters mingle with the Danube near Press- 
 burg. The old castle on the height near was formerly the 
 residence of the Moravian monarchs, and traces of the an- 
 cient walls and battlements of the city are still to be seen. 
 The handwerker took us to the inn frequented by his craft 
 — the leather-curriers — and we conversed together till bed- 
 time. While telling me of the opressive laws of Austria, 
 the degrading vassalage of the peasants and the horrors of 
 the conscription system, he paused as in deep thought, and, 
 12
 
 178 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 looking at me with a suppressed sigh, said, " Is it not true 
 America is free ?" I told him of our country and her in- 
 stitutions, adding that, though we were not yet as free as 
 we hoped and wished to be, we enjoyed far more liberty 
 than any country in the world. "Ah !" said he ; " it is hard 
 to leave one's fatherland, oppressed as it is, but I wish I 
 could go to America." We left next morning at eight 
 o'clock, after having done full justice to the beds of the 
 Golden Stag and taken leave of Florian Francke, the hon- 
 est and hearty old landlord. 
 
 Znaim appears to great advantage from the Vienna road ; 
 the wind, which blew with fury against our backs, would 
 not permit us to look long at it, but pushed us on toward 
 the Austrian border. In the course of three hours we were 
 obliged to stop at a little village ; it blew a perfect hurri- 
 cane, and the rain began to soak through our garments. 
 Here we stayed three hours among the wagoners who stop- 
 ped on account of the weather. One miserable drunken 
 wretch whom one would not wish to look at more than once 
 distinguished himself by insulting those around him and 
 devouring like a beast large quantities of food. When the 
 reckoning was given him, he declared he had already paid, 
 and, the waiter denying it, he said, " Stop ! I will show you 
 something!" pulled out his passport and pointed to the 
 name — " Baron von Reitzenstein." It availed nothing : he 
 had fallen so low that his title inspired no respect ; and 
 when Ave left the inn, they were still endeavoring to get their 
 money and threatening him with a summary proceeding if 
 the demand was not complied with. 
 
 Next morning the sky was clear, and a glorious day 
 opened before us. The country became more beautiful as 
 we approached the Danube ; the hills were covered with 
 vineyards just in the tender green of their first leaves, and 
 the rich valleys lay in Sabbath stillness in the warm sun- 
 shine. Sometimes from an eminence we could see far and 
 wide over the garden-like slopes, where little white villages
 
 THE ALPS AND THE DANUBE. 179 
 
 shone among the blossoming fruit trees. A chain of blue 
 hills rose in front, which I knew almost instinctively stood 
 by the Danube. When we climbed to the last height and 
 began to descend to the valley, where the river was still 
 hidden by luxuriant groves, I saw far to the southwest a 
 range of faint silvery summits rising through the dim ether 
 like an airy vision. There was no mistaking those snowy 
 mountains. My heart bounded with a sudden thrill of rap- 
 turous excitement at this first view of the Alps. They were 
 at a great distance, and their outline was almost blended 
 with the blue drapery of air which clothed them. I gazed 
 till my vision became dim and I could no longer trace their 
 airy lines. They called up images blended with the grand- 
 est events in the world's history. I thought of the glorious 
 spirits who have looked upon them and trodden their rug- 
 ged sides, of the storms in which they veil their counte- 
 nances and the avalanches they hurl thundering to the val- 
 leys, of the voices of great deeds which have echoed from 
 their crags over the wide earth, and of the ages which have 
 broken like the waves of a mighty sea upon their everlast- 
 ing summits. 
 
 As we descended, the hills and forests shut out this sub- 
 lime vision, and I looked to the wood-clothed mountains 
 opposite and tried to catch a glimpse of the current that 
 rolled at their feet. We here entered upon a rich plain about 
 ten miles in diameter which lay between a backward sweep 
 of the hills and a curve of the Danube. It was covered with 
 the richest grain ; everything wore the luxuriance of sum- 
 mer, and we seemed to have changed seasons since leaving 
 the dreary hills of Bohemia. Continuing over the plain, 
 we had on our left the fields of Wagram and Essling, the 
 scene of two of Napoleon's blood-bought victories. The out- 
 posts of the Carpathians skirted the horizon — that great 
 mountain-range which stretches through Hungary to the 
 borders of Russia. 
 
 At length the road came to the river's side, and we crossed
 
 180 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 on wooden bridges over two or three arms of the Danube, 
 all of which together were little wider than the Schuylkill 
 at Philadelphia. When we crossed the last bridge, we came 
 to a kind of island covered with groves of silver ash. Crowds 
 of people filled the cool walks ; booths of refreshment stood 
 by the roadside and music was everywhere heard. The 
 road finally terminated in a circle where beautiful alleys 
 radiated into the groves; from the opposite side a broad 
 street lined with stately buildings extended into the heart 
 of the city, and through this avenue, filled with crowds 
 of carriages and people on their way to those delightful 
 walks, we entered Vienna. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 VIENNA. 
 
 May 31. 
 
 I have at last seen the thousand wonders of this great 
 capital, this German Paris, this connecting-link between the 
 civilization of Europe and the barbaric magnificence of the 
 East. It looks familiar to be in a city again whose streets 
 are thronged with people and resound with the din and 
 bustle of business. It reminds me of the never-ending crowds 
 of London or the life and tumult of our scarcely less active 
 New York. Although the end may be sordid for which so 
 many are laboring, yet the very sight of so much activity is 
 gratifying. It is peculiarly so to an American. After re- 
 siding in a foreign land for some time the peculiarities of 
 our nation are more easily noticed ; I find in my country- 
 men abroad a vein of restless energy— a love for exciting 
 action— which to many of our good German friends is per- 
 fectly incomprehensible. It might have been this which 
 gave at once a favorable impression of Vienna. 
 
 The morning of our arrival we sallied out from our lodg- 
 ings in the Leopoldstadt to explore the world before us.
 
 VIENNA. 181 
 
 Entering the broad Praterstrasse, we passed down to the 
 little arm of the Danube which separates this part of the 
 new city from the old. A row of magnificent coffee-houses 
 occupy the bank, and numbers of persons were taking their 
 breakfasts in the shady porticoes. The Ferdinand's Bridge, 
 which crosses the stream, was filled with people; in the 
 motley crowd we saw the dark-eyed Greek, and Turks in 
 their turbans and flowing robes. Little brown Hungarian 
 boys were going around selling bunches of lilies, and Italians 
 with baskets of oranges stood by the sidewalk. The throng 
 became greater as we penetrated into the old city. The 
 streets were filled with carts and carriages, and, as there 
 are no side-pavements, it required constant attention to keep 
 out of their way. Splendid shops fitted up with great taste 
 occupied the whole of the lower stories, and goods of all 
 kinds hung beneath the canvas awnings in front of them. 
 Almost every store or shop was dedicated to some particular 
 person or place, which was represented on a large panel by 
 the door. The number of these paintings added much to 
 the splendor of the scene ; I was gratified to find, among the 
 images of kings and dukes, one dedicated " To the Ameri- 
 can," with an Indian chief in full costume. 
 
 The Altstadt, or " old city," which contains about sixty 
 thousand inhabitants, is completely separated from the sub- 
 urbs, whose population, taking the whole extent within the 
 outer barrier, numbers nearly half a million. It is situated 
 on a small arm of the Danube and encompassed by a series 
 of public promenades, gardens and walks, varying from a 
 quarter to half a mile in length, called the " Glacis." This 
 formerly belonged to the fortifications of the city, but, as 
 the suburbs grew up so rapidly on all sides, it was chunked 
 appropriately to a public walk. The city is still surrounded 
 with a massive wall and a deep wide moat, but, since it was 
 taken by Napoleon in 1809, the moat has been changed into 
 a garden with a beautiful carriage-road along the bottom 
 around the whole city. It is a beautiful sight to stand on
 
 182 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the summit of the wall and look over the broad Glacis, with 
 its shady roads branching in every direction and filled with 
 inexhaustible streams of people. The Vorstaedte, or new 
 cities, stretch in a circle around beyond this ; all the finest 
 buildings front on the Glacis, among which the splendid 
 Vienna Theatre and the church of San Carlo Borromeo are 
 conspicuous. The mountains of the Vienna Forest bound 
 the view, with here and there a stately castle on their woody 
 summits. I was reminded of London as seen from Regent's 
 Park, and truly this part of Vienna can well compare with 
 it. On penetrating into the suburbs the resemblance is at 
 an end. Many of the public thoroughfares are still un- 
 paved, and in dry weather one is almost choked by the 
 clouds of fine dust. A furious wind blows from the moun- 
 tains, sweeping the streets almost constantly and filling the 
 eyes and ears with it, making the city an unhealthy resi- 
 dence for strangers. 
 
 There is no lack of places for pleasure or amusement. 
 Besides the numberless walks of the Glacis there are the 
 imperial gardens, with their cool shades and flowers and 
 fountains ; the Augarten, laid out and opened to the public 
 by the emperor Joseph : and the Prater, the largest and 
 most beautiful of all. It lies on an island formed by the 
 arms of the Danube, and is between two and three miles 
 square. From the circle at the end of the Praterstrasse 
 broad carriage-ways extend through its forests of oak and 
 silver ash and over its verdant lawns to the principal stream, 
 which bounds it on the north. These roads are lined with 
 stately horse-chestnuts, whose branches unite and form a 
 dense canopy, completely shutting out the sun. Every 
 afternoon the beauty and nobility of Vienna whirl through 
 the cool groves in their gay equipages, while the sidewalks 
 are thronged with pedestrians, and the numberless tables 
 and seats with which every house of refreshment is sur- 
 rounded are filled with merry guests. Here on Sundays 
 and holidays the people repair in thousands. The woods
 
 THE BELVIDERE GALLERY. 183 
 
 are full of tame deer, which run perfectly free over the 
 whole Prater. I saw several in one of the lawns lying 
 down in the grass, with a number of children playing 
 around or sitting beside them. It is delightful to walk 
 there in the cool of the evening, when the paths are crowded 
 and everybody is enjoying the release from the dusty city. 
 It is this free social life which renders Vienna so attractive 
 to foreigners and draws yearly thousands of visitors from 
 all parts of Europe. 
 
 St. Stephen's cathedral, in the centre of the old city, is 
 one of the finest specimens of Gothic architecture in Ger- 
 many. Its unrivalled tower, which rises to the height of 
 four hundred and twenty-eight feet, is visible from every 
 part of Vienna. It is entirely of stone, most elaborately 
 ornamented, and is supposed to be the strongest in Europe. 
 If the tower was finished, it might rival any church in Eu- 
 rope in richness and brilliancy of appearance. The inside 
 is solemn and grand, but the effect is injured by the number 
 of small chapels and shrines. In one of these rests the 
 remains of Prince Eugene of Savoy, " Der edle Bitter" 
 known in a ballad to every man, woman and child in 
 Germany. 
 
 The Belvidere Gallery fills thirty-five halls and contains 
 three thousand pictures. It is absolutely bewildering to 
 walk through such vast collections ; you can do no more 
 than glance at each painting, and hurry by face after face 
 and figure after figure on which you would willingly gaze 
 for hours and inhale the atmosphere of beauty that sur- 
 rounds them. Then, after you leave, the brain is filled with 
 their forms ; radiant spirit-faces look upon you, and you see 
 constantly in fancy the calm brow of a Madonna, the sweet 
 young face of a child or the blending of divine with mortal 
 beauty in an angel's countenance. I endeavor, if possible, 
 always to make several visits — to study those pictures which 
 cling first to the memory and pass over those which make 
 little or no impression. It is better to have a few images
 
 184 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 fresh and enduring than a confused and indistinct memory 
 of many. 
 
 From the number of Madonnas in every European gal- 
 lery, it would almost seem that the old artists painted nothing 
 else. The subject is one which requires the highest genius 
 to do it justice, and it is therefore unpleasant to see so many 
 still, inexpressive faces of the Virgin and Child, particularly 
 by the Dutch artists, who clothe their figures sometimes in 
 the stiff costume of their own time. Raphael and Murillo 
 appear to me to be almost the only painters who have ex- 
 pressed what perhaps was above the power of other mas- 
 ters — the combined love and reverence of the mother and 
 the divine expression in the face of the Child, prophetic of 
 his mission and godlike power. 
 
 There were many glorious old paintings in the second 
 story, which is entirely taken up with pictures ; two or three 
 of the halls were devoted to selected works from modern 
 artists. Two of these I would give everything I have to 
 possess. One of them is a winter scene representing the 
 portico of an old Gothic church. At the base of one of the 
 pillars a woman is seated in the snow, half benumbed, clasp- 
 ing an infant to her breast, while immediately in front stands 
 a boy of perhaps seven or eight years, his little hands folded 
 in prayer, while the chill wind tosses the long curls from 
 his forehead. There is something so pure and holy in the 
 expression of his childish countenance, so much feeling in 
 the lip and sorrowful eye, that it moves one almost to tears 
 to look upon it. I turned back half a dozen times from the 
 other pictures to view it again, and blessed the artist in my 
 heart for the lesson he gave. The other is by a young Italian 
 painter whose name I have forgotten, but who, if he never 
 painted anything else, is worthy a high place among the ar- 
 tists of his country. It represents some scene from the his- 
 tory of Venice. On an open piazza a noble prisoner wasted 
 and pale from long confinement has just had an interview 
 with his children. He reaches his arm toward them as if
 
 MONTEZUMA'S BATTLE-AXE. 185 
 
 for the last time, while a savage keeper drags him away. 
 A lovely little girl kneels at the feet of the doge, but there 
 is no compassion in his stern features, and it is easy to see that 
 her father is doomed. 
 
 The Lower Belvidere, separated from the Upper by a 
 large garden laid out in the style of that at Versailles, con- 
 tains the celebrated Ambraser Sammhmg, a collection of 
 armor. In the first hall I noticed the complete armor of 
 the emperor Maximilian for man and horse, the armor of 
 Charles V. and Prince Moritz of Saxony, while the walls 
 were filled with figures of German nobles and knights in the 
 suits they wore in life. There is also the armor of the great 
 " Baver of Trient," trabant of the archduke Ferdinand. 
 He was nearly nine feet in stature, and his spear, though 
 not equal to Satan's in Paradise Lost, would still make a 
 tree of tolerable dimensions. 
 
 In the second hall we saw weapons taken from the Turk- 
 ish army who besieged Vienna, with the horse-tail standards 
 of the grand vizier Kara Mustapha. The most interesting 
 article was the battle-axe of the unfortunate Montezuma, 
 which was probably given to the emperor Charles V. by 
 Cortez. It is a plain instrument of dark-colored stone about 
 three feet long. 
 
 We also visited the Burgerllche Zeughaus, a collection of 
 arms and weapons belonging to the citizens of Vienna. It 
 contains sixteen thousand weapons and suits of armor, in- 
 cluding those plundered from the Turks when John Sobieski 
 conquered them and relieved Vienna from the siege. Be- 
 sides a great number of sabres, lances, and horsetails, there 
 is the blood-red banner of the grand vizier, as well as his 
 skull and shroud, which is covei'ed with sentences from the 
 Koran. On his return to Belgrade after the defeat at 
 Vienna the sultan sent him a bowstring, and he was ac- 
 cordingly strangled. The Austrians having taken Belgrade 
 some time after, they opened his grave and carried off his 
 skull and shroud, as well as the bowstring, as relics. An-
 
 186 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 other large and richly-embroidered banner which hung in 
 a broad sheet from the ceiling was far more interesting to 
 me. It had once waved from the vessels of the Knights of 
 Malta, and had, perhaps, on the prow of the grand master's 
 ship, led that romantic band to battle against the Infidel. 
 
 A large number of peasants and common soldiers were 
 admitted to view the armory at the same time. The grave 
 custode who showed us the curiosities, explaining everything 
 in phrases known by heart for years and making the same 
 starts of admiration whenever he came to anything peculi- 
 arly remarkable, singled us out as the two persons most wor- 
 thy of attention. Accordingly, his remarks were directed 
 entirely to us, and his humble countrymen might as well 
 have been invisible, for the notice he took of them. On 
 passing out we gave him a coin worth about fifteen cents, 
 which happened to be so much more than the others gave 
 him that, bowing graciously, he invited us to write our 
 names in the album for strangers. While we were doing 
 this a poor handiverker lingered behind, apparently for the 
 same object, whom he scornfully dismissed, shaking the fif- 
 teen-cent piece in his hand and saying, " The album is not 
 for such as you : it is for noble gentlemen." 
 
 On our way through the city we often noticed a house on 
 the southern side of St. Stephen's Platz dedicated to " the 
 iron stick." In a niche by the window stood what appeared 
 to be the limb of a tree completely filled with nails, which 
 were driven in so thick that no part of the original wood is 
 visible. We learned afterward the legend concerning it. 
 The Vienna Forest is said to have extended, several hun- 
 dred years ago, to this place. A locksmith's apprentice was 
 enabled, by the devil's help, to make the iron bars and pad- 
 lock which confine the limb in its place ; every locksmith's 
 apprentice who came to Vienna after that drove a nail into 
 it, till finally there was room for no more. It is a singular 
 legend, and, whoever may have placed the limb there orig-
 
 STRAUSS. 187 
 
 inally, there it has remained for two or three hundred years 
 at least. 
 
 We spent two or three hours delightfully one evening in 
 listening to Strauss's band. We went about sunset to the 
 Odeon, a new building in the Leopoldstadt. It has a re- 
 freshment-hall nearly five hundred feet long, with a hand- 
 some fresco ceiling and glass doors opening into a garden- 
 walk of the same length. Both the hall and garden were 
 filled with tables, where the people seated themselves as they 
 came and conversed sociably over their coffee and wine. 
 The orchestra was placed in a little ornamental temple in 
 the garden, in front of which I stationed myself, for I was 
 anxious to see the world's waltz-king whose magic tones can 
 set the heels of half Christendom in motion. After the 
 band had finished tuning their instruments, a middle-sized, 
 handsome man stepped forward with long strides, with a 
 violin in one hand and bow in the other, and began wav- 
 ing the latter up and down, like a magician summoning his 
 spirits. As if he had waved the sound out of his bow, the 
 tones leaped forth from the instruments, and, guided by his 
 eye and hand, fell into a merry measure. The accuracy 
 with which every instrument performed its part was truly 
 marvellous. He could not have struck the measure or the 
 harmony more certainly from the keys of his own piano 
 than from that large band. The sounds struggled forth so 
 perfect and distinct that one almost expected to see them 
 embodied, whirling in wild dance around him. Sometimes 
 the air was so exquisitely light and bounding the feet could 
 scarcely keep on the earth ; then it sank into a mournful 
 lament with a sobbing tremulousness, and died away in a 
 lono--breathed sigh. Strauss seemed to feel the music in 
 every limb. He would wave his fiddle-bow a while, then 
 commence playing with desperate energy, moving his whole 
 body to the measure, till the sweat rolled from his brow. A 
 book was lying on the stand before him, but he made no 
 use of it. He often glanced around with a kind of half-
 
 188 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 triumphant smile at the restless crowd, whose feet could 
 scarcely be restrained from bounding to the magic measure. 
 It was the horn of Oberon realized. The composition of 
 the music displayed great talent, but its charm consisted 
 more in the exquisite combination of the different instru- 
 ments, and the perfect, the wonderful, exactness with which 
 each performed its part — a piece of art of the most elabo- 
 rate and refined character. 
 
 The company, which consisted of several hundred, ap- 
 peared to be full of enjoyment. They sat under the trees 
 in the calm, cool twilight with the stars twinkling above, 
 and talked and laughed sociably together between the 
 pauses of the music, or strolled up and down the lighted 
 alleys. We walked up and down with them, and thought 
 how much we should enjoy such a scene at home, where the 
 faces around us would be those of friends and the language 
 our mother-tongue. 
 
 We went a long way through the suburbs one bright 
 afternoon to a little cemetery about a mile from the city to 
 find the grave of Beethoven. On ringing at the gate a girl 
 admitted us into the grounds, in which are many monu- 
 ments of noble families who have vaults there. I passed 
 up the narrow walk, reading the inscriptions, till I came to 
 the tomb of Franz Clement, a young composer who died 
 two or three years ago. On turning again my eye fell in- 
 stantly on the word " Beethoven " in golden letters on a 
 tombstone of gray marble. A simple gilded lyre decorated 
 the pedestal, above which was a serpent encircling a but- 
 terfly — the emblem of resurrection to eternal life. Here, 
 then, mouldered the remains of that restless spirit who 
 seemed to have strayed to earth from another clime, from such 
 a height did he draw his glorious conceptions. The perfec- 
 tion he sought for here in vain he has now attained in a 
 world where the soul is freed from the bars which bind it 
 in this. There were no flowers planted around the tomb 
 by those who revered his genius ; only one wreath, with-
 
 THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY. 189 
 
 ered and dead, lay among the grass, as if left long ago by 
 some solitary pilgrim, and a few wild buttercups hung with 
 their bright blossoms over the slab. It might have been 
 wrong, but I could not resist the temptation to steal one or 
 two while the old gravedigger was busy preparing a new 
 tenement. I thought that other buds would open in a few 
 days, but those I took would be treasured many a year as 
 sacred relics. A few paces off is the grave of Schubert, 
 the composer whose beautiful songs are heard all over 
 Germany. 
 
 It would employ one a week to visit all the rich collec- 
 tions of art in Vienna. They are all open to the public on 
 certain days of the week, and we have been kept constantly 
 in motion running from one part of the city to another in 
 order to arrive at some gallery at the appointed time. 
 Tickets — which have to be procured, often, in quite differ- 
 ent parts of the city — are necessary for admittance to 
 many ; on applying, after much trouble and search, we 
 frequently found we came at the wrong hour and must 
 leave without effecting our object. We employed no guide, 
 but preferred finding everything ourselves. We made a 
 list every morning of the collections open during the day, 
 and employed the rest of the time in visiting the churches 
 and public gardens or rambling through the suburbs. 
 
 We visited the imperial library a day or two ago. The 
 hall is two hundred and forty-five feet long, with a magnif- 
 icent dome in the centre, under which stands the statue of 
 Charles V., of Carrara marble, surrounded by twelve 
 other monarchs of the house of Hapsburg. The walls are 
 of variegated marble richly ornamented with gold, and the 
 ceiling and dome are covered with brilliant fresco-paintings. 
 The library numbers three hundred thousand volumes and 
 sixteen thousand manuscripts, which are kept in walnut 
 cases gilded and adorned with medallions. The rich and 
 harmonious effect of the whole cannot easily be imagined. 
 It is exceedingly appropriate that a hall of such splendor
 
 190 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 should be used to hold a library. The pomp of a palace 
 may seem hollow and vain, for it is but the dwelling of a 
 man ; but no building can be too magnificent for the hun- 
 dreds of great and immortal spirits to dwell in who have 
 visited earth during thirty centuries. 
 
 Among other curiosities preserved in the collection, we 
 were shown a brass plate containing one of the records of 
 the Roman Senate made one hundred and eighty years be- 
 fore Christ, Greek manuscripts of the fifth and sixth cen- 
 turies, and a volume of Psalms printed on parchment in 
 the year 1457 by Faust and Schaeffer, the inventors of 
 printing. There were also Mexican manuscripts presented 
 by Cortez, the prayer-book of Hildegard, wife of Char- 
 lemagne, in letters of gold, the signature of San Carlo Bor- 
 romeo, and a Greek Testament of the thirteenth century 
 which had been used by Erasmus in making his translation 
 and contains notes in his own hand. The most interesting 
 article was the " Jerusalem Delivered " of Tasso, in the 
 poet's own hand, with his erasions and corrections. 
 
 We also visited the cabinet of natural history, which is 
 open twice a week " to all respectably-dressed persons," as 
 the notice at the door says. But Heaven forbid that I 
 should attempt to describe what we saw there ! The min- 
 eral cabinet had a greater interest to me, inasmuch as it 
 called up the recollections of many a schoolboy ramble 
 over the hills and into all kinds of quarries, far and near. 
 It is said to be the most perfect collection in existence. I 
 was pleased to find many old acquaintances there from the 
 mines of Pennsylvania ; Massachusetts and New York were 
 also very well represented. I had no idea before that the 
 mineral wealth of Austria was so great. Besides the iron- 
 and lead-mines among the hills of Styria and the quick- 
 silver of Idria, there is no small amount of gold and silver 
 found, and the Carpathian Mountains are rich in jasper, 
 opal and lapis lazuli. The largest opal ever found was in
 
 AUSTRIAN ROYAL EQUIPAGES. 191 
 
 this collection. It weighs thirty-four ounces and looks like 
 a condensed rainbow. 
 
 In passing the palace we saw several persons entering the 
 basement-story under the library, and had the curiosity to 
 follow them. By so doing we saw the splendid equipages 
 of the house of Austria, There must have been near a 
 hundred carriages and sleds, of every shape and style, from 
 the heavy square vehicle of the last century to the most 
 light and elegant conveyance of the present day. One 
 clumsy but magnificent machine of crimson and gold was 
 pointed out as being a hundred and fifty years old. The 
 misery we witnessed in starving Bohemia formed a striking 
 contrast to all this splendor. 
 
 Besides the imperial picture-gallery, there are several be- 
 longing to princes and noblemen in Vienna which are 
 scarcely less valuable. The most important of these is that 
 of Prince Liechtenstein, which we visited yesterday. We 
 applied to the porter's lodge for admittance to the gallery, 
 but he refused to open it for two persons ; as we did not 
 wish a long walk for nothing, we concluded to wait for other 
 visitors. Presently a gentleman and lady came and inquired 
 if the gallery was open. We told him it would probably 
 be opened now, although the porter required a larger num- 
 ber, and he went to ask. After a short time he returned, 
 saying, " He will come immediately. I thought best to put 
 the number a little higher, and so I told him there were six 
 of us." 
 
 Having little artistic knowledge of paintings, I judge of 
 them according to the effect they produce upon me in pro- 
 portion as they gratify the innate love for the beautiful and 
 the true. I have been, therefore, disappointed in some 
 painters whose names are widely known, and surprised, 
 again, to find works of great beauty by others of smaller 
 fame. Judging by such a standard, I should say that 
 "Cupid sleeping in the Lap of Venus," by Correggio, is the 
 glory of this collection. The beautiful limbs of the boy-god
 
 192 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 droop in the repose of slumber as his head rests on his 
 mother's knee, and there is a smile lingering around his 
 half-parted lips, as if he was dreaming new triumphs. The 
 face is not that of the wicked, mischief-loving child, but 
 rather a sweet cherub bringing a blessing to all he visits. 
 The figure of the goddess is exquisite. Her countenance, 
 unearthly in its loveliness, expresses the tenderness of a 
 young mother as she sits with one finger pressed on her rosy 
 lip watching his slumber. It is a picture which " stings the 
 brain with beauty." 
 
 The chapel of St. Augustine contains one of the best 
 works of Canova — the monument of the grand duchess 
 Maria Christina of Sachsen-Teschen. It is a pyramid of 
 gray marble, twenty-eight feet high, with an opening in the 
 side representing the entrance to a sepulchre. A female 
 figure personating Virtue bears in an urn to the grave the 
 ashes of the departed, attended by two children with torches. 
 The figure of Compassion follows, leading an aged beggar 
 to the tomb of his benefactor, and a little child with its 
 hands folded. On the lower step rests a mourning genius 
 beside a sleeping lion, and a bas-relief on the pyramid above 
 represents an angel carrying Christina's image, surrounded 
 with the emblem of eternity, to heaven. A spirit of deep 
 sorrow, which is touchingly portrayed in the countenance 
 of the old man, pervades the whole group. While we look- 
 ed at it the organ breathed out a slow, mournful strain 
 which harmonized so fully with the expression of the figures 
 that we seemed to be listening to the requiem of the one 
 they mourned. The combined effect of music and sculp- 
 ture thus united in their deep pathos was such that I could 
 have sat down and wept. It was not from sadness at the 
 death of a benevolent though unknown individnal, but the 
 feeling of grief, of perfect, unmingled sorrow, so powerfully 
 represented, came to the heart like an echo of its own emo- 
 tion and carried it away with irresistible influence. Trav- 
 ellers have described the same feeling while listening to the
 
 A CRUSTY GUIDE. 193 
 
 Miserere in the Sistine Chapel at Rome. Canova could not 
 have chiselled the monument without tears. 
 
 One of the most interesting objects in Vienna is the im- 
 perial armory. We were admitted through tickets pre- 
 viously procured from the armory direction ; as there was 
 already one large company within, we were told to wait in 
 the court till our turn came. Around the wall, on the in- 
 side, is suspended the enormous chain which the Turks 
 stretched across the Danube at Buda in the year 1529 to 
 obstruct the navigation. It has eight thousand links and is 
 nearly a mile in length. The court is filled with cannon of 
 all shapes and sizes, many of which were conquered from 
 other nations. I saw a great many which were cast during 
 the French Revolution, with the words "Liberte ! Egalite !" 
 upon them, and a number of others bearing the simple let- 
 ler " N." 
 
 Finally the first company came down, and the forty or 
 fifty persons who had collected during the interval were ad- 
 mitted. The armory runs around a hollow square, and 
 must be at least a quarter of a mile in length. We were 
 all taken into a circular hall made entirely of weapons, to 
 represent the four quarters of the globe. Here the crusty 
 old guide who admitted us rapped with his stick on the 
 shield of an old knight who stood near to keep silence, and 
 then addressed us : " When I speak, every one must be si- 
 lent. No one can write or draw anything. No one shall 
 touch anything or go to look at anything else before I have 
 done speaking. Otherwise, they shall be taken immediately 
 into the street again." Thus in every hall he rapped and 
 scolded, driving the women to one side with his stick and 
 the men to the other, till we were nearly through, when the 
 thought of the coming fee made him a little more polite. 
 He had a regular set of descriptions by heart, which he 
 went through with a great flourish, pointing particularly to 
 the common military caps of the late emperors of Prussia 
 and Austria as " treasures beyond all price to the nation." 
 
 13
 
 194 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Whereupon the crowd of common people gazed reverently 
 on the shabby beavers, and, I verily believe, would have 
 devoutly kissed them had the glass covering been removed. 
 I happened to be next to a tall, dignified young man who 
 looked on all this with a displeasure almost amounting to 
 contempt. Seeing I was a foreigner, he spoke in a low tone 
 bitterly of the Austrian government. " You are not, then, 
 an Austrian ?" I asked. — " No, thank God !" was the reply; 
 " but I have seen enough of Austrian tyranny. I am a 
 Pole." 
 
 The first wing contains banners used in the French Rev- 
 olution, and liberty-trees with the red cap, the armor of 
 Rudolph of Hapsburg, Maximilian I., the emperor Charles 
 V., and the hat, sword and order of Marshal Schwarzen- 
 berg. Some of the halls rejiresent a fortification, with walls, 
 ditches and embankments, made of muskets and swords. 
 A long room in the second wing contains an encampment 
 in which twelve or fifteen large tents are formed in like 
 manner. Along the sides are grouped old Austrian ban- 
 ners, standards taken from the French and horsetails and 
 flags captured from the Turks. " They make a great 
 boast," said the Pole, " of a half dozen French colors ; but 
 let them go to the Hospital des Invalides, in Paris, and they 
 will find hundreds of the best banners of Austria." They 
 also exhibited the armor of a dwarf king of Bohemia and 
 Hungary who died a gray-headed old man in his twentieth 
 year, the sword of Marlborough, the coat of Gustavus 
 Adolphus, pierced in the breast and back with the bullet 
 which killed him at Liitzen, the armor of the old Bohemian 
 princess Libussa, and that of the amazon Wlaska, with a 
 steel visor made to fit the features of her face. The last 
 wins; was the most remarkable. Here we saw the helm and 
 breastplate of Attila, king of the Huns, which once glanced 
 at the head of his myriads of wild hordes before the walls 
 of Rome ; the armor of Count Stahremberg, who com- 
 manded Vienna during the Turkish siege in 1529, and the
 
 BOYHOOD KEVIVIFIED. 195 
 
 holy banner of Mohammed, taken at that time from the 
 grand vizier, together with the steel harness of John Sobi- 
 eski of Poland, who rescued Vienna from the Turkish 
 troops under Kara Mustapha ; the hat, sword and breast- 
 plate of Godfrey of Bouillon, the crusader-king of Jerusa- 
 lem, with the banners of the cross the crusaders had borne 
 to Palestine and the standard they captured from the Turks 
 on the walls of the Holy City. I felt all my boyish enthu- 
 siasm for the romantic age of the crusaders revive as I 
 looked on the torn and mouldering banners which once 
 waved on the hills of Judea, or perhaps followed the sword 
 of the Lion-Heart through the fight on the field of Ascalon. 
 What tales could they not tell, those old standards cut and 
 shivered by spear and lance ! What brave hands have 
 carried them through the storm of battle, what dying eyes 
 have looked upward to the cross on their folds as the last 
 prayer was breathed for the rescue of the holy sepulchre. 
 
 I must now close the catalogue. This morning we shall 
 look upon Vienna for the last time. Our knapsacks are 
 repacked, and the passports (precious documents !) vised for 
 Munich. The getting of this vise, however, caused a com- 
 ical scene at the police-office yesterday. We entered the 
 inspector's hall and took our stand quietly among the crowd 
 of persons who were gathered around a railing which sepa- 
 rated them from the main office. One of the clerks came 
 up, scowling at us, and asked in a rough tone, " What do 
 you want here?" We handed him our tickets of sojourn 
 (for when a traveller spends more than twenty-four hours 
 in a German city, he must take out a permission and pay 
 for it) with the request that he would give us our passports. 
 He glanced over the tickets, came back and with constrained 
 politeness asked us to step within the railing. Here we were 
 
 introduced to the chief-inspector. " Desire Herr to 
 
 come here," said he to a servant ; then, turning to us, " I 
 am happy to see the gentlemen in Vienna." An officer im- 
 mediately came up, who addressed us in fluent English.
 
 196 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 " You may speak in your native tongue," said the inspector. 
 " Excuse our neglect. From the facility with which you 
 speak German, we supposed you were natives of Austria." 
 Our passports were signed at once and given us with a gra- 
 cious bow, accompanied by the hope that we would visit 
 Vienna again before long. All this, of course, was perfectly 
 unintelligible to the wondering crowd outside the railing. 
 Seeing, however, the honors we were receiving, they crowded 
 back and respectfully made room for us to pass out. I kept 
 a grave face till we reached the bottom of the stairs, when 
 I gave way to restrained laughter in a manner that shocked 
 the dignity of the guard, who looked savagely at me over 
 his forest of moustache. I would, nevertheless, have felt 
 grateful for the attention we received as Americans, were it 
 not for our uncourteous reception as suspected Austrians. 
 
 We have just been exercising the risible muscles again, 
 though from a very different cause, and one which, accord- 
 ing to common custom, ought to draw forth symptoms of a 
 lachrymose nature. This morning B suggested an ex- 
 amination of our funds, for we had neglected keeping a 
 strict account, and, what with being cheated in Bohemia 
 and tempted by the amusements of Vienna, there was an 
 apparent dwindling away. So we emptied our pockets and 
 purses, counted up the contents, and found we had just ten 
 florins, or four dollars, apiece. The thought of our situa- 
 tion, away in the heart of Austria, five hundred miles from 
 our Frankfort home, seems irresistibly laughable. By al- 
 lowing twenty days for the journey, we shall have half 
 a florin a day to travel on. This is a homoeopathic allow- 
 ance, indeed, but we have concluded to try it. — So now 
 adieu, Vienna ! In two hours we shall be among the hills 
 again.
 
 THE VIENNA FOREST. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 UP THE DANUBE. 
 
 We passed out of Vienna in the face of one of the strong- 
 est winds it was ever ray lot to encounter. It swept across 
 the plain with such force that it was almost impossible to 
 advance till we got under the lee of a range of hills. About 
 two miles from the barrier we passed Schoenbrunn, the Aus- 
 trian Versailles. It was built by the empress Maria The- 
 resa, and was the residence of Napoleon in 1809, when 
 Vienna was in the hands of the French. Later, in 1832, 
 the duke of Reichstadt died in the same room which his 
 father once occupied. Behind the palace is a magnificent 
 garden, at the foot of a hill covered with rich forests and 
 crowned with an open pillared hall three hundred feet long, 
 called the Gloriette. The colossal eagle which surmounts it 
 can be seen a great distance. 
 
 The lovely valley in which Schoenbrunn lies follows the 
 course of the little river Vienna into the heart of that moun- 
 tain-region lying between the Styrian Alps and the Danube, 
 and called the Vienna Forest. Into this our road led, be- 
 tween hills covered with wood, with here and there a lovely 
 green meadow where herds of cattle were grazing. The 
 third day we came to the Danube again at Melk, a little 
 city built under the edge of a steep hill, on whose summit 
 stands the palace-like abbey of the Benedictine monks. 
 The old friars must have had a merry life of it, for the 
 wine-cellar of the abbey furnished the French army fifty 
 thousand measures for several days in succession. The 
 shores of the Danube here are extremely beautiful. The 
 valley where it spreads out is filled with groves, but where 
 the hills approach the stream its banks are rocky and pre- 
 cipitous, like the Rhine. Although not so picturesque as 
 the latter river, the scenery of the Danube is on a grander
 
 198 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 scale. On the south side the mountains bend down to it 
 with a majestic sweep, and there must be delightful glances 
 into the valleys that lie between in passing down the current. 
 
 But we soon left the river and journeyed on through the 
 enchanting inland vales. To give an idea of the glorious 
 enjoyment of travelling through such scenes, let me copy a 
 leaf out of my journal, written as we rested at noon on the 
 top of a lofty hill : 
 
 " Here, while the delightful mountain-breeze that comes 
 fresh from the Alps cools my forehead and the pines around 
 are sighing their eternal anthem, I seize a few moments to 
 tell what a paradise is around me. I have felt an elevation 
 of mind and spirit, a perfect rapture from morning till night, 
 since we left Vienna. It is the brightest and balmiest June 
 weather ; an ever-fresh breeze sings through the trees and 
 waves the ripening grain on the verdant meadows and hill- 
 slopes. The air is filled with bird-music. The larks sing 
 above us out of sight, the bullfinch wakes his notes in the 
 grove, and at eve the nightingale pours forth her thrilling 
 strain. The meadows are literally covered with flowers; 
 beautiful purple salvias, pinks such as we have at home in 
 our gardens and glowing buttercups color the banks of every 
 stream. I never saw richer or more luxuriant foliage. 
 Magnificent forests clothe the hills, and the villages are im- 
 bedded in fruit trees, shrubbery and flowers. Sometimes 
 we go for miles through some enchanting valley lying like 
 a paradise between the mountains, while the distant white 
 Alps look on it from afar; sometimes over swelling ranges 
 of hills, where we can see to the right the valley of the Dan- 
 ube threaded by his silver current and dotted with white 
 cottages and glittering spires, and, farther beyond, the blue 
 mountains of the Bohemian Forest. To the left the range 
 of the Styrian Alps stretches along the sky, summit above 
 summit, the farther ones robed in perpetual snow. I could 
 never tire gazing on those glorious hills. They fill the soul 
 with a conception of sublimity such as one feels when lis-
 
 BOHEMIAN GIPSIES. 199 
 
 tening to triumphal music. They seem like the marble 
 domes of a mighty range of temples where Earth worships 
 her Maker with an organ-anthem of storms. 
 
 " There is a luxury in travelling here. We walk all day 
 through such scenes, resting often in the shade of the fruit 
 trees which line the road, or on a mossy bank by the side 
 of some cool forest. Sometimes, for enjoyment as well as 
 variety, we make our dining-plaee by a clear spring instead 
 of within a smoky tavern, and our simple meals have a rel- 
 ish an epicure could never attain. Away with your rail- 
 roads and steamboats and mail-coaches, or keep them for 
 those who have no eye but for the sordid interests of life ! 
 With my knapsack and pilgrim-staff, I ask not their aid. 
 If a mind and soul full of rapture with beauty, a frame in 
 glowing and vigorous health and slumbers unbroken even 
 by dreams are blessings any one would attain, let him pe- 
 destrianize it through Lower Austria." 
 
 I have never been so strongly and constantly reminded 
 of America as during this journey. Perhaps the balmy 
 season — the same in which I last looked upon the dear 
 scenes of home— may have its effect, but there is, besides, 
 a richness in the forests and waving fields of grain, a wild 
 luxuriance over every landscape, which I have seen no- 
 where else in Europe. The large farmhouses buried in 
 orchards, scattered over the valleys, add to the effect. 
 Everything seems to speak of happiness and prosperity. 
 
 We were met one morning by a band of wandering 
 Bohemian gipsies — the first of the kind I ever saw. A 
 young woman with a small child in her arms came directly 
 up to me, and, looking full in my face with her wild black 
 eyes, said, without any preface, " Yes, he too has met with 
 sorrow and trouble already, and will still have more. But 
 he is not false ; he is true and sincere, and will also meet 
 with good luck." She said she could tell me three numbers 
 with which I should buy a lottery-ticket and win a great 
 prize. I told her I would have nothing to do with the lot-
 
 200 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 tery and would buy no ticket, but she persisted, saying, 
 " Has he a twenty-kreutzer piece ? Will he give it ? Lay 
 it in his hand and make a cross over it, and I will reveal 
 the numbers." On my refusal she became angry, and left 
 me, saying, " Let him take care ! The third day something 
 will happen to him." An old wrinkled hag made the same 
 proposition to my companion with no better success. They 
 reminded me strikingly of our Indians ; their complexion 
 is a dark brown and their eyes and hair are black as night. 
 These belonged to a small tribe who wander through the 
 forests of Bohemia and support themselves by cheating and 
 stealing. 
 
 We stopped the fourth night at Enns, a small city on the 
 river of the same name which divides Upper from Lower 
 Austria. After leaving the beautiful little village where 
 we passed the night before, the road ascended one of those 
 long ranges of hills which stretch off from the Danube 
 toward the Alps. We walked for miles over the broad and 
 uneven summit, enjoying the enchanting view which opened 
 on both sides. If we looked to the right, we could trace 
 the windings of the Danube for twenty miles, his current 
 filled with green wooded islands ; white cities lie at the foot 
 of the hills, which, covered to the summit with grain-fields 
 and vineyards, extended back one behind another, till the 
 farthest were lost in the distance. I was glad we had 
 taken the way from Vienna to Linz by land, for from the 
 heights we had a view of the whole course of the Danube, 
 enjoying, besides, the beauty of the inland vales and the 
 far-off Styrian Alps. From the hills we passed over we 
 could see the snowy range as far as the Alps of Salzburg ; 
 some of them seemed robed to the very base in their white 
 mantles. In the morning the glaciers on their summit glit- 
 tered like stars. It was the first time I saw the sun re- 
 flected at a hundred miles' distance. 
 
 On descending, we came into a garden-like plain over 
 which rose the towers of Enns, built by the rausom-money
 
 ROADSIDE SHRINES. 201 
 
 paid to Austria for the deliverance of the Lion-hearted 
 Richard. The country legends say that St. Florian was 
 thrown into the river hy the Romans in the third century 
 with a millstone around his neck, which, however, held him 
 above the water like cork until he had finished preaching 
 them a sermon. In the villages we often saw his image 
 painted on the houses in the act of pouring a pail of water 
 on a burning building, with the inscription beheath : " O 
 holy Florian, pray for us !" This was supposed to be a 
 charm against fire. In Upper Austria it is customary to 
 erect a shrine on the road wherever an accident has hap- 
 pened, with a painting and description of it, and an ad- 
 monition to all passers-by to pray for the soul of the unfor- 
 tunate person. On one of them, for instance, was a cart 
 with a wild ox which a man was holding by the horns ; a 
 woman kneeling by the wheels appeared to be drawing 
 a little girl by the feet from under it, and the inscription 
 stated : " By calling on Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the girl 
 was happily rescued." Many of the shrines had images 
 which the people, no doubt, in their ignorance and sim- 
 plicity, considered holy, but they were to us impious, and 
 almost blasphemous. 
 
 From Enns a morning's walk brought us to Linz. The 
 peasant-girls in their broad straw hats were weeding the 
 young wheat, looking as cheerful and contented as the larks 
 that sung above them. A mile or two from Linz we passed 
 one or two of the round towers belonging to the new fortifi- 
 cations of the city. As walls have grown out of fashion, 
 Duke Maximilian substituted an invention of his own. The 
 city is surrounded by thirty-two towers, one to three miles 
 distant from it, and so placed that they form a complete 
 line of communication and defence. They are sunk in 
 the earth, surrounded with a ditch and embankments, and 
 each is capable of containing ten cannon and three hundred 
 men. The pointed roofs of these towers are seen on all the 
 hills around. We were obliged to give up our passports at
 
 202 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the barrier, the officer telling us to call for them in three 
 hours at the city police-office. We spent the intervening time 
 very agreeably in rambling through this gay, cheerful-look- 
 ing town. With its gilded spires and ornamented houses, 
 with their green lattice-blinds, it reminds one strongly of 
 Italy — or, at least, of what Italy is said to be. It has now 
 quite an active and business-like aspect, occasioned by the 
 steamboat and railroad lines which connect it with Vienna, 
 Prague, Ratisbon and Salzburg. Although we had not ex- 
 ceeded our daily allowance by more than a few kreutzers, 
 we found that twenty days would be hardly sufficient to 
 accomplish the journey, and our funds must therefore be 
 replenished. Accordingly, I wrote from Linz to Frankfort, 
 directing a small sum to be forwarded to Munich ; which 
 city we hoped to reach in eight days. 
 
 We took the horse-cars at Linz for Lambach, seventeen 
 miles on the way toward Gmunden. The mountains were 
 covered with clouds as we approached them, and the storms 
 they had been brewing for two or three days began to march 
 down on the plain. They had nearly reached us when Ave 
 crossed the Traun and arrived at Lambach, a small city 
 built upon a hill. We left the next day at noon, and on 
 ascending the hill after crossing the Traun had an opportu- 
 nity of seeing the portrait on the Traunstein of which the 
 old landlord told us. I saw it at the first glance ; certainly 
 it is a most remarkable freak of nature. The rough back 
 of the mountain forms the exact profile of the human coun- 
 tenance, as if regularly hewn out of the rock. What is still 
 more singular, it is said to be a correct portrait of the un- 
 fortunate Louis XVI. The landlord said it was immedi- 
 ately recognized by all Frenchmen. The road followed the 
 course of the Traun, whose green waters roared at the bot- 
 tom of the glen below us; we walked for several miles 
 through a fine forest through whose openings we caught 
 glimpses of the mountains we longed to reach. 
 
 The river roared at last somewhat louder, and on looking
 
 THE UNKNOWN STUDENT. 203 
 
 down the bank I saw rocks and rapids, and a few houses 
 built on the edge of the stream. Thinking it must be near 
 the fall, we went down the path, and, lo ! on crossing a little 
 wooden bridge, the whole affair burst in sight. Judge of 
 our surprise at finding a fall of fifteen feet, after we had 
 been led to expect a tremendous leap of forty or fifty with 
 all the accompaniment of rocks and precipices. Of course 
 the whole descent of the river at the place was much greater, 
 and there were some romantic cascades over the rocks which 
 blocked its course. Its greatest beauty consisted in the color 
 of the water — the brilliant green of the waves being broken 
 into foam of the most dazzling white — and the great force 
 with which it is thrown below. 
 
 The Traunstein grew higher as we approached, presenting 
 the same profile till we had nearly reached Gmunden. 
 From the green upland meadows above the town the view 
 of the mountain-range was glorious, and I could easily con- 
 ceive the effect of the Unknown Student's appeal to the 
 people to fight for those free hills. I think it is Howitt who 
 relates the incident — one of the most romantic in German 
 history. Count Pappenheim led his forces here in the year 
 1626 to suppress a revolution of the people of the whole 
 Salzburg region, who had risen against an invasion of their 
 rights by the Austrian government. The battle which took 
 place on these meadows was about being decided in favor 
 of the oppressors, when a young man clad as a student sud- 
 denly appeared and addressed the people, pointing to the 
 Alps above them and the sweet lake below, and asking if 
 that land should not be free. The effect was electrical. 
 They returned to the charge and drove back the troops of 
 Pappenheim, who were about taking to flight, when the un- 
 known leader fell mortally wounded. This struck a sudden 
 panic through his followers, and the Austrians, turning 
 again, gained a complete victory. But the name of the 
 brave student is unknown, his deed unsung by his country's 
 bards and almost forgotten.
 
 204 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN STUDENT. 
 
 Ha ! spears on Gmunden's meadows green, 
 
 And banners on the wood-crowned height I 
 Rank after rank, their helmets' sheen 
 
 Sends back the morning light. 
 "Where late the mountain-maiden sang 
 The battle-trumpet's brazen clang 
 
 Vibrates along the air, 
 And wild dragoons wheel o'er the plain, 
 Trampling to earth the yellow grain, 
 From which no more the merry swain 
 
 His harvest-sheaves shall bear. 
 
 The eagle, in his sweep at morn 
 
 To meet the monarch-sun on high, 
 Heard the unwonted warrior's horn 
 
 Peal faintly up the sky ; 
 He saw the foemen moving slow 
 In serried legions far below 
 
 Against that peasant-band 
 Who dared to break the tyrant's thrall 
 And by the sword of Austria fall, 
 Or keep the ancient right of all, 
 
 Held by their mountain-land. 
 
 They came to meet that mail-clad host 
 
 From glen and wood and ripening field ; 
 A brave, stout arm each man could boast — 
 
 A soul unused to yield. 
 They met! A shout prolonged and loud 
 Went hovering upward with the cloud 
 
 That closed around them dun; 
 Blade upon blade unceasing clashed, 
 Spears in the onset shivering crashed, 
 And the red glare of cannon flashed 
 
 Athwart the smoky sun.
 
 THE UNKNOWN STUDENT. 205 
 
 The mountain-warriors wavered back, 
 
 Borne down by myriads of the foe 
 Like pines before the torrent's track 
 
 "When spring has warmed the snow. 
 Shall Faith and Freedom vainly call, 
 And Gmunden's warrior-herdsmen fall 
 
 On the red field in vain ? 
 No ! From the throng that back retired 
 A student-boy sprang forth inspired, 
 And while his words their bosoms fired 
 
 Led on the charge again : 
 
 " And thus your free arms would ye give 
 
 So tamely to a tyrant's band, 
 And with the hearts of vassals live 
 
 In this your chainless land ? 
 The emerald lake is spread below, 
 And tower above the hills of snow; 
 
 Here field and forest lie; 
 This land so glorious and so free — 
 Say, shall it crushed and trodden be? 
 Say, would ye rather bend the knee 
 
 Than for its freedom die? 
 
 " Look ! Yonder stand in midday's glare 
 
 The everlasting Alps of snow, 
 And from their peaks a purer air 
 
 Breathes over the vales below : 
 The Traunstein's brow is bent in pride; 
 He brooks no craven on his side : 
 
 Would ye be fettered, then ? 
 There lifts the Sonnenstein his head, 
 There chafes the Traun his rocky bed, 
 And Aurach's lovely vale is spread : 
 
 Look on them, and be men ! 
 
 " Let, like a trumpet's sound of fire, 
 
 These stir your souls to manhood's part — 
 
 The glory of the Alps inspire 
 Each yet unconquered heart ; 
 
 For through their unpolluted air 
 
 Soars fresher up the grateful prayer 
 From freemen, unto God.
 
 206 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 A blessing on those mountains old ! 
 On to the combat, brethren bold ! 
 Strike, that ye free the valleys hold 
 Where free your fathers trod !" 
 
 And, like a mighty storm that tears 
 
 The icy avalanche from its bed, 
 They rushed against th' opposing spears, 
 
 The student at their head. 
 The bands of Austria fought in vain : 
 A bloodier harvest heaped the plain 
 
 At every charge they made ; 
 Each herdsman was a hero then ; 
 The mountain-hunters stood like men, 
 And echoed from the farthest glen 
 
 The clash of blade on blade. 
 
 The banner in the student's hand 
 
 Waved triumph from the fight before ; 
 What terror seized the conq'ring band? 
 
 It fell to rise no more ! 
 And with it died the lofty flame 
 That from his lips in lightning came 
 
 And burned upon their own. 
 Dread Pappenheim led back the foe, 
 The mountain-peasants yielded slow, 
 And plain above and lake below 
 
 Were red when evening shone. 
 
 Now many a year has passed away 
 
 Since battle's blast rolled o'er the plain ; 
 The Alps are bright in morning's ray, 
 
 The Traunstein smiles again. 
 But underneath the flowery sod 
 By happy peasant-children trod 
 
 A hero's ashes lay. 
 O'er him no grateful nation wept, 
 Fame of his deed no record kept, 
 And dull Forgetfulness hath swept 
 
 His very name away. 
 
 In many a grave by poets sung 
 There falls to dust a lofty brow,
 
 EBENSEE. 207 
 
 But he alone, the brave and young, 
 
 Sleeps there forgotten now. 
 The Alps upon that field look down 
 Which won his hright and brief renown 
 
 Beside the lake's green shore ; 
 Still wears the land a tyrant's chain, 
 Still bondmen tread the battle-plain, 
 Called by his glorious soul in vain 
 
 To win their rights of yore. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE AUSTRIAN ALPS. 
 
 It was nearly dark -when we came to the end of the 
 plain and looked on the city at our feet and the lovely lake 
 that lost itself in the mountains before us. We were early 
 on board the steamboat next morning, with a cloudless sky 
 above us and a snow-crested alp beckoning on from the end 
 of the lake. The water was of the most beautiful green 
 hue, the morning light colored the peaks around with pur- 
 ple and a misty veil rolled up the rocks of the Traunstein. 
 We stood on the prow and enjoyed to the fullest extent the 
 enchanting scenery. The white houses of Gmunden sank 
 down to the water's edge like a flock of ducks ; halfway 
 we passed Castle Ort, on a rock in the lake whose sum- 
 mit is covered with trees. 
 
 As we neared the other extremity the mountains became 
 steeper and loftier; there was no path along their wild 
 sides, nor even a fisher's hut nestled at their feet, and the 
 snow filled the ravines more than halfway from the summit. 
 An hour and a quarter brought us to Ebensee, at the head 
 of the lake, where we landed and plodded on toward Ischl, 
 following the Traun up a narrow valley whose mountain- 
 walls shut out more than half the sky. They are covered
 
 208 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 with forests, and the country is inhabited entirely by the 
 woodmen who fell the mountain-pines and float the timber- 
 rafts down to the Danube. The steeps are marked with 
 white lines where the trees have been rolled — or, rather, 
 thrown — from the summit. Often they descend several 
 miles over rocks and precipices where the least deviation 
 from the track would dash them in a thousand pieces. This 
 generally takes place in the winter when the sides are cov- 
 ered with snow and ice. It must be a dangerous business, 
 for there are many crosses by the wayside where the pic- 
 tures represent persons accidentally killed by the trees ; an 
 additional painting represents them as burning in the flames 
 of purgatory, and the pious traveller is requested to pray 
 an Ave or a Paternoster for the repose of their souls. 
 
 On we went up the valley of the Traun, between moun- 
 tains five and six thousand feet high, through scenes con- 
 stantly changing and constantly grand, for three or four 
 hours. Finally the hills opened, disclosing a little triangu- 
 lar valley whose base was formed by a mighty mountain 
 covered with clouds. Through the two side-angles came 
 the Traun and his tributary the Ischl, while the little town 
 of Ischl lay in the centre. Within a few years this has be- 
 come a very fashionable bathing-place, and the influx of 
 rich visitors — which in the summer sometimes amounts to 
 two thousand — has entirely destroyed the primitive sim- 
 plicity the inhabitants originally possessed. From Ischl 
 we took a road through the forests to St. Wolfgang, on the 
 lake of the same name. The last part of the way led 
 along the banks of the lake, disclosing some delicious 
 views. These Alpine lakes surpass any scenery I have yet 
 seen. The water is of the most beautiful green, like a 
 sheet of molten beryl, and the cloud-piercing mountains 
 that encompass them shut out the sun for nearly half the 
 day. St. Wolfgang is a lovely village in a cool and quiet 
 nook at the foot of the Schaf berg. The houses are built in 
 the picturesque Swiss style, with flat, projecting roofs and
 
 THE SCHAFBERG. 209 
 
 ornamental balconies, and the people are the very picture 
 of neatness and cheerfulness. 
 
 We started next morning to ascend the Schaf berg, which 
 is called the Righi of the Austrian Switzerland. It is 
 somewhat higher than its Swiss namesake, and commands 
 a prospect scarcely less extensive or grand. We followed 
 a footpath through the thick forest by the side of a roaring 
 torrent. The morning mist still covered the lake, but the 
 white summits of the Salzburg and Noric Alps, opposite 
 us, rose above it and stood pure and bright in the upper 
 air. We passed a little mill and one or two cottages, and 
 then wound round one of the lesser heights into a deep 
 ravine, down in whose dark shadow we sometimes heard 
 the axe and saw of the mountain-woodmen. Finally the 
 path disappeared altogether under a mass of logs and rocks, 
 which appeared to have been whirled together by a sudden 
 flood. We deliberated what to do. The summit rose sev- 
 eral thousand feet above us, almost precipitously steep, but 
 we did not like to turn back, and there was still a hope of 
 meeting with the path again. Clambering over the ruins 
 and rubbish, we pulled ourselves by the limbs of trees up a 
 steep ascent and descended again to the stream. We here 
 saw the ravine was closed by a wall of rock and our only 
 chance was to cross to the west side of the mountain, where 
 the ascent seemed somewhat easier. A couple of mountain- 
 maidens whom Ave fortunately met carrying home grass for 
 their goats told us the mountain could be ascended on that 
 side by one who could climb well, laying a strong emphasis 
 on the word. The very doubt implied in this expression 
 was enough to decide us ; so we began the work. And 
 work it was, too. The side was very steep, the trees all 
 leaned downward, and we slipped at every step on the dry 
 leaves and grass. After making a short distance this way 
 with the greatest labor we came to the track of an ava- 
 lanche which had swept away the trees and earth. Here 
 the rock had been worn rough by torrents, but by using 
 
 14
 
 210 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 both hands and feet we clomb directly up the side of the 
 mountain, sometimes dragging ourselves up by the branches 
 of trees where the rocks were smooth. After half an hour 
 of such work we came above the forests, on the bare side 
 of the mountain. The summit was far above us, and so 
 steep that our limbs involuntarily shrunk from the task of 
 climbing. The side ran up at an angle of nearly sixty 
 degrees, and the least slip threw us flat on our faces. We 
 had to use both hand and foot, and were obliged to rest 
 every few minutes to recover breath. Crimson-flowered 
 moss and bright blue gentians covered the rocks, and I 
 filled my books with blossoms for friends at home. 
 
 Up and up for what seemed an age we clambered. So 
 steep was it that the least rocky projection hid my friend 
 from sight, as he was coming up below me. I let stones 
 roll sometimes, which went down, down, almost like a 
 cannon-ball, till I could see them no more. At length we 
 reached the region of dwarf pines, which was even more 
 difficult to pass through. Although the mountain was not 
 so steep, this forest, centuries old, reached no higher than 
 our breasts, and the trees leaned downward ; so that we 
 were obliged to take hold of the tops of those above us and 
 drag ourselves up through the others. Here and there lay 
 large patches of snow ; we sat down in the glowing June 
 sun, and bathed our hands and faces in it. Finally the sky 
 became bluer and broader, the clouds seemed nearer, and a 
 few more steps through the bushes brought us to the sum- 
 mit of the mountain, on the edge of a precipice a thousand 
 feet deep whose bottom stood in a vast field of snow. 
 
 We lay down on the heather, exhausted by five hours' 
 incessant toil, and drank in like a refreshing draught the 
 sublimity of the scene. The green lakes of the Salzburg 
 Alps lay far below us, and the whole southern horizon was 
 filled with the mighty range of the Styrian and Noric Alps, 
 their summits of never-melting snow mingling and blend- 
 ing with the clouds. On the other side the mountains of
 
 A FATIGUING DESCENT. 211 
 
 Salzburg lifted their ridgy backs from the plains of Bavaria, 
 and the Chiem lake lay spread out in the blue distance. A 
 line of mist far to the north betrayed the path of the Dan- 
 ube, and beyond it we could barely trace the outline of the 
 Bohemian mountains. With a glass the spires of Munich, 
 one hundred and twenty miles distant* can be seen. It was 
 a view whose grandeur I can never forget. In that dome 
 of the cloud we seemed to breathe a purer air than that of 
 earth. 
 
 After an hour or two we began to think of descending, 
 as the path was yet to be found. The summit, which was 
 a mile or more in length, extended farther westward, and 
 by climbing over the dwarf pines for some time we saw a 
 little wooden house above us. It stood near the highest 
 part of the peak, and two or three men were engaged in re- 
 pairing it as a shelter for travellers. They pointed out the 
 path which went down on the side toward St. Gilgen, and 
 we began descending. The mountain on this side is much 
 less steep, but the descent is fatiguing enough. The path 
 led along the side of a glen where mountain-goats were 
 grazing, and farther down we saw cattle feeding on the lit- 
 tle spots of verdure which lay in the forest. My knees be- 
 came so weak from this continued descent that they would 
 scarcely support me, but we were three hours, partly walk- 
 ing and partly running down, before we reached the bottom. 
 Half an hour's Avalk around the head of the St. Wolfgang 
 See brought us to the little village of St. Gilgen. 
 
 The valley of St. Gilgen lies like a little paradise between 
 the mountains. Lovely green fields and woods slope grad- 
 ually from the mountain behind to the still greener lake 
 spread out before it in whose bosom the white Alps are 
 mirrored. Its picturesque cottages cluster around the neat 
 church with its lofty spire, and the simple inhabitants have 
 countenances as bright and cheerful as the blue sky above 
 them. We breathed an air of poetry. The Arcadian sim- 
 plicity of the people, the pastoral beauty of the fields
 
 212 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 around and the grandeur of the mountains which shut it 
 out from the world realized my ideas of a dwelling-place 
 where, with a few kindred spirits, the bliss of Eden might 
 almost be restored. 
 
 We stopped there two or three hours to relieve our hun- 
 ger and fatigue. My boots had suffered severely in our 
 mountain-adventure, and I called at a shoemaker's cottage 
 to get them repaired. I sat down and talked for half an 
 hour with the family. The man and his wife spoke of the 
 delightful scenery around them, and expressed themselves 
 with correctness, and even elegance. They were much 
 pleased that I admired their village so greatly, and related 
 everything which they supposed could interest me. As I 
 rose to go my head nearly touched the ceiling, which was 
 very low. The man exclaimed : "Ach, Gott ! how tall !" 
 I told him the people were all tall in our country ; he then 
 asked where I came from, and I had no sooner said "Amer- 
 ica" than he threw up his hands and uttered an ejacula- 
 tion of the greatest surprise. His wife observed that " it 
 was wonderful how far man was permitted to travel." They 
 wished me a prosperous journey and a safe return home. 
 
 St. Gilgen was also interesting to me from that beautiful 
 chapter in Hyperion — " Footsteps of Angels ;" and on pass- 
 ing the church on my way back to the inn I entered the 
 graveyard mentioned in it. The green turf grows thickly 
 over the rows of mounds, with here and there a rose planted 
 by the hand of affection, and the white crosses were hung 
 with wreaths, some of which had been freshly laid on. Be- 
 hind the church, under the shade of a tree, stood a small 
 chapel. I opened the unfastened door and entered. The 
 afternoon sun shone through the side window, and all was 
 still around. A little shrine adorned with flowers stood at 
 the other end, and there were two tablets on the wall to 
 persons who slumbered beneath. I approached these and 
 read on one of them with feelings not easily described, 
 " Look not mournfully into the past — it comes not again ;
 
 SALZBURG VALLEY. 213 
 
 wisely improve the present — it is thine ; and go forward to 
 meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly 
 heart." This, then, was the spot where Paul Flemming 
 came in loneliness and sorrow to muse over what he had 
 lost, and these were the words whose truth and eloquence 
 strengthened and consoled him, " as if the unknown tenant 
 of the grave had opened his lips of dust and spoken those 
 words of consolation his soul needed." I sat down and 
 mused a long time, for there was something in the silent 
 holiness of the spot that impressed me more than I could 
 well describe. 
 
 We reached a little village on the Fuschel See the same 
 evening, and set off the next morning for Salzburg. The 
 day was hot, and we walked slowly; so that it was not till 
 two o'clock that we saw the castellated rocks on the side 
 of the Gaissberg guarding the entrance to the valley of 
 Salzburg. A short distance farther the whole glorious pan- 
 orama was spread out below us. From the height on which 
 we stood we looked directly on the summit of the Capuchin 
 Mountain, which hid part of the city from sight; the double 
 peak of the Staufen rose opposite, and a heavy storm was 
 raging along the Alpine heights around it, while the lovely 
 valley lay in sunshine below, threaded by the bright cur- 
 rent of the Salza. As we descended and passed around the 
 foot of the hill the Untersberg came in sight, whose broad 
 summits lift themselves seven thousand feet above the plain. 
 The legend says that Charlemagne and his warriors sit in 
 its subterraneous caverns in complete armor, and that they 
 will arise and come forth again when Germany recovers her 
 former power and glory. 
 
 I wish I could convey in words some idea of the eleva- 
 tion of spirit experienced while looking on these eternal 
 mountains. They fill the soul with a sensation of power 
 and grandeur which frees it a while from the cramps and 
 fetters of common life. It rises and expands to the level 
 of their sublimity till its thoughts stand solemnly aloft, like
 
 214 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 their summits piercing the free heaven. Their dazzling and 
 imperishable beauty is to the mind an image of its own en- 
 during existence. When I stand upon some snowy summit 
 the invisible apex of that mighty pyramid, there seems a 
 majesty in my weak will which might defy the elements. 
 This sense of power, inspired by a silent sympathy with the 
 forms of nature, is beautifully described— as shown in the 
 free, unconscious instincts of childhood— by the poet 
 Uhland in his ballad of "The Mountain-Boy." I have 
 attempted a translation : 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN-BOY. 
 
 A herd-boy on the mountain's brow, 
 I see the castles all below. 
 The sunbeam here is earliest cast 
 And by my side it lingers last: 
 
 I am the boy of the mountain ! 
 
 The mother-house of streams is here : 
 I drink them in their cradles clear; 
 From out tfie rock they foam below : 
 I spring to catch them as they go. 
 I am the boy of the mountain ! 
 
 To me belongs the mountain's bound, 
 Where gathering tempests march around ; 
 But, though from north and south they shout, 
 Above them still my song rings out : 
 " I am the boy of the mountain !" 
 
 Below me clouds and thunders move ; 
 I stand amid the blue above; 
 I shout to them with fearless breast : 
 «' Go ! leave my father's house in rest ! 
 I am the boy of the mountain !" 
 
 And when the loud bell shakes the spires 
 And flame aloft the signal-fires, 
 I go below and join the throng 
 And swing my sword and sing my song : 
 " I am the boy of the mountain !"
 
 THE PINCH OF POVERTY. 215 
 
 Salzburg lies on both sides of the Salza, hemmed in on 
 either hand by precipitous mountains. A large fortress 
 overlooks it on the south from the summit of a perpendic- 
 ular rock against which the houses in that part of the city 
 are built. The streets are narrow and crooked, but the 
 newer part contains many open squares adorned with hand- 
 some fountains. The variety of costume among the people 
 is very interesting. The inhabitants of the salt district have 
 a peculiar dress. The women wear round fur caps with 
 little wings of gauze at the side. I saw other women with 
 headdresses of gold or silver filigree, something in shape 
 like a Roman helmet, with a projection at the back of the 
 head a foot long. The most interesting objects in Salzburg 
 to us were the house of Mozart, in which the composer was 
 born, and the monument lately erected to him. The St. 
 Peter's church, near by, contains the tomb of Haydn, the 
 great composer, and the church of St. Sebastian that of the 
 renowned Paracelsus, who was also a native of Salzburg. 
 
 Two or three hours sufficed to see everything of interest 
 in the city. We had intended to go farther through the 
 Alps, to the beautiful vales of the Tyrol, but our time was 
 getting short; our boots, which are the pedestrian's sole 
 dependence, began to show symptoms of wearing out, and 
 our expenses among the lakes and mountains of Upper 
 Austria left us but two florins apiece ; so we reluctantly 
 turned our backs upon the snowy hills and set out for Mu- 
 nich, ninety miles distant. After passing the night at Saal- 
 bruck, on the banks of the stream which separates the two 
 kingdoms, we entered Bavaria next morning. I could not 
 help feeling glad to leave Austria, although within her 
 bounds I had passed scenes whose beauty will long haunt 
 me, and met with many honest, friendly hearts among her 
 people. We noticed a change as soon as we had crossed the 
 border. The roads were neater and handsomer, and the 
 country-people greeted us in going by with a friendly cheer- 
 fulness that made us feel half at home. The houses are
 
 216 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 built in the picturesque Swiss fashion, their balconies often 
 ornamented with curious figures carved in wood. Many of 
 them, where they are situated remote from a church, have 
 a little bell on the roof, which they ring for morning and 
 evening prayers ; we often heard these simple monitors 
 sounding from the cottages as we passed by. 
 
 The next night we stopped at the little village of Stein, 
 famous in former times for its robber-knight Hans von Stein. 
 The ruins of his castle stand on the rock above, and the cav- 
 erns hewn in the sides of the precipice, where he used to 
 confine his prisoners, are still visible. Walking on through 
 a pleasant, well-cultivated country, we came to Wasserburg, 
 on the Inn. The situation of the city is peculiar. The Inn 
 has gradually worn his channel deeper in the sandy soil ; 
 so that he now flows at the bottom of a glen, a hundred feet 
 below the plains around. Wasserburg lies in a basin formed 
 by the change of the current, which flows around it like a 
 horseshoe, leaving only a narrow neck of land which con- 
 nects it with the country above. 
 
 We left the little village where we were quartered for the 
 night, and took a footpath which led across the country to 
 the field of Hohenlinden, about six miles distant. The 
 name had been familiar to me from childhood, and my love 
 for Campbell, with the recollection of the school-exhibitions 
 where " On Linden when the sun was low " had been so often 
 declaimed, induced me to make the excursion to it. We 
 traversed a large forest belonging to the king of Bavaria, 
 and came out on a plain covered with grain-fields and 
 bounded on the right by a semicircle of low hills. Over the 
 fields, about two miles distant, a tall, minaret-like spire rose 
 from a small cluster of houses, and this was Hohenlinden. 
 To tell the truth, I had been expecting something more. 
 The " hills of blood-stained snow " are very small hills in- 
 deed, and the " Isar, rolling rapidly," is several miles off; 
 it was the spot, however, and we recited Campbell's poem, 
 of course, and brought away a few wild-flowers as memorials.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 217 
 
 There is nc monument or any other token of the battle, and 
 the people seem to endeavor to forget the scene of Moreau's 
 victory and their defeat. 
 
 From a hill twelve miles off we had our first view of the 
 spires of Munich, looking like distant ships over the sealike 
 plain. They kept in sight till we arrived at eight o'clock 
 in the evening, after a walk of more than thirty miles. We 
 crossed the rapid Isar on three bridges, entered the magnifi- 
 cent Isar Gate, and were soon comfortably quartered in the 
 heart of Munich. 
 
 Entering the city without knowing a single soul within 
 it, we made within a few minutes an agreeable acquaintance. 
 After we passed the Isar Gate, we began looking for a de- 
 cent inn, for the day's walk was very fatiguing. Presently 
 a young man who had been watching us for some time came 
 up and said if we would allow him he would conduct us to 
 a good lodging-place. Finding we were strangers, he ex- 
 pressed the greatest regret that he had not time to go with 
 us every day around the city. Our surprise and delight at 
 the splendor of Munich, he said, would more than repay him 
 for the trouble. In his anxiety to show us something he 
 took us some distance out of the way (although it Avas grow- 
 ing dark and we were very tired) to see the palace and the 
 theatre, with its front of rich frescos. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 MUNICH. 
 
 June 14. 
 I thought I had seen everything in Vienna that could 
 excite admiration or gratify fancy; here I have my former 
 sensation to live over again in an augmented degree. It is 
 well I was at first somewhat prepared by our previous travel ; 
 otherwise, the glare and splendor of wealth and art in this
 
 218 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 German Athens might blind me to the beauties of the cities 
 we shall yet visit. I have been walking in a dream where 
 the fairy-tales of boyhood were realized and the golden and 
 jewelled halls of the Eastern genii rose glittering around 
 me, " a vision of the brain no more." All I had conceived 
 of Oriental magnificence, all descriptions of the splen- 
 dor of kingly halls and palaces, fall far short of what I 
 here see. Where shall I begin to describe the crowd of 
 splendid edifices that line its streets, or how give an idea of 
 the profusion of paintings and statues, of marble, jasper and 
 gold? 
 
 Art has done everything for Munich. It lies on a large, 
 flat plain sixteen hundred feet above the sea and continu- 
 ally exposed to the cold winds from the Alps. At the be- 
 ginning of the present century it was but a third-rate city, 
 and was rarely visited by foreigners ; since that time its 
 population and limits have been doubled and magnificent 
 edifices in every style of architecture erected, rendering it 
 scarcely secondary in this respect to any capital in Europe. 
 Every art that wealth or taste could devise seems to have 
 been spent in its decoration. Broad, spacious streets and 
 squares have been laid out, churches, halls and colleges 
 erected, and schools of painting and sculpture established 
 which draw artists from all parts of the world. All this 
 was principally brought about by the taste of the present 
 king, Ludwig I., who began twenty or thirty years ago, 
 when he was crown-prince, to collect the best German 
 artists around him and form plans for the execution of his 
 grand design. He can boast of having done more for the 
 arts than any other living monarch ; and if he had accom- 
 plished it all without oppressing his people, he would de- 
 serve an immortality of fame. 
 
 Now, if you have nothing else to do, let us take a stroll 
 down the Ludwigstrasse. As we pass the Theatiner church 
 with its dome and towers the broad street opens before us, 
 stretching away to the north between rows of magnificent
 
 LUDWIG'S KIRCHE. 219 
 
 buildings. Just at this southern end is the Schlusshalle, an 
 open temple of white marble terminating the avenue. To 
 the right of us extend the arcades, with the trees of the 
 royal garden peeping above them ; on the left is the spacious 
 concert-building of the Odeon and the palace of the duke 
 of Leuchtenberg, son of Eugene Beauharnais. Passing 
 through a row of palace-like private buildings, we come to 
 the army department, on the right— a neat and tasteful 
 building of white sandstone. Beside it stands the library, 
 which possesses the first special claim on our admiration. 
 With its splendid front of* five hundred and eighteen feet, 
 the yellowish-brown cement with which the body is covered 
 making an agreeable contrast with the dark-red window- 
 arches and cornices, and the statues of Homer, Hippocrates, 
 Thucydides and Aristotle guarding the portal, is it not a 
 worthy receptacle for the treasures of ancient and modern 
 lore which its halls contain ? 
 
 Nearly opposite stands the institute for the blind, a plain 
 but large building of dark-red brick covered with cement, 
 and, farther, the Ludwig's kirche, or church of St. Louis. 
 How lightly the two square towers of gray marble lift their 
 network of sculpture! And what a novel and beautiful 
 effect is produced by uniting the Byzantine style of archi- 
 tecture to the form of the Latin cross ! Over the arched 
 portal stand marble statues by Schwanthaler, and the roof 
 of brilliant tiles worked into mosaic looks like a rich Tur- 
 key carpet covering the whole. We must enter to get an 
 idea of the splendor of this church. Instead of the pointed 
 arch which one would expect to see meeting above his head, 
 the lofty pillars on each side bear an unbroken semicircular 
 vault which is painted a brilliant blue and spangled with 
 silver stars. These pillars, and the little arches above, which 
 spring from them, are painted in an arabesque style with 
 gold and brilliant colors, and each side-chapel is a perfect 
 casket of richness and elegance. The windows are of sil- 
 vered glass, through which the light glimmers softly on the
 
 220 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 splendor within. The whole end of the church behind the 
 high altar is taken up with Cornelius's celebrated fresco- 
 painting of the " Last Judgment " — the largest painting in 
 the world — and the circular dome in the centre of the cross 
 contains groups of martyrs, prophets, saints and kings painted 
 in fresco on a ground of gold. The work of Cornelius has 
 been greatly praised for sublimity of design and beauty of 
 execution by many acknowledged judges; I was disap- 
 pointed in it, but the fault lay, most probably, in me, and 
 not in the painting. The richness and elegance of the 
 church took me all " aback ;" it* was so entirely different 
 from anything I had seen that it was difficult to decide 
 whether I was most charmed by its novelty or its beauty. 
 Still, as a building designed to excite feelings of worship, it 
 seems to me inappropriate. A vast, dim cathedral would be 
 far preferable ; the devout, humble heart cannot feel at home 
 amid such glare and brightness. 
 
 As we leave the church and walk farther on, the street 
 expands suddenly into a broad square. One side is formed 
 by the new university building and the other by the royal 
 seminary, both displaying in their architecture new forms 
 of the graceful Byzantine school which the architects of 
 Munich have adapted in a striking manner to so many 
 varied purposes. On each side stands a splendid colossal 
 fountain of bronze, throwing up a great mass of water, 
 which falls in a triple cataract to the marble basin below. 
 A short distance beyond this square the Ludwigstrasse ter- 
 minates. It is said the end will be closed by a magnificent 
 gate in a style to correspond with the unequalled avenue to 
 which it will give entrance. To one standing at the south- 
 ern end it would form a proper termination to the grand 
 vista. Before we leave turn around and glance back, down 
 this street, which extends for half a mile between such 
 buildings as we have just viewed, and tell me if it is not 
 something of which a city and a king may boast to have 
 created all this within less than twenty years.
 
 NOBLE STATUARY. 221 
 
 "We went one morning to see the collection of paintings 
 formerly belonging to Eugene Beauharnais, who was broth- 
 er-in-law to the present king of Bavaria, in the palace of 
 his son, the duke of Leuchtenberg. The first hall contains 
 works principally by French artists, among which are two 
 by Gerard — a beautiful portrait of Josephine, and the blind 
 Belisarius carrying his dead companion. The boy's head 
 lies on the old man's shoulder; but for the livid paleness 
 of his limbs, he would seem to be only asleep, while a deep 
 and settled sorrow marks the venerable features of the un- 
 fortunate emperor. In the middle of the room are six 
 pieces of statuary, among which Canova's world-renowned 
 group of the Graces at once attracts the eye. There is also 
 a kneeling Magdalen, lovely in her woe, by the same sculp- 
 tor, and a very touching work of Schadow representing a 
 shepherd-boy tenderly binding his sash around a lamb 
 which he has accidentally wounded with his arrow. 
 
 We have since seen in the St. Michael's church the mon- 
 ument to Eugene Beauharnais from the chisel of Thorwald- 
 sen. The noble, manly figure of the son of Josephine is 
 represented in the Roman mantle, with his helmet and sword 
 lying on the ground by him. On one side sits History 
 writing on a tablet ; on the other stand the two brother-an- 
 gels Death and Immortality. They lean lovingly together, 
 with arms around each other, but the sweet countenance of 
 Death has a cast of sorrow as he stands with inverted torch 
 and a wreath of poppies among his clustering locks. Im- 
 mortality, crowned with never-fading flowers, looks upward 
 with a smile of triumph, and holds in one hand his blazing 
 torch. It is a beautiful idea, and Thorwaldsen has made 
 the marble eloquent with feeling. 
 
 The inside of the square formed by the arcades and the 
 New Residence is filled with noble old trees which in sum- 
 mer make a leafy roof over the pleasant walks. In the 
 middle stands a grotto ornamented with rough pebbles and 
 shells, and only needing a fountain to make it a perfect hall
 
 222 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of Neptune. Passing through the northern arcade, one 
 comes into the magnificent park called the English Garden, 
 which extends more than four miles along the bank of the 
 Isar, several branches of whose milky current wander 
 through it and form one or two pretty cascades. It is a 
 beautiful alternation of forest and meadow, and has all the 
 richness and garden-like luxuriance of English scenery. 
 Winding walks lead along the Isar or through the wood of 
 venerable oaks, and sometimes a lawn of half a mile in 
 length, with a picturesque temple at its farther end, comes 
 in sight through the trees. I was better pleased with this 
 park than with the Prater in Vienna. Its paths are always 
 filled with persons enjoying the change from the dusty 
 streets to its quiet and cool retirement. 
 
 The New Residence is not only one of the wonders of 
 Munich, but of the world. Although commenced in 1826 
 and carried on constantly since that time by a number of 
 architects, sculptors and painters, it is not yet finished ; if 
 art were not inexhaustible, it would be difficult to imagine 
 what more could be added. The north side of the Max 
 Joseph Platz is taken up by its front of four hundred and 
 thirty feet, which was nine years in building, under the di- 
 rection of the architect Klenze. The exterior is copied 
 after the Palazzo Pitti, in Florence. The building is of 
 light-brown sandstone, and combines an elegance, and even 
 splendor, with the most chaste and classic style. The north- 
 ern front, which faces on the royal garden, is now nearly 
 finished. It has the enormous length of eight hundred 
 feet ; in the middle is a portico of ten Ionic columns. In- 
 stead of supporting a triangular facade, each pillar stands 
 separate and bears a marble statue from the chisel of 
 Schwanthaler. 
 
 The interior of the building does not disappoint the prom- 
 ise of the outside. It is open every afternoon, in the ab- 
 sence of the king, for the inspection of visitors ; fortunately 
 for us, His Majesty is at present on a journey through his
 
 ORIENTAL MAGNIFICENCE. 223 
 
 provinces on the Rhine. We went early to the waiting- 
 hall, where several travellers were already assemhlcd, and 
 at four o'clock were admitted into the newer part of the 
 palace, containing the throne-hall, ball-room, etc. On en- 
 tering the first hall, designed for the lackeys and royal ser- 
 vants, Ave were all obliged to thrust our feet into cloth slip- 
 pers to walk over the polished mosaic floor. The walls are 
 of scagliola marble and the ceilings ornamented brilliantly 
 in fresco. The second hall, also for servants, gives tokens 
 of increasing splendor in the richer decorations of the walls 
 and the more elaborate mosaic of the floor. We next en- 
 tered the receiving-saloon, in which the court-marshal re- 
 ceives the guests. The ceiling is of arabesque sculpture pro- 
 fusely painted and gilded. Passing through a little cab- 
 inet, we entered the great dancing-saloon. Its floor is the 
 richest mosaic of wood of different colors, the sides are of 
 polished scagliola marble, and the ceiling a dazzling mix- 
 ture of sculpture, painting and gold. At one end is a gal- 
 lery for the orchestra, supported by six columns of varie- 
 gated marble, above which are six dancing nymphs painted 
 so beautifully that they appear like living creatures. Every 
 decoration which could be devised has been used to heighten 
 its splendor, and the artists appear to have made free use 
 of the Arabian Nights in forming the plan. 
 
 We entered next two smaller rooms containing the por- 
 traits of beautiful women, principally from the German no- 
 bility. I gave the preference to the daughter of Marco 
 Bozzaris, now maid of honor to the queen of Greece. She 
 had a wild dark eye, a beautiful proud lip, and her rich 
 black hair rolled in glossy waves down her neck from under 
 the red Grecian cap stuck jauntily on the side of her head. 
 She wore a scarf and close-fitting vest embroidered with 
 gold, and there was a free, lofty spirit in her countenance 
 worthy the name she bore. These pictures form a gallery 
 of beauty whose equal cannot easily be found. 
 
 Returning to the dancing-hall, we entered the dining-
 
 224 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 saloon, also called the Hall of Charlemagne. Each wall 
 has two magnificent fresco-paintings of very large size rep- 
 resenting some event in the life of the great emperor, be- 
 ginning with his anointing at St. Denis as a boy of twelve 
 years and ending with his coronation by Leo III. A sec- 
 ond dining-saloon, the Hall of Barbarossa, adjoins the first. 
 It has also eight frescos, as the former, representing the 
 principal events in the life of Frederick Barbarossa. Then 
 comes a third, called the Hapsburg Hall, with four grand 
 paintings from the life of Rudolph of Hapsburg and a tri- 
 umphal procession along the frieze showing the improve- 
 ment in the arts and sciences which was accomplished under 
 his reign. The drawing, composition and rich tone of col- 
 oring of these glorious frescos are scarcely excelled by any 
 in existence. 
 
 Finally we entered the Hall of the Throne. Here the 
 encaustic decoration so plentifully employed in the other 
 rooms is dropped, and an effect even more brilliant obtained 
 by the united use of marble and gold. Picture a long hall 
 with a floor of polished marble, on each side twelve columns 
 of white marble with gilded capitals, between which stand 
 colossal statues of gold. At the other end is the throne of 
 gold and crimson, with gorgeous hangings of crimson vel- 
 vet. The twelve statues in the hall are called the " Wit- 
 telsbach Ancestors," and represent renowned members of 
 the house of Wittelsbach from which the present family of 
 Bavaria is descended. They were cast in bronze by Stigl- 
 maier after the models of Schwanthaler, and then com- 
 pletely covered with a coating of gold ; so that they resem- 
 ble solid golden statues. The value of the precious metal 
 on each one is about three thousand dollars, as they are nine 
 feet in height. What would the politicians who made such 
 an outcry about the new papering of the President's house 
 say to such a palace as this ? 
 
 Going back to the starting-point, we went to the other 
 wing of the edifice and joined the party who came to visit
 
 AN ATMOSPHERE OF POETRY. 225 
 
 the apartments of the king. Here we were led through 
 two or three rooms appropriated to the servants, with all 
 the splendor of marble doors, floors of mosaic and frescoed 
 ceilings. From these Ave entered the king's dwelling. The 
 entrance-halls are decorated with paintings of the Argo- 
 nauts and illustrations of the hymns of Hesiod after draw- 
 ings by Schwanthaler. Then came the service-hall, con- 
 taining frescos illustrating Homer by Schnorr, and the 
 throne-hall, with Schwanthaler's bas-reliefs of the songs of 
 Pindar on a ground of gold. The throne stands under a 
 splendid crimson canopy. The dining-room with its floor 
 of polished wood is filled with illustrations of the songs of 
 Anacreon. To these follow the dressing-room, with twenty- 
 seven illustrations of the comedies of Aristophanes, and the 
 sleeping-chamber with frescos after the poems of Theocri- 
 tus, and two beautiful bas-reliefs representing angels bear- 
 ing children to heaven. It is no wonder the king writes 
 poetry, when he breathes, eats, and even sleeps, in an atmo- 
 sphere of it. 
 
 We were shown the rooms for the private parties of the 
 court, the schoolroom, with scenes from the life of the an- 
 cient Greeks, and then conducted down the marble stair- 
 cases to the lower story, which is to contain Schnorr's mag- 
 nificent frescos of the Nibehmgen Lied — the old German 
 Iliad. Two halls are at present finished ; the first has the 
 figure of the author, Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and those 
 of Chriemhilde, Brunhilde, Siegfried and the other per- 
 sonages of the poem, and the second — called the marriage- 
 hall — contains the marriage of Chriemhilde aud Siegfried 
 and the triumphal entry of Siegfried into Worms. 
 
 Adjoining the New Residence on the east is the royal 
 chapel, lately finished in the Byzantine style under the di- 
 rection of Klenze. To enter it is like stepping into a 
 casket of jewels. The sides are formed by a double range 
 of arches, the windows being so far back as to be almost 
 out of sight ; so that the eye falls on nothing but painting 
 
 15
 
 226 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 and gold. The lower row of arches is of alternate green 
 and purple marble beautifully polished, but the upper, as 
 well as the small chancel behind the high altar, is entirely 
 covered with fresco-paintings on a ground of gold. The 
 richness and splendor of the whole church is absolutely in- 
 credible. Even after one has seen the Ludwig's kirche and 
 the residence itself it excites astonishment. I was surprised, 
 however, to find at this age a painting on the wall behind 
 the altar, representing the Almighty. It seems as if man's 
 presumption has no end. The simple altar of Athens with 
 its inscription " To the Unknown God " was more truly rev- 
 erent than this. 
 
 As I sat down a while under one of the arches a poor 
 woman came in carrying a heavy basket, and, going to the 
 steps which led up to the altar, knelt down and prayed, 
 spreading her arms out in the form of a cross. Then, after 
 stooping and kissing the first step, she dragged herself with 
 her knees upon it, and commenced praying again with out- 
 spread arms. This she continued till she had climbed them 
 all, which occupied some time ; then, as if she had fulfilled 
 a vow, she turned and departed. She was undoubtedly 
 sincere in her piety, but it made me sad to look upon such 
 deluded superstition. 
 
 We visited yesterday morning the Glyptothek, the finest 
 collection of ancient sculpture except that in the British 
 Museum I have yet seen, and perhaps elsewhere unsurpassed 
 north of the Alps. The building, which was finished by 
 Klenze in 1830, has an Ionic portico of white marble, with 
 a group of allegorical figures representing Sculpture and 
 the kindred arts. On each side of the portico there are 
 three niches in the front, containing on one side Pericles, 
 Phidias and Vulcan ; on the other, Hadrian, Prometheus 
 and Dredalus. The whole building forms a hollow square 
 and is lighted entirely from the inner side. There are in 
 all twelve halls, each containing the remains of a particular 
 era in the art, and arranged according to time ; so that, be-
 
 ANCIENT GRECIAN SCULPTURES. 227 
 
 ginning with the clumsy productions of the ancient Egypt- 
 ians, one passes through the different stages of Grecian art, 
 afterward that of Rome, and finally ends with the works 
 of our own times — the almost Grecian perfection of Thor- 
 waldsen and Canova. These halls are worthy to hold such 
 treasures, and what more could be said of them? The 
 floors are of marble mosaic, the sides of green or purple 
 scagliola and the vaulted ceilings covered with raised orna- 
 ments on a ground of gold. No two are alike in color and 
 decoration, and yet there is a unity of taste and design in 
 the whole which renders the variety delightful. 
 
 From the Egyptian Hall we enter one containing the 
 oldest remains of Grecian sculpture, before the artists won 
 power to mould the marble to their conceptions. Then 
 follow the celebrated Egina marbles, from the temple of 
 Jupiter Panhellenius, on the island of Egina. They for- 
 merly stood in the two porticoes, the one group representing 
 the fight for the body of Laomedon, the other the struggle 
 for the dead Patroclus. The parts wanting have been 
 admirably restored by Thorwaldsen. They form almost 
 the only existing specimens of the Eginetan school. Passing 
 through the Apollo Hall, we enter the large Hall of Bac- 
 chus, in which the progress of the art is distinctly apparent. 
 A satyr lying asleep on a goatskin which he has thrown 
 over a rock is believed to be the work of Praxiteles. The 
 relaxation of the figure and perfect repose of every limb is 
 wonderful. The countenance has traits of individuality 
 which led me to think it might have been a portrait, perhaps 
 of some rude country swain. 
 
 In the Hall of Niobe, which follows, is one of the most 
 perfect works that ever grew into life under a sculptor's 
 chisel. Mutilated as it is, without head and arms, I never 
 saw a more expressive figure. Ilioneus, the son of Niobe, is 
 represented as kneeling, apparently in the moment in which 
 Apollo raises his arrow, and there is an imploring supplica- 
 tion in his attitude which is touching in the highest degree.
 
 228 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 His beautiful young limbs seem to shrink involuntarily 
 from the deadly shaft ; there is an expression of prayer, 
 almost of agony, in the position of his body. It should be 
 left untouched. No head could be added which would equal 
 that one pictures to himself while gazing upon it. 
 
 The Pinacothek is a magnificent building of yellow sand- 
 stone, five hundred and thirty feet long, containing thirteen 
 hundred pictures selected with great care from the whole 
 private collection of the king, which amounts to nine thou- 
 sand. Above the cornice on the southern side stand twenty- 
 five colossal statues of celebrated painters by Schwanthaler. 
 As Ave approached, the tall bronze door was opened by a 
 servant in the Bavarian livery, whose size harmonized so 
 well with the giant proportions of the building that until I 
 stood beside him and could mark the contrast I did not 
 notice his enormous frame. I saw then that he must be 
 near eight feet high and stout in proportion. He reminded 
 me of the great " Baver of Trient," in Vienna. The Pina- 
 cothek contains the most complete collection of works by 
 old German artists anywhere to be found. There are in 
 the Hall of the Spanish Masters half a dozen of Murillo's 
 inimitable beggar-groups. It was a relief, after looking 
 upon the distressingly stiff figures of the old German school, 
 to view these fresh, natural countenances. One little black- 
 eyed boy has just cut a slice out of a melon, and turns with 
 a full mouth to his companion, who is busy eating a bunch 
 of grapes. The simple, contented expression on the faces of 
 the beggars is admirable. I thought I detected in a beauti- 
 ful child with dark curly locks the original of his celebrated 
 infant St. John. I was much interested in two small juven- 
 ile works of Raphael and his own portrait. The latter was 
 taken, most probably, after he became known as a painter. 
 The calm, serious smile which we see on his portrait as a 
 boy had vanished, and the thin features and sunken e"ye 
 told of intense mental labor. 
 
 One of the most remarkable buildings now in the course
 
 THE ATELIER OF SCHWANTIIALER. 229 
 
 of erection is the basilica, or church, of St. Bonifacius. It 
 represents another form of the Byzantine style — a kind of 
 double edifice a little like a North River steamboat with a 
 two-story cabin on deck. The inside is not yet finished, 
 although the artists have been at work on it for six years, 
 but we heard many accounts of its splendor, which is said 
 to exceed anything that has been yet done in Munich. We 
 visited to-day the atelier of Schwanthaler, which is always 
 open to strangers The sculptor himself was not there, but 
 five or six of his scholars were at work in the rooms build- 
 ing up clay statues after his models and working out bas- 
 reliefs in frames. We saw here the original models of the 
 statues on the Pinacothek and the "Wittelsbach Ances- 
 tors " in the throne-hall of the palace. I was glad, also, to 
 find a miniature copy in plaster of the Herrmannsschlacht, 
 or combat of the old German hero Herrmann with the Ro- 
 mans, from the frieze of the Walhalla, at Ratisbon. It is 
 one of Schwanthaler's best works. Herrmann, as the mid- 
 dle figure, is represented in fight with the Roman general ; 
 behind him the warriors are rushing on, and an old bard is 
 striking the chords of his harp to inspire them, while wo- 
 men bind up the wounds of the fallen. The Roman soldiers 
 on the other side are about turning in confusion to fly. It 
 is a lofty and appropriate subject for the portico of a build- 
 ing containing the figures of the men Avho have labored for 
 the glory and elevation of their fatherland. 
 
 Our new-found friend came to visit us last evening and 
 learn our impressions of Munich. In the course of conver- 
 sation we surprised him by revealing the name of our coun- 
 try. His countenance brightened up, and he asked us many 
 questions about the state of society in America. In return 
 he told us something more about himself; his story was 
 simple, but it interested me. His father was a merchant 
 who, having been ruined by unlucky transactions, died, 
 leaving a numerous family without the means of support. 
 His children were obliged to commence life alone and un-
 
 230 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 aided, which in a country where labor is so cheap is difficult 
 and disheartening. Our friend chose the profession of a 
 machinist, which, after encountering great obstacles, he suc- 
 ceeded in learning, and now supports himself as a common 
 laborer. But his position in this respect prevents him from 
 occupying that station in society for which he is intellectu- 
 ally fitted. His own words, uttered with a simple pathos 
 which I can never forget, will best describe how painful 
 this must be to a sensitive spirit. " I tell you thus frankly 
 my feelings," said he, " because I know you will understand 
 me. I could not say this to any of my associates, for they 
 would not comprehend it, and they would say I am proud, 
 because I cannot bring my soul down to their level. I am 
 poor and have but little to subsist upon ; but the spirit has 
 needs as well as the body, and I feel it a duty and a desire 
 to satisfy them also. When I am with any of my common 
 fellow-laborers, what do I gain from them? Their leisure- 
 hours are spent in drinking and idle amusement, and I can- 
 not join them, for I have no sympathy with such things. 
 To mingle with those above me would be impossible. There- 
 fore I am alone ; I have no associate." 
 
 I have gone into minute — and, it may be, tiresome — de- 
 tail in describing some of the edifices of Munich, because 
 it seemed the only way in which I could give an idea of 
 their wonderful beauty. It is true that in copying after 
 the manner of the daguerreotype there is danger of imitat- 
 ing its dulness also, but I trust to the glitter of gold and 
 rich paintings for a little brightness in the picture. We 
 leave to-morrow morning, having received the sum written 
 for, which, to our surprise, will be barely sufficient to ena- 
 ble us to reach Heidelberg.
 
 AUGSBURG. 231 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THROUGH WURTEMBERG TO HEIDELBERG. 
 
 We left Munich in the morning train for Augsburg. 
 Between the two cities extends a vast unbroken plain ex- 
 ceedingly barren and monotonous. Here and there is a 
 little scrubby woodland, and sometimes we passed over a 
 muddy stream which came down from the Alps. The land 
 is not more than half cultivated, and the villages are small 
 and poor. We saw many of the peasants at their stations 
 in their gay Sunday dresses ; the women wore short gowns 
 with laced bodices of gay colors, and little caps on the top 
 of their heads, with streamers of ribbons three feet long. 
 
 After two hours' ride we saw the tall towers of Augsburg, 
 and alighted on the outside of the wall. The deep moat 
 which surrounds the city is all grown over with velvet turf; 
 the towers and bastions are empty and desolate, and we 
 passed unchallenged under the gloomy archway. Immedi- 
 ately on entering the city signs of its ancient splendor are 
 apparent. The houses are old, many of them with quaint, 
 elaborately carved ornaments, and often covered with 
 fresco-paintings. These generally represent some scene 
 from the Bible history encircled with arabesque borders 
 and pious maxims in illuminated scrolls. We went into 
 the old Rathhaus, whose golden hall still speaks of the days 
 of Augsburg's pride. I saw in the basement a bronze eagle 
 weighing sixteen tons, with an inscription on the pedestal 
 stating that it was cast in 1606 and formerly stood on the 
 top of an old public building since torn down. In front of 
 the Rathhaus is a fine bronze fountain with a number of 
 figures of angels and tritons. 
 
 The same afternoon, we left Augsburg for Ulm. Long, 
 low ranges of hills running from the Danube stretched far 
 across the country, and between them lay many rich green
 
 232 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 valleys. We passed, occasionally, large villages, perhaps 
 as old as the times of the crusaders, and looking quite pas- 
 toral and romantic from the outside, but we were always 
 glad when we had gone through them and into the clean 
 country again. The afternoon of the second day we came 
 in sight of the fertile plain of the Danube. Far, far to the 
 right lay the field of Blenheim, where Marlborough and the 
 prince Eugene conquered the united French and Bavarian 
 forces and decided the war of the Spanish Succession. 
 
 We determined to reach Ulm the same evening, although 
 a heavy storm was raging along the distant hills of Wur- 
 temberg. The dark mass of the mighty cathedral rose in 
 the distance through the twilight — a perfect mountain in 
 comparison with the little houses clustered around its base. 
 We reached New Ulm finally, and passed over the heavy 
 wooden bridge into Wurtemberg unchallenged for passport 
 or baggage. I thought I could feel a difference in the at- 
 mosphere when I reached the other side : it breathed of the 
 freer spirit that ruled through the land. The Danube is 
 here a little muddy stream hardly as large as my native 
 Brandywine, and a traveller who sees it at Ulm for the first 
 time would most probably be disappointed. It is not until 
 below Vienna, where it receives the Drave and Save, that 
 it becomes a river of more than ordinary magnitude. 
 
 We entered Ulm, as I have already said. It was after 
 nine o'clock, nearly dark and beginning to rain ; we had 
 walked thirty-three miles, and being, of course, tired, we 
 entered the first inn we saw. But, to our consternation, it 
 was impossible to get a place : the fair had just commenced, 
 and the inn was full to the roof. We must needs hunt another, 
 and then another, and yet another, with like fate at each. 
 It grew quite dark, the rain increased, and we were unac- 
 quainted with the city. I grew desperate, and at last, when 
 we had stopped at the eighth inn in vain, I told the people 
 we must have lodgings, for it was impossible we should walk 
 around in the rain all night. Some of the guests interfering
 
 ULM CATHEDRAL. 233 
 
 in our favor, the hostess finally sent a servant with us to the 
 first hotel in the city. I told him on the way Ave were Ameri- 
 cans, strangers in Ulm, and not accustomed to sleeping in 
 the streets. " Well," said he. " I will go before, and recom- 
 mend you to the landlord of the Golden Wheel." I knew 
 not what magic he used, but in half an hour our weary 
 limbs were stretched in delightful repose, and we thanked 
 Heaven more gratefully than ever before for the blessing 
 of a good bed. 
 
 Next morning we ran about through the booths of the 
 fair, and gazed up from all sides at the vast cathedral. 
 The style is the simplest and grandest Gothic; but the 
 t 0W er — which, to harmonize with the body of the church, 
 should be five hundred and twenty feet high — was left un- 
 finished at the height of two hundred and thirty-four feet. 
 I could not enough admire the grandeur of proportion in 
 the great building. It seemed singular that the little race 
 of animals who swarmed around its base should have the 
 power to conceive or execute such a gigantic work. 
 
 There is an immense fortification now in progress of erec- 
 tion behind Ulm. It leans on the side of the hill which 
 rises from the Danube, and must be nearly a mile in length. 
 Hundreds of laborers are at work, and, from the appear- 
 ance of the foundations, many years will be required to 
 finish it. The lofty mountain-plain which Ave afterward 
 passed over for eight or ten miles divides the waters of the 
 Danube from the Rhine. Prom the heights above Ulm 
 we bade adieu to the far misty Alps till we shall see them 
 again in Switzerland. Late in the afternoon we came to a 
 lovely green valley sunk as it were in the earth. Around 
 us on all sides stretched the bare, lofty plains, but the val- 
 ley lay below, its steep sides covered with the richest forest. 
 At the bottom flowed the Fils. Our road led directly down 
 the side ; the glen spread out broader as we advanced and 
 smiling villages stood beside the stream. A short distance 
 before reaching Esslingen we came upon the banks of the
 
 234 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Neckar, whom we hailed as an old acquaintance, although 
 much smaller here in his mountain-home than when he 
 sweeps the walls of Heidelberg. 
 
 Delightful Wurtemberg ! Shall I ever forget thy lovely 
 green vales watered by the classic current of the Neckar, 
 or thy lofty hills covered with vineyards and waving for- 
 ests and crowned with heavy ruins that tell many a tale of 
 Barbarossa and Duke Ulric and Goetz with the Iron Hand ? 
 No ! Were even the Suabian hills less beautiful, were the 
 Suabian people less faithful and kind and true, still I would 
 love the land for the great spirits it has produced; still 
 would the birthplace of Frederick Schiller, of Uhland and 
 Hauff, be sacred. I do not wonder Wurtemberg can boast 
 such glorious poets. Its lovely landscapes seem to have 
 been made expressly for the cradle of Genius ; amid no 
 other scenes could his infant mind catch a more benign in- 
 spiration. Even the common people are deeply imbued 
 with a poetic feeling. We saw it in their friendly greetings 
 and open expressive countenances ; it is shown in their love 
 for their beautiful homes and the rapture and reverence 
 with which they speak of their country's bards. No river 
 in the world equal to the Neckar in size flows for its whole 
 course through more delightful scenery or among kinder 
 and happier people. 
 
 After leaving Esslingen, w r e followed its banks for some 
 time at the foot of an amphitheatre of hills covered to the 
 very summit, as far as the eye could reach, with vineyards. 
 The morning was cloudy and white mis-it-wreaths hung 
 along the sides. AVe took a road that lead over the top of 
 a range, and on arriving at the summit saw all at once the 
 city of Stuttgard lying beneath our feet. It lay in a basin 
 encircled by mountains, with a narrow valley opening to 
 the south-east and running off between the hills to the 
 Neckar. The situation of the city is one of wonderful 
 beauty, and even after seeing Salzburg I could not but be 
 charmed with it.
 
 SCHILLER'S STATUE. 235 
 
 We descended the mountain and entered it. I inquired 
 immediately for the monument of Schiller, for there was 
 little else in the city I cared to see. We had become tired 
 of running about cities hunting this or that old church or 
 palace which perhaps was nothing when found. Stuttgard 
 has neither galleries, ruins nor splendid buildings to inter- 
 est the traveller, but it has Thorwaldsen's statue of Schiller, 
 calling up, at the same time, its shame and its glory. 
 For the poet in his youth was obliged to fly from this very 
 same city — from home and friends — to escape the persecu- 
 tion of the government on account of the free sentiments 
 expressed in his early works. We found the statue with- 
 out much difficulty. It stands in the Schloss Platz, at the 
 southern end of the city, in an unfavorable situation sur- 
 rounded by dark old buildings. It should rather be placed 
 aloft on a mountain-summit, in the pure, free air of heaven, 
 braving the storm and the tempest. The figure is fourteen 
 feet high and stands on a pedestal of bronze with bas-re- 
 liefs on the four sides. The head, crowned with a laurel 
 wreath, is inclined as if in deep thought, and all the earn- 
 est soul is seen in the countenance. Thorwaldsen has 
 copied so truly the expression of poetic reverie that I 
 waited, half expecting he would raise his head and look 
 around him. 
 
 As we passed out the eastern gate the workmen were busy 
 near the city making an embankment for the new railroad 
 to Heilbronn, and we were obliged to wade through half a 
 mile of mud. Finally the road turned to the left over a 
 mountain, and we walked on in the rain, regardless of the 
 touching entreaties of an omnibus-driver who felt a great 
 concern for our health, especially as he had two empty seats. 
 There is a peculiarly agreeable sensation in walking in a 
 storm when the winds sweep by and the raindrops rattle 
 through the trees and the dark clouds roll past just above 
 one's head. It gives a dash of sublimity to the most com- 
 mon scene. If the rain did not finally soak through the
 
 236 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 boots, and if one did not lose every romantic feeling in wet 
 garments, I would prefer storm to sunshine for visiting 
 some kinds of scenery. You remember Ave saw the north 
 coast of Ireland and the Giant's Causeway in stormy weather 
 — at the expense of being completely drenched, it is true ; 
 but our recollections of that wild day's journey are as vivid 
 as any event of our lives, and the name of the Giant's Cause- 
 way calls up a series of pictures as terribly sublime as any 
 we would wish to behold. 
 
 The rain at last did come down a little too hard for com- 
 fort, and we were quite willing to take shelter when we 
 reached Ludwigsburg. This is here called a new city, hav- 
 ing been laid out with broad streets and spacious squares 
 about a century ago, and is now about the size of our five- 
 year-old city of Milwaukee. It is the chief military station 
 of AVurtemberg, and has a splendid castle and gardens be- 
 longing to the king. A few miles to the eastward is the 
 little village where Schiller was born. It is said the house 
 where his parents lived is still standing. 
 
 It was not the weather alone which prevented our mak- 
 ing a pilgrimage to it, nor was it alone a peculiar fondness 
 for rain which induced us to persist in walking in the storm. 
 Our feeble pockets, if they could have raised an audible 
 jingle, would have told another tale. Our scanty allow- 
 ance was dwindling rapidly away in spite of a desperate 
 system of economy. We left Ulm with a florin and a half 
 apiece — about sixty cents — to w T alk to Heidelberg, a distance 
 of one hundred and ten miles. It was the evening of the 
 third day, and this was almost exhausted. As soon, there- 
 fore, as the rain slackened a little, we started again, although 
 the roads were very bad. At Betigheim, where we passed 
 the night, the people told us of a much nearer and more 
 beautiful road passing through the Zabergau, a region 
 famed for its fertility and pastoral beauty. At the inn we 
 were charged higher than usual for a bed ; so that we had 
 but thirteen kreutzers to start with in the morning. Our
 
 THE ZABEKGAU. 237 
 
 fare that day was a little bread and water. We walked 
 steadily on, but, owing to the wet roads, made only thirty 
 miles. 
 
 A more delightful region than the Zabergau I have sel- 
 dom passed through. The fields were full of rich, heavy 
 grain, and the trees had a luxuriance of foliage that re- 
 minded me of the vale of the Jed, in Scotland. Without a 
 single hedge or fence stood the long sweep of hills covered 
 with waving fields of grain, except where they were steep 
 and rocky and the vineyard terraces rose one above another. 
 Sometimes a fine old forest grew along the summit like a 
 mane waving back from the curved neck of a steed, and 
 white villages lay coiled in the valleys between. A line of 
 blue mountains always closed the vista on looking down 
 one of these long valleys ; occasionally a ruined castle with 
 donjon-tower was seen on a mountain at the side, making 
 the picture complete. As we lay sometimes on the hillside 
 and looked on one of those sweet vales, we were astonished 
 at its Arcadian beauty. The meadows were as smooth as a 
 mirror, and there seemed to be scarcely a grass-blade out 
 of place. The streams wound through (" snaked themselves 
 through" is the German expression) with a subdued ripple, 
 as if they feared to displace a pebble, and the great ash 
 trees which stood here and there had lined each of their 
 leaves as carefully with silver and turned them as gracefully 
 to the wind as if they were making their toilettes for the 
 gala-day of nature. 
 
 That evening brought us into the dominions of Baden, 
 within five hours' walk of Heidelberg. At the humblest 
 inn in a humble village, we found a bed which we could 
 scarcely pay for, leaving a kreutzer or two for breakfast. 
 
 Soon after starting the next morning the distant Kaiser- 
 stuhl suddenly emerged from the mist, with the high tower 
 on its summit where nearly ten months before we sat and 
 looked at the summits of the Vosges in France, with all 
 the excitement one feels on entering a foreign land. Now
 
 238 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the scenery around that same Kaiser-stuhl was nearly as 
 familiar to us as that of our own homes. Entering the 
 hills again, we knew by the blue mountains of the Oden- 
 wald that we were approaching the Neckar. At length we 
 reached the last height. The town of Neckargemund lay 
 before us on the steep hillside, and the mountains on either 
 side were scarred with quarries of the rich red sandstone so 
 much used in building. The blocks are hewn out high up 
 on the mountain-side, and then sent rolling and sliding 
 down to the river, where they are laden in boats and floated 
 down with the current to the distant cities of the Rhine. 
 
 We were rejoiced, on turning around the corner of a 
 mountain, to see on the opposite side of the river the road 
 winding up through the forests where last fall our Heidel- 
 berg friends accompanied us as we set out to walk to Frank- 
 fort through the Odenwald. Many causes combined to ren- 
 der it a glad scene to us. We were going to meet our com- 
 rade again after a separation of months ; we were bringing 
 an eventful journey to its close ; and, finally, we were weak 
 and worn out from fasting and the labor of walking in the 
 rain. A little farther we saw Kloster Neuburg, formerly 
 an old convent, and remembered how we used to look at it 
 every day from the windows of our room on the Neckar, 
 but we snouted aloud when we saw at last the well-known 
 bridge spanning the river and the glorious old castle lifting 
 its shattered towers from the side of the mountain above us. 
 I always felt a strong attachment to this matchless ruin, 
 and as I beheld it again, with the warm sunshine falling 
 through each broken arch, the wild ivy draping its desolate 
 chambers, it seemed to smile on me like the face of a friend, 
 and I confessed I had seen many a grander scene, but few 
 that would cling to the memory so familiarly. 
 
 While we were in Heidelberg a student was buried by 
 torchlight. This is done when particular honor is shown 
 to the memory of the departed brother. They assembled 
 at dark in the university square, each with a blazing pine
 
 BURIAL OF A STUDENT. 239 
 
 torch three feet long, and formed into a double line. Be- 
 tween the files walked at short distances an officer, who with 
 his sword, broad lace collar and the black-and-white plumes 
 in his cap looked like a cavalier of the olden time. Per- 
 sons with torches walked on each side of the hearse, and 
 the band played a lament so deeply mournful that the scene, 
 notwithstanding its singularity, was very sad and touching. 
 The thick smoke from the torches filled the air, and a lurid 
 red light was cast over the hushed crowds in the streets and 
 streamed into the dark alleys. The Hauptstrasse was filled 
 with two lines of flame as the procession passed down it. 
 When they reached the extremity of the city, the hearse 
 went on, attended with torch-bearers, to the cemetery, some 
 distance farther, and the students turned back, running and 
 whirling their torches in mingled confusion. The music 
 struck up a merry march, and in the smoke and red glare 
 they looked like a company of mad demons. The presence 
 of Death awed them to silence for a while, but as soon as 
 it had left them they turned relieved to revel again, and 
 thought no more of the lesson. It gave me a painful feel- 
 ing to see them rushing so wildly and disorderly back. 
 They assembled again in the square, and, tossing their 
 torches up into the air, cast them blazing into a pile ; while 
 the flame and black smoke rose in a column into the air 
 they sang in solemn chorus the song " Gaudeamus igitur" 
 with which they close all public assemblies. 
 
 I shall neglect telling how we left Heidelberg and walked 
 along the Bergstrasse again — for the sixth time ; how we 
 passed the old Melibochus and through the quiet city of 
 Darmstadt; how we watched the blue summits of the Tau- 
 nus rising higher and higher over the plain as a new land 
 rises from the sea ; and, finally, how we reached at last the 
 old watch-tower and looked down on the valley of the Main, 
 clothed in the bloom and verdure of summer, with the 
 houses and spires of Frankfort in the middle of the well- 
 known panorama. We again took possession of our old
 
 240 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 rooms, and, having to wait for a remittance from America, 
 as well as a more suitable season for visiting Italy, we sat 
 down to a month's rest and study. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 FREIBURG AND THE BLACK FOREST. 
 
 Frankfort, July 29, 1845. 
 It would be ingratitude toward the old city in which I 
 have passed so many pleasant and profitable hours to leave 
 it — perhaps for ever — without a few words of farewell. 
 How often will the old bridge with its view up the Main, 
 over the houses of Oberrad, to the far mountains of the 
 Odenwald, rise freshly and distinctly in memory when I 
 shall have been long absent from them ! How often will I 
 hear in fancy, as I now do in reality, the heavy tread of 
 passers-by on the rough pavement below, and the deep bell 
 of the cathedral chiming the swift hours with a hollow tone 
 that seems to warn me rightly to employ them ! Even this 
 old room, with its bare walls, little table and chairs, which 
 I have thought and studied in so long that it seems difficult 
 to think and study anywhere else, will crowd out of memory 
 images of many a loftier scene. May I but preserve for 
 the future the hope and trust which have cheered and sus- 
 tained me here through the sorrow of absence and the 
 anxiety of uncertain toil ! It is growing toward mid- 
 night, and I think of many a night when I sat here at this 
 hour answering the spirit-greeting which friends sent me at 
 sunset over the sea. All this has now an end. I must be- 
 gin a new wandering, and perhaps in ten days more I shall 
 have a better place for thought among the mountain-cham- 
 bers of the everlasting Alps. I look forward to the jour- 
 ney with romantic, enthusiastic anticipation, for afar in the
 
 FAREWELL TO HEIDELBERG. 241 
 
 silvery distance stand the Coliseum and St. Peter's, Vesu- 
 vius and the lovely Naples — Farewell, friends, who have 
 so long given us a home ! 
 
 Aug. 9. 
 
 The airy basket-work tower of the Freiburg minster 
 rises before me over the black roofs of the houses, and be- 
 hind stand the gloomy pine-covered mountains of the 
 Black Forest. Of our walk to Heidelberg over the oft- 
 trodden Bergstrasse, I shall say nothing, nor how we 
 climbed the Kaiser-stuhl again, and danced around on the 
 top of the tower for one hour amid cloud and mist, while 
 there was sunshine below in the valley of the Neckar, I 
 left Heidelberg yesterday morning in the stehwagen for 
 Carlsruhe. The engine whistled, the train started, and, 
 although I kept my eyes steadily fixed on the spire of the 
 Hauptkirche, three minutes hid it and all the rest of the 
 city from sight. Carlsruhe, the capital of Baden — which 
 we reached in an hour and a half — is unanimously pro- 
 nounced by travellers to be a most dull and tiresome city. 
 From a glance I had through one of the gates, I should 
 think its reputation was not undeserved. Even its name in 
 German signifies a place of repose. 
 
 I stopped at Kork, on the branch-road leading to Stras- 
 bourg, to meet a German-American about to return to mv 
 home in Pennsylvania, where he had lived for some time. 
 I inquired according to the direction he had sent me to 
 Frankfort, but he was not there ; however, an old man, 
 finding who I was, said Herr Otto had directed him to go 
 with me to Hesselhurst, a village four or five miles off, 
 where he would meet me. So we set off immediately over 
 the plain, and reached the village at dusk. 
 
 At the little inn were several of the farmers of the neigh- 
 borhood, who seemed to consider it as something extraor- 
 dinary to see a real, live, native-born American. They 
 overwhelmed me with questions about the state of our 
 country, its government, etc. The hostess brought me a 
 
 16
 
 242 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 supper of fried eggs and wurst, while they gathered around 
 the table and began a real category in the dialect of the 
 country, which is difficult to understand. I gave them the 
 best information I could about our mode of farming, the 
 different kinds of produce raised and the prices paid to 
 laborers. One honest old man cried out, on my saying I 
 had worked on a farm, "Ah, little brother! give me your 
 hand," which he shook most heartily. I told them, also, 
 something about our government and the militia system, so 
 different from the conscription of Europe, when a farmer 
 becoming quite warm in our favor said to the others, with 
 an air of the greatest decision, " One American is better 
 than twenty Germans." What particularly amused me 
 was that, although I spoke German with them, they seemed 
 to think I did not understand what they said among one 
 another, and therefore commented very freely over my ap- 
 pearance. I suppose they had the idea that we were a rude, 
 savage race, for I overheard one say, " One sees, neverthe- 
 less, that he has been educated." Their honest, unsophisti- 
 cated mode of expression was very interesting to me, and 
 we talked together till a late hour. 
 
 My friend arrived at three o'clock the next morning, and, 
 after two or three hours' talk about home and the friends 
 whom he expected to see so much sooner than I, a young 
 farmer drove me in his wagon to Offenburg, a small city at 
 the foot of the Black Forest, where I took the cars for 
 Freiburg. The scenery between the two places is grand. 
 The broad mountains of the Black Forest rear their fronts 
 on the east, and the blue lines of the French Vosges meet 
 the clouds on the west. The night before, in walking over 
 the plain, I saw distinctly the whole of the Strasbourg min- 
 ster, whose spire is the highest in Europe, being four hun- 
 dred and ninety feet, or but twenty-five feet lower than the 
 Pyramid of Cheops. 
 
 I visited the minster of Freiburg yesterday morning. It 
 is a grand, gloomy old pile dating from the eleventh cen-
 
 MARKET-DAY. 243 
 
 tury — one of the few Gothic churches in Germany that 
 have ever been completed. The tower of beautiful fret- 
 work rises to the height of three hundred and ninety-five 
 feet, and the body of the church, including the choir, is of 
 the same length. The interior is solemn and majestic. 
 Windows stained in colors that burn let in a " dim relig- 
 ious light " which accords very well with the dark old pil- 
 lars and antique shrines. In two of the chapels there are 
 some fine altar-pieces by Holbein and one of his scholars, 
 and a very large crucifix of silver and ebony, which is kept 
 with great care, is said to have been carried with the cru- 
 saders to the Holy Land. 
 
 This morning was the great market-day, and the peasan- 
 try of the Black Forest came down from the mountains to 
 dispose of their produce. The square around the minster 
 was filled with them, and the singular costume of the 
 women gave the scene quite a strange appearance. Many 
 of them wore bright red headdresses and shawls, others had 
 high-crowned hats of yellow oilcloth ; the young girls wore 
 their hair in long plaits reaching nearly to their feet. They 
 brought grain, butter and cheese and a great deal of fine 
 fruit to sell. I bought some of the wild, aromatic plums 
 of the country at the rate of thirty for a cent. 
 
 The railroad has only been open to Freiburg within a 
 few days, and is consequently an object of great curiosity 
 to the peasants, many of whom never saw the like before. 
 They throng around the station at the departure of the 
 train, and watch with great interest the operations of get- 
 ting up the steam and starting. One of the scenes that 
 grated most harshly on my feelings was seeing yesterday a 
 company of women employed on the unfinished part of the 
 road. They were digging and shovelling away in the rain, 
 nearly up to their knees in mud and clay. 
 
 I called at the institute for the blind, under the direction 
 of Mr. Miiller. He showed me some beautiful basket and 
 woven work by his pupils. The accuracy and skill with
 
 244 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 which everything was made astonished me. They read with 
 amazing facility from the raised type, and by means of 
 frames are taught to write with ease and distinctness. In 
 music — that great solace of the blind — they most excelled. 
 They sang with an expression so true and touching that it 
 was a delight to listen. The system of instruction adopted 
 appears to be most excellent, and gives to the blind nearly 
 every advantage which their more fortunate brethren enjoy. 
 
 I am indebted to Mr. Miiller — to whom I was introduced 
 by an acquaintance with his friend Dr. Rivinus of West 
 Chester, Pa. — for many kind attentions. He went with us 
 this afternoon to the Jagerhaus, on a mountain near, where 
 we had a very fine view of the city and its great black 
 minster, with the plain of the Briesgau, broken only by the 
 Kaiser-stuhl, a long mountain near the Rhine, whose golden 
 stream glittered in the distance. On climbing the Schloss- 
 berg, an eminence near the city, we met the grand duchess 
 Stephanie, a natural daughter of Napoleon, as I have heard, 
 and noAV generally believed to be the mother of Caspar 
 Hauser. Through a work lately published, which has since 
 been suppressed, the whole history has come to light. Cas- 
 par Hauser was the lineal descendant of the house of Baden, 
 and heir to the throne. The guilt of his imprisonment and 
 murder rests, therefore, upon the present reigning family. 
 
 A chapel on the Schonberg, the mountain opposite, was 
 pointed out as the spot where Louis XV. — if I mistake not — 
 usually stood while his army besieged Freiburg. A Ger- 
 man officer having sent a ball to this chapel which struck 
 the wall just above the king's head, the latter sent word 
 that if they did not cease firing he would point his cannons 
 at the minster. The citizens thought it best to spare the 
 monarch and save the cathedral. 
 
 "We attended a meeting of the Walhalla, or society of the 
 students who visit the Freiburg university. They pleased 
 me better than the enthusiastic but somewhat unrestrained 
 Burschenschaft of Heidelberg. Here they have abolished
 
 THE WALHALLA. 245 
 
 duelling; the greatest friendship prevails among the stu- 
 dents, and they have not that contempt for everything 
 philister — or unconnected with their studies — which pre- 
 vails in other universities. Many respectable citizens at- 
 tend their meetings ; to-night there was a member of the 
 chamber of deputies at Carlsruhe present, who delivered 
 two speeches in which every third word was "freedom." 
 An address was delivered, also, by a merchant of the city, 
 in which he made a play upon the word " spear," which 
 signifies also, in a cant sense, " citizen," and seemed to in- 
 dicate that both would do their work in the good cause. 
 He was loudly applauded. Their song of union was by 
 Charles Follen, and the students were much pleased when 
 I told them how he was honored and esteemed in America. 
 
 After two days delightfully spent we shouldered our knap- 
 sacks and left Freiburg. The beautiful valley at the mouth 
 of which the city lies runs like an avenue for seven miles 
 directly into the mountains, and presents in its loveliness 
 such a contrast to the horrid defile which follows that it 
 almost deserves the name which has been given to a little 
 inn at its head — the " Kingdom of Heaven. The moun- 
 tains of the Black Forest enclose it on each side like walls, 
 covered to the summit with luxuriant woods, and in some 
 places with those forests of gloomy pine which give this re- 
 gion its name. After traversing its whole length, just be- 
 fore plunging into the mountain-depths the traveller rarely 
 meets with a finer picture than that which, on looking back, 
 he sees framed between the hills at the other end. Freiburg 
 looks around the foot of one of the heights, with the spire 
 of her cathedral peeping above the top, while the French 
 Vosges grew dim in the far perspective. 
 
 The road now enters a wild, narrow valley which grows 
 smaller as we proceed. From Himmelreich, a large rude inn 
 by the side of the green meadows, we enter the H<">1 leu thai — 
 that is, from the " Kingdom of Heaven " to the " Valley of 
 Hell." The latter place better deserves its appellation than
 
 246 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the former. The road winds between precipices of black 
 rock, above which the thick foliage shuts out the brightness 
 of day and gives a sombre hue to the scene. A torrent 
 foams down the chasm, and in one place two mighty pillars 
 interpose to prevent all passage. The stream, however, has 
 worn its way through, and the road is hewn in the rock by 
 its side. This cleft is the only entrance to a valley three or 
 four miles long which lies in the very heart of the mountains. 
 It is inhabited by a few woodmen and their families, and, 
 but for the road which passes through, would be as perfect 
 a solitude as the Happy Valley of Rasselas. At the farther 
 end a winding road called " The Ascent " leads up the steep 
 mountain to an elevated region of country thinly settled 
 and covered with herds of cattle. The cherries — which in 
 the Rhine-plain below had long gone — were just ripe here. 
 The people spoke a most barbarous dialect; they were social 
 and friendly, for everybody greeted us, and sometimes, as 
 we sat on a bank by the roadside, those who passed by 
 would say " Rest thee !" or " Thrice rest !" 
 
 Passing by the Titi Lake, a small body of water which 
 was spread out among the hills like a sheet of ink, so deep 
 was its Stygian hue, we commenced ascending a mountain. 
 The highest peak of the Schwarzwald, the Feldberg, rose 
 not far off, and on arriving at the top of this mountain we 
 saw that a half hour's walk would bring us to its summit. 
 This was too great a temptation for my love of climbing 
 heights ; so, with a look at the descending sun to calculate 
 how much time we could spare, we set out. There was no 
 path, but we pressed directly up the steep side through 
 bushes and long grass, and in a short time reached the top, 
 breathless from such exertion in the thin atmosphere. The 
 pine-woods shut out the view to the north and east, which 
 is said to be magnificent, as the mountain is about five 
 thousand feet high. The wild black peaks of the Black 
 Forest were spread below us, and the sun sank through 
 golden mist toward the Alsatian hills. Afar to the south,
 
 THE BLACK FOREST. 247 
 
 through cloud and storm, we could just trace the white out- 
 line of the Swiss Alps. The wind swept through the pines 
 around, and bent the long yellow grass among which we 
 sat, with a strange, mournful sound well suiting the gloomv 
 and mysterious region. It soon grew cold ; the golden 
 clouds settled down toward us, and we made haste to de- 
 scend to the village of Lenzkirch before dark. 
 
 Next morning we set out early, without waiting to see the 
 trial of archery which was to take place among the moun- 
 tain-youths. Their booths and targets, gay with banners, 
 stood on a green meadow beside the town. We walked 
 through the Black Forest the whole forenoon. It might be 
 owing to the many wild stories whose scenes are laid among 
 these hills, but with me there was a peculiar feeling of 
 solemnity pervading the whole region. The great pine- 
 woods are of the very darkest hue of green, and down their 
 hoary, moss-floored aisles daylight seems never to have 
 shone. The air was pure and clear and the sunshine bright, 
 but it imparted no gayety to the scenery ; except the little 
 meadows of living emerald which lay occasionally in the 
 lap of a dell, the landscape wore a solemn and serious air. 
 In a storm it must be sublime. 
 
 About noon, from the top of the last range of hills, we 
 had a glorious view. The line of the distant Alps could be 
 faintly traced high in the clouds, and all the heights be- 
 tween were plainly visible, from the Lake of Constance to 
 the misty Jura, which flanked the Vosges of the west. 
 From our lofty station we overlooked half Switzerland, and, 
 had the air been a little clearer, we could have seen Mont 
 Blanc and the mountains of Savoy. I could not help envy- 
 ing the feelings of the Swiss who, after long absence from 
 their native land, first see the Alps from this road. If to 
 the emotions with which I then looked on them were added 
 the passionate love of home and country which a long ab- 
 sence creates, such excess of rapture would be almost too 
 great to be borne.
 
 248 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 In the afternoon we crossed the border, and took leave 
 of Germany with regret, after near a year's residence with- 
 in its bounds. Still, it was pleasant to know we were in a 
 republic once more. The first step we took made us aware 
 of the change. There was no policeman to call for our 
 passports or search our baggage. 
 
 It was just dark when we reached the hill overlooking 
 the Rhine, on whose steep banks is perched the antique 
 town of Schaffhausen. It is still walled in, with towers at 
 regular intervals ; the streets are wide and spacious, and 
 the houses rendered extremely picturesque by the quaint 
 projecting windows. The buildings are nearly all old, as 
 we learned by the dates above the doors. At the inn I met 
 with one of the free troopers who marched against Luzerne ; 
 he was full of spirit and ready to undertake another such 
 journey. Indeed, it is the universal opinion that the pres- 
 ent condition of things cannot last much longer. 
 
 We took a walk before breakfast to the Falls of the 
 Rhine, about a mile and a half from Schaffhausen. I con- 
 fess I was somewhat disappointed in them, after the glowing 
 descriptions of travellers. The river at this place is little 
 more than thirty yards wide, and the body of water, al- 
 though issuing from the Lake of Constance, is not remark- 
 ably strong. For some distance above, the fall of water is 
 very rapid, and as it finally reaches the spot where, narrow- 
 ed between rocks, it makes the grand plunge, it has acquir- 
 ed a great velocity. Three rocks stand in the middle of 
 the current, which thunders against and around their bases, 
 but cannot shake them down. These, and the rocks in the 
 bed of the stream, break the force of the fall; so that it de- 
 scends to the bottom, about fifty feet below, not in one sheet, 
 but shivered into a hundred leaps of snowy foam. The 
 precipitous shores and the tasteful little castle which is 
 perched upon the steep just over the boiling spray add 
 much to its beauty, taken as a picture. As a specimen of 
 the picturesque, the whole scene is perfect. I should think
 
 A REMINDER OF PENNSYLVANIA. 249 
 
 Trenton Falls, in New York, must excel these in wild, start 
 ling effect ; but there is such a scarcity of waterfalls in this 
 land that the Germans go into raptures about them, and 
 will hardly believe that Niagara itself possesses more sub- 
 limity. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 PEOPLE AND PLACES EN EASTERN SWITZERLAND. 
 
 We left Schaffhausen for Zurich in mist and rain, and 
 walked for some time along the north bank of the Rhine. 
 We could have enjoyed the scenery much better had it not 
 been for the rain, which not only hid the mountains from 
 sight, but kept us constantly half soaked. We crossed the 
 rapid Rhine at Eglisau, a curious antique village, and then 
 continued our way through the forests of Canton Zurich to 
 Biilach, with its groves of lindens—" those tall and stately 
 trees, with velvet down upon their shining leaves, and rustic 
 benches placed beneath their overhanging eaves." 
 
 When we left the little village where the rain obliged us 
 to stop for the night, it was clear and delightful. The 
 farmers were out, busy at work, their long, straight scythes 
 glancing through the wet grass, while the thick pines spark- 
 led with thousands of dewy diamonds. The country was so 
 beautiful and cheerful that we half felt like being in Amer- 
 ica. The farmhouses were scattered over the country in 
 real American style, and the glorious valley of the Limmat, 
 bordered on the west by a range of woody hills, reminded 
 me of some scenes in my native Pennsylvania. The houses 
 were neatly and tastefully built, with little gardens around 
 them, and the countenances of the people spoke of intelli- 
 gence and independence. There was the same air of peace 
 and prosperity which delighted us in the valleys of Upper 
 Austria, with a look of freedom which those had not. The
 
 250 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 faces of a people are the best index to their condition. I 
 could read on their brows a lofty self-respect, a conscious- 
 ness of the liberties they enjoy, which the Germans of the 
 laboring-class never show. It could not be imagination, for 
 the recent occurrences in Switzerland, with the many state- 
 ments I heard in Germany, had prejudiced me somewhat 
 against the land, and these marks of prosperity and freedom 
 were as surprising as they were delightful. 
 
 As we approached Zurich the noise of employment from 
 mills, furnaces and factories came to us like familiar sounds, 
 reminding us of the bustle of our home-cities. The situation 
 of the city is lovely. It lies at the head of the lake and on 
 both sides of the little river Limmat, whose clear green 
 waters carry the collected meltings of the Alps to the Rhine. 
 Around the lake rise lofty green hills which, sloping gently 
 back, bear on their sides hundreds of pleasant country-houses 
 and farms, and the snowy Alpine range extends along the 
 southern sky. The Limmat is spanned by a number of 
 bridges, and its swift waters turn many mills which are 
 built above them. From these bridges one can look out 
 over the blue lake and down the thronged streets of the 
 city on each side, whose bright, cheerful houses remind him 
 of Italy. 
 
 Zurich can boast of finer promenades than any other city 
 in Switzerland. The old battlements are planted with trees 
 and transformed into pleasant walks, which, being elevated 
 above the city, command views of its beautiful environs. 
 A favorite place of resort is the Lindenhof, an elevated 
 court-yard shaded by immense trees. The fountains of water 
 under them are always surrounded by washerwomen, and 
 in the morning groups of merry school-children may be seen 
 tumbling over the grass. The teachers take them there in 
 a body for exercise and recreation. The Swiss children are 
 beautiful, bright-eyed creatures; there is scarcely one who 
 does not exhibit the dawning of an active, energetic spirit. 
 It may be partly attributed to the fresh, healthy climate of
 
 KINDLY GREETINGS. 251 
 
 Switzerland, but I am partial enough to republics to believe 
 that the influence of the government under which they live 
 has also its share in producing the effect. 
 
 There'is a handsome promenade on an elevated bastion 
 which overlooks the city and lakes. While enjoying the 
 cool morning breeze and listening to the stir of the streets 
 below us, we were also made aware of the social and friendly 
 politeness of the people. Those who passed by on their 
 walk around the rampart greeted us almost with the famil- 
 iarity of an acquaintance. Simple as was the act, we felt 
 grateful, for it had at least the seeming of a friendly interest 
 and a sympathy with the loneliness which the stranger 
 sometimes feels. A school-teacher leading her troop of 
 merry children on their morning walk around the bastion 
 nodded to us pleasantly, and forthwith the whole company 
 of chubby-cheeked rogues, looking up at us with a pleasant 
 archness, lisped a " Gvien morgen /" that made the hearts 
 glad within us. I know of nothing that has given me a 
 more sweet and tender delight than the greeting of a little 
 child who, leaving his noisy playmates, ran across the street 
 to me, and, taking my hand — which he could barely clasp 
 in both his soft little ones — looked up in my face with an 
 expression so winning and affectionate that I loved him 
 at once. The happy, honest farmers, too, spoke to us cheer- 
 fully everywhere. "We learned a lesson from all this : we 
 felt that not a word of kindness is ever wasted, that a sim- 
 ple friendly glance may cheer the spirit and warm the lonely 
 heart, and that the slightest deed prompted by generous 
 sympathy becomes a living joy in the memory of the receiver 
 which blesses unceasingly him who bestowed it. 
 
 We left Zurich the same afternoon to walk to Stafa, 
 where we were told the poet Freiligrath resided. The road 
 led along the bank of the lake, whose shores sloped gently 
 up from the water, covered with gardens and farmhouses, 
 which, with the bolder mountains that rose behind them, 
 made a combination of the lovely and grand on which the
 
 252 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 eye rested with rapture and delight. The sweetest cottages 
 were embowered among the orchards, and the whole coun- 
 try bloomed like a garden. The waters of the lake are of 
 a pale, transparent green, and so clear that we could see 
 its bottom of white pebbles for some distance. Here and 
 there floated a quiet boat on its surface. The opposite hills 
 were covered with a soft blue haze, and white villages sat 
 along the shore " like swans among the reeds." Behind, 
 we saw the woody range of the Brunig Alp. The people 
 bade us a pleasant " Good-evening." There was a univer- 
 sal air of cheerfulness and content on their countenances. 
 
 Toward evening the clouds which hung in the south the 
 whole day dispersed a little, and we could see the Dodiberg 
 and the Alps of Glarus. As sunset drew on, the broad 
 summits of snow and the clouds which were rolled around 
 them assumed a soft rosy hue which increased in bril- 
 liancy as the light of day faded. The rough icy crags and 
 snowy steeps were fused in the warm light and half 
 blended with the bright clouds. This blaze, as it were, of 
 the mountains at sunset, is called the " Alp-glow," and ex- 
 ceeds all one's highest conceptions of Alpine grandeur. 
 We watched the fading glory till it quite died away and 
 the summits wore a livid, ashy hue, like the mountains of 
 a world wherein there was no life. In a few minutes more 
 the dusk of twilight spread over the scene, the boatmen 
 glided home over the still lake and the herdsmen drove 
 their cattle back from pasture on the slopes and meadows. 
 
 On inquiring for Freiligrath at Stafa we found he had 
 removed to Rapperschwyl, some distance farther. As it 
 was already late, we waited for the steamboat which leaves 
 Zurich every evening. It came along about eight o'clock, 
 and a little boat carried us out through rain and darkness 
 to meet it as it came like a fiery-eyed monster over the 
 water. We stepped on board the " Republican," and in 
 half an hour were brought to the wharf at Rapperschwyl. 
 
 There are two small islands in the lake, one of which,
 
 A MORNING WITH FREILIGRATH. 253 
 
 with a little chapel rising from among its green trees, is 
 Ufnau, the grave of Ulrich von Hutten, one of the fathers 
 of the German Reformation. His fiery poems have been 
 the source from which many a German bard has derived 
 his inspiration, and Freiligrath, who now lives in sight of 
 his tomb, has published an indignant poem because an inn 
 with gaming-tables has been established in the ruins of the 
 castle near Creutznach where Hutten found refuge from his 
 enemies with Franz von Sickingen, brother-in-law of Goetz 
 with the Iron Hand. The monks of Einsiedeln, to whom 
 Ufnau belongs, have carefully obliterated all traces of his 
 grave, so that the exact spot is not known, in order that 
 even a tombstone might be denied him who once strove to 
 overturn their order. It matters little to that bold spirit 
 whose motto was, " The die is cast : I have dared it !" 
 The whole island is his monument, if he need one. 
 
 I spent the whole of the morning with Freiligrath, the 
 poet, who was lately banished from Germany on account 
 of the liberal principles his last volume contains. He lives 
 in a pleasant country-house on the Meyerberg, an eminence 
 near Rapperschwyl overlooking a glorious prospect. On 
 leaving Frankfort, R. S. Willis gave me a letter to him, 
 and I was glad to meet with a man personally whom I ad- 
 mired so much through his writings, and whose boldness in 
 speaking out against the tyranny which his country suffers 
 forms such a noble contrast to the cautious slowness of his 
 countrymen. He received me kindly and conversed much 
 upon American literature. He is a warm admirer of Bry- 
 ant and Longfellow, and has translated many of their poems 
 into German. He said he had received a warm invitation 
 from a colony of Germans in Wisconsin to join them and 
 enjoy that freedom which his native land denies, but that 
 his circumstances would not allow it at present. He is per- 
 haps thirty-five years of age. His brow is high and noble, 
 and his eyes, which are large and of a clear gray, beam 
 with serious, saddened thought. His long chestnut hair,
 
 254 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 uniting with a handsome beard and moustache, gives a lion- 
 like dignity to his energetic countenance. His talented 
 wife, Ida Freiligrath, who shares his literary labors, and an 
 amiable sister, are with him in exile, and he is happier in 
 their faithfulness than when he enjoyed the favors of a cor- 
 rupt king. 
 
 We crossed the long bridge from Rapperschwyl and took 
 the road over the mountain opposite, ascending for nearly 
 two hours along the side, with glorious views of the Lake 
 of Zurich and the mountains which enclose it. The upper 
 and lower ends of the lake were completely hid by the 
 storms which, to our regret, veiled the Alps, but the part 
 below lay spread out dim and grand, like a vast picture. It 
 rained almost constantly, and we were obliged occasionally 
 to take shelter in the pine-forests whenever a heavier cloud 
 passed over. The road was lined with beggars, who drop- 
 ped on their knees in the rain before us or placed bars 
 across the way and then took them down again, for which 
 they demanded money. 
 
 At length we reached the top of the pass. Many pil- 
 grims to Einsiedeln had stopped at a little inn there, some 
 of whom came a long distance to pay their vows, especially 
 as the next day was the ascension day of the Virgin, whose 
 image there is noted for performing many miracles. Pass- 
 ing on, we crossed a wild torrent by an arch called the 
 " Devil's Bridge." The lofty, elevated plains were covered 
 with scanty patches of grain and potatoes and the boys 
 tended their goats on the grassy slopes, sometimes trilling 
 or yodling an Alpine melody. An hour's walk brought us 
 to Einsiedeln, a small town whose only attraction is the 
 abbey — after Loretto, in Italy, the most celebrated resort 
 for pilgrims in Europe. 
 
 We entered immediately into the great church. The 
 gorgeous vaulted roof and long aisles were dim with the 
 early evening ; hundreds of worshippers sat around the 
 sides or kneeled in groups on the broad stone pavements
 
 THE ABBEY OF EINSIEDELN. 255 
 
 chanting over their Paternosters and Ave Marias in a 
 shrill, monotonous tone, while the holy image near the en- 
 trance was surrounded by persons many of whom came in 
 the hope of being healed of some disorder under which 
 they suffered. I could not distinctly make out the image, 
 for it was placed back within the grating, and a strong 
 crimson lamp behind it was made to throw the light around 
 in the form of a glory. Many of the pilgrims came a long 
 distance. I saw some in the costume of the Black Forest 
 and others who appeared to be natives of the Italian can- 
 tons, and a group of young women, wearing conical fur 
 caps, from the forests of Bregenz, on the Lake of Constance. 
 
 I was astonished at the splendor of this church situated 
 in a lonely and unproductive Alpine valley. The lofty 
 arches of the ceiling, which are covered with superb fresco- 
 paintings, rest on enormous pillars of granite, and every 
 image and shrine is richly ornamented with gold. Some 
 of the chapels were filled with the remains of martyrs, and 
 these were always surrounded with throngs of believers. 
 The choir was closed by a tall iron grating ; a single lamp 
 which swung from the roof enabled me to see through the 
 darkness that, though much more rich in ornaments than 
 the body of the church, it was less grand and impressive. 
 The frescos which cover the ceiling are said to be the finest 
 paintings of the kind in Switzerland. 
 
 In the morning our starting was delayed by the rain, and 
 we took advantage of it to hear mass in the abbey and en- 
 joy the heavenly music. The latter was of the loftiest 
 kind. There was one voice among the singers I shall not 
 soon forget ; it was like the warble of a bird who sings out 
 of very wantonness. On and on it sounded, making its 
 clear, radiant sweetness heard above the chant of the choir 
 and the thunder of the orchestra. Such a rich, varied and 
 untiring strain of melody I have rarely listened to. 
 
 When the service ceased, we took a small road leading to 
 Schwytz. We had now fairly entered the Alpine region,
 
 256 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 and our first task was to cross a mountain. This having 
 been done, we kept along the back of the ridge which 
 bounds the Lake of Zug on the south, terminating in the 
 well-knoAvn Rossberg. The scenery became wilder with 
 every step. The luxuriant fields of herbage on the moun- 
 tains were spotted with the picturesque chalets of the hunt- 
 ers and alp-herds; cattle and goats were browsing along the 
 declivities, their bells tinkling most musically, and the lit- 
 tle streams fell in foam down the steeps. We here began to 
 realize our anticipations of Swiss scenery. Just on the other 
 side of the range along which we travelled lay the little 
 Lake of Egeri and valley of Morgarten, where Tell and 
 his followers overcame the army of the German emperor. 
 Near the Lake of Lowertz we found a chapel by the road- 
 side built on the spot where the house of Werner Stauff- 
 acher, one of the " three men of Griitli," formerly stood. 
 It bears a poetical inscription in old German and a rude 
 painting of the battle of Morgarten. 
 
 As we wound around the Lake of Lowertz we saw the 
 valley lying between the Rossberg and the Righi, which 
 latter mountain stood full in view. To our regret, and that 
 of all other travellers, the clouds hung low upon it, as they 
 had done for a week at least, and there was no prospect of 
 a change. The Rossberg, from which we descended, is 
 about four thousand feet in height ; a dark brown stripe 
 from its very summit to the valley below shows the track 
 of the avalanche which in 1806 overwhelmed Goldau and 
 laid waste the beautiful vale of Lowertz. We could trace 
 the masses of rock and earth as far as the foot of the Righi. 
 Four hundred and fifty persons perished by this catastro- 
 phe, which was so sudden that in five minutes the whole 
 lovely valley was transformed into a desolate wilderness. 
 The shock was so great that the Lake of Lowertz over- 
 flowed its banks, and part of the village of Steinen, at the 
 upper end, was destroyed by the waters. 
 
 An hour's walk through a blooming Alpine vale brought
 
 GRUTLI MEADOW. 257 
 
 us to the little town of Schwytz, the capital of the canton. 
 It stands at the foot of a rock-mountain in shape not unlike 
 Gibraltar, but double its height. The bare and rugged 
 summits seem to hang directly over the town, but the peo- 
 ple dwell below without fear, although the warning ruins of 
 Goldau are full in sight. A narrow blue line at the end of 
 the valley, which stretches westward, marks the Lake of the 
 Four Cantons. Down this valley we hurried, that we might 
 not miss the boat which plies daily from Luzerne to Flueleh. 
 I regretted not being able to visit Luzerne, as I had a letter 
 to the distinguished Swiss composer Schnyder von AVarten- 
 see, who resides there at present. The place is said to pre- 
 sent a most desolate appearance, being avoided by travellers, 
 and even by artisans ; so that business of all kinds has al- 
 most entirely ceased. 
 
 At the little town of Brunnen, on the lake, we awaited 
 the coming of the steamboat. The scenery around it is ex- 
 ceedingly grand. Looking down toward Luzerne, we could 
 see the dark mass of Mount Pilatus on one side, and on the 
 other the graceful outline of the Righi, still wearing his 
 hood of clouds. We put off in a skiff to meet the boat, 
 with two Capuchin friars in long brown mantles and cowls, 
 carrying rosaries at their girdles. 
 
 Nearly opposite Brunnen is the meadow of Grutli, where 
 the union of the Swiss patriots took place and the bond was 
 sealed that enabled them to cast off their chains. It is a 
 little green slope on the side of the mountain, between the 
 two cantons of Uri and Unterwalden, surrounded on all 
 sides by precipices. A little crystal spring in the centre is 
 believed by the common people to have gushed up on the 
 spot where the three " linked the hands that made them 
 free." It is also a popular belief that they slumber in a 
 rocky cavern near the spot, and that they will arise and 
 come forth when the liberties of Switzerland are in danger. 
 She stands at present greatly in need of a new triad to re- 
 store the ancient harmony. 
 17
 
 258 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 We passed this glorious scene, almost the only green spot 
 on the bleak mountain-side, and swept around the base of 
 the Axenberg, at whose foot, in a rocky cave, stands the 
 chapel of William Tell. This is built on the spot where he 
 leaped from Gessler's boat during the storm. It sits at the 
 base of the rock, on the water's edge, and can be seen far 
 over the waves. The Alps, whose eternal snows are lifted 
 dazzling to the sky, complete the grandeur of a scene so 
 hallowed by the footsteps of Freedom. The grand and 
 lonely solemnity of the landscape impressed me with an awe 
 like that one feels when standing in a mighty cathedral 
 when the aisles are dim with twilight. And how full of 
 interest to a citizen of young and free America is a shrine 
 where the votaries of Liberty have turned to gather strength 
 and courage through the storms and convulsions of five 
 hundred years! 
 
 We stopped at the village of Fluelen, at the head of the 
 lake, and walked on to Altorf, a distance of half a league. 
 Here, in the market-place, is a tower said to be built on the 
 spot where the linden tree stood under which the child of 
 Tell was placed, while, about a hundred yards distant, is 
 a fountain with Tell's statue, on the spot from whence he 
 shot the apple. If these localities are correct, he must in- 
 deed have been master of the cross-bow. The tower is cov- 
 ered with rude paintings of the principal events in the his- 
 tory of Swiss liberty. I viewed these scenes with double 
 interest from having read Schiller's Wilhelm Tell, one of the 
 most splendid tragedies ever written. The beautiful reply 
 of his boy when he described to him the condition of the 
 " land where there are no mountains " was sounding in my 
 ears during the whole day's journey : 
 
 " Father, I'd feel oppressed in that broad land :. 
 I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanche !" 
 
 The little village of Burglen, whose spire we saw above 
 the forest in a glen near by was the birthplace of Tell, and
 
 ALPINE TWILIGHT. 259 
 
 the place where his dwelling stood is now marked by a small 
 chapel. In the Schachen, a noisy mountain-stream that 
 comes down to join the Reuss, he was drowned when an old 
 man, in attempting to rescue a child who had fallen in — a 
 death worthy of the hero. We bestowed a blessing on his 
 memory in passing, and then followed the banks of the rapid 
 Reuss. Twilight was gathering in the deep Alpine glen, 
 and the mountains on each side, half seen through the mist, 
 looked like vast awful phantoms ; soon they darkened to 
 black, indistinct masses. All was silent except the deep- 
 ened roar of the falling floods ; dark clouds brooded above 
 us like the outspread wings of night, and we were glad when 
 the little village of Amstegg was reached and the parlor of 
 the inn opened to us a more cheerful, if not so romantic, 
 scene. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 PASSAGE OF THE ST. GOTHARD AND DESCENT INTO ITALY. 
 
 Leaving Amstegg, I passed the whole day among snowy, 
 sky-piercing Alps, torrents, chasms and clouds. The clouds 
 appeared to be breaking up as we set out, and the white top 
 of the Reussberg was now and then visible in the sky. Just 
 above the village are the remains of Zwing Uri, the castle 
 begun by the tyrant Gessler for the complete subjugation 
 of the canton. Following the Reuss up through a narrow 
 valley, we passed the Bristenstock, which lifts its jagged 
 crags nine thousand feet in the air, while on the other side 
 stand the snowy summits which lean toward the Rhone gla- 
 cier and St. Gothard. From the deep glen where the Reuss 
 foamed down toward the Lake of the Forest Cantons the 
 mountains rose with a majestic sweep so far into the sky 
 that the brain grew almost dizzy in following their outlines. 
 Woods, chalets and slopes of herbage covered their bases,
 
 260 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 where the mountain-cattle and goats were browsing, while 
 the herd-boys sang their native melodies or woke the ring- 
 ing echoes with the loud, sweet sounds of their wooden 
 horns. Higher up the sides were broken into crags and 
 covered with stunted pines ; then succeeded a belt of bare 
 rock with a little snow lying in the crevices, and the sum- 
 mits of dazzling white looked out from the clouds nearly 
 three-fourths the height of the zenith. Sometimes, when 
 the vale was filled with clouds, it was startling to see them 
 parting around a solitary summit apparently isolated in the 
 air at an immense height, for the mountain to which it be- 
 longed was hidden to the very base. 
 
 The road passed from one side of the valley to the other, 
 crossing the Reuss on bridges sometimes ninety feet high. 
 After three or four hours' walking, we reached a frightful 
 pass called the Schollenen. So narrow is the defile that 
 before reaching it the road seemed to enter directly into the 
 mountain. Precipices a thousand feet high tower above, and 
 the stream roars and boils in the black depth below. The 
 road is a wonder of art ; it winds around the edge of hor- 
 rible chasms or is carried on lofty arches across, with some- 
 times a hold apparently so frail that one involuntarily shud- 
 ders. At a place called the Devil's Bridge the Reuss leaps 
 about seventy feet in three or four cascades, sending up con- 
 tinually a cloud of spray, while a wind created by the fall 
 blows and whirls around with a force that nearly lifts one 
 from his feet. Wordsworth has described the scene in the 
 following lines : 
 
 " Plunge with the Eeuss, embrowned by Terror's breath, 
 Where Danger roofs the narrow walks of Death, 
 By floods that, thundering from their dizzy height, 
 Swell more gigantic on the steadfast sight — 
 Black, drizzling crags that, beaten by the din, 
 Vibrate, as if a voice complained within, 
 Loose-hanging rocks the Day's blessed eye that hide, 
 And crosses reared to Death on every side."
 
 ST. GOTHARD. 261 
 
 Beyond the Devil's Bridge the mountains which nearly 
 touched before interlock into each other, and a tunnel three 
 hundred and seventy-five feet long leads through the rock 
 into the vale of Urseren, surrounded by the Upper Alps. 
 The little town of Andermatt lies in the middle of this val- 
 ley, which, with the peaks around, is covered with short 
 yellowish-brown grass. We met near Amstegg a little 
 Italian boy walking home from Germany, quite alone and 
 without money, for we saw him give his last kreutzer to a 
 blind beggar along the road. We therefore took him with 
 us, as he was afraid to cross the St. Gothard alone. 
 
 After refreshing ourselves at Andermatt, we started, five 
 in number, including a German student, for the St. Gothard. 
 Behind the village of Hospiz, which stands at the bottom 
 of the valley leading to Realp and the Furca Pass, the way 
 commences, winding backward and forward, higher and 
 higher, through a valley covered with rocks, with the 
 mighty summits of the Alps around, untenanted save by 
 the chamois and mountain-eagle. Not a tree was to be seen. 
 The sides of the mountains were covered with loose rocks 
 waiting for the next torrent to wash them down, and the 
 tops were robed in eternal snow. A thick cloud rolled 
 down over us as we went on, following the diminishing brooks 
 to their snowy source in the Peak of St. Gothard. AVe cut 
 off the bends of the roa.d by footpaths up the rocks, which 
 we ascended in single file, one of the Americans going ahead 
 and the little Pietro with his staff and bundle bringing up 
 the rear. The rarefied air we breathed seven thousand feet 
 above the sea was like exhilarating gas. We felt no fatigue, 
 but ran and shouted and threw snow-balls in the middle of 
 August. 
 
 After three hours' walk we reached the two clear and 
 silent lakes which send their waters to the Adriatic and the 
 North Sea. Here, as we looked down the Italian side, the 
 sky became clear ; we saw the top of St. Gothard many 
 thousand feet above, and, stretching to the south, the sum-
 
 262 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 mits of the mountains which guard the vales of the Ticino 
 and the Adda. The former monastery has been turned 
 into an inn ; there is, however, a kind of church attached, 
 attended by a single monk. It was so cold that, although 
 late, we determined to descend to the first village. The 
 Italian side is very steep, and the road — called the Via 
 Trimola — is like a thread dropped down and constantly 
 doubling back upon itself. The deep chasms were filled 
 with snow, although exposed to the full force of the sun, 
 and for a long distance there was scarcely a sign of vege- 
 tation. 
 
 We thought, as we went down, that every step was bring- 
 ing us nearer to a sunnier land — that the glories of Italy, 
 which had so long lain in the airy background of the fu- 
 ture, would soon spread themselves before us in their real 
 or imagined beauty. Reaching at dusk the last height 
 above the vale of the Ticino, we saw the little village of 
 Airolo, with its musical name, lying in a hollow of the 
 mountains. A few minutes of leaping, sliding and rolling 
 took us down the grassy declivity, and we found we had 
 descended from the top in an hour and a half, although the 
 distance by the road is nine miles. I need not say how 
 glad we were to relieve our trembling knees and exhausted 
 limbs. 
 
 I have endeavored several times .to give some idea of the 
 sublimity of the Alps, but words seem almost powerless to 
 measure these mighty mountains. No effort of the imagi- 
 nation could possibly equal their real grandeur. I wish 
 also to describe the feelings inspired by being among them 
 — feelings which can best be expressed through the warmer 
 medium of poetry.
 
 SONG OF THE ALP. 263 
 
 SONG OF THE ALP. 
 
 I sit aloft on my thunder-throne, 
 
 And my voice of dread the nations own 
 As I speak in storm below. 
 
 Tlie valleys quake with a breathless fear 
 
 When I hurl in wrath my icy spear 
 And shake my locks of snow. 
 
 When the avalanche forth like a tiger leaps, 
 How the vassal-mountains quiver, 
 
 And the storm that sweeps through the airy deeps 
 
 Makes the hoary pine-wood shiver ! 
 Above them all, in a brighter air, 
 I lift my forehead proud and bare, 
 And the lengthened sweep of my forest-robe 
 Trails down to the low and captured globe, 
 Till its borders touch the dark-green wave 
 In whose soundless depths my feet I lave. 
 The winds, imprisoned, around me blow, 
 And terrible tempests whirl the snow ; 
 Rocks from their caverned beds are torn, 
 And the blasted forest to heaven is borne ; 
 High through the din of the stormy band 
 Like misty giants the mountains stand, 
 And their thunder-revel o'ersounds the woe 
 That cries from the desolate vales below ; 
 I part the clouds with my lifted crown 
 Till the sun-ray slants on the glaciers down, 
 And trembling men. in the valleys pale, 
 Rejoice at the gleam of my icy mail. 
 
 II. 
 I wear a crown of the sunbeam's gold, 
 With glacier-gems on my forehead old — 
 
 A monarch crowned by God. 
 What son of the servile earth may dare 
 Such signs of a regal power to wear 
 
 While chained to her darkened sod? 
 I know of a nobler and grander lore 
 
 Than Time records on his crumbling pages,
 
 264 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 And the soul of my solitude teaches more 
 
 Than the gathered deeds of perished ages; 
 For I have ruled since Time began 
 And wear no fetter made by man. 
 I scorn the coward and craven race 
 Who dwell around my mighty base, 
 For they leave the lessons I grandly gave 
 And bend to the yoke of the crouching slave; 
 I shout aloud to the chainless skies ; 
 The stream through its falling foam replies — 
 And my voice, like the sound of the surging sea, 
 To the nations thunders — " I am free !" 
 I spoke to Tell when a tyrant's hand 
 Lay heavy and hard on his native land, 
 And the spirit whose glory from mine he won 
 Blessed the Alpine dwellers with Freedom's sun! 
 The Student-Boy on the Gmnnden-plain 
 Heard my solemn voice, but he fought in vain ; 
 I called from the crags of the Passeir Glen 
 When the despot stood in my realm again, 
 And Hofer sprang at the proud command 
 And roused the men of the Tyrol land. 
 
 III. 
 I struggle up to the dim blue heaven 
 From the world far down in whose breast are driven 
 
 The props of my pillared throne ; 
 And the rosy fires of morning glow 
 Like a glorious thought on my brow of snow, 
 
 While the vales are dark and lone ! 
 Ere twilight summons the first faint star 
 I seem to the nations who dwell afar 
 Like a shadowy cloud whose every fold 
 The sunset dyes with its purest gold, 
 And the soul mounts up through that gateway fair 
 To try its wings in a loftier air. 
 The finger of God on my brow is pressed, 
 His spirit beats in my giant breast, 
 And I breathe, as the endless ages roll, 
 His silent words to the eager soul. 
 I prompt the thoughts of the mighty mind 
 Who leaves his century far behind
 
 BEAUTIFUL CASCADES. 265 
 
 And speaks from the Future's sunlit snow 
 
 To the Present, that sleeps in its gloom below. 
 
 I stand unchanged in creation's youth, 
 
 A glorious type of eternal truth, 
 
 That, free and pure, from its native skies 
 
 Shines through Oppression's veil of lies, 
 
 And lights the world's long-fettered sod 
 
 With thoughts of Freedom and of God. 
 
 When, at night, I looked out of my chamber-window, the 
 silver moon of Italy (for we fancied that her light was 
 softer and that the skies were already bluer) hung trem- 
 bling above the fields of snow that stretched in their wintry 
 brilliance along the mountains around. I heard the roar 
 of the Ticino and the deepened sound of falling cascades, 
 and thought, if I were to take those waters for my guide, to 
 what glorious places they would lead me. 
 
 We left Airolo early the next morning, to continue our 
 journey down the valley of the Ticino. The mists and 
 clouds of Switzerland were exchanged for a sky of the 
 purest blue, and we felt, for the first time in ten days, un- 
 comfortably warm. The mountains which flank the Alps 
 on this side are still giants— lofty and bare, and covered 
 with snow in many places. The limit of the German dialect 
 is on the summit of St. Gothard, and the peasants saluted 
 us with a "Buon giomo 1" as they passed. This, with the 
 clearness of the skies and the warmth of the air, made us 
 feel that Italy was growing nearer. 
 
 The mountains are covered with forests of dark pine, and 
 many beautiful cascades come tumbling over the rocks in 
 their haste to join the Ticino. One of these was so strangely 
 beautiful that I cannot pass it without a particular descrip- 
 tion. We saw it soon after leaving Airolo on the opposite 
 side of the valley. A stream of considerable size comes 
 down the mountain, leaping from crag to crag till within 
 forty or fifty feet of the bottom, where it is caught in a hol- 
 low rock and flung upward into the air, forming a beautiful
 
 266 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 arch as it falls out into the valley. As it is whirled up thus 
 feathery curls of spray are constantly driven off and seem 
 to wave round it like the fibres of an ostrich-plume. The 
 sun, shining through, gave it a sparry brilliance which was 
 perfectly magnificent. If I were an artist, I would give 
 much for such a new form of beauty. 
 
 On our first day's journey we passed through two terrific 
 mountain-gorges, almost equalling in grandeur the defile of 
 the Devil's Bridge. The Ticino, in its course to Lago Mag- 
 giore, has to make a descent of nearly three thousand feet, 
 passing through three valleys, which lie like terraces, one 
 below the other. In its course from one to the other it has 
 to force its way down in twenty cataracts through a cleft in 
 the mountains. The road, constructed with the utmost 
 labor, threads these dark chasms, sometimes carried in a 
 tunnel through the rock, sometimes passing on arches above 
 the boiling flood. The precipices of bare rock rise far 
 above and render the way difficult and dangerous. I here 
 noticed another very beautiful effect of the water, perhaps 
 attributable to some mineral substance it contained. The 
 spray and foam thrown up in the dashing of the vexed cur- 
 rent was of a light, delicate pink, although the stream itself 
 was a soft blue, and the contrast of these two colors was 
 very remarkable. 
 
 As we kept on, however, there was a very perceptible 
 change in the scenery. The gloomy pines disappeared, and 
 the mountains were covered, in their stead, with picturesque 
 chestnut trees with leaves of a shining green. The grass 
 and vegetation was much more luxuriant than on the other 
 side of the Alps, and fields of maize and mulberry orchards 
 covered the valley. We saw the people busy at work reel- 
 ing silk in the villages. Every mile we advanced made a 
 sensible change in the vegetation. The chestnuts were 
 larger, the maize higher, the few straggling grape-vines in- 
 creased into bowers and vineyards, while the gardens were 
 filled with plum, pear and fig trees, and the stands of deli-
 
 BOWERS OF ARCADIA. 267 
 
 cious fruit which we saw in the villages gave us promise of 
 the luxuriance that was to come. 
 
 The vineyards are much more beautiful than the German 
 fields of stakes. The vines are not trimmed, but grow from 
 year to year over a frame higher than the head, sup- 
 ported through the whole field on stone pillars. They in- 
 terlace and form a complete leafy screen, while the clusters 
 hang below. The light came dimly through the green, 
 transparent leaves, and nothing was wanting to make them 
 real bowers of Arcadia. Although we were still in Switz- 
 erland, the people began to have that lazy, indolent look 
 which characterizes the Italians; most of the occupations 
 were carried on in the open air, and brown-robed, sandalled 
 friars were going about .from house to house, collecting 
 money and provisions for their support. 
 
 We passed Faido and Giornico, near which last village 
 are the remains of an old castle supposed to have been built 
 by the ancient Gauls, and stopped for the night at Cresci- 
 ano ; which being entirely Italian, we had an opportumity 
 to put in practice the few words we had picked up from 
 Pietro. The little fellow parted from us with regret a few 
 hours before, at Biasco, where he had relations. The rustic 
 landlord at Cresciano was an honest young fellow who tried 
 to serve us as well as he could, but we made some ludicrous 
 mistakes through our ignorance of the language. 
 
 Three hours' walk brought us to Bellinzona, the capital 
 of the canton. Before reaching it our road joined that of 
 the Splugen, which comes down through the valley of Ber- 
 nardino. From the bridge where the junction takes place 
 we had a triple view whose grandeur took me by surprise 
 even after coming from Switzerland. We stood at the 
 union of three valleys— that leading to St. Gothard, termi- 
 nated by the glaciers of the Bernese Oberland, that run- 
 ning off obliquely to the Splugen, and finally the broad 
 vale of the Ticino, extending to Lago Maggiore, whose pur- 
 ple mountains closed the vista. Each valley was perhaps
 
 268 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 two miles broad and from twenty to thirty long, and the 
 mountains that enclosed them from five to seven thousand 
 feet in height ; so you may perhaps form some idea what a 
 view down three such avenues in this Alpine temple would 
 be. Bellinzona is romantically situated on a slight emi- 
 nence, with three castles to defend it, with those square tur- 
 reted towers and battlements which remind one involun- 
 tarily of the days of the Goths and Vandals. 
 
 We left Bellinzona at noon, and saw, soon after, from an 
 eminence, the blue line of Lago Maggiore stretched across 
 the bottom of the valley. We saw sunset fade away over the 
 lake, but it was clouded and did not realize my ideal of such 
 a scene in Italy. A band of wild Italians paraded up and 
 down the village, drawing one of their number in a hand- 
 cart. They made a great noise with a drum and trumpet, and 
 were received everywhere with shouts of laughter. A great 
 jug of wine was not wanting, and the whole seemed to me a 
 very characteristic scene. 
 
 We were early awakened at Magadino, at the head of 
 Lago Maggiore, and after swallowing a hasty breakfast went 
 on board the steamboat San Carlo for Sesto Calende. We 
 got under way at six o'clock, and were soon in motion over 
 the crystal mirror. The water is of the most lovely green 
 hue, and so transparent that we seemed to be floating in 
 mid-air. Another heaven arched far below us ; other chains 
 of mountains joined their bases to those which surrounded 
 the lake, and the mirrored cascades leaped upward to meet 
 their originals at the surface. It may be because I have 
 seen it more recently that the water of Lago Maggiore ap- 
 pears to be the most beautiful in the world. I was delight- 
 ed with the Scotch lakes and enraptured with the Traunsee 
 and " Zurich's waters," but this last exceeds them both. I 
 am now incapable of any stronger feeling until I see the 
 Egean from the Grecian isles. 
 
 The morning was cloudy, and the white wreaths hung low 
 on the mountains, whose rocky sides were covered every-
 
 THE BORROMEAN ISLANDS. 269 
 
 where with the rank and luxuriant growth of this climate. 
 As we advanced farther over this glorious mirror the houses 
 became more Italian-like ; the lower stories rested on arch- 
 ed passages, and the windows were open, without glass, 
 while in the gardens stood the solemn, graceful cypress, and 
 vines heavy with ripening grapes hung from bough to bough 
 through the mulberry orchards. Halfway down, in a broad 
 bay which receives the waters of a stream that comes down 
 with the Simplon, are the celebrated Borromean Islands. 
 They are four in number, and seem to float like fairy-crea- 
 tions on the water, while the lofty hills form a background 
 whose grandeur enhances by contrast their exquisite beauty. 
 There was something in the scene that reminded me of 
 Claude Melnotte's description of his home by Bulwer, and, 
 like the Lady of Lyons, I answer readily, "I like the 
 picture." 
 
 On passing by Isola Madre we could see the roses in its 
 terraced gardens and the broad-leaved aloes clinging to the 
 rocks. Isola Bella, the loveliest of them all, as its name 
 denotes, was farther off; it rose like a pyramid from the 
 water, terrace above terrace to the summit, and its gardens 
 of never-fading foliage, with the glorious panorama around, 
 might make it a paradise if life were to be dreamed away. 
 On the northern side of the bay lies a large town (I forget 
 its name) with a lofty Romanesque tower, and noble moun- 
 tains sweep around as if to shut out the world from such a 
 scene. The sea was perfectly calm, and groves and gardens 
 slept mirrored in the dark green wave, while the Alps rose 
 afar through the dim, cloudy air. Toward the other end 
 the hills sink lower and slope off into the plains of Lom- 
 bardy. Near Arona, on the western side, is a large monas- 
 tery, overlooking the lower part of the lake. Beside it, on 
 a hill, is a colossal statue of San Carlo Borromeo, who gave 
 his name to the lovely islands above. 
 
 After a seven hours' passage we ran into Sesto Calende, 
 at the foot of the lake. Here passengers and baggage were
 
 270 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 tumbled promiscuously on shore, the latter gathered into 
 the office to be examined, and the former left at liberty to 
 ramble about an hour until their passports could be signed. 
 We employed the time in trying the flavor of the grapes 
 and peaches of Lombardy and looking at the groups of 
 travellers who had come down from the Alps with the an- 
 nual avalanche at this season. The custom-house officers 
 were extremely civil and obliging, as they did not think 
 necessary to examine our knapsacks, and, our passports be- 
 ing soon signed, we were at liberty to enter again into the 
 dominions of His Majesty of Austria. Our companion the 
 German, whose feet could carry him no farther, took a seat 
 on the top of a diligence for Milan ; we left Sesto Calende 
 on foot, and plunged into the cloud of dust which was 
 whirling toward the capital of Northern Italy. 
 
 Being now really in the " sunny land," we looked on thf* 
 scenery with a deep interest. The first thing that struck 
 me was a resemblance to America in the fields of Indian 
 corn and the rank growth of weeds by the roadside. The 
 mulberry trees and hedges, too, looked quite familiar, com- 
 ing, as we did, from fenceless and hedgeless Germany. Bnt 
 here the resemblance ceased. The people were coarse, ig- 
 norant and savage-looking, the villages remarkable for 
 nothing except the contrast between splendid churches and 
 miserable, dirty houses, while the luxurious palaces and 
 grounds of the rich noblemen formed a still greater contrast 
 to the poverty of the people. I noticed also that if the 
 latter are as lazy as they are said to be, they make their 
 horses work for them, as in a walk of a few hours yesterday 
 afternoon we saw two horses drawing heavy loads drop 
 down, apparently dead, and several others seemed nearly 
 ready to do the same. 
 
 We spent the night at the little village of Casina, about 
 sixteen miles from Milan, and here made our first experi- 
 ence in the honesty of Italian inns. We had taken the 
 precaution to inquire beforehand the price of a bed, but it
 
 AN EXTORTIONATE HOST. 271 
 
 seemed unnecessary and unpleasant, as well as evincing a 
 mistrustful spirit, to do the same with every article we asked 
 for ; so we concluded to leave it to the host's conscience not 
 to overcharge us. Imagine our astonishment, however, 
 when, at starting, a bill was presented to us in which the 
 smallest articles were set down at three or four times their 
 value. We remonstrated, but to little purpose. The fel- 
 low knew scarcely any French, and we as little Italian ; so, 
 rather than lose time or temper, we paid what he demanded 
 and went on, leaving him to laugh at the successful impo- 
 sition. The experience was of value to us, however, and it 
 may serve as a warning to some future traveller. 
 
 About noon the road turned into a broad and beautiful 
 avenue of poplars, down which we saw at a distance the 
 triumphal arch terminating the Simplon road, which we 
 had followed from Sesto Calende. Beyond it rose the slight 
 and airy pinnacle of the Duomo. "We passed by the ex- 
 quisite structure, gave up our passports at the gates, trav- 
 ersed the broad Piazzi d'Armi, and found ourselves at lib- 
 erty to choose one of the dozen streets that led into the heart 
 of the city. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MILAN. 
 
 Attg. 21. 
 
 While finding our way at random to the "Pension 
 Suisse," whither we had been directed by a German gentle- 
 man, we were agreeably impressed with the gayety and 
 bustle of Milan. The shops and stores are all open to the 
 street; so that the city resembles a great bazaar. It has 
 an odd look to see blacksmiths, tailors and shoemakers 
 working unconcernedly in the open air with crowds con-
 
 272 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 tinually passing before them. The streets are filled with 
 venders of fruit, who call out the names with a long dis- 
 tressing cry like that of a person in great agony. Organ- 
 grinders parade constantly about, and snatches of songs are 
 heard among the gay crowd on every side. 
 
 In this lively, noisy Italian city nearly all there is to see 
 may be comprised in four things — the Duomo, the triumphal 
 arch over the Simplon, La Scala and the picture-gallery. 
 The first alone is more interesting than many an entire city. 
 We went there yesterday afternoon soon after reaching here. 
 It stands in an irregular open place closely hemmed in by 
 houses on two sides ; so that it can be seen to advantage 
 from only one point. It is a mixture of the Gothic and Ro- 
 manesque styles. The body of the structure is entirely cov- 
 ered with statues and richly-wrought sculpture, with needle- 
 like spires of white marble rising up from every corner. 
 But of the exquisite, airy look of the whole mass, although 
 so solid and vast, it is impossible to convey an idea. It ap- 
 pears like some fabric of frost-work which Winter traces on 
 the window-panes. There is a unity of beauty about the 
 whole which the eye takes in with a feeling of perfect and 
 satisfied delight. 
 
 Ascending the marble steps which lead to the front, I 
 lifted the folds of the heavy curtain and entered. What a 
 glorious aisle ! The mighty pillars support a magnificent 
 arched ceiling painted to resemble fretwork, and the little 
 light that falls through the small windows above enters 
 tinged with a dim golden hue. A feeling of solemn awe 
 comes over one as he steps with a hushed tread along the 
 colored marble floor and measures the massive columns till 
 they blend with the gorgeous arches above. There are four 
 rows of these — nearly fifty in all — and when I state that 
 they are eight feet in diameter and sixty or seventy in. 
 height, some idea may be formed of the grandeur of the 
 building. Imagine the Girard College, at Philadelphia, 
 turned into one great hall with four rows of pillars equal
 
 THE DUOMO OF MILAN. 273 
 
 in size to those around it, reaching to its roof, and you will 
 have a rough sketch of the interior of the Duomo. 
 
 In the centre of the cross is a light and beautiful dome. 
 He who will stand under this and look down the broad 
 middle aisle to the entrance has one of the sublimest vistas 
 to be found in the world. The choir has three enormous 
 windows covered with dazzling paintings, and the ceiling is 
 of marble and silver. There are gratings under the high 
 altar by looking into which I could see a dark, lonely cham- 
 ber below where one or two feeble lamps showed a circle of 
 praying-places. It was probably a funeral-vault which per- 
 sons visited to pray for the repose of their friends' souls. 
 The Duomo is not yet entirely finished, the workmen being 
 still employed in various parts, but it is said that when 
 completed there will be four thousand statues on the differ- 
 ent parts of it. 
 
 The design of the Duomo is said to be taken from Monte 
 Rosa, one of the loftiest peaks of the Alps. Its hundreds 
 of sculptured pinnacles, rising from every part of the body 
 of the church, certainly bear a striking resemblance to the 
 splintered ice-crags of Savoy. Thus we see how Art, mighty 
 and endless in her forms though she be, is in everything 
 but the child of Nature. Her most divine conceptions are 
 but copies of objects which we behold every day. The 
 faultless beauty of the Corinthian capital, the springing and 
 intermingling arches of the Gothic aisle, the pillared portico 
 or the massive and sky-piercing pyramid, are but attempts 
 at reproducing by the studied regularity of Art the ever- 
 varied and ever-beautiful forms of mountain, rock and for- 
 est. But there is oftentimes a more thrilling sensation of 
 enjoyment produced by the creations of man's hand and 
 intellect than the grander effects of Nature existing con- 
 stantly before our eyes. It would seem as if man marvelled 
 more at his own work than at the work of the Power which 
 created him. 
 
 The streets of Milan abound with priests in their cocked 
 
 18
 
 274 VIEWS A-FOOT. . 
 
 hats and long black robes. They all have the same solemn 
 air, and seem to go about like beings shut out from all com- 
 munion with pleasure. No sight lately has saddened me 
 so much as to see a bright, beautiful boy of twelve or thir- 
 teen years in those gloomy garments. Poor child ! He 
 little knows now what he may have to endure — a lonely, 
 cheerless life where every affection must be crushed as un- 
 holy and every pleasure denied as a crime. And I knew 
 by his fair brow and tender lip that he had a warm and 
 loving heart. I could not help regarding this class as vic- 
 tims to a mistaken idea of religious duty ; and if I am not 
 mistaken, I read on more than one countenance the traces 
 of passions that burned within. It is mournful to see a 
 people oppressed in the name of religion. The holiest as- 
 pirations of man's nature, instead of lifting him up to a 
 nearer view of Christian perfection, are changed into clouds 
 and shut out the light of heaven. Immense treasures 
 wrung drop by drop from the credulity of the poor and 
 ignorant are made use of to pamper the luxury of those 
 who profess to be mediators between man and the Deity. 
 The poor wretch may perish of starvation on a floor of pre- 
 cious mosaic which perhaps his own pittance has helped to 
 form, while ceilings and shrines of inlaid gold mock his dy- 
 ing eye with their useless splendor. Such a system of op- 
 pression, disguised under the holiest name, can only be sus- 
 tained by the continuance of ignorance and blind supersti- 
 tion. Knowledge, truth, reason, — these are the ramparts 
 which Liberty throws up to guard her dominions from the 
 usurpations of oppression and wrong. 
 
 We were last night in La Scala. Rossini's opera of Wil- 
 liam Tell was advertised, and, as we had visited so lately 
 the scene where that glorious historical drama was enacted, 
 we went to see it represented in sound. It is a grand sub- 
 ject which in the hands of a powerful composer might be 
 made very effective, but I must confess I was disappointed 
 in the present case. The overture is, however, very beau-
 
 LA SCALA. 275 
 
 tiful. It begins low and mournful, like the lament of the 
 Swiss over their fallen liberties. Occasionally a low drum 
 is heard, as if to rouse them to action, and meanwhile the 
 lament swells to a cry of despair. The drums now wake 
 the land ; the horn of Uri is heard pealing forth its sum- 
 moning strain, and the echoes seem to come back from the 
 distant Alps. The sound then changes for the roar of bat- 
 tle — the clang of trumpets, drums and cymbals. The 
 whole orchestra did their best to represent this combat in 
 music, which after lasting a short time changed into the 
 loud victorious march of the conquerors. But the body of 
 the opera, although it had several fine passages, was to me 
 devoid of interest — in fact, unworthy the reputation of 
 Rossini. 
 
 The theatre is perhaps the largest in the world. The 
 singers are all good ; in Italy it could not be otherwise, 
 where everybody sings. As I write a party of Italians in 
 the house opposite have been amusing themselves with 
 going through the whole opera of La Fille du Regiment 
 with the accompaniment of the piano, and they show the 
 greatest readiness and correctness in their performance. 
 They have now become somewhat boisterous, and appear 
 to be improvising. One young gentleman executes trills 
 with amazing skill, and another appears to have taken the 
 part of a despairing lover ; but the lady has a very pretty 
 voice, and warbles on and on like a nightingale. Occa- 
 sionally a group of listeners in the street below clap them 
 applause, for, as the windows are always open, the whole 
 neighborhood can enjoy the performance. 
 
 Tli is forenoon I was in the picture-gallery. It occupies 
 a part of the library-building, in the Palazzo Cabrera. It 
 is not large, and many of the pictures are of no value to 
 anybody but antiquarians ; still, there are some excellent 
 paintings which render it well worthy a visit. Among 
 these, a marriage by Raphael is still in a very good state 
 of preservation, and there are some fine pictures by Paul
 
 276 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Veronese and the Caracci. The most admired painting ia 
 "Abraham sending away Hagar," by Guercino. I never 
 saw a more touching expression of grief than in the face 
 of Hagar. Her eyes are red with weeping, and as she listens 
 in an agony of tears to the patriarch's command she still 
 seems doubting the reality of her doom. The countenance 
 of Abraham is venerable and calm and expresses little 
 emotion, but one can read in that of Sarah, as she turns 
 away, a feeling of pity for her unfortunate rival. 
 
 Next to the Duomo, the most beautiful specimen of archi- 
 tecture in Milan is the arch of Peace, on the north side of 
 the city, at the commencement of the Simplon road. It 
 was the intention of Napoleon to carry the road under this 
 arch across the Piazza d'Armi, and to cut a way for it di- 
 rectly into the heart of the city, but the fall of his dynasty 
 prevented the execution of this magnificent design, as well 
 as the completion of the arch itself. This has been done 
 by the Austrian government according to the original plan ; 
 they have inscribed upon it the name of Francis I. and 
 changed the bas-reliefs of Lodi and Marengo into those of 
 a few fields where their forces had gained the victory. It 
 is even said that in many parts which were already fin- 
 ished they altered the splendid Roman profile of Napoleon 
 into the haggard and repulsive features of Francis of 
 Austria. 
 
 The bronze statues on the top were made by an artist of 
 Bologna by Napoleon's order, and are said to be the finest 
 works of modern times. In the centre is the goddess of 
 Peace in a triumphal car drawn by six horses, while on the 
 corners, four angels, mounted, are starting off to convey 
 the tidings to the four quarters of the globe. The artist 
 has caught the spirit of motion and chained it in these 
 moveless figures. One would hardly feel surprised if the 
 goddess, chariot, horses and all, were to start off and roll 
 away through the air. 
 
 With the rapidity usual to Americans, we have already
 
 A RELIC OF THE PAST. 277 
 
 finished seeing Milan, and shall start to-morrow morning 
 on a walk to Genoa. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WALK FROM MILAN TO GENOA. 
 
 It was finally decided we should leave Milan ; so the next 
 morning we arose at five o'clock for the first time since leav- 
 ing Frankfort. The Italians had commenced operations at 
 this early hour, but we made our way through the streets 
 without attracting quite so much attention as on our ar- 
 rival. Near the gate on the road to Pavia we passed a long 
 colonnade which was certainly as old as the times of the 
 Romans. The pillars of marble were quite brown with 
 age, and bound together with iron to keep them from fall- 
 ing to pieces. It was a striking contrast to see this relic 
 of the past standing in the middle of a crowded thorough- 
 fare and surrounded by all the brilliance and display of 
 modern trade. 
 
 Once fairly out of the city, we took the road to Pavia, 
 along the banks of the canal, just as the rising sun gilded 
 the marble spire of the Duomo. The country was a perfect 
 level, and the canal, which was in many places higher than 
 the land through which it passed, served also as a means 
 of irrigation for the many rice-fields. The sky grew cloudy 
 and dark, and before we reached Pavia gathered to a heavy 
 storm. Torrents of rain poured down, accompanied with 
 heavy thunder; we crept under an old gateway lor shelter, 
 as no house was near. Finally, as it cleared away, the 
 sijuare brown towers of the old city rose above the trees, 
 and we entered the gate through a fine shaded avenue. Our 
 passports were, of course, demanded, but we were only de- 
 tained a minute or two. The only thing of interest is the
 
 278 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 university, formerly so celebrated ; it has at present about 
 eight hundred students. 
 
 We have reason to remember the city from another cir- 
 cumstance — the singular attention we excited. I doubt if 
 Columbus was an object of greater curiosity to the simple 
 natives of the New World than we three Americans were 
 to the good people of Pavia. I know not what part of our 
 dress or appearance could have caused it, but we were 
 watched like wild animals. If we happened to pause and 
 look at anything in the street, there was soon a crowd of 
 attentive observers, and as we passed on every door and 
 window was full of heads. We stopped in the market-place 
 to purchase some bread and fruit for dinner, which in- 
 creased, if possible, the sensation. We saw eyes staring 
 and fingers pointing at us from every door and alley. I 
 am generally willing to contribute as much as possible to 
 the amusement or entertainment of others, but such atten- 
 tion was absolutely embarrassing. There was nothing to 
 do but to appear unconscious of it, and we went along with 
 as much nonchalance as if the whole town belonged to us. 
 
 We crossed the Ticino, on whose banks, near Pavia, was 
 fought the first great battle between Hannibal and the Ro- 
 mans. On the other side our passports were demanded at 
 the Sardinian frontier and our knapsacks searched ; which 
 having proved satisfactory, we were allowed to enter the 
 kingdom. Late in the afternoon we reached the Po, which 
 in winter must be quarter of a mile wide, but the summer 
 heats had dried it up to a small stream ; so that the bridge 
 of boats rested nearly its whole length in sand. We sat on 
 the bank in the shade and looked at the chain of hills 
 which rose 'in the south, following the course of the Po, 
 crowned with castles and villages and shining towers. It 
 was here that I first began to realize Italian scenery. Al- 
 though the hills were bare, they lay so warm and glowing 
 in the sunshine, and the deep blue sky spread so calmly
 
 MAJESTIC SCENERY. 279 
 
 above, that it recalled all my dreams of the fair clime we 
 had entered. 
 
 We stopped for the night at the little village of Casteg- 
 gio, which lies at the foot of the hills, and next morning 
 resumed our pilgrimage. Here a new delight awaited us. 
 The sky was of a heavenly blue, without even the shadow 
 of a cloud, and full and fair in the morning sunshine we 
 could see the whole range of the Alps, from the blue hills 
 of Friuli, which sweep down to Venice and the Adriatic, 
 to the lofty peaks which stretch away to Nice and Mar- 
 seilles. Like a summer cloud, except that they were far 
 more dazzling and glorious, lay to the north of us the gla- 
 ciers and untrodden snow-fields of the Bernese Oberland ; 
 a little to the right we saw the double peak of St. Gothard, 
 where six days before we shivered in the region of eternal 
 winter, while far to the north-west rose the giant dome of 
 Mont Blanc. Monte Rosa stood near him, not far from the 
 Great St. Bernard, and farther to the south Mont Cenis 
 guarded the entrance from Piedmont into France. I leave 
 you to conceive the majesty of such a scene, and you may 
 perhaps imagine — for I cannot describe — the feelings with 
 which I gazed upon it. 
 
 At Tortona, the next post, a great market was being 
 held ; the town was filled with country-people selling their 
 produce, and with venders of wares of all kinds. Fruit 
 was very abundant ; grapes, ripe figs, peaches and melons 
 were abundant, and for a trifle one could purchase a sump- 
 tuous banquet. On inquiring the road to Novi, the people 
 made us understand, after much difficulty, that there was a 
 neai'er way across the country which came into the post- 
 road again, and we concluded to take it. A,fter two or 
 three hours' walking in a burning sun, where our only re- 
 lief was the sight of the Alps and a view of the battlefield 
 of Marengo, which lay just on our right, we came to a 
 stand : the road terminated at a large stream where work- 
 men were busily engaged in making a bridge across. We
 
 280 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 pulled off our boots and waded through, took a refreshing 
 bath iu the clear waters and walked on through by-lanes. 
 The sides were lined with luxuriant vines bending under 
 the ripening vintage, and we often cooled our thirst with 
 some of the rich bunches. 
 
 The large branch of the Po we crossed came down from 
 the mountains which we were approaching. As we reached 
 the post-road again they were glowing in the last rays of 
 the sun, and the evening vapors that settled over the plain 
 concealed the distant Alps, although the snowy top of the 
 Jungfrau and her companions the Wetterhorn and Schreck- 
 horn rose above it like the hills of another world. A cas- 
 tle or church of brilliant white marble glittered on the 
 summit of one of the mountains near us, and, as the sun 
 went down without a cloud, the distant summits changed 
 in hue to a glowing purple, amounting almost to crimson, 
 which afterward darkened into a deep violet. The western 
 half of the sky was of a pale orange and the eastern a 
 dark red, which blended together in the blue of the zenith, 
 that deepened as twilight came on. I know not if it was a 
 fair specimen of an Italian sunset, but I must say, without 
 wishing to be partial, that, though certainly very soft and 
 beautiful, there is no comparison with the splendor of such 
 a scene in America. The day-sky of Italy better deserves 
 its reputation. Although no clearer than our own, it is of 
 a far brighter blue, arching above us like a dome of sap- 
 phire and seeming to sparkle all over with a kind of crystal 
 transparency. 
 
 We stopped the second night at Arquato, a little village 
 among the mountains, and after having bargained with the 
 merry landlord for our lodgings in broken Italian took a 
 last look at the plains of Piedmont and the Swiss Alps in 
 the growing twilight. We gazed out on the darkening 
 scene till the sky was studded with stars, and went to rest 
 with the exciting thought of seeing Genoa and the Medi-
 
 A PRIESTLY BENEDICTION. 281 
 
 terranean on the morrow. Next morning we started early, 
 and after walking some distance made our breakfast in a 
 grove of chestnuts, on the cool mountain-side, beside a 
 fresh stream of water. The sky shone like a polished gem 
 and the glossy leaves of the chestnuts gleamed in the morn- 
 ing sun. Here and there on a rocky height stood the re- 
 mains of some knightly castle telling of the Goths and 
 Normans who descended through these mountain-passes to 
 plunder Rome. 
 
 As the sun grew high the heat and dust became intoler- 
 able, and this, in connection with the attention we raised 
 everywhere, made us somewhat tired of foot-travelling in 
 Italy. I verily believe the people took us for pilgrims on 
 account of our long white blouses, and had I a scallop- 
 shell I would certainly have stuck it into my hat to com- 
 plete the appearance. We stopped once to ask a priest the 
 road ; when he had told us, he shook hands with us and 
 gave us a parting benediction. At the common inns where 
 we stopped we always met with civil treatment, though, 
 indeed, as we only slept in them, there was little chance of 
 practising imposition. We bought our simple meals at the 
 baker's and grocer's, and ate them in the shade of the grape- 
 bowers, whose rich clusters added to the repast. In this 
 manner we enjoyed Italy at the expense of a franc daily. 
 About noon, after winding about through the narrow de- 
 files, the road began ascending. The reflected heat from 
 the hills on each side made it like an oven. There was not 
 a breath of air stirring, but we all felt, although no one 
 said it, that from the summit we could see the Mediterra- 
 nean, and we pushed on as if life or death depended on it. 
 Finally the highest point came in sight. We redoubled 
 our exertions, and a few minutes more brought us to the 
 top, breathless with fatigue and expectation. I glanced 
 down the other side. There lay a real sea of mountains all 
 around ; the farthest peaks rose up afar and dim, crowned 
 with white towers, and between two of them which stood
 
 282 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 apart like the pillars of a gateway we saw the broad ex- 
 panse of water stretching away to the horizon — 
 
 " To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shut down." 
 
 It would have been a thrilling sight to see any ocean 
 when one has rambled thousands of miles among the 
 mountains and vales of the inland, but to behold this sea, 
 of all others, was glorious indeed— this sea, whose waves 
 wash the feet of Naples, Constantinople and Alexandria 
 and break on the hoary shores where Troy and Tyre and 
 Carthage have mouldered away, whose breast has been fur- 
 rowed by the keels of a hundred nations through more than 
 forty centuries — from the first rude voyage of Jason and 
 his Argonauts to the thunders of Navarino that heralded the 
 second birth of Greece. You cannot wonder we grew ro- 
 mantic ; but short space was left for sentiment in the burn- 
 ing sun, with Genoa to be reached before night. The 
 mountain we crossed is called the Bochetta, one of the loft- 
 iest of the sea- Alps, or Apennines. The road winds steeply 
 down toward the sea, following a broad mountain-rivulet, 
 now perfectly dried up, as nearly every stream among the 
 mountains is. It was a long way to us; the mountains 
 seemed as if they would never unfold and let us out on the 
 shore, and our weary limbs did penance enough for a mul- 
 titude of sins. The dusk was beginning to deepen over the 
 bay and the purple hues of sunset were dying away from 
 its amphitheatre of hills as we came in sight of the gorgeous 
 city. Half the population were out to celebrate a festival, 
 and we made our entry in the triumphal procession of some 
 saint.
 
 THE MEDITERRANEAN. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 SCENES IN GENOA, LEGHORN AND PISA. 
 
 Have you ever seen some grand painting of a city rising 
 with its domes and towers and palaces from the edge of a 
 glorious bay shut in by mountains, the whole scene clad in 
 those deep, delicious, sunny hues which ^'ou admire so much 
 in the picture, although they appear unrealized in Nature? 
 If so, you can figure to yourself Genoa as she looked to us 
 at sunset from the battlements west of the city. When we 
 had passed through the gloomy gate of the fortress that 
 guards the western promontory, the whole scene opened at 
 once on us in all its majesty. It looked to me less like a 
 real landscape than a mighty panoramic painting. The 
 battlements where we were standing, and the blue mirror 
 of the Mediterranean just below, with a few vessels moored 
 near the shore, made up the foreground ; just in front lay 
 the queenly city, stretching out to the eastern point of the 
 bay like a great meteor, this point crowned with the towers 
 and dome of a cathedral representing the nucleus, while the 
 tail gradually widened out and was lost among the number- 
 less villas that reached to the top of the mountains behind. A 
 mole runs nearly across the mouth of the harbor, with a tall 
 lighthouse at its extremity, leaving only a narrow passage 
 for vessels. As we gazed a purple glow lay on the bosom 
 of the sea, while far beyond the city the eastern half of the 
 mountain-crescent around the gulf was tinted with the love- 
 liest hue of orange. The impressions which one derives 
 from looking on remarkable scenery depend for much of 
 their effect on the time and weather. I have been very for- 
 tunate in this respect in two instances, and shall carry with 
 me through life two glorious pictures of a very different 
 character — the wild sublimity of the Brocken in cloud and 
 storm, and the splendor of Genoa in an Italian sunset.
 
 284 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Genoa has been called the " city of palaces," and it well 
 deserves the appellation. Row above row of magnificent 
 structures rise amid gardens along the side of the hills, and 
 many of the streets, though narrow and crooked, are lined 
 entirely with the splendid dwellings of the Genoese nobles. 
 All these speak of the republic in its days of wealth and 
 power, when it could cope successfully with Venice and 
 Doria could threaten to bridle the horses of St. Mark. At 
 present its condition*is far different ; although not so fallen 
 as its rival, it is but a shadow of its former self. The life 
 and energy it possessed as a republic has withered away 
 under the grasp of Tyranny. 
 
 We entered Genoa, as I have already said, in a religious 
 procession. On passing the gate we saw, from the concourse 
 of people and the many banners hanging from the windows 
 or floating across the streets, that it was the day of a festa. 
 Before entering the city we reached the procession itself, 
 which was one of unusual solemnity. As it was impossible 
 in the dense crowd to pass it, we struggled through till we 
 reached a good point for seeing the whole, and slowly moved 
 on with it through the city. First went a company of boys 
 in white robes; then followed a body of friars dressed in 
 long black cassocks and with shaven crowns ; then a com- 
 pany of soldiers with a band of music ; then a body of nuns 
 wrapped from head to foot in blue robes, leaving only a 
 small place to see out of: in the dusk they looked very sol- 
 emn and ghostlike, and their low chant had to me some- 
 thing awful and sepulchral in it ; then followed another 
 company of friars, and after that a great number of priests 
 in white and black robes, bearing the statue of the saint, 
 with a pyramid of flowers, crosses and blazing wax tapers, 
 while companies of soldiery, monks and music brought up 
 the rear. Armed guards walked at intervals on each side 
 of the procession, to keep the way clear and prevent dis- 
 turbance ; two or three bands played solemn airs, alter- 
 nating with the deep monotonous chanting of the friars.
 
 A FINANCIAL BLUNDER. 285 
 
 The whole scene, dimly lighted by the wax tapers, produced 
 in me a feeling nearly akin to fear, as if I were witnessing 
 some ghostly, unearthly spectacle. To rites like these, how- 
 ever, which occur every few weeks, the people must be well 
 accustomed. 
 
 Among the most interesting objects in Genoa is the Doria 
 palace, fit in its splendor for a monarch's residence. It 
 stands in the Strada Nova, one of the three principal streets, 
 and, I believe, is still in the possession of the family. There 
 are many others through the city scarcely less magnificent, 
 among which that of the Durazzo family may be pointed 
 out. The American consulate is in one of these old edifices, 
 with a fine court-yard and ceilings covered with frescos. 
 Mr. Moro, the vice-consul, did us a great kindness, which I 
 feel bound to acknowledge, although it will require the dis- 
 closure of some private, and perhaps uninteresting, circum- 
 stances. 
 
 On leaving Frankfort we converted, for the sake of con- 
 venience, the greater part of our funds into a draft on a 
 Saxon merchant in Leghorn, reserving just enough, as we 
 supposed, to take us thither. As in our former case in 
 Germany, the sum was too small, which we found, to our 
 dismay, on reaching Milan. Notwithstanding we had trav- 
 elled the whole ninety miles from that city to Genoa for 
 three francs each, in the hope of having enough left to en- 
 able one, at least, to visit Leghorn, the expenses for a pass- 
 port in Genoa (more than twenty francs) prevented this 
 plan. I went therefore to the vice-consul to ascertain 
 whether the merchant on whom the draft was drawn had 
 any correspondents there who might advance a portion of 
 it. His secretary made many inquiries, but without effect. 
 Mr. Moro then generously offered to furnish me with means 
 to reach Leghorn, whence I could easily remit a sufficient 
 sum to my two comrades. This put an end to our anxiety 
 (for I must confess we could not help feeling some), and I 
 therefore prepared to leave that evening in the Yirgilio.
 
 286 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 The feelings with which I look on this lovely land are 
 fast changing. What with the dust and heat and cheating 
 landlords and the dull plains of Loinbardy, my first ex- 
 perience was not very prepossessing. But the joyous and 
 romantic anticipation with which I looked forward to real- 
 izing the dream of my earliest boyhood is now beginning to 
 be surpassed by the exciting reality. Every breath I drew 
 in the city of Columbus and Doria was deeply tinctured 
 with the magic of history and romance. It was like enter- 
 ing on a new existence to look on scenes so lovely by nature 
 and so filled with the inspiring memories of old : 
 
 " Italia, too — Italia ! Looking on thee, 
 Full flashes on the soul the light of ages. 
 Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee, 
 To the last halo of the chiefs and sages 
 Who glorify thy consecrated pages, 
 Thou wert the throne and grave of empires." 
 
 The Virgilio was advertised to leave at six o'clock, and I 
 accordingly went out to her in a little boat half an hour 
 beforehand ; but we were delayed much longer, and I saw 
 sunset again fade over the glorious amphitheatre of palaces 
 and mountains with the same orange glow, the same purple 
 and crimson flush deepening into twilight, as before. An 
 old blind man in a skiff floated around under the bows of 
 the boat on the glassy water, singing to the violin a plain- 
 tive air that appeared to be an evening hymn to the Virgin. 
 There was something very touching in his venerable coun- 
 tenance, with the sightless eyes turned upwaid to the sunset 
 heaven whose glory he could nevermore behold. 
 
 The lamps were lit on the tower at the end of the mole 
 as we glided out on the open sea. I stood on deck and 
 watched the receding lights of the city till they and the 
 mountains above them were blended with the darkened sky. 
 The sea-breeze was fresh and cool, and the stars glittered 
 with a frosty clearness which would have made the night
 
 NAPOLEON'S PRISON-KINGDOM. 287 
 
 delicious had not a slight rolling of the waves obliged me 
 to go below. Here, besides being half sea-sick, I was 
 placed at the mercy of many voracious fleas, who obsti- 
 nately stayed, persisting in keeping me company. This was 
 the first time I had suffered from these cannibals, and such 
 were my torments I almost wished some bloodthirsty Italian 
 would come and put an end to them with his stiletto. 
 
 The first ray of dawn that stole into the cabin sent me on 
 deck. The hills of Tuscany lay in front, sharply outlined 
 on the reddening sky ; near us was the steep and rocky isle 
 of Gorgona, and far to the south-west, like a low mist along 
 the water, ran the shores of Corsica, the birthplace of Colum- 
 bus and Napoleon* As the dawn brightened we saw on 
 the southern horizon a cloud-like island also imperishably 
 connected with the name of the latter — the prison-kingdom 
 of Elba. North of us extended the rugged mountains of 
 Carrara, that renowned range whence has sprung many a 
 form of almost breathing beauty, and where yet slumber, 
 perhaps, in the unhewn marble the godlike shapes of an 
 age of art more glorious than any the world has ever yet 
 beheld. 
 
 The sun rose from behind the Apennines, and masts and 
 towers became visible through the golden haze as we ap- 
 proached the shore. On a flat space between the sea and 
 the hills, not far from the foot of Montenero, stands Leg- 
 horn. The harbor is protected by a mole, leaving a narrow 
 passage, through which we entered ; and after waiting two 
 hours for the visit of the health- and police-officers, we were 
 permitted to go on shore. The first thing that struck me 
 was the fine broad streets ; the second, the motley character 
 of the population. People were hurrying about noisy and 
 bustling — Greeks in their red caps and capotes, grave tur- 
 baned and bearded Turks, dark Moors, the corsair-looking 
 natives of Tripoli and Tunis and seamen of nearly every 
 
 * By recent registers found in Corsica, it lias been determined that 
 this island also gave birth to the discoverer of the New World.
 
 288 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 nation. At the hotel where I stayed we had a singular 
 mixture of nations at dinner — two French, two Swiss, one 
 Genoese, one Roman, one American and one Turk, and we 
 were waited on by a Tuscan and an Arab. We conversed 
 together in four languages all at once. 
 
 To the merchant Leghorn is of more importance than to 
 the traveller. Its extensive trade — not only in the manu- 
 factures of Tuscany, but also in the productions of the Le- 
 vant — makes it important to the former, while the latter 
 seeks in vain for fine buildings, galleries of art or interest- 
 ing historical reminiscences. Through the kind attention 
 of the Saxon consul, to whom I had letters, two or three 
 days went by delightfully. 
 
 The only place of amusement here in summer is a 
 drive along the seashore — called the Ardenza — which is 
 frequented every evening by all who can raise a vehicle. I 
 visited it twice with a German friend. We met one even- 
 ing the princess Corsini, wife of the governor of Leghorn, 
 on horseback — a young but not pretty woman. The road 
 leads out along the Mediterranean, past an old fortress, to 
 a large establishment for the sea-bathers, where it ends in 
 a large ring around which the carriages pass and repass 
 until sunset has gone out over the sea, when they return to 
 the city in a mad gallop or as fast as the lean horses can 
 draw them. 
 
 In driving around we met two or three carriages of 
 Turks, in one of which I saw a woman of Tunis with a cu- 
 rious gilded headdress eighteen inches in height. 
 
 I saw one night a Turkish funeral. It passed me in one 
 of the outer streets on its way to the Turkish burying- 
 ground. Those following the coffin — which was covered 
 with a heavy black pall — wore white turbans and long 
 white robes, the mourning-color of the Turks. Torches 
 were borne by attendants, and the whole company passed 
 on at a quick pace. Seen thus by night, it had a strange 
 and spectral appearance.
 
 A REVOLTING SPECTACLE. 289 
 
 There is another spectacle here which was exceedingly 
 revolting to me. The condemned criminals, chained two 
 and two, are kept at work through the city cleaning the 
 streets. They are dressed in coarse garments of a dirty red 
 color, with the name of the crime for which they were con- 
 victed painted on the back. I shuddered to see so many 
 marked with the works "Omicidio Premeditato." All day 
 they are thus engaged, exposed to the scorn and contu- 
 mely of the crowd, and at night dragged away to he incar- 
 cerated in damp, unwholesome dungeons excavated under 
 the public thoroughfares. The employment of criminals in 
 this way is common in Italy. Two days after crossing St. 
 Gothard we saw a company of abject-looking creatures eating 
 their dinner by the roadside, near Bellinzona. One of them 
 had a small basket of articles of cotton and linen, and as he 
 rose up to offer them to us I was startled by the clank of 
 fetters. They were all employed to labor on the road. 
 
 On going down to the wharf in Leghorn, in the morning, 
 two or three days ago, I found F and B just step- 
 ping on shore from the steamboat, tired enough of the dis- 
 comforts of the voyage, yet anxious to set out for Florence 
 as soon as possible. After we had shaken off the crowd of 
 porters, pedlers and vethirini and taken a hasty breakfast at 
 the Cafe Americano, we went to the police-office to get our 
 passports, and had the satisfaction of paying two francs for 
 permission to proceed to Florence. The weather had 
 changed since the preceding day, and the sirocco-wind, 
 which blows over from the coast of Africa, filled the streets 
 with clouds of dust, which made walking very unpleasant. 
 The clear blue sky had vanished and a leaden cloud hung 
 low on the Mediterranean, hiding the shores of Corsica and 
 the rocky isles of Gorgona and Capraja. 
 
 The country between Leghorn and Pisa is a flat marsh 
 intersected in several places by canals to carry oft* the stag- 
 nant water which renders this district so unhealthy. It is 
 said that the entire plain between the mountains of Car- 
 19
 
 290 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 rara and the hills back of Leghorn has been gradually 
 formed by the deposits of the Arno and the receding of the 
 Mediterranean, which is so shallow along the whole coast 
 that large vessels have to anchor several miles out. As we 
 approached Pisa over the level marsh I could see the dome 
 of the cathedral and the Leaning Tower rising above the 
 gardens and groves which surround it. 
 
 Our baggage underwent another examination at the gate, 
 where we were again assailed by the vetturlni, one of whom 
 hung on us like a leech till we reached a hotel, and there 
 was finally no way of shaking him off except by engaging 
 him to take us to Florence. The bargain having been con- 
 cluded, we had still a few hours left, and set off to hunt the 
 cathedral. We found it on an open square near the outer 
 wall and quite remote from the main part of the town. 
 Emerging from the narrow and winding street, one takes in 
 at a glance the baptistery, the Compo Santo, the noble 
 cathedral and the Leaning Tower, forming altogether a 
 view rarely surpassed in Europe for architectural effect. 
 But the square is melancholy and deserted, and rank, un- 
 trampled grass fills the crevices of its marble pavement. 
 
 I w r as surprised at the beauty of the Leaning Tower. 
 Instead of an old black, crumbling fabric, as I always sup- 
 posed, it is a light, airy, elegant structure of white marble, 
 and its declension — which is interesting as a work of art (or 
 accident) — is at the same time pleasing from its novelty. 
 There have been many conjectures as to the cause of this 
 deviation, which is upward of fourteen feet from the per- 
 pendicular; it is now generally believed that, the earth 
 having sunk when the building was half finished, it was 
 continued by the architects in the same angle. The upper 
 gallery, which is smaller than the others, shows a very per- 
 ceptible inclination back toward the perpendicular, as if in 
 some degree to counterbalance the deviation of the other 
 part. There are eight galleries in all, supported by
 
 ANGELIC HARMONY. 291 
 
 marble pillars, but the inside of the tower is hollow to the 
 very top. 
 
 We ascended by the same stairs which were trodden so 
 often by Galileo in going up to make his astronomical obser- 
 vations. In climbing spirally around the hollow cylinder 
 in the dark it was easy to tell on which side of the tower 
 we were, from the proportionate steepness of the staircase. 
 There is a fine view from the top, embracing the whole 
 plain as far as Leghorn on one side, with its gardens and 
 grainfields spread out like a vast map. In a valley of the 
 Carrarese Mountains, to the north, we could see the little 
 town of Lucca, much frequented at this season on account 
 of its baths ; the blue summits of the Apennines shut in 
 the view to the east. In walking through the city I noticed 
 two other towers, which had nearly as great a deviation 
 from the perpendicular. 
 
 We met a person who had the key of the baptistery, 
 which he opened for us. Two ancient columns covered 
 with rich sculpture form the doorway, and the dome is sup- 
 ported by massive pillars of the red marble of Elba. The 
 baptismal font is of the purest Parian marble. The most 
 remarkable thing was the celebrated musical echo. Our 
 cicerone stationed himself at the side of the font and sang 
 a few notes. After a moment's pause they were repeated 
 aloft in the dome, but with a sound of divine sweetness as 
 clear and pure as the clang of a crystal bell. Another 
 pause, and we heard them again, higher, fainter and 
 sweeter, followed by a dying note, as if they were fading 
 far away into heaven. It seemed as if an angel lingered 
 in the temple echoing with his melodious lips the common 
 harmonies of earth. Even thus does the music of good 
 deeds hardly noted in our grosser atmosphere awake a di- 
 vine echo in the far world of spirit. 
 
 The Campo Santo, on the north side of the cathedral, 
 was until lately the cemetery of the city ; the space en- 
 closed within its marble galleries is filled to the depth of
 
 292 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 eight or ten feet with earth from the Holy Land. The ves- 
 sels which carried the knights of Tuscany to Palestine were 
 filled at Joppa, on returning, with this earth as ballast, and 
 on arriving at Pisa it was deposited in the cemetery. It 
 has the peculiar property of decomposing all human bodies 
 in the space of two days. A colonnade of marble encloses 
 it, with windows of the most exquisite sculpture opening on 
 the inside. They reminded me of the beautiful Gothic 
 oriels of Melrose. At each end are two fine green cy- 
 presses, which thrive remarkably in the soil of Palestine. 
 The dust of a German emperor, among others, rests in this 
 consecrated ground. There are other fine churches in Pisa, 
 but the four buildings I have mentioned are the principal 
 objects of interest. The tower where Count Ugolino and 
 his sons were starved to death by the citizens of Pisa, who 
 locked them up and threw the keys into the Arno, has 
 lately been destroyed. 
 
 An Italian gentleman having made a bargain in the mean 
 time with our vetturino, we found everything ready on re- 
 turning to the hotel. On the outside of the town we 
 mounted into the vehicle — a rickety-looking concern — and, 
 as it commenced raining, I was afraid we would have a 
 bad night of it. After a great deal of bargaining the 
 vetturino agreed to take us to Florence that night for five 
 francs apiece, provided one person would sit on the outside 
 with the driver. I accordingly mounted on front, protected 
 by a blouse and umbrella, for it was beginning to rain dis- 
 mally. The miserable bare-boned horses were fastened 
 with rope-traces, and the vetturino, having taken the rope- 
 lines in his hand, gave a flourish with his whip. One old 
 horse tumbled nearly to the ground, but he jerked him up 
 aeain, and we rattled off. 
 
 After riding ten miles in this way, it became so wet and 
 dreary that I was fain to give the driver two francs extra 
 for the privilege of an inside seat. Our Italian companion 
 was agreeable and talkative, but, as we were still ignorant
 
 ARRIVAL AT FLORENCE. 293 
 
 of the language, I managed to hold a scanty conversation 
 with him in French. He seemed delighted to learn that we 
 were from America ; his polite reserve gave place to a 
 friendly familiarity, and he was loud in his praises of the 
 Americans. I asked him why it was that he, and the Ital- 
 ians generally, were so friendly toward us. " I hardly 
 know," he answered ; " you are so different from any other 
 nation. And then, too, you have so much sincerity." 
 
 The Apennines were wreathed and hidden in thick mist, 
 and the prospect over the flat cornfields bordering the road 
 was. not particularly interesting. We had made about one- 
 third of the way as night set in, when, on ascending a hill 
 
 soon after dark, F happened to look, out and saw one 
 
 of the axles bent and nearly broken off. We were obliged 
 to get out and walk through the mud to the next village, 
 when, after two hours' delay, the vetturino came along with 
 another carriage. 
 
 Of the rest of the way to Florence I cannot say much. 
 Cramped up in the narrow vehicle, we jolted along in the 
 dark, rumbling now and then through some silent village 
 where lamps were burning before the solitary shrines. 
 Sometimes a blinding light crossed the road, where we saw 
 the tile-makers sitting in the red glare of their kilns, and 
 often the black boughs of trees were painted momentarily 
 on the cloudy sky. If the jolting carriage had even per- 
 mitted sleep, the horrid cries of the vetturino urging on his 
 horses would have prevented it, and I decided, while trying 
 to relieve my aching limbs, that three days' walking in sun 
 and sand was preferable to one night of such travel. Fi- 
 nally, about four o'clock in the morning, the carriage stop- 
 ped. My Italian friend awoke and demanded the cause. 
 " Sisnor," said the vetturino, " we are in Florence." I bless- 
 ed the man, and the city too. 
 
 The good-humored officer looked at our passports and 
 passed our baggage without examination ; we gave the gate- 
 keeper a paul, and he admitted us. The carriage rolled
 
 294 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 through the dark, silent streets, passed a public square, 
 came out on the Arno, crossed and entered the city again, 
 and finally stopped at a hotel. 
 
 The master of the Lione Bianco came down in an undress 
 to receive us, and we shut the growing dawn out of our 
 rooms to steal that repose from the day which the night had 
 not given. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 FLORENCE AND ITS GALLERIES. 
 
 Sept. 11. 
 
 Our situation here is as agreeable as we could well desire. 
 We have three large and handsomely-furnished rooms in 
 the centre of the city, for which we pay Signor Lazzeri — a 
 wealthy goldsmith — ten scudo per month, a scudo being a 
 trifle more than an American dollar. We live at the cafes 
 and trattoria very conveniently for twenty-five cents a day, 
 enjoying, moreover, at our dinner in the Trattoria del Cac- 
 ciatore, the company of several American artists with whom 
 we have become acquainted. The day after our arrival we 
 met, at the table d'hote of the Lione Bianco Dr. Boardman 
 of New York, through whose assistance we obtained our 
 present lodgings. 
 
 There are at present ten or twelve American artists in 
 Florence, and we promise ourselves much pleasure and 
 profit from their acquaintance. B and I are so charm- 
 ed with the place and the beautiful Tuscan dialect that we 
 
 shall endeavor to spend three or four months here. F 
 
 returns to Germany in two weeks, to attend the winter term 
 of the university at his favorite Heidelberg. 
 
 Our first walk in Florence was to the royal gallery : we
 
 THE VENUS DE MEDICI. 295 
 
 wished to see the "goddess living in stone" without delay. 
 Crossing the neighboring Piazza del Granduca, we passed 
 Michael Angelo's colossal statue of David, and an open 
 gallery containing, besides, some antiques, the master-piece 
 of John of Bologna. The palace of the Uffizii, fronting on 
 the Arno, extends along both sides of an avenue running 
 back to the Palazzo Vecchio. We entered the portico which 
 passes around under the great building, and after ascending 
 three or four flights of steps came into a long hall filled 
 with paintings and ancient statuary. Toward the end of 
 this a door opened into the Tribune — that celebrated room, 
 unsurpassed by any in the world for the number and value 
 of the gems it contains. I pushed aside a crimson curtain, 
 and stood in the j>resence of the Venus. 
 
 It may be considered heresy, but I confess I did not at 
 first go into raptures nor perceive any traces of superhu- 
 man beauty. The predominant feeling, if I may so express 
 it, was satisfaction. The eye dwells on its faultless outline 
 with a gratified sense that nothing is wanting to render it 
 perfect. It is the ideal of a woman's form — a faultless 
 standard by which all beauty may be measured, but with- 
 out striking expression except in the modest and graceful 
 position of the limbs. The face, though regular, is not 
 handsome, and the body appears small, being but five feet 
 in height, which, I think, is a little below the average stat- 
 ure of women. On each side, as if to heighten its elegance 
 by contrast with rude and unrefined nature, are the statues 
 of the Wrestlers, and the slave listening to the conspiracy 
 of Catiline, called also "The Whetter." 
 
 As if to correspond with the value of the works it holds, 
 the Tribune is paved with precious marbles and the ceiling 
 studded with polished mother-of-pearl. A dim and subdued 
 light fills the hall which throws over the mind that half- 
 dreamy tone necessary to the full enjoyment of such objects. 
 On each side of the Venus de Medici hangs a Venus by 
 Titian, the size of life, and painted in that rich and gor-
 
 '296 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 geous style of coloring which has been so often and vainly 
 attempted since his time. 
 
 Here are six of Raphael's best preserved paintings. I 
 prefer the " St. John in the Desert " to any other picture 
 in the Tribune. His glorious form, in the fair proportions 
 of ripening boyhood, the grace of his attitude, with the arm 
 lifted eloquently on high, the divine inspiration which illu- 
 mines his young features, chain the step irresistibly before 
 it. It is one of those triumphs of the pencil which few but 
 Raphael have accomplished— the painting of spirit in its 
 loftiest and purest form. Near it hangs the Fornarina, 
 which he seems to have painted in as deep a love as he en- 
 tertained for the original. The face is modest and beauti- 
 ful, and filled with an expression of ardent and tender at- 
 tachment. I never tire looking upon either of these two. 
 
 Let me not forget, while we are in this peerless hall, to 
 point out Guercino's Samian Sybil. It is a glorious work. 
 With her hands clasped over her volume, she is looking up 
 with a face full of deep and expressive sadness. A pictur- 
 esque turban is twined around her head, and bands of 
 pearls gleam amidst her rich dark-brown tresses. Her face 
 bears the softness of dawning womanhood, and nearly an- 
 swers my ideal of female beauty. The same artist has an- 
 other fine picture here — a Sleeping Endymion. The man- 
 tle has fallen from his shoulders as he reclines asleep with 
 his head on his hand and his crook beside him. The silver 
 crescent of Dian looks over his shoulder from the sky be- 
 hind, and no wonder if she should become enamored, for a 
 lovelier shepherd has not been seen since that of King Ad- 
 met us went back to drive his chariot in the heavens. 
 
 The " Drunken Bacchus " of Michael Angelo is greatly 
 admired, and, indeed, it might pass for a relic of the palm- 
 iest times of Grecian art. The face, amidst its half-vacant 
 sensual expression, shows traces of its immortal origin, and 
 there is still an air of dignity preserved in the swagger of 
 his beautiful form. It is, in a w r ord, the ancient idea of a
 
 THE HALL OF NIOBE. 297 
 
 drunken god. It may be doubted whether the artist's tal- 
 ents might not have been employed better than in enno- 
 bling intoxication. If he had represented Bacchus as he 
 really is — degraded even below the level of humanity — it 
 might be more beneficial to the mind, though less beautiful 
 to the eye. However, this is a question on which artists 
 and moralists cannot agree. Perhaps, too, the rich blood 
 of the Falernian grape produced a more godlike delirium 
 than the vulgar brandy which oversets the moderns. 
 
 At one end of the gallery is a fine copy in marble of the 
 Laocoon by Bandinelli, one of the rivals of Michael An- 
 gelo. When it was finished, the former boasted it was bet- 
 ter than the original, to which Michael made the apt reply, 
 " It is foolish for those who walk in the footsteps of others 
 to say they go before them." 
 
 Let us enter the Hall of Niobe. One starts back on see- 
 ing the many figures in the attitude of flight, for they seem 
 at first about to spring from their pedestals. At the head 
 of the room stands the afflicted mother, bending over the 
 youngest daughter, who clings to her knees with an up- 
 turned countenance of deep and imploring agony. In vain ! 
 The shafts of Apollo fall thick, and she will soon be child- 
 less. No wonder the strength of that woe depicted on her 
 countenance should change her into stone. One of her sons 
 — a beautiful boyish form — is lying on his back, just expir- 
 ing, with the chill languor of death creeping over his limbs. 
 We seem to hear the quick whistling of the arrows, and 
 look involuntarily into the air to see the hovering figure of 
 the avenging god. In a chamber near is kept the head of 
 a faun made by Michael Angelo, at the age of fourteen, in 
 the garden of Lorenzo de Medici, from a piece of marble 
 given him by the workmen. 
 
 The portraits of the painters are more than usually in- 
 teresting. Every countenance is full of character. There 
 is the pale, enthusiastic face of Raphael, the stern vigor of 
 Titian, the majesty and dignity of Leonardo da Vinci and
 
 298 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the fresh beauty of Angelica Kauffmann. I liked best the 
 romantic head of Raphael Mengs. In one of the rooms 
 there is a portrait of Alfieri with an autograph sonnet of 
 his own on the back of it. The house in which he lived 
 and died is on the north bank of the Arno, near the Ponte 
 Caraja, and his ashes rest in Santa Croce. 
 
 Italy still remains the home of art, and it is but just she 
 should keep these treasures, though the age that brought 
 them forth has passed away. They are her only support 
 now ; her people are dependent for their subsistence on the 
 glory of the past. The spirits of the old painters, living 
 still on their canvas, earn from year to year the bread of 
 an indigent and oppressed people. This ought to silence 
 those utilitarians at home who oppose the cultivation of the 
 fine arts on the ground of their being useless luxuries. Let 
 them look to Italy, where a picture by Raphal or Correggio 
 is a rich legacy for a whole city. Nothing is useless that 
 gratifies that perception of beauty which is at once the most 
 delicate and the most intense of our mental sensations, bind- 
 ing us by an unconscious link nearer to Nature and to Him 
 whose every thought is born of Beauty, Truth and Love. 
 I envy not the one who looks with a cold and indifferent 
 spirit on these immortal creations of the old masters — these 
 poems written in marble and on the canvas. They who oppose 
 everything which can refine and spiritualize the nature of 
 man by binding him down to the cares of the work-day 
 world alone cheat life of half its glory. 
 
 The 8th of this month was the anniversary of the birth of 
 the Virgin, and the celebration, if such it might be called, 
 commenced the evening before. It is the custom — and 
 Heaven only knows how it originated — for the people of 
 the lower class to go through the streets in a company blow- 
 ing little penny whistles. We were walking that night in 
 the direction of the Duomo, when we met a band of these 
 men blowing with all their might on the shrill whistles ; so 
 that the whole neighborhood resounded with one continual,
 
 FIESOLE. 299 
 
 piercing, ear-splitting shriek. They marched in a kind of 
 quick trot through the streets, followed by a crowd of boys, 
 and varying the noise occasionally by shouts and howls of 
 the most horrible character. They paraded through all the 
 principal streets of the city, which for an hour sent up such 
 an agonizing scream that you might have fancied it an 
 enormous monster expiring in great torment. The people 
 seemed to take the whole thing as a matter of course, but 
 it was to us a novel manner of ushering in a religious fes- 
 tival. 
 
 The sky was clear and blue — as it always is in this Italian 
 paradise — when we left Florence a few days ago for Fiesole. 
 In spite of many virtuous efforts to rise early, it was nine 
 o'clock before we left the Porta San Gallo, with its tri- 
 umphal arch to the emperor Francis striding the road to 
 Bologna. We passed through the public walk at this end 
 of the city, and followed the road to Fiesole along the dried- 
 up bed of a mountain-torrent. The dwellings of the Floren- 
 tine nobility occupy the whole slope, surrounded with rich 
 and lovely gardens. The mountain and plain are both cov- 
 ered with luxuriant olive orchards, whose foliage of silver 
 gray gives the scene the look of a moonlight landscape. 
 
 At the base of the mountain of Fiesole we passed one of 
 the summer palaces of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and a little 
 distance beyond took a footpath overshadowed by magnifi- 
 cent cypresses, between whose dark trunks we looked down 
 on the lovely Val d'Arno. But I will reserve all descrip- 
 tion of the view till we arrive at the summit. 
 
 The modern village of Fiesole occupies the site of an an- 
 cient city generally supposed to be of Etrurian origin. Just 
 above, on one of the peaks of the mountain, stands the Acrop- 
 olis, formerly used as a fortress, but now untenanted save 
 by a few monks. From the side of its walls, beneath the 
 shade of a few cypresses, thei'e is a magnificent view of the 
 whole of Val d'Arno, with Florence, the gem of Italy, in 
 the centre.
 
 300 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Stand with me a moment on the height, and let us gaze 
 on this grand panorama, around which the Apennines 
 stretch with a majestic sweep, wrapped in a robe of purple 
 air, through which shimmer the villas and villages on their 
 sides. The lovely vale lies below us in its garb of olive- 
 groves, among which beautiful villas are sprinkled as plen- 
 tifully as white anemones in the woods of May. Florence 
 lies in front of us, the magnificent cupola of the Duomo 
 crowning its clustered palaces. We see the airy tower of the 
 Palazzo Vecchio, the new spire of Santa Croce and the long 
 front of the Palazzo Pitti, with the dark foliage of the Bo- 
 boli Gardens behind. Beyond, far to the south, are the 
 summits of the mountains near Siena. We can trace the 
 sandy bed of the Arno down the valley till it disappears at 
 the foot of the lower Apennines, which mingle in the dis- 
 tance with the mountains of Carrara. 
 
 Galileo was wont to make observations " at evening from 
 the top of Fiesole," and the square tower of the old church 
 is still pointed out as the spot. Many a night did he as- 
 cend to its projecting terrace and watch the stars as they 
 rolled around through the clearest heaven to Avhich a phil- 
 osopher ever looked up. 
 
 We passed through an orchard of fig trees and vines la- 
 den with beautiful purple and golden clusters, and in a few 
 minutes reached the remains of an amphitheatre in a little 
 nook on the mountain-side. This was a work of Koman 
 construction, as its form indicates. Three or four ranges of 
 seats alone are laid bare, and these have only been discov- 
 ered within a few years. A few steps farther Ave came to a 
 sort of cavern overhung with wild fig trees. After creeping 
 in at the entrance, we found ourselves in an oval chamber 
 tall enough to admit of our standing upright, and rudely 
 but very strongly built. This was one of the dens in which 
 the wild beasts were kept ; they were fed by a hole in the 
 top, now closed up. This cell communicates with four or
 
 SANTA CROCK 301 
 
 five others by apertures broken in the walls. I stepped 
 into one, and could see in the dim light that it was exactly 
 similar to the first and opened into another beyond. 
 
 Farther down the mountain we found the ancient wall of 
 the city, without doubt of Etrurian origin. It is of immense 
 blocks of stone, and extends more or less dilapidated around 
 the whole brow of the mountain. In one place there stands 
 a solitary gateway of large stones which looks as if it might 
 have been one of the first attempts at using the principle of 
 the arch. These ruins are all gray and ivied, and it startles 
 one to think what a history Earth has lived through since 
 their foundations wei-e laid. 
 
 We sat all the afternoon under the cypress trees and 
 looked down on the lovely valley, practising Italian sometimes 
 with two young Florentines who came up to enjoy the " bell' 
 aria " of Fiesole. Descending as sunset drew on, we reached 
 the Porta San Gallo as the people of Florence were issuing 
 forth to their evening promenade. 
 
 One of my first visits was to the church of Santa Croce. 
 This is one of the oldest in Florence, venerated alike by 
 foreigners and citizens for the illustrious dead whose re- 
 mains it holds. It is a plain, gloomy pile, the front of which 
 is still unfinished, though at the base one sees that it was 
 originally designed to be covered with black marble. On 
 entering the door we first saw the tomb of Michael Angelo. 
 Around the marble sarcophagus which contains his ashes 
 are three mourning figures representing Sculpture, Painting 
 and Architecture, and his bust stands above — a rough, stern 
 countenance, like a man of vast but unrefined mind. Far- 
 ther on are the tombs of Alfieri and Machiavelli and the 
 colossal cenotaph lately erected to Dante. Opposite re- 
 poses Galileo. What a world of renown in these few names ! 
 It makes one venerate the majesty of his race to stand be- 
 side the dust of such lofty spirits. 
 
 Dante's monument may be said to be only erected to his 
 memory ; he sleeps at the place of his exile,
 
 302 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 " Like Scipio buried by the upbraiding shore." 
 
 It is the work of Ricci, a Florentine artist, and has been 
 placed there within a few years. The colossal figure of 
 Poetry weeping over the empty urn might better express 
 the regret of Florence in being deprived of his ashes. The 
 figure of Dante himself, seated above, is grand and majestic ; 
 his head is inclined as if in meditation, and his features 
 bear the expression of sublime thought. Were this figure 
 placed there alone on a simple and massive pedestal, it 
 would be more in keeping with his fame than the lumber- 
 ing heaviness of the present monument. 
 
 Machiavelli's tomb is adorned with a female figure rep- 
 resenting History bearing his portrait. The inscription, 
 which seems to be somewhat exaggerated, is "Tanto nomini 
 nullum par elogium." Near lies Alfieri, the " Prince of Trag- 
 edy," as he is called by the Italians. In his life he was fond 
 of wandering among the tombs of Santa Croce, and it is 
 said that there the first desire and presentiment of his fu- 
 ture glory stirred within his breast. Now he slumbers 
 among them, not the least honored name of that immortal 
 company. 
 
 Galileo's tomb is adorned with his bust. His face is calm 
 and dignified, and he holds appropriately in his hands a 
 globe and telescope. Aretino, the historian, lies on his tomb 
 with a copy of his works clasped to his breast ; above that 
 of Lanzi, the historian of painting, there is a beautiful 
 fresco of the angel of Fame, and opposite to him is the 
 scholar Lamio. The most beautiful monument in the 
 church is that of a Polish princess, in the transept. She is 
 lying on the bier, her features settled in the repose of death 
 and her thin, pale hands clasped across her breast. The 
 countenance wears that half smile — " so coldly sweet and 
 sadly fair " — which so often throws a beauty over the face 
 of the dead, and the light pall reveals the fixed yet grace- 
 ful outline of the form.
 
 THE PALAZZO PITTI. 303 
 
 In that part of the city which lies on the south bank of 
 the Arno is the palace of the grand duke, known by the 
 name of the Palazzo Pitti, from a Florentine noble of that 
 name by whom it was first built. It is a very large, impos- 
 ing pile, preserving an air of lightness in spite of the rough, 
 heavy stones of which it is built. It is another example of 
 a magnificent failure. The marquis Strozzi having built a 
 palace which was universally admired for its beauty (which 
 stands yet, a model of chaste and massive elegance), his 
 rival, the marquis Pitti, made the proud boast that he 
 would build a palace in the court-yard ot which could be 
 placed that of Strozzi. These are actually the dimensions 
 of the court-yard, but in building the palace, although he 
 was liberally assisted by the Florentine people, he ruined 
 himself, and his magnificent residence passed into other 
 hands, while that of Strozzi is inhabited by his descendants 
 to this very day. 
 
 The gallery of the Palazzo Pitti is one of the finest in 
 Europe. It contains six or seven hundred paintings select- 
 ed from the best works of the Italian masters. By the 
 praiseworthy liberality of the duke they are open to the 
 public six hours every day, and the rooms are thronged 
 with artists of all nations. 
 
 Anions Titian's works, there is his celebrated " Bella," 
 a half-length figure of a young woman. It is a masterpiece 
 of warm and brilliant coloring, without any decided ex- 
 pression. The countenance is that of vague, undefined 
 thought, as of one who knew as yet nothing of the realities 
 of life. In another room is his Magdalen, a large voluptu- 
 ous form, with her brown hair falling like a veil over her 
 shoulders and breast, but in her upturned countenance one 
 can sooner read a prayer for an absent lover than repentance 
 for sins she has committed. 
 
 What could excel in beauty the " Madonna della Sedia" 
 of Raphael ? It is another of those works of that divine 
 artist on which we gaze and gaze with a never-tiring enjoy-
 
 304 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 ment of its angelic beauty. To my eye it is faultless ; I 
 could not wish a single outline of form, a single shade of 
 color, changed. Like his unrivalled Madonna in the Dres- 
 den Gallery, its beauty is spiritual as well as earthly ; and 
 while gazing on the glorious countenance of the Jesus-child 
 I feel an impulse I can scarcely explain — a longing to tear 
 it from the canvas as if it were a breathing form and clasp 
 it to my heart in a glow of passionate love. What a sub- 
 lime inspiration Raphael must have felt when he painted 
 it ! Judging from its effect on the beholder, I can conceive 
 of no higher mental excitement than that required to cre- 
 ate it. 
 
 Here are also some of the finest and best-preserved pict- 
 ures of Salvator Rosa, and his portrait — a wild head full 
 of spirit and genius. Besides several landscapes in his sav- 
 age and stormy style, there are two large sea-views in which 
 the atmosphere is of a deep and exquisite softness without 
 impairing the strength and boldness of the composition. 
 "A Battle-Scene " is terrible. Hundreds of combatants are 
 met in the shock and struggle of conflict. Horses, mailed 
 knights, vassals, are mixed together in wild confusion ; ban- 
 ners are waving and lances flashing amid the dust and 
 smoke, while the wounded and dying are trodden under foot 
 in darkness and blood. I now first begin to comprehend 
 the power and sublimity of his genius. From the wild- 
 ness and gloom of his pictures, he might almost be called 
 the Byron of painters. 
 
 There is a small group of the " Fates," by Michael An- 
 gelo, which is one of the best of the few pictures which re- 
 main of him. As is well known, he disliked the art, saying it 
 was only fit for women. This picture shows, however, how 
 much higher he might have gone had he been so inclined. 
 The three weird sisters are ghostly and awful — the one who 
 stands behind, holding the distaff, almost frightful. She 
 who stands ready to cut the thread as it is spun out has a 
 slight trace of pity on her fixed and unearthly lineaments.
 
 CANOVA'S VENUS. 305 
 
 It is a faithful embodiment of the old Greek idea of the 
 Fates. I have wondered why some artist has not attempted 
 the subject in a different way. In the Northern mythology 
 they are represented as wild maidens armed with swords 
 and mounted on fiery coursers. Why might they not also 
 be pictured as angels with countenances of a sublime and 
 mysterious beauty — one all radiant with hope and promise 
 of glory, and one with the token of a better future mingled 
 with the sadness with which it severs the links of life ? 
 
 There are many, many other splendid works in this col- 
 lection, but it is unnecessary to mention them. I have only 
 endeavored, by taking a few of the best known, to give some 
 idea of them as they appear to me. There are hundreds 
 of pictures here which, though gems in themselves, are by 
 masters who are rarely heard of in America, and it would 
 be of little interest to go through the gallery describing it 
 in guide-book fashion. Indeed, to describe galleries, how- 
 ever rich and renowned they may be, is in general a work 
 of so much difficulty that I know not whether the writer 
 or the reader is made most tired thereby. 
 
 This collection possesses also the celebrated statue of 
 Venus by Canova. She stands in the centre of a little 
 apartment filled with the most delicate and graceful works 
 of painting. Although undoubtedly a figure of great 
 beauty, it by no means struck me as possessing that exqui- 
 site and classic perfection which has been ascribed to it. 
 The Venus de Medici far surpasses it. The head is larger, 
 in proportion to the size of the body, than that of the lat- 
 ter, but has not the same modest virgin expression. The 
 arm wrapped in the robe which she is pressing to her 
 breast is finely executed, but the fingers of the other hand 
 are bad — looking, as my friend said, as if the ends were 
 whittled off. The body is, however, of fine proportions, 
 though, taken as a whole, the statue is inferior to many 
 other of Canova's works. 
 
 Occupying all the hill back of the Pitti Palace are the 
 
 20
 
 306 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Boboli Gardens, three times a week the great resort of the 
 Florentines. They are said to be the most beautiful gar- 
 dens in Italy. Numberless paths diverging from a magnif- 
 icent amphitheatre in the old Roman style, opposite the 
 court-yard, lead either in long flights of steps and terraces 
 or gentle windings among beds sweet with roses to the sum- 
 mit. Long avenues entirely arched and interwoven with 
 the thick foliage of the laurel, which here grows to a tree, 
 stretch along the slopes or wind in the woods through thick- 
 ets of the fragrant bay. Parterres rich with flowers and 
 shrubbery alternate with delightful groves of the Italian 
 pine, acacia and laurel-leaved oak, and along the hillside, 
 gleaming among the foliage, are placed statues of marble, 
 some of which are from the chisels of Michael Angelo and 
 Bandinelli. In one part there is a little sheet of water with 
 an island of orange trees in the centre, from which a broad 
 avenue of cypresses and statues leads to the very summit 
 of the hill. 
 
 We often go there to watch the sun set over Florence and 
 the vale of the Arno. The palace lies directly below, and 
 a clump of pine trees on the hillside, that stand out in bold 
 relief on the glowing sky, makes the foreground to one of 
 the loveliest pictures this side of the Atlantic. I saw one 
 afternoon the grand duke and his family get into their car- 
 riage to drive out. One of the little dukes, who seemed a 
 mischievous imp, ran out on a projection of the portico, 
 where considerable persuasion had to be used to induce him 
 to jump into the arms of his royal papa. I turned from 
 these titled infants to watch a group of beautiful American 
 children playing, for my attention was drawn to them by 
 the sound of familiar words, and I learned afterward they 
 were the children of the sculptor Powers. I contrasted in- 
 voluntarily the destinies of each — one to the enjoyment and 
 proud energy of freedom, and one to the confining and 
 vitiating atmosphere of a court. The merry voices of the 
 latter, as they played on the grass, came to my ears most
 
 PILGRIMS OF ART. 307 
 
 gratefully. There is nothing so sweet as to hear one's na- 
 tive tongue in a foreign land from the lips of children. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO VALLOMBROSA. 
 
 "A pilgrimage to Vallombrosa " ! In sooth it has a ro- 
 mantic sound. The phrase calls up images of rosaries and 
 crosses and shaven-headed friars. Had we lived in the 
 olden days, such things might verily have accompanied our 
 journey to that holy monastery. We might then have gone 
 barefoot, saying prayers as we toiled along the banks of the 
 Arno and up the steep Apennines, as did Benvenuto Cel- 
 lini before he poured the melted bronze into the mould of 
 his immortal Perseus. But we are pilgrims to the shrines 
 of Art and Genius ; the dwelling-places of great minds are 
 our sanctuaries. The mean dwelling in which a poet has 
 battled down poverty with the ecstasy of his mighty con- 
 ceptions and the dungeon in which a persecuted philosopher 
 has languished are to us sacred ; w T e turn aside from the 
 palaces of kings and the battlefields of conquerors to visit 
 them. The famed miracles of San Giovanni Gualberto 
 added little, in our eyes, to the interest of Vallombrosa, but 
 there were reverence and inspiration in the names of Dante, 
 Milton and Ariosto. 
 
 We left Florence early, taking the way that leads from 
 the Porta della Croce up the north bank of the Arno. It 
 was a bright morning, but there was a shade of vapor on 
 the hills which a practised eye might have taken as a prog- 
 nostic of the rain that too soon came on. Fiesole, with its 
 tower and Acropolis, stood out brightly from the blue back- 
 ground, and the hill of San Miniato lay with its cypress 
 groves in the softest morning light. The contadini were
 
 308 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 driving into the city in their basket wagons, and there were 
 some fair young faces among them that made us think Italian 
 beauty was not altogether in the imagination. 
 
 After walking three or four miles we entered the Apen- 
 nines, keeping along the side of the Arno, whose bed is 
 more than half dried up from the long summer heats. The 
 mountain-sides were covered with vineyards glowing with 
 their wealth of white and purple grapes, but the summits 
 were naked and barren. 
 
 We passed through the little town of Ponte Sieve, at the 
 entrance of a romantic valley where our view of the Arno 
 was made more interesting by the lofty range of the Apen- 
 nines, amid whose forests we could see the white front of 
 the monastery of Vallombrosa. But the clouds sank low 
 and hid it from sight, and the rain came on so hard that we 
 were obliged to take shelter occasionally in the cottages by 
 the wayside. In one of these we made a dinner of the hard 
 black bread of the country, rendered palatable by the ad- 
 dition of mountain-cheese and some chips of an antique 
 Bologna sausage. We were much amused in conversing 
 with the simple hosts and their shy, gypsy-like children, one 
 of whom, a dark-eyed, curly-haired boy, bore the name of Ra- 
 phael. We also became acquainted with a shoemaker and 
 his family who owned a little olive-orchard and vineyard 
 which they said produced enough to support them. Wish- 
 ing to know how much a family of six consumed in a year, 
 we inquired the yield of their property. They answered, 
 " Twenty small barrels of wine and ten of oil." It was 
 nearly sunset when we reached Pellago, and the wet walk 
 and coarse fare we were obliged to take on the road well 
 qualified us to enjoy the excellent supper the pleasant land- 
 lady gave us. 
 
 This little town is among the Apennines, at the foot of the 
 magnificent mountain of Vallombrosa. What a blessing it 
 was for Milton that he saw its loveliness before his eyes 
 closed on this beautiful earth and gained from it another
 
 LUSCIOUS GRAPES. 309 
 
 hue in which to dip his pencil when he painted the bliss of 
 Eden ! I watched the hills all day as we approached them, 
 and thought how often his eyes had rested on their outlines, 
 and how he had carried their forms in his memory for many 
 a sunless year. The banished Dante, too, had trodden 
 them, flying from his ungrateful country, and many another 
 whose genius has made him a beacon in the dark sea of the 
 world's history. It is one of those places where the en- 
 joyment is all romance, and the blood thrills as we gaze 
 upon it. 
 
 We started early next morning, crossed the ravine and 
 took the well-paved way to the monastery along the moun- 
 tain-side. The stones are worn smooth by the sleds in which 
 ladies and provisions are conveyed up, drawn by the beau- 
 tiful white Tuscan oxen. The hills are covered with lux- 
 uriant chestnut and oak trees, of those picturesque forms 
 which they only wear in Italy ; one wild dell in particular 
 is much resorted to by painters for the ready-made fore- 
 grounds it supplies. Farther on we passed the pater no, a 
 rich farm belonging to the monks. The vines which hung 
 from tree to tree were almost breaking beneath clusters as 
 heavy and rich as those which the children of Israel bore 
 on staves from the Promised Land. Of their flavor we can 
 say, from experience, they were worthy to have grown in 
 Paradise. We then entered a deep dell of the mountain 
 where little shepherd-girls were sitting on the rocks tending 
 their sheep and spinning with their fingers from a distaff* in 
 the same manner, doubtless, as the Roman shepherdesses 
 two thousand years ago. Gnarled, gray olive trees cen- 
 turies old grew upon the bare soil, and a little rill fell in 
 many a tiny cataract down the glen. By a mill in one of 
 the coolest and wildest nooks I ever saw two of us acted the 
 part of water-spirits under one of these, to the great aston- 
 ishment of four peasants who watched us from a distance. 
 
 Beyond, our road led through forests of chestnut and oak, 
 and a broad view of mountain and vale lay below us. We
 
 310 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 asked a peasant-boy we met how much land the monks of 
 Vallombrosa possessed. "All that you see," was the reply. 
 The dominion of the good Fathers reached once even to the 
 gates of Florence. At length, about noon, we emerged from 
 the woods into a broad avenue leading across a lawn at 
 whose extremity stood the massive buildings of the monas- 
 tery. On a rock that towered above it was the Paradisino, 
 beyond which rose the mountain covered with forests — 
 
 " Shade above shade-, a woody theatre 
 Of stateliest view," 
 
 as Milton describes it. We were met at the entrance by a 
 young monk in cowl and cassock, to whom we applied for 
 permission to stay till the next day, which was immediately 
 given. Brother Placido (for that was his name) then asked 
 us if we would not have dinner. We replied that our ap- 
 petites were none the worse for climbing the mountain, and 
 in half an hour we sat down to a dinner the like of which 
 we had not seen for a long time. Verily, thought I, it must 
 be a pleasant thing to be a monk, after all — that is, a monk 
 of Vallombrosa. 
 
 In the afternoon we walked through a grand pine-forest 
 to the western brow of the mountain, where a view opened 
 which it would require a wonderful power of the imagina- 
 tion for you to see in fancy, as I did in reality. From the 
 height where we stood the view was uninterrupted to the 
 Mediterranean, a distance of more than seventy miles. A 
 valley watered by a branch of the Arno swept far to the 
 east, to the mountains near the Lake of Thrasymene ; 
 north-westward the hills of Carrara bordered the horizon. 
 The space between these wide points was filled with moun- 
 tains and valleys all steeped in that soft blue mist which 
 makes Italian landscapes more like heavenly visions than 
 realities. Florence was visible afar off, and the current of 
 the Arno flashed in the sun. A cool and almost chilling 
 wind blew constantly over the mountain, although the
 
 THE "LITTLE PARADISE." 311 
 
 country below basked in summer heat. We lay on the 
 rocks and let our souls luxuriate in the lovely scene till 
 near sunset. Brother Placido brought us supper in the 
 evening with his ever-smiling countenance, and we soon 
 after went to our beds in the neat, plain chambers, to get 
 rid of the unpleasant coldness. 
 
 Next morning it was damp and misty, and thick clouds 
 rolled down the forests toward the convent. I set out for 
 the " Little Paradise," taking in my way the pretty cascade 
 which falls some fifty feet down the rocks. The building 
 is not now as it was when Milton lived here, having been 
 rebuilt within a short time. I found no one there, and sat- 
 isfied my curiosity by climbing over the wall and looking 
 in at the windows. A little chapel stands in a cleft of the 
 rock below, to mark the miraculous escape of St. John 
 Gualberto, founder of the monastery. Being one day very 
 closely pursued by the devil, he took shelter under the 
 rock, which immediately became soft and admitted him into 
 it, while the fiend, unable to stop, was precipitated over the 
 steep. All this is related in a Latin inscription, and we saw 
 a large hollow in the rock near which must have been in- 
 tended for the imprint left by his sacred person. 
 
 One of the monks told us another legend, concerning a 
 little chapel which stands alone on a wild part of the moun- 
 tain, above a rough pile of crags, called the " Peak of the 
 Devil." " In the time of San Giovanni Gualberto, the 
 holy founder of our order," said he, " there was a young 
 man of a noble family in Florence who was so moved by 
 the words of the saintly father that he forsook the world, 
 wherein he had lived with great luxury and dissipation, and 
 became monk. But, after a time, being young and tempted 
 again by the pleasures he had renounced, he put off the 
 sacred garments. The holy San Giovanni warned him of 
 the terrible danger in which he stood, and at length the 
 wicked young man returned. It was not a great while, 
 however, before he became dissatisfied and, in spite all holy
 
 312 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 counsel, did the same thing again. But behold what hapr 
 pened ! As he was walking along the peak where the 
 chapel stands, thinking nothing of his great crime, the 
 devil sprang suddenly from behind a rock, and, catching 
 the young man in his arms before he could escape, carried 
 him with a dreadful noise and a great red flame and smoke 
 over the precipice ; so that he was never afterward seen." 
 
 The church attached to the monastery is small, but very 
 solemn and venerable. I went several times to muse in its 
 still, gloomy aisle and hear the murmuring chant of the 
 monks, who went through their exercises in some of the 
 chapels. At one time I saw them all, in long black cas- 
 socks, march in solemn order to the chapel of St. John 
 Gualberto, where they sang a deep chant, which to me had 
 something awful and sepulchral in it. Behind the high 
 altar I saw their black, carved chairs of polished oak, with 
 ponderous gilded foliants lying on the rails before them. 
 The attendant opened one of these, that we might see the 
 manuscript notes, three or four centuries old, from which 
 they sung. 
 
 We were much amused in looking through two or three 
 Italian books which were lying in the travellers' room. 
 One of these, which our friend Mr. Tandy of Kentucky 
 read, described the miracles of the patron-saint with an air 
 of the most ridiculous solemnity. The other was a descrip- 
 tion of the monastery — its foundation, history, etc. In 
 mentioning its great and far-spread renown, the author 
 stated that even an English poet by the name of Milton 
 had mentioned it in the following lines, which I copied ver- 
 batim from the book : 
 
 "Thick as autumnal scaves that strow she brooks 
 In vallombrosa, whereth Etruian Jades 
 Stigh over orcli d'embrover." 
 
 In looking over the strangers' book, I found among the 
 names of my countrymen that of S. V. Clevenger, the tal-
 
 A DIRTY VILLAGE. 313 
 
 entcd and lamented sculptor who died at sea on his passage 
 home. There were also the names of Mrs. Shelley and the 
 princess Potemkin, and I saw written on the wall the auto- 
 graph of Jean Reboul, the celebrated modern French 
 poet. 
 
 We were so delighted with the place we would have stay- 
 ed another day but for fear of trespassing too much on the 
 lavish and unceasing hospitality of the good Fathers ; so in 
 the afternoon we shook hands with Brother Placido, and 
 turned our backs regretfully upon one of the loneliest and 
 loveliest spots of which earth can boast. The sky became 
 gradually clear as we descended, and the mist raised itself 
 from the distant mountains. We ran down through the 
 same chestnut groves, diverging a little to go through the 
 village of Tosi, which is very picturesque when seen from a 
 distance, but extremely dirty to one passing through. I 
 stopped in the ravine below to take a sketch of the mill and 
 bridge, and, as we sat, the line of golden sunlight rose 
 higher on the mountains above. On walking down the 
 shady side of this glen we were enraptured with the scenery. 
 A brilliant yet mellow glow lay over the whole opposing 
 height, lighting up the houses of Tosi and the white cot- 
 tages half seen among the olives, while the mountain of 
 Vallombrosa stretched far heavenward like a sunny paint- 
 ing, with only a misty wreath floating and w T aving around 
 its summit. The glossy foliage of the chestnuts was made 
 still brighter by the warm light, and the old olives softened 
 down into a silvery gray whose contrast gave the landscape 
 a character of the mellowest beauty. 
 
 As we wound out of the deep glen the broad valleys and 
 ranges of the Apennines lay before us, forests, castles and 
 villages steeped in the soft, vapory blue of the Italian atmo- 
 sphere, and the current of the Arno flashing like a golden 
 belt through the middle of the picture. 
 
 The sun was nearly down, and the mountains just below 
 him were of a deep purple hue, while those that ran out to
 
 314 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the eastward wore the most aerial shade of blue. A few 
 scattered clouds floating above soon put on the sunset robe 
 of orange, and a band of the same soft color encircled the 
 western horizon. It did not reach halfway to the zenith, 
 however ; the sky above was blue, of such a depth and 
 transparency that to gaze upward was like looking into 
 eternity. Then how softly and soothingly the twilight 
 came on ! How deep a hush sank on the chestnut glades, 
 broken only by the song of the cicada chirping its " Good- 
 night carol " ! The mountains, too ! How majestic they 
 stood in their deep purple outlines! 
 
 Sweet, sweet Italy ! I can feel now how the soul may 
 cling to thee, since thou canst thus gratify its insatiable 
 thirst for the Beautiful. Even thy plainest scene is clothed 
 in hues that seem borrowed of heaven. In the twilight 
 more radiant than light, and the stillness more eloquent 
 than music, which sink down over the sunny beauty of thy 
 shores, there is a silent, intense poetry that stirs the soul 
 through all its impassioned depths. With warm, blissful 
 tears filling the eyes and a heart overflowing with its 
 own bright fancies, I wander in the solitude and calm 
 of such a time, and love thee as if I were a child of thy 
 soil. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 WALK TO SIENA AND PRATOLINO. — INCIDENTS IN FLOR- 
 ENCE. 
 
 October 16. 
 
 My cousin, being anxious to visit Rome and reach Hei- 
 delberg before the commencement of the winter semester, 
 set out, toward the end of September, on foot. We accom- 
 panied him as far as Siena, forty miles distant. As I 
 shall most probably take another road to the Eternal City,
 
 PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES. 315 
 
 the present is a good opportunity to say something of that 
 romantic old town, so famous throughout Italy for the hon- 
 esty of its inhabitants. 
 
 We dined the first day seventeen miles from Florence, at 
 Tavenella, where for a meagre dinner the hostess^ had the 
 assurance to ask us seven pcnds. We told her we would 
 give but four and a half, and by assuming a decided man- 
 ner, with a plentiful use of the word signora, she was per- 
 suaded to be fully satisfied with the latter sum. From a 
 height near we could see the mountains coasting the Medi- 
 terranean, and shortly after, on descending a long hill, the 
 little town of Poggibonsi lay in the warm afternoon light 
 on an eminence before us. It was soon passed with its 
 dusky towers, then Stagia looking desolate in its ruined and 
 ivied walls, and, following the advice of a peasant, we 
 stopped for the night at the inn of Querciola. As we 
 knew something of Italian by this time, we thought it best 
 to inquire the price of lodging before entering. The pa- 
 drone asked if we meant to take supper also. We answered 
 in the affirmative. " Then," said he, " you will pay half a 
 paid" (about five cents) " apiece for a bed." 
 
 We passed under the swinging bunch of boughs which in 
 Italy is the universal sign of an inn for the common peo- 
 ple, and entered the bare, smoky room appropriated to 
 travellers. A long table with well-worn benches was the 
 only furniture ; we threw our knapsacks on one end of it 
 and sat down, amusing ourselves, while supper w^as prepar- 
 ing, in looking at a number of grotesque charcoal draw- 
 ings on the w T all which the flaring light of our tall iron 
 lamp revealed to us. At length the hostess — a kindly- 
 looking woman with a white handkerchief folded gracefully 
 around her head— brought us a dish of fried eggs, which, 
 with the coarse black bread of the peasants and a basketful 
 of rich grapes, made us an excellent supper. We slept on 
 mattresses stuffed with corn-husks, placed on square iron 
 frames, which are the bedsteads most used in Italy. A
 
 316 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 brightly-painted caricature of some saint or a rough cruci- 
 fix, trimmed with bay-leaves, hung at the head of each bed, 
 and under their devout protection we enjoyed a safe and 
 unbroken slumber. 
 
 Next morning we set out early to complete the remaining 
 ten miles' to Siena. The only thing of interest on the road 
 is the ruined wall and battlements of Castiglione, circling 
 a high hill and looking as old as the days of Etruria. The 
 towers of Siena are seen at some distance, but, approaching 
 it from this side, the traveller does not perceive its romantic 
 situation until he arrives. It stands on a double hill which 
 is very steep on some sides. The hollow between the two 
 peaks is occupied by the great public square, ten or fifteen 
 feet. lower than the rest of the city. We left our knapsacks 
 at a cafe and sought the celebrated cathedral, which stands 
 in the highest part of the town, forming with its flat dome 
 and lofty marble tower an apex to the pyramidal mass of 
 buildings. The interior is rich and elegantly perfect. 
 Every part is of black and white marble, in what I should 
 call the striped style, which has a singular but agreeable 
 effect. The inside of the dome and the vaulted ceilings of 
 the chapels are of blue, with golden stars ; the pavement 
 in the centre is so precious a work that it is kept covered 
 with boards and only shown once a year. 
 
 There are some pictures of great value in this cathedral ; 
 one, of " The Descent of the Dove," is worthy of the best 
 days of Italian art. In an adjoining chamber with frescoed 
 walls and a beautiful tessellated pavement is the library, 
 consisting of a few huge old volumes which, with their 
 brown covers and brazen clasps, look as much like a collec- 
 tion of flat leather trunks as anything else. In the centre 
 of the room stands the mutilated group of the Grecian 
 Graces found in digging the foundation of the cathedral. 
 The figures are still beautiful and graceful, with that exqui- 
 site curve of outline which is such a charm in the antique
 
 AN INTELLIGENT GERMAN. 317 
 
 statues. Canova has only perfected the idea in his cele- 
 brated group, which is nearly a copy of this. 
 
 We strolled through the square, and then accompanied our 
 friend to the Roman gate, where we took leave of him for 
 six months at least. He felt lonely at the thought of walk- 
 ing in Italy without a companion, but was cheered by the 
 anticipation of soon reaching Rome. We watched him a 
 while walking rapidly over the hot plain toward Radico- 
 fani, and then, turning our faces with much pleasure toward 
 Florence, we commenced the return walk. I must not for- 
 get to mention the delicious grapes which we bought, begged 
 and stole on the way. The whole country is like one vine- 
 yard, and the people live, in a great measure, on the fruit 
 during this part of the year. Would you not think it 
 highly romantic and agreeable to sit in the shade of a cy- 
 press grove, beside some old weatherbeaten statues, looking 
 out over the vales of the Apennines, with a pile of white 
 and purple grapes beside you the like of which can scarcely 
 be had in America for love or money, and which had been 
 given you by a dark-eyed peasant-girl ? If so, you may 
 envy us, for such was exactly our situation on the morning 
 before reaching Florence. 
 
 Being in the Duomo two or three days ago, I met a Ger- 
 man traveller who has walked through Italy thus far, and 
 intends continuing his journey to Rome and Naples. His 
 name is Von Raumer. He was well acquainted with the 
 present state of America, and I derived much pleasure from 
 his intelligent conversation. We concluded to ascend the 
 cupola in company. Two black-robed boys led the way. 
 After climbing an infinite number of steps, we reached the 
 gallery around the foot of the dome. The glorious view of 
 that paradise the vale of the Arno, shut in on all sides by 
 mountains, some bare and desolate, some covered with villas, 
 gardens and groves, lay in soft, hazy light, with the shadows 
 of a few light clouds moving slowly across it. They next 
 took us to a gallery on the inside of the dome, where we first
 
 318 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 saw the immensity of its structure. Only from a distant 
 view or in ascending it can one really measure its grandeur. 
 The frescos, which from below appear the size of life, are 
 found to be rough and monstrous daubs, each figure being 
 nearly as many fathoms in length as a man is feet. Con- 
 tinuing our ascent, we mounted between the inside and out- 
 side shells of the dome. It was indeed a bold idea for Bru- 
 nelleschi to raise such a mass in air. The dome of St. 
 Peter's, which is scarcely as large, was not made until a 
 century after, and this was, therefore, the first attempt at 
 raising one on so grand a scale. It seems still as solid as 
 if just built. 
 
 There was a small door in one of the projections of the 
 lantern, which the sacristan told us to enter and ascend still 
 higher. Supposing there was a fine view to be gained, two 
 priests who had just come up entered it; the German fol- 
 lowed, and I after him. After crawling in at the low door, 
 we found ourselves in a hollow pillar little wider than our 
 bodies. Looking up, I saw the German's legs just above 
 my head, Avhile the other two were above him, ascending 
 by means of little iron bars fastened in the marble. The 
 priests were very much amused, and the German said, " This 
 is the first time I ever learned chimney-sweeping." We 
 emerged at length into a hollow cone, hot and dark, with a 
 rickety ladder going up somewhere — we could not see where. 
 The old priest, not wishing to trust himself to it, sent his 
 younger brother up, and we shouted after him, "What kind 
 of a view have you ?" He climbed up till the cone got so 
 narrow he could go no farther, and answered back in the 
 darkness, " I see nothing at all." Shortly after he came 
 down covered with dust and cobwebs, and we all descended 
 the chimney quicker than we went up. The old priest con- 
 sidered it a good joke, and laughed till his fat sides shook. 
 We asked the sacristan why he sent us up, and he answered, 
 " To see the construction of the church." 
 
 I attended service in the cathedral one dark, rainy morn-
 
 DEPARTED SUNSHINE. 319 
 
 ing, and was never before so deeply impressed with the 
 majesty and grandeur of the mighty edifice. The thick, 
 cloudy atmosphere darkened still more the light which 
 came through the stained windows, and a solemn twilight 
 reigned in the long aisles. The mighty dome sprang far 
 aloft, as if it enclosed a part of heaven, for the light that 
 struggled through the windows around its base lay in broad 
 bars on the blue, hazy air. I would not have been sur- 
 prised at seeing a cloud float along within it. The lofty 
 burst of the organ, that seemed like the pantings of a mon- 
 ster, boomed echoing away through dome and nave with a 
 chiming, metallic vibration that shook the massive pillars 
 which it would defy an earthquake to rend. All was 
 wrapped in dusky obscurity except where, in the side- 
 chapels, crowns of tapers were burning around the images. 
 One knows not which most to admire, the genius which 
 could conceive or the perseverance which could accomplish 
 such a work. On one side of the square the colossal statue 
 of the architect — glorious old Brunelleschi — is most appro- 
 priately placed, looking up with pride at his performance. 
 
 The sunshine and genial airs of Italy have gone, leaving, 
 instead, a cold, gloomy sky and chilling winds. The au- 
 tumnal season has fairly commenced, and I suppose I must 
 bid adieu to the brightness which made me in love with the 
 land. The change has been no less sudden than unpleasant ; 
 and if, as they say, it will continue all winter with little 
 variation, I shall have to seek a clearer climate. In the 
 cold of these European winters there is, as I observed last 
 year in Germany, a dull, damp chill quite different from 
 the bracing, exhilarating frosts of America. It stagnates 
 the vital principle and leaves the limbs dull and heavy, 
 with a lifeless feeling which can scarcely be overcome by 
 vigorous action. At least, such has been my experience. 
 
 "We lately made an excursion to Pratolino, on the Apen- 
 nines, to see the vintage and the celebrated Colossus by 
 John of Bologna. Leaving Florence in the morning with
 
 320 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 a cool, fresh wind blowing down from the mountains, we be- 
 gan ascending by the road to Bologna. We passed Fiesole 
 with its tower and Acropolis on the right, ascending slowly, 
 with the bold peak of one of the loftiest Apennines on our 
 left. The abundant fruit of the olive was beginning to turn 
 brown and the grapes were all gathered in from the vine- 
 yards, but we learned from a peasant-boy that the vintage 
 was not finished at Pratolino. 
 
 We finally arrived at an avenue, shaded with sycamores, 
 leading to the royal park. The vintagers were busy in the 
 fields around unloading the vines of their purple tribute, 
 and many a laugh and jest among the merry peasants en- 
 livened the toil. We assisted them in disposing of some 
 fine clusters, and then sought the " Colossus of the Apen- 
 nines." He stands above a little lake, at the head of a long 
 mountain-slope broken with clumps of magnificent trees. 
 This remarkable figure, the work of John of Bologna, im- 
 presses one like a relic of the Titans. He is represented as 
 half kneeling, supporting himself with one hand, while the 
 other is pressed upon the head of a dolphin from which a 
 little stream falls into the lake. The height of the figure, 
 when erect, would amount to more than sixty feet. We 
 measured one of the feet, which is a single piece of rock 
 about eight feet long ; from the ground to the top of one 
 knee is nearly twenty feet. The limbs are formed of pieces 
 of stone joined together, and the body of stone and brick. 
 His rough hair and eyebrows and the beard, which reached 
 nearly to the ground, are formed of stalactites taken from 
 caves, and fastened together in a dripping and crusted 
 mass. These hung also from his limbs and body, and gave 
 him the appearance of Winter in his mail of icicles. By 
 climbing up the rocks at his back we entered his body, 
 which contains a small-sized room ; it was even possible to 
 ascend through his neck and look out at his ear. The face 
 is in keeping with the figure — stern and grand — and the 
 architect (one can hardly say " sculptor ") has given to it
 
 A LIBERAL GOVERNMENT. 321 
 
 the majestic air and sublimity of the Apennines. But who 
 can build up an image of the Alp ? 
 
 We visited the factory on the estate where wine and oil 
 are made. The men had just brought in a cart-load of large 
 wooden vessels filled with grapes, which they were mashing 
 with heavy wooden pestles. When the grapes were pretty 
 well reduced to pulp and juice, they emptied them into an 
 enormous tun, which, they told us, would be covered air- 
 tight and left for three or four weeks, after which the wine 
 would be drawn off at the bottom; They showed us also a 
 great stone mill for grinding olives. This estate of the 
 grand duke produces five hundred barrels of wine and a 
 hundred and fifty of oil every year. The former article is 
 the universal beverage of the laboi'ing classes in Italy — or, 
 I might say, of all classes ; it is, however, the pure blood of 
 the grape, and, although used in such quantities, one sees 
 little drunkenness — far less than in our own land. 
 
 Tuscany enjoys at present a more liberal government 
 than any other part of Italy, and the people are in many 
 respects prosperous and happy. The grand duke, although 
 enjoying almost absolute privileges, is disposed to encourage 
 every measure which may promote the welfare of his sub- 
 jects. The people are, indeed, very heavily taxed, but this 
 is less severely felt by them than it would be by the in- 
 habitants of colder climes. The soil produces, with little 
 labor, all that is necessary for their support ; though kept 
 constantly in a state of comparative poverty, they appear 
 satisfied with their lot, and rarely look farther than the ne- 
 cessities of the present. In love with the delightful climate, 
 they cherish their country, fallen as she is, and are rarely 
 induced to leave her. Even the wealthier classes of the 
 Italians travel very little ; they can learn the manners and 
 habits of foreigners nearly as well in their own country as 
 elsewhere, and they prefer their own hills of olive and vine 
 to the icy grandeur of the Alps or the rich and garden-like 
 beauty of England. 
 
 21
 
 322 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 But, although this sweet climate, with its wealth of sun- 
 light and balmy airs, may enchant the traveller for a while 
 and make him wish at times that his whole life might be 
 spent amid such scenes, it exercises a most enervating in- 
 fluence on those who are born to its enjoyment. It relaxes 
 mental and physical energy and disposes body and mind to 
 dreamy inactivity. The Italians, as a race, are indolent 
 and effeminate. Of the moral dignity of man they have 
 little conception. Those classes who are engaged in active 
 occupation seem even destitute of common honesty, prac- 
 tising all kinds of deceits in the most open manner, and 
 apparently without the least shame. The state of morals 
 is lower than in any other country of Europe ; what little 
 virtue exists is found among the peasants. Many of the 
 most sacred obligations of society are universally violated, 
 and as a natural consequence the people are almost entire 
 strangers to that domestic happiness which constitutes the 
 true enjoyment of life. 
 
 This dark shadow in the moral atmosphere of Italy hangs 
 like a curse on her beautiful soil, weakening the sympathies 
 of citizens of freer lands with her fallen condition. I often 
 feel vividly the sentiment which Percival puts into the 
 mouth of a Greek in slavery: 
 
 " The Spring may here with Autumn twine, 
 And botli combined may rule the year, 
 And fresh-blown flowers and racy wine 
 
 In frosted clusters still be near: 
 Dearer the wild and snowy hills 
 Where hale and ruddy Freedom smiles." 
 
 No people can ever become truly great or free who are 
 not virtuous. If the soul aspires for liberty — pure and 
 perfect liberty — it also aspires for everything that is noble 
 in truth, everything that is holy in virtue. It is greatly to 
 be feared that all those nervous and impatient efforts which 
 have been made, and are still being made, by the Italian
 
 THE CASCINE KACES. 323 
 
 people to better their condition will be of little avail until 
 they set up a better standard of principle and make their 
 private actions more conformable with their ideas of politi- 
 cal independence. 
 
 Oct. 22. 
 
 I attended to-day the fall races at the Cascine. This is 
 a dairy-farm of the grand duke on the Arno, below the 
 city ; part of it, shaded with magnificent trees, has been 
 made into a public promenade and drive which extends for 
 three miles down the river. Toward the lower end, on a 
 smooth green lawn, is the race-course. To-day was the last 
 of the season, for which the best trials had been reserved. 
 On passing out the gate at noon we found a number of car- 
 riages and pedestrians going the same way. It was the 
 very perfection of autumn temperature, and I do not re- 
 member to have ever seen so blue hills, so green meadows, 
 60 fresh air and so bright sunshine combined in one scene 
 before. All that gloom and coldness of which I lately com- 
 plained has vanished. 
 
 Travelling increases very much one's capacity for admi- 
 ration. Every beautiful scene appears as beautiful as if it 
 had been the first, and, although I may have seen a hundred 
 times as lovely a combination of sky and landscape, the 
 pleasure which it awakens is never diminished. This is 
 one of the greatest blessings we enjoy — the freshness and 
 glory which Nature wears to our eyes for ever. It shows 
 that the soul never grows old — that the eye of age can take 
 in the impression of beauty with the same enthusiastic joy 
 that leaped through the heart of childhood. 
 
 We found the crowd around the race-course but thin ; 
 half the people there, and all the horses, appeared to be 
 English. It was a good place to observe the beauty of 
 Florence, which, however, may be done in a short time, as 
 there is not much of it. There is beauty in Italy, undoubt- 
 edly, but it is either among the peasants or the higher class 
 of nobility. I will tell our American women confidentially
 
 324 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 — for I know they have too much sense to be vain of it — 
 that they surpass the rest of the world as much in beauty 
 as they do in intelligence and virtue. I saw in one of the 
 carriages the wife of Alexander Dumas, the French author. 
 She is a large, fair-complexioned woman, and is now — from 
 what cause I know not — living apart from her husband. 
 
 The jockeys paced up and down the fields, preparing 
 their beautiful animals for the approaching heat, and as the 
 hour drew nigh the mounted dragoons busied themselves in 
 clearing the space. It was a one-mile course, to the end 
 of the lawn and back. At last the bugle sounded, and off 
 went three steeds like arrows let fly. They passed us, their 
 light limbs bounding over the turf, a beautiful dark-brown 
 taking the lead. We leaned over the railing and watched 
 them eagerly. The bell rang. They reached the other end ; 
 we saw them turn and come dashing back — nearer, nearer. 
 The crowd began to shout, and in a few seconds the brown 
 one had won it by four or five lengths. The fortunate horse 
 was led around in triumph, and I saw an English lady re- 
 markable for her betting propensities come out from the 
 crowd and kiss it in apparent delight. 
 
 After an interval three others took the field — all grace- 
 ful, spirited creatures. This was a more exciting race than 
 the first ; they flew past us nearly abreast, and the crowd 
 looked after them in anxiety. They cleared the course like 
 wild deer, and in a minute or two came back, the racer of 
 an English nobleman a short distance ahead. The jockey 
 threw up his hand in token of triumph as he approached 
 the goal, and the people cheered him. It was a beautiful 
 sight to see those noble animals stretching to the utmost of 
 their speed as they dashed down the grassy lawn. The 
 lucky one always showed by his proud and erect carriage 
 his consciousness of success. 
 
 Florence is fast becoming modernized. The introduction 
 of gas and the construction of the railroad to Pisa, which
 
 NATAL FESTIVITIES. 325 
 
 is nearly completed, will make sad havoc with the air of 
 poetry which still lingers in its silent streets. There is 
 scarcely a bridge, a tower or a street which is not connected 
 with some stirring association. In the Via San Felice, 
 Raphael used to paint when a boy ; near the Ponte Santa 
 Trinita stands Michael Angelo's house, with his pictures, 
 clothes and painting-implements just as he left it three cen- 
 turies ago ; on the south side of the Arno is the house of 
 Galileo, and that of Machiavelli stands in an avenue near 
 the ducal palace. While threading my way through some 
 dark, crooked streets in an unfrequented part of the city I 
 noticed an old untenanted house bearing a marble tablet 
 above the door. I drew near and read : " In this house of 
 the Alighieri was born the Divine Poet !" It was the birth- 
 place of Dante! 
 
 Nov. l. 
 
 Yesterday morning we were apprised of the safe arrival 
 of a new scion of the royal family in the world by the ring- 
 ing of the city bells. To-day, to celebrate the event, the 
 shops were closed, and the people made a holiday of it. 
 Merry chimes pealed out from every tower, and discharges 
 of cannon thundered up from the fortress. In the evening 
 the dome of the cathedral was illuminated, and the lines 
 of cupola, lantern and cross were traced in flame on the 
 dark sky, like a crown of burning stars dropped from 
 heaven on the holy pile. I went in and walked down the 
 aisle, listening for a while to the grand choral, while the 
 clustered tapers under the dome quivered and trembled as 
 if shaken by the waves of music which burst continually 
 within its lofty concave. 
 
 A few days ago Prince Corsini, prime minister of Tus- 
 cany, died at an advanced age. I saw his body brought in 
 solemn procession by night, with torches and tapers, to the 
 church of Santa Trinita. Soldiers followed with reversed 
 arms and muffled drums, the band playing a funeral march. 
 I forced myself through the crowd into the church, which
 
 326 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 was hung with black and gold, and listened to the long- 
 drawn chanting of the priests around the bier. 
 
 We lately visited the Florentine museum. Besides the 
 usual collection of objects of natural history, there is an 
 anatomical cabinet very celebrated for its preparations in 
 wax. All parts of the human frame are represented so 
 wonderfully exact that students of medicine pursue their 
 studies here in summer with the same facility as from real 
 " subjects." Every bone, muscle and nerve in the body is 
 perfectly counterfeited, the whole forming a collection as 
 curious as it is useful. One chamber is occupied with rep- 
 resentations of the plague of Rome, Milan and Florence. 
 They are executed with horrible truth to nature, but I re- 
 gretted afterward having seen them. There are enough 
 forms of beauty and delight in the world on which to em- 
 ploy the eye, without making it familiar with scenes which 
 can only be remembered with a shudder. 
 
 We derive much pleasure from the society of the Ameri- 
 can artists who are now residing in Florence. At the 
 houses of Powers and Brown, the painter, we spend many 
 delightful evenings in the company of our gifted country- 
 men. They are drawn together by a kindred social feeling 
 as well as by their mutual aims, and form among them- 
 selves a society so unrestrained, American-like, that the 
 traveller who meets them forgets his absence for a time. 
 These noble representatives of our country, all of whom 
 possess the true, inborn spirit of republicanism, have made 
 the American name known and respected in Florence. 
 Powers especially, who is intimate with many of the prin- 
 cipal Italian families, is universally esteemed. The grand 
 duke has more than once visited his studio and expressed 
 the highest admiration of his talents.
 
 IBEAHIM PACHA. 327 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 AMERICAN ART IN FLORENCE. 
 
 I have seen Ibrahim Pacha, the son of old Mehemet Ali, 
 driving in his carriage through the streets. He is here on 
 a visit from Lucca, where he has been spending some time 
 on account of his health. He is a man of apparently fifty 
 years of age ; his countenance wears a stern and almost 
 savage look very consistent with the character he bears and 
 the political part he has played. He is rather portly in 
 person, the pale olive of his complexion contrasting strongly 
 with a beard perfectly white. In common with all his at- 
 tendants, he wears the high red cap, picturescpie blue tunic 
 and narrow trowsers of the Egyptians. There is scarcely 
 a man of them whose face, with its wild Oriental beauty, 
 does not show to advantage among us civilized and prosaic 
 Christians. 
 
 In Florence— and, indeed, through all Italy — there is 
 much reason for our country to be proud of the high stand 
 her artists are taking. The sons of our rude Western 
 clime, brought up without other resources than their own 
 genius and energy, now fairly rival those who from their 
 cradle upward have drawn inspiration and ambition from 
 the glorious masterpieces of the old painters and sculptors. 
 Wherever our artists are known, they never fail to create a 
 respect for American talent, and to dissipate the false no- 
 tions respecting our cultivation and refinement which pre- 
 vail in Europe. There are now eight or ten of our painters 
 and sculptors in Florence, some of whom, I do not hesitate 
 to say, take the very first rank among living artists. 
 
 I have been highly gratified in visiting the studio of Mr. 
 G. L. Brown, who as a landscape-painter is destined to 
 take a stand second to few since the days of Claude Lor- 
 raine. He is now without a rival in Florence, or perhaps
 
 328 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 in Italy, and has youth, genius and a plentiful stock of the 
 true poetic enthusiasm for his art to work for him far 
 greater triumphs. His Italian landscapes have that golden 
 mellowness and transparency of atmosphere which give 
 such a charm to the real scenes, and one would think he 
 used on his palette, in addition to the more substantial col- 
 ors, condensed air and sunlight and the liquid crystal of 
 streams. He has wooed Nature like a lover, and she has 
 not withheld her sympathy. She has taught him how to 
 raise and curve her trees, load their boughs with foliage 
 and spread underneath them the broad, cool shadows — to 
 pile up the shattered crag and steep the long mountain- 
 range in the haze of alluring distance. 
 
 He has now nearly finished a large painting of " Christ 
 Preaching in the Wilderness," which is of surprising beauty. 
 You look upon one of the fairest scenes of Judea. In front 
 the rude multitude are grouped on one side in the edge of 
 a magnificent forest ; on the other side towers up a rough 
 wall of rock and foliage that stretches back into the dis- 
 tance, where some grand blue mountains are piled against 
 the sky, and a beautiful stream, winding through the mid- 
 dle of the picture, slides away out of the foreground. Just 
 emerging from the shade of one of the cliffs is the benign 
 figure of the Saviour, with the warm light which breaks 
 from behind the trees falling around him as he advances. 
 There is a smaller picture of the " Shipwreck of St. Paul," 
 in which he shows equal skill in painting a troubled sea and 
 breaking storm. He is one of the young artists from whom 
 we have most to hope. 
 
 I have been extremely interested in looking over a great 
 number of sketches made by Mr. Kellogg of Cincinnati 
 during a tour through Egypt, Arabia Petra and Palestine. 
 He visited many places out of the general route of travel- 
 lers, and, besides the great number of landscape views, 
 brought away many sketches of the characters and costumes 
 of the Orient. From some of these he has commenced paint-
 
 AMEEICAN ARTISTS. 329 
 
 ings which, as his genius is equal to his practice, will be of 
 no ordinary value. Indeed, some of these must give him at 
 once an established reputation in America. In Constanti- 
 nople, where he resided several months, he enjoyed peculiar 
 advantages for the exercise of his art through the favor and 
 influence of Mr. Carr, the American, and Sir Stratford 
 Canning, the British, minister. I saw a splendid diamond 
 cup, presented to him by Riza Pacha, the late grand vizier. 
 The sketches he brought from thence and from the valleys 
 of Phrygia and the mountain-solitudes of old Olympus are 
 of great interest and value. Among his later paintings I 
 might mention an angel whose countenance beams with a 
 rapt and glorious beauty. A divine light shines through 
 all the features and heightens the glow of adoration to an 
 expression all spiritual and immortal. If Mr. Kellogg 
 will give us a few more of these heavenly conceptions, 
 we will place him on a pedestal little lower than that of 
 Guido. 
 
 Greenough, who has been some time in Germany, returned 
 lately to Florence, where he has a colossal group in progress 
 for the portico of the Capitol. I have seen part of it, Avhich 
 is nearly finished in the marble. It shows a backwoodsman 
 just triumphing in the struggle with an Indian ; another 
 group, to be added, will represent the wife and child of the 
 former. The colossal size of the statues gives a grandeur 
 to the action, as if it were a combat of Titans ; there is a 
 consciousness of power, an expression of lofty disdain, in the 
 expansion of the hunter's nostril and the proud curve of his 
 lip, that might become a god. The spirit of action, of 
 breathing, life-like exertion, so much more difficult to infuse 
 into the marble than that of repose, is perfectly attained. I 
 will not enter into a more particular description, as it will 
 probably be sent to the United States in a year or two. It 
 is a magnificent work — the best, unquestionably, that 
 Greenough has yet made. The subject, and the grandeur 
 he has given it in the execution, will insure it a much more
 
 330 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 favorable reception than a false taste gave to his Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 Mr. C. B. Ives, a young sculptor from Connecticut, has 
 not disappointed the high promise he gave before leaving 
 home. I was struck with some of his busts in Philadelphia 
 — particularly those of Mrs. Sigourney and Joseph R. 
 Chandler — and it has been no common pleasure to visit his 
 studio here in Florence and look on some of his ideal works. 
 He has lately made two models which, when finished in 
 marble, will be works of great beauty. They will contribute 
 greatly to his reputation here and in America. One of 
 these represents a child of four or five years of age holding 
 in his hand a dead bird on which he is gazing with childish 
 grief and wonder that it is so still and- drooping. It is a 
 beautiful thought. The boy is leaning forward as he sits, 
 holding the lifeless playmate close in his hands, his sadness 
 touched with a vague expression, as if he could not yet 
 comprehend the idea of death. 
 
 The other is of equal excellence, in a different style ; it is 
 a bust of Jephthah's daughter when the consciousness of her 
 doom first flashes upon her. The face and bust are beauti- 
 ful with the bloom of perfect girlhood. A simple robe covers 
 her breast, and her rich hair is gathered up behind and 
 bound with a slender fillet. Her head, of the pure, classical 
 mould, is bent forward as if weighed down by the shock, and 
 there is a heavy drooping in the mouth and eyelids that de- 
 notes a sudden and sickening agony. It is not a violent, 
 passionate grief, but a deep and almost paralyzing emotion — 
 a shock from which the soul will finally rebound strength- 
 ened to make the sacrifice. 
 
 Would it not be better for some scores of our rich mer- 
 chants to lay out their money on statues and pictures, in- 
 stead of balls and spendthrift sons? A few such expendi- 
 tures, properly directed, would do much for the advance- 
 ment of the fine arts. An occasional golden blessing be- 
 stowed on genius might be returned on the giver in the
 
 POWERS. 331 
 
 fame he had assisted in creating. There seems, however, to 
 be at present a rapid increase in refined taste and a better 
 appreciation of artistic talent in our country, and, as an 
 American, nothing has made me feel prouder than this, and 
 the steadily increasing reputation of our artists. 
 
 Of these, no one has done more within the last few years 
 than Powers. With a tireless and persevering energy such 
 as could have belonged to but few Americans he has al- 
 ready gained a name in his art that posterity will pronounce 
 in the same breath with Phidias, Michael Angelo and Thor- 
 waldsen. I cannot describe the enjoyment I have derived 
 from looking at his matchless works. I should hesitate in 
 giving my own imperfect judgment of their excellence if I 
 had not found it to coincide with that of many others who 
 are better versed in the rules of art. The sensation which 
 his " Greek Slave " produced in England has doubtless ere 
 this been breezed across the Atlantic, and I see by the late 
 American papers that they are growing familiar with his 
 fame. When I read a notice, seven or eight years ago, of 
 the young sculptor of Cincinnati whose busts exhibited so 
 much evidence of genius, I little dreamed I should meet 
 him in Florence with the experience of years of toil added 
 to his early enthusiasm and every day increasing his re- 
 nown. 
 
 You would like to hear of his statue of Eve, which men 
 of taste pronounce one of the finest works of modern times. 
 A more perfect figure never filled my eye. I have seen the 
 masterpieces of Thorwaldsen, Dannecker and Canova, and 
 the Venus de Medici, but I have seen nothing yet that can 
 exceed the beauty of this glorious statue. So completely did 
 the first view excite my surprise and delight and thrill every 
 feeling that awakes at the sight of the Beautiful that my 
 mind dwelt intensely on it for days afterward. This is the 
 Eve of Scripture, the Eve of Milton— mother of mankind 
 and fairest of all her race. With the full and majestic 
 beauty of ripened womanhood, she wears the purity of a
 
 332 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 world as yet unknown to sin ; with the bearing of a queen, 
 there is in her countenance the softness and grace of a ten- 
 der, loving woman. 
 
 " God-like erect, with native honor clad 
 In naked majesty," 
 
 she holds the fatal fruit extended in her hand, and her face 
 expresses the struggle between conscience, dread and desire. 
 The serpent, whose coiled length under the leaves and flow- 
 ers entirely surrounds her, thus forming a beautiful alle- 
 gorical symbol, is watching her decision from an ivied trunk 
 at her side. Her form is said to be fully as perfect as the 
 Venus de Medici, and, from its greater size, has an air of 
 conscious and ennobling dignity. The head is far superior 
 in beauty, and soul speaks from every feature of the coun- 
 tenance. I add a few stanzas which the contemplation of 
 this statue called forth. Though unworthy the subject, 
 they may perhaps faintly shadow the sentiment which Pow- 
 ers has so eloquently embodied in marble : 
 
 THE "EVE" OF POWERS. 
 
 A faultless being from the marble sprung, 
 
 She stands in beauty there, 
 As when the grace of Eden 'round her clung, 
 
 Fairest where all was fair. 
 Pine as when first from God's creating hand 
 
 She came on man to shine, 
 So seems she now in living stone to stand — 
 
 A mortal, yet divine ! 
 
 The spark the Grecian from Olympus caught 
 
 Left not a loftier trace ; 
 The daring of the sculptor's hand lias wrought 
 
 A soul in that sweet face. 
 He won, as well, the sacred fire from heaven — 
 
 God-sent, not stolen down — 
 And no Promethean doom for him is given, 
 
 But ages of renown.
 
 THE "EVE" OF POWERS. 333 
 
 The soul of beauty breathes around that form 
 
 A more enchanting spell ; 
 There blooms each virgin grace ere yet the storm 
 
 On blighted Eden fell. 
 The first desire upon her lovely brow 
 
 Raised by an evil power, 
 Doubt, longing, dread, are in her features now : 
 
 It is the trial-hour. 
 
 How every thought that strives within her breast 
 
 In that one glance is shown ! 
 Say! Can that heart of marble be at rest, 
 
 Since spirit warms the stone? 
 Will not those limbs of so divine a mould 
 
 Move when her thought is o'er — 
 When she has yielded to the tempter's hold 
 
 And Eden blooms no more? 
 
 Art like a phoenix springs from dust again : 
 
 She cannot pass away ; 
 Bound down in gloom, she breaks apart the chain 
 
 And struggles up to day. 
 The flame first kindled in the ages gone 
 
 Has never ceased to burn, 
 And westward now appears the kindling dawn 
 
 Which marks the day's return. 
 
 The " Greek Slave " is now in the possession of Mr. Grant 
 of London, and I only saw the clay model. Like the Eve, 
 it is a form that one's eye tells him is perfect — unsurpassed; 
 but it is the budding loveliness of a girl instead of the per- 
 fected beauty of a woman. In England it has been pro- 
 nounced superior to Canova's works, and, indeed, I have 
 seen nothing of his that could be placed beside it. 
 
 Powers has now nearly finished a most exquisite figure 
 of a fisher-boy standing on the shore with his net and rud- 
 der in one hand, while with the other he holds a shell to 
 his ear and listens if it murmur to him of a gathering 
 storm. His slight boyish limbs are full of grace and deli- 
 cacy ; you feel that the youthful frame could grow up into
 
 334 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 nothing less than an Apollo. Then the head ! How beau- 
 tiful ! Slightly bent on one side, with the rim of the shell 
 thrust under his locks, lips gently parted and the face 
 wrought up to the most hushed and breathless expression, 
 he listens whether the sound be deeper than its wont. It 
 makes you hold your breath and listen to look at it. Mrs. 
 Jameson somewhere remarks that repose or suspended mo- 
 tion should be always chosen for a statue that shall present 
 a perfect, unbroken impression to the mind. If this be 
 true, the enjoyment must be much more complete where not 
 only the motion but almost breath and thought are sus- 
 pended and all the faculties wrought into one hushed and 
 intense sensation. In gazing on this exquisite conception I 
 feel my admiration filled to the utmost without that pain- 
 ful, aching impression so often left by beautiful works. It 
 glides into my vision like a form long missed from the gal- 
 lery of beauty I am forming in my mind, and I gaze on it 
 with an ever-new and increasing delight. 
 
 Now I come to the last and fairest of all— the divine 
 Proserpine. Not the form— for it is but a bust rising from 
 a capital of acanthus-leaves which curve around the breast 
 and arms and turn gracefully outward— but the face, whose 
 modest maiden beauty can find no peer among goddesses or 
 mortals. So looked she on the field of Enna? — that " fairer 
 flower " so soon to be gathered by " gloomy Dis." A slen- 
 der crown of green wheat-blades, showing alike her descent 
 from Ceres and her virgin years, circles her head. Truly, 
 if Pygmalion stole his fire to warm such a form as this. 
 Jove should have pardoned him. 
 
 Of Powers's busts it is unnecessary for me to speak. He 
 has lately finished a very beautiful one of the princess 
 Demidoff, daughter of Jerome Bonaparte. We will soon, 
 I hope, have the " Eve " in America. Powers has gener- 
 ously refused many advantageous offers for it, that he might 
 finally send it home, and his country, therefore, will possess 
 this statue — his first ideal work. She may well be prou<7
 
 VIEW OF THE ALPS. 335 
 
 of the genius and native energy of her young artist, and 
 she should repay them by a just and liberal encouragement. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE ON THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. —WALKS 
 
 AROUND FLORENCE. 
 
 Nov. 9. 
 
 A few days ago I received a letter from my cousin at 
 Heidelberg describing his solitary walk from Genoa over 
 the Alps and through the western part of Switzerland. 
 The news of his safe arrival dissipated the anxiety we were 
 beginning to feel on account of his long silence, while it 
 proved that our fears concerning the danger of such a jour- 
 ney were not altogether groundless. He met with a start- 
 ling adventure on the Great St. Bernard, which will be best 
 described by an extract from his own letter : 
 
 " Such were my impressions of Rome. But, leaving the 
 ' Eternal City,' I must hasten on to give you a description 
 of an adventure I met with in crossing the Alps, omitting 
 for the present an account of the trip from Rome to Genoa 
 and my lonely walk through Sardinia. 
 
 " When I had crossed the mountain-range north of 
 Genoa, the plains of Piedmont stretched out before me. 
 I could see the snowy sides and summits of the Alps, more 
 than one hundred miles distant, looking like white, fleecy 
 clouds on a summer day. It was a magnificent prospect, 
 and I wonder not that the heart of the Swiss soldier, after 
 years of absence in foreign service, beats with joy when he 
 again looks on his native mountains. As I approached 
 nearer the weather changed, and dark, gloomy clouds en- 
 veloped them ; so that they seemed to present an impassable 
 barrier to the lands beyond them. At Ivrea, I entered 
 the interesting valley of Aosta. The whole valley— fifty
 
 336 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 miles in length — is inhabited by miserable-looking people, 
 nearly one-half of them being afflicted with goitre and 
 cretinism. They looked more idiotic and disgusting than 
 any I have ever seen, and it was really painful to behold 
 such miserable specimens of humanity dwelling amid the 
 grandest scenes of nature. Immediately after arriving in 
 the town of Aosta, situated at the upper end of the valley, 
 I began, alone, the ascent of the Great St. Bernard. It 
 was just noon, and the clouds on the mountains indicated 
 rain. The distance from Aosta to the monastery or hospice 
 of St. Bernard is about twenty English miles. 
 
 "At one o'clock it commenced raining very hard, and to 
 gain shelter I went into a rude hut ; but it was filled with 
 so many of those idiotic cretins, lying down on the earthy 
 floor with the dogs and other animals, that I was glad to 
 leave them as soon as the storm had abated in some degree. 
 I walked rapidly for three hours, when I met a traveller 
 and his guide descending the mountain. I asked him in 
 Italian the distance to the hospice, and he undertook to an- 
 swer me in French, but the words did not seem to flow very 
 fluently ; so I said quickly, observing then that he was an 
 Englishman, " Try some other language, if you please, sir." 
 He replied instantly in his vernacular : " You have a d — d 
 long walk before you, and you'll have to hurry to get to 
 the top before night." Thanking him, we shook hands and 
 hurried on — he downward, and I upward. About eight 
 miles from the summit I was directed into the wrong path 
 by an ignorant boy who was tending sheep, and went a mile 
 out of the course, toward Mont Blanc, before I discovered 
 my mistake. I hurried back into the right path again, and 
 soon overtook another boy ascending the mountain, who 
 asked me if he might accompany me, as he was alone, to 
 which I, of course, answered yes ; but when we began to 
 enter the thick clouds that covered the mountains, he be- 
 came alarmed, and said he would go no farther. I tried to 
 encourage him by saying we had only five miles more to
 
 ASTRAY IN THE SOLITUDES. 337 
 
 climb, but, turning quickly, he ran down the path and was 
 soon out of sight. 
 
 "After a long and most toilsome ascent, spurred on as I 
 was by the storm and the approach of night, I saw at last 
 through the clouds a little house which I supposed might 
 be a part of the monastery, but it turned out to be only a 
 house of refuge erected by the monks to take in travellers 
 in extreme cases or extraordinary danger. The man who 
 was staying there told me the monastery was a mile and a 
 half farther, and thinking, therefore, that I could soon 
 reach it, I started out again, although darkness was ap- 
 proaching. In a short time the storm began in good earn- 
 est, and the cold winds blew with the greatest fury. It grew 
 dark very suddenly, and I lost sight of the poles which are 
 placed along the path to guide the traveller. I then ran 
 on still higher, hoping to find them again, but without suc- 
 cess. The rain and snow fell thick, and, although I think 
 I am tolerably courageous, I began to be alarmed, for it 
 was impossible to know in what direction I was going. I 
 could hear the waterfalls dashing and roaring down the 
 mountain-hollows on each side of me ; in the gloom the 
 foam and leaping waters resembled streaming fires. I thought 
 of turning back to find the little house of refuge again, but 
 it seemed quite as dangerous and uncertain as to go forward. 
 After the fatigue I had undergone since noon, it would have 
 been dangerous to be obliged to stay out all night in the 
 driving storm, which was every minute increasing in cold- 
 ness and intensity. 
 
 " I stopped and shouted aloud, hoping I might be some- 
 where near the monastery, but no answer came, no noise 
 except the storm and the roar of the waterfalls. I climbed 
 up the rocks nearly a quarter of a mile higher, and shouted 
 again. I listened with anxiety for two or three minutes, 
 but, hearing no response, I concluded to find a shelter for 
 the night under a ledge of rocks. While looking around 
 me I fancied I heard in the distance a noise like the tramp- 
 22
 
 338 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 ling of hoofs over the rocks, and, thinking travellers might 
 be near, I called aloud for the third time. After waiting a 
 moment, a voice came ringing on my ears through the clouds, 
 like one from heaven in response to my own. My heart 
 beat quickly. I hurried in the direction from which the 
 sound came, and to my joy found two men-servants of the 
 monastery who were driving their mules into shelter. Never 
 in my whole life was I more glad to hear the voice of man. 
 These men conducted me to the monastery, one-fourth of a 
 mile higher, built by the side of a lake at the summit of 
 the pass, while on each side the mountains, for ever covered 
 with snow, tower some thousands of feet higher. 
 
 " Two or three of the noble St. Bernard dogs barked a 
 welcome as we approached, which brought a young monk 
 to the door. I addressed him in German, but, to my sur- 
 prise, he answered in broken English. He took me into a 
 warm room and gave me a suit of clothes such as are worn 
 by the monks, for my dress, as well as my package of pa- 
 pers, was completely saturated with rain. I sat down to 
 supper in company with all the monks of the hospice, I, in 
 my monkish robe, looking like one of the holy order. You 
 would have laughed to have seen me in their costume. In- 
 deed, I felt almost satisfied to turn monk, as everything 
 seemed so comfortable in the warm supper-room, with its 
 blazing wood-fire, while outside raged the storm still more 
 violently. But when I thought of their voluntary banish- 
 ment from the world, up in that high pass of the Alps, and 
 that the affection of woman never gladdened their hearts, I 
 was ready to renounce my monkish dress next morning with- 
 out reluctance. 
 
 "In the address-book of the monastery I found Long- 
 fellow's ' Excelsior ' written on a piece of paper and signed 
 'America.' You remember the stanza, 
 
 ' At break of day, as heavenward 
 The pious monks of St. Bernard
 
 THE TOGGIE IMPEKIALE. 339 
 
 Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
 A voice cried through the startled air, 
 
 Excelsior !' 
 
 It seemed to add a tenfold interest to the poem to read it 
 on old St. Bernard. In the morning I visited the house 
 where are kept the bodies of the travellers who perish in 
 crossing the mountain. It is filled with corpses ranged in 
 rows and looking like mummies, for the . cold is so intense 
 that they will keep for years without decaying, and are 
 often recognized and removed by their friends. 
 
 " Of my descent to Martigny, my walk down the Rhone 
 and along the shores of Lake Leman, my visit to the 
 prison of Chillon and other wanderings across Switzerland, 
 my pleasure in seeing the old river Rhine again, and my 
 return to Heidelberg at night with the bright moon shining 
 on the Neckar and the old ruined castle, I can now say no 
 more, nor is it necessary ; for are not all these things ' writ- 
 ten in my book of Chronicles,' to be seen by you when we 
 meet again in Paris ? 
 
 " Ever yours, Frank.' 
 
 j> 
 
 Dec. 16. 
 I took a walk lately to the tower of Galileo. In com- 
 pany with three friends, I left Florence by the Porta 
 Romana, and ascended the Poggie Imperiale. This beau- 
 tiful avenue, a mile and a quarter in length, leading up a 
 gradual ascent to a villa of the grand duke, is bordered 
 with splendid cypresses and evergreen oaks, and the grass- 
 banks are always fresh and green ; so that even in winter 
 it calls up a remembrance of summer. In fact, Winter 
 does not wear the scowl here that he has at home ; he is 
 robed rather in a threadbare garment of autumn, and it is 
 only high up on the mountain-tops, out of the reach of his 
 enemy the sun, that he dares to throw it off and bluster 
 about with his storms and scatter down his snowflakes.
 
 340 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 The roses still bud and bloom in the hedges, the emerald 
 of the meadows is not a whit paler, the sun looks down 
 lovingly as yet, and there are only the white helmets of 
 some of the Apennines, with the leafless mulberries and 
 vines, to tell us that we have changed seasons. 
 
 A quarter of an hour's walk, part of it by a path through 
 an olive-orchard, brought us to the top of a hill which was 
 surmounted by a square broken ivied tower forming 
 part of a store-house for the produce of the estate. We 
 entered, saluted by a dog, and, passing through a court- 
 yard in which stood two or three carts full of brown olives, 
 found our way to the rickety staircase. I spared my sen- 
 timent in going up, thinking the steps might have been re- 
 newed since Galileo's time, but the glorious landscape 
 which opened around us when we reached the top time 
 could not change, and I gazed upon it with interest and 
 emotion as my eye took in those forms which had once 
 been mirrored in the philosopher's. Let me endeavor to 
 describe the features of the scene. 
 
 Fancy yourself lifted to the summit of a high hill whose 
 base slopes down to the valley of the Arno and looking 
 northward. Behind you is a confusion of hill and valley, 
 growing gradually dimmer away to the horizon. Before and 
 below you is a vale with Florence and her great domes and 
 towers in its lap, and across its breadth of five miles the 
 mountain of Fiesole. To the west it stretches away un- 
 broken for twenty miles, covered thickly with white villas, 
 like a meadow of daisies magnified. A few miles to the 
 east the plain is rounded with mountains between whose in- 
 terlocking bases we can see the brown current of the Arno. 
 Some of their peaks, as well as the mountain of Vallom- 
 brosa, along the eastern sky, are tipped with snow. 
 Imagine the air filled with a thick blue mist like a semi- 
 transparent veil, which softens everything into dreamy in- 
 distinctness, the sunshine falling slantingly through this in 
 snots, touching the landscape here and there as with a sud-
 
 AN UNREAL SCENE. 341 
 
 den blaze of fire, and you will complete the picture. Does 
 it not repay your mental flight across the Atlantic? 
 
 One evening, on coming out of the cafe, the moon was 
 shining so brightly and clearly that I involuntarily bent my 
 steps toward the river. I walked along the Lung' Arno, 
 enjoying the heavenly moonlight — " the night of cloudless 
 climes and starry skies." A purer silver light never kissed 
 the brow of Endymion. The brown Arno took into his 
 breast " the redundant glory," and rolled down his pebbly 
 bed with a more musical ripple. Opposite stretched the 
 long mass of buildings ; the deep arches that rose from the 
 water were filled with black shadow and the irregular fronts 
 of the houses touched with a mellow glow. The arches of 
 the upper bridge were in shadow, cutting their 'dark out- 
 line on the silvery sweep of the Apennines, far up the 
 stream. A veil of luminous gray covered the hill of San 
 Miniato, with its towers and cypress groves, and there was 
 a crystal depth in the atmosphere, as if it shone with its 
 own light. The Avhole scene affected me as something too 
 glorious to be real — painful from the very intensity of its 
 beauty. Three moons ago, at the foot of Vallombrosa, I 
 saw the Apennines flooded with the same silvery gush, and 
 thought also then that I had seen the same moon amid far 
 dearer scenes, but never before the same dreamy and sub- 
 lime glory showered down from her pale orb. Some solitary 
 lights were burning along the river, and occasionally a few 
 Italians passed by wrapped in their mantles. I went home 
 to the Piazza del Granduca as the light pouring into the 
 square from behind the old palace fell over the fountain of 
 Neptune and sheathed in silver the back of the colossal 
 god. 
 
 Whoever looks on the valley of the Arno from San Min- 
 iato and observes the Apennine range — of which Fiesole 
 is one — bounding it on the north, will immediately notice 
 to the north-west a double peak rising high above all the 
 others. The bare brown forehead of this — known by the
 
 342 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 name of Monte Morello — seemed so provokingly to chal- 
 lenge an ascent that we determined to try it. So we started 
 early the day before yesterday from the Porta San Gallo, 
 with nothing but the frosty grass and fresh air to remind 
 us of the middle of December. Leaving the Prato road, at 
 the base of the mountain, we passed Carreggi, a favorite 
 farm of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and entered a narrow glen 
 where a little brook was brawling down its rocky channel. 
 Here and there stood a rustic mill near which women were 
 busy spreading their washed clothes on the grass. Follow- 
 ing the footpath, we ascended a long eminence to a chapel 
 where some boys were amusing themselves with a common 
 country game. They have a small wheel, around which 
 they wind a rope, and, running a little distance to increase 
 the velocity, let it off with a sudden jerk. On a level road 
 it can be thrown upward of a quarter of a mile. 
 
 From the chapel a gradual ascent along the ridge of a 
 hill brought us to the foot of the peak, which rose high be- 
 fore us, covered with bare rocks and stunted oaks. The 
 wind blew coldly from a snowy range to the north as we 
 commenced ascending with a good will. A few shepherds 
 were leading their flocks along the sides to browse on the 
 grass and withered bushes, and we started up a large hare 
 occasionally from his leafy covert. The ascent was very 
 toilsome ; I was obliged to stop frequently on account of 
 the painful throbbing of my heart which made it difficult to 
 breathe. When the summit was gained, we lay down a 
 while on the leeward side to recover ourselves. 
 
 We looked on the great valley of the Arno, perhaps 
 twenty-five miles long and five or six broad, lying like a 
 long elliptical basin sunk among the hills. I can liken it 
 to nothing but a vast sea, for a dense blue mist covered the 
 level surface, through which the domes of Florence rose up 
 like a craggy island, while the thousands of scattered villas 
 resembled ships with spread sails afloat on its surface. The 
 sharp, cutting wind soon drove us down with a few hundred
 
 PAINFUL EMOTIONS. 343 
 
 bounds to the path again. Three more hungry mortals did 
 not dine at the cacciatore that day. 
 
 The chapel of the Medici, which we visited, is of wonder- 
 ful beauty. The walls are entirely encrusted with pietra 
 dura and the most precious kinds of marble. The ceiling 
 is covered with gorgeous frescos by Benevenuto, a modern 
 painter. Around the sides, in magnificent sarcophagi of 
 marble and jasper, repose the ashes of a few Cosmos and 
 Ferdinands. I asked the sacristan for the tomb of Lorenzo 
 the Magnificent. " Ob !" said he, " he lived during the re- 
 public. He has no tomb ; these are only for dukes." I 
 could not repress a sigh at the lavish waste of labor and 
 treasure on this one princely chapel. They might have 
 slumbered unnoted, like Lorenzo, if they had done as much 
 
 for their country and Italy. 
 
 Dec. 19. 
 
 It is with a heavy heart that I sit down to-night to make 
 my closing note in this lovely city, and in the journal which 
 has recorded my thoughts and impressions since leaving 
 America. I should find it difficult to analyze my emotions, 
 but I know that they oppress me painfully. So much 
 rushes at once over the mind and heart — memories of what 
 has passed through both since I made the first note in its 
 pages, alternations of hope and anxiety and aspiration, but 
 never despondency — that it resembles, in a manner, the 
 closing of a life. I seem almost to have lived through the 
 common term of a life in this short period. Much spiritual 
 and mental experience has crowded into a short time the 
 sensations of years. Painful though some of it has been, it 
 was still welcome. Difficulty and toil give the soul strength 
 to crush in a loftier region the passions which draw strength 
 only from the earth. So long as we listen to the purer prompt- 
 ings within us there is a Power invisible, though not unfelt, 
 who protects us ; amid the toil and tumult and soiling strug- 
 gle there is ever an eye that watches, ever a heart that 
 overflows with infinite and almighty love. Let us trust,
 
 344 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 then, in that eternal Spirit who pours out on us his warm 
 and boundless blessings through the channels of so many 
 kindred human hearts. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 WINTER-TRAVELLING AMONG THE APENNINES. 
 
 Valley of the Arno, Dec. 22. 
 
 It is a glorious morning after our two days' walk through 
 rain and mud among these stormy Apennines. The range 
 of high peaks among which is the celebrated monastery of 
 Camaldoli lie just before us, their summits dazzling with 
 the new-fallen snow. The clouds are breaking away, and 
 a few rosy flushes announce the approach of the sun. It 
 has rained during the night, and the fields are as green and 
 fresh as on a morning in spring. 
 
 We left Florence on the 20th while citizens and strangers 
 were vainly striving to catch a glimpse of the emperor of 
 Russia. He is, from some cause, very shy of being seen in 
 his journeys from place to place, using the greatest art and 
 diligence to prevent the time of his departure and arrival 
 from being known. On taking leave of Powers, I found 
 him expecting the autocrat, as he had signified his intention 
 of visiting his studio ; it was a cause of patriotic pride to 
 find that crowned heads know and appreciate the genius of 
 our sculptor. 
 
 The sky did not promise much as we set out ; when we 
 had entered the Apennines and taken a last look of the 
 lovely valley behind us and the great dome of the city 
 where we had spent four delightful months, it began to rain 
 heavily. Determined to conquer the weather at the begin- 
 ning, we kept on, although before many miles were passed 
 it became too penetrating to be agreeable. The mountains
 
 OBJECTS OF CURIOSITY. 345 
 
 grew nearly black under the shadow of the clouds, and the 
 storms swept drearily down their passes and defiles, till the 
 scenery looked more like the Hartz than Italy. We were 
 obliged to stop at Ponte Sieve and dry our saturated gar- 
 ments, when, as the rain slackened somewhat, we rounded 
 the foot of the mountain of Vallombrosa, above the swollen 
 and noisy Arno, to the little village of Cucina. 
 
 We entered the only inn in the place followed by a crowd 
 of wondering boys, for two such travellers had probably 
 never been seen there. They made a blazing fire for us in 
 the broad chimney, and after the police of the place satis- 
 fied themselves that we were not dangerous characters they 
 asked many questions about our country. I excited the 
 sympathy of the women greatly in our behalf by telling 
 them we had three thousand miles of sea between us and 
 our homes. They exclaimed in the most sympathizing 
 tones, "Poverini ! so far to go ! Three thousand miles of 
 water !" 
 
 The next morning we followed the right bank of the Arno. 
 At Incisa, a large town on the river, the narrow pass broad- 
 ens into a large and fertile plain bordered on the north by 
 the mountains. The snow-storms were sweeping around 
 their summits the whole day, and I thought of the desolate 
 situation of the good monks who had so hospitably enter- 
 tained us three months before. It was weary travelling, 
 but at Levane our fatigues were soon forgotten. Two or 
 three peasants were sitting last night beside the blazing fire, 
 and we were amused to hear them talking about us. I over- 
 heard one asking another to converse with us a while. 
 " Why should I speak to them ?" said he. " They are not 
 of our profession. We are swineherds, and they do not care 
 to talk with us." However, his curiosity prevailed at last, 
 and we had a long conversation together. It seemed diffi- 
 cult for them to comprehend how there could be so much 
 water to cross, without any land, before reaching our coun- 
 try. Finding we were going to Rome, I overheard one re-
 
 346 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 mark we were pilgrims, which seemed to be the general sup- 
 position, as there are few foot-travellers in Italy. The peo- 
 ple said to one another as we passed along the road, " They 
 are making a journey of penance." These peasants ex- 
 pressed themselves very well for persons of their station, 
 but they were remarkably ignorant of everything beyond 
 their own olive-orchards and vine-fields. 
 
 Perugia, Dec. 24. 
 On leaving Levane the morning gave a promise and the 
 sun winked at us once or twice through the broken clouds 
 with a watery eye, but our cup was not yet full. After cross- 
 ing one or two shoulders of the range of hills, we descended 
 to the great upland plain of Central Italy, watered by the 
 sources of the Arno and the Tiber. The scenery is of a 
 remarkable character. The hills appear to have been 
 washed and swept by some mighty flood. They are worn 
 into every shape — pyramids, castles, towers — standing deso- 
 late and brown in long ranges, like the ruins of mountains. 
 The plain is scarred with deep gullies, adding to the look of 
 decay which accords so well with the Cyclopean relics of 
 the country. 
 
 A storm of hail which rolled away before us disclosed the 
 city of Arezzo on a hill at the other end of the plain, its 
 heavy cathedral crowning the pyramidal mass of buildings. 
 Our first care was to find a good trattoria, for hunger spoke 
 louder than sentiment, and then we sought the house where 
 Petrarch was born. A young priest showed it to us, on the 
 summit of the hill. It has not been changed since he lived 
 in it. 
 
 On leaving Florence we determined to pursue the same 
 plan as in Germany, of stopping at the inns frequented by 
 the common people. They treated us here, as elsewhere, 
 with great kindness and sympathy, and we were freed from 
 the outrageous impositions practised at the greater hotels. 
 They always built a large fire to dry us after our day's walk
 
 AT CORTONA. 347 
 
 in the rain, and, placing chairs in the hearth, which was 
 raised several feet above the floor, stationed ns there, like the 
 giants Gog and Magog, while the children, assembled below, 
 gazed up in open-mouthed wonder at our elevated greatness. 
 They even invited us to share their simple meals with them, 
 and it was amusing to hear their good-hearted exclamations 
 of pity at finding we were so far from home. We slept in 
 the great beds (for the most of the Italian beds are calcu- 
 lated for a man, wife and four children) without fear of be- 
 ing assassinated, and only met with banditti in dreams. 
 
 This is a very unfavorable time of the year for foot-trav- 
 elling. We were obliged to wait three or four weeks in 
 Florence for a remittance from America, which not only 
 prevented our leaving as soon as was desirable, but by the 
 additional expense of living left us much smaller means 
 than we required. However, through the kindness of 
 a generous countrymau who unhesitatingly loaned us a 
 considerable sum, we were enabled to start with thirty dol- 
 lars each, which with care and economy will be quite suffi- 
 cient to take us to Paris by way of Rome and Naples, if 
 these storms do not prevent us from walking. Greece and 
 the Orient, which I so ardently hoped to visit, are now out 
 of the question. We walked till noon to-day over the Val 
 di Chiana to Camuscia, the last post-station in the Tuscan 
 dominions. On a mountain near it is the city of Cortona, 
 still enclosed within its cyclopean walls, built long before 
 the foundation of Rome. Here our patience gave way, 
 melted down by the unremitting rains, and while eating 
 dinner we made a bargain for a vehicle to bring us to this 
 city. We gave a little more than half of what the vetturino 
 demanded, which was still an exorbitant price — two scudi 
 each for a ride of thirty miles. 
 
 In a short time we were called to take our scats. I be- 
 held with consternation a rickety, uncovered, two-wheeled 
 vehicle to which a single lean horse was attached. "What !" 
 said I ; "is that the carriage you promised ?" — " You bar-
 
 348 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 gained for a calesino," said lie, "and there it is," adding 
 moreover, that there was nothing else" in the place. So we 
 clambered up, thrust our feet among the hay, and the ma- 
 chine rolled off with a kind of saw-mill motion at the rate 
 of five miles an hour. 
 
 Soon after, in ascending the mountain of the Spelunca, 
 a sheet of blue water was revealed below us — the Lake of 
 Thrasymene. From the eminence around which we drove 
 we looked on the whole of its broad surface and the moun- 
 tains which encompass it. It is a magnificent sheet of 
 water, in size and shape somewhat like New York Bay, but 
 the heights around it are far higher than the hills of Jersey 
 or Staten Island. Three beautiful islands lie in it, near the 
 eastern shore. 
 
 While our calesino was stopped at the papal custom- 
 house, I gazed on the memorable field below us. A cres- 
 cent plain between the mountain and the lake was the arena 
 where two mighty empires met in combat. The place seems 
 marked by nature for the scene of some great event. I ex- 
 perienced a thrilling emotion such as no battle-plain has 
 excited since, when a schoolboy, I rambled over the field 
 of Brandywine. I looked through the long arcades of pa- 
 triarchal olives, and tried to cover the field with the shad- 
 ows of the Roman and Carthaginian myriads. I recalled 
 the shock of meeting legions, the clash of swords and buck- 
 lers and the waving standards amid the dust of battle, 
 while stood on the mountain-amphitheatre, trembling and 
 invisible, the protecting deities of Rome. 
 
 " Far other scene is Thrasymene now !" 
 
 We rode over the plain, passed through the dark old 
 town of Passignano, built on a rocky point by the lake, and 
 dashed along the shore. A dark, stormy sky bent over us, 
 and the roused waves broke in foam on the rocks. The 
 winds whistled among the bare oak-boughs and shook the
 
 NOCTURNAL TRAVELLING. 349 
 
 olives till they twinkled all over. The vetturino whipped 
 our old horse into a gallop, and we were borne on in unison 
 with the scene, which would have answered for one of Hoff- 
 man's wildest stories. 
 
 Ascending a long hill, we took a last look in the dusk at 
 Thrasymene, and continued our journey among the Apen- 
 nines. The vetturino was to have changed horses at Mag- 
 ione, thirteen miles from Perugia, but there were none to 
 be had, and our poor beast was obliged to perform the 
 whole journey without rest or food. It grew very dark, 
 and a storm, with thunder and lightning, swept among the 
 hills. The clouds were of pitchy darkness, and we could 
 see nothing beyond the road except the lights of peasant- 
 cottages trembling through the gloom. Now and then a 
 flash of lightning revealed the black masses of the moun- 
 tains, on which the solid sky seemed to rest. The wind and 
 cold rain swept wailing past us, as if an evil spirit were 
 abroad on the darkness. Three hours of such nocturnal 
 travel brought us here, wet and chilly, as well as our driver, 
 but I pitied the poor horse more than him. 
 
 When we looked out the window on awaking, the clus- 
 tered housetops of the city and the summits of the moun- 
 tains near were covered with snow. But on walking to the 
 battlements we saw that the valleys below were green and 
 untouched. Perugia for its " pride of place " must endure 
 the storms, while the humbler villages below escape them. 
 As the rain continues, we have taken seats in a country dil- 
 igence for Foligno, and shall depart in a few minutes. 
 
 December 28. 
 We left Perugia in a close but covered vehicle, and, de- 
 scending the mountain, crossed the muddy and rapid Tiber 
 in the valley below. All day we rode slowly among the 
 hills ; where the ascent was steep two or four large oxen 
 were hitched before the horses. I saw little of the scenery, 
 for our Italian companions would not bear the windows
 
 350 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 open. Once, when we stopped, I got out, and found we 
 were in the region of snow at the foot of a stormy peak 
 which towered sublimely above. At dusk we entered Fo- 
 ligno and were driven to the Croce Bianca, glad to be thirty 
 miles farther on our way to Rome. 
 
 After some discussion with a vetturino who was to leave 
 next morning, we made a contract with him for the re- 
 mainder of the journey, for the rain, which fell in torrents, 
 forbade all thought of pedestrianism. At five o'clock we 
 rattled out of the gate, and drove by the waning moon and 
 morning starlight down the vale of the Clitumnus. As the 
 dawn stole on I watched eagerly the features of the scene. 
 Instead of a narrow glen, as my fancy had pictured, we 
 were in a valley several miles broad covered with rich 
 orchards and fertile fields. A glorious range of mountains 
 bordered it on the north, looking like Alps in their winter 
 garments. A rosy flush stole over the snow, which kindled 
 with the growing morn, till they shone like clouds that float 
 in the sunrise. The Clitumnus, beside us, was the purest 
 of streams. The heavy rains which had fallen had not 
 soiled in the least its limpid crystal. 
 
 When it grew light enough, I looked at our companions 
 for the three days' journey. The two other inside seats 
 were occupied by a tradesman of Trieste, with his wife and 
 child ; an old soldier, and a young dragoon going to visit 
 his parents after seven years' absence, occupied the front 
 part. Persons travelling together in a carriage are not 
 long in becoming acquainted : close companionship soon 
 breeds familiarity. Before night I had made a fast friend 
 of the young soldier, learned to bear the perverse humor 
 of the child with as much patience as its father, and even 
 drawn looks of grim kindness from the crusty old vetturino. 
 
 Our midday resting-place was Spoleto. As there were 
 two hours given us, we took a ramble through the city, vis- 
 ited the ruins of its Roman theatre and saw the gate 
 erected to commemorate the victory gained here over Han-
 
 ROBBERS' DENS. 351 
 
 nibal which stopped his triumphal march toward Rome. 
 A great part of the afternoon was spent in ascending 
 among the defiles of Monte Somma, the highest pass on the 
 road between Ancona and Rome. Assisted by two yoke of 
 oxen, we slowly toiled up through the snow, the mountains 
 on both sides covered with thickets of box and evergreen 
 oaks among whose leafy screens the banditti hide them- 
 selves. It is not considered dangerous at present, but, as 
 the dragoons who used to patrol this pass have been sent 
 off' to Bologna to keep down the rebellion, the robbers will 
 probably return to their old haunts again. We saw many 
 suspicious-looking coverts where they might have hidden. 
 
 We slept at Terni, and did not see the falls — not exactly 
 on Wordsworth's principle of leaving Yarrow " unvisited," 
 but because, under the circumstances, it w T as impossible. 
 The vetturino did not arrive there till after dark ; he w T as 
 to leave before dawn ; the distance was five miles and the 
 roads very bad. Besides, we had seen falls quite as grand 
 which needed only a Byron to make them as renow r ned ; 
 we had been told that those of Tivoli, which we shall see, 
 were equally fine ; the Velino, which we crossed near Terni, 
 was not a large stream ; in short, we hunted as many rea- 
 sons as we could find why the falls need not be seen. 
 
 Leaving Terni before day, we drove up the long vale 
 toward Narni. The roads were frozen hard ; the ascent 
 becoming more difficult, the vetturino was obliged to stop 
 at a farmhouse and get another pair of horses, with which, 
 and a handsome young contadino as postilion, we reached 
 Narni in a short time. In climbing the hill we had a view 
 of the whole valley of Terni, shut in on all sides by snow- 
 crested Apennines and threaded by the Nar, whose waters 
 flow, " with many windings, through the vale !" 
 
 At Otricoli, while dinner was preparing, I walked around 
 the crumbling battlements to look down into the valley and 
 trace the far windings of the Tiber. In rambling through 
 the crooked streets we saw everywhere the remains of the
 
 352 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 splendor which this place boasted in the days of Rome. 
 Fragments of fluted pillars stood here and there in the 
 streets ; large blocks of marble covered with sculpture and 
 inscriptions were built into the houses, defaced statues used 
 as door-ornaments, and* the stepping-stone to our rude inn, 
 worn every day by the feet of grooms and vetturini, con- 
 tained some letters of an inscription which may have re- 
 corded the glory of an emperor. 
 
 Travelling with a vetturino is unquestionably the pleas- 
 antest way of seeing Italy. The easy rate of the journey 
 allows time for becoming well acquainted with the country, 
 and the tourist is freed from the annoyance of quarrelling 
 with cheating landlords. A translation of our written con- 
 tract will best explain this mode of travelling : 
 
 " Carriage for Rome. 
 
 " Our contract is to be conducted to Rome for the sum of 
 twenty francs each, say 20f. and the buona mano, if we are 
 well served. We must have from the vetturino Giuseppe 
 Nerpiti supper each night, a free chamber with two beds 
 and fire until we shall arrive at Rome. 
 
 " I, Geronymo Sartarelli, steward of the inn of the White 
 Cross, at Foligno, in testimony of the above contract." 
 
 Beyond Otricoli we passed through some relics of an age 
 anterior to Rome. A few soiled masses of masonry black 
 with age stood along the brow of the mountain, on whose 
 extremity were the ruins of a castle of the Middle Ages. 
 We crossed the Tiber on a bridge built by Augustus Csesar, 
 and reached Borghetto as the sun was gilding with its last 
 rays the ruined citadel above. As the carriage with its 
 four horses was toiling slowly up the hill we got out and 
 walked before, to gaze on the green meadows of the Tiber. 
 
 On descending from Narni, I noticed a high, prominent 
 mountain whose ridgy back, somewhat like the profile of a 
 face, reminded me of the Traunstein, in Upper Austria.
 
 THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA 353 
 
 As we approached, its form gradually changed, until it 
 stood on the Campagna 
 
 " Like a long-swept wave about to break, 
 That on the curl hangs pausing/' 
 
 and by that token of a great bard I recognized Monte So- 
 racte. The dragoon took us by the arms, and away we 
 scampered over the Campagna, with one of the loveliest 
 sunsets before us that ever painted itself on my retina. I 
 cannot portray in words the glory that flooded the whole 
 western heaven. It was like a sea of melted ruby, amethyst, 
 and topaz, deep, dazzling and of crystal transparency. The 
 color changed in tone every few minutes, till in half an 
 hour it sank away before the twilight to a belt of deep 
 orange along the west. 
 
 We left Civita Castellana before daylight. The sky was 
 red with dawn as we approached Nepi, and we got out to 
 walk in the clear, frosty air. A magnificent Roman aque- 
 duct, part of it a double row of arches, still supplies the 
 town with water. There is a deep ravine, appearing as if 
 rent in the ground by some convulsion, on the eastern side 
 of the city. A clear stream that steals through the arches 
 of the aqueduct falls in a cascade of sixty feet down into 
 the chasm, sending up constant wreaths of spray through 
 the evergreen foliage that clothes the rocks. In walking 
 over the desolate Campagna we saw many deep chambers 
 dug in the earth, used by the charcoal-burners ; the air was 
 filled with sulphurous exhalations very offensive to the 
 smell, which rose from the ground in many places. 
 
 Miles and miles of the dreary waste covered only with 
 flocks of grazing sheep were passed, and about noon we 
 reached Baccano, a small post-station twenty miles from 
 Rome. A long hill rose before us, and we sprang out of 
 the carriage and ran ahead to see Rome from its summit. 
 As we approached the top the Campagna spread far before 
 and around us, level and blue as an ocean. I climbed up 
 23
 
 354 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 a high bank by the roadside, and the whole scene came in 
 view. Perhaps eighteen miles distant rose the dome of St. 
 Peter's, near the horizon, a small spot on the vast plain. 
 Beyond it, and farther east, were the mountains of Albano, 
 on our left Soracte and the Apennines, and a blue line along 
 the west betrayed the Mediterranean. There was nothing 
 peculiarly beautiful or sublime in the landscape, but few 
 other scenes on earth combine in one glance such a myriad of 
 mighty associations or bewilder the mind with such a crowd 
 of confused emotions. 
 
 As we approached Rome the dragoon with whom we had 
 been walking all day became anxious and impatient. He 
 had not heard from his parents for a long time, and knew 
 not if they were living. His desire to be at the end of his 
 journey finally became so great that he hailed a peasant 
 who was driving by in a light vehicle, left our slow carriage 
 and went out of sight in a gallop. 
 
 As we descended to the Tiber in the dusk of evening the 
 domes and spires of Rome came gradually into view, St. 
 Peter's standing like a mountain in the midst of them. 
 Crossing the yellow river by the Ponte Molle, two miles of 
 road straight as an arrow lay before us, with the light of 
 the Porta del Popolo at the end. I felt strangely excited 
 as the old vehicle rumbled through the arch and we entered 
 a square with fountains and an obelisk of Egyptian granite 
 in the centre. Delivering up our passports, we waited until 
 the necessary examinations were made, and then went for- 
 ward. Three streets branch out from the square, the mid- 
 dle one of which, leading directly to the Capitol, is the 
 Corso — the Roman Broadway. Our vetturino chose that to 
 the left, the Via della Scrofa, leading off toward the bridge 
 of St. Angelo. I looked out the windows as we drove along, 
 but saw nothing except butcher-shops, grocer-stores, etc. — 
 horrible objects for a sentimental traveller. 
 
 Being emptied out on the pavement at last, our first care 
 was to find rooms. After searching through many streets
 
 ROME. 355 
 
 with a coarse old Italian who spoke like an angel, we ar- 
 rived at a square where the music of a fountain was heard 
 through the dusk and an obelisk cut out some of the 
 starlight. At the other end I saw a portico through the 
 darkness, and my heart gave a breathless bound on recog- 
 nizing the Pantheon, the matchless temple of ancient Rome. 
 And now, while I am writing, I hear the gush of the 
 fountain ; and if I step to the window, I see the time-worn 
 but still glorious edifice. 
 
 On returning for our baggage we met the funeral proces- 
 sion of the princess Altieri. Priests in white and gold carried 
 flaming torches, and the coffin, covered with a magnificent 
 golden pall, was borne in a splendid hearse guarded by four 
 priests. As we were settling our account with the vetturino, 
 who demanded much more buona memo than we were willing 
 to give, the young dragoon returned. He was greatly 
 agitated. " I have been at home," said he, in a voice 
 trembling with emotion. I was about to ask him further 
 concerning his family, but he kissed and embraced us 
 warmly and hurriedly, saying he had only come to say 
 "Addio " and to leave us. 
 
 I stop writing to ramble through Rome. This city of all 
 cities to me — this dream of my boyhood, giant, god-like, 
 fallen Rome — is around me, and I revel in a glow of antici- 
 pation and exciting thought that seems to change my whole 
 state of being. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ROME. 
 
 Dec. 29. 
 One day's walk through Rome ! How shall I describe 
 it ? The Capitol, the Forum, St. Peter's, the Coliseum — 
 what few hours' ramble ever took in places so hallowed by
 
 356 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 poetry, history and art ? It was a golden leaf in my cal- 
 endar of life. In thinking over it now, and drawing out 
 the threads of recollection from the varied woof of thought 
 I have woven to-day, I almost wonder how I dared so much 
 at once ; but, within reach of them all, how was it possible 
 to wait ? Let me give a sketch of our day's ramble. 
 
 Hearing that it was better to visit the ruins by evening 
 or moonlight (alas ! there is no moon now), we started out 
 to hunt St. Peter's. Going in the direction of the Corso, 
 we passed the ruined front of the magnificent temple of 
 Antoninus, now used as the papal custom-house. We turned 
 to the right on entering the Corso, expecting to have a view 
 of the city from the hill at its southern end. It is a mag- 
 nificent street, lined with palaces and splendid edifices of 
 every kind and always filled with crowds of carriages and 
 people. On leaving it, however, we became bewildered 
 among the narrow streets, passed through a market of veg- 
 etables crowded with beggars and contadini, threaded many 
 by-ways between dark old buildings, saw one or two antique 
 fountains and many modern churches, and finally arrived 
 at a hill. 
 
 We ascended many steps, and then, descending a little 
 toward the other side, saw suddenly below us the Roman 
 Forum. I knew it at once. And those three Corinthian 
 columns that stood near us : what could they be but the re- 
 mains of the temple of Jupiter Stator ? We stood on the 
 Capitoline Hill. At the foot was the Arch of Septimus 
 Severus, brown with age and shattered ; near it stood the 
 majestic front of the temple of Fortune, its pillars of pol- 
 ished granite glistening in the sun, as if they had been 
 erected yesterday ; while on the left the rank grass was 
 waving from the arches and mighty walls of the palace of 
 the Csesars. In front ruin upon ruin lined the way for 
 half a mile, where the Coliseum towered grandly through 
 the blue morning mist at the base of the Esquiline Hill. 
 
 Good heavens, what a scene! Grandeur such as the
 
 THE COLUMN OF TRAJAN. 357 
 
 world never saw once rose through that blue atmosphere ; 
 splendor inconceivable, the spoils of a world, the triumphs 
 of a thousand armies, had passed over that earth ; minds 
 which for ages moved the ancient world had thought there, 
 and words of power and glory from the lips of immortal 
 men had been syllabled on that hallowed air. To call back 
 all this on the very spot, while the wreck of what once was 
 rose mouldering and desolate around, aroused a sublimity 
 of thought and feeling too powerful for words. 
 
 Returning at hazard through the streets, we came sud- 
 denly upon the Column of Trajan, standing in an excavated 
 square below the level of the city, amid a number of bro- 
 ken granite columns which formed part of the Forum ded- 
 icated to him by Rome after the conquest of Dacia. The 
 column is one hundred and thirty-two feet high and entirely 
 covered with bas-reliefs representing his victories, winding 
 about it in a spiral line to the top. The number of figures 
 is computed at two thousand five hundred, and they were 
 of such excellence that Raphael used many of them for his 
 models. They are 'now much defaced, and the column is 
 surmounted by a statue of some saint. The inscription on 
 the pedestal has been erased, and the name of Sixtus V. 
 substituted. Nothing can exceed the ridiculous vanity of 
 the old popes in thus mutilating the finest monuments of 
 ancient art. You cannot look upon any relic of antiquity 
 in Rome but your eyes are assailed by the words " Pontifex 
 Maximus," in staring modern letters. Even the magnifi- 
 cent bronzes of the Pantheon were stripped to make the 
 baldachin under the dome of St. Peter's. 
 
 Finding our way back again, we took a fresh start — hap- 
 pily, in the right direction — and after walking some time 
 came out on the Tiber at the bridge of St. Angelo. The 
 river rolled below in his muddy glory, and in front, on the 
 opposite bank, stood " the pile which Hadrian reared on 
 high," now the castle of St. Angelo. Knowing that St. 
 Peter's was to be seen from this bridge, I looked about in
 
 358 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 search of it. There was only one dome in sight, large and 
 of beautiful proportions. I said at once, " Surely that can- 
 not be St. Peter's ?" On looking again, however, I saw the 
 top of a massive range of buildings near it which corre- 
 sponded so nearly with the pictures of the Vatican that I 
 was unwillingly forced to believe the mighty dome Avas 
 really before me. I recognized it as one of those we saw 
 from the Capitol, but it appeared so much smaller when 
 viewed from a greater distance that I was quite deceived. 
 On considering we were still three-fourths of a mile from 
 it, and that we could see its minutest parts distinctly, the 
 illusion was explained. 
 
 Going directly down the Borgo Vecchio toward it, it 
 seemed a long time before we arrived at the square of St. 
 Peter's. When at length we stood in front with the ma- 
 jestic colonnade sweeping around, the fountains on each side 
 sending up their showers of silvery spray, the mighty obelisk 
 of Egyptian granite piercing the sky, and beyond the great 
 front and dome of the cathedral, I confessed my unmingled 
 admiration. It recalled to my mind the grandeur of an- 
 cient Rome, and, mighty as her edifices must have been, 
 I doubt if there were many views more overpowering than 
 this. The facade of St. Peter's seemed close to us, but it 
 was a third of a mile distant, and the people ascending the 
 steps dwindled to pigmies. 
 
 I passed the obelisk, went up the long ascent, crossed the 
 portico, pushed aside the heavy leathern curtain at the en- 
 trance, and stood in the great nave. I need not describe 
 my feelings at the sight, but I will tell the dimensions, and 
 you may then fancy what they were. Before me was a 
 marble plain six hundred feet long, and under the cross 
 four hundred and seventeen feet wide. One hundred and 
 fifty feet above sprang a glorious arch dazzling with inlaid 
 gold, and in the centre of the cross there were four hundred 
 feet of air between me and the top of the dome. The sun- 
 beam, stealing through the lofty window at one end of the
 
 THE VATICAN. 359 
 
 transept, made a bar of light on the blue air, hazy with in- 
 cense, one-tenth of a mile long, before it fell on the mosaics 
 and gilded shrines of the other extremity. The grand 
 cupola alone, including lantern and cross, is two hundred 
 and eighty-five feet high, or sixty feet higher than the Bun- 
 ker Hill Monument, and the four immense pillars on which 
 it rests are each one hundred and thirty-seven feet in cir- 
 cumference. It seems as if human art had outdone itself 
 in producing this temple — the grandest which the world 
 ever erected for the worship of the living God. The awe 
 felt in looking up at the giant arch of marble and gold did 
 not humble me ; on the contrary, I felt exalted, ennobled. 
 Beings in the form I wore planned the glorious edifice, and 
 it seemed that in godlike power and perseverance they were 
 indeed but " a little lower than the angels." I felt that, if 
 fallen, my race was still mighty and immortal. 
 
 The Vatican is only open twice a week on days which 
 are not festas; most fortunately, to-day happened to be one 
 of these, and we took a run through its endless halls. The 
 extent and magnificence of the gallery of sculpture is per- 
 fectly amazing. The halls, which are filled to overflowing 
 with the finest works of ancient art, would, if placed side 
 by side, make a row more than two miles in length. You 
 enter at once into a hall of marble, with a magnificent 
 arched ceiling, a third of a mile long : the sides are covered 
 for a great distance with inscriptions of every kind, divided 
 into compartments according to the era of the empire to 
 which they refer. One which I examined appeared to be 
 a kind of index of the roads in Italy, with the towns on 
 them, and we could decipher on that time-worn block the 
 very route I had followed from Florence hither. 
 
 Then came the statues, and here I am bewildered how to 
 describe them. Hundreds upon hundreds of figures — statues 
 of citizens, generals, emperors and gods, fauns, satyrs and 
 nymphs, children, cupids and tritons ; in fact, it seemed in- 
 exhaustible. Many of them, too, were forms of matchless
 
 360 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 beauty. There were Venuses and nymphs born of the loft- 
 iest dreams of grace ; fauns on whose faces shone the very 
 soul of humor, and heroes and divinities with an air of maj- 
 esty worthy the " land of lost gods and godlike men." 
 
 I am lost in astonishment at the perfection of art attained 
 by the Greeks and Romans. There is scarcely a form of 
 beauty that has ever met my eye which is not to be found 
 in this gallery. I should almost despair of such another 
 blaze of glory on the world were it not my devout belief 
 that what has been done may be done again, and had I not 
 faith that the dawn in which we live will bring another day 
 equally glorious. And why should not America, with the 
 experience and added wisdom which three thousand years 
 have slowly yielded to the Old World, joined to the giant 
 energy of her youth and freedom, rebestow on the world 
 the divine creations of art ? Let Powers answer ! 
 
 But let us step on to the hemicycle of the Belvidere and 
 view some works greater than any we have yet seen, or even 
 imagined. The adjoining gallery is filled with masterpieces 
 of sculpture, but we will keep our eyes unwearied and merely 
 glance along the rows. At length we reach a circular court 
 with a fountain flinging up its waters in the centre. Before 
 us is an open cabinet; there is a beautiful manly form 
 within, but you would not for an instant take it for the 
 Apollo. By the Gorgon head it holds aloft we recognize 
 Canova's Perseus ; he has copied the form and attitude of 
 the Apollo, but he could not breathe into it the same warm- 
 ing fire. It seemed to me particularly lifeless, and I greatly 
 preferred his Boxers, who stand on either side of it. One, 
 who has drawn back in the attitude of striking, looks as if 
 he could fell an ox with a single blow of his powerful arm. 
 The other is a more lithe and agile figure, and there is a 
 quick fire in his countenance which might overbalance the 
 massive strength of his opponent. 
 
 Another cabinet. This is the far-famed Antinous — a 
 countenance of perfect Grecian beauty, with a form such
 
 THE LAOCOON AND THE APOLLO. 361 
 
 as we would imagine for one of Homer's heroes. His feat- 
 ures are in repose, and there is something in their calm set- 
 tled expression strikingly like life. 
 
 Now we look on a scene of the deepest physical agony. 
 Mark how every muscle of old Laocoon's hody is distended 
 to the utmost in the mighty struggle ! What intensity of 
 pain in the quivering, distorted features ! Every nerve 
 which despair can call into action is excited in one giant 
 effort, and a scream of anguish seems just to have quivered 
 on those marble lips. The serpents have rolled their strang- 
 ling coils around father and sons, but terror has taken away 
 the strength of the latter, and they make but feeble resist- 
 ance. After looking with indifference on the many casts of 
 this group, I was the more moved by the magnificent origi- 
 nal. It deserves all the admiration that has been heaped 
 upon it. 
 
 I absolutely trembled on approaching the cabinet of the 
 Apollo. I had built up in fancy a glorious ideal drawn 
 from all that bards have sung or artists have rhapsodized 
 about its divine beauty. I feared disappointment ; I dread- 
 ed to have my ideal displaced and my faith in the power 
 of human genius overthrown by a form less than perfect. 
 However, with a feeling of desperate excitement, I entered 
 and looked upon it. 
 
 Now, what shall I say of it ? How make you comprehend 
 its immortal beauty ? To what shall I liken its glorious 
 perfection of form or the fire that imbues the cold marble 
 with the soul of a god ? Not with sculpture — for it stands 
 alone and above all other works of art — nor with men, for 
 it has a majesty more than human. I gazed on it lost in 
 wonder and joy — joy that I could at last take into my mind 
 a faultless ideal of godlike, exalted manhood. The figure 
 appears actually to possess a spirit, and I looked on it, not 
 as on a piece of marble, but a being of loftier mould, and 
 half expected to see him step forward when the arrow had 
 reached its mark. I would give worlds to feel one moment
 
 362 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the sculptor's mental triumph when his work was completed ; 
 that one exulting thrill must have repaid him for every ill 
 he might have suffered on earth. With what divine in- 
 spiration has he wrought its faultless lines! There is a 
 spirit in every limb which mere toil could not have given. 
 It must have been caught in those lofty moments 
 
 " When each conception was a heavenly guest, 
 A ray of immortality, and stood 
 Star-like around until they gathered to a god." 
 
 We ran through a series of halls roofed with golden stars 
 on a deep-blue midnight sky, and filled with porphyry vases, 
 black marble gods and mummies. Some of the statues 
 shone with the matchless polish they had received from a 
 Theban artisan before Athens was founded, and are, appar- 
 ently, as fresh and perfect as when looked upon by the vas- 
 sals of Sesostris. Notwithstanding their stiff, rough-hewn 
 limbs, there were some figures of great beauty, and they 
 gave me a much higher idea of Egyptian sculpture. In an 
 adjoining hall containing colossal busts of the gods is a 
 vase forty-one feet in circumference, of one solid block of 
 red porphyry. 
 
 The " Transfiguration " is truly called the first picture in 
 the world. The same glow of inspiration which created the 
 Belvidere must have been required to paint the Saviour's 
 aerial form. The three figures hover above the earth in a 
 blaze of glory, seemingly independent of all material laws. 
 The terrified apostles on the mount, and the wondering 
 group below, correspond in the grandeur of their expression 
 to the awe and majesty of the scene. The only blemish in 
 the sublime perfection of the picture is the introduction of 
 the two small figures on the left hand — who, by the bye, 
 were cardinals inserted there by command. Some travellers 
 say the color is all lost, but I was agreeably surprised to 
 find it well preserved. It is undoubtedly somewhat imper- 
 fect <n this respect, as Raphael died before it was entirely
 
 NEW YEAR'S IN ROME. 363 
 
 finished, but, "take it all in all," you may search the world 
 in vain to find its equal. 
 
 January 1, 1846. 
 
 New Year's day in the Eternal City ! It will be some- 
 thing to say in after-years that I have seen one year open 
 in Rome — that while my distant friends were making up 
 for the winter without with good cheer around the merry 
 board I have walked in sunshine by the ruins of the Coli- 
 seum, watched the orange-groves gleaming with golden 
 fruitage in the Farnese gardens, trodden the daisied meadow 
 around the sepulchre of Caius Cestius and mused by the 
 graves of Shelley, Keats and Salvator Rosa. The palace 
 of the Caesars looked even more mournful in the pale, slant 
 sunshine, and the yellow Tiber, as he flowed through the 
 " marble wilderness," seemed sullenly counting up the long 
 centuries during which degenerate slaves have trodden his 
 banks. A leaden-colored haze clothed the seven hills and 
 heavy silence reigned among the ruins, for all work was 
 prohibited and the people were gathered in their churches. 
 Rome never appeared so desolate and melancholy as to-day. 
 
 In the morning I climbed the Quirinal Hill, now called 
 Monte Cavallo, from the colossal statues of Castor and 
 Pollux, with their steeds, supposed to be the work of Phidias 
 and Praxiteles. They stand on each side of an obelisk of 
 Egyptian granite, beside which a strong stream of water 
 gushes up into a magnificent bronze basin found in the 
 old Forum. The statues, entirely browned by age, are con- 
 sidered masterpieces of Grecian art, and, whether or not 
 from the great masters, show in all their proportions the 
 conceptions of lofty genius. 
 
 We kept on our way between gardens filled with orange- 
 groves whose glowing fruit reminded me of Mignon's beau- 
 tiful reminiscence : " Im dunkeln Laub die Gold Orangen 
 gliihn." Rome, although subject to cold winds from the 
 Apennines, enjoys so mild a climate that oranges and palm 
 trees grow in the open air without protection. Daisies and
 
 364 VIEWS A«-FOOT. 
 
 violets bloom the whole winter in the meadows of never- 
 fading green. The basilica of the Lateran equals St. Peter's 
 in splendor, though its size is much smaller. The walls are 
 covered with gorgeous hangings of velvet embroidered 
 with gold, and before the high altar, which glitters with 
 precious stones, are four pillars of gilt bronze said to be 
 those which Augustus made of the spars of Egyptian ves- 
 sels captured at the battle of Actium. 
 
 We descended the hill to the Coliseum, and, passing 
 under the Arch of Constantine, walked along the ancient 
 triumphal way at the foot of the Palatine Hill, which is 
 entirely covered with the ruins of the Csesars' palace. A 
 road rounding its southern base toward the Tiber brought 
 us to the temple of Vesta — a beautiful little relic which has 
 been singularly spared by the devastations that have over- 
 thrown so many mightier fabrics. It is of circular form, 
 surrounded by nineteen Corinthian columns thirty-six feet 
 in height ; a clumsy tiled roof now takes the place of the 
 elegant cornice which once gave the crowning charm to its 
 perfect proportions. Close at hand are the remains of the 
 temple of Fortuna Virilis, of which some Ionic pillars 
 alone are left, and the house of Cola di Rienzi, the last tri- 
 bune of Rome. 
 
 As we approached the walls the sepulchre of Caius 
 Cestius came in sight — a single solid pyramid one hundred 
 feet in height. The walls are built against it, and the light 
 apex rises far above the massive gate beside it which was 
 erected by Belisarius. But there were other tombs at hand 
 for which we had more sympathy than that of the forgotten 
 Roman, and we turned away to look for the graves of 
 Shelley and Keats. 
 
 They lie in the Protestant burying-ground, on the side 
 of a mound that slopes gently up to the old wall of Rome 
 beside the pyramid of Cestius. The meadow around is 
 still verdant and sown thick with daisies, and the soft green 
 of the Italian pine mingles with the dark cypress above the
 
 THE GRAVE OF SHELLEY. 365 
 
 slumberers. Huge aloes grow in the shade, and the sweet 
 bay and bushes of rosemary make the air fresh and fra- 
 grant. There is a solemn, mournful beauty about the 
 place, green and lonely as it is, beside the tottering walls 
 of ancient Rome, that takes away the gloomy associations 
 of death, and makes one wish to lie there too when his 
 thread shall be spun to the end. 
 
 We found first the simple headstone of Keats, alone in 
 the grassy meadow. Its inscription states that on his death- 
 bed, in the bitterness of his heart at the malice of his ene- 
 mies, he desired these words to be written on his tombstone : 
 " Here lies one whose name was written in water." Not far 
 from him reposes the son of Shelley. 
 
 Shelley himself lies at the top of the shaded slope, in a 
 lonely spot by the wall, surrounded by tall cypresses. A 
 little hedge of rose and bay surrounds his grave, which 
 bears the simple inscription, " Percy Bysshe Shelley ; 
 Cor Cordium." 
 
 " Nothing of him that doth fade 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange." 
 
 Glorious but misguided Shelley ! He sleeps calmly now 
 in that silent nook, and the air around his grave is filled 
 with sighs from those who mourn that the bright erratic 
 star should have been blotted out ere it reached the zenith 
 of its mounting fame. I plucked a leaf from the fragrant 
 bay as a token of his fame, and a sprig of cypress from the 
 bough that beut lowest over his grave, and, passing between 
 tombs shaded with blooming roses or covered with un- 
 withered garlands, left the lovely spot. 
 
 Amid the excitement of continually changing scenes, I 
 have forgotten to mention our first visit to the Coliseum. 
 The day after our arrival we set out with two English 
 friends to see it by sunset. Passing by the glorious foun- 
 tain of Trevi, we made our way to the Forum, and from
 
 36 G VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 thence took the road to the Coliseum, lined on both sides 
 with the remains of splendid edifices. The grass-grown 
 ruins of the palace of the Csesars stretched along on our 
 right ; on our left we passed in succession the granite front 
 of the temple of Antoninus and Faustina, the three grand 
 arches of the temple of Peace and the ruins of the temple 
 of Venus and Rome. We went under the ruined trium- 
 phal Arch of Titus, with broken friezes representing the 
 taking of Jerusalem, and the mighty walls of the Coliseum 
 gradually rose before us. They grew in grandeur as Ave 
 approached them ; and when at length we stood in the centre, 
 with the shattered arches and grassy walls rising above and 
 beyond one another far around us, the red light of sunset 
 giving them a soft and melancholy beauty, I was fain to 
 confess that another form of grandeur had entered my 
 mind of which I before knew not. 
 
 A majesty like that of nature clothes this wonderful edi- 
 fice. Walls rise above walls and arches above arches from 
 every side of the grand arena like a sweep of craggy, pin- 
 nacled mountains around an oval lake. The two outer cir- 
 cles have almost entirely disappeared, torn away by the 
 rapacious nobles of Rome during the Middle Ages to 
 build their palaces. When entire and filled with its hun- 
 dred thousand spectators, it must have exceeded any 
 pageant which the w T orld can now produce. No wonder it 
 was said, 
 
 " While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; 
 When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall 
 And when Rome falls, the world " 
 
 — a prediction which time has not verified. The world is 
 now going forward prouder than ever, and, though we 
 thank Rome for the legacy she has left us, we would not 
 wish the dust of her ruin to cumber our path. 
 
 While standing in the arena, impressed with the spirit of 
 the scene around me, wdiich grew more spectral and melan-
 
 A COMMENTARY ON GEEATNESS. 367 
 
 choly as the dusk of evening began to fill up the broken 
 arches, my eye was assailed by the shrines ranged around 
 the space, doubtless to remove the pollution of paganism. 
 In the middle stands, also, a cross with an inscription 
 granting an absolution of forty days to all who kiss it. 
 Now, although a simple cross in the centre might be very 
 appropriate, both as a token of the heroic devotion of the 
 martyr Telemachus and the triumph of a true religion over 
 the barbarities of the past, this congregation of shrines and 
 bloody pictures mars very much the unity of association so 
 necessary to the perfect enjoyment of any such scene. 
 
 We saw the flush of sunset fade behind the Capitoline 
 Hill, and passed homeward by the Forum as its shattered 
 pillars were growing solemn and spectral through the twi- 
 light. I intend to visit them often again and " meditate 
 amongst decay." I begin already to grow attached to their 
 lonely grandeur. A spirit almost human speaks from the 
 desolation, and there is something in the voiceless oracles it 
 utters that strikes an answering chord in my own breast. 
 
 In the Via de' Pontifici, not far distant from the Borghese 
 Palace, we saw the mausoleum of Augustus. It is a large 
 circular structure somewhat after the plan of that of 
 Hadrian, but on a much smaller scale. The interior has 
 been cleared out, seats erected around the walls, and the 
 whole is now a summer theatre for the amusement, of the 
 peasantry and tradesmen. What a commentary on great- 
 ness ! Harlequin playing his pranks in the tomb of an em- 
 peror, and the spot which nations approached with rever- 
 ence resounding with the mirth of beggars and degraded 
 vassals ! 
 
 I visited lately the studio of a young Philadelphian, Mr. 
 W. B. Chambers, who has been here two or three years. In 
 studying the legacies of art which the old masters left to 
 their country, he has caught some of the genuine poetic in- 
 spiration which warmed them. But he is modest as tal- 
 ented, and appears to undervalue his works so long as they
 
 368 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 do not reach his own mental ideal. He chooses principally 
 subjects from the Italian peasant-life, which abounds with 
 picturesque and classic beauty. His pictures of the shep- 
 herd-boy of the Albruzzi and the brown maidens of the 
 Campagna are fine illustrations of this class, and the fidelity 
 with which he copies nature is an earnest of his future 
 success. 
 
 I was in the studio of Crawford, the sculptor ; he has at 
 present nothing finished in the marble. There were many 
 casts of his former works, which, judging from their ap- 
 pearance in plaster, must be of no common excellence ; for 
 the sculptor can only be justly judged in marble. I saw 
 some fine bas-reliefs of classical subjects and an exquisite 
 group of Mercury and Psyche, but his masterpiece is un- 
 doubtedly the Orj)heus. There is a spirit in this figure 
 which astonished me. The face is full of the inspiration of 
 the poet softened by the lover's tenderness, and the whole 
 fervor of his soul is expressed in the eagerness with which 
 he gazes forward on stepping past the sleeping Cerberus. 
 Crawford is now engaged on the statue of an Indian girl 
 pierced by an arrow and dying. It is a simple and touch- 
 ing figure, and will, I think, be one of his best works. 
 
 We are often amused with the groups in the square of 
 the Pantheon, which we can see from our chamber-window. 
 Shoemakers and tinkers carry on their business along the 
 sunny side, while the venders of oranges and roasted chestnuts 
 form a circle around the Egyptian obelisk and fountain. 
 Across the end of an opposite street we get a glimpse of the 
 vegetable market, and now and then the shrill voice of a 
 pedler makes its nasal solo audible above the confused cho- 
 rus. As the beggars choose the Corso, St. Peter's and the 
 ruins for their principal haunts, we are now spared the 
 hearing of their lamentations. Every time we go out we 
 are assailed with them. " Maladetta sia la vostra testa /" 
 — " Curses be upon your head !" — said one whom I passed 
 without notice. The priests are, however, the greatest beg-
 
 TRATTORIA DEL SOLE. 3G9 
 
 gars. In every church are kept offering-boxes, for the sup- 
 port of the church or some unknown institution ; they even 
 go from house to house imploring support and assistance in 
 the name of the Virgin and all the saints, while their 
 bloated, sensual countenances and capacious frames tell of 
 anything but fasts and privations. Once, as I was sitting 
 among the ruins, I was suddenly startled by a loud, rattling 
 sound ; turning my head, I saw a figure clothed in white 
 from head to foot, with only two small holes for the eyes. 
 He held in his hand a money-box on which was a figure of 
 the Virgin, which he held close to my lips that I might kiss it. 
 This I declined doing, but dropped a baiocco into his box, 
 when, making the sign of the cross, he silently disappeared. 
 
 Our present lodging (Trattoria del Sole) is a good speci- 
 men of an Italian inn for mechanics and common tradesmen. 
 Passing through the front room — which is an eating-place 
 for the common people, with a barrel of wine in the corner 
 and bladders of lard hanging among orange boughs in the 
 window — we enter a dark court-yard filled with heavy carts 
 and noisy with the neighing of horses and singing of grooms, 
 for the stables occupy part of the house. An open staircase 
 running all around this hollow square leads to the second, 
 third and fourth stories. 
 
 On the second story is the dining-room for the better class 
 of travellers, who receive the same provisions as those below 
 for double the price and the additional privilege of giving 
 the waiter two baiocchi. The sleeping-apartments are in the 
 fourth story, and are named according to the fancy of a 
 former landlord in mottoes above each door. Thus, on ar- 
 riving here, the Triester, with his wife and child, more for- 
 tunate than our first parents, took refuge in " Paradise," 
 while we Americans were ushered into the "Chamber of 
 Jove." We have occupied it ever since, and find a paid 
 (ten cents) apiece cheap enough for a good bed and a win- 
 dow opening on the Pantheon. 
 
 Next to the Coliseum, the Baths of Caracalla are the 
 U
 
 370 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 grandest remains of Rome. The building is a thousand feet 
 square, and its massive walls look as if built by a race of 
 giants. These Titan remains are covered with green shrub- 
 bery, and long, trailing vines sweep over the cornice and 
 wave down like tresses from architrave and arch. In some 
 of its grand halls the mosaic pavement is yet entire. The 
 excavations are still carried on ; from the number of statues 
 already found, this would seem to have been one of the most 
 gorgeous edifices of the olden time. 
 
 I have been now several days loitering and sketching 
 among the ruins, and I feel as if I could willingly wander 
 for months beside these mournful relics and draw inspira- 
 tion from the lofty yet melancholy lore they teach. There 
 is a spirit haunting them real and undoubted. Every shat- 
 tered column, every broken arch and mouldering wall, but 
 calls up more vividly to mind the glory that has passed 
 away. Each lonely pillar stands as proudly as if it still 
 helped to bear up the front of a glorious temple, and the 
 air seems scarcely to have ceased vibrating with the clarions 
 that heralded a conqueror's triumph. 
 
 "the old majestic trees 
 Stand gliost-like in the Caesar's home, 
 
 As if their conscious roots were set 
 In the old graves of giant Home, 
 
 And drew their sap all kingly yet. 
 
 ***** 
 " There every mouldering stone beneatli 
 
 Is broken from some mighty thought, 
 And sculptures in the dust still breathe 
 
 The fire with which their lines were wrought, 
 And sunder'd arch and plundered tomb 
 Still thunder back the echo, ' Rome !' " 
 
 In Rome there is no need that the imagination be excited 
 to call up thrilling emotion or poetic reverie : they are 
 forced on the mind by the sublime spirit of the scene. The 
 roused bard might here pour forth his thoughts in the wild-
 
 MOONLIGHT IN THE COLISEUM. 371 
 
 est climaxes, aud I could believe he felt it all. This is like 
 the Italy of my dreams — that golden realm whose image 
 has been nearly chased away by the earthly reality. I ex- 
 pected to find a land of light and beauty where every step 
 crushed a flower or displaced a sunbeam, whose very air was 
 poetic inspiration, and whose every scene filled the soul with 
 romantic feelings. Nothing is left of my picture but the 
 far-off mountains robed in the sapphire veil of the Ausonian 
 air, and these ruins amid whose fallen glory sits triumphant 
 the spirit of ancient song. 
 
 I have seen the flush of morn and eve rest on the Coli- 
 seum ; I have seen the noonday sky framed in its broken 
 loopholes like plates of polished sapphire ; and last night, 
 as the moon has grown into the zenith, I went to view it w T ith 
 her. Around the Forum all was silent and spectral ; a sen- 
 tinel challenged us at the Arch of Titus, under which we 
 passed, and along the Caesar's wall, which lay in black 
 shadow. Dead stillness brooded around the Coliseum ; the 
 pale, silvery lustre streamed through its arches and over 
 the grassy walls, giving them a look of shadowy grandeur 
 which day could not bestow. The scene will remain fresh 
 in my memory for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 TIVOLI AND THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA. 
 
 January 9. 
 A few days ago we returned from an excursion to Tivoli, 
 one of the loveliest spots in Italy. We left the Eternal 
 City by the gate of San Lorenzo, and twenty minutes' walk 
 brought us to the bare and bleak Campagna, which was 
 spread around us for leagues in every direction. Here and 
 there a shepherd-boy in his woolly coat, and his flock of
 
 372 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 browsing sheep, were the only objects that broke its desert- 
 like monotony. 
 
 At the fourth mile we crossed the rapid Anio, the ancient 
 Teverone, formerly the boundary between Latium and the 
 Sabine dominions, and at the tenth came upon some frag- 
 ments of the old Tiburtine Way, formed of large irregular 
 blocks of basaltic lava. A short distance farther we saw 
 across the plain the ruins of the Bath of Agrippa, built by 
 the side of the Tartarean Lake. The wind blowing from 
 it bore us an overpowering smell of sulphur ; the waters 
 of the little river Solfatara, which crosses the road, are of 
 a milky blue color, and carry those of the lake into the 
 Anio. A fragment of the old bridge over it still remains. 
 
 Finding the water quite warm, we determined to have a 
 bath ; so we ran down the plain, which was covered with a 
 thick coat of sulphur and sounded hollow to our tread, till 
 we reached a convenient place, where we threw off our 
 clothes and plunged in. The warm wave was delightful to 
 the skin, but extremely offensive to the smell ; and when 
 we came out, our mouths and throats were filled with the 
 stifling gas. 
 
 It was growing dark as we mounted through the narrow 
 streets of Tivoli, but we endeavored to gain some sight of 
 the renowned beauties of the spot before going to rest. 
 From a platform on a brow of the hill we looked down into 
 the defile at whose bottom the Anio was roaring, and caught 
 a sideward glance of the Cascatelles, sending up their spray 
 amid the evergreen bushes that fringe the rocks. Above 
 the deep glen that curves into the mountain stands the 
 beautiful temple of the Sybil, a building of the most per- 
 fect and graceful proportion. It crests the " rocky brow " 
 like a fairy-dwelling, and looks all the lovelier for the wild 
 caverns below. Gazing downward from the bridge, one 
 sees the waters of the Anio tumbling into the picturesque 
 Grotto of the Sirens ; around a rugged corner a cloud of 
 white spray whirls up continually, while the boom of a cat-
 
 CASCADE OF THE ANIO. 373 
 
 aract rumbles down the glen. All these we marked in the 
 deepening dusk, and then hunted an albergo. The shrill- 
 voiced hostess gave us a good supper and clean beds ; in 
 return we diverted the people very much by the relation 
 of our sulphur-bath. 
 
 We were awakened in the night by the wind shaking the 
 very soul out of our loose casement. I fancied I heard tor- 
 rents of rain dashing against the panes, and groaned in bit- 
 terness of spirit on thinking of a walk back to Rome in 
 such weather. When morning came, we found it was only 
 a hurricane of wind which was strong enough to tear off 
 pieces of the old roofs. I saw some Capuchins nearly over- 
 turned in crossing the square by the wind seizing their 
 white robes. 
 
 I had my fingers frozen and my eyes filled with sand in 
 trying to draw the Sybil's temple, and therefore left it to 
 join my companions, who had gone down into the glen to 
 see the great cascade. The Anio bursts out of a cavern in 
 the mountain-side, and like a prisoner giddy with recovered 
 liberty reels over the edge of a precipice more than two 
 hundred feet deep. The bottom is hid in a cloud of boil- 
 ing spray that shifts from side to side and, driven by the 
 wind, sweeps whistling down the narrow pass. It stuns the 
 ear with a perpetual boom, giving a dash of grandeur to 
 the enrapturing beauty of the scene. I tried a footpath 
 that appeared to lead down to the Cascatelles, but after ad- 
 vancing some distance along the side of an almost perpen- 
 dicular precipice I came to a corner that looked so danger- 
 ous, especially as the wind was nearly strong enough to 
 carry me off, that it seemed safest to return. We made an- 
 other vain attempt to get down by creeping along the bed 
 of a torrent filled with briers. 
 
 The Cascatelles are formed by that part of the Anio 
 which is used in the iron-works made out of the ruins of 
 Meceenas' villa. They gush out from under the ancient 
 arches and tumble more than a hundred feet down the
 
 374 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 precipice, their white waters gleaming out from the dark 
 and feathery foliage. Not far distant are the remains of 
 the villa of Horace. 
 
 We took the road to Frascati, and walked for miles among 
 cane-swamps and over plains covered with sheep. The peo- 
 ple we saw were most degraded and ferocious-looking, and 
 there were many I would not willingly meet alone after night- 
 fall. Indeed, it is still considered quite unsafe to venture with- 
 out the walls of Rome after dark. The women, with their 
 yellow complexions and the bright red blankets they wear 
 folded around the head and shoulders, resemble Indian 
 squaws. 
 
 I lately spent three hours in the museum of the Capitol, 
 on the summit of the sacred hill. In the Hall of the Glad- 
 iator I noticed an exquisite statue of Diana. There is a 
 pure virgin grace in the classic outlines of the figure that 
 keeps the eye long upon it. The face is full of cold, ma- 
 jestic dignity, but it is the ideal of a being to be worshipped 
 rather than loved. The Faun of Praxiteles, in the same 
 room, is a glorious work ; it is the perfect embodiment of 
 that wild, merry race the Grecian poets dreamed of. One 
 looks on the Gladiator with a hushed breath and an awed 
 spirit. He is dying ; the blood flows more slowly from the 
 deep wound in his side ; his head is sinking downward, and 
 the arm that supports his body becomes more and more 
 nerveless. You feel that a dull mist is coming over his 
 vision, and almost wait to see his relaxing limbs sink sud- 
 denly on his shield. That the rude barbarian form has a 
 soul may be read in his touchingly expressive countenance. 
 It warms the sympathies like reality to look upon it, yet 
 how many Romans may have gazed on this work moved 
 nearly to tears who have seen hundreds perish in the arena 
 without a pitying emotion ! Why is it that Art has a voice 
 frequently more powerful than Nature ? 
 
 How cold it is here ! I was forced to run home to-night
 
 TOMB OF CECILIA METELLA. 375 
 
 nearly at full speed from the Cafe delle Belle Arti, through 
 the Corso and the Piazza Colonna, to keep warm. The 
 clear, frosty moon threw the shadow of the Column of An- 
 toninus over me as I passed, and.it made me shiver to look 
 at the thin falling sheet of the fountain. Winter is Winter 
 everywhere, and even the sun of Italy cannot always scorch 
 his icy wings. 
 
 Two days ago we took a ramble outside the walls. Pass- 
 ing the Coliseum and Caracalla's Baths, we reached the 
 tomb of Scipio, a small sepulchral vault near the roadside. 
 The ashes of the warrior were scattered to the winds long 
 ago and his mausoleum is fast falling to decay. The old 
 arch over the Appian Way is still standing, near the mod- 
 ern Porta San Sebastiano, through which we entered on the 
 far-famed road. Here and there it is quite entire, and we 
 walked over the stones once worn by the feet of Virgil and 
 Horace and Cicero. After passing the temple of Romulus 
 — a shapeless and ivy-grown ruin — and walking a mile or 
 more beyond the walls, we reached the Circus of Caracalla, 
 whose long and shattered walls fill the hollow of one of the 
 little dells of the Campagna. The original structure must 
 have been of great size and splendor, but those twin-van- 
 dals Time and Avarice have stripped away everything but 
 the lofty brick masses, whose nakedness the pitying ivy 
 strives to cover. 
 
 Farther, on a gentle slope, is the tomb of " the wealthiest 
 Roman's wife," familiar to every one through Childe Har- 
 old's musings. It is a round massive tower faced with large 
 blocks of marble, and still bearing the name of Cecilia 
 Metella. One side is much ruined, and the top is overgrown 
 with grass and wild bushes. The wall is about thirty feet 
 thick ; so that but a small round space is left in the interior, 
 which is open to the rain and filled with rubbish. The echoes 
 pronounced hollowly after us the name of the dead for 
 whom it was built, but they could tell us nothing of her 
 life's history.
 
 376 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 "How lived, how loved, how died, she?" 
 
 I made a hurried drawing of it, and we then turned to the 
 left, across the Campagna, to seek the Grotto of Egeria. 
 Before us, across the brown plain, extended the Sabine 
 Mountains ; in the clear air the houses of Tivoli, twenty 
 miles distant, were plainly visible. The giant aqueduct 
 stretched in a long line across the Campagna to the moun- 
 tain of Albano, its broken and disjointed arches resembling 
 the vertebrae of some mighty monster. With the ruins of 
 temples and tombs strewing the plain for miles around it, 
 it might be called the spine to the skeleton of Rome. 
 
 We passed many ruins made beautiful by the clinging 
 ivy, and reached a solemn grove of evergreen oak overlook- 
 ing a secluded valley. I was soon in the meadow, leaping 
 ditches, rustling through canebrakes and climbing up to 
 mossy arches to find out the fountain of Numa's nymph, 
 while my companion, who had less taste for the romantic, 
 looked on complacently from the leeward side of the hill. 
 At length we found an arched vault in the hillside over- 
 hung with wild vines and shaded in summer by umbrage- 
 ous trees that grow on the soil above. At the farther end 
 a stream of water gushed out from beneath a broken statue, 
 and an aperture in the wall revealed a dark cavern behind. 
 This, then, was " Egeria's grot." The ground was trampled 
 by the feet of cattle, and the taste of the water was any- 
 thing but pleasant. But it was not for Numa and his nymph 
 alone that I sought it so ardently. The sunbeam of another 
 mind lingers on the spot. See how it gilds the ruined and 
 neglected fount ! 
 
 ■'o' 
 
 " The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
 With thine Elysian water-drops; the face 
 Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, 
 
 Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, 
 Whose wild green margin now no more erase 
 Art's works ; no more its sparkling waters sleep,
 
 ST. PETER'S. 377 
 
 Prisoned in marble : bubbling from tbe base 
 
 Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
 The rill runs o'er, and 'round fern, flowers and ivy creep, 
 Fantastically tangled." 
 
 I tried to creep into the grotto, but it was unpleasantly dark, 
 and no nymph appeared to chase away the shadow with her 
 lustrous eyes. The whole hill is pierced by subterranean 
 chambers and passages. 
 
 I spent another Sunday morning in St. Peter's. High 
 mass was being celebrated in one of the side-chapels, and a 
 great number of the priesthood were present. The music 
 was simple, solemn and very impressive, and a fine effect 
 was produced by the combination of the full, sonorous voices of 
 the priests and the divine sweetness of that band of mutilated 
 unfortunates who sing here. They sang with a full, clear 
 tone sweet as the first lispings of a child, but it was painful 
 to hear that melody, purchased at the expense of manhood. 
 
 Near the dome is a bronze statue of St. Peter which 
 seems to have a peculiar atmosphere of sanctity. People 
 say their prayers before it by hundreds and then kiss its 
 toe, which is nearly worn away by the application of so 
 many thousand lips. I saw a crowd struggle most irrever- 
 ently to pay their devotion to it. There was a great deal 
 of jostling and confusion ; some went so far as to thrust the 
 faces of others against the toe as they were about to kiss it. 
 What is more remarkable, it is an antique statue of Jupiter — 
 taken, I believe, from the Pantheon. An English artist, 
 showing it to a friend just arrived in Rome, remarked very 
 wittily that it was the statue of Jeio-Peter. 
 
 I went afterward to the Villa Borghese, outside the Porta 
 del Popolo. The gardens occupy thirty or forty acres, and 
 are always thronged in the afternoon with the carriages of 
 the Roman and foreign nobility. In summer it must be a 
 heavenly place ; even now, with its musical fountains, long 
 avenues and grassy slopes crowned with the fanlike branches 
 of the Italian pine, it reminds one of the fairy landscapes of
 
 378 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Boccaccio. We threaded our way through the press of 
 carriages on the Pincian Hill, and saw the enormous bulk 
 of St. Peter's loom up against the sunset sky. I counted 
 forty domes and spires in that part of Rome that lay below 
 us, but on what a marble glory looked that sun eighteen 
 centuries ago ! Modern Rome ! It is in comparison a den 
 of filth, cheats and beggars. 
 
 Yesterday, while taking a random stroll through the city, 
 I visited the church of St. Onofrio, where Tasso is buried. 
 It is not far from St. Peter's, on the summit of a lonely hill. 
 The building was closed, but an old monk admitted us on 
 application. The interior is quite small, but very old, and 
 the floor is covered with the tombs of princes and prelates 
 of a past century. Near the end I found a small slab with 
 the inscription, 
 
 TORQUATI TASSI 
 
 OSSA 
 
 HIC JACENT. 
 
 That was all, but what more was needed ? Who knows not 
 the name and fame and sufferings of the glorious bard? 
 The pomp of gold and marble are not needed to deck the 
 slumber of genius. On the wall, above, hangs an old and 
 authentic portrait of him very similar to the engravings in 
 circulation. A crown of laurel encircles the lofty brow, 
 and the eye has that wild, mournful expression which 
 accords so well with the mysterious tale of his love and 
 madness. 
 
 Owing to the mountain-storms, which imposed on us the 
 expense of a carriage-journey to Rome, we shall be pre- 
 vented from going farther. One great cause of this is the 
 heavy fee required for passports in Italy. In most of the 
 Italian cities the cost of the different vises amounts to four 
 or five dollars ; a few such visits as these reduce our funds 
 very materially. The American consul's fee is two dollars, 
 owing to the illiberal course of our government in withhold-
 
 DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 379 
 
 ing all salary from her consuls in Europe. Mr. Brown, 
 however, in whose family we spent last evening very pleas- 
 antly, on our requesting that he would deduct something 
 from the usual fee, kindly declined accepting anything. 
 We felt this kindness the more as, from the character which 
 some of our late consuls bear in Italy, we had not antici- 
 pated it. We shall remember him with deeper gratitude 
 than many would suppose who have never known what it 
 was to be a foreigner. 
 
 To-morrow, therefore, we leave Rome ; here is, at last, 
 the limit of our wanderings. We have spent much toil 
 and privation to reach here, and now, after two weeks' ram- 
 bling and musing among the mighty relics of past glory, we 
 turn our faces homeward. The thrilling hope I cherished 
 during the whole pilgrimage to climb Parnassus and drink 
 from Castaly under the blue heaven of Greece (both far 
 easier than the steep hill and hidden fount of poesy I wor- 
 ship afar off), to sigh for fallen art beneath the broken 
 friezes of the Parthenon and look with a pilgrim's eye on 
 the isles of Homer and of Sappho must be given up, unwill- 
 ingly and sorrowfully though it be. These glorious antici- 
 pations — among the brightest that blessed my boyhood — are 
 slowly wrung from me by stern necessity. Even Naples, 
 the lovely Parthenope, where the Mantuan bard sleeps on 
 the sunny shore by the bluest of summer seas, with the dis- 
 interred Pompeii beyond and Paestum amid its roses on the 
 lonely Calabrian plain, — even this, almost within sight of 
 the cross of St. Peter's, is barred from me. — Farewell, then, 
 clime of " fame and eld," since it must be. A pilgrim's 
 blessing for the lore ye have taught him !
 
 380 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 Palo. 
 
 The sea is breaking in long swells below the window, and 
 a glorious planet shines in the place of the sunset that has 
 died away. This is our first resting-place since leaving 
 Rome. We have been walking all day over the bare and 
 dreary Campagna, and it is a relief to look at last on the 
 broad blue expanse of the Tyrrhene Sea. 
 
 When we emerged from the cool alleys of Rome and be- 
 gan to climb up and down the long barren swells, the sun 
 beat down on us with an almost summer heat. On crossing 
 a ridge near Castle Guido we took our last look of Rome, 
 and saw from the other side the sunshine lying like a daz- 
 zling belt on the far Mediterranean. The country is one 
 of the most wretched that can be imagined. Miles and 
 miles of uncultivated land with scarcely a single habitation 
 extend on either side of the road, and the few shepherds 
 who watch their flocks in the marshy hollows look wild and 
 savage enough for any kind of crime. It made me shud- 
 der to see every face bearing such a villanous stamp. 
 
 Citita Vecchia, Jan. 11. 
 We left Palo just after sunrise, and walked in the cool 
 of the mornina; beside the blue Mediterranean. On the 
 right the low outposts of the Apennines rose bleak and 
 brown, the narrow plain between them and the shore resem- 
 bling a desert, so destitute was it of the signs of civilized 
 life. A low white cloud that hung over the sea afar off 
 showed us the locality of Sardinia, though the land was not 
 visible. The sun shone down warmly, and, with the blue 
 sky and bluer sea, we could easily have imagined a milder 
 season. The barren scenery took a new interest in my eyes 
 when I remembered that I Avas spending amidst it that 
 birthday which removes me in the eyes of the world from 
 dependent youth to responsible manhood.
 
 PROVENCE. 381 
 
 In the afternoon we found a beautiful cove in a curve of 
 the shore, and went to bathe in the cold surf. It was very 
 refreshing, but not quite equal to the sulphur-bath on the 
 road to Tivoli. The mountains now ran closer to the sea, 
 and the road was bordered with thickets of myrtle. I 
 stopped often to beat my staff into the bushes and inhale 
 the fragrance that arose from their crushed leaves. The 
 hills were covered with this poetical shrub, and any acre of 
 the ground would make the fortune of a florist at home. 
 
 The sun was sinking in a sky of orange and rose as Civita 
 Vecchia came in sight on a long headland before us. Be- 
 yond the sea stretched the dim hills of Corsica. We walked 
 nearly an hour in the clear moonlight by the sounding 
 shore before the gate of the city was reached. We have 
 found a tolerable inn, and are now enjoying the pleasures 
 of supper and rest. 
 
 Marseilles, January 16. 
 
 At length we tread the shore of France — of sunny Prov- 
 ence, the last unvisited realm we have to roam through be- 
 fore returning home. It is with a feeling of more than 
 common relief that we see around us the lively faces and 
 hear the glib tongues of the French. It is like an earnest 
 that the " roughing " we have undergone among Bohemian 
 boors and Italian savages is wellnigh finished, and that 
 henceforth we shall find civilized sympathy and politeness, 
 if nothing more, to make the way smoother. Perhaps the 
 three woeful days which terminated at half-past two yester- 
 day afternoon, as we passed through the narrow strait into 
 the beautiful harbor which Marseilles encloses in her shel- 
 tering heart, make it still pleasanter. Now, while there is 
 time, I must describe those three days, for who could write 
 on the wet deck of a steamboat, amid all the sights and 
 6mells which a sea-voyage creates ? Description does not 
 flourish when the bones are sore with lying on planks and 
 the body shivering like an aspen-leaf with cold. 
 
 About the old town of Civita Vecchia there is not much
 
 382 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 to be said, except that it has the same little harbor which 
 Trajan dug for it and is as dirty and disagreeable as a town 
 can well be. We saw nothing except a little church and 
 the prison-yard full of criminals where the celebrated ban- 
 dit Gasparoni has been now confined for eight years. 
 
 The Neapolitan company's boat, Mongibello, was adver- 
 tised to leave the 12th ; so, after procuring our passports, 
 we went to the office to take passage. The official, how- 
 ever, refused to give us tickets for the third place, because, 
 forsooth, we were not servants or common laborers, and 
 words were wasted in trying to convince him that it would 
 make no difference. As the second-cabin fare was nearly 
 three times as high and entirely too dear for us, we went to 
 the office of the Tuscan company, whose boat was to leave 
 in two days. Through the influence of an Italian gentle- 
 man, secretary to Bartolini, the American consul, whom we 
 met, they agreed to take us for forty-five francs on deck, 
 the price of the Neapolitan boat being thirty. 
 
 Rather than stay two days longer in the dull town, we 
 went again to the latter company's office, and offered them 
 forty-five francs to go that day in their boat. This removed 
 the former scruples, and tickets were immediately made 
 out. After a plentiful dinner at the albergo to prepare our- 
 selves for the exposure, we filled our pockets with a supply 
 of bread, cheese and figs for the voyage. We then en- 
 gaged a boatman, who agreed to row us out to the steamer 
 for two pauls; but after he had us on board and an oar's 
 length from the quay, he said two pauls apiece was his bar- 
 gain. I instantly refused, and, summoning the best Italian 
 I could command, explained our agreement ; but he still 
 persisted in demanding double price. The dispute soon 
 drew a number of persons to the quay, some of whom, be- 
 ing boatmen, sided with him. Finding he had us safe in 
 his boat, his manner was exceedingly calm and polite. 
 He contradicted me with a " Pardon, signor!" accompany- 
 ing the words with a low bow and a graceful lift of his
 
 A HARD BED. 383 
 
 scarlet cap, and replied to my indignant accusations in the 
 softest and most silvery-modulated Roman sentences. I 
 found, at last, that if I was in the right I cut the worse 
 figure of the two, and therefore put an end to the dispute 
 by desiring him to row on at his own price. 
 
 The hour of starting was two, but the boat lay quietly 
 in the harbor till four, when we glided out on the open sea 
 and went northward, with the blue hills of Corsica far on 
 our left. A gorgeous sunset faded away over the water, 
 and the moon rose behind the low mountains of the Italian 
 coast. Having found a warm and sheltered place near the 
 chimney, I drew my beaver farther over my eyes to keep 
 out the moonlight, and lay down on the deck with my 
 knapsack under my head. It was a hard bed indeed, and 
 the first time I attempted to rise I found myself glued to the 
 floor by the pitch which was smeared along the seams of 
 the boards. Our fellow-sufferers were a company of Swiss 
 soldiers going home after a four years' service under the 
 king of Naples, but they took to their situation more easily 
 than we. Sleep was next to impossible; so I paced the 
 deck occasionally, looking out on the moonlit sea and the 
 dim shores on either side. 
 
 A little after midnight we passed between Elba and 
 Corsica, The dark crags of Elba rose on our right and 
 the bold headlands of Napoleon's isle stood opposite, at per- 
 haps twenty miles' distance. There was something dreary 
 and mysterious in the whole scene, viewed at such a time ; 
 the grandeur of his career who was born on one and exiled 
 to the other gave it a strange and thrilling interest. 
 
 We made the lighthouse before the harbor of Leghorn 
 at dawn, and by sunrise were anchored within the mole. I 
 sat on the deck the whole day watching the picturesque 
 vessels that skimmed about with their lateen sails and won- 
 dering how soon the sailors on the deck of a Boston brig 
 anchored near us would see my distant country. Leaving 
 at four o'clock, we dashed away along the mountain-coast
 
 384 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of Carrara at a rapid rate. The wind was strong and cold, 
 but I lay down behind the boiler, and, though the boards 
 were as hard as ever, slept two or three hours. When I 
 awoke, at half-past two in the morning, after a short rest, 
 Genoa was close at hand. We glided between the two re- 
 volving lights on the mole into the harbor, with the amphi- 
 theatre on which the superb city sits dark and silent around 
 us. It began raining soon, the engine-fire sank down, and, 
 as there was no place of shelter, we were shortly wet to 
 the skin. 
 
 How long those dreary hours seemed till the dawn came ! 
 All was cold and rainy and dark, and we waited in a kind 
 of torpid misery for daylight. The entire day I passed sit- 
 ting in a coil of rope under the stern of the cabin, and even 
 the beauties of the glorious city scarce affected me. We 
 lay opposite the Doria palace, and the constellation of vil- 
 las and towers still glittered along the hills ; but who with 
 his teeth chattering and limbs numb and damp could feel 
 pleasure in looking on Elysium itself? 
 
 We got under way again at three o'clock. The rain very 
 soon hid the coast from view, and the waves pitched our 
 boat about in a manner not at all pleasant. I soon experi- 
 enced sea-sickness in all its horrors. We had accidentally made 
 the acquaintance of one of the Neapolitan sailors, who had 
 been in America. He was one of those rough, honest na- 
 tures I like to meet with ; their blunt kindness is better 
 than refined and oily-tongued suavity. As we were stand- 
 ing by the chimney reflecting dolefully how we should pass 
 the coming night he came up and said, " I am in trouble 
 about you poor fellows. I don't think I shall sleep three 
 hours to-night, to think of vou. I shall tell all the cabin 
 they shall give you beds, because they shall see you are gen- 
 tlemen." Whether he did so or the officers were moved by 
 spontaneous commiseration, we knew not, but in half an 
 hour a servant beckoned us into the cabin, and berths were 
 given us. I turned in with a feeling of relief not easily im-
 
 THE BAY OF MARSEILLES. 385 
 
 agined, and forgave the fleas willingly, in the comfort of a 
 shelter from the storm. 
 
 When I awoke, it was broad day. A fresh breeze was 
 drying the deck, and the sun was half visible among break- 
 ing clouds. We had just passed the Isle of the Titan — 
 one of the Isles des Hyeres— and the Bay of Toulon opened 
 on our right. It was a rugged, rocky coast, but the hills 
 of sunny Provence rose beyond. The sailor came up with 
 a smile of satisfaction on his rough countenance, and said, 
 " You did sleep better, I think ? I did tell them all," coup- 
 line his assertion with a round curse on the officers. 
 
 We ran along beside the brown, bare crags till nearly 
 noon, when we reached the eastern point of the Bay of 
 Marseilles. A group of small islands formed of bare rocks 
 rising in precipices three or four hundred feet high guards 
 the point. On turning into the gulf we saw on the left the 
 rocky islands of Pomegues and If, with the castle crowning 
 the latter in which Mirabeau was confined. The ranges of 
 hills which rose around the great bay were spotted and 
 sprinkled over with thousands of the country cottages of 
 the Marseilles merchants, called bastides ; the city itself 
 was hidden from view. We saw, apparently, the whole bay, 
 but there was no crowd of vessels such as would befit a great 
 seaport ; a few spires peeping over a hill, with some fortifi- 
 cations, were all that was visible. At length we turned sud- 
 denly aside and entered a narrow strait between two forts. 
 Immediately a broad harbor opened before us, locked in the 
 very heart of the hills on which the city stands ; it was cov- 
 ered with vessels of all nations. On leaving the boat we 
 rowed past the Aristides, bearing the blue cross of Greece, 
 and I searched eagerly, and found among the crowded masts 
 the starry banner of America. 
 
 I have rambled through all the principal parts of Mar- 
 seilles, and am very favorably impressed with its appear- 
 ance. Its cleanliness and the air of life and business which 
 marks the streets are the more pleasant after coming from 
 
 25
 
 386 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the dirty and depopulated Italian cities. The broad ave- 
 nues lined with trees which traverse its whole length must 
 be delightful in summer. I am often reminded by its spa- 
 cious and crowded thoroughfares of our American cities. 
 Although founded by the Phoceans three thousand years 
 ago, it has scarcely an edifice of greater antiquity than 
 three or four centuries, and the tourist must content him- 
 self with wandering through the narrow streets of the old 
 town, observing the Provencal costumes, or strolling among 
 Turks and Moors on the Quai d'Orleans. 
 
 We have been detained here a day longer than was nec- 
 essary, owing to some misunderstanding about the passports. 
 This has not been favorable to our reduced circumstances, 
 for we have now but twenty francs each left to take us to 
 Paris. Our boots too, after serving us so long, begin to 
 show signs of failing in this hour of adversity. Although 
 we are somewhat accustomed to such circumstances, I can- 
 not help shrinking when I think of the solitary napoleon 
 and the five hundred miles to be passed. Perhaps, however, 
 the coin will do as much as its great namesake, and achieve 
 for us a Marengo in the war with Fate. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 PILGRIMAGE TO VAUCLUSE AND JOURNEY UP THE RHONE. 
 
 We left Marseilles about nine o'clock on a dull, rainy 
 morning for Avignon and the Rhone, intending to take in 
 our way the glen of Vaucluse. The dirty fau bo urgs stretch 
 out along the road for a great distance, and we trudged 
 through them, past foundries, furnaces and manufactories, 
 considerably disheartened with the prospect. We wound 
 among the bleak stony hills, continually ascending, for 
 nearly three hours. Great numbers of cabarets frequented
 
 A RAMBLE IN AIX. 387 
 
 by the common people lined the roads, and we met contin- 
 ually trains of heavy-laden wagons drawn by large mules. 
 The country is very wild and barren, and would have been 
 tiresome except for the pine groves with their beautiful 
 green foliage. We got something to eat with difficulty at 
 an inn, for the people spoke nothing but the Provencal dia- 
 lect, and the place was so cold and cheerless we were glad 
 to go out again into the storm. It mattered little to us 
 that we heard the language in which the gay troubadours 
 of King Rene sung their songs of love. We thought more 
 of our dripping clothes and numb, cold limbs, and would 
 have been glad to hear, instead, the strong, hearty German 
 tongue, full of warmth and kindly sympathy for the stranger. 
 The wind swept drearily among the hills ; black, gusty 
 clouds covered the sky and the incessant rain filled the 
 road with muddy pools. We looked at the country chateaux, 
 so comfortable in the midst of their sheltering poplars, with 
 a sigh, and thought of homes afar off whose doors were never 
 closed to us. 
 
 This was all forgotten when we reached Aix and the 
 hostess of the Cafe d'Afrique filled her little stove with fresh 
 coal and hung our wet garments around it, while her daugh- 
 ter, a pale-faced crippled child, smiled kindly on us and 
 tried to talk with us in French. Putting on our damp, 
 
 heavy coats again, B and I rambled through the streets 
 
 while our frugal supper was preparing. We saw the statue 
 of the bon roi Rene, who held at Aix his court of shepherds 
 and troubadours, the dark cathedral of St. Sauveur, the an- 
 cient walls and battlements, and gazed down the valley at the 
 dark precipitous mass of Mont St. Victor, at whose base 
 Marius obtained a splendid victory over the barbarians. 
 
 After leaving next morning, we saw at some distance to 
 the south the enormous aqueduct now being erected for the 
 canal from the Rhone to Marseilles. The shallow, elevated 
 valleys we passed in the forenoon's walk were stony and 
 barren, but covered with large orchards of almond trees,
 
 388 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the fruit of which forms a considerable article of export. 
 This district borders on the desert of the Crau, a vast plain 
 of stones reaching to the mouth of the Rhone and almost 
 entirely uninhabited. We caught occasional glimpses of its 
 sealike waste between the summits of the hills. At length, 
 after threading a high ascent, we saw the valley of the 
 Durance suddenly below us. The sun, breaking through 
 the clouds, shone on the mountain-wall which stood on the 
 opposite side, touching with his glow the bare and rocky 
 precipices that frowned far above the stream. Descending 
 to the valley, we followed its course toward the Rhone with 
 the ruins of feudal bourgs crowning the crags above us. 
 
 It was dusk when we reached the village of Senas tired 
 with the day's march. A landlord standing in his door, on 
 the lookout for customers, invited us to enter in a manner 
 so polite and pressing we could not choose but do so. 
 This is a universal custom with the country innkeepers. In 
 a little village which we passed toward evening there was a 
 tavern with the sign " The Mother of Soldiers." A portly 
 woman Avhose face beamed with kindness and cheerfulness 
 stood in the door and invited us to stop there for the night. 
 " No, mother," I answered ; " we must go much farther to- 
 day." — " Go, then," said she, " with good luck, my children! 
 A pleasant journey !" 
 
 On entering the inn at Senas two or three bronzed soldiers 
 were sitting by the table. My French vocabulary happen- 
 ing to give out in the middle of a consultation about eggs 
 and onion-soup, one of them came to my assistance and ad- 
 dressed me in German. He was from Fulda, in Hesse- 
 Cassel, and had served fifteen years in Africa. Two other 
 young soldiers, from the western border of Germany, came 
 during the evening, and one of them, being partly intoxi- 
 cated, created such a tumult that a quarrel arose which 
 ended in his being beaten and turned out of the house. 
 
 "We met every day large numbers of recruits, in com- 
 panies of one or two hundred, on their way to Marseilles to
 
 PICTURESQUE L'ISLE. 389 
 
 embark for Algiers. They were mostly youths from sixteen 
 to twenty years of age, and seemed little to forebode their 
 probable fate. In looking on their fresh, healthy faces and 
 bounding forms, I saw also a dim and ghastly vision of 
 bones whitening on the desert, of men perishing with heat 
 and fever or stricken down by the aim of the savage Bed- 
 ouin. 
 
 Leaving next morning at daybreak, we walked on before 
 breakfast to Orgon, a little village in a corner of the cliffs 
 which border the Durance, and crossed the muddy river by 
 a suspension bridge a short distance below, to Cavaillon, 
 where the country-people were holding a great market. 
 From this place a road led across the meadow-land to L'Isle, 
 six miles distant. This little town is so named because it is 
 situated on an island formed by the crystal Sorgues, which 
 flows from the fountains of Vaucluse. It is a very pic- 
 turesque and pretty place. Great mill-wheels, turning 
 slowly and constantly, stand at intervals in the stream, 
 whose grassy banks are now as green as in springtime. We 
 walked along the Sorgues — which is quite as beautiful and 
 worthy to be sung as the Clitumnus — to the end of the vil- 
 lage, to take the road to Vaucluse. Beside its banks stands 
 a dirty modern " Hotel de Petrarque et Laure." Alas that 
 the names of the most romantic and impassioned lovers of 
 all history should be desecrated to a sign-post to allure gor- 
 mandizing tourists ! 
 
 The bare mountain in whose heart lies the poet's solitude 
 now rose before us at the foot of the lofty Mount Ventoux, 
 whose summit of snows extended beyond. We left the 
 river, and walked over a barren plain across which the wind 
 blew most drearily. The sky was rainy and dark, and com- 
 pleted the desolateness of the scene, which in nowise height- 
 ened our anticipations of the renowned glen. At length we 
 rejoined the Sorgues and entered a little green valley run- 
 ning up into the mountain. The narrowness of the en- 
 trance entirely shut out the wind, and, except the rolling
 
 390 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 of the waters over their pebbly bed, all was still and lonely 
 and beautiful. The sides of the dell were covered with 
 olive trees, and a narrow strip of emerald meadow lay at 
 the bottom. It grew more hidden and sequestered as we 
 approached the little village of Vaucluse. Here the moun- 
 tain towers far above, and precipices of gray rock many 
 hundred feet high hang over the narrowing glen. On a 
 crag over the village are the remains of a castle ; the slope 
 below this, now rugged and stony, was once graced by the 
 cottage and garden of Petrarch. All traces of them have 
 long since vanished, but a simple column bearing the in- 
 scription " A Petrarque " stands beside the Sorgues. 
 
 We ascended into the defile by a path among the rocks, 
 overshadowed by olive and wild fig trees, to the celebrated 
 fountains of Vaucluse. The glen seems as if stuck into the 
 mountain's depths by one blow of the enchanter's wand, and 
 just at the end, where the rod might have rested in its 
 downward sweep, is the fathomless well whose overbrim- 
 ming fulness gives birth to the Sorgues. We climbed up 
 over the mossy rocks and sat down in the grot beside the 
 dark, still pool. It was the most absolute solitude. The 
 rocks towered above and over us to the height of six hun- 
 dred feet, and the gray walls of the wild glen below shut 
 out all appearance of life. I leaned over the rock and 
 drank of the blue crystal that grew gradually darker to- 
 ward the centre till it became a mirror and gave back a 
 perfect reflection of the crags above it. There was no bub- 
 bling, no gushing up from its deep bosom, but the wealth 
 of sparkling waters continually welled over as from a too- 
 full goblet. 
 
 It was with actual sorrow that I turned away from the 
 silent spot. I never visited a place to which the fancy 
 clung more suddenly and fondly. There is something holy 
 in its solitude, making one envy Petrarch the years of calm 
 and unsullied enjoyment which blessed him there. As 
 some persons whom we pass as strangers strike a hidden
 
 RAINY GREETING. 391 
 
 chord in our spirits, compelling a silent sympathy with 
 them, so some landscapes have a character of beauty which 
 harmonizes thrillingly with the mood in which we look 
 upon them, till we forget admiration in the glow of spon- 
 taneous attachment. They seem like abodes of the Beauti- 
 ful which the soul in its wanderings long ago visited, and 
 now recognizes and loves as the home of a forgotten dream. 
 It was thus I felt by the fountains of Vaucluse ; sadly and 
 with weary steps I turned away, leaving its loneliness un- 
 broken as before. 
 
 We returned over the plain in the wind, under the 
 gloomy sky, passed L'Isle at dusk, and after walking an 
 hour with a rain following close behind us stopped at an 
 auberge in Le Thor, where we rested our tired frames and 
 broke our long day's fasting. We were greeted in the 
 morning with a dismal rain and wet roads as we began the 
 inarch. After a time, however, it poured down in such 
 torrents that we were obliged to take shelter in a remise by 
 the roadside, where a good woman who addressed us in the 
 unintelligible Provencal kindled up a blazing fire. On 
 climbing a long hill when the storm had abated, we ex- 
 perienced a delightful surprise. Below us lay the broad 
 valley of the Rhone, with its meadows looking fresh and 
 spring-like after the rain. The clouds were breaking away ; 
 clear blue sky was visible over Avignon, and a belt of sun- 
 light lay warmly along the mountains of Languedoc. 
 Many villages with their tall picturesque towers dotted the 
 landscape, and the groves of green olive enlivened the bar- 
 renness of winter. 
 
 Two or three hours' walk over the plain by a road 
 fringed with willows brought us to the gates of Avignon. 
 We walked around its picturesque turreted wall and ram- 
 bled through its narrow streets, washed here and there by 
 streams which turn the old mill-wheels lazily around. We 
 climbed up to the massive palace which overlooks the city 
 from its craggy seat, attesting the splendor it enjoyed when
 
 392 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 for thirty years the papal court was held there and the 
 gray, weatherbeaten, irregular building, resembling a pile 
 of precipitous rocks, echoed with the revels of licentious 
 prelates. • We could not enter to learn the terrible secrets 
 of the Inquisition here unveiled, but we looked up at the 
 tower from which the captive Rienzi was liberated at the 
 intercession of Petrarch. 
 
 After leaving Avignon, we took the road up the Ehone 
 for Lyons, turning our backs upon the rainy south. We 
 reached the village of Sorgues by dusk, and accepted the 
 invitation of an old dame to lodge at her inn, which proved 
 to be a blacksmith's shop. It was nevertheless clean and 
 comfortable, and we sat down in one corner, out of the 
 reach of the shower of sparks which flew hissing from a 
 red-hot horseshoe that the smith and his apprentice were 
 hammering. A Piedmontese pedler who carried the " Song 
 of the Holy St. Philomene " to sell among the peasants 
 came in directly, and bargained for a sleep on some hay for 
 two sous. For a bed in the loft over the shop we were 
 charged five sous each, which, with seven sous for supper, 
 made our expenses for the night about eleven cents. Our 
 circumstances demanded the greatest economy, and we 
 began to fear whether even this spare allowance would 
 enable us to reach Lyons. Owing to a day's delay in Mar- 
 seilles, we had left that city with but fifteen francs each ; 
 the incessant storms of winter and the worn-out state of 
 our shoes, which were no longer proof against water or 
 mud, prolonged our journey considerably ; so that by start- 
 ing before dawn and walking till dark we were only able to 
 make thirty miles a day. We could always procure beds 
 for five sous, and, as in the country inns one is only charged 
 for what he chooses to order, our frugal suppers cost us but 
 little. We purchased bread and cheese in the villages, and 
 made our breakfasts and dinners on a bank by the roadside 
 or climbed the rocks and sat down by the source of some 
 trickling rill. This simple fare had an excellent relish,
 
 HUMAN SYMPATHY. 393 
 
 and, although we walked in wet clothes from morning till 
 night, often lying down on the damp, cold earth to rest, our 
 health was never affected- 
 It is worth all the toil and privation we have as yet un- 
 dergone to gain from actual experience the blessed knowl- 
 edge that man always retains a kindness and brotherly 
 sympathy toward his fellow — that under all the weight of 
 vice and misery which a grinding oppression of soul and 
 body brings on the laborers of earth there still remain 
 many bright tokens of a better nature. Among the starv- 
 ing mountaineers of the Hartz, the degraded peasantry of 
 Bohemia, the savage contadini of Central Italy or the 
 dwellers on the hills of Provence and beside the swift 
 Rhone we almost invariably found kind, honest hearts and 
 an aspiration for something better, betokening the con- 
 sciousness that such brute-like, obedient existence was not 
 their proper destiny. We found few so hardened as to be 
 insensible to a kind look or a friendly word, and nothing 
 made us forget w 7 e were among strangers so much as the 
 many tokens of sympathy which met us when least looked 
 for. A young Englishman who had travelled on foot from 
 Geneva to Rome, enduring many privations on account of 
 his reduced circumstances, said to me, while speaking on 
 this subject, "A single word of kindness from a stranger 
 would make my heart warm and my spirits cheerful for days 
 afterward." There is not so much evil in man as men would 
 have us believe, and it is a happy comfort to know and feel 
 this. 
 
 Leaving our little inn before daybreak next morning, we 
 crossed the Sorgues, grown muddy since its infancy at Vau- 
 cluse, like many a young soul whose mountain-purity goes 
 out into the soiling world and becomes sullied for ever. 
 The road passed over broad, barren ranges of hills, and the 
 landscape was destitute of all interest till we approached 
 Orange. This city is built at the foot of a rocky height, a 
 great scpiare projection of which seemed to stand in its
 
 394 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 midst. As we approached nearer, however, arches and lines 
 of cornice could be discerned, and we recognized it as the 
 celebrated amphitheatre — one of the grandest Roman relics 
 in the South of France. I stood at the foot of this great 
 fabric and gazed up at it in astonishment. The exterior wall, 
 three hundred and thirty-four feet in length and rising to 
 the height of one hundred and twenty-one feet, is still in 
 excellent preservation, and through its rows of solid arches 
 one looks on the broken ranges of seats within. On the 
 crag above, and looking as if about to topple down on it, 
 is a massive fragment of the fortress of the princes of Or- 
 ange, razed by Louis XIV. 
 
 Passing through the city, we came to the beautiful Ro- 
 man triumphal arch, which to my eye is a finer structure 
 than that of Constantine at Rome. It is built of a rich 
 yellow marble and highly ornamented with sculptured tro- 
 phies. From the barbaric shields and the letters " Mario," 
 still remaining, it has been supposed to commemorate the 
 victory of Marius over the barbarians near Aix. A frieze 
 running along the top on each side shows, although broken 
 and much defaced by the weather, the life and action which 
 once marked the struggling figures. These Roman ruins 
 scattered through Provence and Languedoc, though infe- 
 rior in historical interest, equal in architectural beauty the 
 greater part of those in the Eternal City itself. 
 
 The rest of the day the road was monotonous, though 
 varied somewhat by the tall crags of Mornas and Mont- 
 dragon, towering over the villages of the same name. Night 
 came on as the rock of Pierrelatte, at whose foot we were to 
 sleep, appeared in the distance, rising like a Gibraltar from 
 the plain, and we only reached it in time to escape the rain 
 that came down the valley of the Rhone. 
 
 Next day we passed several companies of soldiers on 
 their way to Africa. One of them was accompanied by a 
 young girl, apparently the wife of the recruit by whose side 
 she was marching. She wore the tight blue jacket of the
 
 VALENCE. 395 
 
 troop, and a red skirt, reaching to the knees, over her sol- 
 dier pantaloons, while her pretty face showed to advantage 
 beneath a small military cap. It was a Fille du Regiment 
 in real life. Near Montelimart we lost sight of Mont Ven- 
 toux, whose gleaming white crest had been visible all the 
 way from Vaucluse, and passed along the base of a range 
 of hills running near to the river. So went our march 
 without particular incident till we bivouacked for the night 
 among a company of soldiers in the little village of Loriol. 
 
 Leaving at six o'clock, wakened by the trumpets which 
 called up the soldiery to their day's march, we reached the 
 river Drome at dawn, and from the bridge over its rapid 
 current gazed at the dim, ash-colored masses of the Alps 
 of Dauphine, piled along the sky, far up the valley. The 
 coming of morn threw a yellow glow along their snowy 
 sides, and lighted up here and there a flashing glacier. The 
 peasantry were already up and at work, and caravans of 
 pack-wagons rumbled along in the morning twilight. We 
 trudged on with them, and by breakfast-time had made 
 some distance of the way to Valence. The road, which does 
 not approach the Rhone, is devoid of interest and tiresome, 
 though under a summer sky, when the bare vine-hills are 
 latticed over with green and the fruit trees covered with 
 blossoms and foliage, it might be a scene of great beauty. 
 
 Valence, which we reached toward noon, is a common- 
 place city on the Rhone, and my only reasons for traversing its 
 dirty streets in preference to taking the road, which passes 
 without the walls, were to get something for dinner and be- 
 cause it might have been the birthplace of Aymer de Va- 
 lence, the valorous crusader chronicled in Ivanhoe, whose 
 tomb I had seen in Westminster Abbey. One of the streets 
 —which was marked " Rue Bayard "—shows that my val- 
 iant namesake the knight without fear and reproach is 
 still remembered in his native province. The ruins of 
 his chateau are still standing among the Alps near Gre- 
 noble.
 
 396 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 In the afternoon we crossed the Isere, a swift, muddy 
 river which rises among the Alps of Dauphine. We saw 
 their icy range, among which is the desert solitude of the 
 Grand Chartreuse, far up the valley ; but the thick atmo- 
 sphere hid the mighty Mont Blanc, whose cloudy outline, 
 eighty miles distant in a " bee-line," is visible in fair 
 weather. At Tain we came upon the Rhone again, and 
 walked along the base of the hills which contract its cur- 
 rent. Here I should call it beautiful. The scenery has a 
 wildness that approaches to that of the Rhine. Rocky, 
 castellated heights frown over the rushing waters, which 
 have something of the majesty of their " exulting and 
 abounding rival." Winding around the curving hills, the 
 scene is constantly varied, and the little willowed islets 
 clasped in the embrace of the stream mingle a trait of soft- 
 ened beauty with its sterner character. 
 
 After passing the night at a village on its banks, we left 
 it again at St. Vallier the next morning. At sunset the 
 spires of Vienne were visible, and the lofty Mont Pilas, the 
 snows of whose riven summits feed the springs of the Loire 
 on its western side, stretched majestically along the oppo- 
 site bank of the Rhone. In a meadow near Vienne stands 
 a curious Roman obelisk seventy-six feet in height. The 
 base is composed of four pillars connected by arches, and 
 the whole structure has a barbaric air compared with the 
 more elegant monuments of Orange and Nismes. Vienne, 
 which is mentioned by several of the Roman historians un- 
 der its present name, was the capital of the Allobroges, and 
 I looked upon it with a new and strange interest on calling 
 to mind my schoolboy-days, when I had become familiar 
 with that Avarlike race in toiling over the pages of Csesar. 
 We walked in the mud and darkness for what seemed a 
 great distance, and finally took shelter in a little inn at the 
 northern end of the city. Two Belgian soldiers coming 
 from Africa were already quartered there, and we listened
 
 REDUCED CIRCUMSTANCES. 397 
 
 to their tales of the Arab and the desert while supper was 
 preparing. 
 
 The morning of the 25th was dull and rainy. The road, 
 very muddy and unpleasant, led over the hills, avoiding 
 the westward curve of the Rhone, directly toward Lyons. 
 About noon we came in sight of the broad valley in which 
 the Rhone first clasps his Burgundian bride the Saone, and 
 a cloud of impenetrable coal-smoke showed us the location 
 of Lyons. A nearer approach revealed a large flat dome, 
 and some ranges of tall buildings near the river. We soon 
 entered the suburb of La Guillotiere, which has sprung up 
 on the eastern bank of the Rhone. Notwithstanding our 
 clothes were like sponges, our boots entirely worn out and 
 our bodies somewhat thin with nine days' exposure to the 
 wintry storms in walking two hundred and forty miles, we 
 entered Lyons with suspense and anxiety. But one franc 
 apiece remained out of the fifteen with which we left Mar- 
 seilles. B wrote home some time ago, directing a re- 
 mittance to be forwarded to a merchant at Paris to whom 
 he had a letter of introduction, and in the hope that this 
 had arrived he determined to enclose the letter in a note, 
 stating our circumstances, and requesting him to forward a 
 part of the remittance to Lyons. We had then to wait at 
 least four days. People are suspicious and mistrustful in 
 cities ; and if no relief should come, what was to be done ? 
 
 After wading through the mud of the suburbs, we chose 
 a common-looking inn near the river, as the comfort of our 
 stay depended wholly on the kindness of our hosts, and we 
 hoped to find more sympathy among the laboring classes. 
 We engaged lodgings for four or five days. After dinner 
 the letter was despatched, and we wandered about through 
 the dark, dirty city until night. Our landlord, Monsieur 
 Ferrand, was a rough, vigorous man with a gloomy, discon- 
 tented expression. His words were few and blunt, but a 
 certain restlessness of manner and a secret flashing of his 
 cold, forbidding eye betrayed to me some strong hidden ex-
 
 398 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 citement. Madame Ferrand was kind and talkative, though 
 passionate ; but the appearance of the place gave me an 
 unfavorable impression which was heightened by the thought 
 that it was now impossible to change our lodgings until re- 
 lief should arrive. 
 
 When bedtime came, a ladder was placed against a sort 
 of high platform along one side of the kitchen ; we mounted, 
 and found a bed concealed from the view of those below by 
 a dusty muslin curtain. We lay there between heaven and 
 earth — the dirty earth of the brick floor and the sooty 
 heaven of the ceiling — listening until midnight to the bois- 
 terous songs and loud, angry disputes in the room adjoining. 
 Thus ended our first day in Lyons. 
 
 Five weary days, each of them containing a month of 
 torturing suspense, have since passed. Our lodging-place 
 grew so unpleasant that we preferred wandering all day 
 through the misty, muddy, smoky streets, taking refuge in 
 the covered bazaars when it rained heavily. The gloom of 
 everything around us entirely smothered down the lightness 
 of heart which made us laugh over our embarrassments at 
 Vienna. When, at evening, the dull, leaden hue of the 
 clouds seemed to make the air dark and cold and heavy, 
 we walked beside the swollen and turbid Rhone, under an 
 avenue of leafless trees, the damp soil chilling our feet and 
 striking a numbness through our frames, and then I knew 
 what those must feel who have no hope in their destitution, 
 and not a friend in all the great world who is not wretched 
 as themselves. I prize the lesson, though the price of it is 
 hard. 
 
 " This morning," I said to B , " will terminate our 
 
 suspense." I felt cheerful in spite of myself, and this was 
 like a presentiment of coming good luck. To pass the time 
 till the mail arrived we climbed to the chapel of Fourvieres, 
 whose walls are covered with votive offerings to a miracu- 
 lous picture of the Virgin. But at the precise hour we were 
 at the post-office. What an intensity of suspense can be felt
 
 CHANGED FEELINGS. 399 
 
 in that minute while the clerk is looking over the letters! 
 And what a lightning-like shock of joy when it did come 
 and was opened with eager, trembling hands, revealing the 
 relief we had almost despaired of! The city did not seem 
 less gloomy, for that was impossible, but the faces of the 
 crowd, which had appeared cold and suspicious, were now 
 kind and cheerful. We came home to our lodgings with 
 changed feelings, and Madame Ferrand must have seen the 
 joy in our faces, for she greeted us with an unusual smile. 
 
 We leave to-morrow morning for Chalons. I do not feel 
 disposed to describe Lyons particularly, although I have 
 become intimately acquainted with every part of it, from 
 Presqu' isle Perrache to Croix Rousse. I know the contents 
 of every shop in the bazaar and the passage of the Hotel 
 Dieu, the title of every volume in the bookstores in the 
 Place Belcour and the countenance of every boot-black and 
 apple-woman on the quais on both sides of the river. I 
 have walked up the Saone to Pierre Seise, down the Rhone 
 to his muddy marriage, climbed the heights of Fourvieres 
 and promenaded in the Cours Napoleon. Why, men have 
 been presented with the freedom of cities when they have 
 had far less cause for such an honor than this ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 TRAVELLING IN BURGUNDY. — THE MISERIES OF A COUN- 
 TRY DILIGENCE. 
 
 Paris, Feb. 6, 1846. 
 Every letter of the date is traced with an emotion of 
 joy, for our dreary journey is over. There was a magic in 
 the name that revived us during a long journey, and now 
 the thought that it is all over — that these walls which en- 
 close us stand in the heart of the gay city — seems almost
 
 400 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 too joyful to be true. Yesterday I marked with the 
 whitest chalk on the blackest of all tablets to make the 
 contrast greater, for I got out of the cramped diligence at 
 the Barriere de Charenton, and saw before me in the morn- 
 ing twilight the immense gray mass of Paris. I forgot my 
 numbed and stiffened frame, and every other of the thou- 
 sand disagreeable feelings of diligence-travelling, in the 
 pleasure which that sight afforded. 
 
 We arose in the dark at Lyons, and after bidding adieu 
 to morose Monsieur Ferrand traversed the silent city and 
 found our way in the mist and gloom to the steamboat- 
 landing on the Saone. The waters were swollen and much 
 above their usual level, which was favorable for the boat 
 as long as there was room enough left to pass under the 
 bridges. After a great deal of bustle we got under way, 
 and were dashing out of Lyons, against the swift current, 
 before daybreak. We passed L'Isle Barbe, once a favorite 
 residence of Charlemagne, and now the haunt of the Lyon- 
 naise on summer holidays, and, going under the suspension 
 bridges with levelled chimneys, entered the picturesque 
 hills above, which are covered with vineyards nearly to the 
 top. The villages scattered over them have those square- 
 pointed towers which give such a quaintness to French 
 country scenery. 
 
 The stream being very high, the meadows on both sides 
 were deeply overflowed. To avoid the strong current in 
 the centre, our boat ran along the banks, pushing aside the 
 alder thickets and poplar shoots; in passing the bridges 
 the pipes were always brought down flat on the deck. A 
 little after noon we passed the large town of Macon, the 
 birthplace of the poet Lamartine. The valley of the 
 Saone, no longer enclosed among the hills, spread out to 
 several miles in width. Along the west lay in sunshine the 
 vine-mountains of Cote d'Or, and among the dark clouds 
 in the eastern sky we could barely distinguish the outline 
 of the Jura. The waters were so much swollen as. to cover
 
 STKOLLING MUSICIANS. 401 
 
 the plain for two or three miles. We seemed to be sailing 
 down a lake with rows of trees springing up out of the 
 water and houses and villages lying like islands on its sur- 
 face. A sunset that promised better weather tinged the 
 broad brown flood as Chalons came in sight, looking like a 
 city built along the shore of a lake. We squeezed through 
 the crowd of porters and diligence-men, declining their 
 kind offers, and hunted quarters to suit ourselves. 
 
 We left Chalons on the morning of the 1st in high spir- 
 its at the thought that there were but little more than two 
 hundred miles between us and Paris. In walking over the 
 cold, muddy plain we passed a family of strolling musi- 
 cians who were sitting on a heap of stones by the roadside. 
 An ill-dressed, ill-natured man and woman, each carrying 
 a violin, and a thin, squalid girl with a tambourine, com- 
 posed the group. Their faces bore that unfeeling stamp 
 which springs from depravity and degradation. When we 
 had walked somewhat more than a mile, we overtook a lit- 
 tle girl who was crying bitterly. By her features, from 
 which the fresh beauty of childhood had not been worn, 
 and the steel triangle which was tied to her belt, we knew 
 she belonged to the family we had passed. Her dress was 
 thin and ragged, and a pair of wooden shoes but ill pro- 
 tected her feet from the sharp cold. I stopped and asked 
 her why she cried, but she did not at first answer. How- 
 ever, by questioning, I found her unfeeling parents had 
 sent her on without food ; she was sobbing with hunger and 
 cold. Our pockets were full of bread and cheese which we 
 had bought for breakfast, and we gave her half a loaf, 
 which stopped her tears at once. She looked up and 
 thanked us, smiling, and, sitting down on a bank, began 
 to eat as if half famished. 
 
 The physiognomy of this region is very singular. It ap- 
 pears as if the country had been originally a vast elevated 
 plain and some great power had scooped out as with a hand 
 deep circular valleys all over its surface. In winding along
 
 402 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 the high ridges we often looked down on either side into 
 such hollows, several miles in diameter, and sometimes en- 
 tirely covered with vineyards. At La Rochepot, a quaint, 
 antique village lying in the bottom of one of these dells, we 
 saw the finest ruin of the Middle Ages that I have met with 
 in France. An American lady had spoken to me of it in 
 Rome, and I believe Willis mentions it in his Pencillings ; 
 but it is not described in the guide-books, nor could we learn 
 what feudal lord had ever dwelt in its halls. It covers the 
 summit of a stately rock at whose foot the village is crouch- 
 ed, and the green ivy climbs up to the very top of its gray 
 towers. 
 
 As the road makes a wide curve around the side of the 
 hill, we descended to the village by the nearer footpath, and 
 passed among its low old houses with their pointed gables 
 and mossy roofs. The path led close along the foot of the 
 rock, and we climbed up to the ruin and stood in its grass- 
 grown court-yard. Only the outer walls and the round 
 towers at each corner are left remaining ; the inner part has 
 been razed to the ground, and where proud barons once 
 marshalled their vassals the villagers now play their holiday 
 games. On one side several Gothic windows are left stand- 
 ing, perfect, though of simple construction, and in the tow- 
 ers we saw many fireplaces and doorways of richly-cut stone 
 which looked as fresh as if just erected. 
 
 We passed the night at Ivry (not the Ivry which gained 
 Henri Quatre his kingdom), and then continued our march 
 over roads which I can only compare to our country roads 
 in America during the spring thaw. In addition to this, 
 the rain commenced early in the morning and continued all 
 day ; so that we were completely wet the whole time. The 
 plains, too high and cold to produce wine, were varied by 
 forests of beech and oak, and the population was thinly 
 scattered over them in small villages. Travellers generally 
 complain very much of the monotony of this part of France,
 
 A PITILESS STOKM. 403 
 
 and, with such dreary weather, we could not disagree with 
 them. 
 
 As the day wore on the rain increased and the sky put 
 on that dull gray cast which denotes a lengthened storm. 
 We were fain to stop at nightfall, but there was no inn near 
 at hand — not even a hovel of a cabaret — in Avhich to shelter 
 ourselves, and on inquiring of the wagoners we received the 
 comforting assurance that there was yet a league and a half 
 to the nearest stopping-place. On, then, we went with the 
 pitiless storm beating in our faces and on our breasts, till 
 there was not a dry spot left except what our knapsacks 
 covered. We could not have been more completely satu- 
 rated if we had been dipped in the Yonne. At length, after 
 two hours of slipping and sliding along in the mud and wet 
 and darkness, we reached Saulieu, and by the warm fire 
 thanked our stars that the day's dismal tramp was over. 
 
 By good or bad luck (I have not yet decided which), a 
 vehicle was to start the next morning for Auxerre, distant 
 sixty miles, and, the fare being but five francs, we thought 
 it wisest to take places. It was always with reluctance that 
 we departed from our usual mode of travelling, but in the 
 present instance the circumstances absolutely compelled it. 
 
 Next morning, at sunrise, we took our seats in a large 
 square vehicle on two wheels calculated for six persons and 
 a driver with a single horse. But, as he was fat and round 
 as an elephant and started off at a brisk pace, and we were well 
 protected from the rain, it was not so bad, after all, barring 
 the jolts and jarred vertebra?. We drove on over the same 
 dreary expanse of plain and forest, passing through two or 
 three towns in the course of the day, and by evening had 
 made somewhat more than half our journey. Owing to 
 the slowness of our fresh horse we were jolted about the 
 whole night, and did not arrive at Auxerre until six o'clock 
 in the morning. After waiting an hour in a hotel beside 
 the rushing Yonne a lumbering diligence was got ready, 
 and we were given places to Paris for seven francs. As the
 
 404 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 distance is one hundred and ten miles, this would be con- 
 sidered cheap ; but I should not want to travel it again and 
 be paid for doing so. Twelve persons were packed into a 
 box not large enough for a cow, and no cabinet-maker ever 
 dovetailed the corners of his bureaus tighter than we did 
 our knees and nether extremities. It is my lot to be bless- 
 ed with abundance of stature, and none but tall persons 
 can appreciate the misery of sitting for hours with their 
 joints in an immovable vise. The closeness of the atmo- 
 sphere — for the passengers would not permit the windows 
 to be opened, for fear of taking cold — combined with loss 
 of sleep, made me so drowsy that my head was continually 
 falling on my next neighbor, who, being a heavy country- 
 lady, thrust it indignantly away. I would then try my 
 best to keep it up a while, but it would droop gradually, till 
 the crash of a bonnet or a smart bump against some other 
 head would recall me for a moment to consciousness. 
 
 We passed Joigny, on the Yonne, Sens, with its glorious 
 old cathedral, and at dusk reached Montereau, on the Seine. 
 This was the scene of one of Napoleon's best victories on 
 his return from Elba. In driving over the bridge I looked 
 down on the swift and swollen current, and hoped that its 
 hue might never be darkened again so fearfully as the last 
 sixty years have witnessed. No river in Europe has such 
 an association connected with it. We think of the Danube 
 for its majesty, of the Rhine for its wild beauty, but of the 
 Seine — for its blood! 
 
 In coming thus to the last famed stream I shall visit in 
 Europe, I might say, with Barry Cornwall, 
 
 "We've sailed through banks of green, 
 Where the wild waves fret and quiver, 
 
 And we've down the Danube been — 
 The dark, deep, thundering river; 
 
 We've tbridded the Elbe and Rhone, 
 The Tiber and blood-dyed Seine,
 
 AN IGNORANT CONDUCTOR 405 
 
 ' And we've been where the blue Garonne 
 
 Goes laughing to meet the main." 
 
 All that night did we endure squeezing and suffocation, 
 and no morn was ever more welcome than that which re- 
 vealed to us Paris. With matted hair, wild, glaring eyes 
 and dusty and dishevelled habiliments we entered the gay 
 capital, and blessed every stone upon which we placed our 
 feet, in the fulness of our joy. 
 
 In paying our fare at Auxerre, I was obliged to use a 
 draft on the banker Rougemont de Lowenberg. The ig- 
 norant conductor hesitated to change this, but permitted 
 us to go on condition of keeping it until we should arrive. 
 Therefore, on getting out of the diligence, after forty-eight 
 hours of sleepless and fasting misery, the fadeur of the office 
 
 went with me to get it paid, leaving B to wait for us. 
 
 I knew nothing of Paris, and this merciless man kept me 
 for three hours at his heels, following him on all his errands 
 before he did mine, in that time traversing the whole length 
 of the city in order to leave a chbvre-feuille at an aristocratic 
 residence in the Faubourg St. Germain. Yet even combined 
 weariness and hunger could not prevent me from looking 
 with vivid interest down a long avenue at the column of 
 the Place Vendume in passing, and gazing up in wonder at 
 the splendid portico of the Madeleine. But of anything else 
 I have a very faint remembrance. " You can eat breakfast 
 now, I think," said he, when we returned : " we have walked 
 more than four leagues." 
 
 I know we will be excused that, instead of hurrying away 
 to Notre Dame or the Louvre, we sat down quietly to 
 a most complete breakfast. Even the most romantic must 
 be forced to confess that admiration does not sit well on an 
 empty stomach. Our first walk was to a bath, and then, 
 with complexions several shades lighter and limbs that felt 
 as if lifted by invisible wings, we hurried away to the post- 
 office. I seized the welcome missives from my far home
 
 406 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 with a beating heart, and, hastening back, read till the 
 words became indistinct in the twilight. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 POETICAL SCENES IN PARIS. 
 
 What a gay little world in miniature this is ! I wonder 
 not that the French, with their exuberant gayety of spirit, 
 should revel in its ceaseless tides of pleasure as if it were an 
 earthly Elysium. I feel already the influence of its cheer- 
 ful atmosphere, and have rarely threaded the crowds of a 
 stranger-city with so light a heart as I do now daily on the 
 thronged banks of the Seine. And yet it would be difficult 
 to describe wherein consists this agreeable peculiarity. You 
 can find streets as dark and crooked and dirty anywhere in 
 Germany, and squares and gardens as gay and sunny beyond 
 the Alps, and yet they would affect you far differently. You 
 could not, as here, divest yourself of every particle of sad 
 or serious thought and be content to gaze for hours on the 
 showy scene without an idea beyond the present moment. 
 It must be that the spirit of the crowd is magnetically 
 contagious. 
 
 The evening of our arrival we walked out past the mass- 
 ive and stately Hotel de Ville and took a promenade along 
 the quais. The shops facing the river presented a scene of 
 great splendor. Several of the quais on the north bank of 
 the Seine are occupied almost entirely by jewellers, the win- 
 dows of whose shops, arranged in a style of the greatest 
 taste, make a dazzling display. Rows of gold watches and 
 chains are arranged across the crystal panes and heaped in 
 pyramids on long glass slabs ; cylindrical wheels of wire 
 hung with jewelled breastpins and earrings turn slowly
 
 NOTRE DAME. 407 
 
 around by some invisible agency, displaying row after row 
 of their glittering treasures. 
 
 From the centre of the Pont Neuf we could see for a long 
 distance up and down the river. The different bridges 
 traced on either side a dozen starry lines through the dark 
 air, and a continued blaze lighted the two shores in their 
 whole length, revealing the outline of the Isle de la Cite. 
 I recognized the palaces of the Louvre and the Tuileries in 
 the dusky mass beyond. Eastward, looming against the 
 dark sky, I could faintly trace the black towers of Notre 
 Dame. The rushing of the swift waters below mingled with 
 the rattling of a thousand carts and carriages and the con- 
 fusion of a thousand voices till it seemed like some grand 
 nightly festival. 
 
 I first saw Notre Dame by moonlight. The shadow of 
 its stupendous front was thrown directly toward me, hiding 
 the innumerable lines of the ornamental sculpture which 
 cover its tall, square towers. I walked forward until the 
 interlacing Moorish arches between them stood full against 
 the moon, and the light, struggling through the quaint 
 openings of the tracery, streamed in silver lines down into 
 the shadow. The square before it was quite deserted, for 
 it stands on a lonely part of the Isle de la Cite, and it looked 
 thus far more majestic and solemn than in the glaring day- 
 light. 
 
 The great quadrangle of the Tuileries encloses the Place 
 du Carrousel, in the centre of which stands a triumphal arch 
 erected by Napoleon after his Italian victories. Standing 
 in the middle of this arch, you look through the open pass- 
 age in the central building of the palace into the gardens 
 beyond. Farther on, in a direct line, the middle avenue of 
 the gardens extends away to the Place de la Concorde, 
 where the obelisk of Luxor makes a perpendicular line 
 through your vista; still farther goes the broad avenue 
 through the Elysian Fields, until afar off the Arc de
 
 408 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 l'Etoile — two miles distant — closes this view through the 
 palace doorway. 
 
 Let us go through it, and on to the Place de la Concorde, 
 reserving the gardens for another time. What is there in 
 Europe — nay, in the world, — equal to this? In the centre 
 the mighty obelisk of red granite pierces the sky ; on either 
 hand showers of silver spray are thrown up from splendid 
 bronze fountains ; statues and pillars of gilded bronze sweep 
 in a grand circle around the square, and on each side magnif- 
 icent vistas lead the eye off and combine the distant with 
 the near to complete this unparalleled view. Eastward, 
 beyond the tall trees in the garden of the Tuileries, rises the 
 long front of the palace, with the tri-color floating above ; 
 westward, in front of us, is the forest of the Elysian Fields, 
 with the Arch of Triumph — nearly a mile and a half dis- 
 tant — looking down from the end of the avenue, at the 
 Barriere de Neuilly. To the right and left are the marble 
 fronts of the church of the Madeleine and the chamber of 
 deputies, the latter on the other side of the Seine. Thus 
 the groves and gardens of Paris, the palace of her kings, 
 the proud monument of her sons' glory and the masterpieces 
 of modern French architecture are all embraced in this one 
 splendid coup tVceil. 
 
 Following the motley multitude to the bridge, I crossed 
 and made my way to the Hotel des Invalides. Along the 
 esplanade playful companies of children were running and 
 tumbling in their sports over the green turf, which was as 
 fresh as a meadow, while — not the least interesting feature 
 of the scene — numbers of scarred and disabled veterans in 
 the livery of the hospital basked in the sunshine, watching 
 with quiet satisfaction the gambols of the second generation 
 they have seen arise. What tales could they not tell, those 
 wrinkled and feeble old men ! What visions of Marengo 
 and Austerlitz and Borodino shift still with a fiery vivid- 
 ness through their fading memories ! Some may have left 
 a limb on the Lybian desert, and the sabre of the Cossack
 
 PERE LA CHAISE. 409 
 
 may have scarred the brows of others. They witnessed the 
 rising and setting of that great meteor which intoxicated 
 France with such a blaze of power and glory, and now, when 
 the recollection of that wonderful period seems almost like a 
 stormy dream, they are left to guard the ashes of their an- 
 cient general, brought back from his exile to rest in the 
 bosom of his own French people. It was to me a touching 
 and exciting thing to look on those whose eyes had wit- 
 nessed the filling up of such a fated leaf in the world's 
 history. 
 
 Entrance is denied to the tomb of Napoleon until it is 
 finished, which will not be for three or four years yet. I 
 went, however, into the " Church of the Banners " — a large 
 chapel hung with two or three hundred flags taken by the 
 armies of the empire. The greater part of them were Aus- 
 trian and Russian. It appeared to be empty when I en- 
 tered, but on looking around I saw an old gray-headed sol- 
 dier kneeling at one side. His head was bowed over his 
 hands, and he seemed perfectly absorbed in his thoughts. 
 Perhaps the very tattered banners which hung down mo- 
 tionless above his head he might have assisted in conquer- 
 ing. I looked a moment on those eloquent trophies, and 
 then noiselessly withdrew. 
 
 There is at least one solemn spot near Paris : the laugh- 
 ing winds that come up from the merry city sink into sighs 
 under the cypress boughs of Pere La Chaise. And yet it 
 is not a gloomy place, but full of a serious beauty fitting 
 for a city of the dead. I shall never forget the sunny after- 
 noon when I first entered its gate and walked slowly up the 
 hill between rows of tombs gleaming white amid the heavy 
 foliage, while the green turf around them was just begin- 
 ning to be starred by the opening daisies. From the little 
 chapel on its summit I looked back at the blue spires of the 
 city, whose roar of life dwindled to a low murmur. Count- 
 less pyramids, obelisks and urns rising far and wide above 
 the cedars and cypresses showed the extent of the splendid
 
 410 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 necropolis which is inhabited by pale shrouded emigrants 
 from its living sister below. The only sad part of the 
 view was the slope of the hill allotted to the poor, where 
 legions of plain black crosses are drawn up into solid 
 squares on its side and stand alone and gloomy — the ad- 
 vanced guard of the army of Death. I mused over the 
 tombs of Moliere and La Fontaine, M'assena, Mortier and 
 Lefebre, General Foy and Casimir Perier, and finally de- 
 scended to the shrine where Abelard reposes by the side of 
 his Heloise. The old sculptured tomb brought away from 
 the Paraclete still covers their remains, and pious hands 
 (of lovers, perhaps) keep fresh the wreaths of immortelles 
 above their marble effigies. 
 
 In the Theatre Francais, I saw Rachel, the actress. She 
 appeared in the character of " Virginia " in a tragedy of that 
 name by the poet Latour. Her appearance as she came 
 upon the stage alone convinced me she would not belie her 
 renown. She is rather small in stature, with dark piercing 
 eyes and rich black hair ; her lips are full, but delicately 
 formed, and her features have a marked yet flexible out- 
 line which conveys the minutest shades of expression. Her 
 voice is clear, deep and thrilling, and, like some grand 
 strain of music, there are power and meaning in its slightest 
 modulations. Her gestures embody the very spirit of the 
 character ; she has so perfectly attained that rare harmony 
 of thought, sound and action — or, rather, that unity of feel- 
 ing — which renders them harmonious that her acting seems 
 the unstudied, irrepressible impulse of her soul. With the 
 first sentence she uttered I forgot Rachel ; I only saw the 
 innocent Roman girl. I awaited in suspense and with a 
 powerful sympathy the development of the oft-told tragedy. 
 My blood grew warm with indignation when the words of 
 Appius roused her to anger, and I could scarcely keep back 
 my tears when, with a voice broken by sobs, she bade fare- 
 well to the protecting gods of her father's hearth. 
 
 Among the bewildering variety of ancient ornaments and
 
 THE GARDEN OF THE TUILERIES. 411 
 
 implements in the Egyptian Gallery of the Louvre, I saw 
 an object of startling interest — a fragment of the Iliad^ 
 written nearly three thousand years ago. One may even 
 dare to conjecture that the torn and half-mouldered slip of 
 papyrus upon which he gazes may have been taken down 
 from the lips of the immortal Chian. The eyes look on those 
 faded characters, and across the great gulf of Time the 
 soul leaps into the past, brought into shadowy nearness by 
 a mirage of the mind. There, as in the desert, images start 
 up, vivid, yet of a vague and dreamy beauty. We see the 
 olive groves of Greece. White-robed youths and maidens 
 sit in the shade of swaying boughs, and one of them reads 
 aloud, in words that sound like the clashing of shields, the 
 deeds of Achilles. 
 
 As we step out the western portal of the Tuileries a beau- 
 tiful scene greets us. We look on the palace-garden, fra- 
 grant with flowers and classic with bronze copies of ancient 
 sculpture. Beyond this broad gravel-walks divide the 
 flower-bordered lawns, and ranks of marble demigods and 
 heroes look down on the joyous crowd. Children troll their 
 hoops along the avenues or skip the rope under the clipped 
 lindens, whose boughs are now tinged a pale yellow by the 
 bursting buds. The swans glide about on a pond in the 
 centre, begging bread of the bystanders, who watch a min- 
 iature ship which the soft breeze carries steadily across. 
 Paris is unseen, but heard, on every side; only the Column 
 of Luxor and the Arc de Triomphe rise blue and grand 
 above the top of the forest. What with the sound of 
 voices, the merry laughter of the children and a host of 
 smiling faces, the scene touches a happy chord in one's 
 heart, and he mingles with it, lost in pleasant reverie, till 
 the sounds fade away with the fading light. 
 
 Just below the baths of the Louvre there are several 
 floating barges, belonging to the washerwomen, anchored at 
 the foot of the great stone staircase leading down to the 
 watei*. They stand there day after day, beating their clothes
 
 412 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 upon flat boards and rinsing them in the Seine. One day 
 there seemed to have been a wedding or some other cause 
 of rejoicing among them, for a large number of the young- 
 est were talking in great glee on one of the platforms of 
 the staircase, while a handsome German-looking youth 
 stood near with a guitar slung around his neck. He struck 
 up a lively air, and the girls fell into a droll sort of a dance. 
 They went at it heayily and roughly enough, but made up 
 in good-humor what they lacked in grace. The older mem- 
 bers of the craft looked up from their work with satisfac- 
 tion, and many shouts of applause were sent down to them 
 from the spectators on the quai and the Pont Neuf. Not 
 content with this, they seized on some luckless men who 
 were descending the steps, and, clasping them with their 
 powerful right arms, spun them around like so many tops 
 and sent them whizzing off at a tangent. Loud bursts of 
 laughter greeted this performance, and the stout river- 
 maidens returned to their dance with redoubled spirit. 
 
 Yesterday the famous procession of the Boeuf Gras took 
 place for the second time, with great splendor. The order 
 of march had been duly announced beforehand, and by 
 noon all the streets and squares through which it was to 
 pass were crowded with waiting spectators. Mounted gens- 
 d'armes rode constantly to and fro to direct the passage of 
 vehicles and keep an open thoroughfare. Thousands of 
 country peasants poured into the city, the boys of whom 
 were seen in all directions blowing distressingly through 
 hollow ox-horns. Altogether, the spirit of nonsense which 
 animated the crowd displayed itself very amusingly. 
 
 A few mounted guards led the procession, followed by a 
 band of music. Then appeared Roman lictors and officers 
 of sacrifice, leading Dagobert, the famous bull of Normandy, 
 destined to the honor of being slaughtered as the Carnival 
 beef. He trod rather tenderly, finding, no doubt, a differ- 
 ence between the meadows of Caen and the pavements of 
 Paris, and I thought he would have been willing to forego
 
 CARNIVAL SCENES. 413 
 
 his gilded horns and flowery crown to get back there again. 
 His weight was said to be four thousand pounds, and the 
 bills pompously declared that he had no rival in France 
 except the elephant in the Jardin des Plantes. 
 
 After him came the farmer by whom he was raised, and 
 M. Roland, the butcher of the Carnival, followed by a 
 hundred of the same craft dressed as cavaliers of the dif- 
 ferent ages of France. They made a very showy appear- 
 ance, although the faded velvet and soiled tinsel of their 
 mantles were rather too apparent by daylight. 
 
 After all these had gone by came an enormous triumphal 
 car very profusely covered with gilding and ornamental 
 flowers. A fellow with long woollen hair and beard, in- 
 tended to represent Time, acted as driver. In the car, un- 
 der a gilded canopy, reposed a number of persons in blue 
 silk smocks and yellow flesh-tights, said to be Venus, Apollo, 
 the Graces, etc., but I endeavored in vain to distinguish one 
 divinity from another. However, three children on the 
 back seat dressed in the same style, with the addition of 
 long flaxy ringlets, made very passable Cupids. This 
 closed the march, which passed onward toward the Place 
 de la Concorde accompanied by the sounds of music and 
 the shouts of the mob. The broad splendid line of boule- 
 vards which describe a semicircle around the heart of the 
 city were crowded, and for the whole distance of three miles 
 it required no slight labor to make one's way. People in 
 masks and fancy costumes were continually passing and re- 
 passing, and I detected in more than one of the carriages 
 cheeks rather too fair to suit the slouched hunter's hats 
 which shaded them. It seemed as if all Paris was taking 
 holiday and resolved to make the most of it.
 
 414 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF NORMANDY. 
 
 After a residence of five weeks — which, in spite of 
 some few troubles, passed away quickly and delightfully — I 
 turned my back on Paris. It was not regret I experienced 
 on taking my seat in the cars for Versailles, but that feel- 
 ing of reluctance with which we leave places whose bright- 
 ness and gayety force the mind away from serious toil. 
 Steam, however, cuts short all sentiment, and in much less 
 time than it takes to bid farewell to a German we had 
 whizzed past the Place d'Europe, through the barrier, and 
 were watching the spires start up from the receding city, 
 on the way to St. Cloud. 
 
 At Versailles, I spent three hours in a hasty walk through 
 the palace, which allowed but a bare glance at the gorgeous 
 paintings of Horace Vernet. His " Taking of Constan- 
 tine" has the vivid look of reality. The white houses 
 shine in the sun, and from the bleached earth to the blue 
 and dazzling sky there seems to hang a heavy, scorching 
 atmosphere. The white smoke of the artillery curls almost 
 visibly off the canvas, and the cracked and half-sprung 
 walls look as if about to topple down on the besiegers. 
 One series of halls is devoted to the illustration of the 
 knightly chronicles of France from the days of Charle- 
 magne to those of Bayard and Gaston de Foix. Among 
 these pictured legends, I looked with the deepest interest 
 on that of the noble girl of Orleans. Her countenance — 
 the same in all these pictures, and in a beautiful statue of 
 her which stands in one of the corridors — is said to be 
 copied from an old and well-authenticated portrait. United 
 to the sweetness and purity of peasant beauty, she has the 
 lofty brow and inspired expression of a prophetess. There 
 is a soft light in her full blue eye that does not belong to
 
 A GLOOMY WALK. 415 
 
 earth. I wonder not the soldiery deemed her chosen by 
 God to lead them to successful battle ; had I lived in those 
 times, I could have followed her consecrated banner to the 
 ends of the earth. In the statue she stands musing, with 
 her head drooping forward, as if the weight of the breastplate 
 oppressed her woman's heart ; the melancholy soul which 
 shines through the marble seems to forebode the fearful 
 winding up of her eventful destiny. The afternoon was 
 somewhat advanced by the time I had seen the palace and 
 gardens. After a hurried dinner at a restaurant, I shoul- 
 dered my knapsack and took the road to St. Germain. 
 The day was gloomy and cheerless, and I should have felt 
 very lonely but for the thought of soon reaching England. 
 There is no time of the year more melancholy than a 
 cold, cloudy day in March ; whatever may be the beauties 
 of pedestrian travelling in fairer seasons, my experience 
 dictates that during winter storms and March glooms it had 
 better be dispensed with. However, I pushed on to St. Ger- 
 main, threaded its long streets, looked down from the height 
 over its magnificent tract of forest and turned westward 
 down the Seine. Owing to the scantiness of villages, I was 
 obliged to walk an hour and a half in the wind and dark- 
 ness before I reached a solitary inn. As I opened the door 
 and asked for lodging the landlady inquired if I had the 
 necessary papers ; I answered in the affirmative, and was 
 admitted. While I was eating supper, they prepared their 
 meal on the other end of the small table and sat down to- 
 gether. They fell into the error so common to ignorant 
 persons — of thinking a foreigner could not understand them 
 — and began talking quite unconcernedly about me. " Why 
 don't he take the railroad ?" said the old man. " He must 
 have very little money ; it would be bad for us if he had 
 none." — " Oh," remarked his son, " if he had none, he would 
 not be sitting there so quiet and unconcerned." (I thought 
 there was some knowledge of human nature in this remark.) 
 — "And, besides," added the landlady, " there is no danger
 
 416 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 for us, for we have his passport." Of course I enjoyed this 
 in secret, and mentally pardoned their suspicions when I 
 reflected that the high-roads between Paris and London are 
 frequented by many impostors, which makes the people 
 naturally mistrustful. 
 
 I walked all the next day through a beautiful and richly- 
 cultivated country. The early fruit trees were bursting into 
 bloom, and the farmers led out their cattle to pasturage in 
 the fresh meadows. The scenery must be delightful in sum- 
 mer — worthy of all that has been said or sung about lovely 
 Normandy. On the morning of the third day, before reach- 
 ing Rouen, I saw at a distance the remains of Chateau Gal- 
 liard, the favorite castle of Richard Cceur de Lion. Rouen 
 breathes everywhere of the ancient times of Normandy. 
 Nothing can be more picturesque than its quaint, irregular 
 wooden houses and the low mossy mills spanning the clear 
 streams which rush through its streets. The cathedral, with 
 its four towers, rises from among the clustered cottages like 
 a giant rock split by the lightning and worn by the rains 
 of centuries into a thousand fantastic shapes. 
 
 Resuming my walk in the afternoon, I climbed the heights 
 west of the city, and after passing through a suburb four 
 or five miles in length entered the vale of the Cailly. This 
 is one of the sweetest scenes in France. It lies among the 
 woody hills like a Paradise, with its velvet meadows and 
 villas and breathing-gardens. The grass was starred with 
 daisies ; and if I took a step into the oak and chestnut 
 woods, I trampled on thousands of anemones and fragrant 
 daffodils. The upland plain, stretching inward from the 
 coast, wears a different character. As I ascended, toward 
 evening, and walked over its monotonous swells, I felt al- 
 most homesick beneath its saddening influence. The sun, 
 hazed over with dull clouds, gave out that cold and lifeless 
 light which is more lonely than complete darkness ; the 
 wind, sweeping dismally over the fields, sent clouds of blind- 
 ing dust down the road, and as it passed through the forests
 
 DIEPPE. 417 
 
 the myriads of fine twigs sent up a sound as deep and grand 
 as the roar of a roused ocean. Every chink of the Norman 
 cottage where I slept whistled most drearily, and as I look- 
 ed out the little window of my room the trees were swaying 
 in the gloom and long black clouds scudded across the sky. 
 Though my bed was poor and hard, it was a sublime sound 
 that cradled me into slumber. Homer might have used it 
 as the lullaby of Jove. 
 
 My last day on the Continent came. I rose early, and 
 walked over the hills toward Dieppe. The scenery grew 
 more bleak as I approached the sea, but the low and shel- 
 tered valleys preserved the pastoral look of the interior. 
 In the afternoon, as I climbed a long elevated ridge over 
 which a strong north-wester was blowing, I was struck with 
 a beautiful rustic church in one of the dells below me. 
 While admiring its neat tower I had gained unconsciously 
 the summit of the hill, and on turning suddenly around, lo! 
 there was the glorious old Atlantic stretching far before and 
 around me. A shower was sweeping mistily along the hori- 
 zon ; and I could trace the white line of the breakers that 
 foamed at the foot of the cliffs. The scene came over me 
 like a vivid electric shock, and I gave an involuntary shout 
 which might have been heard in all the valleys around. 
 After a year and a half of wandering over the Continent, 
 that gray ocean was something to be revered and loved, for 
 it clasped the shores of my native America. 
 
 I entered Dieppe in a heavy shower ; and after finding 
 an inn suited to my means and obtaining a permis d'em- 
 barquement from the police-office, I went out to the battle- 
 ments and looked again on the sea. The landlord promised 
 to call me in time for the boat, but my anxiety waked me 
 sooner, and, mistaking the strokes of the cathedral-bell, I 
 shouldered my knapsack and went down to the wharf at 
 one o'clock. No one was stirring on board the boat, and I 
 was obliged to pace the silent, gloomy streets of the town 
 for two hours. I watched the steamer glide out on the 
 27
 
 418 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 rainy channel, and, turning into the topmost berth, drew 
 the sliding curtain and strove to keep out cold and sea- 
 sickness, but it was unavailing. A heavy storm of snow 
 and rain rendered our passage so dreary that I did not stir 
 until we were approaching the chain-pier of Brighton. 
 
 I looked out on the foggy shores of England with a feel- 
 ing of relief: my tongue would now be freed from the dif- 
 ficult bondage of foreign languages, and my ears be re- 
 joiced with the music of my own. After two hours' delay 
 at the custom-house, I took my seat in an open car for Lon- 
 don. The day was dull and cold; the sun resembled a 
 milky blotch in the midst of a leaden sky. I sat and shiv- 
 ered as we flew onward amid the rich, cultivated English 
 scenery. At last the fog grew thicker. The road was car- 
 ried over the tops of houses, the familiar dome of St. Paul's 
 stood out above the spires, and I was again in London. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 LOCKHART, BERNARD BARTON AND CROLY. — LONDON 
 CHIMES AND GREENWICH FAIR. 
 
 My circumstances on arriving at London were again 
 very reduced. A franc and a half constituted the whole 
 of my funds. This, joined to the knowledge of London 
 expenses, rendered instant exertion necessary to prevent 
 still greater embarrassment. I called on a printer the next 
 morning, hoping to procure work, but found, as I had no 
 documents with me to show I had served a regular appren- 
 ticeship, this would be extremely difficult, although work- 
 men were in great demand. Mr. Putnam, however, on 
 whom I had previously called, gave me employment for a 
 time in his publishing establishment, and thus I was fortu-
 
 MURRAY, THE PUBLISHER. 419 
 
 natcly enabled to await the arrival of a remittance from 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Trollope, whom I met in Florence, kindly gave me 
 a letter to Murray, the publisher, and I visited him soon 
 after my arrival. In his library I saw the original por- 
 traits of Byron, Moore, Campbell, and the other authors 
 who were intimate with him and his father. A day or two 
 afterward I had the good fortune to breakfast with Lock- 
 hart and Bernard Barton at the house of the former. Mr. 
 Murray, through whom the invitation was given, accompa- 
 nied me there. As it was late when we arrived at Regent's 
 Park, we found them waiting, and sat down immediately to 
 breakfast. 
 
 I was much pleased with Lockhart's appearance and 
 manners. He has a noble, manly countenance — in fact, the 
 handsomest English face I ever saw — a quick, dark eye and 
 an ample forehead shaded by locks which show as yet but 
 few threads of gray. There is a peculiar charm in his rich, 
 soft voice ; especially when reciting poetry, it has a clear, 
 organ-like vibration which thrills deliciously on the ear. 
 His daughter, who sat at the head of the table, is a most 
 lovely and amiable girl. 
 
 Bernard Barton, who is now quite an old man, is a very 
 lively and sociable Friend. His head is gray and almost 
 bald, but there is still plenty of fire in his eyes and life in 
 his limbs. His many kind and amiable qualities endear 
 him to a large circle of literary friends. He still continues 
 writing, and within the last year has brought out a volume 
 of simple, touching household verses. A picture of cheer- 
 ful and contented old age has never been more briefly and 
 beautifully drawn than in the following lines, which he sent 
 me in answer to my desire to possess one of his poems in his 
 own hand : 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 I feel that I am growing old, 
 Nor wish to hide that truth,
 
 420 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Conscious my heart is not more cold 
 Than in my bygone youth. 
 
 I cannot roam the country round 
 
 As I was wont to do ; 
 My feet a scantier circle bound, 
 
 My eyes a narrower view. 
 
 But on my mental vision rise 
 
 Bright scenes of beauty still — 
 Morn's splendor, evening's glowing skies, 
 
 Valley and grove and hill. 
 
 Nor can infirmities o'erwhelm 
 
 The purer pleasures brought 
 From the immortal spirit's realm 
 
 Of feeling and of thought. 
 
 My heart, let not dismay or doubt 
 
 In thee an entrance win ; 
 Thou hast enjoyed thyself without; 
 
 Now seek thy joy within. 
 
 During breakfast he related to us a pleasant anecdote of 
 Scott. He once wrote to the poet in behalf of a young lady 
 who wished to have the description of Melrose, in the " Lay 
 of the Last Minstrel," in the poet's own writing. Scott 
 sent it, but added these lines to the conclusion : 
 
 " Then go and muse with deepest awe 
 On what the writer never saw, 
 Who would not wander 'neath the moon 
 To see what he could 9ee at noon." 
 
 We went afterward into Lockhart's library, which was 
 full of interesting objects. I saw the private diary of Scott, 
 kept until within a short time of his death. It was melancholy 
 to trace the gradual failing of all his energies in the very 
 wavering of the autograph. In a large volume of his cor- 
 respondence containing letters from Campbell, Wordsworth,
 
 CROLY. 421 
 
 Byron, and all the distinguished characters of the age, I 
 saw Campbell's " Battle of the Baltic " in his own hand. I 
 was highly interested and gratified with the whole visit — the 
 more so as Mr. Lockhart had invited me voluntarily with- 
 out previous acquaintance. I have since heard him spoken 
 of in the highest terms of esteem. 
 
 I went one Sunday to the church of St. Stephen to hear 
 Croly, the poet. The service, read by a drowsy clerk, was 
 long and monotonous. I sat in a side-aisle looking up at 
 the dome and listening to the rain which dashed in torrents 
 against the window-panes. At last a tall gray-haired man 
 came down the passage. He bowed with a sad smile so full 
 of benevolence and resignation that it went into my heart 
 at once, and I gave him an involuntary tribute of sympathy. 
 He has a heavy affliction to bear — the death of his gallant 
 son, one of the officers who were slain in the late battle of 
 Ferozeshaw. His whole manner betrays the tokens of sub- 
 dued but constant grief. 
 
 His sermon was peculiarly finished and appropriate. The 
 language was clear and forcible, without that splendor of 
 thought and dazzling vividness of imagery which mark 
 " Salathiel," yet I could not help noticing that he delighted 
 to dwell on the spiritualities of religion rather than its out- 
 ward observances, which he seemed inclined to hurry over 
 as lightly as possible. His mild gray eye and lofty forehead 
 are more like the benevolent divine than the poet. I thought 
 of Salathiel, and looked at the dignified, sorrowful man be- 
 fore me. The picture of the accursed Judean vanished, and 
 his own solemn lines rang on my ear : 
 
 "The mighty grave 
 Wraps lord and slave, 
 Nor Pride nor Poverty dares come 
 Within that prison-house, that tomb." 
 
 Whenever I hear them or think of them again, I shall see 
 in memory Croly 's calm, pale countenance.
 
 422 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 " The chimes — the chimes of Mother-land, 
 Of England green and old — 
 That out from thane and ivied tower 
 A thousand years have tolled !" 
 
 I often thought of Coxe's beautiful ballad when, after a day- 
 spent in Waterloo Place, I have listened, on my way home- 
 ward, to the chimes of Mary-le-bone chapel sounding sweetly 
 and clearly above all the din of the Strand. There is some- 
 thing in their silvery vibration which is far more expressive 
 than the ordinary tones of a bell. The ear becomes weary 
 of a continued toll — the sound of some bells seems to have 
 nothing more in it than the ordinary clang of metal — but 
 these simple notes, following one another so melodiously, 
 fall on the ear, stunned by the ceaseless roar of carriages or 
 the mingled cries of the mob, as gently and gratefully as 
 drops of dew. Whether it be morning and they ring out 
 louder and deeper through the mist, or midnight, when the 
 vast ocean of being beneath them surges less noisily than 
 its wont, they are alike full of melody and poetry. I have 
 often paused deep in the night to hear those clear tones 
 dropping down from the darkness, thrilling with their full, 
 tremulous sweetness the still air of the lighted Strand, and 
 winding away through dark, silent lanes and solitary courts 
 till the ear of the careworn watcher is scarcely stirred with 
 their dying vibrations. They seemed like those spirit-voices 
 which at such times speak almost audibly to the heart. 
 How delicious it must be, to those who dwell within the 
 limits of their sound, to wake from some happy dream and 
 hear those chimes blending in with their midnight fancies 
 like the musical echo of the promised bliss ! I love these 
 eloquent bells, and I think there must be many living out 
 a life of misery and suffering to whom their tones come 
 with an almost human consolation. The natures of the very 
 cockneys who never go without the horizon of their vibra- 
 tions is to my mind invested with one hue of poetry. 
 
 A few days ago an American friend invited me to acconi-
 
 GREENWICH FAIR. 423 
 
 pany him to Greenwich fair. We took a penny steamer 
 from Hungerford Market to London Bridge, and jumped 
 into the cars, which go every five minutes. Twelve min- 
 utes' ride above the chimneys of London and the vegetable- 
 fields of Rotherhithe and Deptford brought us to Green- 
 wich, and we followed the stream of people which was flow- 
 ing from all parts of the city into the park. 
 
 Here began the merriment. "We heard on every side the 
 noise of the scratchers — or, as the venders of these articles 
 denominated them, " the fun of the fair." By this is meant 
 a little notched wheel with a piece of wood fastened on it, 
 like a miniature watchman's rattle. The " fun " consists in 
 drawing them down the back of any one you pass, when 
 they make a sound precisely like that of ripping cloth. The 
 women take great delight in this, and, as it is only deemed 
 politeness to return the compliment, we soon had enough to 
 do. Nobody seemed to take the diversion amiss, but it 
 was so irresistibly droll to see a large crowd engaged in 
 this singular amusement that we both burst into hearty 
 laughter. 
 
 As we began ascending Greenwich Hill we were assailed 
 with another kind of game. The ground was covered with 
 smashed oranges, with which the people above and below 
 were stoutly pelting each other. Half a dozen heavy ones 
 whizzed uncomfortably near my head as I went up, and I 
 saw several persons get the full benefit of a shot on their backs 
 and breasts. The young country-lads and lasses amused 
 themselves by running at full speed down the steep side of 
 a hill. This was, however, a feat attended with some risk, 
 for I saw one luckless girl describe an arc of a circle of 
 which her feet were the centre and her body the radius. All 
 was noise and nonsense. They ran to and fro under the 
 long, hoary boughs of the venerable oaks that crest the 
 summit, and clattered down the magnificent forest-avenues, 
 whose budding foliage gave them little shelter from the 
 passing April showers.
 
 424 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 The view from the top is splendid. The stately Thames 
 curves through the j)lain below, which loses itself afar off 
 in the mist ; Greenwich, with its massive hospital, lies just 
 at one's feet, and in a clear day the domes of London skirt 
 the horizon. The wood of the park is entirely oak — the 
 majestic, dignified, English oak — which covers in pictur- 
 esque clumps the sides and summits of the two billowy hills. 
 It must be a sweet place in summer, when the dark, massive 
 foliage is heavy on every mossy arm and the smooth and 
 curving sward shines with thousands of field flowers. 
 
 Owing to the showers, the streets were coated with mud 
 of a consistence as soft and yielding as the most fleecy 
 Persian carpet. Near the gate boys were holding scores of 
 donkeys, which they offered us at threepence for a ride of 
 two miles. We walked down toward the river, and came 
 at last to a group of tumblers who with muddy hands and 
 feet were throwing somersets in the open street. I recog- 
 nized them as old acquaintances of the Rue St. Antoine and 
 the Champs Elysees, but the little boy who cried before be- 
 cause he did not want to bend his head and feet into a 
 ring, like a hoop-snake, had learned his part better by this 
 time ; so that he went through it all without whimpering 
 and came off with only a fiery-red face. The exercises of 
 the young gentlemen were, of course, very graceful and 
 classic, and the effect of their poses of strength was very 
 much heightened by the muddy footmarks which they left 
 on each other's orange-colored skins. 
 
 The avenue of booths was still more diverting. Here, 
 under sheets of leaky awning, were exposed for sale rows 
 of gilded gingerbread kings and queens, and I cannot re- 
 member how many men and women held me fast by the 
 arms, determined to force me into buying a pound of them. 
 We paused at the sign " Signor Urbani's Grand Magical 
 Display." The title was attractive ; so we paid the. penny 
 admission, and walked behind the dark, mysterious cur- 
 tain. Two bare brick walls, three benches and a little boy
 
 A SWING-RIDE. 425 
 
 appeared to us. A sheet hung before us, upon which quiv- 
 ered the shadow of some terrible head. At my friend's 
 command, the boy (also a spectator) put out the light, when 
 the awful and grinning face of a black woman became visi- 
 ble. While we were admiring this striking production 
 thus mysteriously revealed, Signor Urbani came in, and, 
 seeing no hope of any more spectators, went behind the 
 curtain and startled our sensitive nerves with six or seven 
 skeleton and devil apparitions, winding up the wonderful 
 entertainment with the same black head. We signified our 
 entire approbation by due applause, and then went out to 
 seek further novelties. 
 
 The centre of the square was occupied by swings, where 
 some eight or ten boat-loads of persons were flying topsy- 
 turvy into the air, making one giddy to look at them, and 
 constant fearful shrieks arose from the lady-swingers at 
 finding themselves in a horizontal or inverted position high 
 above the ground. One of the machines was like a great 
 wheel with four cars attached, which mounted and de- 
 scended with their motley freight. We got into the boat 
 by way of experiment. The starting-motion was pleasant, 
 but very soon it flew with a swiftness and to a height rather 
 alarming. I began to repent having chosen such a mode 
 of amusement, but held on as well as I could in my uneasy 
 place. Presently we mounted till the long beam of our 
 boat was horizontal. At one instant I saw three young 
 ladies below me with their heads downward, like a shadow 
 in the water ; the next, I was turned heels up, looking at 
 them as a shadow does at its original. I was fast becoming 
 sea-sick, when, after a few minutes of such giddy soaring, 
 the ropes were slackened, and we all got out looking some- 
 what pale, and feeling nervous if nothing else. 
 
 There were also many great tents, hung with boughs and 
 lighted with innumerable colored lamps, where the people 
 danced their country dances in a choking cloud of dry 
 sawdust. Conjurers and gymnastic performers were show-
 
 426 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 ing off on conspicuous platforms, and a continual sound of 
 drums, cymbals and shrill trumpets called the attention of 
 the crowd to some " wonderful exhibition " — some infant 
 phenomenon, giant or three-headed pig. A great part of 
 the crowd belonged, evidently, to the very worst part of 
 society, but the watchfulness of the police prevented any 
 open disorder. We came away early and in a quarter of 
 an hour were in busy London, leaving far behind us the 
 revel and debauch, which was prolonged through the whole 
 night. 
 
 London has the advantage of one of the most gloomy 
 atmospheres in the world. During this opening spring 
 weather no light, and scarcely any warmth, can penetrate 
 the dull yellowish-gray mist which incessantly hangs over 
 the city. Sometimes, at noon, W3 have for an hour or two 
 a sickly gleam of sunshine, but it is soon swallowed up by 
 the smoke and drizzling fog. The people carry umbrellas 
 at all times, for the rain seems to drop spontaneously out 
 of the very air, without waiting for the usual preparation 
 of a gathering cloud. Professor Espy's rules would be of 
 little avail here. 
 
 A few days ago we had a real fog — a specimen of No- 
 vember weather, as the people said. If November wears 
 such a mantle, London during that sober month must fur- 
 nish a good idea of the gloom of Hades. The streets were 
 wrapped in a veil of dense mist of a dirty yellow color, as 
 if the air had suddenly grown thick and mouldy. The 
 houses on the opposite sides of the street were invisible, and 
 the gas-lamps lighted in the shops burned with a white and 
 ghastly flame. Carriages ran together in the streets, and I 
 was kept constantly on the lookout lest some one should 
 come suddenly out of the cloud around me, and we should 
 meet with a shock like that of two knights at a tournament. 
 As I stood in the centre of Trafalgar Square, with every 
 object invisible around me, it reminded me (hoping the 
 comparison will not be accepted in every particular) of
 
 ENGLISH EMIGRANTS. 427 
 
 Satan resting in the middle of Chaos. The weather some- 
 times continues thus for whole days together. 
 
 April 26. 
 An hour and a half of land are still allowed us, and then 
 we shall set foot on the back of the oak-ribbed leviathan 
 which will be our home until a thousand leagues of blue 
 ocean are crossed. I shall hear the old Aldgate clock strike 
 for the last time ; I shall take a last walk through the Mi- 
 nories and past the Tower-yard ; and as we glide down the 
 Thames, St. Paul's, half hidden in mist and coal-smoke, wiD 
 probably be my last glimpse of London. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. — CONCLUSION. 
 
 We slid out of St. Katharine's dock at noon on the ap- 
 pointed day, and with a pair of sooty steamboats hitched 
 to our vessel moved slowly down the Thames in mist and 
 drizzling rain. I stayed on the wet deck all afternoon that 
 I might more forcibly and joyously feel Ave were again in 
 motion on the waters and homeward bound. My attention 
 was divided between the dreary views of Blackwall, Green- 
 wich and Woolwich and the motley throng of passengers 
 who were to form our ocean-society. An English family 
 going out to settle in Canada were gathered together in 
 great distress and anxiety, for the father had gone ashore 
 in London at a late hour, and was left behind. When we 
 anchored for the night at Gravesend, their fears were quiet- 
 ed by his arrival in a skiff from the shore, as he had imme- 
 diately followed us by railroad. 
 
 My cousin and B had hastened on from Paris to join
 
 428 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 me, and a day before the sailing of the Victoria we took 
 berths in the second cabin for twelve pounds ten shillings 
 each, which in the London line of packets includes coarse 
 but substantial fare for the whole voyage. Our funds were 
 insufficient to pay even this, but Captain Morgan, less mis- 
 trustful than my Norman landlord, generously agreed that 
 the remainder of the fare should be paid in America. 
 
 B and I, with two young Englishmen, took possession 
 
 of a state-room of rough boards lighted by a bull's-eye 
 which in stormy weather leaked so much that our trunks 
 swam in water. A narrow mattress and blanket, with a 
 knapsack for a pillow, formed a passable bed. A long en- 
 try between the rooms, lighted by a feeble swinging-lamp, 
 was filled with a board table, around which the thirty-two 
 second-cabin passengers met to discuss politics and salt pork, 
 favorable winds and hard sea-biscuit. 
 
 We lay becalmed opposite Sheerness the whole of the 
 second day. At dusk a sudden squall came up which drove 
 us foaming toward the North Foreland. When I went on 
 deck in the morning, we had passed Dover and Brighton, 
 and the Isle of Wight was rising dim ahead of us. The 
 low English coast on our right was bordered by long 
 reaches of dazzling chalky sand which glittered along the 
 calm blue water. 
 
 Gliding into the Bay of Portsmouth, we dropped anchor 
 opposite the romantic town of Ryde, built on the sloping 
 shore of the green Isle of Wight. Eight or nine vessels of 
 the experimental squadron were anchored near us, and 
 over the houses of Portsmouth I saw the masts of the Vic- 
 tory, the flag-ship in the battle of Trafalgar on board of 
 which Nelson was killed. The wind was not strong enough 
 to permit the passage of the Needles, so at midnight we suc- 
 ceeded in wearing back again into the Channel around the 
 Isle of Wight. A head-wind forced us to tack away to- 
 ward the shore of France. We were twice in sight of the 
 rocky coast of Brittany, near Cherbourg, but the misty
 
 OCEAN-GRANDEUR. 429 
 
 promontory of Land's End was our last glimpse of the Old 
 World. 
 
 On one of our first days at sea I caught a curlew, which 
 came flying on weary wings toward us and alighted on one 
 of the boats. Two of his brethren, too much exhausted or 
 too timid to do likewise, dropped flat on the waves and re- 
 signed themselves to their fate without a struggle. I slipped 
 up and caught his long, lank legs while he was resting with 
 flagging wings and half-shut eyes. We fed him, though it 
 was difficult to get anything down his reed-shaped bill ; but 
 he took kindly to our force-work, and when we let him 
 loose on the deck walked about with an air quite tame and 
 familiar. He died, however, two days afterward. A French 
 pigeon which was caught in the rigging lived and throve 
 during the whole of the passage. 
 
 A few days afterward a heavy storm came on, and we 
 were all sleepless and sea-sick as long as it lasted. Thanks, 
 however, to a beautiful law of memory, the recollection of 
 that dismal period soon lost its unpleasantness, while the 
 grand forms of beauty the vexed ocean presented will re- 
 main for ever as distinct and abiding images. I kept on 
 deck as long as I could stand, watching the giant waves 
 over which our vessel took her course. They rolled up to- 
 ward us, thirty or forty feet in height — dark-gray masses 
 changing to a beautiful vitriol tint wherever the light 
 struck through their countless and changing crests. It was 
 a glorious thing to see our good ship mount slowly up the 
 side of one of these watery hills till her prow was lifted 
 high in air, then, rocking over its brow, plunge with a slight 
 quiver downward, and plough up a briny cataract as she 
 struck the vale. I never before realized the terrible sub- 
 limity of the sea. And yet it was a pride to see how man, 
 strong in his godlike will, could bid defiance to those whelm- 
 ing surges and brave their wrath unharmed. 
 
 We swung up and down on the billows till we scarcely knew 
 which way to stand. The most grave and sober personages
 
 430 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 suddenly found themselves reeling in a very undignified 
 manner, and not a few measured their lengths on the slip- 
 pery decks. Boxes and barrels were affected in like man- 
 ner ; everything danced around us. Trunks ran out from 
 under the berths, packages leaped down from the shelves, 
 chairs skipped across the rooms, and at table knives, forks 
 and mugs engaged in a general waltz and breakdown. One 
 incident of this kind was rather laughable. One night, 
 about midnight, the gale, which had been blowing violently, 
 suddenly lulled, "as if," to. use a sailor's phrase, "it had 
 been chopped off." Instantly the ship gave a tremendous 
 lurch, which was the signal for a general breaking loose. 
 Two or three others followed so violently that for a moment 
 I imagined the vessel had been thrown on her beam-ends. 
 Trunks, crockery and barrels went banging down from one 
 end of the ship to the other. The women in the steerage 
 set up an awful scream, and the German emigrants, think- 
 ing we were in terrible danger, commenced praying with 
 might and main. In the passage near our room stood sev- 
 eral barrels filled with broken dishes, which at every lurch 
 went banging from side to side, jarring the board partition 
 and making a horrible din. I shall not soon forget the 
 Babel which kept our eyes open that night. 
 
 The 19th of May a calm came on. Our white wings 
 flapped idly on the mast, and only the top-gallant sails were 
 bent enough occasionally to lug us along at a mile an hour. 
 A barque from Ceylon, making the most of the wind, with 
 every rag of canvas set, passed us slowly on the way east- 
 ward. The sun went down unclouded, and a glorious starry 
 night brooded over us. Its clearness and brightness were 
 to me indications of America. I longed to be on shore. 
 The forests about home were then clothed in the delicate 
 green of their first leaves, and that bland weather embraced 
 the sweet earth like a blessing of Heaven. The gentle 
 breath from out the west seemed made for the odor of vio- 
 lets, and as it came to me over the slightly-ruffled deep I
 
 IN SIGHT OF AMERICA. 431 
 
 thought how much sweeter it were to feel it while " wasting 
 in wood-paths the voluptuous hours." 
 
 Soon afterward a fresh wind sprung up, which increased 
 rapidly till every sail was bent to the full. Our vessel 
 parted the brine with an arrowy glide the ease "and grace 
 of which it is impossible to describe. The breeze held on 
 steadily for two or three days, which brought us to the 
 southern extremity of the Banks. Here the air felt so 
 sharp and chilling that I was afraid we might be under the 
 lee of an iceberg, but in the evening the dull gray mass of 
 clouds lifted themselves from the horizon, and the sun set 
 in clear American beauty away beyond Labrador. The 
 next morning we were enveloped in a dense fog, and the 
 wind which bore us onward w T as of a piercing coldness. A 
 sharp lookout was kept on the bow, but, as we could see but 
 a short distance, it might have been dangerous had we met 
 one of the Arctic squadron. At noon it cleared away 
 again, and the bank of fog was visible a long time astern, 
 piled along the horizon, reminding me of the Alps as seen 
 from the plains of Piedmont. 
 
 On the 31st the fortunate wind which carried us from the 
 Banks failed us about thirty-five miles from Sandy Hook. 
 We lay in the midst of the mackerel-fishery, with small 
 schooners anchored all around us. Fog, dense and impen- 
 etrable, weighed on the moveless ocean like an atmosphere 
 of wool. The only incident to break the horrid monotony 
 of the day was the arrival of a pilot with one or two news- 
 papers detailing the account of the Mexican war. We 
 heard in the afternoon the booming of the surf along the 
 low beach of Long Island — hollow and faint, like the mur- 
 mur of a shell. When the mist lifted a little, we saw the 
 faint line of breakers along the shore. The Germans gath- 
 ered on deck to sing their old familiar songs, and their 
 voices blended beautifully together in the stillness. 
 
 Next morning, at sunrise, we saw Sandy Hook ; at nine 
 o'clock we were telegraphed in New York by the station at
 
 432 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Coney Island ; at eleven the steamer Hercules met us out- 
 side the Hook ; and at noon we were gliding up the Nar- 
 rows, with the whole ship's company of four hundred per- 
 sons on deck gazing on the beautiful shores of Staten Island 
 and agreeing almost universally that it was the most de- 
 lightful scene they had ever looked upon. 
 
 And now I close the story of my long wandering as I 
 began it — with a lay written on the deep : 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 Farewell to Europe ! Days have come and gone 
 Since misty England set behind the sea. 
 Our ship climbs onward o'er the lifted waves 
 That gatlier up in ridges, mountain-high, 
 And like a sea-god conscious in his power 
 Buffets the surges. Storm-arousing winds 
 That sweep unchecked from frozen Labrador 
 Make wintry music through the creaking shrouds. 
 Th' horizon's ring that clasps the dreary view 
 Lays mistily upon the gray Atlantic's breast, 
 Shut out at times by bulk of sparry blue, 
 That, rolling near us, heaves the swaying prow 
 High on its shoulders, to descend again 
 Ploughing a thousand cascades, and around 
 Spreading the frothy foam. These watery gulfs, 
 With storm and winds far-sweeping, hem us in 
 Alone upon the waters. 
 
 Days must pass — 
 Many and weary — between sea and sky. 
 Our eyes, that long e'en now for the fresh green 
 Of sprouting forests and the far blue stretch 
 Of regal mountains piled along the sky, 
 Must see for many an eve the level sun 
 Sheathe with his latest gold the heaving brine, 
 By thousand ripples shivered, or Night's pomp 
 Brooding in silence, ebon and profound, 
 Upon the murmuring darkness of the deep, 
 Broken by flashings that the parted wave 
 Sends white and starlike through its bursting foam. 
 Yet not more dtar the opening dawn of heaven
 
 "HOMEWARD BOUND." 433 
 
 Poured on the eartli in an Italian May, 
 
 When souls take wings upon the scented air 
 
 Of starry meadows and the yearning heart 
 
 Pains with deep sweetness in the balmy time, 
 
 Than these gray morns and days of misty blue 
 
 And surges never ceasing ; for our prow 
 
 Points to the sunset like a morning ray, 
 
 And o'er the waves and through the sweeping storms, 
 
 Through day and darkness, rushes ever on, 
 
 Westward and westward still. What joy can send 
 
 The spirit thrilling onward with the wind 
 
 In untamed exultation like the thought 
 
 That fills the homeward-bound? 
 
 Country and home! 
 Ah ! not the charm of silver-tongued romance 
 Born of the feudal time, nor whatsoe'er 
 Of dying glory fills the golden realms 
 Of perished song where heaven-descended Art 
 Still boasts her later triumphs, can compare 
 With that one thought of liberty inherited — 
 Of free life giv'n by fathers who were free, 
 And to be left to children freer still. 
 That pride and consciousness of manhood caught 
 From boyish musings on the holy graves 
 Of hero-martyrs, and from every form 
 Which virgin Nature, mighty and unchained, 
 Takes in an empire not less proudly so, 
 Inspired in mountain-airs untainted yet 
 By thousand generations' breathing, felt 
 Like a near presence in the awful depths 
 Of unhewn forests and upon the steep 
 Where giant rivers take their maddening plunge, — 
 Has grown impatient of the stifling damps 
 Which hover close on Europe's shackled soil. 
 Content to tread a while the holy steps 
 Of Art and Genius, sacred through all time, 
 The spirit breathed that dull, oppressive air 
 Which, freighted with its tyrant-clouds, o'erweighs 
 The upward throb of many a nation's soul — 
 Amid those olden memories felt the thrall, 
 But kept the birthright of its freer home. 
 28
 
 434 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 Here, on the world's blue highway, conies again 
 The voice of Freedom, heard amid the roar 
 Of sundered billows, while above the wave 
 Rise visions of the forest and the stream. 
 Like trailing robes the morning mists uproll, 
 Torn by the mountain-pines ; the flashing rills 
 Shout downward through the hollows of the vales; 
 Down the great river's bosom shining sails 
 Glide with a gradual motion, while from all — 
 Hamlet and bowered homestead and proud town — 
 Voices of joy ring far up into heaven. 
 
 Yet louder, winds ! Urge on our keel, ye waves, 
 Swift as the spirit's yearnings ! We would ride 
 With a loud stormy motion o'er your crests, 
 With tempests shouting like a sudden joy 
 Interpreting our triumph ! 'Tis your voice, 
 Ye unchained elements, alone can speak 
 The sympathetic feeling of the free — 
 The arrowy impulse of the homeward-bound. 
 
 I shall not attempt to describe the excitement of that 
 afternoon. After thirty-seven days between sky and water, 
 any shore would have been beautiful ; but when it was home, 
 after we had been two years absent during an age when 
 time is always slow, it required a powerful effort to main- 
 tain any propriety of manner. The steward prepared a 
 parting dinner much better than any we had had at sea, 
 but I tried in vain to eat. Never were trees such a glori- 
 ous green as those around the quarantine buildings, where 
 we lay to for half an hour to be visited by the physician. 
 The day was cloudy and thick mist hung on the tops of the 
 hills, but I felt as if I could never tire looking at the land. 
 
 At last we approached the city. It appeared smaller than 
 when I left, but this might have been because I was habitu- 
 ated to the broad distances of the sea. Our scanty baggage 
 was brought on deck for the inspection of the custom-house 
 officer, but we were neither annoyed nor delayed by the 
 operation. The steamer by this time had taken us to the 
 pier at Pine Street wharf, and the slight jar of the vessel
 
 NEW YORK. 435 
 
 as she came alongside sent a thrill of delight through our 
 frames. But when finally the ladder was let down and we 
 sprang upon the pier, it was with an electric shock, as if of 
 recognition from the very soil. It was about four o'clock 
 in the afternoon, and we were glad that night was so near 
 at hand. After such strong excitement, and even bewilder- 
 ment of feeling, as we had known since morning, the pros- 
 pect of rest was very attractive. 
 
 But no sooner were we fairly deposited in a hotel than 
 w r e must needs see the city again. How we had talked over 
 this hour ! How we had thought of the life, the neatness, 
 the comfort, of our American cities, when rambling through 
 some filthy and depopulated capital of the Old World ! At 
 first sight our anticipations were not borne out. There had 
 been heavy rains for a week or two, and the streets were not 
 remarkably clean ; houses were being built up or taken 
 down on all sides, and the number of trees in full foliage 
 everywhere visible gave us the idea of an immense unfin- 
 ished country-town. I took this back, it is true, the next 
 morning, when the sun was bright and the streets were 
 thronged with people. But what activity ! what a restless 
 eagerness, and even keenness of expression, on every coun- 
 tenance ! I could not have believed that the general cast 
 of the American face was so sharp ; yet nothing was so re- 
 markable as the perfect independence of manner which we 
 noticed in all, down to the very children. I can easily con- 
 ceive how this should jar with the feelings of a stranger 
 accustomed to the deference — not to say servility — in which 
 the largest class of the people of Europe is trained ; but it 
 was a most refreshing change to us. Life at sea sharpens 
 one's sensibilities to the sounds and scents of land in a very 
 high degree. We noticed a difference in the atmosphere 
 of different streets, and in the scent of leaves and grass, 
 which a land-friend who was with us failed entirely to dis- 
 tinguish. 
 
 The next day, as we left New York and in perfect exul- 
 tation of spirit sped across New Jersey (which was never
 
 436 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 half so beautiful to our eyes), I could feel nothing but one 
 continued sensation of the country. Fragrant hayfield and 
 wild clearing, garden and marshy hollow, and the coo] 
 shadow of the woodlands,— I was by turns possessed with 
 the spirit of them all. The twilight deepened as we passed 
 down the Delaware. I stood on the promenade deck and 
 watched the evening star kindling through the cloudless 
 flush of sunset, while the winds that came over the glassy 
 river bore me the odor of long-remembered meadow-flow- 
 ers. We asked each other what there was in the twilights 
 of Florence and Vallombrosa more delicious than this. 
 
 A night in neat, cheerful, home-like Philadelphia — whose 
 dimensions Avere also a little shrunken in our eyes — and a 
 glorious June morning broke on the last day of our pil- 
 grimage. Again we were on the Delaware, pacing the deck 
 in rapture at the green, luxuriant beauty of its shores. Is 
 it not worth years of absence to learn how to love one's 
 land as it should be loved ? Two or three hours brought us 
 to Wilmington, in Delaware, and within twelve miles of 
 home. Now came the realization of a plan we had talked 
 over a hundred times to keep up our spirits when the 
 weather was gloomy or the journey lay through some waste 
 of barren country. Our knapsacks, which had been laid 
 down in Paris, were again taken up, slouched German hats 
 substituted for our modern black cylinders, belt and blouse 
 donned and the pilgrim-staff grasped for the rest of our 
 journey. But it was part of our plan that we should not 
 reach home till after nightfall — we could not think of see- 
 ing any one we knew before those who were nearest to us-^ 
 and so it was necessary to wait a few hours before starting. 
 
 The time came. That walk of three or four hours seem- 
 ed longer than many a day's tramp of thirty miles, but 
 every step of the way was familiar ground. The people we 
 met stared, laughed or looked suspiciously after us, but we 
 were quite insensible to any observation. We only counted 
 the fields, measured the distance from hill to hill, and 
 watched the gradual decline of the broad, bright sun. It
 
 AT HOME. 437 
 
 went down at last, and our homes were not far off. When 
 the twilight grew deeper, we parted, and each thought what 
 an experience lay between that moment and the next morn- 
 ing. I took to the fields, plunged into a sea of dewy clover, 
 and made for a light which began to glimmer as it grew 
 darker. When I reached it and looked with the most pain- 
 ful excitement through the window on the unsuspecting 
 group within, there was not one face missing. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 ADVICE AND INFORMATION FOR PEDESTRIANS. 
 
 Although the narrative of my journey " with knapsack 
 and staff" is now strictly finished, a few more words of ex- 
 planation seem necessary to describe more fully the method 
 of travelling w'hich we adopted. I add them the more will- 
 ingly, as it is my belief that many whose circumstances 
 are similar to mine desire to undertake the same romantic 
 journey. Some matter-of-fact statements may be to them 
 useful as well as interesting. 
 
 To see Europe as a pedestrian requires little preparation, 
 if the traveller is willing to forego some of the refinements 
 of living to which he may have been accustomed for the 
 sake of the new and interesting fields of observation which 
 will be opened to him. He must be content to sleep on 
 hard beds and partake of coarse fare, to undergo rudeness 
 at times from the officers of the police and the porters of 
 palaces and galleries, or to travel for hours in rain and 
 storm without finding a shelter. The knapsack will at 
 first be heavy upon the shoulders, the feet will be sore and 
 the limbs weary with the day's walk, and sometimes the 
 spirit will begin to flag under the general fatigue of body. 
 This, however, soon passes over. In a week's time, if the 
 pedestrian does not attempt too much on setting out, his 
 limbs are stronger and his gait more firm and vigorous ; he
 
 438 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 lies down at night with a feeling of refreshing rest, sleeps 
 with a soundness, undisturbed by a single dream, that 
 seems almost like death, if he has been accustomed to 
 restless nights, and rises invigorated in heart and frame for 
 the next day's journey. The coarse black bread of the 
 peasant-inns, with cheese no less coarse and a huge mug of 
 milk or the nourishing beer of Germany, have a relish to 
 his keen appetite which excites his own astonishment. And 
 if he is willing to regard all incivility and attempts at im- 
 position as valuable lessons in the study of human nature, 
 and to keep his temper and cheerfulness in any situation 
 which may try them, he is prepared to walk through the 
 whole of Europe with more real pleasure to himself, and 
 far more profit, than if he journeyed in style and enjoyed (?) 
 the constant services of couriers and valets de place. Should 
 his means become unusually scant, he will find it possible 
 to travel on an amazingly small pittance, and with more 
 actual bodily comfort than would seem possible to one who 
 has not tried it. I was more than once obliged to walk a 
 number of days in succession on less than a franc a day, 
 and found that by far the greatest drawback to my enjoy- 
 ment was the fear that I might be without relief when this 
 allowance should be exhausted. One observes, admires, 
 wonders and learns quite as extensively under such circum- 
 stances as if he had unlimited means. 
 
 Perhaps some account of this truly pilgrim-like journey- 
 ing may possess a little interest for the general reader. 
 
 The only expense that cannot be reduced at will in 
 Europe is that for sleeping. You may live on a crust of 
 bread a day, but lower than four cents for a bed you can- 
 not go. In Germany this is the regular price paid by trav- 
 elling journeymen, and no one need wish for a more com- 
 fortable resting-place than those massive boxes (when you 
 have become accustomed to their shortness), with their 
 coarse but clean linen sheets and healthy mattresses of 
 straw. In Italy the price varies from half a paid to a 
 paul (ten cents), but a person somewhat familiar with the
 
 OPEN-AIR LIFE. 439 
 
 language would not often be asked more than the former 
 price, for which he has a bed, stuffed with corn-husks, large 
 enough for at least three men. I was asked in France five 
 sous in all the village inns from Marseilles to Dieppe. The 
 pedestrian cares far more for a good rest than for the 
 quality of his fare, and a walk of thirty miles prepares him 
 to find it on the hardest couch. I usually rose before sunrise. 
 and immediately began the day's journey, the cost of lodg- 
 ing having been paid the night before — a universal custom 
 among the common inns which are frequented by the peas- 
 antry. At the next village I would buy a loaf of the hard 
 brown bread, with some cheese or butter, or whatever sub- 
 stantial addition could be made at trifling cost, and break- 
 fast upon a bank by the roadside, lying at full length on 
 the dewy grass and using my knapsack as a table. I might 
 also mention that a leathern pouch fastened to one side of 
 this table contained a knife and fork, and one or two solid 
 tin boxes for articles which could not be carried in the 
 pocket. A similar pouch at the other side held pen and 
 ink and a small bottle, which was filled sometimes w T ith the 
 fresh water of the streams, and sometimes with the common 
 country wine of the year's vintage, which costs from three 
 to six sous the quart. 
 
 After walking more than half the distance to be accom- 
 plished, with half an hour's rest, dinner would be made in 
 the same manner, and while we rested the full hour allotted 
 to the midday halt guide-books would be examined, jour- 
 nals written, a sketch made of the landscape or our minds 
 refreshed by reading a passage in Milton or "Childe Har- 
 old." If it was during the cold, wet days of winter, we 
 sought a rock, or sometimes the broad abutment of a chance 
 bridge upon which to lie ; in summer it mattered little 
 whether we rested in sun or shade, under a bright or rainy 
 sky. The vital energy which this life in the open air gives 
 to the constitution is remarkable. The very sensation of 
 health and strength becomes a positive luxury, and the 
 heart overflows with its buoyant exuberance of cheerful-
 
 440 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 ness. Every breath of the fresh morning air was like a 
 draught of some sparkling elixir gifted with all the potency 
 of the undiscovered Fountain of Youth. We felt pent and 
 oppressed within the walls of a dwelling ; it was far more 
 agreeable to march in the face of a driving shower, under 
 whose beating the blood grew fresh and warm, than to sit 
 by a dull fireplace waiting for it to cease. Although I had 
 lived mainly upon a farm till the age of seventeen and was 
 accustomed to out-door exercise, I never before felt how 
 much life one may draw from air and sunshine alone. 
 
 Thus what at first was borne as a hardship became at last 
 an enjoyment, and there seemed to me no situation so ex- 
 treme that it did not possess some charm to my mind which 
 made me unwilling to shrink from the experience. Still, 
 as one depth of endurance after another was reached, the 
 words of Cicero would recur to me as encouragement : 
 " Perhaps even this may hereafter be remembered with 
 pleasure." Once only, while waiting six days at Lyons in 
 gloomy weather and among harsh people, without a sous 
 and with a strong doubt of receiving any relief, I became 
 indifferent to what might happen, and would have passively 
 met any change for the worse, as men who have been ex- 
 posed to shipwreck for days scarce make an effort to save 
 themselves when the vessel strikes at last. 
 
 One little experience of this kind, though less desperate, 
 may be worth relating. It happened during my stay in 
 Florence ; and what might not a man bear for the sake of 
 living in the midst of such a paradise? My comrade and 
 I had failed to receive a remittance at the expected time, 
 and our funds had gone down to zero. The remaining one 
 of our trio of Americans who had taken a suite of rooms 
 in company — a noble-hearted Kentuckian — shared his own 
 means with us till what he had in Florence was nearly ex- 
 hausted. His banker lived in Leghorn, and he concluded 
 to go there and draw for more instead of having it sent 
 
 through a correspondent. B decided to accompany 
 
 him, and two young Englishmen who had just arrived on
 
 STARVATION EXPERIENCE. 441 
 
 foot from Geneva joined the party. They resolved on 
 making an adventure out of the expedition, and it was ac- 
 cordingly agreed that they should take one of the market- 
 boats of the Arno and sail down to Pisa, more than fifty 
 miles distant, by the river. We paid one or two visits to 
 the western gate of the city, where numbers of these craft 
 always lie at anchor, and struck a bargain with a sturdy 
 boatman that he should take them for a scudo (about one 
 dollar) each. 
 
 The hour of starting was nine o'clock in the evening, and 
 I accompanied them to the starting-place. The boat had a 
 slight canvas covering, and the crew consisted only of the 
 owner and his son Antonio, a boy of ten. I shall not re- 
 count their voyage all that night (which was so cold that 
 they tied each other up in the boatman's meal-bags, around 
 the neck, and lay down in a heap on the ribbed bottom of 
 the boat) nor their adventures in Pisa and Leghorn. They 
 were to be absent three or four days and had left me money 
 enough to live upon in the mean time, but the next morning 
 an unexpected expense consumed nearly the whole of it. 
 I had about four crazie (three cents) a day for my meals, 
 and by spending one of these for bread and the remainder 
 for ripe figs — of which one crazie will purchase fifteen or 
 twenty — I managed to make a diminutive breakfast and 
 dinner, but was careful not to take much exercise, on ac- 
 count of the increase of hunger. As it happened, my 
 friends remained two days longer than I had expected, and 
 the last two crazie I had were expended for one day's pro- 
 visions. I then decided to try the next day without any- 
 thing, and actually felt a curiosity to know what one's sen- 
 sations would be on experiencing two or three days of 
 starvation. I knew that if the feeling should become in- 
 supportable I could easily walk out to the mountain of 
 Fiesole, where a fine fig orchard shaded the old Roman am- 
 phitheatre. But the experiment was broken off in its com- 
 mencement by the arrival of the absent ones in the middle 
 of the night. Such is the weakness of human nature that,
 
 442 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 on finding I should not want for breakfast, I arose from bed 
 and ate two or three figs which by a strong exertion I had 
 saved from the scanty allowance of the diiy. I only relate 
 this incident to show that the severest deprivation is very 
 easily borne, and that it is worth bearing for what it teaches. 
 
 So, also, when a storm came up at nightfall while we 
 were a league distant from the end of our journey, after the 
 first natural shrinking from its violence was over, there was 
 a sublime pleasure in walking in the midst of darkness and 
 dashing rain. There have been times when the sky was 
 black, just revealing its deeps of whelming cloud, and the 
 winds full of the cold, fresh, saddening spirit of the storm, 
 which I would not have exchanged for the brightness of a 
 morning beside the sea. 
 
 A few words in relation to a pedestrian's equipment may 
 be of some practical value. An idea of the general appear- 
 ance of the travelling costume of a German student — which 
 I adopted as the most serviceable and agreeable — may be 
 obtained from the portrait accompanying this volume, but 
 there are many small particulars, in addition, which I have 
 often been asked to give. It is the best plan to take no 
 more clothing than is absolutely required, as the traveller 
 will not desire to carry more than fifteen pounds on his 
 back, knapsack included. A single suit of good dark cloth, 
 with a supply of linen, will be amply sufficient. The strong 
 linen blouse confined by a leather belt will protect it from 
 the dust ; and when this is thrown aside on entering a city, 
 the traveller makes a very respectable appearance. The 
 slouched hat of finely-woven felt is a delightful covering to 
 the head, serving at the same time as umbrella or night-cap, 
 travelling dress or visiting costume. No one should neglect 
 a good cane, which, besides its feeling of companionship, is 
 equal to from three to five miles a day, and may serve as 
 a defence against banditti or savage Bohemian dogs. In 
 the Alps the tall staves pointed with iron and topped with 
 a curved chamois-horn can be bought for a franc apiece, 
 and are of great assistance in crossing ice-fields or sustain-
 
 KNAPSACK EQUIPMENT. 443 
 
 ing the weight of the hody in descending steep and difficult 
 passes. 
 
 An umbrella is inconvenient, unless it is short and may 
 be strapped on the knapsack, but even then an ample cape 
 of oiled silk or India-rubber cloth is far preferable. The 
 pedestrian need not be particular in this respect: he will 
 soon grow accustomed to an occasional drenching, and I 
 am not sure that men, like plants, do not thrive under it 
 when they have outgrown the hot-house nature of civiliza- 
 tion in a life under the open heaven. A portfolio capable 
 of hard service, with a guide-book or two, pocket-compass 
 and spyglass, completes the contents of the knapsack, 
 though, if there is still a small corner to spare, I would rec- 
 ommend that it be filled with pocket editions of one or two 
 of the good old English classics. It is a rare delight to sit 
 down in the gloomy fastnesses of the Hartz or in the breezy 
 valleys of Styria and read the majestic measures of our 
 glorious Saxon bards. Milton is first fully appreciated 
 when you look up from his page to the snowy ramparts of 
 the Alps which shut out all but the heaven of whose beauty 
 he sang, and all times and places are fitting for the univer- 
 sal Shakespeare. " Childe Harold " bears such a glowing 
 impress of the scenery on which Byron's eye has dwelt that 
 it spoke to me like the answering heart of a friend from the 
 crag of Drachenfels, in the rushing of the arrowy Rhone and 
 beside the breathing marbles of the Vatican and the Capitol. 
 
 A little facility in sketching from nature, is a most useful 
 and delightful accomplishment for the pedestrian. He may 
 bring away the features of wild and unvisited landscapes, 
 the picturesque fronts of peasant-cottages and wayside shrines, 
 or the simple beauty of some mountain-child watching his 
 herd of goats. Though having little knowledge and no 
 practice in the art, I persevered in my awkward attempts, 
 and was soon able to take a rough and rapid but tolerably 
 correct outline of almost any scene. These memorials of 
 two years of travel have now a value to me which I would 
 not exchange for the finest engravings, however they might
 
 444 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 excel in faithful representation. Another article of equip- 
 ment which I had almost forgotten to mention is a small 
 bottle of the best cognac with which to bathe the feet morn- 
 ing and evening for the first week or two, or as long as they 
 continue tender with the exercise. It was also very strength- 
 ening and refreshing, when the body was unusually weary 
 with a long day's walking or climbing, to use as an outward 
 stimulant, for I never had occasion to apply it internally. 
 Many of the German students wear a wicker flask slung 
 over their shoulder containing kirschivasser, which they mix 
 with the water of the mountain-streams, but this is not at 
 all necessary to the traveller's health and comfort. 
 
 These students, with all their irregularities, are a noble, 
 warm-hearted class, and make the best companions in the 
 world. During the months of August and September hun- 
 dreds of them ramble through Switzerland and the Tyrol, 
 extending their route sometimes to Venice and Rome. With 
 their ardent love for everything republican, they will always 
 receive an American heartily, consecrate him as a burseh 
 and admit him to their fellowship. With the most of them 
 an economy of expense is part of the habit of their student- 
 life, and they are only spendthrifts on the articles of beer 
 and tobacco. A month's residence in Heidelberg — the 
 most beautiful place in Germany — will serve to make the 
 young American acquainted with their habits and able to 
 join them for an adventurous foot-journey with the greatest 
 advantage to himself. 
 
 We always accepted a companion, of whatever kind, 
 while walking — from chimney-sweeps to barons. In a 
 strange country one can learn something from every peas- 
 ant, and we neglected no opportunity not only to obtain 
 information, but to impart it. We found everywhere great 
 curiosity respecting America, and we were always glad to 
 tell them all they wished to know. In Germany we were 
 generally taken for Germans from some part of the country 
 where the dialect was a little different ; or if they remarked 
 our foreign peculiarities, they supposed we were either Poles,
 
 IGNORANCE CONCERNING AMERICA. 445 
 
 Russians or Swiss. The greatest ignorance in relation to 
 America prevails among the common people. They imag- 
 ine we are a savage race without intelligence, and almost 
 without law. Persons of education who had some slight 
 knowledge of our history showed a curiosity to know some- 
 thing of our political condition. They are taught by the 
 German newspapers (which are under a strict censorship 
 in this respect) to look only at the evil in our country, and 
 they almost invariably began by adverting to slavery and 
 repudiation. While we admitted — often with shame and 
 mortification — the existence of things so inconsistent with 
 true republicanism, we endeavored to make them compre- 
 hend the advantages enjoyed by the free citizen, the com- 
 plete equality of birth which places America, despite her 
 sins, far above any other nation on earth. I could plainly 
 see by the kindling eye and half-suppressed sigh that they 
 appreciated a freedom so immeasurably greater than that 
 which they enjoyed. 
 
 In large cities we always preferred to take the second- or 
 third-rate hotels, which are generally visited by merchants 
 and persons who travel on business ; for, with the same 
 comforts as the first rank, they are nearly twice as cheap. 
 A traveller with a guide-book and a good pair of eyes can 
 also dispense with the services of a courier, whose duty it is 
 to conduct strangers about the city from one lion to another. 
 We chose rather to find out and view the sights at our 
 leisure. In small villages where we were often obliged to 
 stop we chose the best hotels, which, particularly in North- 
 ern Germany and in Italy, are none too good ; but if it was 
 a post — that is, a town where the postchaise stops to change 
 horses — we usually avoided the post-hotel, where one must 
 pay high for having curtains before his windows and a more 
 elegant cover on his bed. In the less splendid country-inns 
 we always found neat, comfortable lodging and a pleasant, 
 friendly reception from the people. They saluted us on en- 
 tering with " Be you welcome !" and on leaving wished us a 
 pleasant journey and good fortune. The host, when he
 
 446 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 brought us supper or breakfast, lifted his cap and wished 
 us a good appetite, and when he lighted us to our chambers 
 left us with " May you sleep well !" We generally found 
 honest, friendly people ; they delighted in telling us about 
 the country around — what ruins there were in the neighbor- 
 hood, and what strange legends were connected with them. 
 The only part of Europe where it is unpleasant to travel in 
 this manner is Bohemia. We could scarcely find a com- 
 fortable inn ; the people all spoke an unknown language 
 and were not particularly celebrated for their honesty. Be- 
 sides this, travellers rarely go on foot in those regions ; we 
 were frequently taken for travelling handwerker and sub- 
 jected to imposition. 
 
 With regard to passports, although they were vexatious 
 and often expensive, we found little difficulty when we had 
 acquainted ourselves with the regulations concerning them. 
 In France and Germany they are comparatively little trou- 
 ble ; in Italy they are the traveller's greatest annoyance. 
 Americans are treated with less strictness in this respect 
 than citizens of other nations, and, owing to the absence of 
 rank among us, they also enjoy greater advantages of ac- 
 quaintance and intercourse. 
 
 The expenses of travelling in England, although much 
 greater than in our own country, may, as we learned by 
 experience, be brought through economy within the same 
 compass. Indeed, it is my belief from observation that, 
 with few exceptions, throughout Europe, where a traveller 
 enjoys the same comfort and abundance as in America, he 
 must pay the same prices. The principal difference is that 
 he only pays for what he gets ; so that if he be content 
 with the necessities of life, without its luxuries, the expense 
 is in proportion. 
 
 The best coin for the traveller's purpose is English gold, 
 which passes at a considerable premium on the Continent 
 and is readily accepted at all the principal hotels. Having 
 to earn my means as I went along, I was obliged to have 
 money forwarded in small remittances, generally in drafts
 
 A FEEE PASSPORT. 447 
 
 on the house of Hottinger & Co., in Paris, which could be 
 cashed in any large city of Europe. If only a short tour 
 is intended and the pedestrian's means are limited, he may 
 easily carry the necessary amount with him. There is little 
 danger of robbery for those who journey in such a hum- 
 ble style. I never lost a single article in this manner, and 
 rarely had any feeling but that of perfect security. No 
 part of our own country is safer in this respect than Ger- 
 many, Switzerland or France. Italy still bears an unfortu- 
 nate reputation for honesty ; the defiles of the Apennines 
 and the hollows of the Roman Camj^agna are haunted by 
 banditti, and persons who travel in their own carriages are 
 often plundered. I saw the caves and hiding-places of these 
 outlaws among the evergreen shrubbery in the pass of Monte 
 Somma, near Spoleto, but, as we had a dragoon in the crazy 
 old vehicle, we feared no hindrance from them. A Swed- 
 ish gentleman in Rome told me he had walked from Ancona 
 through the mountains to the Eternal City, partly by night, 
 but that, although he met with many meaning faces, he was 
 not disturbed in any way. An English artist of my ac- 
 quaintance walked from Leghorn along the Tuscan and 
 Tyrrhene coast to Civita Vecchia through a barren and 
 savage district overgrown with aloes and cork trees with- 
 out experiencing any trouble except from the extreme curi- 
 osity of the ignorant inhabitants. The fastnesses of the 
 Abruzzi have been explored with like facility by daring 
 pedestrians ; indeed, the sight of a knapsack seems to serve 
 as a free passport with all highwaymen. 
 
 I have given at times through the foregoing chapters the 
 cost of portions of my journey and residence in various 
 cities of Europe. The cheapest country for travelling, as 
 far as my experience extended, is Southern Germany, where 
 one can travel comfortably on twenty-five cents a daj r . 
 Italy and the South of France come next in order, and are 
 but little more expensive; then follow Switzerland and 
 Northern Germany, and lastly Great Britain. The cheap- 
 est city, and one of the pleasantest in the world, is Florence,
 
 448 VIEWS A-FOOT. 
 
 where we breakfasted on five cents, dined sumptuously on 
 twelve and went to a good opera for ten. A man would 
 find no difficulty in spending a year there for about tw T o 
 hundred and fifty dollars. This fact may be of some im- 
 portance to those whose health requires such a stay, yet are 
 kept back from attempting the voyage through fear of the 
 expense. Counting the passage to Leghorn at fifty or sixty 
 dollars, it will be seen how little is necessary for a year's 
 enjoyment of the sweet atmosphere of Italy. In addition to 
 these particulars, the following connected estimate will bet- 
 ter show the minimum expense of a two years' pilgrimage : 
 
 Voyage to Liverpool in the second cabin $24 00 
 
 Three weeks' travel in Ireland and Scotland . . . . 25 00 
 
 A week in London, at three shillings a day 4 50 
 
 From London to Heidelberg 15 00 
 
 A month at Heidelberg, and trip to Frankfort . . . 20 00 
 Seven months in Frankfort, at ten dollars per month 70 00 
 Fuel, passports, excursions, and other expenses . . 30 00 
 Tour through Cassel, the Hartz, Saxony, Austria, Ba- 
 varia, etc 40 00 
 
 A month in Frankfort 10 00 
 
 From Frankfort through Switzerland, and over the 
 
 Alps to Milan 15 00 
 
 From Milan to Genoa 60 
 
 Expenses from Genoa to Florence 14 00 
 
 Four months in Florence 50 00 
 
 Eight days' journey from Florence to Rome, two 
 weeks in Rome, voyage to Marseilles and jour- 
 ney to Paris 40 00 
 
 Five weeks in Paris 15 00 
 
 From Paris to London 8 00 
 
 Six weeks in London, at three shillings a day . . . 31 00 
 
 Passage home • 60 00 
 
 $472 10 
 
 The cost for places of amusement, guides' fees and other 
 small expenses not included in this list increase the sum- 
 total to five hundred dollars, for which the tour may be 
 made. Now, having, I hope, established this to the reader's 
 satisfaction, I respectfully take leave of him.
 
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